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Michael Parker's Journal
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Sunday, July 31, 2005 |
My wife J, kids, and I just returned from a family get together at Telluride, Colorado over the weekend. (Yes, that is why I have been absent from the blog.) What a magnificent vacation that was! What a magnificent resort town! More to come on this subject.
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Tuesday, July 26, 2005 |
Over the past few days, I added the link to Lee Herrick’s website, Asian Pacific American Poetry and Activism. I drilled down deeper into his website this evening and discovered two exceptional poems–"Ars Poetica" and "Adoption Music"-- from his forthcoming book of poetry This Many Miles from Desire. Both poems have been published, the former at The Peralta Press and the latter at The Willow Review.
I can’t tell you whether or not poetry is good because of its meter, though I have a sense for it. I’m more of an emotional reader. If the images paint a vivid picture, if they are cleverly intertwined with proceeding and forthcoming images (they each make sense in conjunction with the theme), if there are unique transitions, and if the phrases inspire me, then I will like the poem.
Lee’s two poems affected me in two ways: 1) Lee’s amiable writing voice is alive with a spirit, inviting and intriguing. He’s like a mentor who takes you by the hand and walks you through the imagery that is at once new and refreshing. And, 2) Reading these poems sparked a katharsis–I felt a new man for reading them.
I highly recommend you visit Lee and experience his poetry for yourself.
10:31:00 PM | |
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Monday, July 25, 2005 |
Runners persevere,
winged dreams fueling flying hope.
Breath a wild flutter.
Note: This photo, not taken by me, shows runners at mile 14 as they descend into the red and white rock cliffs of Snow Canyon on the St. George Marathon course. I have run this marathon seven times and hope to make this year my eighth.
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Sunday, July 24, 2005 |
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Thursday, July 21, 2005 |
I've stopped smiling and laughing hysterically (those who know me well know how much I don't like my picture taken), and have gotten more serious. The fitness ball has come out of the storage room, I've increased the running miles, I'm getting more sleep, eating more salads, keeping my intake of sugar down to one day a week, and getting to the gym as soon as my sprained wrist and broken finger heals from that incident with the skateboarder.
Why the new focus? Well yes, I do have a marathon coming up the first weekend in October. But that's not it. I was invited to participate in this calendar and shyness aside, I'm going to do it.
First, it was an honor just being invited. Second, it's an honor to be apart of a good cause-- the proceeds are going to help those who suffer from CFIDS, chronic fatigue syndrome.
Besides, I better do it because I told my good friend John about it and he told a friend and fellow co-worker and suddenly.....well....you can already figure out where this is going.
p.s. Don't worry mom, I'm not going nude.
10:24:13 PM | |
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Wednesday, July 20, 2005 |
If you have to clarify the meaning of your poem, then most likely, your poem sucks. Yep, that's where I'm coming from right here, right now.
While I was running tonight, I realized that the last two lines of the poem I wrote for Pris could be taken terribly wrong, and leave one saying "Well hell Michael, that's a terribly discouraging birthday poem!"
So if you could bear me a few moments of your time, let me explain my intentions--
Growing up as a child, and I do think most children, even teens and young adults, see life through gold lenses. Our innocence of what life has in store for us colors our perception and foresight even. Unless we are personally touched with tragedy, we carry this false impression that our future will be the same way--void of tragedy, disorders, illness, death, etc.
As children, we don't realize--we're "without a hint"-- that the storms of life --"the hurricane"-- lays on the horizon. Figuratively, these storms might not necessarily take life away from us (as was most likely interpreted) but they take away our innocence. Life's hurricanes blow away our notions of what we thought the future held in store.
Indeed, my intention was to highlight the simple fact that Pris' haiku and her poetry and her presence as a friend brings a bit of that lost innocence back for us to cherish, thinking it had been lost for good.
Pris, I hope you can forgive me. Readers, I hope you can forgive me as well.
11:06:15 PM | |
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Tuesday, July 19, 2005 |
I've known Pris ever since joining the Mipo poetry workshop. We learned that we suffered from the same arthritis--ankylosing spondylitis, and were suffering from illness at the same time this spring. She's been helpful in analyzing and mentoring my poetic style; she's been mindful of my state of being while ill, being operated on, and through the recovery. Thank you for this!
