Film and Felt

An interesting few weeks in my poker career.  I took a trip to Atlantic City a few weeks ago for my first live LHE action in several months, and man, had I missed it.  I ran well and played even better, and crushed the 40-80 for a 6K score.  Obviously, that’s way above expectation even in a game as soft as the Borg 40…but jeez, the players are just not good at all.  I’d say the 5-10 6-max games on Poker Stars are substantially tougher.  Everytime I play live LHE, I get tempted to move out to California and play professionally.  But for now, at least, I love my RE career, and prefer poker to be a supplement…

Online, I still can’t get into the same sort of rhythm as live…I don’t think my fast-twitch personality is as well suited to playing on the computer, where I can get easily distracted and am constantly multi-tabling.  I really need to start using PokerTracker, because the players are certainly weak (at least at the levels I’d play), and get focused.  By far, my tournament game is the best aspect of my online repertoire; I tend to focus much better in them and rarely tilt, for whatever reason (I also almost never tilt live, which is obviously a huge advantage).  On that note, I just missed my first monster score last night for the third time in the past few months, finishing 21st out of 2,258 in the $215 WCOOP Limit Event.  I played very well, but made a few mistakes I regret, and lost a tough hand late with JJ vs AT on a JKQ board.  Couldn’t recover from that, unfortunately.  Ah well…the big payday is coming…

Though fairly pedestrian by cinematic standards, Joseph Mealey’s Bush’s Brain is a workmanlike portrayal of the astonishing influence Karl Rove holds (and judging by John McCain’s campaign tactics, continues to have) in Republican politics, tracing back decades and culminating in his masterminding both of George W. Bush’s Presidential campaigns, not to mention the actual Presidency. Bush’s Brain probes Rove’s extraordinary intelligence—which, love him or loathe him, is undeniable—and illustrates his uncanny ability to stretch the law just enough to always manage to duck intense scrutiny. Though this writer despises everything that Rove stands for, both politcally and ethically, it’s difficult to watch his meticulous planning and organizing without a hint of admiration. There’s a chilling element to Rove’s childhood, displayed in sporadic flashbacks early in the picture—it seems eerily plausible that a few different variables could have put Rove’s scary genius to work as a serial killer, or something else equally demonic…

Bush’s Brain does a good job illustrating the power that Rove holds over the current administration, and the numerous interviews paint a disturbing picture of Rove’s complete disregard for integrity. Many Republicans voice their opinions, and it’s particularly interesting to see them discuss Rove with a mix of awe and disgust. Plenty of them have been crossed by Rove, who spares nobody if they’re in the way of his current objective (see his treatment of McCain in the 2000 primaries, which just makes McCain’s embrace of Rovian tactics now all the more repulsive), and contrary to popular belief, there are plenty of principled conservatives who think that Rove has given their entire brand a bad name. It’s fascinating to observe.

Still, most folks know what a jackass Karl Rove is without a documentary telling them so, and Bush’s Brain lacks any real clout as a film; it’s essentially a punchlist of Karl Rove’s upbringing and immersion into the underworld of sleazy politics. It’s also fairly one-note; I would have loved to have seen some alternative perspectives on Rove from some real admirerers, of which I imagine there are many. I expect the book is slightly more substantive and rich, but the movie is definitely worth checking out if you want 85 minutes of Rovian drama.

RATING: pro (-)

It’s not the least bit surprising that Werner Herzog would be drawn to the individualistic scientists and sprawling coldness of Antarctica. From Noseferatu to Fitzcarraldo, his work has been steeped in psychological disintegration and isolated locations; it’s what gets his directorial blood flowing. Herzog’s latest picture, Encounters at the End of the World, is a natural addition to his filmography, a sweeping portrait of Antarctica’s barren emptiness tinged with pockets of hidden, quirky beauty. Indeed, multiple sequences could only be found in a Herzog movie—the “deranged” penguin bolting from the group on a beeline for nowhere but certain death, or ‘Ivan the Terri-bus’ chugging through the cold. And the various researchers all could have comfortably mingled with Aguirre or Woyzeck; whether it’s a riveting monologue on neutrons or a passionate deconstruction of volcanic tendencies, the fascination with the obscure is on full display.

