This is the game we all loved. This is what we played in our backyards in the spring. This was our favorite thing for so long. And now, we are losing it. We won't stand up and say, "This is our sport. This is what we grew up with, and we're going to support it through a tough time." Baseball has hurt us, and we sit here like we were never on its side. Even in 1994, we stood up for Baseball and wanted everything to be fair again, when it wasn't. Well this is the same. This is baseball naming names and realizing there were those that made the game unfair. Although, let's be honest, it's not like we saw the blossoming power hitting careers of the likes of Gary Bennett, F.P. Santangelo and Mark Carreon, and Glenallen Hill still struck out more than once every five career at-bats. They were on steroids, and they didn't have the astounding careers that Clemens or Bonds had. It's still talent. Is anyone going to deny that Bonds is more talented than Glenallen Hill?
Regardless of that, it's not right to sit in a bar or your living room and talk about how horrible our friend Baseball is, and then go to the game with your friends or family. Pretend you're not watching. Pretend you're not going to cheer. We both know better. You know that there's a large part of you that would still love to catch a foul ball or get your face on the Jumbotron. You know how it feels to be at a game. Even in the summer, when evening hits, you need the blanket that you almost left in the car. Baseball games are among the only places where it's okay to spend four dollars on a hot dog (a hot dog for cryin' out loud).
You love it still, but you're held by some obligation to the moral high ground that says you have to turn your back. You feel personally betrayed, and we here at Field and Screen understand. We just disagree. So you don't like Roger Clemens or Barry Bonds or Gary Matthews Jr. Fine. Don't like them. Everyone has players that he dislikes. But don't write off the whole sport. There's still a lot of good, there. There are those who say that the last ten years of baseball have been tarnished as a result of the Mitchell Report. The question is, how much more exciting has baseball been since the strike? We've had home run chases, astonishing rookies, great comebacks, the Colorado Rockies in the World Series, Johan Santana.
The problem that many people are missing is that this list is about the past. This list is about what DID happen, not what is GOING to happen. After all these years of being a proud baseball fan, realize the good that was there, instead of treating your favorite sport like you don't even know it exists. Realize that tough punishments are in place (three positive tests results in a lifetime ban. Would you prefer harsher than a lifetime ban? I didn't know the death penalty was on the table for the use of a drug that wasn't even banned until 2002).
This post might not apply to you. You might not be mad at Baseball, but merely the players. That's fine, be mad at the players who are guilty--and are guilty still. Don't slight those who are truly great like you're better than them because you have standards for what sports should be. This is a country that made NASCAR its most popular sport. Our standards can't be too high. If this does apply to you, Baseball is going to move on without you, and you might never be able to catch up to it after spending all that time trying to get down from your high horse.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
No Country for the Coen Brothers (Spoilers)
This past weekend, I went to see No Country for Old Men. I was amazed. It was a truly phenomenal movie, from the performances, to the harrowing mood that the stark, nearly toneless soundtrack that left me clutching the arms of my seat. There were speeches, oh my, there were speeches. The characters were all genuinely troubled, from the human flaws of Llewelyn Moss, to the hubris of Carson Wells, to the sheer inhumanity of Anton Chigurh. Chigurh walks out of Carla Jean's house after killing her and he does something simple, yet immensely disturbing -- he checks the bottoms of his shoes. He has just walked out of a house belonging to an innocent woman in the entire mess of the film. He has just shot her. The thing he thinks to do is check his shoes.
This film is an exemplification of the incredible number of issues we, as a society, face today. The people who succeed are those who are without mercy or moral. Those who oppose Chigurh only leave themselves a matter of time until they meet their end. Moss tries to fight Chigurh, and just doesn't have a real chance. The moment he declares his personal vendetta, the audience gets a slight boost of optimism, only to have their hopes shattered a few short scenes later. When we see that Moss is dead, we are left with the worry that there is nothing left to say. Cormac McCarthy and the Coen brothers disagreed. That could have easily been the end of a lesser film, but not here. We see the old school sheriff, played with unwavering brilliance by Tommy Lee Jones, give up. He retires without searching for Chigurh.
No one wins in this film. By the end of the film, there is no sign of the two million dollars that Moss found, and that Chigurh was trying to get. These men all tried to take the easy way out, except for Chigurh, and he is the most successful. Moss dies trying to keep the two million dollars he found. Tommy Jones takes the easy way and simply retires. Chigurh (the haunting Javier Bardem) is the only one in the film who manages to keep his word to himself.
That's the background. Now, here's my problem.
This is a groundbreaking film. It's visceral, filled with bleak humor, astoundingly shot and perfectly performed. The issue is, when we see Ed Tom Bell (Jones) giving his speech at the end, and Chigurh walking away with a boy's shirt slinging his badly broken arm, we are left with the image of Bell talking about his dreams. This is not an ending for public consumption. And that's what makes me ashamed of my society. There was more meaning in this last scene than there could have been in any other ending. It was beautiful, fierce, touching and horrifying all at once. It was how the movie HAD to end.
And yet, everyone around my friend and myself, sat there for a split second and stood quickly, shooting their mouths off about how stupid the ending was before they could process it for even a moment. Several people behind me started a chorus of "What the hell was that," and "I don't know, that ending was stupid."
