Hector and the Search for Happiness [2014)

The thought occurred to me to give up.

On this website.

And on just about everything.

About a month ago I thought my fiancée dumped me.

And she probably did (in a way).

But it doesn’t matter.

She was sick.

And, thanks be to God, she is getting well again.

And though she couldn’t jump right back in to being my fiancée (after 18 days of darkness), I am learning to live with that.

I am learning to truly love.

Facing my own shortcomings.

Trying to own up (in my own way) to my role in our relationship’s failure.

It was certainly sickness.

Malady.

And act of God.

And then another act of God to stem the tide of her misery.

As she has emerged, I have been very confused.

Confused on where I stand.

I was hurt.

But I am getting over that.

I was hurt that she didn’t seem to want me anymore.

But that wasn’t entirely true.

I am beginning to see now just how far she was pushed.

Just how much her spirit was crushed by her three losses.

  1.  of her child
  2. of her husband
  3. of her mother

And so I happened again upon this wonderful site called Tubi.

Sounds like porn.

It’s not.

It’s free movies (with a minimum of advertisements).

Kicked in the head by a mule (so the saying goes)…and kicked in the head again (and everything’s alright).

Randy Quaid said that.

But there’s more before we get there.

I have had to learn a powerful lesson of love.

I have had to dispense with labels.

I’m pretty sure I’m not engaged anymore (though not entirely sure).

I’m not even sure if I’m in a relationship.

Not even sure if I have a girlfriend.

But that’s the crux of this epiphany.

To her credit, in my frustration and confusion, she reached out and told me she loved me.

This was, granted, even more confusing.

“I don’t want to (can’t?) be engaged to you right now, but I love you.”

To paraphrase.

And I had to dig deep.

I had to trust that I was not being taken.

Not being taken advantage of.

Not being tricked.

And so the prompt appears:

you must love to your fullest ability…without any guarantees.

You must love simply because you DO love.

Either you do, or you don’t.

Either you love someone, or you don’t.

Clarity is good.

Clarity is great.

But not everyone can give us a clear answer.

At the particular time we want them to give such answer.

And that, FINALLY, brings us to this Simon Pegg film.

How’s that for a preamble?!?

Midlife crisis.

Goes chasing his doctor.

His flame.

Love is patient.

Patience.

Letting your other take their journey.

Jesus HAD to be tempted.

Beethoven said it must be.

You gotta see dark and dirty.

What people do for a dollar.

How commerce is impersonal and disrespectful.

A bit like Carl Spackler’s loopering for the Dalai Lama.

Meet friends.

Slave trade seething in urban ruins.

Made new.

Starbucking.

Family.

Happiness.

And unhappiness.

Duty.

Obligation.

Sorrow.

Weighs heavy.

Pushed to Schnabel brink.

Exploding Plastic Inevitable.

Extreme sickness.

Hallucination.

Separated from loved ones by the veil between life and death.

Creaky amusement park.

Rusted rides.

Bad call.

Good call.

Sad to deny love.

Sad to even deny sadness.

Sure, this film is not perfect.

A bit hokey.

Often trite.

But not painfully so.

While it is low on eccentricity and originality, it makes up in sincerity.

Pegg is good.

Rosamund Pike is really stunning.

Both of them excel most at then end…on a phone call separated by an ocean.

Stellan Skarsgård is excellent as the jaded international banker.

Jean Reno is powerful in his small role.

Director Peter Chelsom needs to find his own personal voice a bit more.

This film could have been great.

Instead, it is mediocre-to-good.

This whole affair was a bit too vanilla for me, but I’m glad it exists.

 

-PD

Berlin: Live at St. Ann’s Warehouse [2008)

Ah…to be with all the pretty people.

Julian Schnabel.

I once had someone correct me on the pronunciation of his name.

Just goes to show how wrong you can be.

This was Lou’s moment.

Lou Reed.  Inventor of modern rock and roll.

The granddaddy.  The godfather.

This was Lou in Brooklyn with a crackerjack band.  Strings, horns, woodwinds, a choir…

This was really the way to do it right.

First time I saw this concert film, I didn’t think much of it.

Just goes to show how wrong you can be.

They nailed it.  Lou.  Julian.  Bob Ezrin.

But what really makes this the best concert film I’ve ever seen?

Lola Schnabel.

Lola Montes Schnabel.

Julian’s daughter shot some priceless footage of Emmanuelle Seigner.  Seigner, for her part, is marvelous as Caroline.

To take Lou Reed’s greatest album and give it this treatment is really an honor to Lou (who’s no longer with us).

We hear those Sturm-und-Drang harmonies on the New Year’s Eve piano played by Rupert Christie.  Motherfucker needs a Wikipedia page.  And what exactly is he playing?  The licks of another bloke who needs a Wikipedia page (apparently):  Allan Macmillan.  But you know who needs a page most of all?  The sensuous ear who transcribed Macmillan’s harmonies.  Was it Christie?  I don’t know, but that’s no easy job.

And such is the quality of this representation all throughout.  Like Brian Wilson’s Smile album brought to the stage through the journeyman efforts of Darian Sahanaja.

Yes, we musicians take note.  [buh-doomp, ching!]

So what happens here?

Lou really starts nailing it around “Oh, Jim”…

Only Lou Reed could write that song.  Only Lou Reed could sing that song.

By the time “Caroline Says II” rolls around, we are immersed in this Greek tragedy.

There was a reason Lou never did this album live for 30 years.

This is some heavy shit.  Heavy syrup.  Heavy cream.

And then Steve Hunter launches into that movable D major chord of “The Kids” and we are in the eye of the storm.

Try bringing THAT Bob Ezrin masterpiece to the stage!  And they did!!

Tony “Thunder” Smith needs a Wikipedia page, but his drumming is spot-on throughout this emotional ride.

For much of the night, Smith was faithfully playing the licks of Aynsley Dunbar.

We’re talking about bringing an album (Berlin, 1973) to the stage that featured Jack Bruce on bass.  Cream’s bass player?  Yeah, no big deal.  Piece of cake…  No pressure.

And from the perfectly-directed, Titanic wreck of “The Kids” we go right into “The Bed”…  Bleak, bleak, black songwriting…

And this is where the choir really shines.  This is where Julian shines as a director.  Not only does it work, it’s goddamned genius.

And “The Bed” ends with a watery ghost choir…and maybe someone patched in an Eventide H3000…and maybe Lou called György Ligeti or Giacinto Scelsi or Mauricio Kagel.  This is the kid (Lou) who made that stuff accessible (even more than Kubrick)…from “Sister Ray” to Metal Machine Music and beyond.

If you don’t shed a tear here, you won’t at all.

And then [voila!] the gloom lifts…with the woodwinds of “Sad Song”…

It ain’t over till you hear Antony Hegarty do Doug Yule.  Perfect match of singer and song (says Candy).

-PD