However, Encounters at the End of the World lacks the fluidity of Herzog’s best works; it feels disjointed throughout, as if random anecdotes were juxtaposed with luscious cinematography and thrust together without regard to cohesiveness. The film is oddly captivating at times anyway, but the structural sloppiness lends an unwelcome detached aura to the entire process. It’s also not exactly uncharted waters for Herzog; both Grizzly Man and The White Balloon tackle the man vs. nature theme in documentary format as well. As such, the entire experience is somewhat of a let down, despite Encounters at the End of the World’s many admirable elements.

RATING: pro (-)

I’ll be heading to Atlantic City next Monday and Tuesday for some 20-40 and 40-80 action. It’s been awhile since I’ve played live, and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll probably take a stab at a tourney or two if there are some decent ones at the Borgata on Monday. We’re leaving Tuesday evening, so I’ll stick to cash on Tuesday afternoon.

Meanwhile, I’ve decided to take a break from online play until I get my ADD medication in order. I’ve had a few near monster hits (23rd out of 25,000 in the Sunday hundred grand last week; 200th out of 7000+ in the Sunday Million the week before), but I just have trouble focusing like I need to to successfully multi-table. That means far weaker results than I should have, given how poor the players are at 5-10 limit and below, or most of the tournaments (other than the really tough ones). I also need to begin using Poker Tracker, since there’s just no reason for me to be spotting opponents stats. So yeah, in a few months, once work picks up and I can give myself a real bankroll, I begin an online quest in earnest.

I’ll post my AC results when I return.

Wow.  If I’d written this piece two weeks ago, it would have been chock-full of vulgarities, profanities, and other various unpleasant diatribes.  Because as June came to a merciful close, the Mets were floundering at several games under .500, had just fired their manager in shameless fashion at 3AM, and were slammed with injuries and ineffectiveness in every corner.  If it wasn’t Ryan Church suffering from post-concussion syndrome, it was Moises Alou straining one body part while rehabbing another.  The bullpen was consistently contributing to gut-wrenching losses, including a week from hell from closer Billy Wagner.  And our new skipper hadn’t commanded a squad in years.  After such a promising offseason highlighted by the acquisition of Johan Santana, it was shaping up to be a lost year.

And then something clicked, and we woke up.  All of a sudden, Mike Pelfrey realized his best chance for long-term success was to sacrifice a few miles from his nasty sinking fastball in exchange for better command and movement, throw it 80% of the time, and induce grounder after grounder.  All of a sudden, role players like Fernando Tatis, Endy Chavez, and Damian Easley were coming up with clutch hits on a daily basis.  The bullpen was dominating.  And as we await the results of tonight’s game, the Mets are guaranteed to go into the All-Star break, after this hellish year, no more than 1.5 games out.  As the New York tabloids like to spout: “amazin’!”

Despite this satisfying 8-game winning streak (and counting), holes remain if the Mets are to mount a true World Series run.  Alou is out for the season; a torn hamstring finally sent the resilient-but-fragile geriatric down for the count.  Most likely, a solid career softened by injuries is over.  In many ways, this is for the best; Minaya won’t be tempted to go with the Chavez/Tatis tagteam in LF “until Moises returns,” which was certainly a plausible line.  With the good news that Ryan Church should return within a few weeks, we really only need to acquire one OF to drastically balance our lineup, while lengthening our bench in the process.  Jason Bay and Adam Dunn have been knocked around, but the price is likely to be too high; our farm system isn’t exactly deep, and I’m not excited about moving Fernando Martinez for those guys.  Randy Winn or Xavier Nady seem like more plausible fits.  A few people have knocked the Barry Bonds idea around, but I’d rather sign my brother-in-law than bring that toxic waste into a clubhouse that’s finally getting its 2006 mojo back.

If LF is shored up and Church comes back raking like he was before the injuries, the offense should be very strong.  One of my favorite Jerry Manuel traits is his willingness to go with the hot hand and utilize the bench, especially Ramon Castro and Easley.  Expect to see Luis Castillo play just 4-5 times a week when he returns, with Brian Schneider getting the same sort of playing time.  That’s good for everyone, as it gives the starters more rest and some deserving backups more run.  Elsewhere, Carlos Delgado looks to finally have his stroke back, and should remain a solid #6 hitter, and the Reyes/Wright/Beltran trio is just fine.

