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Sunday February 02, 2025

Why Amazon Wins

Shortly after New Year's, I saw a cat sleeping bag that looked kind of fun, and that might encourage our cat Griffey to sleep more often with us. I know my wife wants that. So I showed her the video ad on Instagram, she approved, we ordered.

Ever since, at various intervals, I've gotten an email update about where in the world it is. They're almost like emails from friends who are traveling abroad and let you know what they've been up to while you've schlepping away—just totally far removed from your own life. It's like the sleeping bag is Flat Stanley and we get snapshots of its adventures. Here it is at the Colosseum. Here it is at the Eiffel Tower. Here it is at the Statue of Liberty.

I like that they give us the whole timeline, that they're not trying to fool us about how long it's taking. This Friday it'll be a month since I ordered it. I'm not even on Instagram any longer. We've switched presidents. I've aged a year.

I'll be sure to update this post when the sleeping bag finally arrives. If it arrives.

Feb. 2: Des Moines, Iowa, USA

Posted at 10:43 AM on Sunday February 02, 2025 in category Business   |   Permalink  

Saturday February 01, 2025

Bob's Brass Tacks

I'm reading Bob Dylan's memoirs again, “Chronicles: Volume One,” and it's as good as I remember it, and includes all the fascinating stuff James Mangold's movie left out.

It's 1961, Dylan's in New York and finally playing at the Gaslight (Dave Von Ronk got him in), and listening to whatever he can and reading what he can while staying in different people's homes. Sometimes he gets a couch, sometimes a room. He's a rambler and a gambler. One of his favorite places is at Ray and Chole's on Vestry Street in lower Manhattan. They were well-read so he was well-read while he stayed there. He mentions reading a biography of Thaddeus Stevens, the anti-slave Radical Republican of the 19th century who didn't suffer fools, the one played by Tommy Lee Jones in Spielberg's “Lincoln.” He also read “Vom Kriege” (“About War”) by Carl von Clausewitz and says this:

Clausewitz's book seemed outdated, but there's a lot in it that's real, and you can understand a lot about conventional life and the pressures of environment by reading it. When he claims that politics has taken the place of morality and politics is brute force, he's not playing. You have to believe it. You do exactly as you're told, whoever you are. Knuckle under or you're dead. Don't give me any of that jazz about hope or nonsense about righteousness. Don't give me that dance that God is with us, or that God supports us. Let's get down to brass tacks. There isn't any moral order.

Read that this morning. Seemed relevant.

Posted at 08:23 AM on Saturday February 01, 2025 in category Books   |   Permalink  

Friday January 31, 2025

The Politics of Politesse

From a Guardian article by Peter Rothpletz on what Democrats need to do to get their message out effectively instead of what they've been doing. 

The Democrats who have emerged as the most successful communicators in the last few years—Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett, Senator Chris Murphy, Senator John Fetterman, and the aforementioned [Alexandria] Ocasio-Cortez—are those who made a concerted effort to reject this conventional risk aversion. They curse, they go on Fox News, and they're extremely aggressive in calling out their conservative counterparts. They've renounced the long Democratic tradition of bringing not a knife to a gun fight but a butter knife to a bazooka fight. Their messaging reflects the urgency of this moment.

He's missing Pete Buttigieg, maybe because Pete doesn't quite fit his formula. He'd go on Fox News and politely dismantle the other side's insane arguments. Even so, Rothpletz's point stands. He adds:

In response to the Trump administration's move to freeze trillions of dollars in federal grants and loans, the Senate minority leader, Chuck Schumer, should not have waited hours upon hours to finally issue a marble-mouthed, oddly sexual statement from behind a podium. No, the most talented Democratic communicators should have been immediately deployed to nursing homes and preschools in their respective districts. They should have taken to Instagram Live and decried—with F-bombs aplenty—the utter inhumanity of throwing the future of Medicaid and Head Start into doubt.

100%. Stop playing by the rules. These people are not your friends. Don't let America end because you were too polite to stop it.

For decades Democrats have misdiagnosed why Reagan was popular. They think it was the “Morning in America” bullshit, that old-time American secular religion, the smile and the wave and the Cheerios, and they've been trying to play into that for years. They've forgotten an important ingredient: resentment. Reagan was all about that, too. He built his base that way, as Trump has. So Dems just need to figure out what's on the Republican ledger that most Americans resent. I have a few ideas. 

Posted at 07:48 AM on Friday January 31, 2025 in category Politics   |   Permalink  

Thursday January 30, 2025

Doubles, Triples, Homers: Ohtani or Duran?

If he's going to do it, he needs to do less of this.

Since we're a few weeks from pitchers and catchers reporting, let's look back at the season that was, and ask the usual questions. My usual questions. 

Did anyone hit. 350?

Not even. Bobby Witt Jr. led the Majors with a .332 mark, while Luis Arraez's .314 topped the NL. Meaning the only .350 or better hitters in a full season since 2010 are ... (sorry, IS)...

  • 2023, Luis Arraez, MIA, .354

This dearth, again, is a historical anomaly. MLB has tried to pump up BAs by restricting the shift, etc., but too many franchises still buy into the three-outcome philosophy, BB, K, or HR, which makes for low averages and (to me) a dull ballgame. I still think there's room for some team, particularly a small-market team, to re-do what the 2014-15 KC Royals did, which I always felt was Moneyball 2.0. “Moneyball,” remember, was really about how to compete in an unfair game. And how do you do that? You figure out what is undervalued and buy it and what is overvalued and sell it. What's undervalued now, as it was 10 years ago, is defense and putting the ball in play. So buy that. Even if you don't get a winner, you'll at least get a more exciting baseball team.

Is anyone closer to becoming the first player since Johnny Mize to lead the league in doubles, triples and homers at some point in their career?

Yes! Not only that, but Jarren Duran actually led the league in doubles and triples in the same season. The last guy to do that, as longtime readers know, is my man Cesar Tovar with the Minnesota Twins way back in 1970.

So who is this Jarren Duran when he's at home? A 28-year-old centerfielder for the Boston Red Sox playing in his first full season. He took the great leap forward—going from 2.1 bWAR to 8.7. Holy crap! That was fifth-best in the Majors, after Judge, Witt, Ohtani, and Gunnar Henderson. So does Duran now have the best chance to become the first player since Johnny Mize to lead the league in doubles, triples and homers at some point in their career? Reply hazy, try again. If I had to bet, I'd bet Shohei. Here are the active players who have two of the three XBH titles and just need the third.