No, in fact, it wasn't. It was the polar OPPOSITE of stupid. Life situations don't end in explosions or mad embraces. It's what happens after those extraordinary situations that is truly important. No Country for Old Men is a uniquely human film. And yet, the audience fails to see the intelligence in anything. My first film post in this blog was about the fall of the classic. This is why. This is the reason that people don't understand brilliant films. They are so caught up in the tropes of the action movie, the romantic comedy and rapid consumption society that they can't allow themselves to process ANYTHING intellectually. The Coen Brothers have made intelligent films for over 20 years, and they still have to relegate themselves to the indie-rock, coffeehouse crowd. They made an astonishing film that people aren't even considering for Oscar predictions, despite the outstanding performances, direction, editing, cinematography. Everything. It was wonderful. I'm just happy I understand it. I just don't know which to be more horrified by: the movie itself or the fact that about 2 percent of people who see it are going to get it. You tell me.
This film is an exemplification of the incredible number of issues we, as a society, face today. The people who succeed are those who are without mercy or moral. Those who oppose Chigurh only leave themselves a matter of time until they meet their end. Moss tries to fight Chigurh, and just doesn't have a real chance. The moment he declares his personal vendetta, the audience gets a slight boost of optimism, only to have their hopes shattered a few short scenes later. When we see that Moss is dead, we are left with the worry that there is nothing left to say. Cormac McCarthy and the Coen brothers disagreed. That could have easily been the end of a lesser film, but not here. We see the old school sheriff, played with unwavering brilliance by Tommy Lee Jones, give up. He retires without searching for Chigurh.
No one wins in this film. By the end of the film, there is no sign of the two million dollars that Moss found, and that Chigurh was trying to get. These men all tried to take the easy way out, except for Chigurh, and he is the most successful. Moss dies trying to keep the two million dollars he found. Tommy Jones takes the easy way and simply retires. Chigurh (the haunting Javier Bardem) is the only one in the film who manages to keep his word to himself.
That's the background. Now, here's my problem.
This is a groundbreaking film. It's visceral, filled with bleak humor, astoundingly shot and perfectly performed. The issue is, when we see Ed Tom Bell (Jones) giving his speech at the end, and Chigurh walking away with a boy's shirt slinging his badly broken arm, we are left with the image of Bell talking about his dreams. This is not an ending for public consumption. And that's what makes me ashamed of my society. There was more meaning in this last scene than there could have been in any other ending. It was beautiful, fierce, touching and horrifying all at once. It was how the movie HAD to end.
And yet, everyone around my friend and myself, sat there for a split second and stood quickly, shooting their mouths off about how stupid the ending was before they could process it for even a moment. Several people behind me started a chorus of "What the hell was that," and "I don't know, that ending was stupid."
No, in fact, it wasn't. It was the polar OPPOSITE of stupid. Life situations don't end in explosions or mad embraces. It's what happens after those extraordinary situations that is truly important. No Country for Old Men is a uniquely human film. And yet, the audience fails to see the intelligence in anything. My first film post in this blog was about the fall of the classic. This is why. This is the reason that people don't understand brilliant films. They are so caught up in the tropes of the action movie, the romantic comedy and rapid consumption society that they can't allow themselves to process ANYTHING intellectually. The Coen Brothers have made intelligent films for over 20 years, and they still have to relegate themselves to the indie-rock, coffeehouse crowd. They made an astonishing film that people aren't even considering for Oscar predictions, despite the outstanding performances, direction, editing, cinematography. Everything. It was wonderful. I'm just happy I understand it. I just don't know which to be more horrified by: the movie itself or the fact that about 2 percent of people who see it are going to get it. You tell me.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Moose and Squirrel
Leigh Steinberg is amazing. He talks with his clients -- gets them to work within their community, to give back to the cities that give his clients their jobs. All the while, he gets them the deals they deserve. He negotiates hard, and he represents his clients very well. I mean, there are some who say he was the inspiration for Jerry Maguire. For crying out loud, he was even named Man of the Year by the Los Angeles Boy Scouts. Let's make this paragraph shorter: Leigh Steinberg is not a bad guy.
Scott Boras is. His draft clients are viewed as poisonous. His other clients are seen as immovable, almost unsignable. You know you're in trouble when the richest franchise in all of sports, the New York Yankees, says they don't want to deal with you, and indicates to YOUR client that it would be much easier if you were not involved with the negotiations. He's become a pariah, fallen victim to the ostracon. He is joining the leper colony. I'll stop with all that now.
His problem? He's not really looking out for anyone. He's looking out for his own bottom line. Not only that, but he's doing it while giving the impression that he's looking out for his clients. Sure, he's getting them more money, but at what cost? Boras is the reason that smaller market teams are fading. Because of him, his clients keep upping the market value of marquee free agents, making it harder for small teams to sign star players, making them fill their rosters with the cream of either yesterday's crop or today's trash heap. Even then, teams like the Royals end up paying 55 million dollars over five years for an injury prone pitcher with a career 4.65 ERA (Gil Meche). Sure, it worked out okay, but how many more years like that can Meche put up? How the hell, please tell me, did Boras get JD Drew (JD DREW!) a 70 million dollar contract for five years? He had one stellar season (2004 Atlanta) and two decent seasons (2001 and 2006) -- only played two full seasons in his entire career and was already 31 years old. Why not just pay 2 million more a year and nab Carlos Lee (thanks again Scott)? Three more for Alfonso Soriano?
