Superman III [1983)

We all battle ourselves.

Self-hate.

Vs. self-love.

Pride vs. self-respect.

A subtle distinction there.

Alcoholism vs. sobriety.

Destructive evil vs. creative good.

But evil itself is created.

Man vs. machine.

Man vs. computer.

Sentient computers.

This is a pretty good movie.

Which gets lazy at the end.

But it is well worth watching.

Because it is iconic.

Richard Pryor really makes this one tick.

Sure, some of the comedy is goofy.

But I also gotta hand it to Christopher Reeve.

He really tapped into an impressive DARKNESS here.

Reeve essentially plays three characters in the film:

-nerdy, clumsy Clark Kent (this is impressive because his portrayal of Clark is so consistent)

-noble, honorable Superman (a suave character who always does the right thing)

-pathetic, angry, bitter, spiteful Evil Superman (Superman’s own opposite–spawned by a sort of “splitting” of Superman’s being)

The new aspect in this film is, of course, this dark side to Reeve’s acting.

And he does it well.

In this film, Clark returns to his hometown of Smallville.

Which brings us to Allison Mack.

And the New York sex cult NXIVM.

Amazingly, Lois Lane doesn’t get abducted in the Bermuda Triangle.

Which brings us to East Palestine.

And a fictional substance called beltric acid.

Which brings us to the Chinese “Belt & Road Initiative”.

The pants in poor countries are always falling down.

Because too skinny.

Hence need belt.

Hey, you can talk shit about the People’s Republic of China, but I got one word for you: TikTok.

TikTok.

YouTube Music (owned by Google [aka Alphabet Inc.]) BANNED all of my music.

Me.

Pauly Deathwish.

They REMOVED about 700 of my original songs.

And have refused delivery of about 300 more.

It all started with my anti-vaccine song “Crimes Against Humanity”.

From there, YouTube banned every song I have ever put out under my stage name Pauly Deathwish.

That includes simple love songs (what could possibly be questionable about those?).

Where is YouTube/Google/Alphabet headquartered?

YouTube is an American company HQed in San Bruno, California.

Google is an American company HQed in Mountain View, California.

Alphabet is an American company HQed in Mountain View, California.

Google (now a subsidiary) and Alphabet (the parent company of Google) are located in the same building (known as Googleplex).

An American company (probably at the urging of the FBI, CDC, or some other federal agency) COMPLETELY stifled my speech.

I am betting that YouTube/Google was merely a proxy for the American government when it came to my music.

Which is a violation of my Constitutional rights.

Anyone wanna take up my case?
It would have to be pro bono as a MOTHERFUCKER.

Cause I don’t make a cent.

Anyway.

Google (the Americans) banned me.

TikTok (the communist, supposedly-authoritarian Chinese) merely removed ONE of my videos.

I was mad about that video being removed.

So mad that I left TikTok.

But I am back on TikTok (pdeathwish).

Why?

Well, let me tell you about the other companies which have banned me.

And before I do, take a wild guess as to where they are headquartered.

Next is Truth Social.

That’s right, Donald Trump’s social media company (to the best of my knowledge) BANNED me (and my 81-year-old U.S. Army-vet father) from their platform.

AFTER THREE DAYS!

Why?

My presumption is because I publicly questioned Trump about his vaccine stance.

Magically, after three days, my account stopped working.

My dad tried to make an account some time later.

I also presume that he was banned because we share an internet connection.

See how that works?

It appears Trump banned MY WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY because I dared to present some facts from the VAERS system on his precious platform.

Now, I should point out.

i SUPPORT Trump in his current legal battles.

I find the political persecution of Trump to be disgusting.

As a disclaimer, I would add that I want to vote for RFK Jr. in 2024.

Indeed, my intention at this point is to vote for Bobby Kennedy.

N.B. I voted for Trump in both 2016 and 2020.

Where is Truth Social HQed?

Sarasota, Florida.

Truth Social is a subsidiary of Trump Media & Technology Group.

Where is TMTG headquartered?

Palm Beach, Florida.

If we count YouTube/Google/Alphabet as one company and TruthSocial/TMTG as another company, that makes TWO American companies that have banned me.

Meanwhile, the People’s Republic of China and their flagship app TikTok has not banned me.

Far from it!

N.B. No other major music streaming platform in the world (besides YouTube Music) has removed ANY of my material (to my knowledge).

