2015 At The Movies

Here's my annual list of the notable films I saw this year.

Inherent Vice

Paul Thomas Anderson’s film of the Thomas Pynchon novel, which I’ve never read. Anderson, after going for more sweep in stories like There Will Be Blood and The Master, takes on an offbeat detective story set in 1970, with Joaquin Phoenix as the drug-loving gumshoe. The plot was secondary as we get a very convincing SoCal travelogue of the times. Complete with washed out colors and love beads, the generation gap plays out between Phoenix’s character, Doc Sportello, and the by-the-book detective played by Josh Brolin, who’s all square jaw and conformity, until he reveals a taste for some of the pharmaceuticals of the day himself. I found myself enjoying the trip while keeping up with the plot at a stoner’s pace.

‘71

The early ‘70s theme continues as we jet over to Northern Ireland, where a British soldier stationed there is caught behind enemy lines as a tense situation spirals out of control. The story follows him throughout the night as he tries to make his way back to his barracks. Everything is in the shadows as we get a glimpse into the IRA camp, and how the British secret service plays a key role in rescuing him. An interesting view into a situation that was very bloody and seemingly hopeless up until a very short time ago.

Avengers: Age of Ultron

The follow-up to the first film, this one also directed by Joss Whedon. Not quite as good as the first, but worthy for its introduction of the Vision, one of my favorite members of the team. It takes most of the film to get him up to speed, but when he finally is, Paul Bettany does a great job of capturing his inhuman mystery. He looks to play a bigger role in the next film. Can’t wait to see what the Russo brothers do with him.

Leviathan

A Russian film about a man and his family who live in a coastal town and the mayor who wants to take their land. The man decides to fight the power, and learns just how dangerous that can be. The beautifully bleak landscape is the backdrop to a bleak story about how the little people are the ones who most often lose out to the whims of the well-connected. The movie has a distinctive Russian flavor and goes down like sharp vodka.

Ex Machina

The premise about very human-like robots among us is popping up more often in entertainment. This one looked promising, as it depicts a young man who is selected to meet a prototype and determine if he can tell that she is not human (also known as the Turing test). The rich creator, played capably by Oscar Isaac, comes on at first as a bro, then a slimy manipulator. Ultimately, the story devolves into yet another tale of robots gone bad, planning their eventual takeover. I was hoping for more of a smarter depiction of how humans will react when they meet one of these convincing machines. How will we short circuit when that day arrives? It’s a far more interesting question.

Love & Mercy

My favorite film of the year. It’s the sympathetic tale of Brian Wilson, founder of the Beach Boys and inventor of a musical sound from the ‘60s. The movie alternates between the mid-80s, and the time when Brian and the Boys were recording the seminal rock album, Smile.

We see the mental issues he’s had to deal with over the years, and how the seeds for these were sown back in his most creative period. Smile has had a mythic reputation over the years, and the director Bill Pohlad takes us back to that era with double-take authenticity. Paul Dano is excellent as the young Brian Wilson. It’s a beautiful film about a music legend, and the high price that soaring so high creatively can exact.

Rhymes for Young Ghouls

It’s 1976 on the Red Crow Micmac reservation in Canada. Aila is a weed dealer, trying to make money so she can stay out of the hated residential school. Her imprisoned father comes home and her world is turned upside down. Trouble finds Aila and her friends and they have to fight to stay out of the school. They take on the cruel Indian agent, finding strength in their traditional ways and their ancestors. This movie was originally released in 2014.

When Animals Dream

A new take on the werewolf movie, with a young Danish girl inheriting a peculiar family trait from her mother, who has her own troubled history with it. As Marie goes through puberty, the changes become more pronounced, and the town mobilizes in an attempt to corner her before she does more damage. I loved the stormy, North Sea atmosphere, which just added to the sense of foreboding. It’s the old metaphor of children becoming adults and the loss of innocence. But it’s stylishly rendered here, and worth a watch.

Sicario

A tale from the headlines, as we follow a young FBI agent into the Mexican drug war, fueled by Americans’ insatiable appetite for the product. It isn’t long before she sees what she feels is improper conduct, and she begins to regret her decision to join the fight. We ride along as convoys dip across the border to conduct raids or pick up prisoners. The tension is very effectively conveyed and you’ll find your eyes darting around the screen, trying to pick up any threats. A very relevant and taut thriller.