The guys who need DOUBLES:

  • Shohei Ohtani: He's lead the league in homers twice and triples once, and his career high in doubles is 38 in 2024—6th in the NL. One could see some of his homers becoming doubles as he ages. The concern? Mantle and Mays also needed just doubles and never got there. As they aged, their homers became outs. But if recent history has taught us anything, it's never underestimage Shohei.

The guys who need TRIPLES:

  • Bryce Harper: He led the league in homers in 2015 and doubles in 2021, and his career high in triples is 9. The trouble? That was back in 2012. He's middle-aged now and has hit a total of three triples over the last four seasons. Not going happen.
  • Nolan Arendao: He hit 7 triples in 2017 and 0 last season in 152 games. He turns 34 in April. Nope.

The guys who need HOMERS:

  • Whit Merrifield: His career high of 19 homers was way back in 2017. Last season, for two teams, he hit 4.
  • Jarren Duran: 21 homers last season at Fenway, along with his league-leading 48 doubles. If he can convert some of those to long balls, and if Aaron Judge gets injured, well, you never know.  

For the newbies, here's the background on the doubles-triples-homers stat. 

Which team has the longest postseason drought?

Last season it was a tie between the Tigers and Angels. Then in October Tigers went and knocked off the Astros (thank you!) but lost to the Guardians. So now it's just the Angels, who last went in 2014. Poor Angels. Poor Easy Breezy.

Which team has the longest pennant drought? 

Drawing a blank ... Oh right, it's still my Seattle Mariners, pennantless since their birth in 1977. A close second is the Pittsburgh Pirates, who last saw the World Series in 1979.

Which teams haven't won a pennant this century?

Same nine as last year: M's (n/a), Pirates (1979), Brewers (1982), Orioles (1983), Reds (1990), Athletics (1990), Twins (1991), Blue Jays (1993) and the Padres (1998). Any chance for a pennant in 2025 for any of them? Sure. O's or Twins maybe, since the A.L. doesn't look formidable. But neither has done much in the off-season, while last year's pennant-winner, Yanks, retooled after the loss of Juan Soto.

Which team has the longest World Series championship drought?

Still the Cleveland Indians, who have not won it all since 1948. Then it's a big jump to the Padres and Brewers (b., 1969). Then You-Know-Who.

Which teams have never won the World Series?

Five: Padres and Brewers (1969), Mariners (1977), Rockies (1993) and Rays (1998). Could any of them win it all this year? Not seeing it. Not with the Dodgers and Mets stacked the way they are. But that's why we play. 

Posted at 10:09 AM on Thursday January 30, 2025 in category Baseball   |   Permalink  

Wednesday January 29, 2025

Movie Review: Anora (2024)

WARNING: SPOILERS 

Once I began watching it, I remembered why I’d avoided it for so long. An American exotic dancer hooks up with the son of a Russian oligarch, and they get married. There’s not much about that sentence that intrigues me.

  • Exotic dancer: OK, maybe?
  • Son of a Russian oligarch: No, not at all.
  • Get married: What is this, arthouse “Pretty Woman”?

I didn’t buy the premise and doubted I’d like the characters. The second part proved true. For the first 45 minutes, I didn’t like any of the characters because they’re awful and love doing worthless things. But the premise works. And the premise works because the characters are awful and worthless.

Hapless
The movie opens with a black-and-red shimmering effect before we get our first concrete image: an ass in our face. Hello! It’s a high-end strip bar, and director Sean Baker (“The Florida Project”) pans down the line, as hot young women dance before and on top of slouched men, until we get to our title girl and the title credit. 

The first five minutes is a day, or a week, or at least a montage, in the life of Anora, AKA, Ani (the now Oscar-nominated Mikey Madison, late of the Manson clan in “Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood”), and it should be required viewing for anyone who goes to one of these clubs and thinks the stripper is into you. Looks soul-draining. Then she’s tapped to take care of this rich Russian kid because she speaks, or at least understands, Russian.

The next half hour should be required viewing for anyone who thinks capitalism isn’t dangerously fucked up.

Ivan, AKA Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn), is a thin kid with a crazy mass of hair—think Russian douchebag Timothee Chalamet—who gets his lap dance, gets her phone number, invites her to his place. It’s a mansion, and she’s stunned by the opulence. Bargains are made, the ante continually upped. He pays for a night, he pays for a week, they decide to take a plane to Vegas with friends. It’s all drinking and vaping and drugs, video games and paid sex and dance clubs and shitty music, all on the back of whatever awfulness the Russian oligarch does to make his billions. So this half hour was a slog.

When does she fall for him? It’s less him than the swank. It’s the economy, stupid. When does he fall for her? He digs her, certainly, but why would a monumentally privileged 21-year-old agree to marry an exotic dancer? Because, in his post-partying stupor, lamenting the fact that his father is forcing him to return to Russia to learn the family business, he says aloud, “If I were to marry an American, I wouldn’t have to go back to Russia.” And there we go. It’s a business proposition. The last thing to be negotiated is the size of the carat.

Any thinking person would realize it doesn’t solve his problem—it just creates a worse one—but these aren’t thinking people. And this is when the movie gets interesting.

Word of the marriage reaches Russia. Vanya’s godfather, Toros (Karren Karagulian), a kind of community rep for Russian and Armenian emigrees in New York, and who was supposed to be watching over him, is then harangued by Vanya’s unseen mother to find out what the fuck is going on and make it go away. Oh, and they’re on their way to America now. Panicked, Toros sends two men, Garnick and Igor (Armenian Vache Tovmasyan and Russian Yura Borisov), to go to the mansion and lay down the law.

At this point I was worried about our title character, particularly when Garnick reminds the bald-headed Igor not to hurt Vanya but doesn’t mention Ani. I flashed on the “Pine Barrens” episode of “The Sopranos,” and that Russian mobster on “The Wire” talking about a corpse: “Did it have face? Hands? Yes? Then it wasn’t us.” You don't mess with these people.

Instead, when they get there, Vanya argues and runs away, while Ani, enraged at being called a hooker and having her new life upended, attacks the men. Furniture is destroyed, she breaks Garnick’s nose, Igor holds onto her for dear life, and the thing becomes a comedy. Toros arrives but he’s hapless, too, and they spend the night searching for a rich skinny Russian kid who could be anywhere: at this arcade, at this Coney Island candy shoppe where his friend works (a friend stupid enough to confront Igor); at this restaurant, where Toros passes around his photo. Toros is basically an unstoppable force—but, again, hapless. It’s one long crazy night.