Moving on.

The next company (guess where this one is from) to deplatfrom me was Elon Musk’s Twitter/X.

That’s right.

Even the dipshit assholes Jack Dorsey and Vijaya Gadde never permanently suspended me.

They did, however, suspend me “accidentally” (I have the email from them where they admit that as the reason) FOR FOUR MONTHS.

What happened during the time that Twitter suspended me for four months?

A. the 2020 U.S. Presidential election

B. the Biden inauguration

After Jack and Vijaya admitted they had mistakenly banned my account, I was back in business.

And I had high hopes when Elon took over.

But he banned me.

For “platform manipulation and/or spam”.

It was a very vague, Kafkaesque accusation.

The platform manipulation part is particularly funny to me.

If I was manipulating the platform, then I obviously wasn’t doing a very good job at it.

Why do I say that?

Because my PUBLIC (not set to private) profile [which I had had for five years] had TWO [sic] followers (even though I think I had made 100,000+ tweets).

My followers were:

A. Dr. Steve Pieczenik MD, PhD

B. Lt. Gen. Michael Flynn

As for spam, don’t you think one of those two personages would have unfollowed me were I a spammer?

Where is X headquartered?

San Francisco, California.

And it appears to be a subsidiary of X. Corp. (which is also HQed in San Francisco, California).

Taken as one entity, that makes THREE A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N companies which have deplatformed me.

Meanwhile, the Chinese communists accept me.

Enough to let me post.

And my posts are seen.

Well, they get views (anyway).

The PRC has censored me.

But very little in comparison with these three American companies (which totally squashed me).

Why am I whining about this?

Because as an almost-unknown musician, I have very little way to tell the world about my music when major media companies (like YouTube and Twitter) ban me.

The further irony is this:

A. Trump’s company is called Truth Social. I came to him with sourced facts from VAERS, CDC, and BMJ. And my account magically thereafter stopped working. Permanently.

B. Musk calls himself a “free speech absolutist”. If you can’t see the irony of him then banning me for nebulous reasons, I can’t paint a more-clear picture for you

There is one last company I would like to mention.

Rumble.

The ostensible “conservative” competitor to YouTube.

Rumble did not ban me.

But they refused my advertising dollars.

For a very small campaign with which I was trying to promote my music.

Why did they refuse my money?

Because my website (the one you are reading) is not “age appropriate”.

Let me translate that for you–I think they meant “you are not conservative enough”.

Where is Rumble headquartered?

Toronto, Canada.

Ok, so we finally found another country where my music is hated (by a small company).

But is my music hated in communist China?

Not if my access to TikTok is any indication.

I should also point out that Facebook has mercilessly censored me for at least the past five years.

So much so that I gave up on that platform.

One of their subsidiaries, Instagram, has also recently given me trouble.

Not allowing me to do this. Not allowing me to do that.

But I haven’t had the same issue with TikTok.

Where, by the way, are Facebook and Instagram (subsidiaries of Meta Platforms) headquartered?

Facebook is headquartered in Menlo Park, California.

Instagram is headquartered in Menlo Park, California.

Meta Platforms is headquartered in Menlo Park, California.

Like YouTube/Google/Alphabet, it is essentially one big company.

So there’s another American company suppressing (probably at the urging of various government agencies) my free speech which should be protected from the hand-in-glove fascism of cozy government/corporate-proxy activity.

Who’s gonna take my case?

I’m not holding my breath.

Which brings us back to Evil Superman.

Who dies by strangulation.

Hell, Superman himself almost even suffocates in this movie.

He gets caught in the Wayne Coyne bubble and it gets a bit uncomfortable for a bit.

Bloke can’t breathe.

But fortunately he can shoot laser beams out of his eyes like Jimmy Page.

We get weather modification.

Weather weapons.

Man vs. weather.

Man vs. machine-controlled weather.

Science fiction?

If you don’t wanna be an evil son of a bitch, you gotta watch out for that low-tar kryptonite.

Pryor is great as a three-star general.

Superman hates himself.

Because he has become poisoned.

Something has come over him.

He changes.

For the worse.

Just a slump (says Ricky).

Coming up on an election year, this was roughly the middle of Reagan’s Presidency.

And it was the decade when computing really fell into the hands of plebes like me.

