The Week in Review

My daily life is typically consumed by the need for constant input.  It is rare that I slow down enough to rehash old ideas or visit media that is played out.  New experiences are the invaluable currency that drive my exploration.  Each week, I close the book on a number of activities that bear notation and feel the need to download my thoughts on the subject so that I might freely move on to the next source of inspiration.  Some of these methaphorical books are also actual books.  I call them metaphactual.  Here are my recommendations for this week celebrating the 20th anniversary of the violent end to the Branch Davidians Compound in Waco, Texas.

Pick of the Week

Searching for Sugar Man (2012) - I first spotted posters advertising this documentary during my vacation in London last summer.  In particular, the "From the Producer of Man on Wire" designation grabbed by attention, as that was certainly a documentary worth noting from the past few years.  Like many others, I assumed this was the long awaited film biography of Bob Sugarman, the influential Jewish tort lawyer from the 1970s.  In this respect, I was sorely disappointed, but I soon found myself invested in the story of Sixto Rodriguez, a folk artist from the early 1970s that recorded two well-reviewed albums that sold approximately six copies before fading from memory.  That's only the U.S. story though.  The albums were introduced in South Africa through copies and bootlegs, building a dedicated following that outsold hit acts like Elvis.  I don't want to ruin the outcome of the story because the beauty of the film only begins with Rodriguez's initial failures.  He is an inspiring man that deserves a place along the Bob Dylans of the world for his ability to capture the message of the downtrodden.  However, his abbreviated career has created an intriguing snapshot of an alternate reality Dylan that was never tempted with success or caught plagiarizing.  Rodriguez's story is more pure because he was given every opportunity to become a bitter shell cast off by the recording industry but he remains unbowed by the thieves who stripped him of his rightful place.

Other Stuff That Didn't Completely Destroy My Soul

Jurassic Park 3D (1993) - Steven Spielberg and I have had our differences over the years.  His tastes are a little too Spielbergian for me.  What are the odds?  Fifteen-year-old Steve (Ingham) had fewer misgivings about the man.  With good reason, since many of his crimes were yet to be committed at that point.  In time, Indiana Jones and E.T. gave way to A.I. and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, but even those atrocious misfires could not take the luster off a classic like Jurassic Park.  It is the rare confluence of story and technology that So why is it not the Pick of the Week?  Punk Rock Girl and I caught this one in 3D, which was the primary decision driving the film's rerelease in the first place.  I've never been sold on 3D, a choice that America is arriving at quickly, if box office returns and TV sales are to be believed.  I had my hopes, but this film was no exception.  The 3D was a distraction at times throughout the film, the muddied compositions detracting from quiet scenes much more than it added to the bombastic action throughout.  But even this technical issue could not distract from the spirit of the film.  The story is streamlined to perfection and the cast is excellent.  This movie was a welcome friend from the past that benefits from the big screen experience but can also be viewed at home for a reminder of how much talent the wunderkind behind Duel and Sugarland Express once wielded.

If I may make a short detour, I need to make brief mention of my one obsession with regards to Jurassic Park.  A lesser known Samuel L. Jackson figures prominently in the movie as the director of the command center at the heart of the park.  His role does not feature copious amounts of dialogue.  Therefore, I find it quite jarring to have him repeat the phrase "Hold on to your butts" during his two key moments in the entire film.  Is this intended to be a catchphrase?  Did Spielberg expect to see Jackson's face emblazoned across t-shirts with this line?  Or was this just laziness in the script?  Was Spielberg sitting in the editing suite and slapped his forehead at this blatant oversight and reshoots were impossible?  We need an answer.  This deserves a book or at least a long-form magazine expose.  America needs to know.

The Fault in Our Stars - John Green (2012) -  Young Adult fiction is one of the great scourges currently dragging our country down into the abyss of mediocrity.  (I know "America, love it or leave it, Steve.  These colors don't run."  If only it were that simple.)  Twilight is like cancer in book form.  Stephanie Meyer is like the person who invented cancer, whatshisname...oh yeah, God.  The Hunger Games, fine if you're a teenage girl.  If you're my age, you should probably shore up your credibility by reading it between James Joyce's Ulysses and something by a Russian.  The Russians would never write The Hunger Games.  Their Hunger Games is One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. 

So what's my point?  Elevating youth fiction as a credible source of literature for adults degrades our society.  I look forward to another 20 years, when the Pulitzer Prize is awards to America's strongest journalistic source, People Magazine.  Adults need to challenge themselves when it comes to reading or we will continue our national regression into stupidity and arrogance.  That's my disclaimer.  Now then...you have my full recommendation to pick up John Green's 2012 YA novel, The Fault in Our Stars.  Although it centers around the lives of two teens coping with cancer, it never condescends to the subject by granting simple answers.  Sure, the characters can grate on you a bit at their most annoying, but what are you gonna do.  They're teenagers.  It's authentic.  It's not a complex story but it is written and paced expertly.