MY FAVORITE POLITICAL FILMS, since it's so close to Election Day when our Long National Nightmare will be over (and by that I mean the campaigning season, though others may infer another possible definition, I'm sure). So let's talk politics.

Actually, let's not, since we've all been inundated recently with fliers, robo-calls, TV ads, and so on, and as a Registered Independent, my phone has about rung off the hook with political suitors. Instead, let me make my recommendations for political films, just in case you'd rather seek out politics for entertainment instead of--well, instead of what we're getting this election cycle, which is TOTAL PAINFUL SENSORY OVERLOAD.

My favorite political film is THE CANDIDATE, starring Redford (first name not needed). It's in that spare early 70's style--you know the type: shaky camera, washed-out looking film print, goofy score--but it's a compelling film that slyly comments on modern politics. Importantly, while Redford's character is a liberal, it's not a biased film by any means--it really comments on the process, rather than the politics.

Sure, it's in the pre-Internet, pre-FOX news, pre-Drudge Report, pre-O'Reilly, pre-I'm Now Insane Keith Olberman era, but its lessons still apply: people vote style more than substance, even when the person involved has substance (the problem, of course, is that some do not. In fact, I believe there's a VP candidate dealing with this thorny question this very minute). If you've never seen it, then watch it and be entertained more than you thought possible. Oh--and it's got a great, pithy ending, too.

The other great political film is--you guessed it--ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN. Still not topped as a serious newspaper film, it's a blast. Again, Redford is there, only this time he's sidekicked by Dustin Hoffman, playing the rather grandstanding Bernstein to Redford's Woodward. Hal Holbrook is there, playing DEEP THROAT (who we now know was--oh, I'm not going to make it that easy for you!), and so is Jason Robards, too. All of that is a good thing, for this cast jells into the most realistic and compelling film on the newspaper biz ever made.

Not that the list ends with those two! All of the following are worth a look (and forgive me if I forget something else worthwhile! The Colts are playing the Pats right now....):

ALL THE KING'S MEN (thinly-disguised Huey Long tale)

DAVE (funny, but still with a message)

WAG THE DOG (funny, but dark)

BULWORTH (a particular fave of mine, even if my politics aren't as far left as Warren Beatty's. But then again, no one's politics are as far left as Warren Beatty's!)

All the others I might name I disqualified as overly one-sided in perspective--you know who you are! There's a fine balance between having a message and preaching a message, and too many political films cross into preaching territory. Which is too bad for Michael Douglass, since he's actually pretty good in THE AMERICAN PRESIDENT, one of those films that, I'm afraid, beats one party a little too hard over the head for my taste.

What's so great about Ronnie Reagan's greatest flick KINGS ROW?

If the Devil popped up and said you could only watch one RR movie without being damned, you would probably say, "Wow, you mean I get a FREEBIE?"

Yes, you do. If so, the one to pick is KINGS ROW, directed by the quite competent Sam Wood, starring Robert Cummings, ex-President and bullet-magnet Ronald Reagan, and a not-too-bad-looking hottie named Ann Sheridan. It's one of those 'expose' stories of small town American circa 1900, and the sordid pablum in it includes forbidden love, schizophrenia, murder-suicide, a crazy butchering surgeon, and basically Ronnie's character engaging in a turn-of-the-century threesome with the Ross girls ('Poppie' and 'Jinny').

Yet it's a great film. The child actors are convincing, as is Robert Cummings (who has an uncanny knack for being convincing, kind of like Barack Obama). Ronnie is--well, Ronnie. Smiling, optimistically devil-may-care, you get the idea that he'd lower taxes in Kings Row if only the Ross girls would let him up for air. The psychiatry stuff doesn't seem half as goofy as it should, the score by Korngold is probably his greatest (yes, better than ROBIN HOOD), and of course anything the legendary Claude Rains is in is worth watching time and again, just to savor his gift for delivering a line.

Damn, this is a fun hour and forty-five. From Ronnie's famous "Where's the rest of me?!" to Ann Sheriden's sly smile and way with a line, it's a film that says : "Hate me if you dare!"

Well, I don't dare. It's un-hateable. In fact, it's got to be one of my top ten "Guilty Pleasure Films" (right up there with HOLLYWOOD KNIGHTS and Cukor's THE WOMEN).

Oh--and if you want a good read, buy A MATTER OF REVENGE. It's fun, you'll learn something about the fifties (and Cold War Berlin, Belgium beer, the Mannekin Pis, the Battle of the Bulge, and more!). And come back again in a few days for another opinion on THE MOVIES.

MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY: three films' worth of masculine chest-heaving, each with its own strengths, weaknesses, and then there's Brando's Fletcher Christian.

Caught the original BOUNTY (Laughton, Gable, Tone) on TCM, and was pleasantly surprised. Despite Gable having refused to speak with an accent (oddly, hardly missed it--maybe it was the right choice!), despite a really irritating secondary back-story of a sailor pressed into service leaving a wife and baby, it was pretty damn good overall.

It's easy to forget one easy fact whilst watching an old (1935) film like this: despite some hokey dialogue, primitive effects, and dated musical score, some of these dudes could ACT. Laughton is great: he nails Bligh as the martinet he was. Gable is great: strong, unyielding, and--well, GABLE. Franchot Tone is the weakest link, but he pulls it together in the last reel and leaves one with a favorable impression. It won BEST PICTURE back in the day, and I can see why. The production values are top notch, it's a thrilling tale, and Gable's shirtless in about 90% of it. After all, when you give the people what they want....

Then there's the Howard and Brando version. Trevor Howard is a decent Bligh, though he lacks the innate OOMPH! that Laughton gave his performance. Personally, I actually LIKE Brando's affected, bizarro performance. Yes he talks funny, acts like an upper-class poof, struts around, and does everything but sing "In Dreams" into a portable industrial light like Dean Stockwell in BLUE VELVET, but I'll give this to him: dull he ain't. The production values are again top-drawer, the music is good, the photography is terrific, and it's an entertaining film.

Lastly, there's the Hopkins and Gibson version. It's not bad, with an emphasis particularly on the trial of the captured BOUNTY crew, but it's got that great bane of early 80's films: A horrible, stinking, festering boil of a syntho score (see a prior post for my visceral distate of them--thank God no one does them anymore in period pics). Unfortunately, it cannot not lanced or ignored: the film is stuck with it for all eternity no matter how bad it truly is, like Monday Night Football apparently is with Tony Kornheiser.

Anyway, this particular musical crime has all the modus operandi features of that musical Greek gangster "Vangelis" (with a hard 'g', by the way, like in the word 'girl,' NOT like 'angel') , the originator and leader of the "Let's Ruin a Period Picture with Synthesizers" gang). Maybe it worked once with CHARIOTS OF FIRE, but never again, for the love of God! Back in the day, it almost got to where I expected a sword and sandals epic scored with theremin and mellotron.

Regardless, I'm recommending all three for a marathon session, in this order:

1. 1935 version. Set the stage with the original, place the bar for the others high right from the start. This is a pre-Production Code film, so keep your finger on the pause button and you might just glimpse a nipple on a Tahitian girl (and no, I'm not exactly kidding).

2. 80's version. Crack open your first beer when that initial rousing syntho theme is heard (you'll recognize a distinct sinking feeling when it does). Drink the beer to deaden the pain. Lather, rinse, repeat as needed.

3. Bizarro Brando Version. Start hitting the hard stuff as soon as you notice the strange tonal inflections Brando decided to give his character. Mix your drinks with a 1:4 Rum to Juice ratio, reversing said ratio after his famous tirade where he says all kinds of inappropriate stuff for a man in the 18th century (you'll know it when you hear it). Shake your head in disbelief every time he opens his mouth. Gape at the native girls, especially the one Brando eventually married in real life.

If anyone actually does this, let me know and I'll mail you a certificate stating that you're a better man than I am.

What's up with CAT PEOPLE?

Got a new book coming out in the Fall (A MATTER OF REVENGE, the next Apparite novel), so it's time to resuscitate my blog, which is kind of funny since my blog has infinitely more to do with The Movies than my writing, but then again, the world is full of mysteries that cannot be explained (Paris Hilton's popularity, the persistence of the penny, Robin Williams' existence), so here goes anyway.

Just watched CAT PEOPLE (1982, not the 40's version) for the first time in decades. Now, we all know the original by Val Lewton is a minimalist classic, almost a horror-noir, with no violence or blood, but lots and LOTS of shadows. A pretty good little flick, all told, with great shadows.

Now it's 1982, and Paul Schrader, writer of the all-time great TAXI DRIVER, remakes CAT PEOPLE in a modern style without shadows.

By 'modern,' I mean that you will Nastasia Kinski in a state of utter buck-nakedness more times than you can swing a Cat Person, plus a little Annette O'Toole skin added for good measure and spice (I always liked her--after this film, I liked her even more). It's got this great syntho-Moroder score, some provocative images, and a GREAT ending. I remember watching it on Cinemax loads of times in the early 80's, even bought the soundtrack. Yeah, I'm sure all the nudity had NOTHING to do with it!

Unfortunately, it also has this thing called 'the bulk of the film,' which is about as flabby as John Goodman after a night of heavy sodium intake. Schrader is a great screenwriter--frankly, one of THE greatest--but his direction is anemic. Little things escape his attention--bored-looking extras, wooden takes, poor sound quality--but overall, he is still able to craft a reasonably interesting piece.

At least, interesting in the fact that it was made in 1982 and you can insert a bunch of nudity, sex, bestiality, and so on in high enough doses to keep a person awake. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it seems cheap and obvious, like give-away government American cheese. Sure, you can make an okay sandwich out of it, but is it REALLY what you came for? Is it REALLY any good?

Truly, I think they should remake it yet again, since the basic story is so strong, especially with the Schrader film's ending. I've thought this about a lot of older films but, oddly, NEVER about the one's they actually DO remake!

Please, we need AT LEAST a ten year Jane Austen film moratorium--but on the other hand, why not take a crack at something like SERGEANT YORK again? Actually, I have a real jones for anything WWI these days, and--yeah, try to believe it--the fact that I'm writing a big WWI novel has got nothing to do with it. We're about to lose our last WWI soldier on our planet, and that's a story that needs revisiting, and soon, before we forget. Also, importantly, WWI is the absolute most kick-ass material for truly literate film-making. In dramatic terms, WWI is the Titanic whereas WWII is the Andrea Doria. Both were tragic shipwrecks but one has a timeless resonance that will never be exceeded or forgotten.