I'm sorry for the rant, but I find it difficult to live in a world where JD Drew, who doesn't play if he has a hangnail, is making 14 million dollars a year. That's 200K less than Albert Pujols. That's 27 year old Albert Pujols. Albert Pujols who has missed 44 games in his 7 year career. That's just over 6 games a year. 30+ home runs, over 100 RBI all seven times. Career .332 hitter. Someone tell me THAT'S fair. Anyone? Yeah -- that's what I figured.
As is often the case, baseball could learn a thing or two from the Yankees. While other teams skipped over Scott Boras client Rick Porcello in the draft in order to avoid dealing with Boras (Porcello ended up with the Tigers), the Yankees spoke to their superstar and said "Yeah, we want you back, A-Rod. We really do. It's just that guy you keep bringing with you. He's kind of a dick." Yeah. Scott Boras, you are the guy at the party who keeps hanging around well after he's worn out his welcome. You're the one who tries to play Pictionary at a rave and do shrooms at afternoon tea. Nobody wants you around anymore, Scott. You have your money. Find some new friends.
Scott Boras is. His draft clients are viewed as poisonous. His other clients are seen as immovable, almost unsignable. You know you're in trouble when the richest franchise in all of sports, the New York Yankees, says they don't want to deal with you, and indicates to YOUR client that it would be much easier if you were not involved with the negotiations. He's become a pariah, fallen victim to the ostracon. He is joining the leper colony. I'll stop with all that now.
His problem? He's not really looking out for anyone. He's looking out for his own bottom line. Not only that, but he's doing it while giving the impression that he's looking out for his clients. Sure, he's getting them more money, but at what cost? Boras is the reason that smaller market teams are fading. Because of him, his clients keep upping the market value of marquee free agents, making it harder for small teams to sign star players, making them fill their rosters with the cream of either yesterday's crop or today's trash heap. Even then, teams like the Royals end up paying 55 million dollars over five years for an injury prone pitcher with a career 4.65 ERA (Gil Meche). Sure, it worked out okay, but how many more years like that can Meche put up? How the hell, please tell me, did Boras get JD Drew (JD DREW!) a 70 million dollar contract for five years? He had one stellar season (2004 Atlanta) and two decent seasons (2001 and 2006) -- only played two full seasons in his entire career and was already 31 years old. Why not just pay 2 million more a year and nab Carlos Lee (thanks again Scott)? Three more for Alfonso Soriano?
I'm sorry for the rant, but I find it difficult to live in a world where JD Drew, who doesn't play if he has a hangnail, is making 14 million dollars a year. That's 200K less than Albert Pujols. That's 27 year old Albert Pujols. Albert Pujols who has missed 44 games in his 7 year career. That's just over 6 games a year. 30+ home runs, over 100 RBI all seven times. Career .332 hitter. Someone tell me THAT'S fair. Anyone? Yeah -- that's what I figured.
As is often the case, baseball could learn a thing or two from the Yankees. While other teams skipped over Scott Boras client Rick Porcello in the draft in order to avoid dealing with Boras (Porcello ended up with the Tigers), the Yankees spoke to their superstar and said "Yeah, we want you back, A-Rod. We really do. It's just that guy you keep bringing with you. He's kind of a dick." Yeah. Scott Boras, you are the guy at the party who keeps hanging around well after he's worn out his welcome. You're the one who tries to play Pictionary at a rave and do shrooms at afternoon tea. Nobody wants you around anymore, Scott. You have your money. Find some new friends.
Monday, November 19, 2007
The War
Many of us have seen The Graduate. We remember the soldier in the beginning in the fish tank, weapon pointed directly at Benjamin's head. We remember the parallel later when his parents give him the diving gear and he's in the pool. There's the staunch black background when he's around the authority figures (the landlord, Mrs. Robinson). There's the white contrasts when he's in the Robinsons' house, when he's with Elaine. It's all there -- the hidden discussions of the Vietnam War -- thinly veiled underneath the landlord making sure that Benjamin isn't "one of those agitators."
The War in and of itself isn't specifically mentioned. Mr. McGuire mentions his one word: "plastics" to Benjamin. That is a very important line for a number of reasons. The one I'll emphasize here is this: a lot of plastics manufacturers were contractors for the United States, making napalm, other plastic explosives for the war effort. If Benjamin got into plastics, he's technically a defense contractor and therefore wouldn't be able to go to war.
It's really all over The Graduate. Plastered onto the walls, encrypted in the sentences that the characters speak. Does Benjamin drift? Does he get into the life with Elaine? Does he follow the "orders" of Mrs. Robinson? The choices are there, and the foundation is laid. The rest is left to the viewers to figure it out.
Slightly less subtle, however, is I Heart Huckabee's. Vivian Jaffe mentions "the big September thing" like it's nothing. Tommy (Mark Wahlburg) is very adamant about the use of petroleum and the problems that it causes. He's obviously dealing with a lot of the aftermath of 9-11, and the idea is that these people, these wallowing souls can't seem to find the information they want out of life. "Why do people only ask themselves deep questions when something really bad happens?" That's exactly what he's doing. These are people who are searching for easy answers. These are people who are doing exactly what they look down upon. They are hypocrites. And they can't help it.
Watch Huckabee's more closely. There is the unified infinity of everything. How are the terrorists connected to us? How are we the destroyers as well as they are? What is this movie trying to say? There are so many layers to what they are saying. There are no easy answers, but here are some of them spoonfed to you. What do you believe?