[though I was not a digital native and didn’t really start becoming computer literate until about 1995]

May 1980: Pac-Mac released in Japan

October 1980: development of MS-DOS begins in U.S.

January 1982: the 8-bit Commodore 64 debuts at an electronics show in Las Vegas

August 1982: Commodore 64, the best-selling computer model of all time, is released

October 1982: MIDI standard is published

June 1983: Superman III is released

October 1983: Microsoft Word is released

This movie really falls apart when Vera becomes a cyborg.

It is utterly-ridiculous.

I’m just an ole chunk of coal.

But I’m gonna be a diamond someday.

Annette O’Toole is the secret weapon of this movie.

-PD

Leave No Trace [2018)

What a horrible day.

Valentine’s Day.

My favorite holiday.

To understand young men whom the economy has left behind.

Young men turning to violence and mischief.

Hating the state.

No more funicular.

Reach out to someone with PTSD today.

Even if you don’t have the right thing to say.

Just make an effort.

I did.

Sure, I want someone to give a fuck about me.

It sucks to be thoroughly disrespected.

This film is better than Jojo Rabbit.

But it has no sense of humor.

Living hand-to-mouth is not funny.

Homeschooling is the best.

But our society has been ruined.

Our societies have been ruined.

Hearing helicopters is too much.

Bringing you back to a mind frame where no moment is safe.

This film is no Hanna.

But this is still a poignant story.

Saoirse has lost her touch.

It was all too much for Thora and Dennings.

Thomasin is the hope for acting.

The best actress working today.

But she has only made one film that is good.

And that film is perfect.

And that film is Last Night in Soho.

Living off the grid.

War is hard on kids.

Kids want to play.

We need fun.

All work and no play makes us fucking crazy.

God bless the truckers who are reclaiming our freedoms.

KEEP GOING!!!

Sitting on a velvet couch in a cabin.

Velour.

The luxury.

Well-worn.

For years living on the forrest floor.

Now to curl your feet up sideways.

Instant karma.

It means something.

It all means something.

And we are back to hellish life.

American flags.

Get to know your neighbors.

My life has been stolen.

But I have successfully stopped drinking.

Haven’t touched the stuff for well over a year.

And I have successfully quit tobacco.

Haven’t touched the stuff for well over a year.

No nicotine up in here.

The challenge is living with something like GAD.

Sounds so easy.

Anxiety.

But tack onto that tachycardia.

A level serious enough to require medication.

And tack onto that high blood pressure.

A level serious enough to require medication.

Good luck relaxing.

You can’t.

Good luck being independent of medications.

My daily struggle and challenge is to become less dependent on my medications.

It is like building a fucking pyramid.

The progress is infinitesimally-small.

Each day.

Some days are a step backwards.

Every day.

Marking.

Tallying it up.

Am I making progress?

Yes.

SLOW.

S L O W.

Very disheartening to be alone again.

Grand gestures.

Wasted.

All for naught.

Bad match.

She needed to be the fucked-up one.

But I got problems too.

And vice-versa.

I’m trying not to judge.

I’m still trying to reach out.

On my favorite holiday.

With a hole in my heart.

War zone.

What’s your joy?

No joy.

I just dream of an actress from New Zealand.

Because her story speaks to me.

It is the hope that someone out there will love me in spite of all my flaws.

I look really bad on paper.

Because I am really bad in reality.

But I am still a person.

And I am not dead yet.

I hope the cats do their job.

Be nice.

Keep company.

My family.

Till the end.

I’m not blocking any energies.

I’m not blocking anything.

Except a couple of dickheads on TikTok.

Starting over.

I can’t breathe.

Everyone is gay.

Or lesbian.

Or whatever.

The whole world is fucking crazy.

And I need the crazy that fits with my crazy.

The crazy that matches me.

Reach out to someone with PTSD.

Don’t judge.

Don’t worry if you don’t say quite the right thing.

Don’t worry if you don’t get a response.

I’m lonely as fuck.

Instant karma.

It means something.

It all means something.

Thank you, God, for giving me a friend for awhile.

Please be merciful and let me not die of loneliness.

This is the loneliest life I have ever known.

45 years.

-PD

Napapiirin sankarit [2010)

Here is a masterpiece.

Not since Aaltra (2004) has a movie so perfectly made use of the dark humor pioneered by Louis-Ferdinand Céline in Voyage au bout de la nuit (1932).

