The One Where They Do It on a Bus, The One Where They Do It in Jail

snovellasimpson: Did you see the comment Anna left on your Oscars piece?
seliseburns: No. I'll look.
Anna: Being the dork that I am, I had to check to see when was the last time that a comedy won Best Picture. Most recently we had Chicago (2001), Forrest Gump (1994), and Shakespeare in Love (1998).
But on another note, it appears that our tastes seemed to get more violent in the 1990s. Silence of the Lambs, Braveheart, Unforgiven. What’s that about?
Sam & Steph, please discuss. (www.filmsite.org/oscars.html)
seliseburns: Interesting question.
seliseburns: This site calls American Beauty a comedy.
seliseburns: I mean, I guess. Sort of.
snovellasimpson: Really? I was not amused.
seliseburns: Heh. I would call it a dramedy, if anything.
snovellasimpson: If that.
seliseburns: It Happened One Night cleaned up at the Oscars in 1934. As it should.
snovellasimpson: Yeah, grand slam. I'm so proud of that--like I made the movie or something.
seliseburns: Heh. Rebecca won. And Casablanca.
snovellasimpson: Of course.
seliseburns: This site seems to think that The Wizard of Oz should have won over Gone with the Wind.
snovellasimpson: See, I'm a little torn on that. I love both of those movies very, very much. The former is so imaginative with the black and white to color shot--wow. And the other is freakin' Gone with the Wind.
seliseburns: I know what you mean. An American in Paris beat out both A Streetcar Named Desire and A Place in the Sun.
snovellasimpson: A Place in the Sun?
seliseburns: Ben-Hur robbed Some Like It Hot.
snovellasimpson: And kicked it! Ew.
seliseburns: Heh. They mention that A Hard Day's Night wasn't nominated for an Oscar. Like it would be.
snovellasimpson: Say what?
seliseburns: They have this whole section in the grid on what wasn't nominated that year. And A Hard Day's Night is in it.
seliseburns: Annie Hall shut out Star Wars. I know you're pleased.
snovellasimpson: Damn right. Annie Hall is better than Match Point.
seliseburns: No kidding.
seliseburns: Um, these people seem to think that Field of Dreams should have won an Oscar. I think their heads need examination.
snovellasimpson: Field of Dreams? Is that the "If you build it, they will come... because everyone likes cheese" movie?
seliseburns: Heh. Yes.
snovellasimpson: I haven't seen it. But it is about baseball (and cheese), so I don't know that I will.
seliseburns: Big cheese.
snovellasimpson: Weak.
seliseburns: Oh damn. Guess what got beat out by It Happened One Night in 1934.
snovellasimpson: What?
seliseburns: The Thin Man.
snovellasimpson: ...it was for the best, Stephanie. I'm sorry.
seliseburns: It's okay. They're both incredible films.
snovellasimpson: The 1930s were a good time for Hollywood.
seliseburns: Totally. I think most of my favorite old movies come from the 30s.
snovellasimpson: I wonder what ticket sales were like then--what with the Depression and everything.
seliseburns: Well, I know Shirley Temple sold tickets. Other than that, no clue. But I think that me liking the 30s might also have to do with the fact that the screwball comedy genre was in full swing. And I think it got toned down as things went on.
snovellasimpson: And that's a shame.
seliseburns: Yeah. And, as much as I love smolder-y Cary Grant, I get really sad that he couldn't continue to be like he was in Bringing Up Baby.
snovellasimpson: So, would you say that comedy is in a bad way right now?
seliseburns: Hmmm. Hard to say. I mean, there are a lot of movies that I love and that I watch and laugh my ass off. But, within the genre of comedy, I think that some subgenres have been lost or enveloped. I mean, the screwball comedy romance. You don't see that in pure form anymore.
seliseburns: Remember that episode of Buffy where she and Riley start dating? It's more charming than your usual Riley episode because it is structured as a screwball comedy romance.
seliseburns: And there's not as much clever wordplay as there was in the 30s. For instance, The Philadelphia Story is so quotable and hilarious. There's a lot of stand-up comedy in the movies now.
snovellasimpson: Stand-up comedy?
seliseburns: There are also a lot of commerical movies made to rely on the schtick of a particular performer, like Adam Sandler. For stand-up comedy--When Harry Met Sally.
snovellasimpson: I see. True.
seliseburns: Their banter is largely composed of Billy Crystal following a train of thought to its mundane but hilarious end.
snovellasimpson: I don't think I've seen When Harry... in its entirety.
seliseburns: It's good. Funny. But a bit cheesy. I think Woody Allen and Seinfeld have a lot to do with the popularity of that particular sub-genre.
snovellasimpson: It's funny, but it's problematic, I think.
