Garbo, reincarnated

Two minutes ago, with me still up late writing, I heard Xan start to cry. "Are you OK?" I asked.

"I want to be alone," he said sleepily.

And just like the Baron von Geigern, I quickly scampered away.

A.M. UPDATE: Actually, he turned out to be lying. Waking up a couple hours later, he had a fever. So we're home today.

How have I NOT damaged my child in the past week?

(a) This morning, I took him out in the cold rain, forgetting to put on his rain boots. Naturally, the first thing he does is splash in a large puddle outside. Naturally, this is also the day that I don't have the car, having dutifully brought it in to be serviced. Naturally, we have also missed the bus. "My feet are wet," he says. Naturally, he is the only one who doesn't have rain boots when we get to school, so I have additionally committed a fashion faux pas.

(b) Last night, upon taking him to bed, I accidentally bump his head while getting his pajamas on. "You hurt my head!" he says. "Don't do that!" I ask for forgiveness. I get it only after many kisses and a few tickles for good measure.

(c) On Monday, I deny him the opportunity to see Barack Obama in person. In DC, I explain, disenfranchisement happens early and often.

(d) In the process of (c), I have to bring him in to school much earlier than we usually get there. As such, instead of being late for snack when everyone is already there, he is only the second person, and the other kid is significantly older than he is. After taking off his coat, he looks around, looks at me with wide eyes and, very seriously with an extremely cute voice, asks, "Dada, where are all my friends?" (Thankfully, the twins his age -- who also usually arrive very late, actually usually right before us -- come within a minute, since their mom also has an early meeting.

(e) Late last week, I go through the daily motions of getting him ready for school. Usually, this involves much bellyaching and a chorus of "I don't want to [x]" with [x] being either "have breakfast," "get dressed," "put shoes on," "go to school," "put coat on," or, you know, "breathe." This has occasionally devolved into mild tantrums -- and, lately, not so mild. On the day in question, I am running late (as usual) and trying to put clothes on, which leading to complaints and thrashing as described above. This, after I've given him a LOT of extra time to play and after he has agreed to get dressed without a fuss. "I DON'T WANT TO WEAR CLOTHES! NO! NO!!!"

At some point, I give up. I remember that apparently I had this problem as a kid and my mother made me go to school in my pajamas for a whole day. I decide that perhaps it's time to bring out the big guns. "Really?" I ask. "You don't want clothes? Fine." I pick up his clothes and shoes, put them in a bag, grab my coat and his lunchbox and drag him out the back door to the car.

He is wearing only a diaper and a pair of socks.

The temperature is about 16 degrees above absolute zero outside.

I then proceed to put the howling boy ("I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOOOL! I DON'T WANT TO WEAR CLOOOOTHES!") into the car, strap him into the car seat, start the car and drive off. To cover up the howling, I put Annie Lennox's "Coloured Bedspread" on the CD player at a relatively loud volume. I then pray to God that a cop doesn't drive by, since I'm not entirely sure that what I am doing is legal. Only when I get to the other side of town do I finally hear a small voice in the back seat say, "Dada, may I please have some clothes?" And after an apology and a huge hug, I put them on.

Wracked with guilt, I confess all this to his teacher at school. "You're better than I am," she laughs. "I probably wouldn't have even turned on the heat in the car." I look at her. "What makes you think I did?"

(f) I gave my son a fat lip.

ANSWER: (f)
Funny enough, he gave himself a fat lip at school. Later telling us that it involved "riding tricycles around and around and around and around and then CRASH," he actually manages this by simply running with a plastic toy in his hand and then falling on it, giving himself a nice bloody cut. By chance, Angela and I both arrive only minutes after this happens and are thus able to document the aftermath, snapping photographic evidence with the incriminating evil toy, still in his clutches.

"I'll show you, Evil Squiggly Plastic Blue Toy!"

"This is a one-shot thing we got going on here."

I haven't written about Heath Ledger until now. The reason is perhaps obvious: everyone's already written about Heath Ledger in some form or another and I wasn't quite sure I had much to add that wasn't said more eloquently elsewhere.

