Moby Dick, believe it or not. And it's actually a lot funnier than I imagined it would be. Who would've thought that they had a sense of humor in the mid 1800's?

I suspect that just about everyone on this board would enjoy this book to some degree.

The actual content of the book is more about cataloging examples of increased complexity in entertainment, not studying that entertainment's effect on the audience. I found the cover extremely misleading.

Meanwhile he's probably one of the 72 percent of people who thought Saddam was linked to 9/11.

Tell me he's a more savvy thinker or that democracy is somehow better served. At one point Johnson claims that an Oprah interview is a better way of discerning a candidate's qualifications than a Lincoln-Douglas style debate, right?

And, as far as the scientific evidence goes, I remember some of it as making wild leaps between correlation and causation. It's about as simplistic as 1: IQs are higher today than 40 years ago 2: TV is more complicated than 40 years ago ERGO: TV makes us smarter.

I thought this was poorly written... but I read it over four years ago maybe i should pick it up again and give it another chance.

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Saw the movie Everything Is Illuminated, which I enjoyed very much. Now will read the book which everyone says was vastly superior and really unfilmable.

I didn't find this to be poorly written. I thought it to be pretty informative of the kids travels and its attempts to explain why he did what he did. Maybe you were thinking of Alexander Supertramp's journal entries, they were pretty poorly written but I thought the author did a good job of telling the tale.

Hated, hated, hated this book.

Also, what's up with all the books people read about lists of books?

Pauline Kael is great because she makes me want to think, to think carefully, to be confident in my opinions, and to read more, but not to (neccessarily) agree with her.

So according to my friend from Alaska (and confirmed by IMDB) it turns out that Sean Penn will be directing this movie for a projected 2007 release. Here's what he had to say when I asked him if he ever read 'Into the Wild.' Please note that he is a fisherman and can give two shits about spelling and grammer and that he has graduated from the University of Dubuque, the most bottom-of-the-barrell scraping college in the country.


Holy Shit that is to funny! What a damn Coquicdenc!
Ya I read the book awhile ago. great book. Krackour also has written a book called "into think air" about climbing Everest. another good one.
...anyway the coincidence is I was just in a remote field camp working on a fish weir. There was one other guy in camp. He was Kinda a crazy dude (extended isolation in remote camps seems to do that to people). Anyway he has a cabin about 40 miles from the bus that the kid died in.
So he told me this story. I will give ya a VERY abbreviated version. I cant wait to see ya so I cant tell ya the whole story! While listening to this story please try and picture a borderline loonytoon who has not showered or seen a mirror in 3 months as the narrator. And remember these kinda guys never miss a detail so this whole story was a bout a 2 hour monologue. ok here it goes.
So this guys (his name is Dirk) cabin is about 2 miles from the road.
And where he parks his truck is at an old 60ft igloo, some guy built it in the 60s as a tourist trap and then went bank rupt so now it isa 60' igloo in the middle of no where. so this March Dirk was snomachining his gear down to the truck getting ready to come down to Juneau to work this weir. While loading the first load into the truck a blue SUV pulls up next to the igloo, pauses, and then races over to Dirk. The tinted windows slowly roll down and some guy (who Dirk recognizes but cant place) says, "How you doing" Dirk replys, "Im doing well how are you doing" The guy then says "tell me what is the deal with this igloo"? Now bear in mind it has been a long winter in a cabin all by yourself and Dirk way eager to speak with ANYONE. So Dirk launches into his monologue about the history of the igloo. And about half way thro the history Dirk places the face. "Holy shit its you! Don't worry I wont tell a soul (funny cause there is not another soul around for 50+ miles)" It was Sean Penn!
Very long story short I guess Sean is making a movie based on "into the wild" and they were scouting for scenes and went to to bus. Then later that day while back in anchorage, Dirk goes into a bar and there is Sean and his "Possy" So this crazy fucker from the middle of nowhere AK sits up to 2 am drinking and smoking with Sean Penn, who buy the way like the Alaska brewery brews and gin and tonics.
But the best parts of the story are all the countless details as told by Dirk. here are a few.
-Dirk giving Sean a roll of caribou sausage. "here a real taste of alaka"
-Dirk receiving "groupie love"
-Dirk explaing what a Steelhead weir is and Sean explaining the "wilds of LA"
-Dirk teach Sean to roll hand rolled cigarettes
-Dirk giving Sean his only bear claw necklace telling him it will "protect him from the "bears" he may encounter in LA"
-Dirk getting Spiritually deep when he speaks with is Athabascan (AK
native) mentor and finds out Seans brother recently died.
OH DOG! It was honestly one of the best stories I have ever heard. And after hearing it all I could think was how much you would enjoy it! After all you referred me to Hurly Burly. Then you just read the book. Wow what are the odds.
Well I know this short email doesn't do the story justice. But hopefully Ill see ya soon and can tell it in person. preferably after some drinks and smokes.
We will be in the Midwest the last week in June (bro wedding) only back for a few days. going to try it get Mike to do something like last time.
We'll see though.
Ok take care in the "wilds of Chicago" and have fun at concert.

