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.

Jim Reeves

It might be an old-fashioned word to use, but abundant is the only one I can think of to adequately describe the harvest in England this Fall. Last year was so disappointing that it makes it even more satisfying to see bulging berries of sloe, blackberry, elderberry, hawthorn and rosehip vibrantly punctuating the hedgerows. And so we’ll have sloe gin, blackberry gin, damson gin and elderberry wine for Christmas; and raspberries, and apple and elderberry crumble, when the weather turns colder and we need comfort food to remind us that Spring is not so far away.

The Texas Country Music Hall of Fame

Fall in East Texas is similarly impressive. The grass is green again, and the temperature is pleasantly warm. This year’s pecans, soft and creamy, are on sale at the fruit stands, and gloriously orange pumpkins are everywhere. The smell of fresh-mown grass, wood-smoke, and horses, drifts through the air as I drive down almost empty highways lined with cedar and live oak. Snapping turtles try to grab the last of the sun, crowded on every rock on every pond.

Jim Reeves Memorial

I was in East Texas yesterday to get away from the hotel in Dallas. The Razorbacks (University of Arkansas) played the Aggies (Texas A&M) at the new Cowboys Stadium in Arlington. The Razorbacks thrashed the Aggies. The difference between the two cultures is easily observed. The parking lot has more than the usual number of beaten-up trucks, mostly with Arkansas plates. The drivers of those trucks (and their passengers) have no idea how to comport themselves in social situations. I can forgive exuberance, but not blatant disregard for the sleep requirements of (albeit temporary) neighbors. They check in to the hotel carrying oversize cooler chests. But when I challenged an Aggie t-shirt wearer at breakfast this morning, commenting on how brave I thought he was, and that (in his situation) I’d probably be keeping my head down, he made reference to a recent magazine article, that stated that “Texas A&M University now ranks No. 1 in Smart Money magazine’s national ratings for “payback ratio” — the earnings levels of an institution’s graduates compared to what they paid in tuition, fees and related costs for their undergraduate educations”. That’s just sour grapes, of course, but he has a point (although, having just seen Michael Moore’s new movie – Capitalism, A Love Story – I’m not at all prepared to agree with it).

Carthage is about a 3-hour drive from the hotel, and is far enough east to be close to Louisiana. It doesn’t have much to recommend it, but it does have a memorial to one of the all-time great country singers, Jim Reeves, and is home to the Texas Country Music Hall of Fame. I should stress that I’m not a fan of Jim Reeves’ music, but I have a great respect for the man, and what he achieved. (Parenthetically (because that’s what parentheses are for) I should add that I also don’t like punk or hip-hop. Nevertheless, they were necessary to throw a wrench into the otherwise complacently boring middle-of-the-road musical desert of their respective eras).

I was the only visitor at the Hall of Fame (apart from an intensely annoying guy from Baltimore that you’ll have to ask me about when I’ve calmed down[1]), and I have to say that I was surprised by the number of artists that I had never heard of, despite listening to quite a variety of country music. Almost everyone, on both sides of the Atlantic, will have heard of Roger Miller and Willie Nelson; if you’re older, you may have heard of Waylon Jennings, Dale Evans (partner to Roy Rogers) and Bob Wills. Most of the others have not made it outside the USA, and, I suspect, in some cases, outside Texas. Texas may be unique among all the states in its view of itself. It is alternately (depending on where you are) sophisticatedly Eastern (like Dallas), or “cowboy country” (like much of West Texas), or South-Western (like the border towns), or infuriatingly different (like Austin, which is often referred to as “California in Texas”). Above all, it regards itself almost as a separate, independent country, and so it is perhaps not surprising that some of its most acclaimed celebrities are not so well known outside the state.

On an entirely different topic, I recently heard that Roman Polanski is apparently the original five-foot Pole with which nobody would touch anything …

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[1] Him: “Oh, you’re from England! Let’s see, what could we talk about … how about the way that country music was received in England versus here, when you were growing up?”

Me (sotto voce): “Bugger off!”