Should "Ratatouille" Go For The Best Picture Oscar?

There's a lengthy article in the New York Times about Ratatouille. It's arguably the best-reviewed movie of the year and in a year of lengthy, darker movies, it's a pure delight. (And while being a huge blockbuster can be a problem for a nominee -- despite Titanic -- in this case, I don't think Hollywood would care at all that it made $200 mil here and a massive $400 mil overseas.) It has a shot at being the first animated movie since Beauty and the Beast to get nominated for Best Picture. The big debate? Should Ratatouille go for Best Picture and risk squandering its chance at Best Animated Film, especially in a year with very worthy competitors like Persepolis, The Simpsons Movie and Shrek The Third? Duh. The Best Animated Film Oscar is a ghettoized category that is literally meaningless at the box office and in prestige. Except for winning your office Oscar pool, it's a joke. Frankly, the category was created because animated films like Toy Story and The Incredibles were so clearly superior to their live action competitors that Hollywood was finding it increasingly difficult to explain away why cartoons didn't count when it came to Best Picture. If Ratatouille has a shot -- and it does -- Disney should go all in. Make absolutely clear they are pushing for a Best Picture nomination and don't even talk about the consolation prize of Best Animated Film. Disney has never won a Best Picture Oscar and this film has the accolades and the struggling artist tale that would make it catnip for voters. Why settle for a dull secondary category when you've got a shot at history? Even snagging a nomination would be historic and once that happens anything is possible.

The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

My latest DVD column for Huffington Post is out and it covers The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series boxed set, among other releases. The question of the day: what's your favorite Bond film rip-off? (I would like to thank the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement without whose assistance this blog post would not be possible.)

One of the Best Movies of the Year

That would be The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Check out my story on the film for the NY Daily News.

Lauren Ambrose, Mekhi Phifer and Hitchcock

Here are my newest stories: profiles of Lauren Ambrose (of Six feet Under) and Mekhi Phifer of ER and This Christmas for the NY Daily News and my latest DVD review column for Huffington Post -- this one covers The Lady Vanishes, I Am Cuba, Helvetica, Hairspray and more.

Defending "The Golden Compass" and Denouncing William Donohue

My latest Huffington Post talks about "The Golden Compass" and hopefully sheds light for people about the disreputable William Donohue and his partisan political group Catholic League.

Cassandra Wilson at the Blue Note

Here's my latest NY Daily News piece, a profile of jazz singer Cassandra Wilson. She was poorly named: Cassandra tells the truth but we definitely listen and believe. I just saw her show Thursday night and it was a very good set indeed. They played with "Caravan" until it disintegrated into shards of sound, she sang much of "The Very Thought Of You" with only the bass providing quiet support, "Wichita Lineman" was wonderfully focused, and some blues I didn't know called "Dust Broom" (she was NOT going to put up with a man who had a wandering eye for any downtown girl that crossed his path) was tremendous fun. Loose, engaging, Wilson sounds revitalized by her recent toying with non-jazz effects like drum loops on her last album nd her diving back into standard standards ("The Very Thought Of You," "Till There Was You," "Wouldn't It Be Loverly") on the new one coming out in February. Saw her for the first time and she met my expectations. The only way it could be better was if it were longer and the schmuck sitting behind me had stopped talking during the musical interludes connecting different songs.

Scandanavian Boy Singing About His Two Fathers

The end of the world -- or the beginning -- depending on your point of view. But catchy, you can't deny that.

It's Fiddy Cent, By The Way

My friend Sam in Florida was at the record store with his son. All the kid wanted was Soulja Boy, Soulja Boy. So Sam dutifully went with the kid (who's like 11 years old) to the S's at the music store and kept looking up "soldier" and couldn't find the damn CD and when he spoke to an employee he felt so OLD because he wasn't cool enough (or more specifically young enough) to simply know that it was spelled S-O-U-L-J-A-H.

I told this story to my friend Joe and he emailed back:

If only he would have dug up the single from “Billy Jack,” “One Tin Soldier (Rides Away).”

And I emailed back:

That would have been under "c" for Coven, the demonic sounding band that had their one and only hit with "One Tin Soldier (The Legend Of Billy Jack" - not to be confused with "Invincible (Theme from The Legend of Billy Jean)" by Pat Benatar -- not to be confused with "Legend of Wooley Swamp" by the Charlie Daniels Band -- not to be confused with "The Legend of Jesse James," the multi-artist country concept album created and written by Paul Kennerly and championed by Emmylou Harris on her new boxed set -- not to be confused with "Legend of The Pianist" from "The Legend of 1900" by Ennio Morricne -- not to be confused with Legend, the Tom Cruise fairy movie with a score by Jerry Goldsmith that replaced a far superior score by Tangerine Dream that was used in the European release of the film but dumped in America.

