And why is the end of everything so bad?

I love to spot statements in the press by people who seem oblivious to the fact that most people don't share their affection for the status quo. This is from the Washington Post, in a story about Florida moving up their presidential primary to January and threatening Iowa and New Hampshire's dominance of the nomination process:

"You now see the end of a system that we've been living with since the 1970s," said Donna Brazile, who managed Al Gore's campaign in 2000 and is a member of the DNC rules committee. "It fell apart in the last cycle, but we kept it together with very interesting glue and duct tape. Unfortunately, this is really out of control."

Let's see, turnout in the primaries has been steadily dwindling since the 1970s; presidential candidates have been withdrawing earlier and earlier each cycle, leaving most primaries with just one serious candidate on the ballot; and the Democrats haven't been able to come up with a nominee who got more than 50 percent of the vote in November since... 1976. What exactly is Brazile worried about?

“Ace in the Hole”: Bad attitude, worse film

Sometimes a film’s reputation rests more on what it says than how it says it. Billy Wilder’s Ace in the Hole (1951) is one example. A critical and commercial failure when it was first released, it has since become a cult favorite because of its extreme cynicism. Kirk Douglas plays a newspaper reporter who sabotages the rescue of a man trapped in a cave so that he can keep the story going for a few days, and practically everyone else in the film (the rescue crew, local politicians, even the victim’s wife) becomes complicit in the plan. I have nothing against cynicism; perhaps my favorite film is Sweet Smell of Success (1957) in which gossip columnist Burt Lancaster describes both another character and the movie itself when he says, “I’d have to take a bite out of you. You're a cookie full of arsenic.” But watching Ace in the Hole, which was just released on DVD this year, is more like trying to drink straight turpentine. It’s made for people so insecure in their misanthropy that they can’t stomach even a glimmer of hope in a movie, for fear that their bleak outlook will be compromised. (They also fear that audiences won’t “get” a movie that doesn’t hold their heads under water for a full two hours.) There are three problems with Ace in the Hole. One is Wilder’s usual lack of subtlety. Characters are constantly describing each other’s bad behavior instead of letting us notice it for ourselves, and the more obvious a satirical image (such as a passing van for “The Great S&M Amusement Corp.”), the more likely Wilder is to repeat it two or three times. This isn’t such a problem when Wilder is dealing with broad comedy (Some Like It Hot), film noir (Double Indemnity) or near-camp (Sunset Boulevard), but it’s a real distraction in what is supposed to be a sly satire. The second problem is Douglas’s character, an asshole who proudly announces that he’s an asshole every chance he gets (for example, taking a job at a small-city newspaper and telling all his co-workers that he’s going to quit as soon as he finds something better). It’s a mystery as to why other characters fall under his influence (oh, that’s right, it’s because almost all of the human race is as evil as he is), and why we in the audience should care about him. I don’t mean that he’s not “sympathetic,” but that he doesn’t give us a handhold to find our own dark impulses in his actions. In Sweet Smell of Success, we can’t help but fantasize about what we would do if we had the wealth, power, and style of Lancaster’s character. And that means that we can’t help but identify with Tony Curtis’s social-climbing publicist, because he wants to become Lancaster too. It also helps that the film begins with Curtis being blackballed by Lancaster for reasons we don’t learn until later — but which we assume from the outset are unfair. Ace in the Hole, in contrast, begins with Douglas draining the film of any mystery by announcing that he’s ended up in Albuquerque because he’s been fired from better newspapers for drinking and for screwing an editor’s wife. A final problem is that Wilder makes his story unbelievable by succumbing to the temptation to make it bigger and bigger. Implausibility isn’t fatal when a film’s characters or themes are fascinating, but here… It doesn’t make any sense that the story of the trapped cave explorer would become a national phenomenon but no one of consequence would point out that there’s a much quicker rescue method than the one Douglas is pushing. A coal miner who visits the scene points out that building a reinforced tunnel through the cave would be quicker than drilling through the top of the mountain, but he’s ignored, and either no one else is smart enough to realize it or every prominent engineer in America thinks it would be fun to keep someone trapped in a cave for a while. I guess either possibility would suit Wilder. Another question that nagged me was: Who the heck is paying for the elaborate rescue operation? A crooked sheriff is nominally in charge, but there’s no way that a county of a few thousand people could finance the operation. I’m sure that the rescue effort would be taken over by the state, if not the federal government, and that would be the end of Douglas having complete control over the situation. Ace in the Hole would ring truer if it were about a local news story that Douglas exploits for the possibility of a minor career boost; indeed, it would be even more cynical if he were willing to essentially kill someone solely to move up the journalistic ladder from Albuquerque to Fresno. But Wilder can’t resist the chance to imply that all of America, and not just one American town, is voyeuristic and amoral. I’m glad that I finally saw it, but I can’t get on the Ace in the Hole bandwagon. If you want 1950’s cynicism, rent Sweet Smell of Success or Elia Kazan’s A Face in the Crowd (1957). Or, if you want to see a journalist manipulate his subjects, check out Philip Seymour Hoffman as Capote (2005).