I assumed Vanya was hiding, and plotting, rather than hanging in one of his usual haunts, but of course not. He’s a spoiled idiot. He dealt with the crisis by getting drunk in all the familiar places and then returning to Headquarters, Ani’s old place, for more drinks and lapdances—this time with Ani’s bete noire, Diamond (real-life exotic dancer Lindsey Normington). That’s where they finally corral him.

One of my favorite moments? The next morning, the oligarch's attorney has gotten early on a judge’s docket to annul the marriage, but even here Toros tries to manipulate things. Bad move. The judge (Michael Sergio, who played a judge in Baker’s “Prince of Broadway” in 2008) ain’t having it. I’m like: Buddy, no, you’re in a court of law now. STFU.

Moot anyway: What gets married in Vegas gets annulled in Vegas.

All through the long evening, within the confines of his job, Igor has seemed quietly enamored of, or at least empathetic with, Ani. He seems to think she’s getting a raw deal. Is she? Vanya is worthless but Ani isn’t thinking things through, either. She wants to stay married, but if they do, one assumes, he’s disinherited. Could she love a Vanya who has no mansion and no money? Who has to somehow get a job? That’s the question she should’ve been asking herself.

Meanwhile, we await the parents. What are they like—these rich oligarchs that have had everyone terrified? Turns out Dad (Aleksei Serebryakov) seems mostly businessman. It’s the haute couture mother, Galina (Darya Ekamasova), who has everyone terrified. Including Dad.

There’s a moment where Ani almost figures a way out. Vanya sobers up and accepts his fate with tailed tucked, yelling at Ani over his own ineptitude. So Ani decides yes, they’ll get divorced, but on her terms—with a divorce lawyer. And she’ll get half. She says this outside the private jet. Somehow Galina wills her back inside. I was disappointed—but relieved. I didn’t want her to lose her face and hands.

Fresh
The movie could’ve used a tighter edit (Oscar nommed, so what do I know) but it does have one of the best endings of the year—even if it recalls 1994’s “Fresh.”

Igor is left in charge of Ani. She keeps insulting him but he accepts it all with a kind of muted fascination. I like what a slow processor he is. He doesn’t have many lines but he makes them work. He’s also shown himself to be a standup guy. He gives the concussive Garnick drugs for his pain and Ani thinks he’s a dealer. No, they’re his grandmother’s, with whom he lives. He’s also the only one to stand up to the oligarchs, telling them they owe Ani an apology. They don't, of course. It's the gesture. It's the balls.

The next day, amid the silence of a January snowstorm, he takes her to the bank to collect her “alimony,” and then home. And it’s there that she makes her move. Why does she do it? To feel something other than the pain she’s feeling? To feel in control again—the old familiar control? Probably. She gets on top and starts humping him in this idling car covered in snow. It’s when he tries to pull her face down for a kiss that things go awry—or toward the truth. She resists, then slaps him, then cries and whimpers. And they stare at each other. And he figures out what she needs. He pulls her toward him again, but this time toward his chest, where she crumples and breaks down crying. That’s our ending. 

“Fresh” did that, too—oh right, this kid who’s seemed so tough for so long is just a kid—but it’s still powerful.

“Anora” has been nominated for six Oscars, including picture, director, Madison as lead actress, and—surprise!—Borisov for supporting. Good for him. I think Baker helped. He lets us come to him. We think he’s an extra, a Russian henchman, before he develops into the only character in the movie worth a damn.

Posted at 08:03 AM on Wednesday January 29, 2025 in category Movie Reviews - 2024   |   Permalink  

Tuesday January 28, 2025

Deleting Instagram: Something Else

So another social media account bites the dust. Yesterday I deleted my Instagram account—and with it, Threads—although none of it will be official until Feb. 26. I guess in the interim they want me to think about all the good times we had together. Here's one of their final pop-ups:

Yes, “Something else.”

I left Facebook in early 2020 (because Zuckerberg), left Twitter in late 2022 (because Musk), tried a few of the platforms vying for the crown, then opted for Instagram in the fall of 2023. Which, yes, Zuckerberg again. But at the time I felt Zuck > Musk, and that's probably still true. They're both weiners with way too much money that need a Teddy Roosevelt to bust their trusses. Musk is just farther along the white supremacist scale. He actually delivers the Nazi salute at American rallies, then shows it was all a mistake by addressing far-right rallies in Germany and letting them know they shouldn't feel guilty about the past. 

Life has actually been pretty awful since I joined Instagram on Sept. 1, 2023. My cat Jellybean was diagnosed with cancer and we had to put her to sleep a few months later. My brother was murdered. Last February we adopted two cats and within 11 days, and despite four vet visits, one died of (undiagnosed) acute kidney failure. My 90-something father had a stroke, then a bleeding ulcer, then the flu. We elected a convicted felon who promised to bring autocracy to the White House and is doing it. Among the subservient at his inauguration, all sitting in a row, was Zuckerberg and Musk, making the world unsafe for democracy.

I'll never get that everyone keeps staying on these things. Worse, they stay and say “Oh, I'm never on there.” Then leave. You're helping. Our ancestors were able to leave entire countries because they knew it would be better for them and their progeny, and now that progeny can't even bother to leave social media platforms? Stop. Be a person.

Now, for what it's worth, I'm on BlueSky. It was founded by Jack Dorsey, the same guy who founded Twitter. Its current CEO is Lantian “Jay” Graber. Lantian (蓝天) is Chinese for “blue sky” but apparently that's just a massive coincidence. We'll see how it goes. At this point I feel about social media and Silicon Valley the way Woody Allen's character felt about poliltical leaders in “Sleeper”: They're all terrible. In six months we'll be stealing Lantian's nose.

Posted at 07:50 AM on Tuesday January 28, 2025 in category Technology   |   Permalink  

Monday January 27, 2025

Movie Review: A Real Pain (2024)

WARNING: SPOILERS

“I want to be him.” That’s the line that got to me.

Jesse Eisenberg, who wrote and directed, and Kieran Culkin, late of “Succession,” play cousins, David and Benji Kaplan, who, in the wake of their grandmother’s death, visit her native Poland on a Holocaust tour. They are a mismatched pair. One is uptight and anal, the other a sometimes thoughtless free spirit. Guess who plays who? Exactly. Guess with whom I identified? Right again.

I’m someone who has to be at the airport two hours early, but I was with Eisenberg’s David when he said of Benji: “I love him, and I hate him, and I want to kill him, and I want to be him.”

I think we all do. Most of us are too polite, in a way that pushes away the world—that makes us feel less. Benji’s not that. Benji wants to feel more even though he already feels too much. He’s the double meaning of the title: a real pain who feels a real pain.