Yes, I need a life.

Sports On DVD

My latest DVD column for Huffington Post covers the explosion of sports available on DVD, as well as the usual releases like Shrek The Third, Ocean's Thirteen, La Vie En Rose, Killer Of Sheep, Berlin Alexanerplatz and so on. For the love of God, leave a comment on their website! Mock me, belittle me, but at least talk to me! Like this friendly comment left a few days ago on The Advocate's blog about my coverage of the Emir Kusturica film "Promise Me This" at Cannes back in May:

Mr. Guiltz, you are so clever and I am so admiring you brightness and cineastic capability! Have you ever seen any other Kusturicas movie? I think not. If you have seen "When Father Was Away on Business", "Do You Remember Dolly Bell?", "Arizona Dream" and other Kusturicas movies you would notice that there is no "endless gypsy music, lusty laughter, breast-y women, slapstick humor, chases, gunshots, animals" and other crap you have mentioned. Its a pity that you even have chance to write about movies and share yours sick observations and idiotic thoughts with normal people. Yours articles are totaly waste of time and your brain is waste of space. Have you been retarded all your life or it just happend lately? You shold apear in next Kusturicas movie (he is filming remake of "Planet of the Apes ").

Sincearly Yours,
Stupid hater

Now that's feedback! I replied:

Hey Stupid hater,

You're quite right: When Father Was Away On Business (1985) and to a lesser degree Do You Remember Dolly Bell? (1981) were both very good films and the reason Kusturica came to international attention in the first place. Like most people, I thought Arizona Dream was a flop. Then came the bursting with vitality, black-humored, overwhelming and sweeping energy of Underground, which was a worthy Palm D'Or winner. I love that he challenges the far right nationalists of Serbia. I've had a great time seeing his band the No Smoking Orchestra perform. His soundtracks are invariably exuberant. But since Underground he has made Black Cat, White Cat and Life is A Miracle and Promise Me This, ALL of which do indeed feature non-stop boisterous music, chase scenes, breast-y women and so on to numbing effect. Once with Underground it was exhilirating. Again and again and again in his next three movies? That's formula. The second Promise Me This began, I knew he hadn't strayed an iota from his last three movies and could predict the madcap adventures and broad brush strokes of the movie. If they worked, I wouldn't mind. I don't care if Ford kept making Westerns and Hitchcock thrillers. But it hasn't worked in these movies. They seem interchangeable. It's always good to acknowledge the fine work a director has done in the past and blogging doesn't always allow that. So if you pointed someone in the direction of When Father Was Away On Business, I'm glad. But dulling repetition for four movies in a row is indeed something to be dismayed over. And if he DID make a remake of Planet of the Apes, I'm certain it would be far better than Tim Burton's misbegotten film. At the very least, it would have great gypsy music.

Michael Giltz

P.S.

Oh and no, I haven't been retarded all my life. It's only kicked in since I turned 40.|

A Rave For "Dark Victory"

My friend Ed Sikov gets a rave review in the New York Times for his Bette Davis biography, Dark Victory."

Pixar's Amazing Hitting Streak

My latest Huffington DVD column talks about Pixar's Ratatouille and the amazing streak of critical and commercial successes they are enjoying.

"Alien Vs. Predator: Requiem"

That's the title of the latest film in this cross-over franchise. My cranky friend's reaction:

What the hell is that, a goddamn Mozart reference? Do the Alien and Predator sit together at the Alien’s bed to write the Alien’s final symphony, with the Predator taking notes frantically and the Alien feverishly dictating the notes, what the instruments are, where the oboe comes gently in??? Does the Alien wear a powdered wig?? Does the Predator rage at God and anoint himself the patron saint of alien predator mediocrities? WILL THE AUDIENCE EVEN BE ABLE TO SPELL OR SAY “REQUIEM”?? I remember watching people over 40 trip on their tongues as they asked for a ticket to “Dangerous LIE-AY-SONS” in 1988.

AND WHAT WILL THE VIDEOGAME AUDIENCE THINK????

Now that's funny.

The Brides Of "Young Frankenstein"

Here's my latest NY Daily News piece. This one profiles the three leading ladies in the new Mel Brooks musical Young Frankenstein: Megan Mullally, Sutton Foster and Andrea Martin.

