Hurry on Home...

A little Warren for a Monday.

Before There Was Top Chef...

...there was Julia Child. And Julie Powell.

By now, the story of Julie & Julia is well known - a few years ago, Julie Powell decided to cook her way through "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," the cookbook that put Julia Child on the map and started her down the road to international stardom. Self described as "too old for theatre, too young for children, and too bitter for anything else," Powell set for herself the goal of tackling all of the book's 536 recipes in one year, while blogging about it along the way. And along the way, there were successes and there were failures - but ultimately she finished the project, secured a book deal, became pretty darn famous for a blogger, and is now the subject of the movie which bears her name, along with that of her hero and idol.

From what I've read, there is now a backlash in the blogosphere against Julie Powell, and many of the reviews of the film have criticized the portion of the film that tells her story, while heaping lavish praise on the "Julia Child" portion. For what it's worth, I agree with those who have argued that Julie Powell deserves all the credit in the world, because without her Julie & Julia would never have existed.

Having said that, I don't think there's any question that the Julia Child portions of the film are superior to the Julie Powell sections. That doesn't mean the Julie Powell sections are awful - they're not. They're entertaining, and they do a good job realistically depicting a marriage where both partners are determined to make it work, while having limits on how much leeway they're able (or willing) to afford each other.

What it all boils down to is that Amy Adams and Chris Messina are not Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci. Which is not their fault; they're not bad in their roles. But Streep and Tucci are great in theirs, and Streep is a good deal more than that - she's amazing. I don't know enough about the art of acting to be able to describe what she does on screen, but suffice to say that she becomes Julia Child - voice, mannerisms, in the way she carries herself, and in her always obvious zest for life.

As I watched it, each time the Julie sections were underway, I found myself wanting to go back to Julia. But overall, it's a fun movie, especially for anyone interested in cooking - or blogging.

A Great Conversation about Basterds

Before heading out for a few days, I want to point everyone to a great conversation that is taking place on a great blog - Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule - about "Inglourious Basterds."

Enjoy. And take note - the link is to just the first part of the conversation...for more, you'll have to head to the main page.

College

We'll be driving son #1 to college tomorrow. Given that I can remember just about every detail of the day that my parents drove me to college (September 1980, in case anyone was wondering), it hardly seems possible. It's a very strange feeling - one that I hardly know how to describe.

And if that wasn't enough, tomorrow is also son #2's 15th birthday. You can read the story of the day he was born here.

All of which has me feeling just a little old. But in a good way.

I May Be The Only One, But I'm Looking Forward To It

Summer Reading Roundup

Capsule reviews of my most recent reads:

True Detectives, by Jonathan Kellerman. It's been a while since I've read a Kellerman book - I've enjoyed Kellerman's Alex Delaware books that I've read, but neither did I feel compelled to read every one of them - like I do with Coben, Connelly and Crais. This one features two new characters (though apparently they made a cameo appearance in the last Delaware novel), Private Detective Aaron Fox and Detective Moses Reed. The two are brothers, but couldn't be less alike - the only thing they have in common is their mother; their deceased fathers (one white, one black) had been LAPD partners, until the night that one of them was killed in the line of duty. Fox is flashy, Reed is dull. Fox bends the rules every chance he gets, Reed follows them to the letter of the law. The two come together, more or less against their will, when they find themselves working the same case - a young woman disappeared and presumed dead, months ago. They approach the case from different angles and with different styles, and eventually uncover a lot more than they had bargained for.

It's not a great book, but it's a good one, and well worth a summer read. Alex Delaware makes a cameo, as does Petra Connor, the protagonist of Kellerman's "Billy Straight."

The Brass Verdict, by Michael Connelly. This one brings back Mickey Haller, last seen in "The Lincoln Lawyer. " On Connelly's Web site, the book is billed as a "Mickey Haller and Harry Bosch book," but that's misleading. The entire book is told from Haller's point of view, and Bosch - though his role is important, if not critical - is simply part of the supporting cast.

The story picks up with Haller just beginning to get back into the legal game after taking a year off to battle a number of personal demons. An entire caseload literally falls into his lap when a fellow attorney is murdered, and Haller is named in the will as the designated pinch-hitter. Among the clients is a superstar film producer, accused of murdering his wife and her lover in a fit of rage after she demanded a divorce the day after the couple's pre-nuptial agreement had vested. As Haller gets deeper into the case, he begins to realize that little is as it seems. And while he's trying to focus on getting his client off, there's the little matter of the killer still being on the loose, and perhaps looking closely at him.