Not wrong
Culkin isn’t Jewish, is he? No, of course he isn’t. I don’t know why that didn’t register before.

I like the open: As he heads to the airport, David nervously phones Benji every two seconds to let him know where he is, and how far off, and warning about traffic congestion, but then canceling that warning because it’s all good and he’s nearly there, and he hopes Benji is on his way. He’s not. He’s there. He showed up way earlier than even the anal guy. Why? Because, dude, you meet the craziest people at the airport! That’s what he says. And because he has nowhere else to go. That’s what he doesn’t say.

We quickly see the pattern. Benji’s charming—even charming a TSA agent!—but he’s thoughtless. He takes the snack David’s wife made for him, and he takes David’s window seat, leaving David the middle one, and in Warsaw he showers first, borrowing David’s phone to listen to music and draining the battery.

David is the one politely hanging back, which means he’s the one often left behind. When Benji suggests the two of them pose with monumental statues of Polish resistance fighters, David begs off, feeling it wouldn’t be respectful (he’s not wrong), so Benji rolls his eyes, goes up alone, encourages the others on the tour and everyone has a good time (he’s not wrong, either). David is the one who takes all their pictures. He’s the one not part of the picture. 

Who else is on the tour?

  • James (Will Sharpe), a polite British tour guide from Oxford
  • Marcia (Jennifer Grey!), a posh post-divorce socialite, whose mother survived the camps, and who finds herself becoming someone she doesn’t like—a lady who lunches
  • Diane and Mark Binde (Liza Sadovy and Daniel Oreskes), an older couple, Mark is the least amused by Benji’s shenanigans
  • Eloge (Kurt Egyiawan), African, survivor of the Rwandan genocide, who studied the Jewish people in its aftermath and converted

Benji leans into each of their stories. Sometimes what he says feels inappropriate (“Oh, snap!” to the Rwandan genocide), but at least he’s listening, and feeling, and reacting. He thinks Marcia has a deep sadness behind her eyes and tells David he’s going to go talk to her:

David: Maybe she wants to be alone.
Benji: Nobody wants to be alone.

Well, some people want to be alone. It’s less messy. But Benji thrives on mess. He gets angry that they’re Jews riding first-class on a train in Poland, and his subsequent actions (retreating to second-class with David, and then missing their stop) makes everyone wait for them. He chastises the truly lovely tour guide for regurgitating facts, for not engaging enough with locals, and it hurts the guide—you can tell—but when they visit Majdanek, one of the extermination camps, he’s taken the criticism to heart, and the quiet visit resonates. Plus, in the end, James is grateful. It was a huge moment for him. The kicker? Benji doesn’t even remember it.

James: I always say, “Please, just let me know if I can do anything better.” And you’re the first person ever to give me actionable feedback. So thank you so much for that.
Benji (pleased): Get the fuck out of here. What did I say?
James (confused): What are you talking about? You know the stuff about engaging Polish people and the Polish culture…?
Benji: Oh man, that sounds great, you should fucking do that, man.

A number of years ago I interviewed Gerry Spence, the great trial lawyer, who began a trial lawyer’s college that has improved the work of even top-tier attorneys. It starts with three days of “psychodrama,” a kind of role-reversal with important people in your life, and the pain of it, as a way to better discover ourselves, and he engaged me in it. I talked about things I normally hold in. And afterwards I felt so grateful. To not have to hold these things in even for a few moments. To not have to carry them. For an hour to be free of that burden.

What is the thing not being said? That’s the thing Benji says. Even if he forgets he said it.

David, not part of the picture.

A fucked-up system
“A Real Pain” isn’t a great film but it is a good film. I didn’t want Kieran Culkin’s character to be less Kieran Culkin, but I did want Jesse Eisenberg’s to be less Jess Eisenberg. His anxiety gave me anxiety. “Did you not see how nervous I was?” “Yeah, I just thought that was you. 

Benji is the one they remember, while David, poor bastard, is an afterthought. Except David is the one who’s made his way in the world. He’s got a wife and a child, and meds to get through the day, and a steady job creating ad banners on the internet. Benji disparages this last. “It’s not your fault you’re part of a fucked-up system,” he says.

Benji never found his place in the world because it’s a fucked-up system. He’s not wrong. We’ve all felt it. Really, these are the options? Why are these the options?

We hear Chopin throughout, and that’s the pace and the tone of the film. Watch the movie with your polar opposite. My next trip, I'm hoping to be a little less David, a little more Benji. 

Posted at 08:21 AM on Monday January 27, 2025 in category Movie Reviews - 2024   |   Permalink  

Thursday January 23, 2025

Ichiro Goes to Cooperstown

Earlier this week, CC Sabathia, Billy Wagner and Ichiro Suzuki were elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. First-timer Sabathia got nearly 87%, final-timer Wagner got 82%, and first-timer Ichiro came one vote short of being the first position player to be elected unanimously. He joins the 99-percenter club, those guys who have gotten north of 99% of the vote:

  • Ken Griffey Jr.
  • Mariano Rivera
  • Derek Jeter
  • Ichiro

What's interesting about that list besides its recency bias? Two of the players went in as Yankees, the franchise with the most pennants in baseball history (41), while the other two went in as Seattle Mariners, the franchise with the fewest pennants in baseball history (goose egg). It's the feast and famine contingent. When I mentioned the observation to my father the other day, and added, “I don't think it means anything,” he said, “It means you've been lucky. You got to see some of the best baseball players in the world.” True. And they, sadly, didn't get to see the World Series. Ichiro got to the ALCS twice, first with the 116-win Mariners but got knocked out in five by the Jeter- and Rivera-led Yanks, and then with the 2012 Yanks, who lost to Detroit. Griffey famously eschewed putting on pinstripes, and saw one LCS, in '95 against Cleveland, after helping eliminate the Yankees in the LDS. He had a helluva postseason that year: .300/.400/.500 against the Indians, .300/.400/1.000 against the Yanks. After that it was just dribbles: poor showings in the LDS in '97 and '08 (w/the White Sox).

The HOF news sent me scurrying back to the archives to see what I'd written about Ichiro. Once upon a time I wrote the player profiles for the alternative fan magazine “The Grand Salami,” and here's excerpts about #51 from his rookie year. 

April 2001 issue (written pre-season)
Ichiro comes to the M's with a bit of fanfare and a playing record whose numerological significance seems something out of folklore. You've heard of the 7 Wonders of the World? Ichiro won 7 straight batting titles with the Orix Blue Wave, 7 straight Gold Gloves; he was named to 7 straight “Best Nine” All-Star teams. And he's only 27. He has a .353 lifetime batting average and Michael Jordan stature in Japan. Yet he's given it all up to try to become the first Japanese position player to make it big in the bigs. Can he do it? That's the question. How does .353 translate into English? We hope well.
 