"Black Watch" At St. Ann's Warehouse

With the clock falling back, a rave in the New York Times, sold out shows and the constant, almost hectoring reminders of St. Ann's that people arriving late for "Black Watch" simply would NOT get in, we made sure to arrive very early indeed for this Scottish play about the fabled military regiment -- think of it as their Marines, perhaps. The form, indeed the story itself, is very familiar. Vets back from a punishing war are wary of talking to a writer, who wins them over by offering to pay for their beer even if he does ask banally obvious questions and keeps insisting "I understand" when of course the whole point is that he doesn't understand and needs to ask questions so he can start. Then we flash back to their time in Iraq, with soldiers salivating over the various food they'll eat when back home, taking turns ordering their meals at a Chinese restaurant and then an Indian one while riding in the back of a transport vehicle. They fight, they curse, they look at porn, they show little interest in the politics back home, they duck when the shelling comes too close and sometimes they die.

So the content for me was familiar, as it would be to anyone who's done a modicum of reading about soldiers during war. But what was genuinely thrilling was the direction and choreography of "Black Watch." Director John Tiffany makes full use of the space, with actors roaring about from one end to the other. A constantly shifting perspective has actors up in the scaffolding at one moment followed by others across the room on the ground at the next. Scenes flow seamlessly into one another, costume changes sometimes take place in full view, and something as simple as three men leaning back in their chairs and slamming down onto the ground in unison can be quietly mesmerizing. Two especially vivid moments stick out. The first was the scene of soldiers reading letters from home (one after another reads mutely, lets their letter fall to the ground and then begins to perform in sign language what they're feeling or what they've read or what they want to say in response). Just beautiful. The other was an extended sequence in which our hero details the history of Scotland's Black Watch, all while being dressed and undressed in the uniforms of that fabled unit from the very beginning to the present. The speaker is lifted up and turned over and bent backwards by others and clothed and unclothed again and again in a delightful bit of stagecraft that is a master class in how to engage an audience while delivering reams of background info. It's a true ensemble that Tiffany molds well -- I can't wait to see what he does next.

The show was followed by a panel on veterans and the war. Typical of most panel discussions, the people in the audience didn't ask questions so much as hold forth, as if to say, okay the show had its chance and you guys have spoken, now it's MY turn. My friend Noam suggested politely that the endless talking of people called on to ask a question reflected the impotence and powerlessnss people feel when dealing with the war, but I can't be that kind. They're just bores.

Sufjan Stevens at BAM

Well, one definite goal was reached at the Sufjan Stevens concert at BAM: we learned how to pronounce his name. It's Suf-e-yan, apparently. I've wanted to see him in concert for years, certainly since his brilliant album centered on the state of Illinois. But this was more than a concert. Stevens debuted his orchestral piece inspired by The BQE, the Bronx Queens Expressway. There was a full orchestra, filled with the youngest, best-looking musicians you'll ever see in a pit. Since the music of Stevens is already very grand and orchestral, a symphony hardly seemed like a stretch and it certainly wasn't a surprise to see the performance included multi-media. It began with the orchestra behind a scrim, backlit to create a shadowy, lurking effect. Three giant video screens above it played stills and video shot along the BQE. Then the scrim lifted and there were the musicians, soon joined by five performers at the front of the stage who began to hula hoop. Why not? They left eventually (to delighted applause), the music continued and then they returned in darkness with glow in the dark neon hula hoops and danced some more. A rock band -- especially a full drum kit -- added a color I've rarely heard with an orchestra, there was a "Rhapsody in Blue" flourish on the keyboards towards the finale and it ended grandly. Accessible and enjoyable, the piece was most impressive for me during the quiet, almost sad lyrical passages at the beginning, perhaps because I didn't know if Stevens had that in him. The rest was filled with strong melodic sequences, often building to a dischordant epic climax before giving way to another strong melody. Very accessible and enjoyable (hence the Gershwin nod). I have no idea how the piece will stand up to repeated listening and whether it has the shape and cohesiveness of a symphony, whether it works as a whole. But I can't wait to hear it again. The multi-media portion was fine, something to watch while the music played, but it was far from necessary. This was not a multi-media work, it was a symphony with some images tossed in for good measure. That's a compliment.