Pris is a prestigious poet in her own right. She began writing poetry in the fall of 1999 and has been published in print and internet publications such as August Poetry, Limestone Circle, Blackmail Press, Verse Libre, Niederngasse, The Dakota House, Muses Kiss, Peshekee River Poets, Verse Libre, Short Stuff, MiPo Weekly and Digital, Lotus Blooms, The Dead Mule, Women of the Web Anthology, Best of MiPo Anthology and the yearly International War Vets Poetry Anthology.
Her poetry has garnered many recognitions, placing first or second in several regional and intra-board poetry competitions.
Pris is a Clinical Psychologist and sailor/traveler. However, her chronic fatigue illness, coupled with arthritis, has forced her to temporarily park her vagabond shoes. She makes her home in the greater West Palm Beach, Florida , USA.
Pris, happy belated birthday.
"Snapshots"
by Michael Parker
Vintage, sepia-stained pictures await her
morsels of wisdom, her reawakening of
memories time races to forget--
she raises the spark in the eyes
she remembers to be her fathers’;
and raises the image of a mentor
of whom she states in passing
her journey makes "stars quiver."
Her nature knows too well, be kind.
Aging means we say goodbye
too frequently, see the thinning
of our heart we’ve passed out
too trustingly like a sacrament.
Though friends enter and leave like tides
stay steady upon this shore. Stay long
into the evening enough to interpret
the language off the sea, the wind, the storm.
And with your hand to the air, commanding
the sky, whisper the magical haiga--
give our childhood tree back its charm;
show us our way back to the dance
where Elvis sang and the jitterbug
shook us into the thrill of night;
grace us with courage to live as if
we’ve never known hurt; and take us
back to days sitting on the steps of
the white bible school awaiting treats
without a hint of the hurricane
we lose our future to.
9:16:36 PM | |
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Saturday, July 16, 2005 |
I chose to display Didi Menendez’ painting of Diego Keros a few days ago for the sole purpose of writing about it at a later time. Now is that time.
I have read many of Diego’s poems since I started working with the Mipoesias poetry workshop in March. And I have viewed all of his paintings posted on his web-page. (If you get a chance, you must check out his latest oil painting titled Eve, over on his blog, here and here.)
Other than this, my reading is based on Didi’s interpretation of him, as it should be.
Having said this, Didi’s impressionistic portrait of Diego Keros is captivating. I find her use of color masterful, especially in regards to how it adds texture and character to his face and hair. Impressionism is exactly this, the art of showcasing impressions–adding metaphor to what’s visual.
Spend some time viewing Didi’s portraits and you’ll see a great love for color, especially the use of neon colors in highlights, backgrounds, or for ornament sake. In Diego Keros, for example, notice the use of varying and vibrant blues in the locks of hair falling about his neck. The mastery in this is that these colors help move your eyes off of his face.
A good friend and mentor told me that good paintings have entrances and exits within them, that move you from one point of a painting to another. You’re never stuck at one spot. The variegated blues of Diego’s hair accomplish this effect– they move your eyes up the contour of his face and to the top of the portrait.
Indeed, Didi employs many circular elements throughout the painting that allow your eye to move without falling idle–the eyebrows, shadows under the eyebrows, and goatee, for example.
However, I feel the absolute strength of the painting is the interpretive aspect of it, the symbolism she consciously or unconsciously adds.
For example, I love the mobius-like effect of using varying colors and texture to each side of his face, giving the impression of two opposing souls melded together. It’s a method familiar in Picasso’s paintings. Another example of the mobius is Didi’s use of yellow and black in the background--the sun seems to set on the right side of his face, with a vibrant color of yellow-glory and night seems to hang about his left side like an ominous shadow he cannot shake.
I also want to point out the amazing goatee. Didi has painted the hairless space in the goatee the shape of a wide-mouthed wine glass. But notice how Diego’s lower lip seems to be the wine in the glass. I venture to say that this was probably not planned, but it definitely adds an amazing metaphoric touch to it.
What most impresses me about this painting however are the eyes, pointedly, the emotion emitted from the eyes.