Until then, I'd settle for a $120 million-budgeted John Apparite film to deaden my pain. Oh, almost forgot my plug: A MATTER OF REVENGE: A JOHN APPARITE NOVEL, coming September 2008. It's a good book: fun, adventure, absurdist baseball games, romance, plus a few Kriek Lambic beers to boot. Check out http://www.imkoontz.com/ for more.

Between now and then, in case anyone's listening, I plan on blogging three times a week on The Movies and occasionally my books. If you don't believe me, check back and prove me wrong. I dare you!

IT'S THE OSCARS!

The Oscars, which used to be called, in classier days, The Academy Awards, are on tonight.

I HATE the name "Oscars." For one thing, the name "Oscar" came about decades and decades ago, it is said, from a girl saying that the statue looked like her Uncle Oscar. Wow! THAT'S classing it up! Also, UNITED 93, the BEST PICTURE of the year, was not nominated as such, while a perfectly fine little film (but NOT of best picture quality) called LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE was.

I liked SUNSHINE just fine--but for best freakin' picture? Nope. This is, I believe, part of some sort of anti-anti-small comedy backlash, started last year when some persons (I read it in EW) decided to trumpet THE FORTY YEAR OLD VIRGIN as the film that should have been up for Best Picture but wasn't.

Yes, you read that right: THE FORTY YEAR OLD VIRGIN as the best film of the year!

What were these people smoking? Had someone put something in the water supply out there? Was there a chemical spill in the neighborhood? Had aliens abducted them and rewired their after brains after they were done with the requisite rectal probes?

Because while VIRGIN is pretty funny, I would say it was about, oh, the THIRTIETH best picture of last year, if not the fourtieth. Wait--make it the fiftieth.

I used to be a big fan of the Academy Awards, but I don't even know if I'll watch them tonight--too many montages, too many off-color jokes that make me cringe, and way, way too many useless and self-serving political statements made by people that do not have college degrees or real world experience in anything but making movies, most of which are bad. And hell, I'm saying this and I'm not even a Republican! I'm an Independent (and fiercely proud of it!) So when Michael Moore gets up there shooting his biased and low class mouth off, or Richard Gere starts crying over the Dalai Lama, or Sean Penn mentions the war in Iraq, it makes me want to jam an ice pick into my skull to end the pain. I don't see what any of that has to do with the awarding of little bald golden statues, or the making of good films, or of anything other them wanting their names in the paper as often as possible the next morning.

And the musical numbers! Ahhh--please kill me, just kill me now! Why the Academy keeps picking unlistenable songs and staging them on "Oscar Night" is beyond mine or anyone else's reason. For a prime example of this, go back to the film ROCK STAR. At the end of the picture, there's a moving and terrific song called "Colorful." I swear, it knocked the socks off any of the songs actually nominated the year ROCK STAR was released, And the next year, too. And the year after that.

Instead, we get weird Dylan songs, and amelodic rap songs, and I'm getting mad just thinking about it.

There's only one reason I might watch: Ellen DeGeneres. I know she's going to be great. She's got a gift for it, as anyone who saw her Emmy hosting knows.

Alright, I'll probably watch. But expect a few words afterwards! And not all of them are likely to be complimentray....read it at your own risk.

Oh--and watch THE DESCENT. It's the best, most intelligent, scariest, and well-done suspense/horror film of the year. You'll never go spelunking again (if you did in the first place).

And if presenters keep making "Jack" (Nicholson) jokes from stage (after which they show the rotundity himself smirking from the audience), I'm liable to pull the ice pick from my skull and jam it right back in again in. People! Stop this! I can't take it any more!!

CASINO ROYALE is out, and after seeing it I can say one thing without fear of retribution or reprisal: Daniel Craig is going to be the best Bond since Connery.

Those who think I'm jumping on the newly-built "Craig is Great" bandwagon should look back at prior Blog posts where I repeatedly build him up as a GREAT choice for 007. Some actors have that elusive "It" quality, and Craig has more of "It," meaning charisma and screen presence, than ANY single Bond actor--EVER. More than Connery, more than Brosnan.

The only other actor that I think makes the same sort of impact these days is Clive Owen, who had also been rumoured (note the 'u,' Anglophiles) to be up for the role. Owen would have been terrific. But Craig may be better.

Because this movie is about Bond BEFORE he was Bond. And for that, I think you really need to cast against type. Craig is blond, sneering, tough, and rough. He's not polished or suave in his roles--rather, he usually has an underlying though noticeable brutish quality about him.

Yep, I'm crowing a bit. But after weathering to all the complaints about Craig's casting, I think I deserve it. Now, if only they could write a better plot, and what the hell was that stuff with the building in Venice sinking into a canal at the end....?

ONCE IN A LIFETIME is that rare documentary that a) Isn't thrusting some 'issue' down one's throat and b) Is entertaining and c) Is about a subject that does not sound inherently interesting but IS.

Yes, you guessed it, ONCE IN A LIFETIME is about the old New York Cosmos Soccer Club!

What a great little doc. Funny, poignant, and fascinating, one HAS to marvel at the men that brought the world's greatest athlete, Pele, to the U.S. to play football in the--wait for it--THE SINGLE shittiest soccer stadium in the world!

The players dodged broken glass, rocks, dirt, crud, junk, and everything else, and yet PELE STAYED. He played out the year in that hole before he and the team moved to Yankee Stadium and then onto The Meadowlands. (you know, the "Jimmy Hoffa buried under the end zone" stadium.)

But that's not even the best part. Somehow, by some miracle of...well, miracles, the Cosmos then went out and signed soccer legends Giorgio Chinaglia, Carlos Alberto, and Franz Beckenbauer! To show you how ludicrous this is, imagine some little soccer team in Kazikhstan signing David Beckham, Thierry Henry, Ronaldo, PLUS bringing Zinedine Zidane out of retirement.

For non-soccer fans, imagine a cartoonist in Albania signing Bugs Bunny, Tweety, Tom (AND Jerry!) and Bullwinkle. All to the same squad--in Albania!

It's a great way to spend 97 minutes, especially when one gets to watch that human-bloat now called Giorgio Chinaglia overtly lie and lie to the camera (if he was wooden, I swear his nose would be growing) while he, apparently, is waiting for his order of extra-large double cheese in-the-crust Pizza Hut Supreme 'za's to arrive before hitting on the delivery girl. What a lout.

A soccer doc--who'da thunk it? It's hilarious and lively and even details sex acts performed on the team plane on the way to the "Soccer Bowl" championship game--plus some footage of Studio 54! STUDIO 54, PEOPLE! Any documentary that shows footage of that horrid old place deserves to be seen.

You gotta' love it. I am literally on my knees, begging you to rent it.

What so great about THE GENERAL? This may be the oldest film I'll ever discuss on this blog, but if you have a chance to catch it (I DVR'd it off TMC), you simply have to.

A lot of people are turned off by silent films, but once one is used to them, they open up a whole world of cinematic options. In junior high, I checked-out an 8mm projector from the Public Library and their copies of INTOLERANCE and BIRTH OF A NATION. And though I was but 14, and each film about 3 hrs long, I loved them. And I've loved silent films ever since.

Some essentials: METROPOLIS, NAPOLEON, JOAN OF ARC, THE CROWD, THE LAST LAUGH, and THE GENERAL.

Of the above, THE GENERAL is the only comedy and, better, it's hilarious. I mean laugh out loud hilarious. Buster Keaton, in my opinion, puts Chaplin to shame. His timing is impeccable, his gags clever. And there's a reason he was called 'Ol' Stone Face.' He gets more laughs out of his dead-pan expressions than any man in the history of film.

I won't describe the gags, but they're clever and effortlessly done. And the climax of the film, which involves a train chase with THREE actual trains (some of the stunts, done by Keaton, are rather impressive and daring), hundreds of soldiers, a cannon (one of the funniest bits), a girl (who Keaton keeps stepping on), a wayward sword--Oh God, there's a million of them.

Most really old films are dated--even the Chaplin films I find hard to watch. But THE GENERAL is just as great now as it was back in 1927 when it was released. If you have Net-Flix, get it--NOW. You won't think of silent film comedies the same way again.

WHAT'S SO GREAT ABOUT UNITED 93?

It's the best movie of the year: PERIOD.

Paul Greengrass has crafted a non-judgmental, accurate, fingernail-biting suspense masterpiece the likes I have not seen since, perhaps, Hitchcock's STRANGERS ON A TRAIN. It's basically a pseudo-documentary (a lot of hand-held, no famous faces, a minimum of fancy camera moves) but it works on every possible level.

We know what happens--we know that United 93 is doomed from the moment the film opens. And Greengrass finds his drama not only in bombastic scenes, but also, early on, in those quiet ones that we all can relate to: the boredom of sitting in the boarding area; the flight attendant chit-chat with the fliers: the pilots gearing up for the five hourNewark to San Francisco flight.

And when the drama cranks up, especially when watching the disbelief of the air traffic controllers who realize not just one plane, but a whole phlanx of planes are no longer under their control (!) you just want to leap out of your seat and call someone to do--well, something.

But you can't. Planes start hitting the WTC, a plane slams into the Pentagon, the military seems handcuffed in their response, the air traffic controllers seem to know the most (but can't get info to the right people, apparently), and those poor people on United 93 are oblivious to it. They're already dead, the viewer realizes in a horrible epiphany, and they don't even know it.

I cannot imagine UNITED 93 not getting a Best Picture nomination, nor Greengrass not being nominated for Best Director, Original Screenplay, and his editor not being up for an Oscar as well. This picture is so superior in execution and design to Oliver Stone's WORLD TRADE CENTER that I hesitate to mention them in the same blog.

One word sums up UNITED 93 quite nicely: WOW.

Insider Info on UCOD: What's in a name?

(WARNING: SPOILERS!)

Books take months and months to write, so readers should not be surprised that authors put thought and meaning into basically EVERY decision that affects what's written on the page.