After strong applause, they took a short break and Stevens came out and performed an 80 minute set with his band and the full orchestra. I'd missed earlier concerts of his at Town Hall and I'd wondered how they went. I knew the songs were strong enough that he could come out with just a guitar and perform. But the music was so grand that I thought some synths might not quite fit the bill. I don't know if he's ever been able to perform with a full orchestra before but certainly it was a treat. Here too they tossed in video loops and other artworks to complement the songs -- I loved the grainy, shadowy footage during one song that showed crowds of people on a beach milling about and rushing towards a globe-like ball of light whenever it landed among them. And the songs were sensational. Stevens had a sense of humor but didn't try and undercut or downplay the pain or seriousness of many of his songs. After "John Wayne Gacy," a terribly beautiful and sad song inspired by the serial kiler, I wondered for a second if people would actually clap. It seemed almost inappropriate after the pain of the song, which ends with Stevens comparing himself to Gacy. But it's a great, great song and the audience whooped. Then Stevens said almost with embarrassment that sometimes writing and singing that song bothers him and that some of the lines creeped him out while he was singing. (I thought he said he skipped over some lines, but playing the original back again, it doesn't seem so.) He said he might just have to retire that number. Overall, there was a wry seriousness to him, funny but committed. A friend described the show as the greatest school project ever: he gave facts about the BQE, showed some slides, read a paper (this one a faux childlike story about he and his siblings selling "Toilet Paper Dolls, Collectors Edition" to make money) and performed some songs. I already knew Stevens was a special talent but seeing him spread his wings with an orchestral piece and finally perform live, enjoying his dry wit and the nervous tic he employs of clapping along whenever the audience applauds between songs, well, it just made me eager even more for his next CD, his next symphony, his first film score. I know I'll be listening to him for a long time to come and now I even know how to pronounce his name.

Yank! WW II Musical Is A Real Find

Going to any play or musical Off Broadway or Off Off Broadway is always a risk. Most of the time, when you're checking out a new work that doesn't have the stamp of approval of being acclaimed in London or major artists attached, you're in for a bumpy night. This is especially true if you're going to a gay-themed play. Since I write for The Advocate, I check out those works even more frequently than most and therefore I see a lot more bad gay plays than other types. So being inherently interested in the subject matter doesn't make you easier on them; it makes you a lot harder. (I assume the same is true for people who regularly attend plays by or about blacks, Latinos, Asians, etc. They've seen every cliche a million times before.)

So despite some friendly reviews from theater websites, my expectations were low when heading to Park Slope in Brooklyn to see a new musical, "Yank!" about gay soldiers in World War II by two brothers, Joseph and David Zellnick. The bare bones "set" -- no set to speak of -- didn't inspire confidence either. So what a delightful surprise to say that the show is entertaining as it is, could easily get better and deserves a future life Off Broadway.

The discovery of a journal in an antique store in San Francisco bookends the story of wide-eyed Stu (a very charming Bobby Steggert) joining the Army after Pearl Harbor and finding himself drawn to Mitch (Maxime de Toledo), another grunt who is so strapping his nickname is "Hollywood." (Stu's nickname becomes a play on "light in the loafers," though the guys in his squad don't really think that.) They go through the stress of basic training, Stu finds fellow travelers in the steno pool and gets recruited for "Yank!" magazine by a more defiantly open gay man who takes Stu under his wing. Misunderstandings, witch hunts, a supportive lesbian in the upper ranks and Iwo Jima all come into play during the two and a half hour show (including intermission).

The songs range from serviceable to memorable, all in the vein of music of the Forties, with big band ballad "Remembering You" as a touchstone. The title song "Yank" is a highlight, as is "Tap" where tap-dancing becomes a metaphor for realizing you're gay (or rather, celebrating it), and "Your Squad Is Your Squad" uses the full ensemble to terrific effect. The cast is solid, with everyone cast for their acting first and singing second. Steggert is a good foot shorter than Toledo, and they get a lot of mileage out of Mitch towering over and enveloping Stu to great old Hollywood effect. Nancy Anderson plays all the women in the show, including a clever first scene where the guys say goodbye to their gals before basic training and she switches from one soldier's sweetheart to the next. Her highlight is a Hollywood musical spoof on movie night. Jefrey Denman is v good in a supporting role as Artie, the Yank! writer who shows Stu the ropes and doubles as the choreographer for the show. The two leads are very able, with Steggert easily shouldering the central, dominating role of Stu. I'd seen him once before in "The Music Teacher," a poor play/opera by Wallace and Allen Shawn. If the show has any future life, Steggert should be a part of it.

As for improvements, there's a second act ballet a la "Carousel" that nudges the story forward a bit but is entirely unnecessary. Given the constraints, it's decently done, but it slows the show down dramatically. Eliminating that would also mean hopefully eliminating the scene of the three steno pool male secretaries dressed in 'Gone With The Wind" garb to introduce the dance and make all too clear that the dancer performing the piece is meant to be Stu; it's very out of tone with the rest of the show, even if amusing on its own. This isn't Charles Busch territory -- otherwise the show is quite realistic and any flights of fantasy are limited to the character's dreams.

