No Country for Old Men

I wrote up a little review on Facebook. This is something I think I'll do from time to time. Here it is:

Lean, tense, uncompromising. Damn near perfect, and hard to take. What starts as a bloody and thrilling chase film turns out to be a haunting study of failed masculinity. A lot of people will have trouble with the last 20 minutes, as the Coens omit a couple of key moments of violence that would be gratuitous -- by then, nothing is more menacing than Javier Bardem casually checking his boot for blood as he exits yet another crime scene. They get major points for not pandering to the audience, although this means many will be confused by the ending -- anyone who missed what Tommy Lee Jones saw on the floor of the motel room might not understand the depths of his despair at the end, having failed to live up to the example of his father and uncle or to his responsibilities as a lawman to confront evil, even at risk to his own life.

This is the best American film, all around, in some time. Shame if its refusal to compromise -- especially in those last 20 minutes -- costs it the acclaim it deserves.

"Then I Woke Up"

I went online to see if I could find the screenplay for No Country for Old Men -- yeah, it's that good.

Unfortunately it's not for sale yet. However, IMDb has extensive quotes from the film, which are fairly accurate based on my memory of it from yesterday.

Most importantly, I wanted to look up Sheriff Ed Tom Bell's (Tommy Lee Jones) speech from the end, where his wife has asked him about his dreams. I also found the opening speech, which Ed Tom gives in voiceover as the film starts. The two speeches tease out quite a bit about the character, and the hell in which he finds himself at the end.

The opening voiceover:

I always liked to hear about the oldtimers. Never missed a chance to do so. Nigger Hoskins over in Bastrop County knowed everbody's phone number off by heart. You can't help but compare yourself gainst the oldtimers. Can't help but wonder how they would've operated these times. There was this boy I sent to the gas chamber at Huntsville here a while back. My arrest and my testimony. He killed a fourteen-year-old girl. Papers said it was a crime of passion but he told me there wasn't any passion to it. Told me that he'd been planning to kill somebody for about as long as he could remember. Said that if they turned him out he'd do it again. Said he knew he was going to hell. Be there in about fifteen minutes. I don't know what to make of that. I surely don't. The crime you see now, it's hard to even take its measure. It's not that I'm afraid of it. I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job - not to be glorious. But I don't want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don't understand. To go into something you don't understand you would have to be crazy or become part of it.

And the final speech, to his wife about his dreams from the night before, both of which feature his father, who was also a sheriff:

Okay. Two of 'em. Both had my father. It's peculiar. I'm older now then he ever was by twenty years. So in a sense he's the younger man. Anyway, first one I don't remember so well but it was about money and I think I lost it. The second one, it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin' through the mountains of a night. Goin' through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and snowin', hard ridin'. Hard country. He rode past me and kept on goin'. Never said nothin' goin' by. He just rode on past and he had his blanket wrapped around him and his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin' fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin' on ahead and that he was fixin' to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. Out there up ahead. And then I woke up.

I will be very surprised if they don't win the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay. Best Original Screenplay, by the way, will almost certainly be Juno. If I have my way, anyway.

Home for the Holidays

It's been a very busy week here, as I've tried to progress through the second half of the new play. I got stuck a bit on a scene where two characters meet, both expecting to have sex, although one of them doesn't really want to. It just didn't work. I had to rework it, rework it again, and then a bit more, and now I think I have a failed adultery scene that clicks. On so many levels.

Still a few more scenes to write, so I'll be doing those back on the home front.

I leave tomorrow morning, out of Gatwick, connecting through Newark. We were worried about the weather situation, but looks like Newark will be clear. Back home, we may have some bad flurries, but I should be able to land, anyway.

I'm really looking forward to some time away. Be good to see the family -- and sounds like I may actually see the whole family -- potentially all my first cousins and aunts and uncles on both sides (which has never happened before). I'm going to make loads of Christmas cookies (I love baking) and I'm told we will put up my Christmas tree (the one from my apartment) in the dining room. All the ornaments have a sort of burnished 1950s glow to them. Very Imitation of Life. Love that tree. Once again, my mom will be like Laura Bush, so many Christmas trees in her house!