With Pelfrey’s emergence, the rotation looks deeper than any in the NL outside of Chicago.  Pedro hasn’t been himself in any way, shape, or form, but he seems healthy and I’m cautiously optimistic he’ll put together a decent (not spectacular, but adequate) second half.  Maine and Perez aren’t as consistent as I’d like, but both can pitch a SHO any time out, and most importantly, can shut down good and bad lineups alike.  Santana, despite some early problems with the gopher ball, has been as advertised; killer WHIP, K/BB ratio, and consistency.  He’s a true ace, and makes the rest of the rotation fall into step behind him.

Every team could use some bullpen help, and the Mets are no exception — Duaner Sanchez doesn’t have his 2006 form back, though he’s still above average — but really, the current crew has a nice mix of lefty/righty, power/soft-toss, and depth.  Heilman’s June resurgence has gone a long way in strengthening the pen’s core.

We’ll see if Omar has any tricks up his sleeve, but props to Manuel for loosening the collars and reminding the Mets how much fun this game can be; Jose Reyes looks like he breathes baseball again, as it should be.  Props to the team for its resilience, and props to Fernando Tatis for hitting the biggest HR of the year; a 2-run shot against the Phillies last Sunday after Billy Wagner blew the save with just one measly strike to go.  If the Mets do wind up putting together a strong season, I think that’s the at-bat we’ll all look back at as the real season-changer.  Let’s go, Mets!

George A. Romero’s Dead franchise, always chock-full of social commentary and oodles of blood & guts, gets an injection of modern flavor with its most recent entry, Diary of the Dead. While many critics have condemned it as poorly written, or more of the same from a tired filmmaker, I found it to be an inspired work, rich with clever satire and sly satiric references to our current political landscape. Shot in the same home movie-esque manner as Cloverfield and The Blair Witch Project, Diary of the Dead chronicles three dark October days in the Northeast, where a group of film students—ironically shooting their own horror picture—discover that the dead have begun coming back to life. As the bloody reincarnations spread and the carnage grows, the students find themselves scrambling to save themselves while using every resource they can find to warn the world of the life-changing happenings around them.

Romero has always used zombies as a metaphor for his themes, such as examining how humanity reacts to crises—witness the chaos in the mall in Dawn of the Dead, for instance, or the stir-crazy militants in Day of the Dead. With Diary of the Dead, he deftly touches on positives and negatives of modern technology. Jason, the protagonist, and primary man behind the camera, is able to both warn the world (”92,000 hits in an hour!,” he exclaims after posting gruesome footage on his MySpace page), and learn, much to his horror, that this outbreak has already spread as far as Japan, as a petrified girl on YouTube frantically alerts him. Obviously, the internet has proved its usefulness…yet Jason is so obsessed with recording history that everything else about the moment itself—his girlfriend Deb, his friends, his family—become secondary, if not entirely irrelevant. On multiple occasions, he’s chastised for refusing to put the camera down, much like Hud in Cloverfield. His intimacy with those he cares for appears lost in his laptop. It’s a shrewd take on the addictive nature of today’s souped-up gidgets and gadgets, and how they can distract us from the more intimate emotions that truly define us. Romero also makes sure that his roots, based in core human principles that don’t change with the times, aren’t forgotten: the early looting in the dorms—as well as the rowdy Army men pillaging the crew’s bus—remind us of the vigilante kamikaze’s in the mall near Dawn of the Dead’s conclusion, and is especially chilling in today’s social environment, which doesn’t inspire much confidence in our abilities to handle a cataclysmic event (see: my Cloverfield review).

At 93 minutes, Diary of the Dead makes sure not to overstay its welcome, and keeps a tense vibe of uneasiness and discomfort throughout. In another nod to America’s current obsessions, there’s a strong resemblance to many survival horror video games here. This is especially prevalent in the abandoned hospital (Silent Hill), and Ridley’s palatial home, complete with panic room and endless corridors (Resident Evil). There’s some occasional redundancy Deb and Jason’s exchanges about priorities, but otherwise, the script is more than sufficient in carrying out Romero’s thematics. The movie isn’t scary in the traditional sense, but Romero has never been about that anyway; his works are about something much bigger, with zombie resurrections as more of a backdrop. In my eyes, he’s yet to take a false step in expanding the franchise, and Diary of the Dead is even stronger than the solid Land of the Dead from a few years back.