Foremost among them--and this should be obvious, though sometimes it isn't--is what to name one's characters. For example, let's just take the Harry Potter series. "Snape" is an unattractive name, same as the character; "Potter" is common and ordinary, as humble as Harry's pre-Hogwart's roots; "Hagrid" is evocative of a large, Wagnerian-hero; and "Voldemort" is as deadly-sounding as its linguistic derivation, "mort," literally meaning death ("Malfoy" is another one with a hidden Gallic meaning: "mal"="bad".)

Some of Rowling's names are reversely-evocative: Ronald Weasley is anything BUT a weasle; Albus Dumbledore is anything but dumb; etc.

The same with my book, UNDER CLOAK OF DARKNESS. Since the book is getting more press, and I think (I hope!) that more people who have read it are now reading this blog, I thought it was time to divulge the hidden meanings behind the names in my book. Personally, I've always loved this kind of stuff.

JOHN APPARITE: "Apparite" is based on the word "apparition," as in "ghost." A fairly clear association, especially for a spy who is, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, basically dead.

THE DIRECTOR: His real name is nothing overly exotic or playful, I'll tell you that. For book purposes, I liked the idea that Apparite is the one who names him, in the most common-sensical manner possible (he's Apparite's director, ergo, the Director). "Boss" sounded too informal; "Number One" too goofy and "Bondish." I hoped like hell at the time that no other author had used the name "Director" as I planned, and I was relieved not to have run into any other secret agent bosses by this name--yet. Of course, and even if I DO, it's now too late!

AGENT J: My wife's name begins with "J." It's as simple as that.

AGENT G: Certain letters don't sound right for spy names (i.e. "W," or "Y") and the really obvious choices ("X" and "Q)" sound trite or stereotypical. "E" sounded okay, so I used that one as Apparite's "official" moniker. "B" is another one that's also used, which sounds okay as well.

CLIVE HITCH: "Clive" is a great, traditional old English name, and "Hitch" evokes someone with a fault or weakness, just as I wanted the reader to perceive this character as having.

WILLIAM STANDERTON: I ran across this name in the crypt of St. Paul's Cathedral, and I loved it. In a reverse psychology way, "Standerton" is a name of forthrightness and strength, like being a "stand-up" guy, or taking a "stand."

DR. HOEVENAERS: I found this name in my secret name source; a book which supplies me with authentic period names of people from many nationalities. And no, I won't tell you what it is.

PEGGY STOKES: As Apparite's almost-girlfriend, I wanted a name that had a plain front--and what is plainer or more fifties-sounding than "Peggy"?--and an evocative back (she "Stokes" the flames of Apparite's passion). So "Peggy Stokes" it was.

JOSEPH JUDGE: Now, this was just a happy coincidence. There WAS a well-known Washington Senator named "Joe Judge," and Apparite acts like "Judge and Jury" when he beats-up the thugs in the tavern.

VIKTOR: In Apparite's SMERSH nemesis, I wanted a name of real strength; of a confident man who expected to win every battle he was in. "Viktor," in addition to being a great Russian name, fit perfectly in that regard.

NIKOLAI: For the Russian engineer, I wanted an old-tyme name that commanded respect. So I named the engineer in honor of the last Russian Czar, Nicholas.

ROBERT KRAMER: For this essential character, I wanted an ordinary name in contrast to the decidedly UN-ordinary deed he was going to perform. My first choice (which I can't tell you, for reasons you shall see) was, I realized, the REAL name of an ACTUAL Navy Sub scientist who was an old friend of my parents (Gee, I THOUGHT it sounded familiar when I first thought it up!). So I changed it slightly and got "Robert Kramer."

THE MOBSTERS: Here were some difficulties. First, I did not want to use the names of any living Mobsters. Second, true Mob names are very distinct in their own way--one simply can't take any old Italian name and hope it sounds correct. So what I did was to look up the names of dozens and dozens of actual Mobsters, figure out how their names were derived, and then derive a bunch of my own. How? Well, many real Mobsters' names are derived from the region of Sicily or southern Italy that their families were from, so I got out my maps, found some good regional or town names, and voila! Franco Calabrese (Calabria), Frank Casarano (Casarano, Italy), etc. In the third Apparite book, I use this technique even more extensively, using names like "Vizzini" and "Gravina." Many Mobster names are derived from Italian words (an approach used by Coppola in THE GODFATHER, and by David Chase for THE SOPRANOS), but I felt a little less confident using that approach.

Anyway, there ya' go. If you want more evidence that authors and film-makers do this, just watch 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY. There's a reason why one astronaut is named "Bowman" and the other is named "Poole."

What's so great about V FOR VENDETTA?

Graphic novels are the rage, in all shapes and forms. Written back in the eighties, when Margaret Thatcher was, to many Britons, the equivalent of Satan, VENDETTA was a commentary on her conservative government--and not a flattering one.

Cut to the present: Golly gee, which government might be commented upon NOW by a film like VENDETTA? I wonder....

And yet that potential mine-field was lightly tripped over in this fine film. Rather than clumsy Bush-bashing, VENDETTA does a nice job of making the faults of the oppressive government in the tale JUST absurd enough as to avoid offence; just wild enough to hold our interest as "V" brings down a British administration bent on subjugating its people thru censorship and intimidation.

Aside from a possible conspiracy-theorist solution for 9/11 (in the film, the government kills its own people so it can, later on, seem heroic by saving others), it's a timely, entertaining film, filled with action and thoughtful issues to raise it above nearly all other recent graphic-novel/comic-book adaptations.

It's helped by having Hugo Weaving as the Guy Fawkes-masked anti-hero, "V." Weaving is wonderful; a basically vengeaful, evil man who does horrific things in a cause that he feels is just, and yet...and yet he pulls it off with elan, creating a completely sympathetic character who eventually wins over the audience. I never thought I'd be in favor of a man blowing up the Houses of Parliament to bring down the British Government, but in the world of this film, I'd bet that most viewers eventually find themselves rooting for him to do it.

Natatlie Portman, I'm afraid, is the film's weakest link. For one, she's so tiny and youthful that I'm afraid she doesn't make much of a visual impact--you basically want to pull her off the screen, give her a hug, and send her off to camp. And I don't care how much she practiced, she can't replicate an English accent with enough veracity to avoid making every line she utters a distraction.

But the rest of the cast, as is Weaving, is flawless; the acting a cut above every other film of this genre that I've yet seen. The visual style of the film is captivating, particularly in its action sequences involving "V." The music is stirring; hell, even the prologue--a brief history of Guy Fawkes--is unusually well done.

Yep, I liked this film. Can ya' tell?

What's the problem with WORLD TRADE CENTER?

I'm bucking the trend regarding this Oliver Stone patriotic love-fest and am going to basically pan this movie. If this offends your post-9/11 sensibilities in some way, or if you live in a Red State and wake up with FOX-News blaring on your TV set, then I suggest you read no further. If you want an unbiased opinion on this film, by a person who is a political independent, then by all means press-on.

OK, steady yourself, for here it comes:

This film would make a pretty good TV movie on ABC, but as a theatrical release, it's sorely lacking. It's not from lack of trying, or good material: the special effects are terrific, Nic Cage is unusually good, and the real-life story is compelling and uplifting.

The problem is that this particular story can't sustain a 2 hour film. The first half-hour is admittedly great: suspenseful, moving, horrifying, fascinating. The last fifteen minutes are great: life-affirming, patriotic without being cloying, with a happy ending to a cruel and tragic event.

But the middle hour and a half is, simply put, singularly dull and uninteresting. There's bascically two stories at play: the tale of the two men tapped in the rubble, and the tale of the families awaiting the men's fate. Both lose momentum quickly after the buildings collapse.

The dialogue between the men might be realistic (it's based on an actual event), but it's VERY slowly-paced; the pauses between lines seem to last forever. And while the tale is by nature a sad one, I think their dialogue could have used a bit more humor to move it along, and further humanize the characters. Really, the only humorous dialogue between them was Cage's mentioning of his wife's kitchen project, and one could sense the audience's relief when those lines brought a few laughs. More of that sort of thing could have done wonders with those sequences. Less pauses and groans of discomfort would have helped as well.

Sure, maybe the two men didn't joke around much in reality, and maybe they were in tremendous pain from their injuries, but this is a MOVIE, not a documentary film, and a few minor liberties for the sake of momentum are usually accepted (and welcomed). And I bet, really, that they DID share a few jokey moments--there's often a 'dark humor' present in such situations (like in combat, or in an Emergency Room) that comes out when the mood gets too dark, or the participants too depressed.

But the real problem in WTC lies with the homefront. I'm sorry, but those sequences played very flat for me; the dialogue wooden; the situations uninteresting. I'm sure it didn't have to be that way, but those scenes had a real 'TV' quality to them, without any sense of purpose or urgency. I expect that on Lifetime; I don't expect it in a theater from one of the best directors of the last 20 years.

A lot of it seemed like 'filler.' While the tale of these two men was important, it simply wasn't enough to fill an entire film. What WTC needed was another story thread or two. Show us more of what happened before the attack; show us more of the response (aside from the TV coverage); give us more detail on that Marine who came to help out (he's the best thing in the film as it is). Give us something to substitute for those slow parts in the middle.

I can't help but feel that people are afraid to criticise this film as inferior movie-making, but honestly, that's what it is: a missed opportunity by a talented director about one of the worst yet most dramatic days in United States' history.

Someday someone will make the definitive 9/11 film, probably as a multi-storylined film like THE LONGEST DAY. Until then, the first half-hour of WTC hints at what THAT film could be.

What's so great about SHOPGIRL?

I recently 'Netflixed' this film in an effort to assuage my wife, who often complains that the movies I put on our list are either 1) Obscure 2) In a foreign language 3) In Black & White or 4) Obscure, In a foreign language, and In Black & White.

So I make sure that, occasionally, a Must Love Dogs appears on our list (which is a horrible and contrived picture, I might add), or something of a similar ilk like Hitch. I must admit that it only seems fair since she has stuck with me through Metropolis and Wings of Desire. Oh--and M. Almost forgot that one.

So Shopgirl it was. I knew it was a Steve Martin creation, starring him, Jason Schwarzman, and Claire Danes, but what I did not know was that it was not, as I had assumed, some routine, testosterone-killing chick-flick, but rather a leisurely-paced, thoughtful character study of three person's views of love and relationships.