The Big Short

This probably won’t be the last film about the 2008 recession, but it’s certainly one of the best. Based on a nonfiction book about the crisis, this movie seeks to educate viewers about what happened that year as the economy melted down before our eyes. It breaks the fourth wall frequently to do so, and even uses humor to leaven a heavy subject. Seven years removed from the tragedy, it’s just a bit easier to laugh about what happened. Seeing the whole house of cards explained though, and how money can be such an ephemeral thing in some instances, gives one pause. With little done to prevent a recurrence, when will it happen again? Steve Carell gives another fine dramatic performance here.

The Quarry

It was the time of living on the knife edge.

He sought peace everywhere but within, because there was no sign of it there. One washed out November day, under a stony sky, he went up into the woods. He might've been trying to escape the maras, but he knew better that once they had your scent, there was no escaping them. He climbed a steep path to the top of a ridge, pausing to rest for a few minutes after the ascent. Then he went on, trying to find the trail that he couldn't find in the midst of summer. Maybe it was better hidden by the foliage then. The bare branches aided visibility this time, and he could see the quarry pond through them. He followed a detour he couldn't recall from last time, and found the lost trail.

He stopped where the hiking group had stopped before, a few years before, and had gone no further because further on was private property. He read the Posted sign, and then passed by it. After a short distance, the path veered back down steeply, toward the quarry pond. It was damp and brown, slicked by the sliding boots of previous travelers. He started warily down with half steps...and then heard voices. Two men approached from his right. He lay back against the cold earth, behind the gray and brown stalks of dead goldenrod and leafless bushes. He was well above them, probably 30-40 feet, and they passed in conversation, oblivious to his presence. After they drifted beyond hearing, he crept down further to the edge of the trail. He heard their voices again as they returned. He hurried back up the path, struggling to find a solid foothold. He grabbed the hard stalks to assist him. He ducked down again as they passed a second time. He watched them return to their vehicles and drive once again down the path, which was just wide enough for a vehicle. They passed by slowly, and he could discern as they went that they followed the gravel drive all the way around the pond. He stayed hidden until they were out of sight. Assured that no one else was nearby, he finally set foot on where they'd driven and walked up to the large berm that surrounded the pond. A frog hopped gingerly away as he got close. The movement startled him. A few ducks paddled out on its softly rippled surface. The berm dropped away to the water's edge. The shore was not inviting. He decided against going any further.

More voices, approaching from his left. He scrambled again back up the path, his feet avoiding the soil in favor of the grass. Part of the path was so steep, it was like climbing the face of a mountain. He made the top again and paused, breathing heavily. His heart was stomping in his chest. His lips and mouth were dry, but then they often were these days, even when resting. There was peace here, but it wouldn't enter him. Or he couldn't enter it.

He wanted to come here because it had inspired a story he'd written once. He imagined the ground near the pond for the tale, having never observed it closely before. It wasn't exactly like his descriptions, nor was it far off. He'd has a sense of it, enough to make it reasonably familiar to him. He was angry at whoever dared to call it private land. The land outlasted all people. It couldn't be owned by anyone. After a life bitterly spent, it was people who returned to the land.

He sat for a while back in the park territory, looking out over the water toward the opposite hillside. Fall colors splashed across his vision. The unwelcome noise of a mower, or maybe a leaf blower. His lonely sojourn yielded him no rest. It might have been the chill wind, or the intrusion of strangers where he desired none. In any case, it awakened his hunger, and he decided to head back. It would be dark soon, though it was only 3:30. Peace would have to wait.

This Age Of Anxiety

A huge challenge looms ahead of me at work, and I feel like I've been thrown into a churning sea without a life preserver. There is so much to absorb. Some days I feel up to the task, but then I attend a meeting or another branch in the labyrinth is revealed, and I become that ant on the sidewalk you mercifully step over. I'm marching toward my task, but I'm only slightly aware of my size disadvantage and that I am coursing through an enormous world fraught with peril. I am getting it...slowly. It reveals my achilles heel, which is my impatience with myself. I am wired from the thoughts of this, and my effort. Sleep is fitful most nights, even on weekends. Trying not to worry, but this is my superpower. It's gotten me through so much in the past, but it also punishes me.