May 
Well, that didn't take long. In his first game he looked a little overmatched against Oakland's Tim Hudson—and admitted as much in a post-game interview—but that didn't stop him from dropping a key bunt to help win the game. Four days later against Texas, he went deep in the 10th inning for the game-winner. The following week against Oakland, he made a throw from right field (now capitalized: The Throw) which defied physics, nailing Terrence Long at third. A week later he robbed Raffy Palmeiro of a homerun at Safeco. What's next? Lightning bolts shooting from his hands? Ridding the universe of evil-doers everywhere—or at least Scott Boras? 

June
If Ichiro was enjoying his relative anonymity in the U.S. after years of being hounded in Japan, well, he's certainly screwing up a good thing. Not two months into the season and he's already broken the consecutive game hitting streak for Mariner rookies twice. In fact, the word “streak,” with its implication of variability (i.e., a “streaky” hitter), hardly applies to what Ichiro's doing, because there's rarely a game when he doesn't get a hit. As of this writing, he's on pace to break the Major League record of 257 set by George Sisler in 1920. 

August
It's been a helluva ride so far: hitting streaks, laser beam throws, game-saving catches and homeruns, triples and stolen bases, the cover of Sports Illustrated, the cover of the All-Star program, and, perhaps the greatest honor of all, the cover of The Grand Salami twice. The best players in the world came to Seattle in July and the focus was this guy. Ah, but then his first real bump in the road. From April to June, he hit safely in all but six games. In July alone (and July isn't over as we write this) he went hitless in nine games. We're betting that July bump-in-the-road will be forgotten by the time you're reading this in August. 

September
The last time we were writing Ichiro's profile he was in the midst of a July skid and wound up hitting only .268 for the month. Whispers abounded. They've got that short season in Japan. He's not used to playing a long season. Pitchers are starting to figure him out. Then on July 21 he got a base hit against Minnesota, and afterwards the hits kept coming: 11 games in a row until he went 0-1 as a pinch-hitter in Detroit; then 13 games in a row (and counting). And not just any hits, mind you. Rally starters. Game winners. Has there ever been such a clutch guy? With runners in scoring position, he's hitting .491.

October
Here's a question from the April issue: “How does .353 (Ichiro's career batting average in Japan) translate into English?” Ichiro didn't take long to answer that one. He's the likely A.L. batting champion, Rookie-of-the-Year, and a marketing dream. So how does .353 translate into English? It translates to about ... .353.


The Mariners now have three players repping them in Cooperstown: Griffey, Ichiro, Edgar. Not a bad trio. Might King Felix join them someday? This is his first year on the ballot and he got 20% of the vote, and his advanced numbers are short. The good news is no great pitchers are coming through the transom for another four or five years, so he might pick up the slack. He's certainly beloved. He's got the Cy and the perfect game and the 2500+ Ks. Hell, I'd put him in just for the “This is my house!” moment.

After Felix, though, is there anyone? Jamie Moyer via vet committee? For his good works and longevity? Nelson Cruz for ditto? Julio if he ever becomes Julio? I'm grasping at straws here. I really don't see anyone. And now I'm curious if Ichiro might be the last Seattle Mariner I ever see inducted in the Hall of Fame in my lifetime.

Posted at 10:44 AM on Thursday January 23, 2025 in category Seattle Mariners   |   Permalink  

Wednesday January 22, 2025

Movie Review: The Order (2024)

WARNING: SPOILERS

Early on, I went “Oh, this is the Marc Maron movie!” It isn’t, but I first heard about it via Marc on his podcast—two years ago maybe?—when he talked about playing Alan Berg, the Jewish DJ gunned down by neo-Nazis in Colorado in 1984. I vaguely remembered the historical incident, hoped the movie would be good, and promptly forgot about it … until “The Order” started showing up on top 10 lists. But what really made me want to watch it was when someone said Jude Law channels 1970s-era Gene Hackman. God yeah, sign me up for that.

And ... it’s not bad. It’s just not “The French Connection.” It’s a bit disconnected. Pieces don’t quite fit together.

It probably didn’t help that we watched it on the eve of Trump’s second inauguration.

Cohen Act
A playwright friend once told me he likes to begin plays with characters coming from offstage and basically saying, “Whew, glad that’s over.” This movie kind of does that. 

Agent Terry Husk (Law) has spent several decades battling the Ku Klux Klan and the Mafia, and it’s estranged him from his wife and daughter, and so when he shows up in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, to reopen its long-dormant field office, he’s looking for some quiet final years with weekend hunting in the mountains before retirement. Instead, the first bar he goes into, he sees a WHITE POWER flyer. The local sheriff doesn’t seem too concerned about it—doesn’t want to poke the bear, he says with a chuckle—and we don’t know if he’s affable, incompetent, or maybe a closet supremacist himself. It’s a deputy, Jamie Bowen (Tye Sheridan), who speaks up, telling Husk not only where Richard Butler’s Aryan Nation compound is (Hayden Lake, 15-20 minutes ride), but that they’re printing more than flyers. They’re printing money.

Meanwhile, we see various crimes committed. The movie opens with a couple of good ol' boys out hunting but they’re really murdering one of their own—someone who talks too much. Then we see the murderers team up with Bob Mathews (Nicholas Hoult) to rob a bank—rather terrifyingly—in Spokane, Wash. Powerful scene. Mathews gives a bag of cash to his wife, another to his mistress. Later, the mistress gets pregnant. Stay classy, Coeur d’Alene.

It takes a while for Husk to figure out what he’s up against. Indeed, on a hunting trip, he’s confronted by a stranger, who turns out to be Mathews, and Mathews knows who he is. But at this point, Husk is clueless on Mathews.

Who is Mathews? He’s the leader of an Aryan Nation splinter group called “The Order.” Apparently they’re following the precepts of a 1978 novel called “The Turner Diaries,” set in a dystopian future in which it’s illegal for white people to defend themselves against non-white criminals. Yeah, that. Everything is run by Jews, and the “Cohen Act” has taken away everyone's guns, so a militia goes underground to fight back. That’s from my own research. I didn’t get a sense of the weirdness of the novel—or even that it was a novel—from the movie.

Much of the movie is a little disconnected. The Alan Berg killing is over there in Colorado. Why did it happen? Who was listening to Berg? It’s not central to anything. You could remove it and the movie would be the same. At one point, Mathews brings some weapons expert into the fold, and I thought that was going to lead to something, but we hardly see him anymore.

