Movies

It’s been a two movie weekend. The hotel was fully booked, mostly with supporters of the Corn Huskers – the football team from the University of Nebraska. They played the Sooners, from Oklahoma University, at the new Cowboys stadium in Arlington.

College football is almost more popular than professional football in the US. We don’t really have anything comparable in England, but here, sport of all kinds is big money to universities. Although athletes can’t be paid, they usually receive scholarships, which is often the only way they would ever be able to afford a college education. And the professional teams are almost exclusively populated from the ranks of the college teams. The only sport that doesn’t follow this model is baseball – I’m sure there’s a very interesting sociological story that could be derived from this.

On Friday night, the Nebraska supporters were quite vocal. They were a little more subdued this morning, after their team lost. It was quite close – 23-20 – but the right team probably won. I have a fairly independent view, with no real affiliation (apart from working with an Okie) to either team, but the Huskers’ quarterback really sucked. I feel sorry for the guy I chatted to in the elevator who had driven down – 12 hours. The journey back would have been so much easier if his team had won.

The movies. Yesterday, Black Swan. The same director as The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky), which I loved, and with an IMDb score of 8.9/10 – very impressive. The matinee, at 2pm, was packed, which I’ve never seen before. It was great – very well acted, and with a good storyline. There were a number of scenes that made you wonder what was going on, but these all fell into place once you saw the ending. I love movies like that – very satisfying. Summarizing the storyline doesn’t do it justice, but here it is: lead ballerina in a production of Swan Lake is obsessed by achieving perfection.

Today, 127 hours. Director Danny Boyle, who most recently did Slumdog Millionaire. It’s based on a true story – the guy who had to hack off his own arm to free himself from being trapped by a rockfall while canyoneering in Utah. It’s not an easy story to make into an engaging film, and, of course, reviews have often focused too much on the hacking-the-arm-off scene. I didn’t find that unduly disturbing. It’s interesting (in an odd sort of way) to wonder at what point you might be able to do the same thing in similar circumstances.

My taste in movies almost certainly doesn’t coincide with yours, but I did recommend Winter’s Bone, that I think is now up for an award. So I’m not too far off.

Staying Local

I’m “on call” this weekend, so I can’t venture far afield – but I can always find something to do locally. A couple of weeks back, I discovered an old VHS tape that Lucy had recorded, of me on Breakfast Television in Cayman. I brought it to the States with me, with the intention of getting it transcribed to DVD, and thence to AVI format. As luck would have it, at last week’s Diwali festival, I saw a video/photo company advertised. One of my Indian colleagues tracked down his address, and I set the SatNav with the address this morning. To cut a long story short, I finished up outside his house, and he’s transcribing it for me. It seems that he (Krishna) was responsible for all the video at the Diwali festival – quite impressive.

 

There are no movies on that I want to see, so I headed over to Dallas to the Farmers’ Market to pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables. As well as getting lunch – two “brisket tacos”, with soft tortillas, barbecued brisket, avocado and pico de gallo – I bought blueberries, corn and pears. As I made my way back to the car, I passed a country band, playing C&W music (you never see anyone of this age busking in England – I suppose we’re too reserved, which is a shame), and then a guy on blues harmonica. He was very good, and I told him so. He detected my British accent, and asked if I had ever heard of Larry Adler – of course, I had, and he was bowled over. We chatted for quite a while about what an influence Larry Adler had been on him, and he told me that, after Adler had escaped from the US after being hauled up in front of McCarthy’s witch hunt, he came to England. He never left, and, among other things, performed privately for the Queen Mother every New Year. I asked if he could play Sonny Terry’s “Whoopin’ the Blues”, and he tried very gamely – it was good, but it wasn’t Sonny Terry!

They’ve had “mid-term” elections here this week, with disastrous results for the incumbent Democrats. The electoral system seems to be designed to almost guarantee constant gridlock. What little Obama has done over the past two years, the Republicans have vowed to undo. I have no faith in any of them (any more than the politicians in England). As the saying goes here, “They couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the sole!”