I was woken again this morning by the heavy equipment across the street from me and just past the row of houses there. Since I've moved here it's been an empty meadow where the rabbits that feed in my yard some nights return to when they are done. It's slated to become lots for eight more mcmansions and it looks like this now:

I feel horrible for the rabbits. They're just trying to survive and raise families, as they've done for countless generations. Now humans, the big bad bully of the world, comes in and stomps all over everything, heedless of our animal friends and of the remorseless damage we inflict upon our mother. We live an unsustainable existence, and we refuse to see what we do. Instead we talk of colonizing Mars, another planet we can chew up and spit out. Fortunately, Mars is inhospitable enough to us that we won't be able to live there. But imagine the hubris of contemplating such a thing. All the lessons contained within this life, and we have yet to learn one of them. It's so simple. Take care of other beings and our home. Not even the constant admonishment toward doing it for the children is enough.

When I was very young, there were empty fields and meadows to run around in and explore. They're disappearing fast. The bees know this too, and suffer the consequences of the many poisons with which we fill our environment. Cancer rates rise, and we offer sympathy and prayers...but we still engage in the behaviors leading to it. To sum it up crudely, we shit where we eat. Copiously. We don't change. Who else will save us from us?

Isabelle's Garden

I've watched this video three times now. It leaves me with questions. Where are her parents? Does she go to school? How did someone so young become so wise beyond her years?

For me, the video gets to the heart of what matters in life. Feeling compassion for others, and acting on it. It's a wonderful reminder of what I should be doing, and what my thoughts should consist of. These days, I'm too prone to think of extraneous stuff. It's good that I'm aware of it, but I still sometimes have trouble sweeping it away.

When I was her age, I was a sugar-addled child running around with no clue about life. The future loomed as some great unknown beast, and I nurtured a burgeoning fear of what that beast might have in store for me. That's important. It was fear, not optimism or confidence. Isabelle appears to live in the midst of poverty, and yet these harsh circumstances do not deter her from thinking about her fellow human beings, and showing her concern in a tangible way. She's truly an inspiration.

Unfortunately, this video wasn't the most popular of the festival. But it should've been.

Nostalgia - Reflections on Mad Men

[Here be spoilers]

"Nostalgia - it's delicate, but potent."

So pronounces Don Draper to the Kodak executives as they await his pitch for their new photo projecting device. What has been labeled offhandedly as "the wheel" becomes "The Carousel" after Don's powerful soliloquy on the subject as outwardly happy images of his family on the screen mask the pain he increasingly feels over the elusiveness of that happiness, much of that pain self-inflicted. And yet, he can't seem to put an end to his self-destructive behavior.

These devils will continue to hound Don throughout the entire series. The show concluded a couple weeks ago with a final season that seemed to lose a step as it drew to its conclusion. I'm not sure if it was the ill-advised, artificial split mandated by AMC that produced this impression, or if the writers really did have some ambivalence about how to bring the best drama on TV to a close. When I spend any time with it in my head, I'm not sure how differently it could've been done. Mad Men was not one to throw drama in your face. When it did come, it crept forward tense and cat-like, revealed in stony expressions and carefully raised voices. It was the language of adults that I remember observing as a child. It was so accurate it was scary, one could say forensic. The show was eerily good at transporting me back to those times, times that I can only visit now in very faded and unreliable memories, or old Polaroids, the edges curled and the colors muted. Everybody smoked, including my mother, who also had the cats eye glasses and the pencil skirts. Betty Draper reminded me of her, with her beautiful, chilly surface and her mercurial moods. She loved you, but it was a formal love, often unexpressed in any obvious fashion. My mother may not have been as buttoned up, but she could be just as inscrutable.

The series starts in 1960, and in the first 5 years or so, it's a peek into the world as it was at America's dizzying peak. Sheer confidence and bluff, the men seem fearless as they drink to excess and party until late in the evening at the office. There's a scene early on where Roger Sterling is drunk and riding on the back of a woman as she crawls on all fours through the deserted hallway. We're transported to the top of the American Mount Olympus, as the gods (white males, of course) sport and swagger in the very heart of this commercial engine, the part of it that gave it an appealing face. The advertisers. Where the American dream was born. You can't help but have some dawning awareness that these are the last of the salad days.

