One of my favorite freelance gigs is giving talks to local cinema clubs. The groups mostly are comprised of people over 60, which is my preferred demographic of human beings. As Louis CK once said, “Even the dumbest seventy-year-old is going to have seen more than the smartest twenty-year-old.” The following is a lecture I gave to a Long Island club about “The Meddler,” which we all enjoyed. Some in the audience were all too acquainted with the loneliness of widowhood and retirement, and shared beautiful insights when I finished talking. More than one person made me cry. Sometimes talking about movies is even better than seeing them, which is why I am grateful for my work even when suffering an indignity like “Captain America.”
I have a funny story about seeing “The Meddler.” I was scheduled to see it the day Susan Sarandon, who stars as Marnie, the titular meddler, was all over the news for her controversial comments to Chris Hayes about why Trump might be better for America than Hillary Clinton. Her comments confirmed my long-abiding feeling that movie stars should be seen and not heard unless they are speaking from a script, and I tweeted something to that effect. Continue Reading →
It begins with the throbbing drums of Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” and a handful of strung-out, wild-eyed lads racing down a city street. Then Ewan McGregor – white-faced, teeth bared – hurls his emaciated frame in front of a cop car and begins a voiceover that sounds like a commercial for Satan himself: “Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fuckin’ big television ….” He keeps going, ire building – “Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future.” A montage of these boys shooting junk flies before us in a fugue of ecstasy. “Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin.”
Mention breakout 1980s novelists, and the names Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney inevitably top the list. But back in the day, Tama Janowitz was easily as big a deal as either of those boys. Witty where they were edgy, she set her comedies of errors among the rubble of Alphabet City and the rarified air of Upper East Side townhouses, and she lampooned the rites and rituals of the creative class with a rouge-tipped mischief that recalled the love child of Edith Wharton and Dorothy Parker – if either had been the type to wear Godzilla earrings.