That said, from the moment I found out about his death, the fact that I happen to be teaching a class about stardom (and, randomly and separately, am screening Brokeback Mountain in my grad seminar) this semester jump-started the academic in me. Quite frankly, I'll admit to being utterly fascinated at the phenomenon of Ledger's somewhat posthumous stardom. I'll admit my utter shock at finding out about his death while picking up some movies at the library 10 minutes before class -- and then somewhat puzzled why I seemed to have such an empathetic response. It's not like I've fawned over him incessantly; indeed, I have only seen three of his films, two of which were supporting turns in Monster's Ball and I'm Not There. As talented an actor as he was or potentially might have been, I had no idea he was this big of a star -- and I have a feeling many people felt the same way, surprised at their own emotions toward him.

This week my class is reading some considerable theorizing about the confluence of actors and roles that make up stardom. For me, the outpouring of emotional wringing around Ledger's death solidifies something nearly every sane cinephile has been saying for two years now: that as both a film and a cultural touchstone, Brokeback Mountain endures. Perhaps this is because BBM was really more of a throwback to the most memorable melodramas of Hollywood's classic periods. As such, we viewers (caught in the cultural zeitgeist of the film) easily and unknowingly transformed the actor into the star that matched that kind of performance. As obsessed as some of us are about the Oscars (and hey, I'm the one with the party and trademarked drinking game!), it no longer bothers me as much that what amounts to a lightweight film like Crash won that evening. Heck, Singin' in the Rain doesn't have a Best Picture Oscar and Around the World in 80 Days does: you tell me.

If this sounds like I'm gearing up for a possible article on this subject, I just might. The last time I got really this interested in stardom, I wrote a great piece on Matt Damon and Ben Affleck that I now regret not publishing; indeed, I was planning on returning to that piece instead (and still might). But once the manuscript is done done done (which will hopefully be soon), maybe a detour into the current phenomenon might be worth examining.

(This actually started as a comment on a post on Heath Ledger at The Film Experience -- so thanks for the inspiration, Nathaniel!)

Bye bye, Miss American Pie

I've decided to post this now to see just how/if my mind changes come November. As it happens, the political stalemate that has been going about my head over the last few months has finally been decided in one direction.

I had been a Richardson fan since he announced his candidacy. Forget the fact that he's Latin (which I was drawn to): I honestly found him with both the most extensive track record on foreign policy of the bunch, not to mention one of the few that was a governor and therefore had experience running a state. I still think it's a shame he didn't catch any fire. Since he bowed out, I've been trying to figure out who I might fall behind: Clinton or Obama? (I didn't like Edwards the first time around and there's no reason to think I might be a fan this time.)

The two had been running neck and neck in my head until yesterday, when I read my good friend Marcy's posting on her blog about what has been happening in Michigan. The national media (OK, NPR, which is all I listen to) hasn't really been discussing the issue and, indeed, it may seem like a minor one. And yet, as Marcy so aptly points out, the notion of trying to pander to Florida voters and working to try to back-end her way into the Dem nomination is one taken "by a reckless person who put herself above the larger good."

And you know, I've had enough with eight years of that kind of attitude in a president who thinks they are bigger than they are.

Therefore, count me squarely in Obama's camp. I had been impressed anyway by how he has so effectively galvanized the young people of this country into getting something done; I hope they can keep the momentum going to actually elicit some -- dare I use the c-word? oh fine -- change.

Mind you, this all depends on what will happen on the other side as well. If Obama gets the dem nomination, I'm likely to vote that way no matter what; if Romney, Huckabee or Giuliani make it on the other side, I'll also vote dem no matter who the nominee is. If my choices are Clinton and McCain, however, at this point I imagine I'll have some serious thinking to do.