Sketches from the plane

What’s the purpose of wearing a hat? In cold weather, it’s commonly believed that most body heat is lost through the top of your head; while this isn’t true, it’s pervasive enough to make people wear hats. In hot weather, it can shade your eyes and face from the heat of the sun. Both good reasons, if slightly misguided. But on a plane? It could be that you’re hiding a huge boil, that’s ready to burst; or a bald patch in the shape of the Queen Mary; or a third ear. My imagination can make the reasons so much more spectacular than reality. So … take the hat off, asshole. Especially if you’re wearing headphones.

 “Chicken or beef?”
It’s a simple enough question – don’t over-complicate it. Chicken is the “lite” option; beef is the heavy, over-salted one. Just pick one, and don’t bother asking, “What vegetables does it come with?”, or, “Is it free range?”. It’s airline food – it’s supposed to fill time, not your appetite.

When they come round with the drinks trolley, get one. Better still, get two – you never know when they’ll come round again. Air travel used to be a pleasure; these days, you need an anaesthetic.

 Relax. Get on the plane as soon as you can, and watch the cabaret – the other passengers trying to fit oversized “carry-ons” into the overhead compartments. It’s the most entertainment you’re going to get. You’ve either seen the movies already, or there’s a good reason why you haven’t.

Take your shoes off – it’s amazing how much more relaxed it makes you feel. But if you need to go to the restroom, put them back on first. Just trust me on this one.

 Flight attendants are not your personal assistants. They may seem as if they are, but that’s just the way they’re trained. The best routes, like the transatlantic ones, are allocated by seniority (otherwise known as “age”). That’s why, when they talk about “wide-bodied”, they aren’t necessarily talking about the planes.

Denison

The movie “The Social Network” was released on Friday. There was quite a lot of advance “buzz” about it, and it’s being shown in just about every movie theater in town. My favourite local theater is the Angelika, in Dallas – I refer to it as an “arts theater”, because it tends to show non-mainstream movies, except when a mainstream movie warrants exposure. This one does. There are enough reviews about it already, so there’s no point in adding mine, but I will say that 8.6/10 on IMDb.com is no mean feat, and I thought it was well worth the price of the ticket, and, more importantly, well worth 120 minutes of my time.

The Katy

Because I anticipated crowds, I went to an 11am performance. Before the movie started, an advert extolled the virtues of “Downtown Denison’s Arts & Cultural District”. Since I had an afternoon to fill, it seemed like a good idea to check it out. Denison is about 75 miles north of Dallas. It was founded in 1872, as a depot for “the Katy” railroad – that’s the Missouri-Kansas-Texas, or “the K-T”. It’s the birthplace of a few notable people – Dwight Eisenhower (the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces during WWII), John Hillerman (of Magnum P.I. fame), and, most recently, “Sully” Sullenberger, who “landed” US Airways flight 1549 in the Hudson River last year. Denison has suffered the fate of so many railroad towns, and the “historic downtown” area is depressed, and depressing.

A mural in Denison

It may seem that there’s no relationship between the movie and Denison, but there is. It’s history repeating itself. The railroads made people and cities rich, because they fulfilled a need at the time, as do internet social networks (or internet anything, for that matter) now. But we humans are fickle, slaves to fashion and “progress”. Just as Denison has been unable to reinvent itself as the railroads decline, or become more automated, so Facebook will ultimately be surpassed by the next generation of “killer apps”. The principals, of course, will get out long before they lose money – it’s the derivative industries, the supporting infrastructure, and the people that depend on it, that will be left holding the bag. It’s evolution, I suppose – the survival of the fittest. But sometimes I wonder just how fit we need to be …

A mural on Main Street

H

Granbury

The weather in October in Central Texas is beautiful. Summer’s furnace has finally burnt itself out, and it’s pleasantly warm throughout the day. The hotel is crowded because of the “Red  River Shootout” – the annual football game at the Cotton Bowl between two great rivals, the Sooners from Oklahoma University, and the Longhorns, from the University of Texas. So it was a good day to get out of Dallas.