The point of this post, however, is not solely to analyze film. It is to discuss the layers of each situation that we seem to forget about, that seem to go untouched upon. These films -- the ones that deal with aftermath and reaction rather than specific events (see: United 93, World Trade Center, Platoon) are the ones that actually provoke our analysis of the situation. What are the levels of this that we're missing? What parts of the Vietnam War didn't we see as it was happening? What factors that contributed to 9-11 could have been helped, avoided, worked through. There is no inevitability -- nothing HAS to happen. There are ways that would make things work out better, and things that would make matters worse. Film is a reflection, often, of the steps that are taken to make matters worse through the simple use of "the good guys." The problem is, when you hate everyone in a film, you don't know who to believe -- and that's just as useful a tool for filmmakers.
Determine where your allegiances lie when you watch a movie. Figure out what your ideas are while you see it for the first time. Then, when it's over, think about how it meshed or clashed with your ideas, and why. Then, before too much time has passed, watch the movie again. See where it takes you this time, with your notions firmly in place. I guarantee, whether you agree with it or not, you'll notice something new.
The War in and of itself isn't specifically mentioned. Mr. McGuire mentions his one word: "plastics" to Benjamin. That is a very important line for a number of reasons. The one I'll emphasize here is this: a lot of plastics manufacturers were contractors for the United States, making napalm, other plastic explosives for the war effort. If Benjamin got into plastics, he's technically a defense contractor and therefore wouldn't be able to go to war.
It's really all over The Graduate. Plastered onto the walls, encrypted in the sentences that the characters speak. Does Benjamin drift? Does he get into the life with Elaine? Does he follow the "orders" of Mrs. Robinson? The choices are there, and the foundation is laid. The rest is left to the viewers to figure it out.
Slightly less subtle, however, is I Heart Huckabee's. Vivian Jaffe mentions "the big September thing" like it's nothing. Tommy (Mark Wahlburg) is very adamant about the use of petroleum and the problems that it causes. He's obviously dealing with a lot of the aftermath of 9-11, and the idea is that these people, these wallowing souls can't seem to find the information they want out of life. "Why do people only ask themselves deep questions when something really bad happens?" That's exactly what he's doing. These are people who are searching for easy answers. These are people who are doing exactly what they look down upon. They are hypocrites. And they can't help it.
Watch Huckabee's more closely. There is the unified infinity of everything. How are the terrorists connected to us? How are we the destroyers as well as they are? What is this movie trying to say? There are so many layers to what they are saying. There are no easy answers, but here are some of them spoonfed to you. What do you believe?
The point of this post, however, is not solely to analyze film. It is to discuss the layers of each situation that we seem to forget about, that seem to go untouched upon. These films -- the ones that deal with aftermath and reaction rather than specific events (see: United 93, World Trade Center, Platoon) are the ones that actually provoke our analysis of the situation. What are the levels of this that we're missing? What parts of the Vietnam War didn't we see as it was happening? What factors that contributed to 9-11 could have been helped, avoided, worked through. There is no inevitability -- nothing HAS to happen. There are ways that would make things work out better, and things that would make matters worse. Film is a reflection, often, of the steps that are taken to make matters worse through the simple use of "the good guys." The problem is, when you hate everyone in a film, you don't know who to believe -- and that's just as useful a tool for filmmakers.
Determine where your allegiances lie when you watch a movie. Figure out what your ideas are while you see it for the first time. Then, when it's over, think about how it meshed or clashed with your ideas, and why. Then, before too much time has passed, watch the movie again. See where it takes you this time, with your notions firmly in place. I guarantee, whether you agree with it or not, you'll notice something new.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
The Boys of Summer
Back when I collected baseball (and football) cards, there was an insert card in a set of Score baseball called "Boys of Summer." Pinnacle football also released a card set called "Men of Autumn." Back then, at the tender age of 10, I actually asked myself why they made the distinction, because there was an entire month and a half period that the seasons overlapped -- the beginnings of the NFL and the MLB playoffs. Sure, the majority of baseball's season is over spring and summer, but when do the boys of baseball really prove themselves?
This burning question has come back up recently because of Dane Cook's commercials ("There's only one October"). If you haven't seen these commercials (read: if you have been living under a rock for the past three weeks), basically what happens is Dane Cook gives a spiel about players who prove themselves in the playoffs, or young stars who will step up and make a difference this October. As hokey as this whole thing is, it's not nearly as bad as the "Mookie Wilson, Andre Dawson, Cecil Fielder - Simply Awesome" days of baseball's Catch the Fever campaign, and it actually got me to thinking: are the Boys of Summer and the Men of Autumn playing the same sport? The answer I've come up with is a resounding Yes.
There are proven, outstanding players who have never won a championship in all sports. These are the Boys of Summer -- the players like Barry Bonds, Ted Williams, Ernie Banks, Ty Cobb, Nolan Ryan and Tony Gwynn. They had chances, although not too many, to win their championships, to become the Men of Autumn, the men who turned in clutch performances and led their team to a ring. In short -- they're the guys who got outdone. As great as they truly were, either they didn't come through or they didn't have the team around them to win it all, despite their best efforts.
And that's a shame, because these great players really should be thought of as true heroes of baseball. However, there are those who overtook them by becoming those Men of Autumn -- players like Billy Hatcher, Scott Brosius, Don Larsen, Joe Carter, Jack Morris, Derek Jeter, Enos Slaughter, Al Kaline, Reggie Jackson-- the ones who came through, whether it was a timely home run, a game-saving defensive play, a perfect game, or simple, consistent hitting throughout. These are the true heroes -- not the ones who put up stat after stat after stat -- winning countless batting titles, hitting .406, setting a stolen base record, striking out 5,000 batters. Ask any player if they'd rather have the records they've achieved -- or whether they'd rather have a championship. I don't think you'll find anyone who doesn't pick the championship.