If the characteristic of grace was ever depicted, Menendez successfully painted it here in these brown eyes that peer out through eyelids she colored cerulean blue, like the color of a mid-afternoon summer sky. We really cannot help but linger under these cool, shaded canopies, staring at the assured soul stirring behind them. I dare say we are drawn to these eyes like pilgrims drawn to the image of the weeping saint in the face of a tree, or like tourists captivated by the kind eyes of Rembrandt’s Christ, in whose gaze grants us rest and is gentle as if Christ were always in the act of watching Mary anoint his feet with olive oil, wiping away the excess with her own hair that she has uncovered. Yes, that is where I have seen these eyes, in Rembrandt’s Christ.
Not only are they kind and gentle, but they seem to have a deep sadness to them as well. Ironically, Rembrandt’s Christ has this same look in them. And it was this point that reminded me of the French philosopher/theologian Blaise Pascal, who wrote in "The Mystery of Christ," from the book of collected works titled The Pensee, that part of Christ’s suffering was loneliness.
Jesus is alone on earth, not merely with no one to feel and share his agony, but with no one even to know of it. Heaven and he are the only ones to know.
Knowing Diego’s independence from his family since the very young age of ten might account for this look. (On this interpretation, I may very well be stretching.)
Lastly, and more fitting, this portrait also seems to be the image of passion’s prophet. Can you see it, in the darker eye on the right side? Crawling out of the needle of that eye, onto the cheek that has the texture of a desert landscape, he’ll search like a prophet for the remaining angels, the Valkyries he has yet to know. He’ll trick them by carving their divine magic symbols in ancient rock; hide behind a burning bush they’ll assume to be God. And once he’s captured them, he’ll spread their wings that span a sky, comfort their fears till the wild desert flowers bloom, and shake their foundations till they drop their wings; plead to be human.
This is the interpretation of Menendez’ portrait of Diego Keros.
*****
For comparison’s to Rembrandt’s Christ, see here and here.
11:44:06 PM | |
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There was a noteworthy article that appeared at Slate this week about the declining boxoffice numbers this year. Read it and respond. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
To wet your appetite, consider this:
Despite the weekly chorus of doom about the decline of the Hollywood box office, the six major studios—Paramount, Warner Bros., 20th Century Fox, Disney, Universal, and Sony—actually took in more money from their movies in the first half of 2005 than they did in the same period in 2004. These studios (and their subsidiaries) earned $3.2 billion at the box office from Jan. 1 to June 30 in 2005 as opposed to $2.7 billion the previous year (click here for a table). To be sure, there was a 7 percent decline in overall U.S. ticket receipts, but the loss came mainly at the expense of independent distributors and studioless studios, which account for more than half of the films released in the United States. So, even though fewer Americans went to the movies in 2005, the big studios did not lose out.
9:55:18 PM | |
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Wednesday, July 13, 2005 |
Yes, my little journal blog is two years old. It has been good for me in numerous ways. When I first started, I wanted to use the blog to voice my opinions about politics. But behind this motivation was a desire to get into the habit of writing, actually developing a regiment that made me a more disciplined writer.
IN these two years, I have met and communicated with many great thinkers, writers, analysts, poets, comedians, chefs, and columnists. I've gained friendships along this journey that I am very grateful for. I'm a better writer and person for knowing you, dear reader.
Now, let's move on to the picture I posted above. Since it was my blog's birthday, I thought it would be fun to post the question: "What are your favorite birthday scenes in films?" I don't know about you, but I immeidiately thought of Sixteen Candles and The Godfather. We're all familiar, I'm sure, with Sixteen Candles--Molly Ringwald's love of her high school life surprises her with a birthday cake.
In The Godfather, I recall the scene where one of the head mobsters is walking up many flights of stairs for a meeting he was asked to attend. When he gets to the top of the stairs, opens the door, the lights suddenly come on, everyone screams "Happy Birthday" and he has a heart attack on the spot.
Other memorable birthdays in film:
- Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
- Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone (Hagrid breaks down the door to give Harry Potter his birthday cake and to take him away to Hogwarts)
- The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Bilbo Baggins birthday party)
Do any of you remember the film To Gillian on her 37th Birthday?
Dear reader, what say you about famous birthdays in film?
11:33:06 PM | |
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Tuesday, July 12, 2005 |
I went running Provo Canyon again last night, with the intention of finishing 8 miles.
Three miles up the canyon path sits a beautiful, secluded park called Nunn’s Park. It is nestled at the bottom of a bowl-like landscape, surrounded by a steep hill to the south, on top of which sits the highway, hills to the east and west, and cliffs to the north, on the other side of a swollen summer river. To enter the park from the east or west, you have to go downhill.