The square in Granbury - the Nutt brothers were founders of the city

National Public Radio (NPR) is somewhat like BBC Radio 4. Intellectual content, lots of topical news, no commercials. But three times a year they have a “pledge drive” to raise money to keep the station running. Each pledge drive occupies probably a third of the air time for several weeks – we don’t know how lucky we are with the BBC. I think commercials would almost be preferable – at least they’re created by professionals, so you don’t have to listen to interminable repetitions of the number to call, and the amazing gifts they’ll give you in return for donations. I really need another coffee mug ... There’s a pledge drive going on right now for KERA, the local radio station, so I drove in blessed silence, with the windows down, hearing the sounds, smelling the smells, of the rural areas I passed through.

This is what you get for shouting at the sheriff

I thought I’d already been everywhere worth going to within easy reach, but today I went to Granbury, which I’ve passed by many times. I followed the signs to the “historic downtown district”, which is usually a town square left dilapidated and derelict after the arrival of Walmart and their cohorts. Not this time. Granbury is revitalized and vibrant. I had lunch in the patio area of one of the restaurants on the square – green leaf salad, with tomato, avocado, pine nuts, black olives and spring onions, sprinkled with parmesan cheese – with the warm sunlight filtering through the live oak trees. I’m always impressed that, even if you order a beer (as I did – a Shiner Bock), they still bring you a tall glass of iced water.

Apart from the Opera House, the gift shops, the coffee houses and cafes, the antique stores and the General Store, they have a museum. This was at one time lived in by the Sherriff, with the jailhouse upstairs. It was there that I learned that Jesse James was buried in the local cemetery – his “death” in 1882 was supposedly staged so that he could live out the rest of his life incognito. There are many such stories surrounding the colourful characters of the Old West – Billy the Kid is also reputedly buried locally, again after a mis-reported death. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if some of them were true, although, according to this legend, Jesse James would have been 103 when he died.

Fried pie

Jesse James' grave

On the way back through Weatherford, I stopped at Baker’s Ribs to get a “fried pie” – an Oklahoma delicacy. Yes, it’s exactly what it looks like – deep-fried, fruit-filled pastry.

It’s a wonder I’m still alive, the stuff I eat …

Two movies

Today I went to see two movies, which is something I haven’t done for a long time. The second was to make up for the first.

“Sweetgrass” (7.6/10, according to imdb.com) is a movie (ha!) about sheepherding cowboys in Montana. That’s it. There’s nothing else. No discernible plot, almost no dialogue, no music, almost no sweeping vistas of the majestic scenery. There are lots of close-ups of sheep, though, if that’s a redeeming factor for you – it wasn’t for me. That’s $8 and 101 minutes of my life I’ll never get back. The only thing worse than the incessant bleating of a flock of hundreds of sheep was the inane dialogue – if I wanted to listen to pointless conversation, I could hang out at the bus station for free. The director, if indeed there was one, must have spent most of the time asleep or drunk (which I would have been if I was involved). A Montana sheepherder’s life is demanding, but dull and uninteresting – as was this movie.

“Chloe” (6.8/10) stars Liam Neeson and Julianne Moore, both of whom I admire greatly. It was well acted, with good dialogue and an interesting plot that took an unexpected twist towards the end. I can’t say too much without spoiling it, should you decide to see it, but it definitely made up for the previous disaster. And Amanda Seyfried is very easy on the eyes.

Dallas Cowboys

The “Dallas” Cowboys haven’t, strictly speaking, been in Dallas for almost 40 years. They started playing in 1960 at the Cotton Bowl, just a few miles from downtown Dallas. In 1971, they moved to the Texas Stadium, in Irving. Although Irving has been described as a “suburb of Dallas”, and is definitely part of the area usually referred to as “the DFW metroplex”, it is a city in its own right. Last year, the team moved to the newly built Cowboys Stadium, in Arlington, which is “centrally located between Dallas and Fort Worth”, having been offered financial incentives that few could refuse (including Jerry Jones, the current owner). It’s one of the most valuable sports franchises in the world, second only to the Manchester United football team, and you don’t get to that position without cool-headed and ruthless financial acumen.

