Have You Seen DUNKIRK? BTW, the Batman Movies Sucked

Dunkirk. a magnum opus, was an incredible use of Christopher Nolan’s bag of tricks. If you like those tricks, you’ll love Dunkirk. Fun with time relativity, action set pieces that pose as works of art, heavy themes that tug at the edges of the narrative, and a refusal to show a handsome man’s face. Dunkirk shines a light on something most Americans are woefully ignorant about, so it’ll probably be history teachers’ new lazy-day film pick. Verisimilitude in motion, it makes everything seem so real it reminds me of idiots telling me how realistic his Batman movies were.

It’s the director’s finest film with hardly any missteps. It reminds me how much I dislike his Batman movies.

His turn at Batman was obviously a genius held captive by a cadre of fools demanding he finish a trilogy for trilogy’s sake.

“Can I please shoot a film on 35mm about a space crew stuck in black hole time warps?”
“Not until you give us another Batman movie!”
“Can I please make sweeping epic about the evacuation of Dunkirk shot on 70mm?”
“We’re going to need another Batman movie!”
“Bloody hell!”

So what did we get? A military Batman who blows things up with military weaponry and unilaterally extradites foreign nationals. Anyone who says they’re set in a more realistic world is delusional. It’s a militaristic world, and after 2001, that’s what film execs thought we wanted and would accept as “real.” One can see his obvious talent, but we already knew he was special with his previous films.

To me, Batman is either the smartest man alive and the world’s greatest detective, or campy and cool. Campy and cool is hard to pull off, but it’s worked before. The greatest detective, smart-guy stuff is harder, but there're tons of comic material ripe for adaptation. Anyway, he was never a super soldier, and only a shitty studio exec would ask him to be.

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Anyway, fuck those Batman movies despite their fleeting moments of brilliance. Yes, there are plenty of moments evidencing Nolan's genius; that doesn't make the movies great. Even an iconoclastic, career-defining performance by Heath Ledger does not a great film make.

I love Dunkirk, by the way. I think it's one of the best things I've seen in a theme I'm actually so bored with I almost didn't go. Do we need another movie about the second world war? Maybe not. But Christopher Nolan's voice is certainly worth listening to, and I think it'll go down as one of the better examples of the genre. 

National Poetry Month and How I Quit Writing Poetry and Killed Osama Bin Laden

I always write something in April about National Poetry Month. I feel very conflicted about NPH, but this month has been a sort of return to poetry for me.

Sure, I still read and write poetry. I even publish from time to time. But since I've been in a band, writing songs and playing music and doing all the things you have to do to keep a band going has been taking precedence over all other modes of artistic expression and ambition.

This April, we had two poetry readings at the Darjeeling Cafe. I read at one of them. I read a short cycle that has been accepted for publication, and I read another short portion of a poetry book I've been working on. I'm pleased to report that poetry readings, no matter where you go, are the same as they ever were.

People still clap when they're not supposed to. There are still members of the audience that will say "hmm" rather loudly in order to tell others audience members that, yes, they are listening to poems that are affecting them on a level that pushes them to audible response. There are still those well-meaning poetry reading goers who will laugh mercifully at little jokes in poems. Kids still make noises and distract everyone in a charming way that only kids can. I've always loved it when people make noise at poetry readings (except for the hmm's), but there is still the one lady who will "shh" her fellow inhabitants of the temporary holy ground of poetry. There's still the poet who demands people participate by raising their hands or saying something when prompted. There's still wine and wine and wine and wine and purple tongues to prove it. There are poets who read too long and ones who are too nervous. There are poets who don't know what a poem is but have enough money to publish through vanity presses. There are still stacks of books that go unread attractively arranged on a table near the bar where you can buy them for a handsome fee, knowing you'll never read them because there are just too many poems in them, and they aren't organized in a way that makes you want to finish. The pretty people and the ugly people and the over-educated and the wannabes are all still there and make a hodgepodge of who's who that makes you realize everybody's a nobody in the end because the art you're performing fell out of favor long ago and doesn't matter to anyone outside of that room, so you love them all anyway.

Poetry is still dead except during National Poetry Month for most people who have ever read a poem or pretend to care about things like that.
Poetry is still the greatest form of artwork the human race has ever known, forcing it to the privileged few and fringes.