And it was unexpectedly good. The film it most reminds me of is Lost in Translation, another picture with a leisurely pace, lingering visuals, and wry sense of humor. But Shopgirl, to my mind, is the superior picture. It's difficult to explain it, but it's one of those films where the music and visuals achieve an effortless poetry without being showy; without drawing attention to themselves. The camera moves slowly; the editing contains more long shots in five minutes than most films, in the post-MTV, hyper-kinetic era contain in their entirety. The acting is naturalistic, avoiding any bombastic moments, with the ending being literal under-stated perfection.

It's not for everyone. Most will find it slow; some will wonder what the heck it's about, since the plot is rather minimal until the ending; and others will be disappointed that Martin, playing against type, seems rather staid and dull.

But it works. One of its great strengths is the musical score--if anyone wants a primer on how to unobtrusively score a film and yet have the music seem almost a character, then they need to watch this one. Again, it's difficult to put into words. I guess you'll just have to experience it. But though it seems slow, and though one wonders what it's all about, if you stick around for the last scene outside the art gallery, you'll get the pay-off in one of the quietist, most moving farewells in screen history (again, just like Translation).

It's worth the wait. But since Shopgirl turned out to be anything but a routine 'chick-flick,' I now realize that I need to find a suitable replacement to watch with my wife.

Is Failure to Launch any good?

What's so awful about THE PRINCESS BRIDE, THE RIGHT STUFF, and FOR YOUR EYES ONLY?

Two words: The Music.

The eighties were a time of musical experimentation, for which we have MTV, in some dubious ways, to thank. Out were long concept albums; in were short songs suitable for videos. Out were solos, prog-rock, and radio shows; in were Martha Quinn, massive synthesizers, and--unfortunately--composers like Vangelis.

Yes, Vangelis. Bolstered by the electronica revolution on MTV, someone got the bright idea to score Chariots of Fire with synthesizers instead of the London Philharmonic, or the London Symphony. And it worked.

Once.

But Chariots won for the Best Picture, Vangelis for the Best Score and, emboldened by his success, other directors and producers jumped on the synthesizer/fake orchestra band-wagon.

But the tunes that came from that band-wagon appealed to me about as much as sharing a toothbrush with Keith Richards.

I recall The Bounty, a very passable film starring Mel Gibson and Anthony Hopkins. Lavishly filmed; well-acted; and the story of Bligh, Christian, et co. was, as usual compelling.

But married to that film was this horrible, ear-drum assaulting electronic soundtrack. Even then, back in the early eighties, I remember recoiling immediately.

It didn't work. Electronic music CANNOT and DOES NOT belong in period pictures--PERIOD!

It only worked that once, for Chariots, but never again.

Now do you know why those initial three films irritate me? And it's not because I don't like them--hell, The Right Stuff is in my all-time Top Ten, Eyes Only is my third favorite Bond film, and Bride has more good memories from my past than I can list here.

But each contains elements of an electronic score that is more disturbing than, than, than--than finding out that Kevin Federline has been dating your mother. There--that's about it.

Bride and Stuff have some terrific music--Mark Knopfler's guitar score for Bride is wonderful, and Stuff uses Holst's "The Planets" with power--but the electronic sections make me throw up a little bit in my mouth.

As for Eyes, it's the only Bond film, I believe, without a typical John Barry score--what a waste! Did anyone REALLY think that Bill Conti could substitute for one of the greatest film composers (listen to the Out of Africa score if you don't believe me) of all time?

Oh, it's just a nightmare from which one cannot awaken. A perfectly great Bond film ruined by that awful electronic disco-ey score.

Hold on--I have to take a compazine.

Okay, the nausea has passed. Thank God, too, that the short-lived phenomenon of scoring movies electronically has passed as well. If only those three great films could be rescored, then all would be right with the world.

Unfortunately, not everything can be "As you wish."

What's so great about SYRIANA?

For my money, this is truly the best film of the past year. Why? Let's compare it to Munich, thought by others--delusionally, I'm afraid--to be the best of 2005.

Syriana: has a feel of absolute authenticity; is well-acted and photographed; has quiet, well-filmed cinematic moments (the weapon-tipped boat bearing down in near-silence on the large ship is masterful); weaves at least five disparate plot-lines into one powerful, cohesive message; has George Clooney in a terrific Oscar-winning performance; and, finally, leaves one wondering what the priorities of our nation are, and perhaps what they should be. It's really resonant.

Munich: the drama feels exceptionally contrived, bearing the distracting mark of the screenwriter; lacks authenticity in its approach, except in the Munich Olympic scenes; contains truly odd plot/visual choices in some of its scenes (especially some of the weird sexual stuff with Avner and his wife making love while he imagines the Munich massacre--a very bizarre thing to do) which I feel take the viewer out of the picture; the photography is gimmicky and distracting; the experience left me without resonance of almost any kind except that of disappointment.

The usual knock against Syriana is its plotting--too confusing! some say. What's going on? ask others.

But I found it reasonably easy to figure out (as did my wife), and here it is:

There's a country in the Middle East where two princes are fighting for future control after their elderly father steps down. One is well-equipped for the role, desiring democracy and independence from Western business influences; the other is a "playboy" type who is unambitious, wishing to maintain the status quo and go along with Western and U.S. interests.

On the American side, two large oil companies are merging, but before that can happen, the Justice Department investigates an oil contract that was just signed. Money apparently exchanged hands in order for that contract to be sealed, and the lawyer looking into it is "forced" to give up two upper-level oil company employees before the US Govt is satisfied and will approve the merger.

In the Middle East, the merger forces a reorganization that causes many young workers to lose their jobs. They are recruited into an Islamic school that gives them room, board, and emotional support, but this gradually erodes their moral beliefs, turning them into fanatics. Two of the young men become suicide bombers, planning to pilot a boat equipped with an advanced weapon and destroy a large ship in a nearby harbor.

Meanwhile, that weapon was procured during a deal CIA agent George Clooney made earlier in the film. Clooney was working undercover in a sting-assassination operation, but while he sold two of these weapons to his targets, eventually killing them, one of the weapons was moved out before it could be destroyed or accounted for. This weapon becomes the one to be used in the suicide-boat plan.

After that initial event, Clooney is sent on a mission to try and take down the well-educated and -qualified Prince that wishes to turn his country into a democracy--you see, his brother is the one with U.S. favor since he does not want independence from the West. Clooney is double-crossed by an old contact who is now an Islamic jihaddist; he is tortured, leaving the Middle East somewhat in disgrace, and his CIA superiors decide to expose and demote him to save face. Clooney's passport is taken and he becomes the fall-guy for the missing weapon and the failure of his last mission. He soon realizes that the Prince wishing democracy will be killed; his disenchantment with the CIA and U.S. aims in the region causes him to try and stop that event.

Allied with the targeted Prince is Matt Damon, a rather idealistic man who has now become the Prince's economic advisor after a tragic event obligates the Prince to repay Damon (and Damon's Geneva-based firm) in some manner. By his association with the Prince, however, the increasingly cynical and profit-minded Damon has placed himself unknowingly in great danger.

I won't reveal whether the Prince is killed, or Damon's character survives, or if Clooney stops the American-sponsored assassination of the Prince, or whether the suicide-boat bombers succeed in their mission--that's for you to see for yourself.

But I will reveal this: it's utterly compelling viewing. Don't get overly concerned about every little nuance of plot, or wondering overly-much about who is this guy?, or who is that guy? Just go along for the ride--everything comes clear in time. And the ride is an unusually interesting, thrilling one.

Directed and written by Stephen Gaghan (the real mastermind behind another film that was the finest of its year, Traffic, which also should have won Best Picture), Syriana raises some real issues about America's priorities and involvement in the Middle East, and whether, in the long-term, they're more detrimental than helpful. But it's not political in the blue-state/red-state sense, as some "message pictures" are. It's not preachy at all, helped out by its documentary-like feel, playing out objectively without the dreaded "mark of the screenwriter" contrivances that so plagued Munich.

It's intelligent, superior film-making for adults and thinking persons. Please check it out--we need more films like this as opposed to American Pie: Band-Camp. In a year filled with some perfectly dreadful, profit-motivated efforts, Syriana is a cinematic oasis in the film desert.

Why do I talk about so many old movies? Why not stick only with new releases?

Fair question, with a ready, multi-form answer:

1. There are an endless supply of old films that many people haven't seen. Too many people assume that old films, some of which are--horror of horrors!--in black and white (or even without talking! Say, what's that all about?) are dull, or archaic, or stupid. Well, they're not. Psycho remains one of the greatest horror films of all time; All Quiet on the Western Front, while a little dated in acting style, remains a powerful anti-war film. Old does not mean out-dated.

2. I have two children, and almost any film before 1960 can be watched with them without reservation. Even some modern PG-13 films have elements that a kid under 12 should probably not be exposed to--unless their parents want to have some awkward conversations afterward.

3. New films are so hit and miss nowadays, that many of them are basically no fun to write about. I started to watch Date Movie last night, but after laughing only once in the first 30 minutes, gave it up and moved on to a "real" film, Syriana (which, in my opinion, was the best picture of the year). If I was a critic that had to sit through crap like Hostel or Basic Instinct 2 every week, I'd just about go nuts.

4. And now the biggie: old films were made under the auspices of the "Production Code" which, by itself, lent itself, by necessity, to imaginative film-making.

Ever heard of "The Code"? Here's a brief history which might be more interesting than one might initially think.

Back in the mid-thirties, some persons were becoming disturbed by unsavory elements in film, not the least of which was Congressman Will Hayes. The Depression was in full swing, and while movies were still popular, no business was unaffected by those hard times. Movie moguls had to keep people going to theaters, and when some politicians threatened increasing over-sight of the mogul's product if the unsavory elements were not soon removed from film, they caved. Voila, the infamous Production Code, overseen by a martinet named Joseph Breen.

And one can see the influence right away. Prior to the mid-thirties, one might occasionally glimpse a naked female breast, or uncover a thinly-veiled homosexual reference, or watch a story with adulterous elements. That explains how DeMille got by showing Claudette Colbert's boobies in a milk-bath in The Sign of the Cross, or how the astute viewer with a functioning DVD pause button can basically see Maureen Sullivan's lady-business in the original Tarzan film, Tarzan and his Mate.