Finally, I'm not a fan of intermissions -- I think most plays and musicals would benefit without having one. In this case, if it's not cut, I'd move the intermission up and have it take place right when Stu insists on heading out to Iwo Jima, perhaps w a further musical number there using the whole cast about heading off to battle. That would let the more "obvious" break that they used be part of the second act momentum and add to the tension, rather than having it dissipate during the break.

Yes, when you see a show at this early stage in its life, everyone's a show doctor. But it's a sign of the show's promise that you can't help thinking about how to make it even better. And as is, it's entertaining with a solid cast and well worth the $18 -- it's far better than any new musical I've seen since "Spring Awakening." Catch it before it ends Nov 11.

Back Door Slam Return To Mercury Lounge

Amazingly, despite the collapse of the record industry and the feeling that all the rules have been thrown out the window, rock and roll can still happen just the way it always did. I saw the UK power trio Back Door Slam a few months ago at the insistence of their publicist. Three young white guys -- 20 to 21 years old -- who play the blues a la Cream and Jimi Hendrix with a lead singer who looks 17 and sounds like a weathered bluesman (he has a terrific voice) and plays like a flashy guitar god. In other words, they were terrific. The space had maybe 25 people in it at the most, including a grey-haired lady who stood near the front who was either one of their moms or just a hardcore older fan.

When they returned, I invited a bunch of friends to the show, something I've never really done -- but with a $10 admission and convenient early showtime, it made sense. To my shock, eight people joined me and I suddenly felt the weight of responsibility. Would all these different people like the band? Mercury Lounge was much more crowded this night. I don't think any of the four other acts were the draw, but who knows? I'd like to think it was word of mouth. The first time I showed up in a party of two; this time I showed up with a party of eight. The room was filled about twice as much, the band exploded again and was sensational and everyone with me really liked it. Suddenly, I was going to be emailing them when the band returned in January. Maybe I'll bring a party of 16 that time? But the main storyline is as old as rock: you tour, wow the fans and keep returning to a town again and again and every time you play to bigger crowds and win more fans. It still works! By the way, their debut CD is okay but doesn't begin to capture the power of the band live. Check them out if you can.

Is There Something I Should Know?

Why, yes, there is. My latest NY Daily News features include one on Duran Duran and another on Office Space's Ron Livingston.

Good Grief! Celebrating Peanuts

My latest Huffington Post, this one on Charles Schulz and Peanuts.

Another Sign Of The Apocalypse

This week Bruce Springsteen's "Magic" was the top-selling CD in the country...with total sales of 77,000. (Yes, that includes downloads.) That's an insanely low number and every reason you can think of for low sales applies...and more. This is the fall and big releases from Kanye West and Kid Rock have just come out but they're selling even less. It's as if it were Thanksgiving weekend (a huge week for movies) and the number one film grossed $6 million. In my LIFETIME, album sales have never been this low.

But before I could recover from that news, I turned on the "American Idol" spinoff "The Next Great American Band" and the theme this week is BOB DYLAN SONGS. They're all singing Bob Dylan songs. It is indeed the end of the world.

Godard a Hack Or Just Not Interested In Movies?

Here's my latest Huffington Post, including a review of Godard's Breathless, the biggest mistake of his otherwise resolutely boring and uninteresting film career.

Springsteen at the Garden

I had a great time at the Garden last night (Wednesday, October 17) with my friend Kitty (of "Kitty's Back" fame) and HER friends. How could I not have a great time? It was Bruce and the E Street Band, after all. Still, his last tour -- the Seeger Sessions tour with a mostly different bunch of musicians -- was such a blast, such a hoedown, such a triumph (as good as I've EVER seen him) I knew this wouldn't measure up. I was right.

The show was worth every penny. It always is with Bruce. But problem number one is his new album "Magic,"which Rolling Stone absurdly gave five stars, the "instant classic" rating reserved for masterpieces like "Pet Sounds" and "The Joshua Tree." (Not that those got five stars of course, for various reasons.) First, I really dislike the way producer Brendan O'Brien records Bruce's voice. That voice hasn't aged in the least, as his ferocious live vocals proved last night. But on the album, it all sounds glossed over, airbrushed...lazy, even. There's no urgency in them and I wasn't surprised to hear the vocals were recorded without the band and that people were brought in to overdub their parts. And of course it's not a great batch of songs. His last really good album was "Tunnel Of Love," when you're talking about original songs. His last great album was "Seeger Sessions" (covers) and before that really "Born In The USA." But he can still deliver a tune. "Radio Nowhere" grows on you and both "Long Walk Home" and "Girls In Their Summer Clothes" can enter the canon with heads held high.