As the sixties progress, we see portents. New York City's shadows grow longer as Roger and Joan are robbed on the street at gunpoint. The conflict in Vietnam and the race riots become a fixture on network news. Sterling Cooper goes through upheaval, the partners fighting for the life of their company against larger competitors. In the later seasons, I begin to recognize the world they depict. I was born in '65, and some of the memories from that time, so buried and difficult to access, began to unlock as I watched the show. Season 6 especially woke up something in me. The closing credits rolled to the accompaniment of a song from that time, and I thought during that season that they had some brilliant choices. Suddenly, I'd be back with my mother in her Ford Maverick, driving somewhere as AM radio played incessantly. Judy Collins' rendering of the Joni Mitchell classic "Both Sides Now". The practically forgotten Friend and Lover with "Reach Out of the Darkness," with its irrepressible chorus.  "I think it's so groovy now, that people are finally gettin' together...". Even as the country was tearing itself apart, a youthful optimism tried to break through and exhort everyone to release the baggage of the older generation and start over. It's an infectious sentiment. When I look at film of those times, the efforts to get past the violence, those optimistic voices, it's almost startling to see. Cynicism and jaded attitudes were just around the corner. Nixon won handily in '68, and with that the older generation had put their foot down. The calcified worldview of conservatism was rising from the ashes, and that breathtakingly creative decade would soon be a wistful, almost mythical interlude.

Don walks away from it all in the end, and after what he's put himself through, how could he not? The pressure to produce was intense, and the self-medication was never-ending--booze, affairs, nicotine, more booze, and just general self-delusion. It's literally a toxic way of life. Betty was diagnosed with cancer in the last season, but I'm sure if they were to keep going, many more would follow with the same diagnosis. Half my family heard those words as well, and it didn't surprise me when they did. I often wonder how I didn't fall prey to it. Betty's daughter Sally is depicted smoking in the presence of her mother. I recall my mother telling me when I was 14 or 15 that if I wanted to smoke, she would buy the cigarettes for me. I was incredulous. Couldn't they see that I hated the habit?  I had nagged my mother to stop for years, to no avail. Like Betty, even after she was diagnosed, she continued to smoke. She and her generation were going to ride those toxic habits, partly a product of such unprecedented affluence, right to the end.


The show ended like so many ventures back then. Nothing adheres forever. People go their separate ways, reinvent themselves, speeding along in their endless search for fulfillment, whether it be superficial, or, less often, something more profound. Don ends up meditating on a beach in California, as their chanting gives way to that famous Coke commercial featuring people of all nationalities singing in unison about giving everyone a Coke . That spot is iconic for many of us Gen Xers. I can remember the first time I saw it. As Don said, it created an itch, and I recall sipping from many an icy Coke bottle on a hot afternoon. I don't drink the stuff anymore. Like Don, I've grown weary of a life based on incessant consumption. I haven't run away, but I've run headlong from so much that I used to partake in. Mad Men, for me, was the Great American Novel for television. Nothing else has reflected my life back to me so precisely and with such diamond-sharp writing.

I hope we do see something like it at some point, but I wouldn't hold my breath.

Finding The Path Again

A stressful winter has caused me to meditate less regularly than normal. Today I tried to break the pattern. I sat and did Manjushri practice. It wasn't easy, and I often wonder if meditation under such circumstances is anywhere near as effective as under ideal conditions. But I've always read that we should persist no matter what the conditions. In many ways, meditation during difficulties can help us progress on the path farther than when times are good.

I'll continue getting back into my previous routine. As temperatures rise and I'm able to move on to the many home repairs and improvements that need to be done, I know it will become easier.

I visited my nursing home resident this morning. He was in the mood to talk, but his conversation was mainly focused on trying to escape the home, and talking of suicide if he couldn't get out. I tried my best to reassure him. When he didn't talk about the negatives, he kept repeating that I made his day. It's been 5 weeks since I saw him last, but I expect to get over there more often now. Maybe my more frequent presence can help him to stop focusing on escape and suicide. I doubt he would or could go through with such a plan, but his mood isn't good if he's thinking about it.