But soon, all that would be a distant memory. By 1936, there would be no more bare boobs--a little middle-cleavage was acceptable, but no under-cleavage; no nipples; no diaphanous gowns that showed the breast's full profile. Adultery and murder were acceptable only if the perpetrators were shown to suffer for their actions. Homosexuality was strictly verboten, which explains why William Wyler made films based on the Lillian Hellman play The Children's Hour twice: once after the code had been relaxed with the full homosexual plot in place, but during the pre-code days, the plot was changed so the illicit relationship was a heterosexual one. And language was clean--"hell" was frowned upon, and it almost took a papal dispensation to allow Clark Gable to utter the famous words, "Frankly Scarlett, I don't give a damn."

But something rather wonderful happened as a result. While a few films almost certainly suffered from the code--like Wyler's mentioned above--most were enhanced by it. Sex could only be hinted at, often in the most clever of fashions (witness Rhett Butler carrying off an unwilling Scarlett O'Hara up the stairs, cutting to Scarlett awakening with the biggest s--t eating grin in film history the next morning!). Films were uncynical and life-affirming, since evil-doers always paid for their crimes. The female breast was lifted and pushed together in more ways than one can count, but the resulting decolletage was sensual and enticing, hinting deliciously at what still lay concealed underneath. Four letter words barely existed, so other ways of expressing displeasure had to be devised. And violence was minimal--no hacked off heads and limbs; no blood-spatters striking the camera.

I won't pretend it should have stayed that way; by the early sixties films were bursting at the seams trying to explore more provocative themes. And in the sixties, when the code finally fell, it fell at the hands of some superior films: Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, and the 1959 Otto Preminger film Anatomy of a Murder. The victory was so complete that by 1969, almost anything was possible--even the winning of Best Picture by an X-rated film, as indeed happened with the release of Midnight Cowboy.

No, the code had its time and place, and though we'll never see the like of those old studio-made films again, their prudish legacy is a wondrous one for modern audiences, accustomed to gratuitous nudity and sexual content, the raining-down of "F-bombs" in even teen-movies, and the sick, sadistic ultra-violence used for entertainment (!) in films like the above mentioned Hostel.

I'm no prude--heck, some of my favorite films are rather disturbing and graphic, like Blue Velvet and Taxi Driver--but when the majority of releases seem to be "hard" PG13's (and, you know, you are allowed one "F-bomb" in a PG-13 film), and R's, I think there's perhaps something wrong. When every G-rated film is aimed solely at the under twelve market, and are almost always of the animated variety, I think something's wrong.

If Gone With the Wind was made today, I have a feeling there'd be plenty of bare butts and boobs, probably a torture scene involving a limb being hacked-off, at least three rapes, and the closing line modernized to "Frankly my dear, I don't give a flying f---!".

Now you know why I reveiw so many old movies.

What's so great about REAR WINDOW?

To my mind, this is Hitchcock's finest film: terrific suspense, great actors (James Stewart, Grace Kelly) and that wonderfully voyeuristic, vicarious premise: a laid-up guy with nothing but time on his hands spies on his many neighbors across the way and discovers that one of them has been murdered.

Why do I use the word 'vicarious'? Because we all know that, given the chance, we'd sure as hell do the same thing! And that's the charm of the film: by focusing on an every-man type like Stewart, in a situation all of us could relate to, Hitchcock and Co. absolutely make us believe in this story. Hell, 'our' character, in addition to being a voyeur who solves a murder, also gets to have Grace Kelly as his girlfriend! Who wouldn't want to relate to that guy?

I watched the first five minutes with my daughter today, pointing out all the little touches 'Hitch' uses to set up the story: it's the hottest day of the year; all the apartment building's windows are open; people sleep on the fire escape to escape the swelter; there's a dancer living across the way, and a love-lorn type, plus an unhappily married guy, a guy writing a song, a woman and her little dog.

But then the focus on Stewart begins: though he's shown reclining, he's not lounging like the others--you see, his leg's in a cast. Why? The camera lingers on a broken camera on a table; then an all-too-close up photo of a wreck in a car-race; and then a magazine cover. Simple: he's a professional photographer who was injured while taking pictures at an automobile race.

So much to tell the viewers, and yet so elegantly done with no dialogue.

Touches like this litter the film: the songwriter gets his inspiration and the melody dissuades the love-lorn girl from suicide; Grace Kelly absconds with the dead woman's wedding ring, flashing it to Stewart from the woman's apartment; Stewart uses his flash to blind the murderer and avoid becoming the man's next victim.

And it's all done in 2 hours on, basically, one set, with only about six people having any lines of dialogue in the entire film. The photography is great, too--that really saturated Technicolor of the fifties almost becomes a character in itself (it's the best-looking of all of Hitchcock's color films).

If you haven't seen it, and you want to see what old-fashioned, G-rated, classic movies were like--and want to discover how much more sexy and suspenseful they could be than modern films--then rent or Netflix it today.

And after that one, get Strangers on a Train, my other favorite Hitchcock film (it's a close call between that and North by Northwest, but Strangers gets the nod for its more twisted and cynical plot). You won't be disappointed. In this case, it's absolutely true that "they don't make 'em like this anymore."

Today is the official release date for UNDER CLOAK OF DARKNESS which doesn't necessarily mean much in practical terms since pre-ordered books won't arrive for another week or two, but still, it's a milestone for me for it signifies the closure of a project I began on a morning in April of 2004; a project I started almost on a whim, with no publisher, no agent, and not even a firm story in mind--just the idea of this intense, decent young man named John Apparite struggling to do the terrible things he must in service to his country (or, perhaps, in service to the Director, whichever influence is greater at any given moment).

But I DID know a few things I wanted for Under Cloak of Darkness:

1. It had to be a period piece. I wanted "us" versus "them" and only in the 50's and early 60's does one get that full flavor during the Cold War. As a lover of history, I really looked forward to absolutely cramming into the work as much 50's trivia, lore, tid-bits, and doo-dads as I could. From what the reviewers have said, I think I succeeded, for the most part. But there's always room for improvement, and in the second book, especially in regard to baseball and poisons, I think you'll eventually find I've exceeded what I did in the first one. One has to do that in a sequel, I think, to keep it interesting.

2. It had to have no set moral compass, just like "real life." No one is perfect; no one's motives are entirely pure, and that also had to come out. While there's good guys and bad guys in the book, the good guys aren't entirely all good, nor are the bad guys entirely all bad (even Viktor isn't 100% unsympathetic, since both his parents tragically perished in the siege of Leningrad). Apparite, I thought, had to be conflicted with what he was forced to do--what man, aside from a mentally-ill maniac (perhaps like Viktor?) would take true joy in the cold-blooded killing of others as a requirement of their job? I can't imagine any sane man would--and neither would John Apparite. I don't believe in assassin "killing-machines" as entertainment any more than I believe in Ed Gein-like serial killers as entertainment. Apparite might kill, but in a way it begins to wear on him; he realizes, I think, that it is beginning to lessen him as a man; as a human being. That, to my mind, is closer to reality.

3. It had to move quickly. Some reviewers have compared my plotting technique to that of a film's: fast-paced, action-oriented, with detailed visual-based descriptions (almost as if the tale was being seen on film), and so on. The reason it's that way is that, really, I'm more movie-oriented and -influenced than literature-oriented and -influenced. So when I wrote, I wrote the John Apparite movie that was playing in my head more than the, say, John Apparite book I formulated from other books I've read. But I like this style--it's reader-friendly and relatable, and though it's not "high-brow" (I'll never win a Pulitzer for it, that's for sure!) or scholarly, it seems to do the job. The book is meant to be read and enjoyed in a spirit of fun and adventure, not deliberately slogged through like Dostoevsky or Joyce.

4. It had to be technically accurate. I prepared for this by researching books and the internet to its full capacity, and while no man can be 100% accurate when expounding on such varied subjects as weapons, Isshin-Ryu karate, the Washington Senators, Italian meats and cheeses, and the restaurants on the Queen Mary, I don't think I did any worse than the next man. If anyone finds a factual error, let me know! I'd be happy to post and discuss it, and correct it for future editions.

5. Last of all, I wanted to have fun doing it--and I did. I wrote under no deadlines, no pressure, no outward motivation at all except that great writers' feeling of being compelled to tell a story. I can't think of a single word of this novel that I wrote while "blocked," or under some external force to complete the tale. When I wanted to write, I wrote. When I didn't, I waited until I did; waited until the story of John Apparite completed itself in my head and it forced itself out onto the paper.

But now the book is officially "out" as of today so I'm tracking my sales and preparing for signings and compiling press packets and arranging for newspaper interviews and writing this blog and speaking to writing groups and telling the tale of John Apparite, feeling all the while that he's become real, and that one day he will knock on my door and say, "Hey, what's this I hear about you writing a book about me?"

If he ever does, I hope I've done him and the Director proud.

My thanks go to all who helped me get to this point, and to all of you who have either bought, or are going to buy, my book. And please stop back here and post a comment, or write me via the web-site (www.imkoontz.com) and ask about Mr. John Apparite, or J, or the Director, or Viktor, or Hitch, or Standerton, or even Dr. Hoevenaers. Ask anything you want (you can also send e-mails to the address imichaelkoontz@yahoo.com) and I'll do my darndest to give you some kind of answer. Seriously--try me. And tell your friends!

All my best--

I. Michael Koontz

What so great about RONIN?

I thought I'd tackle one of the better spy flicks out there, and in recent years, there's not been one I enjoyed more than Ronin.

Let's talk cast: De Niro, Sean Bean, Jean Reno, Jonathan Pryce--do I even need to mention anyone else? It's got a great hook--the mysterious silver case--plus two (TWO!) of the best car-chases ever filmed, including the absolute best car chase ever filmed.

It's atmospheric, mysterious, filled with great dialogue ("Have you ever killed anyone?"--"I hurt someone's feelings once," "I'm a weapons-man--they tend to settle the argument") and sounds (horns, screeches, ricochets--the sound design is terrific) and a non-stop plot that is not, for once, filled with holes. And there are great quiet moments, like Michel Lonsdale's telling De Niro of the story of the "orphaned" Samurai ("Ronin") who committed ritual seppuku to die with honor. The foreign (French) locations are provocatively used, and the photography, music, and sets are top-notch.