Anyway, I think Penn is perfect to direct this.

Theo...

INSIDE MAN (71) (dir., Spike Lee) Denzel Washington, Clive Owen, Jodie Foster, Christopher Plummer, Willem Dafoe [You couldn't get a heist movie like TAKING OF PELHAM ONE TWO THREE nowadays, those films that thrive in the recesses of a situation, seeking only to try and flesh it out through memorable detail (I know because I wrote one, and everyone who reads the script says it needs more "surprises"); something gets lost when the audience is taught to turn up its nose at genre, and this one loses something in tension when it makes it clear early on - even the trailer made it clear - that it's no ordinary heist movie. Nothing makes much impact (e.g. when a hostage is killed) because we know it might be a put-on, and the film itself doesn't seem to take the robbery very seriously, giving it a laid-back jazz score, spinning off into sideways gags ("Five bucks?" "Tijuana. Don't ask") and veering into outright comedy when e.g. the FBI start arguing over a riddle set by the hostage-takers; at best, it's an elegant puzzle for the audience to solve while watching the real movie, which in OCEAN'S ELEVEN was a celebration of iconic stardom but here is something tougher and sharper. Its real currency is mind-games and power-plays - not just crooks vs. negotiator but cops vs. hostages in the flash-forwards and even the various canny New Yorkers vs. anyone they can browbeat or hustle (the Sikh griping about his turban, the Albanian woman who exacts a price for translating the message), plus of course Foster's character ("Miss White"!) vs. Denzel, making a mockery of those who'd consider this an 'impersonal' project for Lee. Heist movies end when the heist ends but this one keeps going, following the cop as he uncovers the truth; he’s the Outside Man (Foster smugly warns him not to poke his nose in matters "above your pay grade") who becomes an Inside Man, forcing his way into the corridors of power - and of course he and his partner are also a couple of black men striking at the heart of the white Establishment, exposing a secret that has everything to do with racism (albeit indirectly). The result is a triumph of sly misdirection, smuggling in a socio-political Message just as the plot itself teems with smokescreens and red herrings (e.g. making us think the gang plan to tunnel out, when their plan is much more twisted and original), and plays with expectations of violence by having the bloody denouement exist only in the cops' fevered imaginings (a brilliant joke); Denzel does his mad imperturbable bark like he did in TRAINING DAY - messing with minds just for the fun of it - and Spike adds his own eccentric touches, like a noir-ish final shot that's as perfect as it's unexpected. Strange how the plan depends on suppressing the hostages' individuality, in effect creating clones like (e.g.) the army-of-V's in V FOR VENDETTA; something in the zeitgeist, perhaps - egalitarianism as a new fascism? Or just clever men learning to subvert a world of increasing uniformity?]

Much of the new Spike Lee film, “Inside Man,” takes place in a bank in the financial district. A gang of thieves walks in, helps itself to hostages, opens the vaults, and waits. This is where Detective Keith Frazier (Denzel Washington) and his partner, Bill Mitchell (Chiwetel Ejiofor), get to do their thing. They are trained in hostage negotiation—a delicate, high-tension skill that depends on the ability to order huge consignments of exactly the right pizza at a moment’s notice.

As the standoff grinds on, other players move quietly into place. Arthur Case (Christopher Plummer), the president of the bank, is excessively fraught by the news. Something in one of the branch’s safe-deposit boxes means a lot to him, and he hires Madeline White (Jodie Foster) to get it back. Days after the screening, I am still unsure what Ms. White does for a living. The publicity material describes her as “a power player with shadowy objectives,” which is another way of saying “vague enough to help us unblock a clog in the plot.” Physically, though, everything about her is sharp—shoes, suit, cell phone, nose—and a path is duly cleared for her arrival. She enters the bank, confers with the criminal ringleader, Dalton Russell (Clive Owen), and tries to cut a deal. One thing is obvious: these guys aren’t in it for the money. They want something else.

The screenplay, a first-time effort by Russell Gewirtz, displays a double gift: it is clever enough to clutch our attention, but also dumb enough, with large logical holes punched through it at regular intervals, to make the audience feel equally clever for having spotted the mistakes. These include: (1) Voice recognition. Russell may be clad in shades and a white balaclava, but he converses with Frazier in person, and, given that Clive Owen’s American accent keeps slipping like an old sock, it should not be hard to pick him out of a lineup. (2) If you own a document that could annihilate your reputation, why keep it in a bank for more than sixty years rather than, say, tossing it in the fire? (3) The document in question, as we learn early in the film, shows that Arthur Case had links with the Nazis. This cannot be true, for one reason: he is played by Christopher Plummer, and, excuse me, but Christopher Plummer does not make friends with Nazis. He sings at them! He plays guitar at them! In a daring, nun-assisted escape, he flees from them over the hills with an annoying child on his back! Come on.