Lapland Odyssey is Finnish film which is currently free to watch on Tubi.

I cannot give enough praise to the director, Dome Karukoski.

This is not just a miraculous feat of storytelling, but the mise-en-scène of a true auteur.

I was born 15 days earlier than Mr. Karukoski: 43 years ago.

Our director hails from Cyprus.

Where Eric Schmidt has recently applied for citizenship.

https://www.vox.com/recode/2020/11/9/21547055/eric-schmidt-google-citizen-cyprus-european-union

Funny timing, that.

Wouldn’t Eric Schmidt welcome a Biden Presidency?

Does Mr. Schmidt fear something in the United States?

Perhaps the former CEO of Google knows something we do not?

Might it concern impending public corruption trials?

And, just maybe, a reelection of Donald Trump?

Lapland Odyssey premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2010.

That was the same year that Toronto-based company Dominion Voting Systems acquired not only Premier Election Solutions (an American company [Ohio]) from ES&S (Election Systems & Software [Omaha, Nebraska]), but also Sequoia Voting Systems [California] from Smartmatic [U.K.].

PES had only been acquired by ES&S the previous year (2009). Before that, PES was owned by Diebold.

Premier Election Systems was formerly known as Diebold Election Systems.

Before Diebold bought it, it was known as General Election Systems.

Before General Election Systems bought it, it was known as I-Mark Systems.

You get the picture.

Dominion Voting Systems is now owned by American private equity firm Staple Street Capital (which has extremely strong ties to the Carlyle Group [George H.W. Bush’s former benefactor]).

https://www.osler.com/en/expertise/deals-cases/dominion-voting-systems

None of this would have been possible without Jussi Vatanen.

Vatanen is our hero.

He is tasked with the impossible.

Find a digital TV receiver (“digibox”) in one night.

After the local electronics store has closed.

This involves a trip to Rovaniemi: the main city of Lapland.

[population 63,032]

Hundred of kilometers to get to Finland’s 17th most populated city.

In Finland, Lapland is not only the northernmost province, but it is also the largest province of the country.

It bears mentioning that there is also a Swedish province called Lapland.

The cleavage of these two Laplands dates to 1809: when Russia annexed the eastern part of Sweden and declared it the Grand Duchy of Finland.

My closest brush with this region was a single musical concert I played years ago in the town of Kiruna (in Swedish Lapland): Sweden’s northernmost town [population 22,906].

It was an experience which profoundly changed me and which stays with me till this day.

Finnish Lapland borders Sweden’s Norrbotten County. At Norrbotten’s northernmost point can be found Kiruna (north of the Arctic Circle).

At the southeast corner of Norrbotten County is Piteå: my favorite town in Sweden.

The town of Piteå sits on the Gulf of Bothnia–just across the water from Finland.

I also played a musical concert in Piteå.

It was, perhaps, the happiest time in my life.

So I can imagine Rovaniemi.

A city just four miles south of the Arctic Circle.

Jussi Vatanen plays the loser who makes good.

Which makes him, in fact, not a loser.

I can intimately relate to that.

I have lost my job (again).

I am addicted to drugs (again).

And I am addicted to alcohol (a first for me).

It is in these days, when I am having the first true experience in my life with alcohol withdrawal, that I come to this film.

It is the perfect film.

It is just exactly the film I needed at this particular time.

Because I, like Janne (Vatanen’s character), am trying my damnedest to get my life together.

Last week, I got engaged.

Actually, REengaged.

I exercise (pacing back and forth in my parents’ garage as my phone records my steps).

I drink less.

I exercise.

I drink less.

Nausea.

Dizziness.

ANXIETY.

And extreme fucking INSOMNIA.

When I was in Kiruna, the sun only went down for four hours.

I didn’t see the Northern Lights.

But you can see them in this film.

And they are glorious.

If it is CGI, then I am losing my touch.

Because I don’t believe it is.

I appears to be the genuine article.

Aurora borealis.

And headaches!

Lots of sunflower seeds.

Big red welts all up and down my arms and torso from nicotine patches.

I can no longer afford my General Snus.

Sure, I have some stashed away…

But my wise old psychologist once told me: “just move one thing at a time”.

alcohol
tobacco
valerian?
Ambien?
Xanax?

I put question marks because I am unsure of the order.

Main goal is STOP DRINKING.