Back in 1991, I remember seeing the documentary “Blood in the Face” about Pac-Northwest white supremacists, and being completely creeped out. It was like moving a boulder and seeing these weird bugs crawling beneath. I don't get enough of that sense here. Director Justin Kurzel, and writer Zach Baylin, working from a non-fiction book, “The Silent Brotherhood: The Chilling Inside Story of America's Violent, Anti-Government Militia Movement,” don't make it chilling enough. Maybe what was shocking to me then isn’t now. Back then, I thought we were past all that.

Elk hunting
The ending doesn’t work, either. Can no one do endings in prestige movies anymore?

After the death of Deputy Bowen, Husk and others track “The Order,” now just a handful of guys, to a safe house on Whidbey Island, Wash. Two try to escape, are caught, but Mathews refuses to surrender. So the FBI sets fire to the place. I don’t get why Husk went in to get him. Doesn’t work—both ways—and the last we see Mathews he’s in a gas mask getting into a bathtub with fire all around him. Can you survive a fire that way? You can’t. Then we cut to Husk hunting again, and coming across the elk he nearly killed mid-movie but for Mathews’ interruption. He takes aim. The camera closes in. That’s it.

OK?

Law is fine but maybe he was the wrong guy to channel 1970s Hackman. I don’t get enough weight from him. Hackman always let you know he was there. I do think Hoult does an amazing job. I never thought of him as charismatic but he is here—and as a fucking neo-Nazi.

Could you do the movie without the focus on the FBI? The movie opens with internecine strife—white supremacists killing one of their own—and the big divide in the film is between them: Mathews wants to go guerilla, Richard Butler wants to stay within the law. Mathews wins here, in that he splinters off, in that the movie is about him, but Butler turns out to be the prescient one. “In 10 years,” he tells Mathews, “we’ll have members in the Congress and the Senate.” He undersold. 

Posted at 07:49 AM on Wednesday January 22, 2025 in category Movie Reviews - 2024   |   Permalink  

Tuesday January 21, 2025

Movie Review: Beatles '64 (2024)

WARNING: SPOILERS

The Beatles arrived in America in the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination. “Beatles ’64” arrived on Disney+ in the aftermath of Trump’s second presidential election. I’ll leave it to history to decide which was the greater tragedy.

Though “Beatles ’64” was produced by Martin Scorsese, and directed by longtime Scorsese editor David Tedeschi (“No Direction Home,” “George Harrison: Living in the Material World”), the brunt of the material was filmed by Albert and David Maysles back in February ’64. The two American brothers, who were the documentarians seen filming Truman Capote’s “Black & White Ball” in the Hulu series “Capote vs. the Swans,” had been commissioned by the BBC to document how the trip went. That’s why the incredible access. They’re in the Plaza Hotel with the Beatles as the streets outside are besieged by fans. They’re in Central Park as the Beatles (sans George) pose for the NY press. They’re at a nightclub after the first “Ed Sullivan” performance as the boys drink and Ringo dances and semi-canoodles with … is it one of the Ronettes?

Relying on the Maysles footage gives the documentary a cinéma vérité quality, but was it the right move? I for one wouldn’t have minded more context.

And now … Fred Kaps!
Example: Didn’t Ed Sullivan book them because he had been delayed coming through Heathrow in the fall of ’63 by throngs of Beatles fans? I seem to remember reading that. He booked them as a novelty act. These weird British boys with pudding-bowl haircuts who thought they could play rock ‘n’ roll. Then he got lucky. By Feb. 9, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” was No. 1 on the Billboard charts, a position it would hold for seven weeks, followed by “She Loves You” for two more and “Can’t Buy Me Love” for five. That’s 14 straight weeks—more than a quarter of a year! As a result, when the Beatles showed up at JFK Airport, née Idlewild, and pandemonium ensued, it helped Sullivan’s show garner the highest ratings in TV history.

And the Beatles don’t seem nervous!That’s what struck me watching “Beatles ’64.” It’s 73 million viewers wondering if they’re worthy of the attention, George has the flu, and they seem breezily confident. And sure, they’ve been doing what they’ve been doing for 5+ years, getting on stage and rockin’ and rollin’. But this is America, man, rock’s birthplace, man, and up to this point, no British or European rock act, or anything rock act, had ever made it there.

In the doc, we see them perform two songs from the Feb. 9 “Sullivan,” but that night they played five, and it’s intriguing how Paul-heavy their playlist was:

Opening:

  • “All My Loving”
  • “Till There Was You”
  • “She Loves You” 

Closing:

  • “I Saw Her Standing There”
  • “I Want to Hold Your Hand”

Was leaning on Paul a choice? Whose? Keeping “I Want to Hold Your Hand” for the end makes some sense, particularly for Ed Sullivan, but if you’re the Beatles shouldn’t you lead with your strength? And they go “Till There was You” second? I guess to win over the oldsters. I guess the bows weren’t enough. 

In “Mr. Saturday Night,” an underrated 1992 mock biopic, Billy Crystal plays a Borscht Belt insult comic named Buddy Young Jr. for whom life keeps going awry, and one of the gags is he’s the guy who has to follow the Beatles on “Sullivan.” Here are the ones who actually did. This is the Feb. 9 show in full:

  1. The Beatles (three songs)
  2. Fred Kaps, Dutch magician
  3. Cast of “Oliver!,” including Davy Jones, singing “I’d Do Anything”
  4. Impressionist Frank Gorshin imagining Hollywood stars as political leaders; sadly, no Ronald Reagan
  5. Welsh singer Tessie O’Shea, then on Broadway in “The Girl Who Came to Supper”
  6. McCall and Brill, a B-grade Nichols and May
  7. The Beatles (two songs)
  8. Wells and the Four Fays, an Australian acrobat troupe 

It was basically Beatles, Broadway, and what was left of vaudeville. It demonstrates why the Beatles were needed. And maybe why they weren’t nervous.

They were here 2+ weeks so why did they only play two concerts? After “Sullivan” we see them take the train down to D.C. to play the boxing-ring concert on Feb. 11 (with a young David Lynch in attendance), and then they take the train back to NYC for two concerts at Carnegie Hall on Feb. 12. And that’s it. Plus the Sullivan shows. Could Brian not book them? Did he want to give them a vacation?