seliseburns: Yeah. Then there's these hyper-real comedies with wacky characters.
seliseburns: A la Zoolander.
snovellasimpson: Example?
snovellasimpson: Ah, Zoolander.
seliseburns: Josie and the Pussycats.
snovellasimpson: I like those.
seliseburns: Me too. Dodgeball.
snovellasimpson: Frat-pack movies.
seliseburns: Yeah.
snovellasimpson: What do you think of their lasting power?
seliseburns: I don't know. I mean, how many people go back and watch Adam Sandler movies from 10 years ago? On the other hand, I think Dodgeball is better than any Adam Sandler movie.
seliseburns: I don't know. But they do have that disposability of summer blockbusters.
snovellasimpson: Yeah. I really enjoyed Josie and the Pussycats--but I think my grandchildren will be like, "...what?"
seliseburns: Yeah. The jokes are so current, they are outdated almost immediately upon hitting the screen.
snovellasimpson: And that's a shame. I think Zoolander will be fine in the future.
seliseburns: Yeah. I think it and Dodgeball have a better chance simply because the jokes are based on the wackiness of characters and a general mockery of an industry rather than being topical or about current pop culture.
seliseburns: Now, romcoms are in a particularly sad place right now, I think.
snovellasimpson: Dear God yes. Must Love Dogs? Really?
seliseburns: They've watered down that screwball formula to the point of ridiculousness.
snovellasimpson: I think part of it is an issue with gender. I think studios can be hyper-aware of how complicated feminism has made the romance.
seliseburns: Yeah. I can see that. And marriage is no longer the cure-all end of the movie that it used to be. It's a cultural change, I guess.
snovellasimpson: And it's funny, too, because the female leads in movies like Bringing Up Baby and It Happened One Night aren't that pressed about it. They seem more self-actualized than someone like Debra Messing's character in that Wedding Date mess.
seliseburns: Yeah. That may also be due to the rise of popular psychology and its application to movies. Characters have to have easily decipherable motives now, whereas Katherine Hepburn's Susan can just take a shine to Cary Grant's David one day and start doing these compulsive things to keep him around. No problem.
snovellasimpson: It's simple, and it makes sense. Clark Gable wants a story. Claudette Colbert wants to get to her fiance. Just add bus.
seliseburns: Exactly. But with modern romances, everyone has a neurosis. Again, Woody Allen's fault, I think. We've gone from Claudette Colbert's character to Ally McBeal.
snovellasimpson: And that's totally weak. Because Ally McBeal hardly qualifies as a real human being.
seliseburns: Yeah. It's the danger of over-analysis.
snovellasimpson: So, how do we cure it?
seliseburns: I think another problem is that people in romcoms never seem to actually do anything anymore. I mean, look at the two movies we've been talking about. There's a lot of action, if not precisely the kind you would find in an action movie. Whereas, in modern romcoms, there seems to be just a series of random meetings that either progress or complicate the relationship.
snovellasimpson: And the sex.
seliseburns: Yeah.
seliseburns: I guess that whole nothing happening thing is a result of trying to capitalize on the whole living vicariously thing. The more they make the plot like something that could happen to the average woman, the more tickets they can sell.
snovellasimpson: That's clearly not true.
seliseburns: Okay. Prove me wrong.
snovellasimpson: No, the sales aren't happening, is what I'm saying.
seliseburns: Oh. I see. Yeah. A better quality product would sell better. Also, I think there's a certain amount of distaste for the genre and being associated with it that prevents a lot of them from being financially successful.
snovellasimpson: Rom-coms are aimed at women like heat-seeking missiles. Problem is, they underestimate women's intelligence.
seliseburns: Yeah.
snovellasimpson: And our anxiety about marriage.
seliseburns: Yeah. But, I think a lot of the genre's problems could be solved by just having a bit more go on in them. And not diluting them as much with drama infusions.
seliseburns: The action-comedy-romance is great. Romancing the Stone. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is a noir-action-comedy-romance.
snovellasimpson: No voiceover, no suicide.
seliseburns: What do you mean?
snovellasimpson: Those things tend to weight a movie down. Make it all dramedic.
seliseburns: Yeah. Except that the voice-over in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang had the opposite effect. But, in general, that's true.
snovellasimpson: Especially when you have a death-voiceover combo. I mean, shut UP, American Beauty.