Or, should I say, the FIRST goal.

If I can get an MBA, surely I can stop drinking.

[God willing]

For every hero, there needs to be a doubter.

To provide context.

The hero forges forward (when it would probably be best to just quit).

The hero quits (when it would be much easier to just continue).

The hero is determined.

The hero gives energy and inspiration to those around him.

But the doubter adds richness.

Because it is human to doubt.

Will Donald Trump be reelected President?

We will find out when the Electoral College meets on my birthday to ELECT a new President-Elect.

Till then, Joe Biden is at best the worst kind of poseur.

He is doing exactly what he promised Chris Wallace and the American people he WOULD NOT do: to declare victory before the election is independently certified.

What a hypocrite.

https://www.foxnews.com/politics/biden-victory-election-independently-certified

Each state certifies its vote.

Biden does not have enough votes at the moment (by way of certified state votes and their concomitant electors) to declare victory.

N.B. It is the Electoral College which will ELECT the next President (who THEN AND ONLY THEN becomes known as the President-Elect).

And so we doubt.

Me and Jasper Pääkkönen.

Was there fraud?

I believe so.

And you may doubt in the other direction.

Was there fraud?

You doubt there was.

But I know there was.

Because I have basic research skills.

And I availed myself of Rudy Giuliani’s masterful delineation of the case for fraud.

[no thanks to American mass media (which completely blacked out all coverage of Giuliani’s press conference with Sidney Powell and Jenna Ellis)]

So we all doubt, each in our own way.

And someone may convince us.

The law may even compel us.

The U.S. Supreme Court may weigh in on the legality of certain ballots in Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin.

Cold states.

Particularly Michigan and Wisconsin.

Fort Meade.

4thPOG.

Dark Horse.

Fly fishing.

Fort Bragg.

Timo Lavikainen is the late-bloomer.

Along for the ride.

But absolutely essential.

Able to love.

You must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven.

Sibelius.

Karelia.

1893.

News of war.

Siege.

National anthem.

At some point we might mention the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.

Which lasted about 500 years (until 1795).

For beauty, we have Pamela Tola.

She just wants a fucking digibox, for christsakes!

Something about those blonde bangs.

Then there is the villain.

A bit like Alex “Scott Evil” Soros.

A bit like Martin Vanger.

Kari Ketonen plays the boy who never got anything.

…and let it make him evil.

He plays the cheater.

The trickster.

A character with absolutely no morals.

Strictly driven by lust.

[and a good bit of narcissism]

He comes off looking a bit like Kip in another masterpiece of a film: Napoleon Dynamite.

Imagine Kip as an irredeemably-unscrupulous character and you will have a pretty good idea of who Pikku-Mikko is.

Little Mikko.

Short.

Short people.

Randy Newman.

Mikko moves in for the kill while the matrimonial bed is still warm.

Mikko false-flags his way into manipulating his enemy.

Mikko is a master of PSYWAR.

But God wins in the end.

And Moa Gammel is the real star of this film.

In a strange way.

Principal siren.

Debussy.

A Swede.

Almost the doppelgänger of Pamela Tola.

The Swede is the world image of beauty.

Alluring.

Beckoning.

The Finn is more quixotic.

Cute.

Harsh.

Soulful.

None of this, of course, means a damn thing.

And all the while Timo Lavikainen just wants to see Miia Nuutila’s tits.

License plate.

Ali G.

There will be helicopters.

-PD

1 Comment

Homeless to Harvard: The Liz Murray Story [2003)

Happy Birthday to Thora Birch, my favorite actress of all time!

Yes, I know…I know.

A film critic whose favorite actress is a young 35-year-old whipper snapper???

Yes.

That’s alright.

Laugh at me.

If the question was, “Who was your favorite classic Hollywood actress?,” then I would answer, “Lauren Bacall”.

But I said favorite actress of all time.

You can search my “Thora” category here on my site for why exactly this actress is my favorite.

Because otherwise, we’re going to be here all day.

And I have a movie to review!

One of my favorites: Homeless to Harvard.

It is, indeed …The Liz Murray Story, but I will be using the shortened title hereafter for brevity’s sake.

It is my contention (and I have made the point elsewhere…probably on this very site of mine) that Thora Birch produced a trilogy of acting performances which are more-or-less analogous to Bob Dylan’s classic trilogy.

