IF I TWEETED…(Volume 1…and Counting)

I actually have Twitter and Facebook accounts, but only so I can follow other people. I don’t rule out the possibility of using them for other things….and I think I might at least be on the verge of getting my mind around Twitter…It’s for stuff too short to blog about.

So, if I was active on Twitter, this is the kind of stuff I would tweet…

–Just watched Kelly’s Heroes…The faster, funnier Catch-22

–1/JFK has not aged well. But every time John Candy comes on the screen I ask myself “Why isn’t the movie about this guy?”…

–2/Because, even then, Stone lacked nerve?…

–3/And has there ever been a director who would have benefited more from Studio discipline?

–1/Finally found what John Wesley Harding is for…

–2/The Dylan album, I mean, not the gunfighter…

–3/His only use was for inspiring guys like Dylan…Mean mofo…Woulda killed JFK for his socks…

–4/Turns out the album, though, is a soundtrack…

–5/To Kennedy Assassination Lit…Namely Joe McBride’s Into the Nightmare…

–6/Best line so far…

–7/”Oswald’s miraculous survival for almost two days in the custody of the Dallas cops.”…

–8/That’s Dwight MacDonald, not Dylan btw.

–1/I may decide to get into this…

–2/It’s way-y-y-y easier than thinking.

Back to blog mode, though….

Other good music to read about the End of Days by….

…Maybe I’ll just stick with this for now.


Are we having fun yet?…Actually, this decade was better than I thought…at least at the top.

At least if you don’t bring none of them boring old morals into it.

Still dreading the post-millennium.

1990 The Grifters (Stephen Frears) (and what a way to open a Decade of Decline!…over Bad Influence, Metropolitan and Pump Up the Volume)

1991 The Doors (Oliver Stone) (over Robin Hood (Patrick Bergin version), JFK (Oliver Stone’s one good year!) and Point Break (still Kathryn Bigelow’s best)

1992 The Hand That Rocks the Cradle (Curtis Hanson) (over One False Move and The Player)


1993 Gettysburg (Ron Maxwell) (over Schindler’s List, The Fugitive, Groundhog Day, Matinee and The Wrong Man)

1994 Fresh (Boaz Yakin) (over Barcelona and Ed Wood (Tim Burton’s best…by miles))

1995 To Die For (Gus Van Sant) (over Mighty Aphrodite, Sense and Sensibility and Toy Story)

1996 Grace of My Heart (Allison Anders) (over Freeway, Jerry McGuire and That Thing You Do)

1997 Wag the Dog (Barry Levinson) (over Grosse Pointe Blank, Jackie Brown and The Peacemaker)

1998 A Perfect Murder (Andrew Davis) (over Shakespeare in Love, Croupier and The Mask of Zorro)

1999 The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella) (over Ride With the Devil and, by the thinnest of margins, Dick…if only because “the nineties” was not a decade that deserved to die laughing)

Next, the new millennium…feel my heart go pitter-patter.


Oliver Stone/The Commodores

Opening day for Savages. I went to the late show. A lot of people (including the reviewer who, against my better judgment, piqued my interest) think Stone is stuck in the sixties. Me, I’ve always thought he was stuck in the eighties, which is way, way worse. That was the decade when we decided to keep every nightmarish aspect of the Revolution (not the sixties so much as The Sixties…Sex? Yes. Drugs? Yes. Rock and Roll? No. Idealism? Pragmatism? Sense of Purpose? No, no and hell no!) and embed the residue in a leaner, meaner version of the Reaction (not the fifties so much as The Fifties…only without the cool music and movies). The result was the rebooted version of the Gilded Age we’ve been living in ever since–you know, the one with the all-access pornography and chain-sawed human limbs thrown into the trough for good measure.

Stone’s a meathead. The Doors (his one flirtation with mad genius) aside, he doesn’t do even the crudest sort of nuance. But I give him credit for adrenalizing the theater with a brief but apt dose of “Do Ya” and for not pretending–in a film clearly made with both eyes squarely on the box office–that he can get around the idea that the country itself is stuck for an ending (in Savages, the pornography and violence and greed all lead to nothing whatsoever, not even unhappiness–heck, not even existential emptiness).

On the way home, with the dark all around, I was punching buttons (like I do) and came across one of those Clear Channel eighties’ shows. I was all set to move on when the little humming intro to “Nightshift” brought a smile to my face.

“Hey,” I thought, “the eighties weren’t all bad.”

Then the words started and I remembered–the eighties weren’t all bad…as long as they were about The Sixties.

The Commodores “Nightshift” (studio)

The Move “Do Ya” (studio)