I'd hoped to make a side trip to NYC or Chicago, but those options haven't panned out. Looks like I will go to Pittsburgh to visit our office there. That sounds odd but they are comparable to us in some ways, so it will be useful to see how they handle things in my department there. Plus I'll earn some comp time! I hate the Steelers (of course) but it's always fun to see the place where the three rivers come together. And I think there's a museum I haven't yet seen . . .

He Put His Mouth Where?

So I have finally reached the halfway point in the new play I am writing.

As of last weekend, I had one scene to go. However, it was a doozy. The play features two hetero couples -- one modeled in part on the McCanns, who have returned to England and gone back to work after their daughter disappeared in Portugal; the others are an English romance novelist whose baby may have Down's syndrome, and her partner, an amoral American venture capitalist who likes to have sex in public places. The working title is Beyond Repair.

The play makes use of split scenes, which I hadn't used much before, but turn out to be really fun if handled carefully. The big turning point is this big scene at the end of the first half, where the couples meet for dinner at a fancy restaurant, and have to wait in the bar for their table. Up to this point, we mainly have scenes between the couples, or between the women. This is the first time we get them mixing in all kinds of combinations. A few major things happen - one of them which will (as will be clear in a second) be rather scandalous - and things are twisted about for a healthy and eventful (and somewhat unexpected) second half.

I'd held off on writing the failed dinner scene until this weekend, as I knew it would take a long burst of uninterrupted writing. I started this afternoon and finished just after 8 p.m. And I'm only mentioning it now cos the scene contains what surely must be the most disgusting stage direction I've ever put to paper:

Adam disengages and stands up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

If that's not giving too much away about one of the twists.

Now, I was just thinking: would I be as disgusted by this stage direction if it were happening between two men, rather than a man and a woman? And the answer, assuming the characters have similar backstories to those in my new piece, is most certainly yes.

Man, do I love when a new piece is in a hot place. I want to get on into the second half. But I'm going to need a meal first. No failed dinner for me!

On Second Thought

I really do want to see Women of Troy. However, in the email the National Theatre just sent me, it includes the runtime: 80 minutes.

That's right. So at £39.50 for the best seats (which I always go for), that is nearly 50p per minute of showtime.

I shouldn't be making such a big deal about this. I'm just paranoid because Therese Raquin -- the last vaguely feminist production by a female director I saw at the National -- sucked hard. And not in a good way. Although this is Katie Mitchell.

I'm hoping it'll be more like my last show at the National, the phenomenal, gorgeously designed, massively cast (with like 25 actors) and mind-blowing Philistines. However, when I dropped 40 quid on Philistines, I couldn't have got a cheaper seat anyway. And Philistines was like 3 hours long. And worth every second, and every penny.

I think I may go for the £10 tickets if they're still about. Even if it's not till February. Then I'll have to finagle a friend to go along. Hey, it's only 80 minutes. And ya can't beat the front row.

My 'Hood

Since some of you are curious and not on Facebook, here are a few shots of my neighborhood, taken last weekend as the December sun peeked out over north London.

Here is my street, which dead-ends at a pedestrian bridge that goes over a valley full of train tracks. Our flat is on the 2nd and 3rd floor, so you can't really hear the trains much. Our station is midway across the bridge -- the platforms are down below -- so it's a one-minute walk. Not bad at all.



Our bus at the cross street. It stops in this same spot going both directions. In one direction, the bus takes 5 minutes to get to Crouch End. In the other, the bus takes 5 minutes to get to our Sainsbury's, which has just been remodeled and is the nicest Sainsbury's in all of England. It's so nice, it's as nice as an American supermarket. If you've been to an English supermarket, you know what I mean.



This is the cross street the bus was on before. These houses built up against each other with no space in between are called terraced houses, or terraces. Very common in the cities here. This is one of the nicest terraces I've seen so far.



This is the public library, on the corner of our road and the cross street. They were renovating it right as I moved in. It is so cute! I can see into it from my windows. I'm thinking of checking out the book club.