You can pile up stats until the Expos come back to Montreal, and it won't matter. 760? 800 home runs, Mr. Bonds? Where's your ring? Ask Rickey Henderson how it felt going 9 for 19 (with three stolen bases) in the '89 series against the Giants? Ask how he felt with his teammates when they won the Series. Sure, he is the leadoff home run and stolen base king. But that's what happened in the summer. Autumn is a different time of year, built for different records, different personas and brand new heroes. Each year, they come out -- someone comes through, and someone has that postseason that makes everyone take notice. He may not even win the World Series MVP, and he may not get that personal recognition of hitting number 756, or stealing number 939, but he will get his ring, and his team will go down in history as champions.
This burning question has come back up recently because of Dane Cook's commercials ("There's only one October"). If you haven't seen these commercials (read: if you have been living under a rock for the past three weeks), basically what happens is Dane Cook gives a spiel about players who prove themselves in the playoffs, or young stars who will step up and make a difference this October. As hokey as this whole thing is, it's not nearly as bad as the "Mookie Wilson, Andre Dawson, Cecil Fielder - Simply Awesome" days of baseball's Catch the Fever campaign, and it actually got me to thinking: are the Boys of Summer and the Men of Autumn playing the same sport? The answer I've come up with is a resounding Yes.
There are proven, outstanding players who have never won a championship in all sports. These are the Boys of Summer -- the players like Barry Bonds, Ted Williams, Ernie Banks, Ty Cobb, Nolan Ryan and Tony Gwynn. They had chances, although not too many, to win their championships, to become the Men of Autumn, the men who turned in clutch performances and led their team to a ring. In short -- they're the guys who got outdone. As great as they truly were, either they didn't come through or they didn't have the team around them to win it all, despite their best efforts.
And that's a shame, because these great players really should be thought of as true heroes of baseball. However, there are those who overtook them by becoming those Men of Autumn -- players like Billy Hatcher, Scott Brosius, Don Larsen, Joe Carter, Jack Morris, Derek Jeter, Enos Slaughter, Al Kaline, Reggie Jackson-- the ones who came through, whether it was a timely home run, a game-saving defensive play, a perfect game, or simple, consistent hitting throughout. These are the true heroes -- not the ones who put up stat after stat after stat -- winning countless batting titles, hitting .406, setting a stolen base record, striking out 5,000 batters. Ask any player if they'd rather have the records they've achieved -- or whether they'd rather have a championship. I don't think you'll find anyone who doesn't pick the championship.
You can pile up stats until the Expos come back to Montreal, and it won't matter. 760? 800 home runs, Mr. Bonds? Where's your ring? Ask Rickey Henderson how it felt going 9 for 19 (with three stolen bases) in the '89 series against the Giants? Ask how he felt with his teammates when they won the Series. Sure, he is the leadoff home run and stolen base king. But that's what happened in the summer. Autumn is a different time of year, built for different records, different personas and brand new heroes. Each year, they come out -- someone comes through, and someone has that postseason that makes everyone take notice. He may not even win the World Series MVP, and he may not get that personal recognition of hitting number 756, or stealing number 939, but he will get his ring, and his team will go down in history as champions.
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Fall of the Classic
Where have all the classic films gone?
Are we even in an era that is capable of making classic films, or is society too fragmented to allow for a single film that will appeal to everyone? Social commentary fades away more with each breath. The fact of the matter is, the best film of 2004 (Crash) was a torpid attempt at best. It was Hollywood trying to say, "See, everyone? We can still make movies about society. We can still talk about racism and corrupt police, and -- no, seriously. We're a lot better than you thought. Please don't stop going to the movies."
It spelled everything out. It didn't create characters the viewers actually cared about. There are no Charles Foster Kanes anymore, no Terry Malloys, and certainly no Annie Halls. The closest thing to a solid social commentary within recent memory was Brokeback Mountain, and it was so divisive that half the people it could have had an effect on boycotted it because it was about gay men. "But CWSA," I hear you say. "Isn't that what a truly classic film does? Doesn't it create differing viewpoints and spur discussion, and open up controversy?" And I am here to tell you, Yes. That is exactly what a classic film does. However, there is no educated discussion here. There is no actual controversy. There is a large portion of the populace covering their ears and humming while the world goes by. Movies like Brokeback Mountain are supposed to open people's eyes, add a new perspective to the argument. Problem is, people don't want to know this new perspective. They have their opinions, and nothing is going to change that. They want to remain ignorant, thinking they already know what it's about and they already disagree with it. Somehow, Citizen Kane, through a knock-down-drag-out fight with the production company, managed to get released, managed to give its opinion in a subtle, brilliantly crafted way, and changed people's minds. That can't happen now.
Today, Brokeback Mountain just gets tossed off as "That Gay Cowboy Movie." It's so much more than that. It's the discussion of the belief that homosexuality is not a choice. Mostly, though, it's a discussion about the nature of love. The complications, the questions it raises, the societal conflicts -- it's all about love, but because the lovers in this film happened to be two men, it became a movie about gayness to the public. In a partisan society, with an issue that divisive, it made the true point of the film moot.
