I was recently pointed to an article written by Christopher Hitchens for Slate, the online news outlet. It’s a strong case for ignoring Fahrenheit 9/11, which stirred up some lingering thoughts I’ve been having.

It presents many interesting refutations of Moore's film, and what he proposes as fact. What drives Hitchens crazy is what tugged at the back of my mind while watching the film: Moore presents any and all arguments against the Bush administration and their actions, without anchoring his own position. Moore tries to create a sympathy-free zone for Bush and his administration.

Essentially, Hitchens' point, minus factual refutations, boils down to:

"I know, thanks, before you tell me, that a documentary must have a "POV" or point of view and that it must also impose a narrative line. But if you leave out absolutely everything that might give your "narrative" a problem and throw in any old rubbish that might support it, and you don't even care that one bit of that rubbish flatly contradicts the next bit, and you give no chance to those who might differ, then you have betrayed your craft. If you flatter and fawn upon your potential audience, I might add, you are patronizing them and insulting them."

Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 is a blistering and scrutinizing condemnation of George W. Bush, and the administration he represents. Moore presents a case with about two or three major threads. He presents his argument on how, through political connections, media connections, and Congressional weakness, Bush was falsely placed at the head of the U.S. government by the Supreme Court, not the voters. He reveals Bush's faltering record not only as a business man, but also as a politician (pre-September 11th), making an argument that he continues to be this incompetent. The body of the attack in this film is split between the Bush family's connections to the Saudi royal and Bin Laden families, an unsterilized view of the realities of war both for U.S. soldiers and Iraqis, and the use of America's poor to fight for the benefit of the richest.

The film covers such a broad range of emotions, that I came out of the theatre unsettled and shaken, but further motivated against Bush. Moore's sense of humor is consistent with the rest of his films, which usually let the subjects create their own absurdity, but he also tosses in movie clips and funny musical choices to amplify the sometimes astounding events he is describing and showing. This humor is dramatically offset by the revolting and terrible war footage of both Iraqis and U.S. soldiers killing and being killed. This horror is also set against the unbearable anguish of Lila Lipscomb, a mother of two veterans, who lost her son to the war. It was hard not to cry with pain and rage, as others in the theatre were, as her unbearable and unquenchable ache for her son came pouring out on her visit to D.C. In fact, one woman passing by Lipscomb, speaking to a protester outside of the White House actually accused her of being part of a staged event and questioned her about where her son was killed. Nice. Hurrah for another Bush apologist.

Ultimately, Michael Moore is a left-wing political bomb-thrower, but his film Fahrenheit 9/11 makes arguments that are as strong as or stronger than those made by the Bush administration to fund and start a war. If you swallowed the logic of the administration's chain of facts (which flip-flopped after the attacks on the U.S.), this film is a searing condemnation of that administration and its leader. Even if you ignore the implications of unsavory and wide-spread war-profiteering and outright manipulation of global politics for the gains of businessmen (the Saudis and the Bushes), the demonstration of George W. Bush's incompetence in the face of, well, presidency and responsibility, is very damning.

I've recently started listening to Le Tigre, and I've come to one conclusion: they kick ass. They'll kick your ass, my ass, anyone's ass.

So far, we've purchased Le Tigre and the From the Desk of Mr. Lady EP. Both kick ass, as I mentioned. I prefer the more prevalent drum machine beats in the EP, but they still rock hard and rock well on their eponymous album.

I've been a in a very rock 'n' roll mood for a few months now. Interpol, The Strokes, Doves, Elbow, Franz Ferdinand, The Shins, Radiohead... I'm even breaking out some of my old punk albums (Bad Religion, Dead Kennedys, etc.). I think my DJ/ turntablist/ hip-hop-centric days are over. Le Tigre is just the most recent step in this personal trend.

Who will be next? Nobody knows. But Le Tigre will still be kickin' ass.

This documentary's basic premise is to follow eight kids as they try to win a national spelling bee. It sounds a bit lame, but the actual result is far more intriguing. The film's first segment is... difficult. These kids are A) coming out of a very challenging situation, or B) very different from their peers, or C) frightening in their intensity, or D) going through the rough beginnings of the most ungainly period in human development, or E) some combination of the preceding. However, once past the initial groundwork, the film becomes a fascinating and unbearably suspenseful narrative.