It soon becomes clear that Lee is not the right director for cops and robbers, still less for the sleights of hand on which “Inside Man” depends. The giveaway is the ending, which is handled with such woeful slackness—twists unravelling, motives clouded, secret conspirators unmasked in haste and to zero effect—that viewers will come out steaming with impatience. On the other hand, why turn to Lee for resolution? If he fluffs it in his plotting, that is because he scorns it in his vision of New York. What turns him on, and triples his energy, is the irresolute side of city life—the jitters, the hand-me-down threats, the shards of ethnic fracture. Is it any coincidence that Shelton Jackson Lee, born in 1957, earned the nickname Spike? And is it any wonder that Denzel Washington, Lee’s leading man in “He Got Game,” “Mo’ Better Blues,” and “Malcolm X,” has been summoned again to the fray? Washington is too smart, and too deeply versed in the movie business, to trade on nothing more than his languid stride (he has the most unhurried gait since Charlton Heston’s), or the ooze of his charm. “Training Day” was a wholesale shedding of his diplomatic gifts, but I prefer the halfway measures of “Inside Man”: his Detective Frazier can be funny and flirtatious, but, as we flash forward to some of the interviews that he conducts after the siege is over, we watch the smooth talker develop a rasping tongue.

For that reason, “Inside Man” needs to be seen. The more it sags as a thriller, the more it jabs and jangles as a study of racial abrasion. A hostage is released, and an armed cop shouts, “He’s an Arab!” The hostage replies, “I’m a Sikh,” and you can hear the weariness at the edges of his fear. Another hostage is quizzed by Frazier about his name: “Is that Albanian?” “It’s Armenian,” the man explains. “What’s the difference?” Frazier asks, not that he cares either way. It is these small, peppery incidents of strife—far more than the stridency of recent Lee projects like “Bamboozled” and “She Hate Me”—that show the director at his least abashed and most tuned to current anxieties, and that mark him out, for all the fluency of his camera, as the anti-Renoir of our time. “Grand Illusion” offered the ennobling suggestion that national divisions were delusory, and that our common humanity can throw bridges across any social gulf. To which Lee would reply, Nice idea. Go tell it to the guy who just had his turban pulled off by the cops.

I love this book so far.

I've never read Vanity Fair but I've heard good things.

The first review you can find on this siteWho are we calling pretentious again? Could that first sentence be more of a selfindulgent mess? Besides using every piece of punctuation available, dude manages to namedrop his own failed screenplay ASAP. Are there five clauses in that thicket, or six? I got dizzy somewhere around the semi-colon. Love the needless use of capital letters and incorrectly applied proper names. It must be Criticism. Socio-Criticism. Ooh, "Outside Man." That's clever. And how about the halfassed application of zeitgeist...not to mention the total failure to communicate what a boring, sloppy mess this crapola movie was. Instead we get a fleeting reference to "those" other critics who can't trade in the "real currency" of this "genre." I guess that must be more important than mentioning Clive Owen is in the movie, because he never does that.

Pauline Kael is great because she makes me want to think, to think carefully, to be confident in my opinions, and to read more, but not to (neccessarily) agree with her.

Indeed. She despised Stanley Kubrick for which I believe she was off her rocker and was favorable to Walter Hill for a time (Once stated the 'The Warriors' to be one of the best films ever or something to that degree) Her self-righteousness worked within the context of the New Yorker (which I also subscribe to Ben, and yes, probably the best periodical in print today-I also get VF which is a f'n waste of glossy paper more than half the time imo. (why do I still get that rag I've yet to figure out.. it's half Vogue ads/ half snotty people it seems)

For the record I'd agree with Tony in regards to prefering Kehr over Denby or Lane (although, I enjoy their writing none the less) being one of the better critics in the country. The idea that the Tribune blew it with him just goes to show how little cinema means to that paper these days.

This Theo fella has a funny idea of ratings.. so far the highest rated flick I saw there was 'Umbrellas of Cherbourg'

the ratings are not as strict as they seem....

80 - 100 A
60 - 79 B
40 - 59 C

So forth. And Cherbourg is a flat out masterpiece.

Ratings system has got to go.

Indeed. She despised Stanley Kubrick for which I believe she was off her rocker ...

George Lucas hates her ass. In his silly collab. with Ron Howard Willow, he named the witchy villainess of the story "Kael".

I love this book so far.

The fractured syntax is part of his charm.

He's pretty awesome. His 1939 story 'Pierre Menard, Author of The Quixote' could be called the birthplace of Post Modernism. Him and Nabokov make a nice comparison. Borges was one of the few living writers that Nabokov liked.

I've been meaning to read Borges. Is that the one I should start with?

Call me a snob, but I'll take good-good over bad-good or whatever it is you're talking about every day of the week.