Let’s start with Dylan.

The three (at unity from a similarity of intense expression):

–Bringing It All Back Home

–Highway 61 Revisited

and

–Blonde on Blonde

And now the Thora films which correspond in my mind:

–American Beauty

–Ghost World

and

–Homeless to Harvard

Sure…Birch didn’t direct these films.

But her acting is so strong, she might as well have.

By this point she was no longer a prodigy.

She was a mature actress. A master of her craft.

And the story here is one to really sink teeth in.

[In which.]

We recently touched on homelessness here in the review of Alicia Vikander’s stellar turn as Katarina from Till det som är vackert.

Pure.

But the esthetics of Homeless to Harvard are different.

This isn’t European arthouse. It’s a Lifetime made-for-TV film.

But don’t go running anywhere!!!

This is as gritty as any Lou Reed tale.

And it’s all real.

Too pure.

Heroin addict parents.

Mother schizophrenic.

Blindness.

Genetic.

Mother with HIV.

Father with AIDS.

Vice versa ice Ursa.

Father in homeless shelter.

Mother wielding knife. Vomiting.

Alcoholism.

Really appealing, eh?

But you gotta stick with it.

This isn’t Darren Aronofsky mise-en-scène.

It’t not, “Let’s win an award at Sundance.” Or, “Let’s sweep at Cannes.”

It’s more like one of Aesop’s fables.

It’s the message, man!

And so first, let’s honor the director.

Peter Levin.

Who knew a television film could be so artful?

Well, when you combine the history of Histoire(s) du cinéma with the precedent of Twin Peaks, you should know by now that television can produce good stuff.

Hell…

Your TV can even WATCH YOU! (as per WikiLeaks Vault7).

But I digress…

The weeper (no masonry) sob story…had me crying in my Junior Mints…we must attribute to the excellent writing of Ronni Kern.

Who the hell is Ronni Kern?!?

Male? Female?

I’ve had less trouble finding the gender of completely unknown foreign movie people.

But Kern is pretty invisible on the Internet.

And maybe there’s a point here.

It doesn’t fucking matter.
You should judge someone on their work, not their gender.

Hopefully Ms. Birch will appreciate this flash of liberalism should she read this review.

[I’m not holding my breath]

But we have just celebrated International Women’s Day.

And the fact that Birch’s character here is a “feminist” is a running pseudo-joke.

Which brings us to the performances.

Michael Riley is stellar, stellar (I know…) as Liz’s father Peter.

Kudos to the styling department.

That beard. And that hair!

Crazy, man, crazy!!

But Riley’s performance is really special.

It touched my heart.

Long ago.

When I first saw this film.

And dare I say, this movie made me appreciate my own family.

It made me miss my folks.

And so I salute Peter Riley and Lifetime and all involved for that effect on my heart.

Jennifer Pisana is really fabulous as the young Liz Murray here.

It’s an unenviable task.

To precede Thora Birch’s entrance.

But Pisana is indispensable to this little masterpiece.

Those sweaters.

And the full pronunciations…”Mommy”…”Daddy”…

Ms. Pisana affects the necessary naïveté to be juxtaposed against the sad schizophrenia of Kelly Lynch (who plays Liz’s mom).

And Lynch is great.

Think Cries and Whispers.

[cris et chuchotements…(( (( ((…et chuchotements]

Robert Bockstael does a fine job as Liz’s teacher David.

Very convincing. Excellent craftsmanship.

Makyla Smith is piquant in her depiction of Liz’s best friend Chris.

[God…the Magic Marker…and the pine box…fuuuuuuck]

Yes, friends…this is Lifetime Television.

So the brisure (bonjour, monsieur Derrida) is “crap”.

“Crap happens.”

Whoa…watch thy mouth, Kelly Lynch!

So again…Peter Levin does a fantastic job shoehorning a true X-file into PG territory.

We see a syringe here and there. A tourniquet.

Riley cleaning a spoon.

But the real heartbreak is Wheat Chex with tap water.

Yeah…

Hello Gummo.

Ellen Page has a small role here.

And she’s good.

Fine actress.

But we’ve been waiting to roll out the big gun.

Thora Birch.

On this, her birthday, I am only just now getting towards a handful of reviews honoring her unique thespian gift.

What to say?

That every look is magic?

That every glance is gold?