Fetish wanted

Does anyone have a fantasy about going to a stranger's house in the middle of the night, opening an unlocked front door, walking into a dark bedroom, and helping yourself to old copies of The New Yorker, videotapes of TV shows from the 1980s, Christmas sweaters, sheets and blankets for a twin bed, synth-pop CDs, and pants and boxer shorts for anyone lucky enough to still have a 31-inch waist? I may be able to accommodate you. Don't respond if you get off on forcing someone to hold a yard sale. I'm not that kinky.

New blog in September

Besides my getting ready to move to a new apartment, my blogging has been limited by the preparation for a new blog to debut in mid September. This one will cover geography as it relates to politics, economics, and culture, and it will be hosted by MassINC. Look for lots of maps and charts there, not all of them as ambitious as this one from 2004.

Everyone's a little bit racist?

Was it wrong of me to tell a group of Asian tourists to "Go to Chinatown!" Does it matter that one of them stopped me on the sidewalk in Downtown Crossing and asked if I knew of any good restaurants nearby with meals under $20? I felt a little silly saying that they might want to try Chinese, Vietnamese, or Malaysian food, but all the restaurants in the Ladder District were out of their price range, Chacarero is open only for lunch, and even I'm not misanthropic enough to tell anyone "Go to Faneuil Hall!"

Naked politics

If you want to put the kibosh on a successful fundraising campaign for an organization you don't like, just have an ex-exhibitionist infiltrate the group. From the New York Post: NAUGHTY FIRE 'EQUIPMENT' By PAULA FROELICH

August 4, 2007 -- Fire officials poured water yesterday on the wildly popular calendar featuring the department's hunkiest hunks after a video featuring this cover boy waving his God-given hose began making the rounds of gay porn sites.

"We will no longer be participating in this. There will be no more calendars," said FDNY spokesman Francis Gribbon.

The embarrassing video of 22-year-old firefighter Michael Biserta of Brooklyn's Ladder Co. 131 and his enormous member is featured in the 2004 Joe Francis-produced DVD "Guys Gone Wild."

The video clip began to circulate when Biserta appeared on the 2008 calendar that went on sale Tuesday. In the clip, the female camera operators goad Biserta to show them his fire pole. When they ask him to dance for them or get up on the bed, he refuses, but does agree to get in the hotel room's shower in the nude.

Officials said Biserta won't be disciplined because the video was made before he was hired. But officials at the department's fund-raising arm - the FDNY Foundation - said the decision to cancel the calendar was a huge disappointment, because at $15.99 a pop, it brought in on average $150,000 a year for them.

Good lord, is nudity so offensive to Americans that a fire department is willing to pay $150,000 a year not to be associated with it? I'm also guessing that the FDNY wouldn't have hired Biserta in the first place if they knew about his video, but it would be legally problematic to can him now. Maybe this is all a plot by Baby Boomers to hold onto their jobs into their 70s and 80s. If anyone who has ever been naked on the Internet is deemed unemployable, we're facing a huge labor shortage.