It was here, in Nunn's Park, that a skateboarder coming off of the east hill came zooming around the corner, entirely in my running lane, and crashed right into me. Now I had seen him coming around the corner, so I had moved over into the bike lane to give him room to pass by. I then looked ahead to the curve to make sure no one else was coming.
Suddenly, I heard "Oh fuck!" and turned to see the skateboarder coming directly at me. Knowing we were going to collide, he curled up, began falling onto his side. As he did this, his feet had flipped the skateboard in such a way that it became a flying projectile, heading at me at an amazing force. I immediately leapt into the air, trying to jump over the skateboard. I didn't clear it. It hit me square in the lower shins, just above the ankles.
The force of the skateboard's hit made my upper body spin forward so that when I began to fall, I was coming down hands and face first. As I came down, I watched the skateboarder slide to a stop right under me. Watching from afar, this meeting of body and ground probably looked like a crumbling; it felt to me like that. The palms of my hands hit first, then gave way when they couldn’t hold up the force of the fall, and so my elbows hit the asphalt. At some point, my hips and then knees reached the ground. My torso ended up on the skateboarder.
Somehow, I don’t remember how, he was suddenly on his feet, standing above me, apologizing, trying to help me up. I remember turning over and sitting on my butt; I brought my knees up and placed my arms around my knees. I hung my head there.
The skateboarder was very apologetic, thank goodness. I said very little--"It's okay.""I'll be alright." My tone wasn’t convincing, not even to me. I was reeling, half in shock, half in anger. I never looked him in the face, not once.
He picked up my glasses and the car key that flew away from my grasp at impact. I took them from him, said "thanks" for that kind gesture. He offered a litany of more apologies. But I walked away.
I wasn’t more than ten feet away when my left hand, thumb, and two fingers began to swell, tingle, then turn numb. "Fuck" I uttered aloud. I headed to the park’s lavratory.
After letting the cold water from the sink run over my injured hand and fingers, I continued running east, up the hill and onto the Bridal Veil falls where I would turn around and run back down the canyon.
I ran the whole 8 miles, even pushing myself the last mile. Running helped keep the swelling down. And pushing myself at the end helped me run off the anger; it helped me not feel the pain nesting in the swollen shins that looked like round eggs under my ankle socks.
Medical Note: I go to the doctor tomorrow to get x-rays. Me thinks my index finger is broken. I might have a fracture in my left hand. I'll keep you informed, of course.
7:22:00 PM | |
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Sunday, July 10, 2005 |
Didi is the publisher of MiPoesias, MiPo Print, and the administrator/manager of the blog CafeCafe. Didi is also an established poet. She has been published by many online zines, including 3AM, TMP Irregular, Abalone Moon Journal, Tryst, Quill and Ink, and Teagans Anthology, to name a few. She has also had poetry recognized by the IBPC as one of the best of June 2001 ("Hemingway Has Another Drink"), May 2002 (Something Funny Happened on the Way to Reading Brukowski"), and June 2002 ("Bird in Space").
Other poems published by Didi include such titles as "Lady Godiva Rides Her Bike," "When Angels Die," "Los Espiritus," "The Weight of Catholicism," "Miami is the Face of Refuge," "Camelot’s Bed," and Mosquita Muerta Principle," to name a few.
I highlighted her work in my film review The Door In the Floor (2004), including her poem "The Novel According to John Irving."
Besides poetry, Didi also paints wonderful portraits of authors and poets. You can view some of her work at www.didimenendez.com. I'm including a portrait of Diego Keros for your review.
In commemoration of her birthday, I wanted to print a poem I read of hers earlier this year, in the spring, and was smitten by it, titled "Your Name." Instead, I will introduce another of her published titles, "The Lizard Catcher."
Happy Birthday, Didi. May you have a great day and a great new year.
"The Lizard Catcher"
by Didi Menendez
The lizard catcher
walks into my room
past her bedtime
asking for a glass of water -
what kind of mother would I be
if I said - go back to bed? -
Children in other houses are thirsty -
I give her milk instead,
indulge in my single parenting
place chocolate in there too --
compensating for her not having a father -
She wants me to tell her the story of the three little pigs -
the ones with a green, red and blue sock, I ask -
No, she says
Her glass still not half empty -
Oh, you mean the three little pigs that went to market?