Protest sign ...

... and a 100 yards down the road

 I drove past the shell of the old Texas Stadium this morning – it’s only a few miles from the hotel – and was saddened to think that it will be completely demolished on April 11^th. They auctioned off the stadium seats, the scoreboard, the clocks, the chandeliers, and anything else that didn’t move. As I drove past, I was listening to Brulé’s Buffalo Moon – Brulé are a native American band – and an interesting juxtaposition of ideas occurred to me.

Native American culture is gaining momentum here, as well it should. There is a story behind the band, but it is not my place to tell it. The music represented, for me, something agelessly spiritual, and the stadium, something purely temporal. It seems as though we build things just so that we can tear them down, like a child with a sandcastle; as if we are emphasizing our mortality, writing it bold, italicizing and then underlining it. The native spirituality predates the corruption of Christianity, in which we have descended from illumination to evangelism, from learning to lust, from cathedrals to child-molesting.

We no longer have the stomach for majesty, the heart for love, or the will to survive. We will continue to rape and pillage until there is nothing left to rape and pillage, or until, as is more likely, nature tires of our futile attempts to circumvent her need to contain our voracity.

Infuriating, isn’t it?

Indian Market

Today the temperature has been around 75°F; this time last week it was half that. What a difference a week can make! It’s warm enough to venture out – it certainly wasn’t last weekend (bearing in mind that I have no coat on this trip).

This weekend was the annual Indian Market in the Arlington Convention Center – American Indian, that is. Arlington is an interesting city. It’s considered part of the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex, and is home to the Rangers baseball team, UTA (the University of Texas at Arlington), Six Flags (a theme park), Hurricane Harbor (a huger water park), and, most recently, the Dallas Cowboys (after they stole them from the city of Irving).

At the market, I discovered two bands – well, one performer and one band – that I’ve never heard of before. Arvel Bird’s grandmother was a Paiute Indian; his grandfather was a Scot.  His music is an interesting fusion of Native American rhythm and Celtic melody and lyricism. Brulé are a Native American rock band, who seem to be doing for that culture what Runrig did for theirs.

I bought CDs from both, stood in line for autographs, and after a lunch of Indian Tacos and Dr Pepper, hit the road to listen to the music. The trees are starting to green, and the purple crape myrtle is blossoming – signs that Spring may yet be attainable, after a winter that seems to have been universally unpleasant.

I drove West on I-30 to Weatherford, where I had to stop to take a picture of an interesting mural on the side of an antique store on Main Street; then north to Springtown (home of Shinola’s Texas Café – an excellent diner); and finally east back to the hotel. Just enough time to listen to both CDs.

It’s hard to beat driving Texas country roads on a warm sunny day, listening to inspiring music.

Cheerleaders

It’s weekend again, and the weather in Texas is still dismal. Last month was apparently the coldest January on record. The hotel is full of young girls with names like Britney and Kassandra – apparently  the national championships of the NCA (National Cheerleaders Association) are being held in the Dallas Convention Center. Girls are chasing each other through the corridors, the floor is covered with popcorn, and it’s impossible to find a table at breakfast, even if you didn’t mind sitting amidst the noise. Strangely, they’re mostly chaperoned by seriously obese mothers bulging out of the same t-shirts that their daughters are wearing – living vicariously, I suppose.

But I’ve never been to either the Dallas Convention Center or a cheerleading competition, so I thought I’d check it out. My interest was short-lived – it was $5 to park, and $20 to go in. I’m curious, but not that curious. The trip wasn’t wasted, however, as I found a wonderful sculpture of an old-time cattle drive that I hadn’t seen before.

Crossing the river ...

... and watching the herd

 While in Dallas, I stopped at the Farmers’ Market and bought some tangerines. On the way out, I picked up a medium horchata, to quench my thirst, from a Mexican snack stand.

For a while, I’ve wanted to see Crazy Heart, the movie for which Jeff Bridges has been nominated for an Oscar. The matinee performance was only $5. Excellent value – a great movie, with great music, and some memorable lyrics: “Funny how falling feels like flying … for a little while”. If you liked The Wrestler, you’d like this. But I have to tell you that old people in the movie theater are worse than teenagers. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself asking them to shut up.