Because it's a documentary, it's a bit like Band of Brothers. Anyone can go at any time. It's usually not pretty, and it's never happy (though some take it in a very healthy manner). Also, the patterns of presentation are varied (often with an aim to fake you out) to eliminate any predictability that might emerge in the pattern of competition and elimination.

It's a surprisingly powerful and revelatory film, revealing so many subtle threads in the fabric of family, culture, society, childhood, middle America, and competition. Give it a try.

But damn, people. Damn. I thought the wedding subculture was messed up, but this stuff almost takes the cake (no pun intended). It's not so much the specifics, as it is the sometimes bizarre intensity.

Alisa and I saw Aimee Mann at the TLA last night. It was fun and Alisa really enjoyed seeing one of her favorite singer/songwriters.

A few observations from the performance:

First off, Mann is very good at what she does. Her delivery is tight. She does very true-to-the-album versions of her songs, with the support of a well-coordinated band. She keeps the banter funny and to the point (actually, it was really funny, but that's another story).

I'm not the biggest fan of her stuff, but it's good. It's catchy but not annoying or shallow. She is, in all respects, a talented professional musician. She reminds me of Ben Folds. She can probably churn out Solid, Listenable, Melancholy Aimee Mann Songs, one after the other, just like Folds can churn out Catchy, Peppy But Dark, Ben Folds Songs until the Sun goes cold. And, like Folds, if you don't get her solo stuff, you won't really like any of her stuff. But if you do like it, you'll end up enjoying every successive album.

Rewatching Heat tonight on DVD (as I type, even). What a great film. The music direction could've used a bit of help, but other than that it's a genre masterpiece. After this, all Cops & Robbers caper movies are just shadows on the cave wall. Heat is basically Micheal Mann saying, "Alright, I'm going to do this right once and for all so everyone else can stop not getting it right."

It's a very male film. There's a lot of brothers-in-arms kind of stuff that I know Alisa started to practically giggle at. However, it's a great piece of work, with a strong multi-threaded plot, solid acting, and very cool action pieces. There's a very brusque, professional feel to the sequences, but they still have an elegance to them. It's a bit of Mamet and a bit of Woo*, without entirely being either. The gun battle in the city streets is reason enough to put the time into watching it. It even has some genuine drama and suspense that will actually put you in a state of supsense. Pretty rare these days.

Plus, Henry Rollins is in it. I mean, come on! Henry Rollins. What else do you want? Go rent it.

*It reminds me of Woo's work because Mann builds sequences with an eye for their drama and overall movement. This isn't a 'ballet of bullets' kind of film, with Woo's obligatory doves and slow-motion-ironic-musical-choice-moments or anything.

Wow.

Kubrick's definitely consistent with his pacing, that's for sure. But fortunately he's also consistent with his brilliance. It's also fortunate that our nuclear scientists weren't actually quite so questionable as Dr. Strangelove, in spite of the end result of their work.

Creepy synchronicity note: when we flipped over to the TV signal upon finishing the film, the first thing we saw was Thirteen Days. I'm going to go continue reading The Making of the Atomic Bomb now.

DJ Shadow, one of the best DJs on the planet, released a live DVD/CD a few days ago, called In Tune and On Time Live! I got my hands on it this week, and am wearing a groove in the CD by playing it pretty much non-stop when I'm not around Alisa.

Shadow never lets me down. Tight, brilliant DJing all done in tune and on time, while simultaneously kicking ass as a rockin' collection of songs. The tour this performance is from is all Shadow mixing Shadow (which means album work, collaborative work, B-sides, whatever).

If you consider yourself a Shadow fan, or if you like hip-hop, turntablism, breaks, etc., don't even consider not owning this album. It might be a bit tough to find outside of his merch site, but once they restock (after selling out immediately) you should be good to go.

EDIT: According to djshadow.com, the album is not a website exclusive. In fact, the reason it sold out so quickly is because they got relatively few copies. You can pick it up at Amazon and other big retail outfits.

For all you code jockeys aching to italicize or perhaps emphasize or even, dare I say it, link, the "HTML allowed" feature in Comments is now active.

Dare to dream, people.

In 1998, I developed an unhealthy obsession. This obsession lay dormant for a few years, having waned for a time. However, sometime last year, it came back with a vengeance. The urges and cruel patterns it now carves on my waking mind are becoming insatiable and all-consuming. I thirst for succor, for sweet, sweet release from the exquisite pain of waiting... no... needing. This need has a name. Its name is Half-Life 2.