That she has crafted her microexpressions in solitude…and wielded them like an Arthurian sword for the duration of this flick?

Yes, yes, and yes.

[and an Oxford comma]

Because kids take it for granted.

Rich kids.

Harvard.

Penn.

Princeton.

Maybe…

But even more so the lesser ivied walls.

I won’t name names.

But the spoiled kids.

Not turning in homework.

Bragging about shortcuts.

Those, ultimately, will be life’s losers.

But Liz Murray worked her butt off to get into Harvard.

From sleeping on the B Train.

Four years of high school in two.

And Thora Birch has worked her butt off too.

She hasn’t gotten the roles her talent deserves.

But the roles she has gotten, she has largely smashed out of the park.

Like the Babe Ruth of leading ladies.

And so there are other actresses I admire.

But Thora Birch was the first.

The first to give me that magical feeling which only Neil Young has adequately described:

“I fell in love with the actress/She was playin’ a part that I could understand”.

Happy Birthday, Thora Birch!

And may all your days and films be filled with the joy which you have put into the world through your cinematic brilliance.

-PD

2 Comments

Limelight [1952)

I didn’t know movies could be this good.

Where have they been keeping this all of our lives?

Us.

When I was young I stumbled into The Gold Rush. 25/52.

And I lived at the end of a flower in City Lights.

So I knew.

But I forgot.

That Charlie Chaplin was the most vivid outcast—the great romantic on rollerskates.

And the miracle?

Claire Bloom lives.

No Sylvia Plath ending.

And Charles Chaplin lives.

As much as Baudelaire’s vieux saltimbanque.

It was her first film. Bloom.

Age 21.

And now she is 84 years young.

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No one told me films could be miracles.

It’s kinda like Thora Birch.

Buster Keaton.

People thought she stopped working.

But it wasn’t true.

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No greater love have I seen for an art.

Like Pierre-Auguste kissing the canvas…and then painting.

You can’t simply say Renoir in film and let it linger…

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Tell Tchaikovsky the news.

The first chord. In Moscow perhaps. And all 122 pages fall onto the keyboard.

A thunderous vibration like Chaliapin.

Фёдор Ива́нович Шаля́пин

Boris Godunov.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

A drinking problem.

Stage fright.

Torn and frayed.

At the edges.

In the wings.

Wings.

Ah yes…I haven’t heard that name in a long time.

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The piano was unprepared.

A cage of equal temperament.

And so we removed the great nest

of cosmic dissonance.

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Don’t get me wrong.

I love a good cluster chord.

An honest, flawed note.

Take your dissonance like a man…someone said…maybe Henry Cowell.

On second thought, ’twas Ives.

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I’ve spent my life in a drum.

Like Keith Moon.

A human projectile.

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88 ways to look at a blackbird.

I’ve never seen one person leave it all on the stage quite like that.

A lifetime’s work. Painted.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The film was in black and white?

I didn’t happen to notice.

Because behind my eyes the colours were bursting.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

And so like those little speckles in the concrete which the moon caught.

As I dreamt of being a composer.

And I too dove headfirst into the void like Yves Klein.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

And for us it was no sleight of hand.

There was no airbrushed net.

And I landed hard.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Gandhi is smiling and that’s all that matters.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

between yell and Yale

bell strut feet dill old pod loot. Look!

88 ways to be a composer and an itch ain’t one (bite me!)

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Film is completely unimportant when writing about film.

Take Hubert’s Flea Circus on 42nd St.

I would never have known were it not for Nick Tosches.

And my favorite book:

Where Dead Voices Gather.

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Yeah, but it’s like Picasso’s musicians.

You think I’ve really cracked up. Craquelure.

“Any fish bite if you got good bait.”

They tell us in economics there’s only one Mona Lisa.

Because the painter is dead.

Only one…

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Because he’s not alive to paint another.

Another Mona Lisa.

Unlimited supply. EMI.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You’re driving at something.

I just know it.

Because the film was too long. And too good.

Not possible, Likert.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Many aw-kward moments of perfection.

Where Chaplin hit too close to home.

Was it Dave Davies?

“Death of a Clown”

Yes, precisely.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It can’t be described conventionally.

You can’t just go to the Grand Canyon and say, “Vast.”

Was ist das?

Ja!

That is what I’m trying to say.

-PD

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paulydeathwish

cinema dossier

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Limelight [1952)