Lunch was Chow Mein and Orange Chicken, washed down with Dr Pepper, from the Panda Express, and then back to the hotel to listen to A Prairie Home Companion. If I don’t get out on a good road trip soon, I’ll go stir crazy …

Snow

It’s been an odd week, weather-wise. Yesterday it was reported that 49 of the 50 United States had snow on the ground (I’m sure you can guess the odd one out). And Dallas had 12 inches of snow, which is unprecedented. The pictures are from the 6^th floor window of American Airlines headquarters, on a day when almost 20% of their flights were cancelled due to the weather.

 

So I’m limited to the local area for the weekend, and my thoughts turn to food. I’ve read recently that a new product – “Taste No. 5” – is about to be introduced to Waitrose supermarkets in the UK. It’s apparently been around in Japan for 100 years, and is only now poised to stun British taste buds. When I googled it, I found myself at an online Daily Mail page, with Taste No. 5 advertized on one side of the page, and K-Y Jelly on the other. Now, there’s two products you wouldn’t want to get mixed up …

While confined to my hotel room, I watched what is euphemistically called a cooking program on PBS. They were making roasted tomato salsa, which sounds quite appetizing. “We’ll start with two cans of roasted tomatoes”. Hmmm … if you’re going to do that, why not just start with two cans of roasted tomato salsa? Never mind – they ultimately blended their way to the finished article. And what did they do with it? They added it to “Mac and Cheese”! Now it seems to me that that adding good food to crap is like multiplying by zero – you always finish up with zero.

America is astonishingly oblivious to anything that is happening around them, and in their arrogance (appearing to the world, as Guy Forsyth says, like a “spoiled drunk 15-year-old waving a gun in their face”) are destined to go the same way as the Roman Empire (I’m not the first to make this observation – Michael Moore, in “Capitalism” captured the analogy convincingly in the first few minutes).

If you’re planning to visit the US to “find America”, I think you may already be too late.

Avatar

I'm probably going to be all on my own here … but here goes. I've just seen Avatar in IMax 3-D, and thought it was rubbish. That's perhaps a little harsh – as a 3-D spectacular, it definitely succeeded, but had little to offer from any other perspective.

To be fair, I was in an argumentative mood before I went in. The movie is rated PG-13, which I agree with, but in the queue were quite a number of families with 5- or 6-year old children. It's clearly not suitable for that age, and doubly inappropriate because this was the performance that started at 7pm – on a school night – and the movie is two and a half hours long. The couple behind me were discussing the 3-D glasses. She said, "You don't need special glasses – IMax is already in 3-D". I felt like turning round and asking just how she thought that might work, but bit my tongue. So I'm already surrounded by stupid people.

The title is clever, cashing in on the current computer gaming culture. The music is unerringly predictable – something like Pirates of the Caribbean meets Karl Jenkins. I grow weary of blockbusters in which violence is the inevitable solution to conflict – I'd like to think that by 2154 it will no longer be necessary to beat opposition into submission using an unbelievable variety of explosive weaponry (although a friend has reminded me that ‘twas ever thus). The dialogue is uninspiring, and the plot is, as others have pointed out before me (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/01/04/avatar-pocahontas-in-spac_n_410538.html), Pocohontas in Space. No purpose was served by Sigourney Weaver smoking cigarettes, and unobtainium is just too corny. I can handle suspension of disbelief as well as the next person, but I wonder where our hero managed to lay his hands on several hand grenades during the closing debacle, and how it is that an alien race uses language like, "We're gettin' hammered here". And while we're on heroes, I don't understand why an ex-marine brimming with testosterone should be held up as exemplary, instead of the mindless muscled morons that they are.

Well, that's it. If you like special effects, this movie excels. If you wonder whether female aliens have nipples, this movie answers that question. If you like happy endings, you won't be disappointed. Since the movie is set to outdo Titanic at the box office, I'm clearly in the minority.