I could’ve used more of their press conferences. The American press, taking its cues from Elvis, assumed rock acts were raunchy onstage and politely dull off it, while the Beatles were polite onstage, bowing after each song, and cheeky off it. They made the press conference a show in itself:

Reporter: Would you please sing something?
All four: NO!
Reporter: There’s some doubt that you can sing.
John [adjusting cufflink]: No, we need money first.

An eye-opening line about all this comes from George later in life:

Everybody in Liverpool thinks they’re a comedian. … All you got to do is drive up there, and go through the Mersey Tunnel, and the guy on the toll booth is a comedian. You know, they all are. We had that kind of bred and born into us.

I’d always assumed it was just them. That’s a great addition in this doc.

In that initial press conference, by the way, George says a line that’s not just Liverpudlian but sweet and poignant:

Reporter: What’s your ambition?
George: To go to America.

I’d seen tons of clips and ripostes from this press conference but never that one. And George says it in such a disarmingly charming way. He knows it’s funny but he means it, too.

And now … the Way-Outs!
You know what else I wanted? (I know, I want a lot.) At one point, talking head Joe Queenan talks about how the boys could’ve been from Mars, and I expected the doc to cut to a clip of the Way-Outs, a mop-top foursome who appeared on “The Flintstones,” and who may or may not have been actual aliens. I wanted all those ’60s sitcom depictions of Beatles-ish bands—from The Mosquitos on “Gilligan’s Island” to The Ladybugs on “Petticoat Junction”—which indicates not only their impact but how strange they appeared to American eyes initially. I guess making us see with those eyes would be hard and/or impossible to do, since, 60 years later, it's the Beatles who seem the normal ones: down-to-earth, and, as the tour continues, increasingly wary of everything pressing in on them—particularly opportunists like Murray the K. “I think the craziness was going on in the world,” George says in a later interview. “I mean, you could do 30 minutes of film just showing how idiotic everybody else was whenever the Beatles came to town.”

Where did Tedeschi and Scorsese get their talking heads? Why these people? Because someone knew someone? I’m talking less Smokey Robinson than, say, Jamie Bernstein, daughter of Leonard, or Danny Bennett, son of Tony, or Jack Douglas, who, as a young man, smuggled his way into Liverpool for the day and later as a record producer worked with John Lennon. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be in the doc, I’m just curious how they got tapped. Douglas seems lovely, and it’s surely a sign of the mania that Liverpool seemed the promised land to him, but is it a story for “Beatles ’64”?

Queenan has a great line about the impact of the music itself:

December of ’63 my sister had the radio on and I heard “She Loves You” … [breaks] … It’s like the light came on. … It’s like total darkness. And then the light comes on.

The doc opens with that total darkness, with the promise of JFK and the horror of his assassination, and so I assumed it would be bookended with John Lennon’s assassination 16 years later. It would certainly be easy to do. The Plaza Hotel, where they stayed, is on the southeast corner of Central Park, while the Dakota, outside of which John Lennon was standing on Dec. 8, 1980, is on the west side, a mile away. Wouldn’t take much to draw that line. But they don’t go there. Probably better.

“What's your ambition?” “To go to America.” 

Posted at 08:06 AM on Tuesday January 21, 2025 in category Movie Reviews - 2024   |   Permalink  

Monday January 20, 2025

David Lynch (1946-2025)

David Lynch would've turned 79 today. He shared a birthday with Federico Fellini and me. That old triumverate.

Did he really only direct 10 feature films? His presence was outsized. His films made noise even when they bombed. I'd say particularly when they bombed, per “Dune,” but nah, “Blue Velvet” didn't bomb and that made a ton of noise when it landed. Because it landed. Not to mention “Twin Peaks” on television.

Here's his oeuvre, champ:

  1. Eraserhead (1977)
  2. The Elephant Man (1980)
  3. Dune (1984)
  4. Blue Velvet (1986)
  5. Wild at Heart (1990)
  6. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992)
  7. Lost Highway (1997)
  8. The Straight Story (1999)
  9. Mulholland Drive (2002)
  10. Inland Empire (2006)

He was only 60 when he made his last feature film? That seems so wrong. I just checked: Guess how many features Clint Eastwood directed after he turned 60? Five? 10? More? Yes, more. He directed 25 feature films after he turned 60, and he won two directing Oscars. Unfair. On the other hand, his name didn't become an adjective for a type of film style. No one sees a clip and says “That's so Eastwoodian.” 

My first David Lynch movie was “Blue Velvet,” which is a little like being tossed in the deep end—but I guess you could say the same about any of his movies.*  I was a student at the University of Minnesota, and everyone was talking about it, so I saw it and liked it enough. I thought it was like a Sherwood Anderson story with sex and violence: This is the town's pristine image, this is what lies beneath. I remember being disturbed not by the fact of the sex and violence but its type. Hollywood usually makes those palatable and this wasn't. I wasn't attracted to any of it. It felt askew. Why does Isabella Rosselini's character want Kyle Maclachlan's character to hit her? Why does this drippy '50s music make the villain cry? I was an innocent, like Kyle Maclachlan's character. I feel like I need to see it again. 

(*Except “The Straight Story.” I remember seeing “Mulholland Drive” in a theater with a friend, and afterwards, as we were leaving and she was disgruntled by its Lynchian aspects, she said, “Well, I guess I now know why he called his last movie 'The Straight Story.'”)

Even so, I was there on Sunday, April 8, 1990, for the premiere of “Twin Peaks,”  and it blew me away. I was in-between Taiwan stays and living at my father's house in South Minneapolis. He was away at a party, so it was just me and the dark and Lynch. And Lynch was darker than the dark. The scene where Grace Zabriskie as Laura Palmer's mother intuits what's happened and just screams. I got chills. It was like nothing that had ever been on television. Everyone talked about it. Oddly, I thought the show was set in Michigan rather than—where I ended up living a year later—the Pacific Northwest. I even wound up working at the place, University Book Store, where Laura Palmer's diary was supposedly purchased by a member of the production crew. And I loved Dale Cooper. He was my guy. He was one of the original hero-nerd-wonks, wasn't he? He was cool by being engaged rather than disengaged. He loved deeply what he loved: Douglas Firs, coffee, detective work.

I became the world's first binge-watcher because of “Twin Peaks.” Have I told this story here? I left for Taiwan before the first season ended so my father mailed a VHS of the final, like, two or three episodes to me in Taipei. He was recording the second season for me when he announced that he and Ingrid would be married in late December, so rather than mail that tape to me, I just had it waiting when I returned for the wedding. I was sleeping on a pull-out couch in the living room, and one night I popped in the tape to watch an episode. And then I watched another. And then another. I kept thinking, “OK, just this one,” but it would get to the end and I'd think, “Wait, what happens next?!” and kept going. I thought there was something wrong with me. How can someone watch like five or six episodes of a TV show in a row? Turns out, I was just ahead of my time.