So what's to say that there can be a movie that can make a difference right now? People seem to miss the point of the truly brilliant. They say it's too weird, or it doesn't make sense, or who cares? It doesn't have a happy ending. It's not romantic or sweet. It doesn't scare you on a direct level. Movies are losing their effect. The reason for that is the decline of the importance placed on subtlety. Standards are lowering. Minds are going to waste. The movies that are getting made have explosions or gunfights (even some of the good ones -- to try to attract more people), raunchy sex scenes, or dick and fart jokes. (BRING IT BABY! YEAH!)
Now, I love explosions, car chases, gun fights, dick and fart jokes, and raunchy sex scenes as much as the next guy. They definitely have their place, and I'm not saying that all movies these days are worthless. There is definitely value in entertainment, in engrossing storytelling, in cheering people up. Here's the thing -- a couple years ago, there was a truly outstanding film that had: raunchy sex, gore, fistfights, gunfights, more raunchy sex, mobsters, the works. This film is "A History of Violence." This movie was remarkable. Every single element had its place -- from one sex scene, a truly loving, tender (but still sexy as hell) relationship between spouses, to the later sex scene, a raw, conflicted, violent, dirty fucking on a staircase. The difference between this film and the other recent movies of its ilk is the establishment of character, the importance of each element of plot. This film changed the idea of what a sex scene should be. While most stories use the sex scene as a culmination of previous events, "A History of Violence" uses the two sex scenes to indicate a change in the main character. Character in and of itself seems like a lost art in cinema.
Another movie that uses character exceptionally well is American Beauty. This is as close to a contemporary classic as I have seen -- at least in terms of the public. There have been other films that many people have respected, enjoyed, or hailed as brilliant -- but there has not been as open a discussion as there was for this film. The beautiful thing about this movie is that it appealed most to those that it criticized -- suburbanites. It was marketed in a way that suggested a sexy comedy (most notably the "you want to have ten thousand of his babies" scene as it appears in the trailer). Tons of people saw this movie, and many came out of the theater not having seen what they expected to see. What they DID see was an intense, complicated emotional film that showcased the vain, horrible life of suburbanites, brought to life by Chris Cooper, Annette Bening, Kevin Spacey and Thora Birch (wonderful performances, all). It openly tore at the fabric that the middle class had worked together to weave over the last century -- and for that, it was hailed as revolutionary. Those who didn't like it still respected it.
The only issue is that THAT was 1999. It's been 8 years. Politics have changed. Our government has changed. Our country has been attacked. As a result, we guard our opinions far more closely. We don't let people we don't know tell us what to think, or even suggest it. Is there room in the minds of Americans for an opinion they don't already have? Maybe someone can break this. Maybe someone can reach the minds of the mass-consumer. I don't know how they'll do it, but hopefully, someone will figure it out.
Are we even in an era that is capable of making classic films, or is society too fragmented to allow for a single film that will appeal to everyone? Social commentary fades away more with each breath. The fact of the matter is, the best film of 2004 (Crash) was a torpid attempt at best. It was Hollywood trying to say, "See, everyone? We can still make movies about society. We can still talk about racism and corrupt police, and -- no, seriously. We're a lot better than you thought. Please don't stop going to the movies."
It spelled everything out. It didn't create characters the viewers actually cared about. There are no Charles Foster Kanes anymore, no Terry Malloys, and certainly no Annie Halls. The closest thing to a solid social commentary within recent memory was Brokeback Mountain, and it was so divisive that half the people it could have had an effect on boycotted it because it was about gay men. "But CWSA," I hear you say. "Isn't that what a truly classic film does? Doesn't it create differing viewpoints and spur discussion, and open up controversy?" And I am here to tell you, Yes. That is exactly what a classic film does. However, there is no educated discussion here. There is no actual controversy. There is a large portion of the populace covering their ears and humming while the world goes by. Movies like Brokeback Mountain are supposed to open people's eyes, add a new perspective to the argument. Problem is, people don't want to know this new perspective. They have their opinions, and nothing is going to change that. They want to remain ignorant, thinking they already know what it's about and they already disagree with it. Somehow, Citizen Kane, through a knock-down-drag-out fight with the production company, managed to get released, managed to give its opinion in a subtle, brilliantly crafted way, and changed people's minds. That can't happen now.
Today, Brokeback Mountain just gets tossed off as "That Gay Cowboy Movie." It's so much more than that. It's the discussion of the belief that homosexuality is not a choice. Mostly, though, it's a discussion about the nature of love. The complications, the questions it raises, the societal conflicts -- it's all about love, but because the lovers in this film happened to be two men, it became a movie about gayness to the public. In a partisan society, with an issue that divisive, it made the true point of the film moot.
So what's to say that there can be a movie that can make a difference right now? People seem to miss the point of the truly brilliant. They say it's too weird, or it doesn't make sense, or who cares? It doesn't have a happy ending. It's not romantic or sweet. It doesn't scare you on a direct level. Movies are losing their effect. The reason for that is the decline of the importance placed on subtlety. Standards are lowering. Minds are going to waste. The movies that are getting made have explosions or gunfights (even some of the good ones -- to try to attract more people), raunchy sex scenes, or dick and fart jokes. (BRING IT BABY! YEAH!)
