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December 29, 2002:

THE FRONT-LOADED NOTES

Bruce Kimmel Photograph bk's notes

Well, dear readers, I had a rather emotional yesterday which I’ll talk more about tomorrow. Emotional yesterdays can never be discussed the day after because one must simply have a day in which they are not discussed. However, anyone who read yesterday’s posts will know the cause, oh, yes, they will know the cause. I’m also happy to report that Luckie’s “D” problem has entirely righted itself and she’s feeling her oats (no mean feat). For the time being, I’ve stopped mixing in a bit of wet food with her dry. In the meantime, my lower back is still hurting quite a bit on account of having done my Luckie lifting exercises.

Don’t forget, tonight at six o’clock Pacific Mean Time we will be having our final Unseemly Live Chat via AOL. After that, we shall have our very own sparkling haineshisway.com chat room. If we don’t have your AIM name please e-mail it to me by this afternoon so we can get you on the list. If the chat starts and you haven’t received your invite, e-mail me immediately right then and there – or post to the site and we’ll be checking quite often.

After my emotional yesterday, I sat on my couch like so much fish and watched three-and-a-half count them three-and-a-half motion pictures. First I watched a motion picture entitled One Hour Photo starring Mr. Robin Williams. I thought he was very good in it, but it was a rather pointless films, with too much film-school artsy direction (the score was especially bad). I then watched a motion picture entitled Blood Work, starring Mr. Clint Eastwood. I believe Blood Work is in the top echelon of Mr. Eastwood’s box-office failures – I’d read nothing but dismissive and obnoxious comments on the Internet, and most of the reviews were lukewarm, so I didn’t even go out to see it. Well, guess what? In my opinion (IMO, in Internet lingo) it’s a real return to form for Mr. Eastwood, his best film since Unforgiven. It’s very much in the Don Siegel mold, and it moves right along and he’s terrific in it. It isn’t perfect by any means, but its faults are exactly the same faults as the book it’s based on – a less-than-stellar last twenty percent. In fact, the movie is a bit better in that regard, but it can’t overcome some bad plotting by the novelist, Michael Connelly. That small caveat aside, it’s just a good movie, no two ways about it. Very well directed – simple, to the point, so “D” word of the camera – professional in the best cinematic ways, which is more than I can say about ninety percent of what I see. The score by Eastwood regular Lennie Niehaus, is also top-notch.

I then watched the polar opposite of Blood Work – a motion picture entitled The Bourne Identity. If you enjoyed The Bourne Identity simply skip to the next paragraph. Because, frankly, I hated every last minute of The Bourne Identity. This director, Doug Liman, represents everything I hate about movies today. Hyped, inept direction, so over the top in every way that your mind goes numb after twenty minutes of being assaulted by his barrage of image and sound. His “style” is herky-jerky – he’ll do anything and he’ll do it poorly. Every closing of a door can be heard several continents away, the cutting is so jerky it’s nauseating and the score by John Powell is in that awful pounding mode. All that said, Mr. Robert Ludlum does write a good yarn (so good that it had already been filmed once before, and filmed better if you ask me) so the story is interesting. Matt Damon is his usual okay self, nothing more nothing less. The supporting cast has some of the worst performances I’ve ever seen – high school acting 101. The only saving grace of the entire film is Franka Potenta, the terrific young German star of Run, Lola, Run. If I were you (and I am) I’d avoid this puppy like the plague (or the “D” word).

Finally, I had to put on something good, so I chose Mr. John Frankenheimer’s political thriller, Seven Days in May. I’m only half-way through (I haven’t seen it since it came out in 1964), but what a terrific movie – great cast, great direction, sparse but great Jerry Goldsmith score. Whatever happened to Jerry Goldsmith? Can you imagine him scoring this same film today? Unthinkable. He would pump it up full of his banal overwrought themes (think Air Force One) and the whole affair would be disgusting.

What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Besides, it’s Sunday – not even that many Hainsies/Kimlets will be reading this.

Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below before I have the “D” word of these here notes.

Well, I wrote so much in the first part that I have nothing whatsoever to say in the second part. Yes, Virginia, the party of the first part has given way to the ennui of the second part. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too?

I mean, whatever shall I talk about? I suppose I could tell you the story of The Randy Vicar and the Coat Rack but this is a family site, after all.

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear (that is three oh, dears), I’m simply afraid I have front-loaded these here notes. Mr. Mark Bakalor hates when I front-load these here notes and he will most likely bitch-slap me from here to eternity and back again.

Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must finish Seven Days in May and the final three days in December. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s free-for-all day, so get out your themes and ideas and various and sundried topics and post until the cows come home. Remember, we must have many posts – that is the deal on the day we have our live chats. We must not shirk, oh, no, we must not shirk our postings. That would be unseemly indeed. Post away, my pretties and I’ll check back in a while so I can partake of the stimulating discussions.

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