The show made such an impact on me that disappointment was inevitable. First I was disappointed that everyone stopped talking about it and the show was canceled. And then I was disappointed that Lynch's subsequent feature film, “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me,” which was supposed to answer everything, didn't answer anything; it just gave us more questions. Lynch, I felt, was like a hydra: cut off one question, two more popped up. I'm reminded of my later disappointment with George W.S. Trow, and for the same reason: I felt sure this guy was going to give us the answers to everything.

But I liked all his next films, particularly “Mulholland Drive.” Lynch had a real talent for casting stunning women, didn't he? That “Twin Peaks” triumverate of Madchen Amick, Sherilyn Fenn and Lara Flynn Boyle may be unmatched, and then add in Sheryl Lee's Laura Palmer, as well as Peggy Lipton and Joan Chen. Their careers never quite took off, though. A few A-list parts here and there before things petered out. Ditto Laura Haring.

My nephew Ryan is a huge fan. He wrote this tribute last week, the day Lynch died, and it's better and more complete than anything I could say.

Posted at 08:34 AM on Monday January 20, 2025 in category Movies   |   Permalink  

Sunday January 19, 2025

Movie Review: Challengers (2024)

WARNING: SPOILERS

Yeah, I don’t get the ending, either.

Someone online said it’s Art and Patrick (Mike Faist and Josh O’Connor) loving and forgiving one another after all these years, which is all Tashi (Zendaya) ever wanted, and that makes as much sense as anything. Except it doesn’t make much sense. The Tashi who starts the threeway with the boys 13 years earlier, then pulls back so they kiss each other, and then smiles at the result, well, that’s no longer this Tashi. Her dreams died with her ACL injury, her competitive drive was sublimated through Art, who became her hubby and a Grand Slam champion, and she became a harridan who maybe ran him into the ground. Meanwhile, every half-dozen years, she’d sneak out for a quickie with Patrick. 

Seriously, are there no other men in the world?

When the movie began, among the warnings was the film’s “graphic nudity,” and I leaned over to Patricia and said, “That means male.” I was half joking but 100% right. The director of “Challengers” is Luca Guadagnino, who directed “Call Me By Your Name,” and he ain’t shy in the locker room scenes. It’s like a 1980s teen movie but with guys.

Homoerotic droplets of sweat
“Challengers” is good for a while, with rocketing editing and great CGI tennis, but do we get unstuck in time too much?

It begins at a “Challengers” match in New Rochelle, NY, in 2019, where Grand Slam champion Art Donaldson is making a surprise appearance because his wife feels he needs this confidence-booster before the U.S. Open. Feels like that’s just asking for trouble. If he wins it’s expected, and if he loses it’s shattering.

The trouble comes in the form of another entrant, the down-on-his-luck Patrick Zweig, who we first see flirting with an unattractive hotel clerk to get a room for the night. Meanwhile Art and Tashi are living in suites. Guess what? They all knew each other back in 2006.

And back we go. In 2006, Toshi is a rising star in the circuit, and Art and Patrick are the junior doubles champs who are given the McEnroe-Borg nicknames “Fire and Ice.” Patrick is the fire, who nails winning shots from between his legs like Roger Federer, but he doesn’t seem that fiery. He’s more sideways than straight on. Art, meanwhile, feels less ice and more lukewarm water.

Both boys are besotted with Tashi, who uses her status and looks to engineer the three-way in which the boys wind up smooching. But this isn’t revelatory to either one; they still want her. So she pits them against each other: whoever wins their match the next day gets her phone number. Kind of a dick move. Anyway, Patrick, the dick, wins and they hook up.

Except Patrick turns pro and tours, while Tashi and Art study at Stanford. Art subtly works to break up the couple but his machinations aren’t necessary. Patrick isn’t winning his tournaments, Tashi can’t stand hanging with such a loser, he storms out. That’s when she tears her ACL. I don’t know if she blames Patrick for not supporting her from his usual courtside seat, but it feels that way. She yells at him, Art yells at him, both are through with Patrick. The ACL never heals, she’s done, and there’s Art.

Seriously, are there no other men in the world?

That’s our divide. Art becomes a winner of Grand Slam tournaments (though never the U.S. Open), Tashi rides him hard (she’s the real fire), and they travel the world, hotel suite to hotel suite, with child and nanny/parent. Patrick scrapes together a life on the edge of the circuit. He’s considered one of the 100 or 200 best tennis players in the world, and in this world that means one thing: LOSER.

Though Art wins in New Rochelle in 2019, he keeps sighing, all ennui and defeat, so Tashi bribes Patrick into losing the final match; then they have sex. That final match is interspersed throughout the film. Patrick wins the first set, Art the second, and the rubber match, amid slow-mo, homoerotic droplets of sweat, goes down to the wire. Patrick seems ready to double-fault it away when, pre-serve, he places the ball in the neck of the racket, a signal, 13 years earlier, that he had slept with Tashi. Art, stunned, lets the serve go by. Now we’re at tie-breaker.

We wonder: Will Art get a little fire now? Will he care? Kinda sorta not much. In the final point of the movie, which isn’t the final point of the match—we’re early in the tie-breaker—amid more slow-mo sweat, both men creep closer to the net until Art goes for the overhead slam that actually brings him over the net and into the arms of Patrick; and the two men embrace and smile and laugh again. And from her courtside seat, Tashi rises in slow-mo and angrily screams “COME ON!!” Then she, too, succumbs to smiles and laughter.

And that’s our end.

Fire and nice
Some moviegoers had a problem with not finding out who won. My problem? I didn’t believe any of it. I didn’t believe Art would immediately forgive Patrick for sleeping with his wife—again—and I didn’t believe the ultra-competitive Tashi would laugh at this brotherly or otherwise gesture, and I didn’t believe a point in tennis would go the way this one went—where both players get a foot from the net and still volley. It all felt so stupid.

Does Guadagnino and screenwriter Justin Kuritzkes give us any reason to care about these people? Whatever sympathy each might have is undercut: the underdog Patrick is too much a dog, the injured Tashi is too much a harridan, the cuckolded Art is too much a limp biscuit.

I liked the tennis. You felt like you were on a court with 140-mph shots whizzing past. Off the court, it was just three assholes.

The ending: fire and nice

Posted at 10:03 AM on Sunday January 19, 2025 in category Movie Reviews - 2024   |   Permalink  
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