Now, I love explosions, car chases, gun fights, dick and fart jokes, and raunchy sex scenes as much as the next guy. They definitely have their place, and I'm not saying that all movies these days are worthless. There is definitely value in entertainment, in engrossing storytelling, in cheering people up. Here's the thing -- a couple years ago, there was a truly outstanding film that had: raunchy sex, gore, fistfights, gunfights, more raunchy sex, mobsters, the works. This film is "A History of Violence." This movie was remarkable. Every single element had its place -- from one sex scene, a truly loving, tender (but still sexy as hell) relationship between spouses, to the later sex scene, a raw, conflicted, violent, dirty fucking on a staircase. The difference between this film and the other recent movies of its ilk is the establishment of character, the importance of each element of plot. This film changed the idea of what a sex scene should be. While most stories use the sex scene as a culmination of previous events, "A History of Violence" uses the two sex scenes to indicate a change in the main character. Character in and of itself seems like a lost art in cinema.
Another movie that uses character exceptionally well is American Beauty. This is as close to a contemporary classic as I have seen -- at least in terms of the public. There have been other films that many people have respected, enjoyed, or hailed as brilliant -- but there has not been as open a discussion as there was for this film. The beautiful thing about this movie is that it appealed most to those that it criticized -- suburbanites. It was marketed in a way that suggested a sexy comedy (most notably the "you want to have ten thousand of his babies" scene as it appears in the trailer). Tons of people saw this movie, and many came out of the theater not having seen what they expected to see. What they DID see was an intense, complicated emotional film that showcased the vain, horrible life of suburbanites, brought to life by Chris Cooper, Annette Bening, Kevin Spacey and Thora Birch (wonderful performances, all). It openly tore at the fabric that the middle class had worked together to weave over the last century -- and for that, it was hailed as revolutionary. Those who didn't like it still respected it.
The only issue is that THAT was 1999. It's been 8 years. Politics have changed. Our government has changed. Our country has been attacked. As a result, we guard our opinions far more closely. We don't let people we don't know tell us what to think, or even suggest it. Is there room in the minds of Americans for an opinion they don't already have? Maybe someone can break this. Maybe someone can reach the minds of the mass-consumer. I don't know how they'll do it, but hopefully, someone will figure it out.
Summer
It is August 13 in the early morning. Baseball is done for the night. The Yankees have a share of the lead for the AL Wild Card, and have gotten within 4 games of the Boston Red Sox for the AL East lead. It reminds me of players when I was in high school. Jim Leyritz seemed like he struck out or hit into a double play every time he was up, until the Yankees were down a run and there was a runner or two on base. Mariano Rivera wasn't letting anyone do anything. Bernie Williams was quietly producing in every situation, and Scott Brosius was hitting crucial home runs.
In 1996, and from 1998-2000, the New York Yankees were a real life baseball movie. The difference: they were never the underdogs. They weren't the Chicago Cubs in the ridiculous "Rookie of the Year" or the Indians of "Major League." They weren't the lovable pack of scamps and screwups that made good against all odds. They were consummate professionals. They didn't need a miracle. They didn't need a trick play. The only thing the New York Yankees needed was the chance to come through. And then they did. Yankee fans rejoiced, and Red Sox fans tried to keep from crying.
Now it's 2007, and the Yankees haven't won a championship since 2000. They've been thwarted by bloop singles, dominant pitching performances by rookies, last year's upstart Tigers, and one bloody (?) sock. There has been one question that Yankee fans have asked themselves and each other for the last seven years: what happened?
Now, the Yankees are the team that started miserably. They were counted out, cast aside, written off (whatever you want to say). They have become the movie team, the group of young bucks and grisled veterans, and a couple of flashy superstars who didn't seem to live up to their expectations. Everyone had seemingly given up on the Yankees, or expected them to make some sort of blockbuster trade that mortgages their future in the vain hope that the new players would propel them to the playoffs. Instead, it was an all-too-familiar face combined with a couple of fresh ones that bring this rag-tag group of disgruntled superstars back into contention, leaving fans to wonder if this is going to be a fairy tale ending, or if it's "wait until next year" for the seventh straight time.
Roger Clemens hit Alexis Rios with a pitch earlier in the week. He got tossed, and so did Torre, but watching the intensity that Clemens brings to the game, it becomes impossible to deny the effect that he has had on the Yankees. Right now, Clemens is 4-5 with a 4.00 ERA in 72 IP since his first start on June 9, when the Yankee's record was 28-31. Since then, The Bombers are 38-20. Rocket's return turned the Yankees into a .500 ballclub at the All-Star Break at 43-43.
So what happened? How have the Yankees regained their form? There isn't any danger of the franchise being moved, or any of the players being cut. There isn't some disadvantaged child who prays for angels to help the team (like "Angels in the Outfield"). There isn't an owner who wants to get rid of them in order to save money. So, how did this team get to be 23-8 since the midsummer siesta?
The answer is Youth, but it's a different kind of youth than the budding superstardom of Alfonso Soriano, or the high upside of Juan Rivera. This isn't the inconsistency of Ted Lilly, Jeff Weaver, or Andy Phillips. This is Robinson Cano, Melky Cabrera, Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. Now, Cano and Cabrera have been here before. They have been there for the heartbreak of seeing their season end too early. Now, they're determined. They know that they are as big a part of the success of the team as Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter. Hughes and Chamberlain, the prizes of an excellent Yankee minor league pitching staff, have come up in lieu of that blockbuster trade. They realize the responsibilities they've been given at their young ages, and their stuff is up to the challenge. All these guys are getting healthy and hot at the same time, along with Matsui, Jeter, and the rest of the Yankees. That's why they're 23-8 since the break.