(All this written on the eve that, of all things, Obama is coming for a big rally at AU tomorrow -- complete with Caroline and Edward Kennedy providing their endorsement on campus. They will be about 100 feet or so from my office... except I won't be there, because tomorrow I have a day's training as an election judge for our own primary in a few weeks. Given that Maryland, Virginia and DC follow Sooper Dooper Toosday, I'm not sure our votes are really going to count for a ton, but still, it's my civic duty. And, given what happened last time I worked a primary, perhaps it's good that I go. Still, woulda been nice to finally attend a political rally, which I've actually never done, and one where I could bring my coffee mug and not have to put on a coat! Sigh.)

"You know something? You read too many comic books."

Because we are so very hip and cool, Angela and I often spend Saturday evenings sussing out what WETA, one of the local PBS stations is going to play as the classic movie of the evening. Having done a bit of work today, I thought I'd check out what was playing. Maybe it would be something good.

Today: Rebel without a Cause.

Oh, man.

I really love this movie. I have seen Rebel at least a dozen times, probably more. Sure, I own a copy. Many who know me know that I happen to also be somewhat obsessed with James Dean, primarily from this movie. (OK: entirely from this movie, since I only saw Giant about six months ago.) In many ways, it's incredibly hokey, so thoroughly entrenched in 50s teenspeak that it's a relic. I am so terrified that my students will make fun of the movie that I have yet to show it for a full class screening in the seven years I have been teaching movies.

And yet, Rebel is a thrilling portrait of the self-absorbed nature of teenage life, when even the most minor things are so darn IMPORTANT, that the world is just plain over. ("That's the edge. That's the end.") This, despite the fact that everyone -- including, I think, the characters themselves -- realizes that these are simply spoiled kids attempting to react, to respond to suburban ennui. Like so many of the melodramas of the period, Rebel is completely earnest in how it presents everything: the trauma, the drama is so real. In many ways, the film should still resonate; in 1955, during the age of Levittown when the United States is just coming to terms with this decade-and-a-half-old concept of "adolescence," this must have been like a bomb. It is also no wonder that the film critics from the 60s (at Cahiers in France, at Hablemos de cine in Peru, all over) went ga-ga over the film and its thrilling cornucopia of cinematic details: the intensity of that impossibly red jacket; the mixture of disdain and eroticism when Buzz takes Jim's cigarette from his mouth; the wonderful canted camera as Plato goes down for the last time; the truly terrifying light show at the planetarium (evocatively reflecting contemporary fear of "the Bomb") turning into a playful, almost water-like dance on Jim's face toward the end (see top photo); Nick Ray's brilliant use of Cinemascope from the opening credits when Jim is sprawled across the entire screen. (Yes, I walked out of a screening at the Michigan Theater in the mid-90s when it wasn't presented in widescreen format. Thanks, DFS, for turning me into a film snob.)

And oof, James Dean: has there ever been a more visceral character on screen than Jim Stark? This still below highlights a fascinating moment in the film: right after the chickee run where "a boy died" and right before Jim confronts his parents in the most animalistic way, Jim has a quiet moment where he enters though the back door, opens the icebox, takes a long swig of milk, then rubs the cool glass bottle on his forehead. Did I say that this is quiet? Not quite: Dean offers this moment a subtle tautness, reeking of desperation, emblazoning the moment with the contradictions that make up Jim Stark's life. Check out the mise-en-scene: Ray's choice of positioning the milk on the screen works in opposition to The Red Jacket, both played out vertically on screen, but interrupted by that supple, yet nervous face. No wonder boys and girls alike fell in love with him. Dean himself would be stupidly dead before it would be seen (and yes, I realize that's why he fascinates), but the performance bites, even in the scenes where he doesn't caterwaul -- which, of course, he also does.

This is the first in a new, infrequent series of cinematic gushing, inspired by and hopefully resonant with the work of the old-school French film critics who tended to just gush about their favorite movies. Tell me what you think -- and if I should continue, heh heh.

It came from beneath

I came home last night and Xan had gone to bed not long before. "Go say hi," Angela offered. "He's got to still be awake."

I went in his room. The covers, which usually I find tossed aside haphazardly, are this time over his face. I bend over to check him out.

Very slowly, the covers are pulled down by forces underneath them. A grin lies underneath. "I'm sleeping," he whispers.