RATING: PRO (-)

A sweet little film about the universality of loneliness, The Band’s Visit succeeds admirably whenever it doesn’t attempt to exceed its modest scope. Fortunately, director Eran Kolirin understands where his film’s strengths lie: in the quiet dignity of protagonist Tawfiq (Sasson Gabai), the tender, paternal relationship between the reserved Tawfig and young playboy Haled (Saleh Bakri); the subdued portrayal of humanitarianism and all-encompassing emotions despite rocky relations between the Egyptians and Israelis. There are very few missteps throughout this poignant picture, though Kolirin does stumble a bit during Tawfiq’s big revelation, which feels a bit big for The Band’s Visit’s britches. Still, even this slight hiccup can be justified by assigning it to the previously mentioned father/son dynamic.

The Band’s Visit takes place in Israel, where an Egyptian Police Orchestra arrives to bring in the opening of an Arabic art center with some hometown music. It’s immediately striking how detached this awkward ground of musicians is from the Israeli culture & people. Attempts at conversation lead nowhere, whether they’re unsuccessful romantic advances or simply to ask for directions. Footage of the band is comprised of predominantly long shots, which frame them in emptiness, surrounded by nothing but wilderness and long roads. Phone calls are cut off, requests for information dismissed. Not until Tawfiq & company encounter the beautiful Israeli Dina (Ronit Elkabetz) do they receive anything resembling warmth, but even her surprising hospitality is anything but smooth. The band members split into two groups—one spending the night with Dina, the other with her friend Itzik’s family—and it becomes immediately evident that the two cultures, despite the coldness between them, share the same sensibilities. Families bicker at dinner, couples whine. The shyness of meeting someone new is incomparable in all countries, and wistfulness exists everywhere; seeing the young man wait by the pay phone day after day for his girlfriend to call is a lovely touch. It’s all quite charming and authentic.

The script, which could easily have drifted into saccharine territory, is consistently fluid without any hokum. In fact, The Band’s Visit is often surprisingly funny, spearheaded by a riotous, single shot sequence in a local roller rink that dispenses dating advice for about four minutes without the aid of a single spoken word. And Gabai effortlessly carries the bulk of the picture, imbuing Tawfiq with passion and soul behind his conservative front. His extended “date” with Dina is tinged with longing and inner realization. Though its restrained ambitions keeps The Band’s Visit from achieving greatness or true emotional heft, it shouldn’t be ignored; few modern movies are as unpretentious. Kolirin is definitely a director I’ll be keeping my eye on in the years to come.

RATING: pro (+)

Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, superb upon first glance several few years ago, is even more marvelous after a second viewing. Most striking this time around; how psychologically similar Bruno (Robert Walker) is to Psycho’s Norman Bates. Though there are certainly differences— Bruno is significantly more conniving than the schizophrenic Bates, and clearly in greater control of his facilities—it’s chilling to see Bruno’s fascination with elderly women (and not just his weak-willed, oblivious mother); his clean-cut exterior; his internal struggles with his family. Clearly, Hitchcock molded Bates in a more specific, finely tuned manner nine years later, but as familiar as I am with Psycho (my favorite Hitchcock, and a film I’ve seen many times), it’s impossible to miss the connection.

Which isn’t to say that Bruno doesn’t have a strong identity of his own. With smooth manners, tasteful suits, and a tone of voice that’s almost childlike in its naivety (Bruno consistently dismisses Guy’s opposition to his diabolical plan as unimportant, as if Guy’s just in denial), Bruno’s clearly a societal rebel with a focused cause. He’s perfectly capable of silkily blending into his surroundings (witness the party sequence), but deep down, he has a real distaste for humanity and their lies. Hitchcock masterfully uses his camera to enhance Bruno’s persona, frequently framing him against either extremely crowded backdrops where he stands out, such as the wonderful tennis match sequence, or in isolation (such as alone on the dramatic steps of City Hall). With such a strong lead character, it’s no wonder Strangers on a Train is gripping drama throughout. If it’s not in the upper tier of Hitchcock’s filmography, it’s just a smidgen below.

RATING: PRO

Lacking a notable heartbeat, Jason Hutt’s Orthodox Stance is a dull, by-the-numbers documentary that feels significantly longer than its 82-minute run-time. The film chronicles the delicate balancing act of Brooklyn-based Russian immigrant Dmitriy Salita, a hotshot welterweight boxer who also happens to be devoutly Orthodox. Such a topic could be oddly inspiring—a young man who adores knocking people senseless, as long as it’s not on Shabbat, all while keeping his congregation happy—but Hutt’s shoddy editing and listless pacing keep the audience regrettably detached from the proceedings. Orthodox Stance sloppily dances from the ring to the gym, from the synagogue to the home (occasionally); this prevents the film from establishing any sort of rhythm. Not to mention the technical deficiencies; the sound recording is so poor that Hutt often resorts to subtitles to make sure we’re following the dialogue.