And that car chase! No CGI here, folks. Real cars, real crashes, real excitement, and even a little humor make for about the most exciting seven minutes ever filmed. Director John Frankenheimer made the sixties film Grand Prix, so he knows about cars and drivers--and it shows. I don't want to spoil the chase for people, but there are little clever bits here and there that leave one's mouth agape. In the age of the computer, we'll never see its like again.

I never understood why this film wasn't a huge hit, or why it's usually assigned only 2 or 3 stars for a rating in reviews. For my money, it's the best spy film of the last twenty years; possibly the best since The Day of the Jackal. And that's saying something.

What's so great about DAZED AND CONFUSED?

Richard Linklater is one of my favorite current film directors, hands down. For one, when he's interviewed, he shows a real joy and passion in making films, and seems universally popular amongst his actors. It's not a job to him--it's a calling. For another, he's not a slave to commercialism--witness his animated classic Waking Life (soon to be joined by A Scanner Darkly) and his pair of European book-ended films Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. In fact, his only true failure was, oddly, his most commercial effort, The Newton Boys.

And yet his instant cult-classic from the nineties, and now simply-classic film remains Dazed and Confused. It's been called the American Graffiti of my generation, and that's no exaggeration. It may not carry the poignancy and emotional resonance of Grafitti (still, to my mind, George Lucas's finest film) but it is a helluva' lot of fun, and is made with surprising skill.

For example, take the opening. To the strains of Aerosmith's finest song, "Sweet Emotion," one gets the entire tale of the last day of school--the best day of the year for any kid--told with humor and grace, and yet it doesn't seem gimmicky in the slightest, unlike most movie montages. There's another great musical montage when the boys play pool which achieves an element of poetry in the marriage of music, pool ball movement, and the facial expressions of the actors. Don't let the subject matter fool you--just because it's a hilarious movie about a party on the last day of school doesn't mean it's not brilliant film-making.

The acting is naturalistic and effortless, and the cast--well, the cast put about as many new, memorable faces on screen as did Graffiti in its time. Ben Affleck, Cole Hauser, Parker Posey, Jason London, and especially Matt McConaughey all got their starts here (among many others). There's great little moments we all remember from junior high and high school in the 70's, but the one I enjoyed the most was one of the quietest: after the baseball game, when each team lines up and they pass each other to shake each opposing player's hand, they all rather robotically say, "good game, good game, good game, good game." As soon as I saw this, I knew we were in the hands of a man who knew the time period; who knew these kids; who knew exactly what he was doing.

And it's a very funny film. From the opening paddle-hazing ritual to the wild kegger at the "Moon Tower," it's got as many real laughs as any film in the last 20 years. I'm half-waiting for the sequel to it, which will take us to the time and place where these memorable characters ended up, but I sincerely hope it never happens: I want to remember them, and this night, as always being the last day of school in 1976.

What went wrong with MUNICH?

I thought I would love this movie--a great story, Spielberg, and a bunch of great actors--but unfortunately, I think it was a bit of a mess.

Why? Wasn't it up for Best Picture? some of you might ask.

Yup--and undeservedly so. Here's the reason:

It had a ridiculously unrealistic screenplay which, despite the 'based on fact' notice at the start of the film which one would think would guide the film-makers, was rather a mess. But then again, maybe that's what you get when you have a playwright (Tony Kushner) write a spy-assassin story.

Rather than a long diatribe against the film, I'll just list the problems as I saw them:

1. The main character (Eric Bana) was unqualified for the position. He was a bodyguard for Golda Meir, but not an assassin. He was married--with a pregnant wife! I'm sorry, but this is NOT the type of guy the Mossad or Ms. Meir would have picked to head an 'elite' covert assassination team.

2. The other members of the team were basically incompetent. A bomb-maker who's not trained to make bombs? An elderly antique dealer who's also a forger--and who actually goes on the missions? Daniel Craig as a moral-less killer without any sort of true spy trade-craft? Again, it defies logic that the Iraelis would use such people.

3. The missions themselves were horribly contrived and unrealistic, usually involving all five (!) team members in exposed positions. And nearly each time, somehow the victim was able to confront his or her killer face to face and have a little chat! Horribly, horribly contrived. It really takes the drama out of it when one feels compelled to turn to one's wife and say "C'mon! This is getting ridiculous!"

4. The mission where the five covert guys accompany hordes of rampaging Keystone-coppish Mossad agents to Lebanon was absurd. I absolutely cannot believe that this occurred in real life this way. No way, no how.

5. The double-booked safe-house episode with the Palestinians was really, really dumb. When they read the screenplay, didn't anyone tell Spielberg, "Umm, say, maybe this isn't such a good idea?" And gee, what a surprise when Avner and Co. have to shoot them! Ugh.

6. The mysterious Frenchmen being in charge of basically ALL of the team's intelligence was really wacky and 'out there.' And there's NO WAY an assassin like Avner would go off in a car with his French contact without alerting the other members of his team. Again, it stretched credibility far beyond what I thought was acceptable.

7. The female assassin bit felt forced--especially since her assassination seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Just mosey on into her houseboat, pull your guns, have a little conversation, and shoot away. Oh--and don't forget to leave her naked and exposed to clumsily get your message across (which was then regretted ad nauseum later, as were all their decisions).

8. They're bunglers; the whole damn team. Did they ever really assassinate any of their targets in a covert, effective manner? Aside from nearly blowing up a little girl--and running all around a public Paris street like maniacs--and having the bomb malfunction, or having the bomb explode too much, or shooting the kid by the pool, or running half-cocked with the Mossad in Lebanon, etc., did they ever do a decent job at it? No--which seems a little much for me. The Mossad and the Israelis don't mess around, son! They don't waste time, energy, or resources! They don't screw these sorts of things up.

9. Will there ever be a movie again that doesn't over-use hand-held? That doesn't over-use digital-grading by the DP in post-production to achieve some desired, grainy, washed-out or over-saturated look? Because the look of Munich was a distraction. More of a technical complaint, but when I've had ever since that first scene of Private Ryan where the same techniques were, again, over-used to a film's detriment.

On the positive side, I loved the musical score, and the Munich Olympic scenes were powerful and memorable. On the other hand, that left me wondering this: How come Spielberg simply didn't film THAT story? I wish he had, for Munich proved to be, for me, the biggest film disappointment of this past year.

What so great about THE LONGEST DAY?

Oddly, this is one of those all-star films that plays better today than in did when it was first released in the early sixties: back then, some reviewers found all the celebrity cameos distracting, but to modern audiences, guys like Paul Anka and Sal Mineo don't register.

But others like John Wayne and Richard Burton sure do.

What makes it great is its structure and pacing. There's at least 25 big actors in it, yet the performances are universally good, the stories a picture of efficiency in screen-time. The invasion of Normandy was an incredibly complex operation, yet the major events are all covered with a minimum of fuss.

And they're memorable. Richard Burton commenting on his friend "Johnny" now being "At the bottom of the channel," and how "the few are getting...fewer." John Wayne succinctly telling his troops to, "Send 'em to Hell!" Richard Beymer and company walking on one side of a stone wall in plain sight of the Germans who are walking past them on the other side of it!

Plus there's a dozen resonant lines of dialogue that stick with you: "Hold until relieved." "So much for the Luftwaffe!" "You know those ships you say they don't have? Well--they've GOT them!" "Sometimes I wonder who's side God is on." And more.

No, the combat is not (blessedly) as realistic as Private Ryan. And it's in black and white, which some find annoying (personally, I like it--adds to the documentary-like feel of the picture). But it's always entertaining, with a surprising amount of humor (something sorely lacking in A Bridge Too Far, the other Cornelius Ryan book to be filmed) and a terrific score.

It's a fast 3 hours, let me tell you. And it's clean enough to be watched by children--I recall sitting with my father when I was 8 or 9 and watching it. I was hooked, watching it every year in early June (naturally) until that final scene ("I wonder who won?") would play out at almost 1 am.

I never tire of it. But even for those who don't like war pictures, it's still worth seeing as a well-organized (by Darryl Zanuck) film exercise in how to entertainingly tell a complicated tale with 10 leads and 25 star appearances. As a film, it's underrated as hell.

What defines a "Modern"-era film? To me, the critical years are 1939-1941, and the two films I am going to reference from that period are Gone With the Wind (GWTW), and Citizen Kane. Before Kane and GWTW, film was in its infancy; afterward, anything seemed possible.

Now, this is not entirely true, of course. Those of you who have seen Intolerance, Greed, The Last Laugh, and Abel Gance's Napoleon know of the power and glory of silent films. But when talkies became de rigeur in the late twenties, all of a sudden the medium was constricted by the limits of sound recording. The camera stopped moving for a time, and all people did was talk and talk and talk--it's probably no coincidence that there were more screwball comedies in the 30's than sweeping epics (Mutiny on the Bounty is about the only memorable one from that time).

And then, 1939 and GWTW. As an effort in film-making and story-telling, it's just as entertaining today as when it was released. The performances have aged well; the photography is gorgeous; the music stirring; and Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable simply captivating. If one could forgive the occasional racist portrayal (as in Prissy), it would still be well received if released sight-unseen today. And what a year for director Victor Fleming! People forget that he did not only GWTW, but also the Wizard of Oz both in the same year. Wow--imagine Spielberg completing ET one month and starting Schindler's List the next. It's that impressive.

In 1941 came Kane. Sometime I'll dissect it in greater detail (because modern audiences seem not to understand what the big deal is about) but here was a tale from Orson Welles and screenwriter Herman Manckiewicz that revolutionized the potential of film: 1) It established non-linear story-structure as a viable medium 2) It utilized the camera to its fullest capacity (must recognize the great Gregg Toland here, for he was the DP on it) 3) It succeeded on multiple, multiple levels: As a roman a clef bio of W.R. Hearst, as a mystery tale (almost film noir), as an acting vehicle for the 25 year old (!) Welles, as a debut directing vehicle for the 25 year old Welles (!!), and as a damned good and enjoyable picture that still entertains sixty-five years later.

Without Kane, there's no Pulp Fiction; without GWTW, there's no Titanic. Before 1939 films often seemed stodgy and stagey; after 1941, the medium was thrust into its maturity.

If you doubt this, watch the Best Picture winners from 1935, 36 and 37, and then watch the ones from 1948, 49, and 50. The difference in acting and film-making prowess is astounding, beyond any other 15 year period of motion picture history since the advent of talking pictures.