But if any proof were needed that many of the other songs don't cut it, last night's show was the evidence. He included eight songs in the show and most every time they brought a quick halt to any momentum. Not "Long Walk Home" or "Girls" -- people shouted out the choruses as soon as they began. But the rest could't hold up.

The show began with "Radio Nowhere" of course and Bruce launched right into "The Ties That Bind," a great blast of fun and a tune I don't think I've ever heard live before. (I'd love to hear him do "The River" album from start to finish some day.) I called my friend Sam's cell phone because it's his favorite Bruce song and he would love to hear it live and since the tour isn't coming to Florida yet, this is as close as he can get right now.

Then came "Lonesome Day," one of the few songs from "The Rising" I really like. (That album was treated with too much post 9-11 reverence, I'm afraid. "The Seeger Sessions" -- especially the revamped version -- is much better.) The tone of the show was set from the start. Time and again, Springsteen would launch right from one song to the next. There was very little chit chat; just one song after another. If there hadn't been so many songs from "Magic" in that list, it would have been heart-stoppingly good. And the mood was musically celebratory but lyrically dark. To me, this felt like Springsteen's most overtly political set list, with a note of desperation always lurking just behind the beautiful noise.

Things ground to a halt right there, however, thanks to "Gypsy Biker" and "Magic," neither of which held up well, though the crowd was with him for both. Then came the highlight of the night: "Reason To Believe," "Adam Raised A Cain" and "She's The One" piling on top of each other. I think by now most hardcover Springsteen fans love "Nebraska" most of all, not just because of that album's low-fi nature or the fact that casual fans have barely heard of it. No, it's not snobbism, just the simple fact that "Nebraska" has ten great songs, not a weak one in the bunch. It's stark, but there's nothing better to pop in when you're driving cross country late at night. (And it's safer than trying to read "On The Road," believe me.)

"Still at the end of every hard earned day, people find some reason to believe," he sings from that "Nebraska" closer. A thumping, boogie beat propelled the song but the real kicker was Bruce singing the final verse into one of those distortion microphones that made him sound like Tom Waits wailing from beyond the grave. It was so out there, so radical, so carnival barker-ish, you just had to laugh. Then it dissolved into a sledgehammer rendition of "Adam Raised A Cain" (can there be any other way of playing that pounding number from "Darkness on the Edge of Town"?). Obviously drawing on a father and son conflict, nowadays the song sounds more general and apocalyptic. THAT dissolved into "She's The One," the epic number from the epic album "Born To Run" and boy would I love to hear Springsteen perform THAT album in order, in its entirety. Come on Bruce, it's all the rage; jump on board. I was in heaven right here.

We came right back to earth with "Living In The Future," which Bruce preceded with his speech about Orwellian times. I wish the song met his lofty goals, but other than a sing-along chorus, it doesn't stick. "The Promised Land" came next and it did a much better job of addressing the anger and anguish over having our country's ideals betrayed time and again by the Bush administration:

"There's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor
I packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm
Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain't got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted"

Then came "Brilliant Disguise," an unexpected treat from "Tunnel Of Love," but still, an odd song to duet with Patti on since it's about marital breakup. "Backstreets" howled through the Garden next, followed by "Darlington County," a rave-up from his biggest seller, "Born in the USA." We had seats just far enough behind the stage so that we weren't getting a profile of the band, but seeing their backsides. It was a fun view, actually, since we got to see everyone telegraphing to each other their next move, watch Bruce toss off one guitar and grab the next, mop his face with a towel soaked in ice water and again and again he would gesture to the people to the side of him (us) and the folks behind, and with every seat full we raised a roar every time. At the end of "Darlington County," he was slumped over a railing facing us, in despair over the fate of his buddy in the song (poor Wayne!) and we got the full effect of his acting.

"Devil's Arcade" brought the temperature back down again, followed by "The Rising," which along with "My City in Ruins" (not played) is the other keeper from that album. "Last To Die" is just rote; strong musically in a way, but too blunt and straightforward to be more than a polemic. That was followed by another song from the new album. But it's my favorite, "Long Walk Home," and the crowd knew every word and sang along lustily, unlike with most of the other new numbers. It captured everything he wanted to say about our current political situation, but in a timeless manner:

My father said "Son, we're lucky in this town,
It's a beautiful place to be born.
It just wraps its arms around you,
Nobody crowds you and nobody goes it alone"

"Your flag flyin' over the courthouse
Means certain things are set in stone.
Who we are, what we'll do and what we won't"

It's gonna be a long walk home.