No -
The ones that lived in a half a house
and had a wolf for a pet?
Something like that, she says --
She becomes the storyteller
smiling all the way --
When she finishes her milk,
the lizard catcher puts her glass quietly away -
back into the kitchen sink -
Handling it the same way
she held her catch from yesterday-
gently placed it among the leaves,
a little heart still beating -
after she had placed it in the palm of my hand
its baby head almost bigger than it's tail
rested against my grandmother's ring.
Life goes on without what is missing
as the lizard catcher goes back to bed.
4:11:39 PM | |
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The Marvel Comics film Fanatastic Four, starring Jessica Alba and Chris Evans, exceeded box office projections by approximately $8 million, bringing in $56 million. One of the worst reviewed films this year (receiving an average ranking of 38 out of 100 by Metacritic.com), it was projected by The BoxOffice Report to bring in $48 million.
The lighter script and less graphically violent film most likely played better for families and kids in general.
2:39:21 PM | |
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Saturday, July 09, 2005 |
July 7th was first and foremost supposed to be my son's 9th birthday. We awoke at 5:45 AM so that we could run out to IHOP for breakfast before I had to hit the freeway to make the long commute to work. Starting the car that morning, the radio station that plays many British bands was broadcasting news about the explosions. I turned the radio off so that "M" wouldn't hear the news. Let him have his day. Let him find out about the tragedy tomorrow or the next day when the speculation and the reactionary comments get replaced with solid findings and grounded evaluation and insight.
What another tragic day for the world! In heart, I was spirit broken. I was a Londoner thousands of miles, raising hopes that the death toll would be minimal, praying that the victims families find peace somehow, have the comfort of angels with them.
The prolific poet, Pris Campbell, who writes over at Songs to a Midnight Sky, penned some thoughts about the explosions that spoke to me, summed up my sentiments and anger. Pris, if you read this, I hope you do not mind that I've posted your poem here.
He thinks he can bring down
all giants with his slingshot,
so he tamps powder tight
into bombs nightly, recites
a litany of hate as his evening
prayer, tells himself all who
are not him or like him
are evil, laughs while
the rest of the world mourns.
This terrorist...this hero
of Dante's Ninth Circle.
His feet are already ablaze.
11:24:25 PM | |
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Wednesday, July 06, 2005 |
Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Written by: Josh Friedman and David Koepp
Starring: Tom Cruise (Ray Ferrier), Justin Chatwin (Robbie Ferrier), Dakota Fanning (Rachel Ferrier), Tim Robbins (Ogilvy), Miranda Otto (Mary Ann Ferrier), David Alan Basche (Tim)
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter.... No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable....Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.
(From The War of the Worlds, H.G. Wells, 1898)
The opening montage in Steven Spielberg’s classic adaptation of the H. G. Wells novel War of the Worlds starts by displaying a pool of microbes (germs, bacteria, virus strains, etc.) then expands. We see that the pool is just a drop of dew sitting on a leaf high above a city park. Then the dewdrop becomes the face of our earth, which then morphs into a red streetlight. Behind the stoplight, humanity is far from being at a stand still. We see the masses walking the sidewalks and myriads of shining vehicles weaving in and out of concrete buildings. Despite the bustle of it all, there is a sense of order.
This montage, displayed while Morgan Freeman delivers a chilling narration taken from the introductory paragraph of Well’s novel (shown above), however, acts as an ironic caveat, a two-point truth – 1) Social order is a fragile state. Its antithesis, chaos, is a sleeping monster always at the brink of waking, hungry and mad. 2) Humankind in the midst of chaos and fear loses it sense of civilized grounding and falls back on primal instincts to survive at any cost.
Just like the famous 1938 Orson Welles’ Halloween radio show and sub-sequent film adaptations that were released during times of conflict when the fear of annihilation was nearly tangible, Spielberg releases his version in a similar time -- while the images of 9/11 sit vividly in the forefront of our imagination. Not only is it historically relevant to us, even his characters are most prescient of it. This is the underlying power behind this quite horrific, yet amazingly artistic, alien invasion film.