Hot Baths And Herbal Tea

It was blessedly warm for a while today (if you can call 31 F warm) and sunny. Unfortunately, the warmth caused the roof over my sun room to leak. I heard an unfamiliar sound from there when I was in the kitchen this morning, and there was a long wet line on the ceiling that probably parallels a plank, and it was dripping along its length. I hurriedly put down buckets and a towel. Later, I went out and raked that spot on the roof to remove as much of the snow up there as possible. With all we've had in the past couple weeks, it's a considerable amount. An hour or so later, the dripping stopped. My hope is it will remain dry as long as I can keep that part of the roof mainly clear of snow. I'm sure it isn't done snowing yet though.

There was so much snow piled up next to the house from all the roof raking I've been doing that I could stand on top of the pile and touch the gutters.

The weather forecasters are talking breathlessly about how this February will be remembered for many years to come. A friend texted me that the average temp for the month is 13 F. When I checked a few weeks back, we were about 10 inches below normal for snowfall.  Today we're 11.5 inches above normal. There are two more polar waves expected this week. The first tonight, the second on Wednesday night. Just have to get through those two, and then it looks like the weather pattern will stabilize. For much of this month, my therapy has been hot baths and cups of herbal tea. The power of a hot bath to return me to a hopeful and energetic frame of mind cannot be underestimated. It is better than any vitamin or supplement, better than any other stimulant. The promise of at least some normal weather next weekend will be my motivation to soldier on.

Waiting Impatiently For Spring

It truly has been another winter of discontent. Christmas was a decent time, and I was even running outside until just after the holiday. But I was invited to a party for New Year's, and I had vague misgivings about going. I should've listened to them. A few days after the party I came down with the mutant strain of flu that the shot didn't cover. I have been taking the shot for the past seven or eight years, and haven't had the flu until this year. Pretty sure I picked it up from one of the germbags at the party.

That event alone is enough to throw off anyone's life for a while. I'd also bought the wrong filters for my furnace, ones that are very restrictive of air flow, and after a week they were causing the furnace to work too hard. I have one of the newer, high-efficiency units which run more often in an effort to keep the temperature more constant. This also means you go through filters more often. I've since gotten better filters, but the furnace wasn't done with me yet.

Woke up one morning to find the house very cold, and discovered the batteries for the thermostat had gone dead. I replaced them but the furnace wouldn't turn on. Service call was placed. They arrived to find that the heat tape protecting the tubing which siphons the water produced by the furnace (new ones do this) safely away and down the drain had not only failed, but had shorted and become fried. He brought it down and the outer coating of the tape was melted, with sections of the plastic tubing blackened. This was a bit frightening. Last thing I need is a fire in the attic. Once this was cleared up, the thing was operational again.

A couple days later, while home in the evening, I noticed water dripping from the return vent. Great. Another service call is placed. They send a new employee, terribly young. Terrible visions are forming in my mind already. He goes up the ladder and proceeds to put his knee through a board that had been nailed there to cover the hole needed for the old furnace. It came crashing down, along with piles of loose insulation. We got the space covered again in a rudimentary fashion, and he discovers the previous repairman hadn't hooked up the tubing to the pump properly. It had come loose and water was spraying out into the attic space. It wasn't a lot, and there was no damage to the ceiling fortunately, but if I hadn't been home, it could've turned into something worse.

The problem was fixed and since then the heater has performed normally. I think putting it up in the attic was a big mistake though. The problems I've experienced would not have occurred if it were in the utility room, like the old one was. The previous one was 22 years old when I moved in, and in the six years I had it, I never had to make a service call for it. I had maintenance done every two years, and it ran fine. I have maintenance done for this one every year, and still need to call for these emergencies. When winter does end, I'm going to have it moved back down the utility room. Otherwise, it will do nothing for my peace of mind every winter. I'm also going to get insulation and siding done for the house. I have a real suspicion that the walls of this place either contain no insulation, or it's very poor. The place bleeds heat like the walls are the consistency of swiss cheese. I also thought putting it up in the attic would lessen the noise, but I hear it possibly more now than before. It wakes me up at night when it's running a lot, and to ameliorate it I've been running a space heater in the living room. It helps, but I'd rather not have it running all night while I'm sleeping.

If I ever had any love for winter, it's been completely sucked away by this point. Up here where I live, it's a malevolent beast, threatening you with bitterly cold temperatures and days when it seems like the snow won't ever stop. We're in one of those periods right now, and the forecasts say it may not break until later this month. I hope they're wrong. With my plans for the house this spring/summer, my plan is to make next winter and beyond much more livable.