“Dmitri Trenin, deputy director of the Carnegie Endowment’s Moscow center, put it well in an insightful article in Foreign Affairs, published a year ago. ‘Until recently,’ he wrote, ‘Russia saw itself as Pluto in the Western solar system, very far from the center but still fundamentally a part of it. Now it has left that orbit entirely. Russia’s leaders have given up on becoming part of the West and have started creating their own Moscow-centered system.'” With Dubya on the road for the G8 summit, Slate‘s Fred Kaplan surveys the state of US-Russian relations, concluding that “something is happening…[but w]e’re not — or at least there’s nothing inevitable about our becoming — enemies.“
Month: June 2007
A Most Rare Vision.
Joel Lobenthal of the NY Sun: “As Gamzatti, Gillian Murphy imprinted infallibly etched images of pride, love, and ruthless will. She has studied the role so thoroughly and respectfully that even when she brings her own time and culture to Gamzatti’s rarified reactions and body language, they don’t coarsen her performance, but rather add to its vitality. Ms. Murphy has refined her natural facility for turning, so that her multiple fouettes in the Pas d’Action coda were smooth as silk, and her pirouettes in her last act solo, followed by an echoing spiral into the upper body, were mesmerizing.” Or, says Jennifer Dunning of the NYT: “Once again Ms. Murphy made Gamzatti as pitiable a creature as she is evil, but this is a ballerina who needs a substantial work created for her.” Yes, it’s ABT’s summer season time at the Met, and once again Gill is rocking the house. I’ve caught her in Othello and The Dream (that’s her as Titania at right) thus far, and both times she was grand. If you’re in the NYC area and looking for an evening out, check the listings — you won’t be disappointed.
Prison Stripes for Scooter (and likely Jefferson.)
“I think public officials need to know if they are going to step over the line, there are going to be consequences…[What Libby did] causes people to think our government does not work for them.” A sadly necessary Capitol corruption update: As you no doubt heard, earlier in the week Scooter Libby was sentenced to thirty months in jail for his lies and evasions in the Valerie Plame case. (Libby has asked for a delay of the sentence, which probably won’t happen. And E.J. Dionne evaluates GOP sentiment for a pardon here — for now, the White House remains mum on the subject.) Meanwhile, on our side of the aisle, pretty obviously corrupt Democratic rep William Jefferson, he with the thousands of dollars stashed in the freezer, is indicted on 16 counts of racketeering, money laundering, and obstruction of justice, mostly involving bribes offered and taken from West African business and political officials. Jefferson is fighting the charges, but the House — wisely — has already moved against him, opening an ethics inquiry into him and setting the stage for his expulsion.
Requiem for North Jersey.
“‘It’s going to be controversial, it’s going to be talked-about,’ Van Zandt, whose character ran the notorious Bada Bing strip club, told the Los Angeles Times this week.” Meanwhile, regarding a criminal held more fondly in the nation’s esteem than Libby or Jefferson: One way or another, the end comes for Tony Soprano this Sunday night. I wouldn’t presume to guess what doom David Chase et al have in store for Tony in the final hour, although I suspect it’ll be something he — and we — didn’t see coming.
An Abe, Honest.
“‘Now, if Gen. Meade can complete his work so gloriously prosecuted thus far, by the litteral or substantial destruction of Lee’s army,’ Lincoln wrote, ‘the rebellion will be over.” Trevor Plante, a researcher for the Discovery Channel, discovers a lost handwritten note penned by Lincoln after Gettysburg in the National Archives. Meade did not complete his work, of course — like McClellan before him, he remained overcautious with the Army of the Potomac, prompting Lincoln’s wrath in an unsent letter dated a week after the discovered note: “My dear general, I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee’s escape. He was within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other late successes, have ended the war. As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasureably because of it.”
From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea.
I know, I know. This ship has sailed, with its filthy hoard of ill-gotten box office lucre already stashed under decks, so get to Knocked Up and Ocean’s Thirteen already. At this point you really don’t need me to tell you that Gore Verbinski’s Pirates of the Caribbean III: At World’s End, despite having Johnny Depp and $100 million in special effects at its command, was a bloated, washed-up, and mostly boring two hours of needless exposition and empty spectacle. But, there it is. One might remember that I kinda loathed the second Pirates movie last summer, and that was with a stash of bootlegged spirits and a good woman at my side to help relieve the remorseless tedium. So, why did I even bother seeing At World’s End? Well, Stephanie Zacharek of Salon summed it up perfectly: “[A]t this point, the ‘Pirates’ franchise is essentially collecting a tax from moviegoers: See it and like it, matey, or you’ll be out of step with the whole universe! And who wants that?” Well, I paid my movie-tax tribute, you bottom-line buccaneers and covetous corsairs, now avast with ye.