It doesn't get more patriotic, or pointed, than that.

The finale was "Badlands," which for me has become sort of the iconic Bruce song in concert. Unlike say "Born To Run," it's not known perhaps by casual fans. But the entire crowd pumps its fists and sings along with every word. "I believe in the faith that COULD save me...." Bruce was mature beyond his years then and lyrics like those will endure the way something like "Who'll be the last to die for a mistake" never will.

Then came the encore with the other gem from "Magic," the widely heralded "Girls in Their Summer Clothes." The crowd sang the first chorus without prompting, proving it's their favorite too, and the vocals live are much better than the breezy, too happy ones on the album. (Please don't use O'Brien again.) It's a great Brian Wilson melody and a great chorus, but I have trouble completely embracing a song with the lazy line "She cut me like a knife." Still, it's a highlight. Then came "Thundercrack," an early years concert closer that was the precursor to "Rosalita" as a barnstorming finale. It was a lot of fun to hear, but it's no "Rosalita" and is much weaker melodically and lyrically. Fine for the faithful, but for me it didn't build momentum. Then came "Born To Run" and I called my sister Libet's cell phone because the line "Tramps like us" always reminds me of her.

That segued into the synthesizer riff from "Dancing In The Dark," the biggest hit of his career (#2 for four weeks, though I see his cover of "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" hit #1 in '85.) That simple riff is the most important melody of his career, since Springsteen added this song at the last minute when he knew "Born In The USA" was missing a pop smash. Everything else in his career followed that very intentional smash hit. Personally, I've been singing a good acoustic, twangy version of the song in the shower lately. The riff is a little cheesey sounding now, so it's good to remind yourself of the dark lyrics. Listening to the tens of thousands of people in the Garden shout out "I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face!" is kind of amazing. The song certainly doesn't pander, does it? It all ended with an extended raveup of "American Land" from the Seeger Sessions. Good fun, but frankly the folky band on the last tour played the hell out of it. The E Street Band made it less quirky, less authentic, less interesting -- to a degree, of course. The interaction of Bruce with Little Steven and the Big Man Clarence and Patti and the rest is still a joy to watch.

No show with gems like "Badlands" and "Darlington County" and "The Ties That Bind" can help being anything but a blast. The new tunes may not all hold up, but Bruce and the band and his back catalog always will. The final disappointment was that he called it a night after just two hours and twenty minutes. It was 10:40 and he almost NEVER stops before the "curfew" of 11 p.m. and usually goes 15 or 20 minutes longer. Maybe the babysitter needed to get home? Thanks Kitty for a fun night. Can't wait to see him again.

Casey Affleck Interview

Here's my latest NY Daily News feature, a profile of Casey Affleck, who is sensational in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and good in Gone, Baby, Gone.

Fred Claus

Joe and I have a thing for bad movie taglines -- the descriptive phrase at the bottom of a movie poster. Classic ones include "Alien" ("In space, no one can hear you scream") and "Jaws II" ("Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water,").

We were tickled by the abysmal tagline for the Keanu Reeves football scrubs movie "The Replacements" -- "Pros on strike. Regular guys get to play." Joe insists this wasn't the tagline, just somebody's attempt to describe the film that somehow got put in as the tagline by mistake. It couldn't be more banal and straightforward.

Today I saw a doozy of a tagline for "Fred Claus." It was so bad -- and long -- that I burst out laughing and stopped so I could call Joe and read it to him. The next three people walking by stared at the poster, wondering what I found so funny. It shows Vince Vaughn on a Big Wheel, looking dorky with Paul Giamatti dressed as Santa in the background, rolling his eyes. The tagline?

"Christmas comes every year
But this holiday season
Santa's brother is coming along for the ride."

Could it be any more tiresome or dull? No. And I thought of a better one in two seconds:

"Santa's brother? Oh, brother!"

Maybe I should be in marketing.

Is Steve Carell A Movie Star?

My latest Huffington Post and DVD column.

How To Save The Book Industry

My latest Huffington Post is about how the book industry needs to start giving away free audio and downloadable versions of any book someone buys in hardcover. They also need to bring back the inexpensive, mass market paperback.

Friday Night Frights

As you (and by "you" I mean "me"), I love "Friday Night Lights." The first season was terrific, filled with great acting by a great ensemble and enough tweaks to the expected plot twists to keep me off balance. It almost didn't come back for a second season, despite holding on to every single person that sampled the show -- despite being aired on five different nights (counting reruns on Saturdays and Sundays), the six million people that watched the second episode never wavered. That's a great sign of a devoted fan base.