So the next time Kane or GWTW come on the tube, show a little respect. They laid a lot of groundwork for some great familiar films to come.

What's so awful about KING KONG?

Don't get me wrong--I'm a big Peter Jackson fan. Loved LOTR--especially Fellowship. I even enjoyed The Frighteners.

But Kong left me cold. And one word explains it all: Editing. Or maybe Pacing, which is a function of Editing.

The original Kong was barely 100 minutes long. And it moved--fast. No wasted shots (not when each effects sequence took weeks to film in stop-motion!) No superfluous characters. And what you got is a classic that inspired more film-makers than almost any other (it's continually mentioned by directors).

The new Kong was three hours--almost twice as long. The initial NY sequences were great--the zoo, the Depression-era allusions--but it took much to long to get on the boat. I believe Skull Island was reached in about 45 minutes at the earliest. So, when two hours later Kong is scaling the Empire State Building, I was fatigued; I was tired--and wishing Kong could climb a little faster.

A bunch of over-wrought, overly-lengthy sequences come to mind: the slow typing of the words "Skull Island," the endless slo-mo of the natives, the endless falling of the Brachyosaurus's, the truly endless V. Rex (yes, not a T. Rex but a V. Rex) fight, the incredibly endless chase through NY after Kong escapes (which includes an odd little skate on a Central Park pond!).

It all made for a 3 out of 5 star, 3 hour film that's still pretty good despite its faults (I've watched it twice). And yet to this Peter Jackson fan it was a disappointment, for I wanted to love this film, buy the multi-DVD set, watch it a time or two a month for a year. It was not to be, however.

But you know what? I think it's salvagable. Somewhere there's a 5 out of 5 star film lurking within that 3 hour one. Only this one's only about 2 1/2 hours long. And Jack Black isn't a cynical SOB but a hypo-manic, overly optimistic sort like the original Carl Denham was back in '33. There are so many stunning sequences and shots in Jackson's film, I don't understand how it could have been so misassembled and mis-directed; for one, I don't see how Naomi Watts could have been so damn good but Adrien Brody so damn dull. Was PJ blinded by the effects shots? Was it too much for him--had he gotten to close to the material, having worshipped at Kong's alter since he was a child?

In my personal film disappointment history, it is exceeded only by Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. And that's sayin' somethin'!

Let's hope he doesn't tackle Godzilla. Oh wait--Roland Emmerich already butchered that one.

What's so great about FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE?

Russia was the second Bond film and, in my opinion--and that of most film scholars--it's the best, rivalled only by Goldfinger. Future Bond film-makers and screen-writers should be mandated to watch it before beginning their work, because it's got everything GOOD about a Bond film without any of the bad.

First of all, it's a Cold War film. The film, I recall, does wimp out and uses SPECTRE as its villain (not the Soviet agency SMERSH), but the location (Turkey), plot (trapping spy Bond with a hidden camera during sex), and trappings (great train scenes; assassination scenes; full character development) make for a good stand-alone story, even without the cachet of Bond attached. The Cold War-type Bond books are the best, though the films veered off into super-villainy on remote islands which is patently ridiculous (it's even hard to take in Dr. No, frankly). But Russia is a secret agent us vs. them story, and that is reason #1 why it works.

And it's got great villains, especially Robert Shaw's assassin, and bad-girl Rosa Klebb (Lotte Lenya). The lead female character (I recall the actresses's name is Daniela Biancchi) is more than just a pretty face; she's actually involved in the story; she feels like she's got a life apart from the film.

And then there's Kerim Bey, played by the then-terminally-ill actor Pedro Armendariz. I love the scenes with this man, especially the journey into the tunnels under Istanbul. What a full performance he gives! Rare, all-to-rare for a Bond film to have a real actor plying his craft.

For the male chauvinists out there, there's even a wild, skirt-ripping Gypsy hell-cat fight to get pulses racing--and for the women, there's always Sean Connery at the height of his powers. Plus, it introduces one of John Barry's great musical themes during one of the action sequences--watch it and you'll immediatley know what I mean.

Truly, it's the only Bond film that would work without the main character being the famous James Bond--which has been my main complaint about most of the films, which would most definitely not. Hopefully, the upcoming Casino Royale will add another film whose story would work with or without the Bond label.

BTW, in the book, when Rosa Klebb tells the girl that she knows her full life-story, which she reviews with her in humiliating, excruciating detail--well, that became my inspiration for the Director's similarly-themed speech to Apparite. And, in turn, I'd bet that Fleming got it from someone before him, too! Very little in literature is entirely new--except maybe a main character's obsession with the Washington Senators. I think I've got the market cornered on that one.

I've decided to emphasize the Movies a bit more in this blog, in addition to writing about my favorite secret agent/assassin (also known as "The nicest, deadliest Spy in the World"), Superagent John Apparite.

Why?

Because everyone loves the movies; loves to talk about the movies; loves to hear others talk about the movies. I also think that I know a lot about the movies--I've read dozens of books in the area; seen hundreds and hundreds of films (from Aguirre: Wrath of God to Zardoz), and know the difference between Katherine Hepburn and Audrey Hepburn, between Jose Ferrer and Mel Ferrer, between M and Z.

The movie posts will encompass reviews, lists (Seven Greatest Whatevers), and a series that I'll call "What's great (or wrong, or awful) about ?" where I will give my opinion on past films of note. I hope people will enjoy it. I know I will--I love writing about film. I could do it all day.

So here's my movie thought for today: What's wrong with Memoirs of a Geisha?

I recently read the book by Arthur Golden--and it was pretty good. Glorious detail about a little known subject; great period depictions (Japan in 30's and 40's), and some memorable characters. And it was popular as hell--universal praise from the get-go.

But the film is a snooze! It's not for lack of talent: director Rob Marshall helmed Oscar-winner Chicago, and his technical back-up was superb: the art direction and costumes were wonderful; the music by John Williams some of his best work in years. They had great actresses involved, plus one truly great actor (Ken Watanabe), and an incredibly popular and beloved work to draw from.

Then why was I looking at my watch so much? Why was I glad when it ended?

1. Pacing. There seemed to be little dramatic tension--partly because you learn, early on, that Chiyo IS going to become a great Geisha, ruining (for the non book-reader) the drama of the story. There's little dramatic drive in the film; no great emotional journey for Chiyo to take. Her character, to me, seemed the same at the end of the film as at the beginning. The best character in the film is that of Hatsumomo--yet she disappears about 2/3 of the way through. And others, like the Chairman, Mameha, or Mother, seem to have no personality at all. The only characters of lasting note were Pumpkin and Nobu--neither of whom have enough to do.

2. The book. There are plot flaws in the book that become more noticeable in the film. In the book, you see, Golden uses his wonderful descriptions of Japan and Geisha life to interest the reader. In the film, that is lost--and all you have left is a very bare bones plot: Girl is sold to Geisha house; Girl makes Enemy; Girl meets nice Geisha; Girl becomes Geisha; Girl defeats Enemy; Girl survives war; Girl re-becomes Geisha; Girl gets the Chairman.

Again, the girl does not really change during the film, robbing her character of depth; things happen to her but she does not often cause things to happen. It's an unusually flat character--and a character that makes some dumb decisions in the book and film that don't ring true. Purposely sleeping with someone in hopes of getting caught--and still getting "her man" in the end? I barely bought it in the book, and didn't buy it in the film. And the way she treats Nobu is despicable--a better ending would have been for her to have truly fallen for Nobu and realized that, perhaps, the Chairman isn't all he's cracked up to be. Show the girl to be shallow in the begining of the film but more thoughtful and emotionally complex by the end. I'll just come right out and say it: Her getting the Chairman at the end is a cop-out. In the book it was an annoyance; in the film, it is fatal.

3. The Director. Rob Marshall is a theater director; Chicago was his first film. He did a great job--with an established theater piece. But with Geisha he had an adaptation challenge that even a truly great director--like Scorcese or Kubrick--would have struggled with. He was unable to create any real drama from the material, hoping, I believe, that the atmosphere of the piece would sustain the audience to the end. Unfortunately, I think he fell short. I recall a lot of people having been linked with this film before he was chosen to helm it--and I bet none of those that turned it down have any regrets. I kind of feel sorry for him--he chose a very tough book as his second project (dare I choose the fateful term, "unfilm-able"?)

Anyway, those are my theories. Some books lend themselves to film (GWTW), while others don't (Ulysses). I think the first Harry Potter film had the same problem--it seemed stilted, lifeless, married to the sourced material--but fortunately the last two in that series have been well-adapted. Geisha didn't work, but I do congratulate the film-makers for the effort. As an author, I welcome any film that tackles a mature book with intelligence. I'd rather have a failed Geisha than a failed Armageddon any day.

A hundred years of baseball history, flushed by greed--and all it took was about ten years to do it.

Maybe it's in my make-up, or my compulsion to understand the past, but I've always been one of those that treasured the long history of baseball: the "primitive" era before 1900, the "dead-ball" era until 1920, the "Ruthian era" of the twenties, the inflated-stats era of the thirties--every 10-20 years of baseball has its own panache; its own identity.

Except this last one: the "post-strike era." Those years since 1993 have nearly ruined Big League baseball for me, and the sad thing is, that I saw it coming.

Was it any coincidence that in the year of the impending strike, that homers were being hit at near-record paces? That following the strike, McGuire and Sosa destroyed the most hallowed record in sport? That Bonds followed on their heels, further raising the bar? That the baseballs themselves had begun to be manufactured in a different nation?

No.

I'm not a conspiracy theorist, my theories about J. Edgar Hoover aside. But I CANNOT believe that all of the above was a coincidence. And there IS a central point, a linch-pin, that explains it: GREED.

Owners wanted more homers, more offense; players wanted more money and glory. So when players began to use steroids--and I was one of the few who utterly believed Canseco's accusations, which, by the way, are turning out to likely be true--and the homers leapt up (Brady Anderson hit FIFTY (!) as a lead-off man one year) they all turned their heads, counted the cash, and proclaimed that "baseball was back."

Right. The whole time, I just was about sick. Sick that the records of Ruth and Maris--honest, non-supplement and 'roid using men--were obliterated. Sick that other records--Gehrig's AL RBI mark, Ruth's slugging percentage--were nearly eclipsed. Sick that people were celebrating this as a great thing; as being good for baseball.