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Someone put together a poetry strike online. I thought it was funny, so I observed it. It happened on May 1. Poets were supposed to not do anything poetic except maybe look at flowers and faint. For the poet, this is very difficult.

One day of not writing poetry, and Osama Bin Laden dies. Coincidence?
Maybe poets should abstain from writing poetry more often.

Osama's death is a very strange thing. It caused many people to cry out in jubilation. I don't feel the way I am supposed to feel about it. I'm supposed to be happy, I guess. I'm supposed to be relieved. But I wonder how much information died with him, and I wonder if knowing more about him and how he became the way he was would be more valuable than his corpse. I've heard why he hates Americans, but I would like to know what made him hate Americans. I wish that that information were more public, and I wish more people would think about what makes a mass murderer. I learned almost nothing from his death, and that's why victory is often empty, and this one seems Pyrrhic if it is a victory at all.

Welcome to the FUTURE!

I'm crazy about QR's at the moment and can't wait to do more with them. My head is exploding with ideas.

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My asthma seems under control. I have been gluten-free for almost 30 days, and I have not taken any medication for about that long, too. It's been great. My skin feels tighter and healthier, and I just feel more alert and happier. But the asthma thing is the biggest deal, and I've been working on a miracle.

I have been fighting asthma for 30 years. I've tried everything. And now I think that I'm almost finished with it. One... more... step.

Here it is (it's a two-parter):

1. I'm going to quit alcohol completely.
2. I'm going to work on building upper body strength.

For the first one, it seems crazy. I don't know how I'm supposed to give up cider and white wine and gin. I love those things very much. After 30 days, perhaps I'll try to drink them once a month or something. This will be a major test of will power. Alcohol has been linked to asthma. It must be addressed before I can say that I've conquered my dark companion.

For the second item, I'm working on getting up to a hundred push-ups in one go. I'm going to try to get to 100 by June 1. I think I'll also get a membership to the Y and start swimming and bench-pressing. Upper body strength has been said to take the stress off much of your respiratory system. It must be developed to muscle out my dark companion.

When I've slayed the dragon, I will write a book to help other people rid themselves of asthma.

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Today I found out MBH and I would not buy the house we wanted. But we are moving the cafe and have signed on it and are renovating the space, and one big real estate deal a year might be enough for me. Yes, it sucks that I will not be getting the big tax credit. But that's all right. People have been buying houses without tax credits for a long time.

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The Virginia Adventure Begins

Whew!
As election night rounded 8PM PST, I cheered because Virginia went Blue. The race was called shortly thereafter.
McCain supporters booed and shouted things that were probably offensive, but I couldn't understand them. Palin looked teary-eyed, but still soulless.

Then Barack Obama accepted. Goosebumps raised on my skin. I don't always realize when I am witnessing something that history will remember. It's hard to tell right away when the world changes. This time I saw it fairly quickly, and that's a great feeling.

I took a picture of myself the next day. I had a stye in my eye, and I thought it looked gross.

Two days later, I got on a plane and moved to Virginia.
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I've only been here one full day. So far everyone's really nice to me.
My girlfriend owns a teashop called Darjeeling Cafe, and I can sit here and work and look at the ancient cemetery across the street and listen to the occasional bells from the churches. The Darjeeling Cafe is on West Beverly St., which is the main thoroughfare in Staunton.
Today there was a veterans' parade on West Beverly. Vehicles and people dressed in all sorts of military gear from different eras. Boyscouts and Girlscouts and Cubscouts and Brownies all marched in the parade, too.

There were bands and things like that. Patriotic songs.

There was also a veterans' MC.
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This new adventure. It's bound to be interesting. I am looking forward to seeing what this blog will turn into.

The Scourge of Poetry.

Lately, I have had the feeling that the poetry world is currently at the lip of a wave. To be on the lip of a wave, to see the speed with which we are moving, fills me with elation. So much dynamic and interesting shit is going on. Poets all over are conversing and collaborating in a way that has not yet been fully explored. It seems like the community is finally getting used to the interweb and beginning to embrace it. Journals are everywhere at the moment. Who can keep up with all of the readings? Don't you want to go to all of them? It seems like there is so much going on that I am hustling just stay abreast of it all. It's exhilarating, really.

But where there's a game and players, there will be haters. The funny thing is, though, the Trainwreck Union is actually getting things done while they have to beg poets to submit.