Okay, so our rambling conversation did not, in fact, answer Anna's actual question. So, I'll take a quick stab. I think that the Academy in particular and the American public in general are no more or less fond of violence than they've ever been. I do think, however, you can see the rise of more violent films winning awards from the 1970s. For one thing, in 1966, they rewrote the Hays code and such a thing as the film "intended for mature audiences" came into being. Then, the art house Italian Neorealism films began to have an effect on American movies.

There's always a difference between the truly groundbreaking film and the faux-prestigious film that apes the characteristics of the groundbreaking film. So, I think that, in the wake of some very good and incidentally violent films, graphic violence actually became a stand-in for good. Which is not to say that a decent argument couldn't be made for the legitimacy of every choice that the Academy has made. I just think that sometimes the Academy would rather perceive itself as edgy and progressive rather than actually considering all the merits of the film. Anyway, I hope this has some relation to the type of answer you were hoping for Anna!

OLL #6: Orange County Social Club Gin Martinis

Dear OCSC Gin Martinis--

Where have you been all my life?

Actually--where were you on my 21st birthday?

We met in September 2005, after the Rasputina concert (See OLL#4). I thought you would be just like all the others. Some gin martinis aren't happy unless they overpower a lady, make her feel like she's been knocked out with a pine tree. And others--like the ones borne from the bar-womb at Chili's--taste like water.

And let's talk about what I mean when I say "extra olives." I'm sorry, Mr. TGIFriday's Bartender, but "extra" tends to mean "more than one." And, yet, Cool Bartender at the Gambier Grill, "extra" doesn't have to mean "one million."

But those martinis and bartenders are planted firmly in my past, OCSC Gin Martini. I'm all yours. You are flavorful, but you don't burn the back of my throat. You have two fat olives--one to eat immediately and one to soak.

And you always manage to surround yourself with burgeoning rock stars. Cute ones. I can sip you and enjoy the view.

The last time we met was this past weekend; I was fresh out of the Local 506. Michelle's boyfriend, Eric (of My Dear Ella), had just played a set with Ben Davis (band). I didn't have to pay a cover because--get this--I was "with the band." Pretty killer, right? And I followed most of the band to the OCSC, and there you were, waiting for me. I didn't have to pay for you because--all together now--I was "with the band."

Never felt so cool in all my life. You do that for me, OSCS Gin Martini. I'm a girl who stays at home alone most evenings with a book or an old movie. I wear glasses. And men seldom make passes and all of that. When I balance you between two fingers--when I slide one of your olives off the toothpick with my teeth--when I hold you on my tongue for a moment before swallowing--no one can convince me I'm not the sexiest and classiest woman in the room.

How many other drinks can work that kind of magic?

Love,
Sam

"I Lo--I Mean, I Like You, Too..."

On Monday night I watched the Golden Globes with the incomparable Crystal and Travis featuring Travis' pal, Tim. What do you get when you mix screwdrivers, merlot, televised award ceremonies, and awesome people? Go on, guess.

I had a great time, but I walked away from the experience feeling... blue. I could have been having a killer time last semester, but I spent most of my time trapped in a toxic web of social melodrama. And I feel regret. Life is short, and awesome people are few and far between.

Now, as we all know, I cope by imposing categories and classifications on almost every aspect of my life. To dismantle my profound sense of regret--and to prevent future web suckage--I offer you:

THE LEVELS OF FRIENDSHIP (Find your place!)

1. FOLK: Folk do not have to be blood relations. In fact, it's probably better if they aren't actual family. Folk know you through and through. They've seen your bedhead and smelled your morning breath. When you cried in front of folk at the end of "The Color Purple," you were not embarrassed. In fact, folk know exactly when to pass you the box of tissues.