The plot for War of the Worlds could be described best as a mere prop that is used to accentuate the alien invasion and the tripods that unleash a seemingly inevitable annihilation of mankind. This plot-type reminds me of the 1997 film Titanic, directed James Cameron. Two characters from opposite realms of the class structure meet and fall in love on Titanic’s doomed maiden voyage. Their story, their clandestine meetings and escapades, become the vehicle that shows us every inch of the interior and exterior of the majestic and doomed ship–including the gargantuan engine room and nondescript cargo hold.
Friedman and Koepp’s script for War of the Worlds uses the Ferrier’s for the same purpose.
Ray Ferrier (Tom Cruise) is the self-focused, yet courageous and adventurous type under whose viewpoint we get an up-close look at the invasion, for example, the disturbing lightening storm, the rise of a tripod from deep within the ground, the crashing of an airliner, the mass exodus, the hysteria of the masses on the run, the sinking of a ferry, a major military attack on the tripods, how the tripods terra-form, how the tripods search gutted homes, basements, and cellars for stragglers, and finally we see through him the evidence of the alien’s demise.
Truly, Ray’s character helps move the story forward, from the pivotal point where he escaped his besieged city to the point where he ended at the doorsteps of his ex-wife’s parents’ home. And unlike Jack’s character conflict in Titanic, Ray’s conflict of trying to become his kid’s recognized father is more dynamic and ultimately fulfilling.
Rachel, Ray’s daughter (played by the incredibly-talented Dakota Fanning) is the heart of the film. The horrific images and events that we see through her are lent more gravity because of her astounding performance. Spielberg has worked with child actors throughout his career, but I do not think we see such a reversal of fortune or transformation in any of them as we see in Fanning’s character Rachel. Nor do I think any of them had the emotional depth to portray such a loss of innocence, fear, or the absolute horror of facing these indestructible tripods and a seemingly inevitable death. Dakota Fanning, in many regards, carries the weight of the film’s believability.
Speaking of acting, Tom Cruise’s performance is noteworthy as well. There is a most haunting scene near the beginning of the invasion that highlights this, as well as the incredible photography capturing him. The scene occurs when Ray is running away from the tripod that has just come alive in his downtown. Ray is in the forefront of the screen. He is barely aware of what is happening behind and to the side of him. But we know. We watch with dropped jaws as the tripod’s death ray causes humans to literally explode into ash. As he runs for his life, we see how the ash of the victims begin to rest in his thick hair, stick to his face, and saturate the weave and seams of his clothes. He’s the image of a modern Lazarus, a man who has escaped the clutches of death, only to have to wear the dust of the dead.
When he returns home dumbfounded, in shock, and possibly frightened for the first time in his life, Rachel asks him why he is so dirty and this question prompts him to walk into the bathroom to peer into the mirror. In this brief moment, he exudes the sense that he has somehow cheated death and that the ash is a sick reminder of it. He breaks down into fits, trying to shake and wash the soot off of him. Ray’s response is highly realistic and thus believable. Indeed, it is one of the most memorable scenes of the film and in films released so far this year.
There are many more incredibly haunting scenes in this film, some of them delivered with such artistry that it rivals the artistry displayed in Schindler’s List. Consider these scenes as an example:
- When Ray and Robbie are throwing the baseball back and forth in the backyard. The exchange between them proves that Ray isn't interested in getting to know his son but simply in order to lay down the rules of his house. After an exchange of throws that increase in velocity, due to the anger building behind them, Ray returns a pitch that is obviously meant to hurt Robbie. But Robbie steps aside and lets the ball pass by. It shatters the kitchen window. After Robbie walks into the house, the camera captures Ray through the shattered window. It's the image of a man whose life is empty, there are no lasting relationships. He’s as shattered as the window.
- The Ferriers have been driving in the mini-van for hours. Ray is persuaded by his kids to stop and let them go to the bathroom. Amidst innocent-enough farmlands, Ray pulls off the road. Rachel goes off alone in order to find a place to relieve herself, a place where dad can’t see her. But she happens upon a river. Nearly immediately, she spies a body floating by, then two, and then a grouping of them too numerous to count. As the scene ends, the face of the river becomes nothing but a logjam of bodies. Rachel starts to hyperventilate.
- As the Ferriers walk through a forested area after escaping the destruction of the ferry, tattered clothes fall about them like snow flakes would in a light winter flurry. The Ferriers do not even balk at the horror of this sight, but simply walk through it.