Now the thing is, that's not what has brought the magic back. After watching footage from inside the Yankee dugout, there is something there that I haven't seen since the wonderful run of 98-00. There is genuine, heartfelt enthusiasm. There is fun. There is this exuberance that these youngsters have brought to the team -- this added flair. The superstar version of Alfonso Soriano never really felt like a teammate. He always felt like trade fodder. And of course, away he went to make way for A-Rod on the roster. The thing is -- by keeping from making these deadline deals, bringing in a ringer to propel this team to glory, Brian Cashman chose to do something he hadn't tried in a few years: trust his players. Now, the Yankees have a real team to work with -- a group that isn't going to have to worry about former rivals snaking their way into a clubhouse. Instead, Cashman went out and got a roleplayer (Wilson Betemit), and got rid of a guy with a bit too much of a mouth on him (Scott Proctor).
This season, we are watching more of a Yankees team than we have seen in quite a long time. We are seeing the players come together and stick together, as evidenced by Roger Clemens. We are seeing the game played with a sense of both urgency and fun, best exemplified by Melky Cabrera and Robinson Cano. And we get to see the emergence of the future of the Yankees in the devastating stuff of Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. For the first time since 2000, we get to see a team of Yankees, not a group of guys in pinstripes.
In 1996, and from 1998-2000, the New York Yankees were a real life baseball movie. The difference: they were never the underdogs. They weren't the Chicago Cubs in the ridiculous "Rookie of the Year" or the Indians of "Major League." They weren't the lovable pack of scamps and screwups that made good against all odds. They were consummate professionals. They didn't need a miracle. They didn't need a trick play. The only thing the New York Yankees needed was the chance to come through. And then they did. Yankee fans rejoiced, and Red Sox fans tried to keep from crying.
Now it's 2007, and the Yankees haven't won a championship since 2000. They've been thwarted by bloop singles, dominant pitching performances by rookies, last year's upstart Tigers, and one bloody (?) sock. There has been one question that Yankee fans have asked themselves and each other for the last seven years: what happened?
Now, the Yankees are the team that started miserably. They were counted out, cast aside, written off (whatever you want to say). They have become the movie team, the group of young bucks and grisled veterans, and a couple of flashy superstars who didn't seem to live up to their expectations. Everyone had seemingly given up on the Yankees, or expected them to make some sort of blockbuster trade that mortgages their future in the vain hope that the new players would propel them to the playoffs. Instead, it was an all-too-familiar face combined with a couple of fresh ones that bring this rag-tag group of disgruntled superstars back into contention, leaving fans to wonder if this is going to be a fairy tale ending, or if it's "wait until next year" for the seventh straight time.
Roger Clemens hit Alexis Rios with a pitch earlier in the week. He got tossed, and so did Torre, but watching the intensity that Clemens brings to the game, it becomes impossible to deny the effect that he has had on the Yankees. Right now, Clemens is 4-5 with a 4.00 ERA in 72 IP since his first start on June 9, when the Yankee's record was 28-31. Since then, The Bombers are 38-20. Rocket's return turned the Yankees into a .500 ballclub at the All-Star Break at 43-43.
So what happened? How have the Yankees regained their form? There isn't any danger of the franchise being moved, or any of the players being cut. There isn't some disadvantaged child who prays for angels to help the team (like "Angels in the Outfield"). There isn't an owner who wants to get rid of them in order to save money. So, how did this team get to be 23-8 since the midsummer siesta?
The answer is Youth, but it's a different kind of youth than the budding superstardom of Alfonso Soriano, or the high upside of Juan Rivera. This isn't the inconsistency of Ted Lilly, Jeff Weaver, or Andy Phillips. This is Robinson Cano, Melky Cabrera, Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. Now, Cano and Cabrera have been here before. They have been there for the heartbreak of seeing their season end too early. Now, they're determined. They know that they are as big a part of the success of the team as Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter. Hughes and Chamberlain, the prizes of an excellent Yankee minor league pitching staff, have come up in lieu of that blockbuster trade. They realize the responsibilities they've been given at their young ages, and their stuff is up to the challenge. All these guys are getting healthy and hot at the same time, along with Matsui, Jeter, and the rest of the Yankees. That's why they're 23-8 since the break.
Now the thing is, that's not what has brought the magic back. After watching footage from inside the Yankee dugout, there is something there that I haven't seen since the wonderful run of 98-00. There is genuine, heartfelt enthusiasm. There is fun. There is this exuberance that these youngsters have brought to the team -- this added flair. The superstar version of Alfonso Soriano never really felt like a teammate. He always felt like trade fodder. And of course, away he went to make way for A-Rod on the roster. The thing is -- by keeping from making these deadline deals, bringing in a ringer to propel this team to glory, Brian Cashman chose to do something he hadn't tried in a few years: trust his players. Now, the Yankees have a real team to work with -- a group that isn't going to have to worry about former rivals snaking their way into a clubhouse. Instead, Cashman went out and got a roleplayer (Wilson Betemit), and got rid of a guy with a bit too much of a mouth on him (Scott Proctor).
This season, we are watching more of a Yankees team than we have seen in quite a long time. We are seeing the players come together and stick together, as evidenced by Roger Clemens. We are seeing the game played with a sense of both urgency and fun, best exemplified by Melky Cabrera and Robinson Cano. And we get to see the emergence of the future of the Yankees in the devastating stuff of Phil Hughes and Joba Chamberlain. For the first time since 2000, we get to see a team of Yankees, not a group of guys in pinstripes.
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