2. B.F.F. (Best Friends Forever): BFF are almost folk, but not quite. You can go on a road trip with your BFF and have a blast, and you can stay up all night talking with her/him, too. A good BFF makes you laugh milk out of your nose. And if you're really lucky, your BFF is photogenic: you take lots of pictures together.

3. SLEEPOVER FRIENDS: Sleepover friends are usually former BFF who have moved away or gotten married. You always mean to call your sleepover friend, but you just can't get around to it. But--when you finally do get together, it's like they never stopped being BFF. The two of you can talk forever--mainly because you have a year's worth of catching up to do!

4. FRIENDLIES: You have a whole lot in common with your friendly. You do. You like the same movies, the same music, the same shows. Friendlies tell sweet jokes. However, you would be mortified if your friendly knew how hard you cried during Sarah McLachlan songs.

5. SUB-FRIENDLIES: You think your sub-friendlies are awesome. You do. You like their style and their sense of humor. Sub-friendlies smell great, and you may have their phone numbers stored in your cellie. But you can't hang out with a sub-friendly unless a friendly (or up) is there with you. Otherwise, it's all awkward conversation and hot cheeks.

6. BUDDIES: Buddies are like furniture. They make the space of your homes away from home--i.e., your office or classroom--a little more comfortable. But you don't call buddies at home, and you are shocked if they display any range of emotion outside of "upbeat-ness." Sadness: what's up with that, buddy?

7. AWKWARD!: It's not that you hate Awkward! or anything like that. You could. But you totally don't. Awkward!, you see, just has this habit of sucking more often than rocking. Awkward! always says exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. And you feel really horrible about talking trash about Awkward! but--well, when they suck, they just suck.

8. ENEMIES: You want them to get in your face just one time. Please. Just one time.

*9. NEMESIS: While folk and BFF and friendlies can abound, there's only room for one nemesis in your life. Blinding hatred takes a lot of energy, and every single thing this person does makes you want to flip out, ninja-style. Her breathing grates on your nerves--and did you say she could speak?

*The Point of Babette does not necessarily endorse hateration, but having a nemesis does build character.

Bait is Usually More Tempting

This is always the way: Those end-of-the-year best/worst movie lists you see everywhere in December linger over into January and gradually morph into Oscar predictions (thereby dropping the most interesting category--the worst). It's all Oscar predictions, from here until February, because even when the columnist swears they're predicting the SAG Awards or the Golden Globes, they're talking about the Oscars.

Now, this year, Jon Stewart will be hosting, which means they've managed to secure my viewership far in advance of my usual "grumble grumble FINE! I'll watch it! But only for the fashion suicides!" But that doesn't mean I won't be irritated and wearied by the complete inevitability of all the awards.

I mean, I'm already weary. Hollywood has been churning out heavy-handed Oscar bait for three months now--much longer if you count Cinderella Man, which came out in June--and all that pretentiousness is very tiring.

The first and most obvious trait of an Oscar bait movie is that it comes out right at the end of the year. This has the practical advantage of keeping the movie fresh in people's minds right around the time the Academy votes. If a movie opens in December, it could still be at the local movie theater while the Awards are going on. You might have noticed (as I have) that there are still ads for that Kiera Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice--a blatant attempt to build Oscar buzz for a crappy movie (not that I'm biased or anything).

The second trait is that the movie takes itself really, really seriously. The actors give interviews that repeat the words "inspiring story" and "incredible journey" (mix and match nouns and adjectives as you will). It's about mine workers or political refugees or people poisoned by their drinking water. The previews have no jokes--just pained expressions and swelling music.

Another dead giveaway (though not necessarily true of all bait) is that the actor or actress in the lead role has gone through some sort of physical transformation to play the part. Think Charlize Theron and her "I can be ugly too" makeover. Nicole Kidman and her prosthetic Virginia Woolf nose. Ralph Fiennes doubling as a raisin in The English Patient. I mean, when Julia Roberts puts on a push-up and takes a crimping iron to her hair, you know she's out to get an Oscar.