- When Ray and his kids are walking to Boston in a massive throng of uprooted people, they approach the tracks to the passenger train. The sirens go off and the guard rails to the train tracks come down. The people stop and wait for the train. You can hear the pleas echoing from the crowd, desiring the train to stop and pick them up. But suddenly the train speeds by, the whole of it on fire. (This is another scene that probably will go down as one of the most amazing in film.)
The cinematography is also captivating in the way that it creates a general sense of uneasiness. Really, War of the Worlds is just as much a horror film in this regards as it is a science fiction thriller. For example, there is a subtle shot (and its probably a most basic filming technique) when Ray walks into the cellar to calm Ogilvy (masterfully played by Tim Robbins). If you recall, Ogilvy is digging a deep tunnel that they can crawl down into in hopes of escaping the tripods. In the shot, Ogilvy is filmed just off-center, to the right. The focus of the shot ends up being the dark hole behind him. It’s a masterful shot that ratchets up the terror of the moment. We half expect an alien’s tentacle to lurch from the darkness and drag Ogilvy down into it. This shot also creates a symbolism for his character, helping depict him as a man whose sanity has been swallowed by a void. There is nothing wise to his reasoning because it is all reactionary. It will lead them nowhere but to certain death.
This isn't your 50's science fiction film. This is more like a modern day horror film depicting not only an invasion and annihilation but a humanity that turns on itself in the face of uncertainty, lost hope, and immanent death. There are images and scenes that reach you deep at the core and haunt you, terrify you. There are many times I caught myself with my mouth wide open; the other times, I was chewing on the end of my wallet!
Steven Spielberg has created a classic that does indeed have the footprints of his previous classics throughout it. But War of the Worlds definitely stands alone as its own phenomenal piece of filmmaking, special effects, and artistry.
Warning: The ending of this film (when they walk up to Mary Ann's parents house) is a complete letdown compared to the film that proceeded it. I felt Spielberg gave into a Hollywoodish "happy ending." It’s terribly mediocre and plain cheesy. The manner in which the characters reacted to each other did not jive with the life-and-death ride they just lived through. But up till that time, War of the Worlds was one helluva show!
10:41:36 PM | |
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Tuesday, July 05, 2005 |
Many of you know that I am an avid runner. And many of you know that I have been recovering from a gall bladder operation which occurred the last week in May. One week and a half ago, I made my first attempt at running Provo canyon near my house. I was able to run 2.5 miles before I felt any pain and had to walk and run the rest of the six miles (so I ran about 4.25 total).
Tonight I met up with my good friend Brian, who I ran last year's St. George Marathon with. He's been getting back into running too, since the very premature birth of his two handsome sons (which are doing very well right now). Together, we tackled Provo Canyon, hoping to be able to run more than my last effort. And the result, we ran up to Bridal Veil Falls (as shown in the picture above) and turned around and made it all the way back down the canyon, completing all 8 miles without having to stop to walk! No pain at any of the incision areas! I don't know what has made the difference, if it has been the ab crunches I've been doing on and off the past weeks, or if Brian is actually a magician and he cast a magic spell over me so that he would not have to walk.
Whatever it is, I am ecstatic and plan on prostrating myself on the floor and offering sacrafices, burnt offerings, incence and the like to the gods of running. Now that it is 11:30 PM, I best post this and get on with the prostration part, eh?
p.s. Tomorrow, tomorrow evening I will post my review of War of the Worlds. I promise! I had to run tonight so bad I could taste it.
11:26:10 PM | |
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Monday, July 04, 2005 |
Thanks to the Fourth of July, box office projections show that War of the Worlds ($113 million) had the second biggest four-day opener behind Spider Man 2 ($115 million). It's holiday weekend grosses were $77 million. Read the entire article here.
Stay tuned: My War of the Worlds review coming soon.
1:59:05 PM | |
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Sunday, July 03, 2005 |
Steven Speilberg's film War of the Worlds brought in an impressive $66 million in its first opening weekend. That is $101.7 million for its first five days, making it the second biggest opening grosses for 2005. The BoxOffice Report projected WOTW to make $71 million, so in that regards, it isn't performing as expected. Click here for the news report.
Note: These figures do not include grosses for Monday, July 4th.
With the opening weekend out of the way, we'll see if the film can bring in people a second and third time. Will Tom's remarks on psychiatry and medicine keep people who would have seen the film away? This is the time we'll find out.
6:41:08 PM | |
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