Alexandra Palace, which for a long time was the headquarters of the BBC. This is the view from the street the bus takes to Crouch End. The Palace is actually a couple stops up on the train.



Our train station. Only open on weekdays during the day. It's one minute to Finsbury Park, not quite ten to King's Cross (where the line terminates on weekends), about fifteen to Moorgate (where it terminates on weekdays). Late trains on weeknights (coming and going) are out of King's Cross, which is great for going out. There's a train every 10 minutes on weekdays, every 15 on weekends. If I time it right, I can get to work in less than 20 minutes. So you can see why I love my station.



To clarify for all you Yankee types: the station (the building you see) is only open on weekdays during the day. The platforms are down below, they are open 24/7. There are ticket machines on the platform, so you could buy tickets at any time. But if you need to talk to the nice man, get a timetable, or a free newspaper (that hasn't been properly copy-edited), then you need to come by weekdays during the day.

Honestly my only real complaint is that you can't recharge your Oyster card at our station, cos it's one of those National Rail stations that does not like Oyster. So I always have to recharge in town or online. Oh and an Oyster card is a little blue card that you touch on the turnstile as you enter and exit the Tube (the subway). A lot faster than inserting a paper ticket. And they give you a fun carrying case that I suppose is meant to resemble an Oyster (if one thinks very abstractly).

What Else?

If you're really curious I have my eye on Doubt at the Tricycle Theatre -- I've never seen it in production, and it is one of the most solid American plays in the last five years or so. Although the Tricycle is in Northwest London which is a complete pain in the ass to get to from here. Maybe I can sort out a double-bill on Saturday.

As for the cinema . . . various options. Best thing is to see something I won't easily see in Ohio. Best candidate there is Silent Light, the German film about a Mennonite community in Mexico where a moment of passion leads to tragedy. It sounds right up my alley. And if I want something a bit livelier (especially if Women of Troy is as far-out there as it might be) then I can still check out All About Eve which continues its glorious re-release at the Curzon Mayfair, which happens to be my favorite cinema right now. Hopefully it will still be playing downstairs. The downstairs cinema is gigantic and roomy and looks like something out of the Jetsons. Totally brilliant.

Cost of Living

OK, so I am tempted to see some really great theater (and a bit of great film) before I head back home. This weekend is my last full weekend in London this year.

I picked up Time Out and got to read it at lunch today. I am so up for Katie Mitchell's Women of Troy at the National. I always have a good time at the National (well, except with that awful Therese Raquin business), and they write me really nice rejection letters.

Here's the question: do I see it this weekend, sit in the fifth row stalls, and pay £39.50? Or do I go for the £10 seats in the front row stalls -- first date still available is at the end of January.

At the cheap rate, I could buy two, half the price of a single ticket, and take a friend. But I don't know if any of my friends who would be totally turned on by 1) a Katie Mitchell production and 2) a 'radical reinterpretation of Euripides or 3) for that matter, Euripides in any form.

Did I mention I learned ancient Greek in college because I wanted to read Greek tragedy in the original? And Euripides has always been my favorite. I do prefer the Hecuba a bit to The Trojan Women but that's mainly cos it's so f'in dark. But then I'd like any play, well done, where an old lady lures a rich guy into a tent, blinds him, and then has his sons murdered. All in revenge.

And did I mention Katie Mitchell directed my favorite production ever, which was the Uncle Vanya at the Young Vic in 1998 which totally got me to get Chekhov for the first time and remains so memorable to this day. (With Stephen Dillane and Linus Roache, hard for it not to be so . . .)

UPDATE: OK so I just clicked on the trailer and watched it on the NT's website -- how very iPody of them to make film trailers for their live shows. Anyway as mentioned in the reviews, there are women in ball gowns, there is big band music, and I just got thrills and chills from the new version. A lot looser than a translation, but I'll take it. I think I just answered my question.

Should I Join?

. . . the Sons of the American Revolution?

I found out I was eligible a few years ago when my grandmother (my dad's mom) signed herself up. It turns out one of our ancestors on her side of the family is Zadock Hurd, who fought as a private in the Revolutionary War. He's on the Pension List of 1813 as receiving $20 annually for his service to the country.