Of course, all my bitterness about these obvious Oscar contenders stems from those times when I was younger and more naive and I had my heart set on some off-beat contender, some comedy that might win. And did you see how Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was almost totally ignored last year? Yeah, there's bitterness.

So, this year I've seen Munich, Memoirs of a Geisha, Syriana, Walk the Line, King Kong (not quite the same thing: it's a spectacle movie that relies on the same thing that got Lord of the Rings its Oscars), and Brokeback Mountain. I guess I'm rooting for that last, because as tortured situation movies go, it's pretty pretty. Pretty men, pretty landscape. Munich has the incomparable Eric Bana, but it's basically a series of explosions on dark streets. And Memoirs of a Geisha is gorgeous, but it's not like I've thought much about it since I got out of the theater. Syriana made me physically sick with its handheld camera shots and overt political motives (though bad popcorn may have contributed to that feeling). Walk the Line was your typical rock-n-roll brush-with-death-by-overdose biopic. And as for King Kong, I just didn't buy the whole woman-loves-ape angle. And they shot the whole movie in that angle.

There are others that I didn't see. Good Night and Good Luck, Cinderella Man, A History of Violence, TransAmerica, The Constant Gardener. For the most part, these are movies that I thought I should see, but when it came right down to it, I didn't want to spend a night or an afternoon at the movies being so serious. (Then there's Russell Crowe's boxer movie which I refused to see out of spite for that whole genre and Crowe's complete lack of a sense of humor.) My idea of the perfect movie is one that combines a little drama and a little humor. But my favorite movie of the year, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, is about as likely to rate a nomination as The Dukes of Hazzard. And that's not likely to change. You know, ever. The phrase 'comic masterpiece' exists for the sole reason that nobody thinks that comedy can be a regular masterpiece. So, the Academy will continue to acknowledge only those films that make you cry or rage and ignore those that are fun to sit through.

All I'm saying is, Jon Stewart better be freakin' hilarious.

"Yes, Those Wings Are Mine..."

Strange, isn't it, how I read a factoid claiming 10 million Americans are the victims of identity theft about 24 hours before someone in Romania tried to charge a domain name to my bank account.

That's right. I got me some credit card fraud for Christmas, y'all.

I spoke to two representatives from GoDaddy.com who claimed they'd never heard of a Samantha Simpson from NC, and I spoke to another one who insisted I'd purchased a domain name and needed to quit my whining and get on with the orientation already.

So, I took my act to Wachovia and told Guy Behind the Desk to make sure my bank account hasn't been completely ravaged. He pulled up my account on his computer and started pressing buttons.

"Who'd want to steal a grad student's identity?" I chuckled nervously.

GBD works at the bank. He knows laughing takes time, and time is money. He pressed more buttons.

Now, let's be honest. Debit cards throw the world right open, don't they? Even palm readers take credit cards these days, so I never have to risk ATM fees again. But maybe I should. All those electronic purchases leave a paper trail. And that paper trail can reveal a great deal about how I'm living. I thought I lived loud and proud--until GBD started reading my purchases aloud:

$3 at Harris Teeter. Check.
$30 at Harris Teeter. Right.
$30 at Target. Uh-huh.
$25 at Target. Sure.

"I guess you know where I spend most of my time. Ha ha."

That GBD sure does stay on task.

$10 at Cookout. Now, Wachovia knows I eat like a pig.
$45 at Amazon.com. And I'm irresponsible.
$6.25 at Carmike Cinemas. And lazy
$80 to Providian. Not to mention I'm in debt.
$15 at Hooters. Shit.

GBD glanced up at me for a moment, and I managed an uneasy grin. Shit, shit, shit. Yes, black people can blush, and I know my face turned beet-red. I resisted the urge to explain myself, to let GBD know I'm not that kind of girl, that my friend and I were having a lark. If I'd done that, I'd have to explain said lark--a photo-documentary of our search for a California sea lion in downtown Greensboro--and that would only make me seem like more of a freak.

And I had cash that night. Why didn't I use cash? Sure, some stranger in Romania could be cleaning out all my funds and leaving me destitute and desperate for the New Year--but now Wachovia thinks I eat French fries and look at titties all day.

There you have it. Credit card marauders ruined my life. I don't, in fact, live loud and proud. These days, I only use cash.