But the only thing worse than having a favorite show cancelled when it still has so much to offer creatively is having a favorite show renewed but then ruined by a network that recognizes its critical acclaim but decides they have to juice it up or simplify the show in order to reach a new audience, thus ruining what made the show unique and special in the first place. Recent examples include "Boomtown,""American Dreams" (in that case they just ruined the last few episodes but rushing storylines as the cancellation clock ticked away) and "Veronica Mars."

Now all the early reviews of the first episode of the new seasin (airing Friday) make me fear NBC has done it with this one. First, the network insisted there would be less football. That makes sense -- take out the football, which is the only thing that matters to most of the students and stars of the show, the job of the lead character and the passion of the entire small town the show is set in. That's like cutting down the operating scenes in MASH or the newsroom scenes on "Mary Tyler Moore."

Worse, everyone hints at some absurd, melodramatic plot twist that dominates the first episode that strains credulity and threatens to throw the entire series out of whack. Since we've already had an attempted rape, I can only assume/fear it's some sort of murder/retribution or other ridiculous development. I've gone from eagerly awaiting Friday night to fearing it. Have they ruined my favorite current show?

DVD Hidden Treasures

Here's my latest Huffington Post on DVDs, this one focusing on the remarkable range of odds and ends that make it onto DVD. Comment away!

The Most Cliched Line In History

I just finished reading a new translation of Alexandre Dumas' The Three Musketeers. Richard Pevear did the honors (he and his wife(?) have done a number of Russian translations over the years) and it's tremendous fun. If I read the book as a kid (and I might have) it was long forgotten. This time I enjoyed it tremendously. The 70s film version is easily the most enjoyable spin on the tale but the novel shouldn't be missed. I only hope he takes the time to tackle the other Musketeer books, including 20 Years On and The Vicomte de Bragalonne (usually printed in three volumes with that title, Louise de la Valliere and The Man In The Iron Mask). Now I feel myself getting on a Dumas kick and I'm eager to tackle one of his serialized tales that was just published in English for the first time: The Last Cavalier.

And I say all of this just to applaud a cheeky moment by Pevear in his new translation. It's page 650 of the paperback edition, chapter 65: The Judgment. Pevear's translation begins: "It was a dark and stormy night." He must have giggled when including that. I wondered if that was the origin of the cliche and went to the bookstore to look up two other translations of the book. They used words like tempestuous, though only a French person could tell me if they were avoiding the cliched phrase or whether Pevear just decided it was an apt one to use. Did Dumas coin that deathless line? And did he get a writing credit for the movie "Throw Momma From The Train"? I wonder.

POSTSCRIPT: You gotta love the internet. I looked up Richard Pevear, who is teaching at a university in Paris and sent him an email:

Dear Mr. Pevear,

I just finished your delightful translation of "The Three Musketeers," which must have been an enjoyable diversion after the Russians. Is it too much to hope you will tackle the other Musketeer novels, ie. Twenty Years After (surely "Later" would be more felicitious), and the multi-volume Vicomte de Bragelonne?

But I especially wanted to share my amusement over your one decision: in the paperback American edition, page 650, the first line of Chapter 65 "The Judgment," you begin "It was a dark and stormy night." After I stopped laughing (and after I finished the book), I checked out two earlier translations -- they used words like "tempestuous." I wonder if they were trying to avoid the cliched phrase (is it possible Dumas used it first?) or whether you chose it because it was apt and direct and, let's face it, funny.

Looking forward to "War and Peace."

Sincerely,

Michael Giltz

He responded within hours:

Dear Mr Giltz,

Thanks very much for your note. At the moment I have no plans to translate the others. In some ways Twenty Years After (Après, not Plus Tard) is a better book than the Three Musketeers. But it's also much longer, and we have other commitments for the moment. Maybe some day. I'm glad you were amused by the opening line of Ch 65. Dumas actually has "C'était une nuit orageuse et sombre," literally "It was a stormy and dark night." But I decided that simply wouldn't do in English, and besides it amused me to pick up the old phrase. I'm glad it amused you, too. I think Dumas would be pleased.

Best,
Richard Pevear

I Ain't Gonna Play Abu Dhabi!

Okay, not as catchy as "I ain't gonna play Sun City." But here's my latest Huffington Post, this one on Abu Dhabi trying to shroud its cruel government with celebrities and movies and big corporate deals.