Ikea means "bad in bed"

Thanks to a friend with a car, I made my first visit to the Stoughton branch of Ikea on Monday afternoon and began the long process of furnishing my new apartment. For less than $100, I got six dinner plates, four desert plates, four salad bowls, a 40-piece set of flatware, four champagne glasses, four coffee mugs, six Tupperware-type food containers, and a toilet brush. (No, Mom, I’m not taking my old one with me. Call me extravagant.) And I resisted the temptation to buy everything in safe urban colors (white, gray, and black). Finding a bed was more problematic. Too many had the stink of “my first apartment” about them. One had a giant piece of shredded wheat for a headboard, and I worried that if I ate crackers within 50 feet of it, crumbs would lodge in the “handcrafted crazy weaving” and spell out WELCOME, VERMIN. Others looked quite suitable for overnight guests, at least if you’re in the habit of telling your bed partners, “Yes, I know you’ve had a terrible shock, but you’ll be fine once the sedative kicks in. Just keep looking at the ceiling and count backward from 100.” Of course, there is also the “Why do I need to sleep with anyone when I can store so much porn underneath my mattress?” model. Ikea has a lot to offer in terms of kitchenware and tasty desserts like this, but I'm not sure it can meet my nocturnal needs.

Teasing stranded commuters on the T

MBTA riders are a patient lot. When I was waiting for a Red Line train on Wednesday evening, and the PA system announced delays due to "a switching problem," there was a lot of eye-rolling on the Downtown Crossing platform, but no one seemed too angry. These things happen. It was only when the T ran its "greatest hits" announcements that the temperature started to rise. Every time we heard the bong alerting us to an announcement, me and my fellow passengers (or aspiring passengers) hoped to hear: "The next Red Line train to Alewife is now arriving." But we kept plunging back into despair. First, there was the "If you see something, say something" spiel, reminding people to freak out at the sight of unattended umbrellas and the like. Then there was the no smoking announcement, for some reason in Spanish (and only in Spanish). ¿Qué el infierno? After these letdowns, there was the announcement of a train arriving on the opposite platform, which is forgivable if annoying. But the next bong heralded the suggestion that Red Sox attendees buy roundtrip fare tickets so they wouldn't have to wait in line to buy more tickets after the game. Too late! They've already paid their fares and are waiting on the platform. Perhaps the voice of God should tell them how to get to the park if the Red Line train never arrives. (Just walk one block to the Green Line at Park Street, you clueless suburbanites.) Fortunately, the train showed up before we got any more helpful hints from Uncle Dan. Is it too much to ask that non-service-related announcements be shut off when we're all wondering how we're going to get home? Or maybe the T could replace that bong with a voice whispering, "Don't get your hopes up" before we get the canned verbiage.

Is "The Wire" worth $20 per episode?

That’s how much it would cost me. The cheapest way to get HBO at my new apartment is to order a “Digital Preferred” package from Verizon at $83.33 per month. It includes about 60 channels besides HBO, and I can do without all of them. I watch about one hour of TV per day (more when I stay up late, less when I stay out late). About half of that time is spent watching DVDs, either from Netflix or from my own collection. The rest is spent following a handful of current shows (mostly dramas like House and Mad Men, and a couple of comedies like The Office). But all of the shows I care about are available through iTunes (for $2 an episode) or through the networks’ own Web sites — except for HBO shows including Big Love and The Wire. I don’t need news channels, because I get everything I need from the Internet (including video reports from TV channels such as New England Cable News). I don’t need time-waster channels, for when I have a short attention span and just want something to accompany a glass of wine, because that’s what YouTube is for. I used to watch TV Land for vintage programs like Hill Street Blues and The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show, but now that it airs The Andy Griffith Show and Bonanza around the clock, it’s worthless to me. Turner Classic Movies has made me sick of Alfred Hitchcock and tired of The Postman Always Rings Twice, and it’s no competition for the vast Netflix library. So why would I pay for cable? But I would pay $20 a month just for HBO, and I’d pay a couple of bucks a month for a few selected channels like TV5 (the French-language network). When is Comcast going to offer a la carte pricing? Or when is HBO going to find a way to sell me their wares without going through cable providers?

I Am What I Am

No, this isn't a post about La Cage Aux Folles or gay liberation. It's a link to John Kricfalusi's excellent essay on Popeye the Sailor Man and a link to the funniest cartoon I've seen in a long time.