Far too little time is spent on the most interesting element at work here; is boxing truly consistent with Orthodox beliefs? I’m confident many viewers who know little about intense Judaism would instinctively think that the union is a natural conflict of interest. Yet aside from a question-and-answer session in Synagogue (and making clear that boxing is a no-no on Friday nights), Hutt appears content to assume that we’ll all take this odd marriage for granted. And oddly, Orthodox Stance spends most of its time showing Dmitryi’s life in stages. There’s the fighting and training that feels straight out of Million Dollar Baby, the tense contract negotiations and business dealings; the Orthodox support structure in his life. But there’s no fluidity to any of it. One moment, Dmitryi’s manager and adviser Israel is cooking gefitle fish in a hotel room to ensure a kosher lifestyle away from home; the next, Dmitryi is meditating on his next career move…right before an intense session at the gym. Yet somehow his family life is almost completely ignored. It’s a shame, as Dmitryi seems like an interesting, ambitious fellow, and I’m sure there’s lots in his background and decision to box that would have translated well to film. As put forth, though, Orthodox Stance is little more than an occasionally interesting messy bore.

RATING: con

A hodgepodge of shakily laid-out arguments about the environment, government, and negative long-term consequences of real estate development, Laura Dunn’s The Unforeseen houses some interesting material, but presents it in a disorganized, scattered manner. Focusing on Austin’s real estate boom and backlash of the past 35 years, The Unforeseen highlights the soaring peaks and bottomless valleys that controversial developer Gary Bradley is forced to navigate as the city’s culture constantly flip-flops on whether land rights trump irreversible damage to cherished natural landmarks like Barton Springs, where Robert Redford himself learned the backstroke. Ugly battles abound—liberal environmentalists vs. cowboy hat-wearing, turf-protecting conservatives; said conservatives vs. then-Governor Ann Richards; Bradley vs. the Bankruptcy court. The end result; everybody loses. Austin follows Los Angeles’ path to a smoggy Urbana, Bradley (and to a lesser extent, his fellow developers) is forced to essentially forfeit everything, and the wiping out of natural habitats to build more and more new constructions—both commercial and residential—shows no signs of slowing down.

All this sounds fairly interesting, but Dunn does a poor job fleshing out The Unforeseen’s focal point. Early on, there’s a sense that we could be seeing an ironically eerie take on the economy and risks of recession due to poor money management (ironic because the final footage was shot in 2004, and we’re now teetering dangerously on the brink of a recession for just those reasons), but that quickly fades from the film’s priorities. The environment garners such attention in today’s society that much of Dunn’s cinematography feels outdated: shots of musty skylines don’t contain much power in this post-Inconvenient Truth era, where every luxury hi-rise is advertised as a ‘green building’ and hybrid cars are finally picking up political momentum. Robert Redford’s brief cameo doesn’t make Barton Springs more important than hundreds of other local treasures threatened by capitalistic developers every year. And Bradley comes across as a confusing figure, who should be vilified more than he is; theoretically, he epitomizes selfish short-sightedness, and should serve as a prime example for all that’s evil within The Unforeseen’s overwhelming message. Yet Dunn paints him as a strangely sympathetic figure at times, right down to his post-bankruptcy discovery of God. We see him in tears—or on the verge—on multiple occasions. And despite this, we never feel like he regrets his choice in life. He’s just pissed off he got caught.

For those mostly unfamiliar with the source material, The Unforeseen is worth a look. And it’s not without its strong moments: the “Birds don’t Pay Taxes!” conservative rally for landowners is extremely disturbing, and the stark differences between Richards and George W. Bush during their stints as Governor is sharply portrayed (Richards’ sound bytes are among the movies’ most interesting). The choices of compare-and-contrast shots are excellent, which is unsurprising given that The Unforeseen was executive produced by Terrence Malick (though that’s a somewhat misleading credit; the film bears little to no resemblance to Malick’s work, aside from the occasional lingering image). Ultimately, The Unforeseen has some educational value, scant cinematic value, and would likely have been as engaging in a college lecture hall. The title may be an accurate summation of the topic matter, but it’s unlikely to apply to any viewer who’s at all attuned to American current events of the past five years.

RATING: mixed (-)