I need to check with Grandma, but I'm guessing he is the same Zadock Hurd listed here, born March 18, 1761, in East Haddam, Connecticut. There's not much other info on there except that his parents -- Rachel Love Fuller and Justus Hurd -- were also born in Connecticut and died in New Hampshire (he in Gilsum in 1804, she in Chesterfield in 1815). So I'm guessing he is the same Zadock Hurd -- the father was also a Revolutionary War veteran, but he's not on the Pension List as he'd passed away before 1813. So don't know his rank.

I am very curious now about this ancestor of ours -- I will have to see if Grandma knows anymore about him. During the Revolution, he would have been between the ages of 14 and 22. So that must have been a very interesting experience indeed!

I've been googling him -- someone with the same name was one of the first settlers of the town of Keene, New York, located in the Adirondacks and named for Keene, New Hampshire. So could be him, too.

I'm not sure about joining the SAR. I need to read about it on their website a little more. Mainly (as far as I know) they are all about respect for the flag and patriotism, which is practically my middle name. With a T that rhymes with P that stands for . . .

I guess I also worry that if I do end up becoming a dual citizen over here, my membership might not be looked on very favorably . . . but then I am rather proud of my ancestor who I don't know much about. So I am tempted to go on and join anyway. And they do have a UK chapter apparently. May not be able to resist.

What do you think? Should I go for it?

We'll Take It!

Great news for the Bucks in the new BCS coaches' poll.

We're number one again! Which puts OSU on track for the big show, aka the horribly named BCS championship game. Looks like we'll play the Tigers of LSU (which Louisianans pronounce as if it were the words "Ella Shoe").

This is not as spic-n-span as we Buckeye staters would like it -- our fortunes rose only because Missouri and West Virginia (WVU -- WTF?!?) who were 1-2 in the poll last week both lost. But you take it as you get it, even if it's soggy as sloppy seconds.

Not only do I like the Bucks' chances against the Tigers -- but I wonder if my cousin will get a chance to play in the big game?

Ripped from the Headlines

Last night, I was doing a lot of writing. Sucks to stay in on a Saturday, but I'm finally beating back this cold. And the new play was in a hot place.

During a break in the action -- you have to stop and eat at some point -- I put on the telly. There was an episode of Law & Order: SVU that I knew I'd seen, but couldn't for the life of me remember how it went. It starts with a 14-year-old girl who tries to throw herself in front of a subway train. She's rescued, only it turns out she has been raped and has semen from two different men in her.

I tuned out about halfway through, at the point where the detectives learned the girl's father had been pimping out her mother to strangers, because "he likes to watch." God, straight people are so tedious!

Three hours later, another writing break, I put the tube back on. Same channel, and same episode, nearly in the same spot where I turned it off. Creepy how that happens. So I figured, what the heck, I'll see where this is going. (Suspecting lots of creepy and loaded dialogue about "multiple donors.")

Well, lo and behold, this episode (titled "Resilience," I checked on IMDB) is truly ripped from the headlines. I know cos it's based on a story that actually happened in my hometown in Ohio.

Here is the link of the latest news update -- the father's second appeal to the state supreme court was rejected last month. So he is serving the full 20.

I was in grad school in another state when this story broke. My mom and grandmother told me about it on the phone (separately) and I thought they were making it up. They had to send me news clippings to prove it.

The real case is in a lot of ways worse than the show (obviously, cos it's real). No one was pimped out to strangers in Stow, Ohio. However, the man who was convicted did inject his stepdaughter with his own sperm, and she did get pregnant and carry the baby to term. I believe she gave it up for adoption.

As I recall, there was some controversy (from his attorneys) over the charges, since he didn't put his penis in her, only a syringe, yet he was charged with rape. In Ohio, foreign objects count. So bear that in mind.

And, apparently, he did have to try more than once for it to take. But it works. So you can impregnate someone by injecting her with previously collected sperm. It's not just something out of lesbian legend.

As they say, it doesn't get more ripped.