So, as you may or may not remember if you labored your way through Dead Man’s Chest, this installment of the Pirates franchise begins with Captain Jack Sparrow (Depp) among the recently deceased, or at least trapped in the pirate Underworld that is Davy Jones’ Locker, while the rest of the team (Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightly et al) finds they must band together with first-film villain Capt. Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) to break Sparrow out, Jabba’s-palace style. But before that plot resumes, we witness a series of grisly civilian hangings undertaken by the East India Company’s Big Bad (Tom Hollander), who now has the supernatural man-squid Davy Jones (Bill Nighy) in his thrall. (It’s a long story.) These executions happen not only to weed out the pirate insurgency and win the war on (naval) terror but, more ominously, to provoke a particular seafaring ditty in the unwashed masses, one that, once uttered, must provoke a meeting of the Pirate Council, whose nine lords are known by their special Pieces of Eight. But, let’s not forget, there’s also the matter of an enchanted compass on Jack’s person which points the way to one’s heart’s desire, and, for that matter, a magical heart thumping in a special chest that grants power over Davy Jones, and some very important charts on the person of Lando-ish pirate Chow Yun-Fat, and an undead monkey and a scorned sea-goddess and Gareth from The Office and…oh, I give up already. Just go see the movie. Or better yet, don’t.
To be fair, At World’s End isn’t as depressing or disappointing an action-packed threequel as, say, The Matrix: Revolutions, if only because expectations were so much lower heading into these already-muddy waters. And, ’tis true, Pirates of the Caribbean III is a marginally better film than the last outing — Instead of beating you into submission with blunt, numbing spectacle, this film mostly just tries to exposition you to death, which strangely enough I found preferable. Still, this is a bad film. Even Depp, who is an inordinately gifted actor who can make almost anything watchable, starts to grate here (as, alas, does Geoffrey Rush.) In fact, Depp’s once-fresh and funny mannerisms as Jack Sparrow have badly calcified by this point — at times, particularly when the movie steals a page or three from Being John Malkovich, he looks like he’s just phoning in his Hunter schtick. (For their part, Bloom and Knightley, pretty as they are, have no other schtick. It’s Legolas and Love, Actually, all over again.)
Portraits of Urban Decay.
A few recent additions to the trailer bin: Will Smith finds a lot of alone time in New York City in the way-over-the-top teaser for Francis Lawrence’s I am Legend (which looks nothing like the Richard Matheson novella and only slightly more like the last version, Charlton Heston’s The Omega Man); Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe, sporting Zodiac-era duds and dos, go mano a mano (again) in the trailer for Ridley Scott’s American Gangster (also with Chiwetel Ejiofor, Carla Gugino, and Josh Brolin); and Jodie Foster gets all Bernie Goetz up in here — much to the dismay of Terrence Howard — in the new trailer for Neil Jordan’s The Brave One. Update: Ok, one more. President William Hurt is shot! (Or is he?) And secret servicemen Dennis Quaid and Matthew Fox, along with a Zapruderish Forest Whitaker, Sigourney Weaver, and others, must get to the bottom of it all in the new trailer for Pete Travis’s Vantage Point.
“If you win, you gotta have a hoop.”
“Before Rickey Green, a former NBA all-star, played with Mr. Obama in a 2004 Senate campaign fund-raiser, ‘I didn’t think he could play at all, to be honest with you,’ Mr. Green said. But ‘he’s above average,’ for a pickup player, Mr. Green said. ‘He’s got a nice little left-hand shot and some knowledge of the game.‘” Baracksketball? A NYT piece from last week examines Barack Obama’s fondness for the court. “Mr. Obama is left-handed, and his signature move is to fake right and veer left, surprising players used to guarding right-handed competitors.” Hey, that’s my move!
At any rate, my own appreciation for basketball-playing progressive presidential candidates is well-documented. In fact, this reminded me of a similar discussion about Al Gore on Meet the Press in 1999: “‘What left Gore’s hands and arrived at the basket was quite often, well, a brick, clanging off the rim or ricocheting off the backboard with regularity.’ Jim Hudson, a high school teammate, adds, ‘He tended to like the limelight. If he passed it to him to try and get something going, to get a better shot inside, Al would simply go ahead and shoot. When the ball got to him, that’s as far as it got.‘” Global warming or no, would you really want a chucker in the White House in 2008?
(Who We’re) Watching (As) The Watchmen.
Breaking a few weeks ago now, AICN claims to have the skinny on the initial casting of Zach Snyder’s version of Watchmen. Rumored as the Nite-Owl, Patrick Wilson of The Alamo and Little Children. (He’s a bit buff for the role, frankly. I’d expected someone a little more gone to seed, like John Cusack or even Tom Hulce.) As Doctor Manhattan, Neo himself, Keanu Reeves. (Um, ok. I don’t really see that working. Then again, I don’t really see anyone else working either, this side of Gollum-style CGI) And, as Ozymandias, much-avowed Watchmen fan Jude Law. (That’s pretty good, although somebody like Aaron Eckhart would be even better.) That’s it so far, other than that Snyder — who won’t deny these casting rumors — has promised he’d get Gerard Butler of 300 in there somewhere. (Why bother? I don’t remember any character who’s supposed to YELL…ALL…THE…TIME.) At any rate, that means Simon Pegg as Rorschach is still a possibility, if one that is very, very remote.
Not Dark Yet.
“The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein’ seen, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to turn into some machine.” Or something like that. Obviously, I’ve been taking a break from the Ghost for a few weeks (although, as per the norm, that didn’t much upset the thousands of comment spammers — they still love the site, want to borrow my templates, have their own sites about infinitis, pr0n, prescription drugs, etc. etc.) And, since I’m off to my ten-year college reunion this weekend, I won’t be posting much for the next few days yet. But, I figured I should pop my head in and say hello. So, hello. Hope everyone else is having a grand summer thus far. For what it’s worth, I do hope to return to a normal schedule around here at some point…we’ll see.