"No, you're not," I laugh. "Not if you can tell me that you are."

"I'm sleeping," he repeats with the biggest grin, then slowly covers his face once again.

This just in

TAKOMA PARK, MD. (AP) -- A local boy tried to get out of bed early last week when reports indicate that he was suddenly hit with what has been called a "sleep attack." Alexander, 2, was apparently caught by the attack in mid-escape, leaving him dangling off his bed. "I don't know how he does that," his father said, "but then again I also don't understand how he can fall asleep with his butt in the air either."


Attempts to wake the child were quickly quashed; attempts to quash giggles were not as successful.

Getting schooled

The scene: A few days before we take down the Christmas tree, I wander by. Xan is sitting on top of the leather Peruvian poof thang that we have; Angela is sitting cross-legged next to him. I notice that he has the book 500 Words to Grow On in his hand.

X: Dada, come!
J: What are you doing?
X: Sit in the circle, Dada.
J looks at A quizzically.
A: Storytime circle.
J [recognizing this as a school activity]: Oh! Right. Sorry. [sits]
X [approximating reading from a book]: OK, guys, this is an apple can y'all say "apple"?
J/A: Apple.
X: Very good, guys.
J [to A, aside]: "Y'all"? Who says that?
A [to J, aside]: Maybe from one of the work study students?
X: OK, guys. This is a cake can y'all say "cake"?
J/A: Cake.
X: Very good.
J [getting up]: I need a picture of this for the blog.
X [suddenly agitated]: No no, Dada! You need to sit down! It's circle time!
J grabs camera and quickly sits back down.
J [sheepish]: Sorry.
X: That's OK. OK, guys, this is a dinosaur can you say "dinosaur"?
J/A: Dinosaur.
X: Very good. And this is [eyeing a page full of colored crayons] redorangeyellowgreenbluepurplegraybrownblackaaaaandblack. Can you say redorangebluegreenblackwhitepurplewhitebrowngray?


Last night, there were more lessons. When he was born, the illustrious Julie Full Fare sent him a Green Eggs and Ham plate and cup set, the former of which has a saying from the book printed on it. "What's this, Daddy? asks this child, pointing to a word. (A note: "What's this?" is the question of the month and can apply to anything, kind of like we assume "Why?" is with most kids a little later on. Thanks to my sister-in-law's impishness over Christmas, I occasionally reply, "It's a pumpkin," just to keep him on his toes.) (Note to Julie: did you get our gift?)

I look at the word. "It spells Y-O-U. That spells 'you.'"

He looks at it. Looks back at me like I'm an idiot. "No, Daddy. X-A-N spells me. What does this spell?" And with that, the smacking of Dada's forehead continued.

Best Supporting Actress, Class of 2007: Tabu

I have seen so few movies in theaters this year and, admittedly, many of them just happen to have great male supporting roles but not so many female ones. Really, I'm a huge fan of Cate Blanchett's turn in I'm Not There, even if I'm not that much of a fan of the film -- but that would be too easy. I also really enjoyed Kelly MacDonald's turn in No Country for Old Men, but that could have something to do with the accent.

The Namesake, however, seems to hinge on the character of Ashima, both in terms of the chronology which really begins and ends with her, and in terms of the narrative structure, since she really is the character that holds it together. And, though she is very well known in India, her presence in Nair's film is refreshing, yet grounded. Plus, as can be seen above, she can pull off girlish rebellion while wearing her future husband's spats. It's not quite the lead role in this very ensemble film, but it's the linchpin and the performance sticks.

For these reasons and more, I submit my candidate for Best Supporting Actress 2007: Tabu.

This entry is part of the 2nd Annual Supporting Actress Blogathon -- please feel free to visit the other sites on the list, since I know for sure they have probably seen more films than I have and the list is always fun and varied

¡Feliz año de la papa!

That's right, folks. If you didn't know, it is now the Year of the Potato. Like my family, the potato comes from Peru. This must mean I'll be making more causa limeña, which I've been making fairly often these days. Perhaps because it's so yummy. Mmm.

Oh yes, Happy New Year as well.