Today I have secured my seat on the throne of manhood. As Mjolnir, the hammer of mighty Thor, was thrust into the flames at its forging, emerging stronger, I thrust my arms deep into the recesses of the machine and emerged newly wrought. Where once there was darkness and maddening chaos, there is now order and light. Let it not be said that these hands never endured the toils of labor, the soot and grime of industry, nor the weight self-determination.

I have successfully changed my turn signal.

Just watched this DVD with Alisa. It was OK. Not bad, but not great. Seth Green does a great job as club kid 'original' James St. James (author of the novel about the events upon which the film is based). Macaulay Culkin does a passable job as club kid 'flameout' Michael Alig, that occasionally really works well, but usually gives the impression that he's just trying to hang on to the external parts of his character (accent, lilt, affectations) and therefore doesn't give a consistently compelling delivery of the actual lines (or what's behind them).

Also, it's pretty hard to care about characters like these, who are trying so hard to be so superficial. Granted, they're having fun with excess in an attempt to be "fabulous" and all that, but the excess inevitably turns into destruction and betrayal. Then it becomes painfully clear they're all assholes in that in spite of genuine longings and needs, they can't hold together a shred of genuine anything for each other. At this point you remember they're all based on real people, making you even more apathetic. Then you realize that the costumes are also based in reality, which makes the whole thing seem pretty damn pathetic. I mean, there's crazy and sexy, then there's just manifested drug-induced inhibition control problems. I've seen films similar to this one, and I respect the filmmakers' abilities to keep me watching, but it only goes so far.

Let's just call the experience a cumulative neutral and not speak of it again.

::blithely turns away and sips tea with pinky out::

The third Harry Potter film, based on the third Harry Potter novel, is definitely the best of the series thus far. I believe it's largely due to three factors: 1) it's based on the best of the first three books (and one of the best thus far), 2) Alfonso Cuarón directs this time around, and 3) this is the third time these actors have done this, they frickin' better do a good job.

On top of all this, the cast (aside from the big three) is really starting to come together. You've got Gary Oldman, David Thewlis, Emma Thompson, and Alan Rickman (who continues his role as Snape for the third time). I'm really, really looking forward to the next films, which will (hopefully) feature Thewlis, Oldman, and Rickman in much more prominent roles. Regardless, if you've even got a sliver of interest in the series, you should see it.

Cuarón takes the series out of its fun but not-so-amazing rut of friendly retelling, and pushes it into adolescence with a skillful hand, developing themes with style, and guiltlessly injecting edge into the story. If you're not familiar with Cuarón's work, you should watch Great Expectations for a taste of his visual style, then check out Y tu mamá también* to see what films are like in a countries not afraid of their own genitals and what they do with them.

*If you've seen Y tu mamá también, and you've got prurient mind, you'll probably chuckle at moments like Harry playing with his wand under the sheets, pretending to be asleep when his uncle rushes in to see what's going on. I won't mention the other moment that Alisa noted. See if you can figure out which it was.

Just saw this film on DVD tonight with Alisa. It's a touching, but unique story about a young woman (April) and her family, with her boyfriend Bobby as a secondary arc. The movie shows both halves of an obviously fragmented family as they journey towards Thanksgiving dinner, as hosted by the black sheep April, played by Katie Holmes, in the wilds of what I assume is NYC (don't remember if they mention it).

I'm posting late about this important day, but it shouldn't be taken as a diminished view of those it is meant to commemorate. War is a dark and shifting mire, but the actions of scores of men and women on the field and elsewhere show that sacrifice and valor can rise to its inky surface. We must not lose the memory of these deeds and these individuals in our despair because they give hope and strength to the belief that even in our darkest times, a greater good can prevail.

"It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain..."

— Abraham Lincoln, 1863

Perhaps I sound a bit melodramatic, but it's hard not to when speaking about the near-hyperbole of war.

If you have ever been subjected to CSI: Miami, then you probably know just how terrible the show is. I won't get into everything I find detestable about this show*, or why I have enough experience with it to dislike it with such vigor and specificity, but I will say this: David Caruso has one emotion. That emotion is intensity.

*Which includes an episode warning against the corrupting influences of pornography, while simultaneously attempting to curry sympathy for the girls who star in these flicks (ironically, the men are just objects, I suppose...), who really wish they could be dating crime scene investigators and having malteds.