They are now being proved wrong. Baseball is in one helluva' mess; a mess I am not trying to revel in, though it is difficult not to. Some may say "Oh grow up--Ruth couldn't carry Bonds' jock," or "Get outta' the past, bud!"

But a large part of baseball's appeal is the continuity OF its history--of the debates (Grove, Johnson, or Clemons? Ripken or Banks? Robinson, Schmidt, or Traynor?). Well, now the debate seems more likely to be, Human Growth Hormone or Stanozolol?

A hundred years of great baseball history--all down the drain. Well, as long as it made some people rich, I suppose most will say that it's okay....

Do you have a favorite shirt? Or tie? Or pair of shoes? Well, true love for a favored piece of clothing has its price, and I paid it last night.

It's odd how attached people get to inanimate objects; not just the ones that become anthropomorphic in nature, like stuffed animals or sock-monkeys, but even those every day items, too.

For me, it's my Edinburgh Military Tattoo shirt, bought in 1996 during my honeymoon after we'd attended the famous "Edinburgh Military Tattoo." It's--no he's been a perennial favorite ever since that cool August night, when I first spied him hanging at the souvenir stand (that shirt breathes like no other--even a 100 day doesn't faze him) but last night, he was wounded in battle. Critically wounded.

Okay, let me start by saying that I'm not a big fan of eating and drinking all kinds of crap at movies. I'd like to throttle the first idiot who decided that munching on a bag of popcorn--which cannot be done in silence--or slurping a glass of pop was a good idea in a crowded theater when everyone wants to watch and listen to what's happening on screen, and not in someone's mouth down the aisle. It's distracting and annoying. I'm sure I'm not alone on this.

So last night my wife and I see Thank you For Smoking. Pretty good film--not great, but pretty good--but my wife was afraid that she was going to cough a lot (scratchy, dry throat that night), so she went to the lobby and bought an Icee. That's one of those deep red, great-tasting frozen-ice drinks with a consistency that defies molecular chemistry or description.

"Do you want a sip?" she asked me.
Since the film hadn't started, and since Icee's are to me like heroin is to a junkie, I nod in agreement.
"Just a little one."
I take the Icee cup in hand. Remember that an Icee has a huge mound of Icee-drink on top of the cup, contained only by a rounded, clear plastic attachment.
I sip--damn, that's good, I think. An Icee's consistency cannot be described by mere words: foamy, slushy, syrupy--I dunno'. Maybe the Eskimos have a word for that type of frozen-ness, but I don't.
I go to hand the cup back to my wife when--the plastic lid pops off. Sploosh!
I have neglected one important point: my Military Tattoo shirt is white. Whiter than white. White like Ultra-Bright toothpaste white.
Deep red Icee virtually explodes all over my shirt, like I've been hit with a mortar round.
"I've been hit!"
Okay, so I didn't have the wit to say exactly that; instead, I used a word that contains the letters "G" and "D" and sounds an awful like "Goddammit!"
Alright, it was Goddammit.

My wife runs and grabs some napkins while I squeegee red Icee off my shirt with the side of my hand. The movie begins, I wipe myself off as best I can, but for the next 95 minutes am wearing a red and white shirt that is sticky as molasses. My favorite now red and white shirt as sticky as molasses.

We are out of town visting my wife's parents, so we get back to their house while my mother in law, a natural-born chemist if ever I saw one, applies various concoctions to the shirt.

With suspense it is washed and...
and...
it's white again!

I don't how what Icees are made of, but I would bet that some Icee-hired lawyer advised them, as a means of reducing cleaner-bill lawsuits, to make that substance self-cleaning, because I have never seen a large, completely permeated red stain like was on my favorite white polo shirt come out like that!

Either that, or my mother in law is a genius.

And from now on, my wife can cough her head off in a theater for all I care. After all, I gotta' shirt to protect.

WARNING: UCOD Spoilers! The third book is done, and now I'm ready to start the fourth. Really, you know, no book is EVER done--when I read the first one now I find things I want to change--but there comes a time to move on and figure out what is going to happen to your character next. And that, I've found, is the fun part.

In book two, that 'figuring out' process was easy--book one ends with Apparite recovering from his mission in London with one thought on his mind: kill Viktor. So in book two, do you think I'm going to have Apparite go to Spain and hang out with flamenco dancers? Hell no! He's going to Europe and--maybe, possibly--meet up with Viktor. Basically, I had book two plotted out before even completing book one.

For book three, I looked back at books one and two, pulling things out here and there to reference later on and lend some continuity to Apparite's life-story--just as in our own lives, which are not lived in a present-day vacuum, as too often seems to happen in novels and film (people have a history, and it influences them coninuously). And in book three, to change things up, I thought I'd have Apparite fight the Russkies in the U.S. (it's set in Iowa City, Iowa, of all places).

And you know what? Writing about the US was a lot harder than writing about London--or Saverne--or Berlin--or Brussels. The familiar assumes a feeling of the mundane, the ordinary, and it is not easy to pull out the interesting from it without a lot of thought and work. The end of book three, though, is something I'm proud of--I think it's the best two-chapter arc in all of the Apparite works to date. And the end of the book sets up book four.

Which takes place, I will tell you, in Europe, mainly Prague. At this point, I've written the first AND last chapters of it--it's the stuff in-between that's going to be difficult! But the Apparite books have come quickly so far, and when I've got the time--probably in mid-2007--I'll tackle that one in its entirety. I have a preliminary outline with character ideas, but there's much to be done.

And this is how I'll write it, in case you're curious:
#1. Take notes on interesting plot devices, or ideas, or facts, or tid-bits of human nature that strike me as book-fodder. I have a whole drawer full of post-its, paper-scraps, and such on which are written hundreds of the above. Maybe I'll post some on the website some time so you can see how disorganized that process is. But it works for me.

#2. Research the areas in question. I need to read up quite bit more on Prague and the Czech Republic, and will probably take a trip to Prague at some point, too. As ideas come along, so does the research--I have a library of books at home and a long list of websites which explore many of the areas of interest in the books. And those areas are ever-expanding.

#3. Plot out the book. I make an outline with key events spaced throughout, thinking of pacing along the way. Action--thinking/reflection--serious discussion--action--discussion--humorous meeting--action--etc. with each chapter's tone guiding me. Sometimes I move them around; sometimes they work out as-is. Sometimes there's a blank space, which I fill in when I've started writing and reach that point (Apparite's escape in UCOD was like that--I wrote it when I reached it, thinking logically, if I was in his place, what would I do?)

#4. Start writing. I almost always write in chapter order, though occasionally, if a really great idea strikes me, then I skip ahead. The episode of Apparite finding J back at the safe house in the mews was a 'skip ahead' moment, as was the end of book two. Oddly, I always write the first chapter of the next book while revising the previous one--I think it's a way of being creative during an uncreative time.

#5. Continue research during all of the above. There's always more information to look up: foreign language people to consult (my big coup was finding a woman named Natalia to translate Russian for me); facts to check; details to expand. That process does not end until the book goes to the publisher (and even then, I'm still doing it).

#6 Complete the book. It has taken me about 6-8 months to write, start to finish, each Apparite book. The first was 103,000 words; the second, 94,000; the last, 85,000. I think 85,000 is now about the right length for me, given what I've planned for Mr. Apparite (really, UCOD could have been TWO 52,000 word books: book one in D.C., and book two in London). Any longer and I think they're harder to plot and pace; any shorter, and they're too light-weight.

#7. Publish the book. UCOD is done--it comes out in July (can be pre-ordered beginning in late April on www.Amazon.com). Book two will be shopped around when I get reviews and sales from book one. As for book three, and those few great chapters near the end of it--well, you might have to wait until 2008 to read them.

Unless you know me personally, in which case I might let you take a peek--but only if you promise to buy it in hardback when it finally comes out!

"Bond: James Bond." Probably the most memorable recurring line in film history, the actor saying it has changed yet again--with some controversy.

Daniel Craig is the new Bond, and personally, I see him as being TERRIFIC. Not okay, not good, but GREAT. Anyone who has seen "Layer Cake" knows his intensity and screen presence is up to the task. He's a blond, but this doesn't bother me much--I've never been one to believe that Bond has to be a certain type (hell, Connery is a Scotsman through and through, and Lazenby was Australian, Moore English, etc.), and am confident he will not only pull it off, but excel in doing so.

The other bit of good news deals with the subject of the next film. It's Casino Royale, the original Bond story, and it's going to be done, in my opinion, better than any Bond film in the last 20 years. Part of the reason I wrote the first Apparite book was to recapture that early Bond Cold War feel, when the books seemed more realistic (like From Russia With Love) and the character a real person. The films, I think, have strayed from the tense to the ridiculous and, basically, I had given up on them when I heard of Royale's upcoming release, which has me excited to see a Bond film for the first time in years.

I group the Bond films like this:

The Great:
From Russian With Love
Goldfinger

The Very Good:
On Her Majesty's Secret Service (always under-rated, as is Lazenby)
Dr. No
For Your Eyes Only (rating reduced only by an awful musical score by Bill Conti)

The Enjoyable:
The Man With the Golden Gun
The Spy Who Loved Me
Octopussy

The Somewhat Enjoyable But Utterly Ridiculous:
You Only Live Twice
Live and Let Die

The Basically Not Very Good At All But It's Bond So People Went Anyway:
All the rest except Moonraker.

The Absolutely Dreadful:
Moonraker. Oddly, the book is great, but the film is the worst of all. Almost unwatchable.

I'll catch Royale when it comes out and post a review. Unless I'm missing the mark, it should be a good one. For now, though, here's my rating of the Bond actors:

#1 Connery--the original. Tough, cool, and could pull off the one-liners.
#2 Dalton--I liked him; I thought he had a harder edge than anyone but Connery.
#3 Lazenby--Only had the one chance, but it resulted in a very strong film. If you haven't seen it, you will be shocked at how good On Her Majesty's Secret Service really is.
#4 Brosnan--Pretty good, but he always had a "TV" kind of feel for me. I think he was great as Thomas Crown, however.
#5 Moore--his breezier portrayal of Bond almost killed the series (though the fault was not his own, I believe), and resulted in some of the really poor outings (like Moonraker), though he shone in Eyes Only, which was his strongest effort.

Where will Craig be? Honestly, I think he may end up tied with Connery at the top. I really do.