Overall, it's a fine return to form for Connelly after "The Overlook," the Bosch book which felt a bit rushed (not to mention short). Apparently, Connelly needed a little break from Bosch to recharge his batteries, and he succeeded with "The Brass Verdict." I'm now looking forward to "The Scarecrow," another non-Bosch book released last spring (and featuring Jack McEvoy, who last starred in "The Poet" and has made several cameo appearances since, including one in "Brass Verdict").

Our Gallery at the 2nd Tee

I Want My Scalps!

(Spoilers ahead, although nothing you couldn’t have read in any review)

There’s little doubt that Quentin Tarantino is the most polarizing director working today. If you don’t believe me, just head on over to the Inglourious Basterds page on the Internet Movie Database, click on “external reviews,” and pick 5 or 6 of them at random. If you don’t find at least one reviewer who thought the movie was a masterpiece and one who thought it was an abomination, I’ll be surprised (hint: if you want to save time, just read Roger Ebert and Kenneth Turan). And then there’s Slate, which decided to have its cake and eat it too, calling the movie “brilliant and reprehensible.”

Anyone who’s seen the trailer for Inglourious Basterds knows the general outline of the story – Brad Pitt, as Lt. Aldo Raine, leads “the Basterds,” 8 Jewish American soldiers dropped behind enemy lines in France to wreak havoc, spread fear, and “kill Nazis:”

My name is Lt. Aldo Raine and I need me eight soldiers. We're gonna be dropped into France, dressed as civilians. We're gonna be doing one thing and one thing only... killing Nazis. Members of the nationalist socialist party conquered Europe through murder, torture, intimidation, and terror. And that's exactly what we're gonna do to them. We will be cruel to the German and through our cruelty they will know who we are. They will find the evidence of our cruelty in the disemboweled, dismembered, disfigured bodies of their brothers we leave behind us and the German will not be able to help themselves from imagining the cruelty their brothers endured at our hands, at our boot heels, and the edge of our knives. And the German will be sickened by us, the German will talk about us and the German will fear us. Nazis ain't got no humanity! They need to be destroyed. Each and every man under my command owes me one hundred Nazi scalps... and I want my scalps!

Suffice to say that the Basterds pursue their goal with gusto, by means conventional (machine gun ambushes) and not (baseball bats). As Aldo Raine, Pitt proves again that he is at his best when he gets to set aside his good looks and have fun with a role. His Tennessee-born, part-Apache Raine is well over the top, but in a good way. In terms of the acting, the rest of the Basterds do their part, but none really stands out one way or another.

But Inglourious Basterds wouldn’t be a Tarantino movie if it didn’t have multiple plots at work. And as with several of his past films, Basterds is told in chapter format, developing several threads of a story that intersect only in the last act. Of the chapters, two represent film-making at its best. The first, titled “Once Upon A Time in Nazi-Occupied France,” begins with an idyllic setting, a farm on the French countryside. A rugged farmer works outside, with his beautiful daughters lending a hand. For a minute, you think you’ve stumbled onto the set of Jean de Florette. But then, the sound of a motorcar is heard, and it carries the Nazi known as “the Jew hunter,” Lt. Hans Landa. Landa is not your stereotypical Nazi goon – he’s polite, he’s charming, and he’s absolutely brilliant. In a seemingly innocent conversation with the farmer in his small home, during which the tension increases until it is almost unbearable, Landa deduces that the farmer is indeed hiding a Jewish family. The result of his discovery is unsurprising.

The portrayal of Landa by Christoph Waltz, an Austrian actor, is magnificent. Waltz captured an acting prize at the Cannes Film Festival for the role, and he should be a lock for an Academy Award nomination. By imbuing the character with charm, wit and intelligence, he creates a Nazi that in the end is more sinister, and more evil, than any I can recall seeing in any movie.

The second brilliant scene occurs when a suave British officer joins the Basterds in a plot which everyone hopes will result in the death of the upper Nazi echelon (including Hitler himself) as they’re viewing the latest cinematic “masterpiece” produced by Propaganda Minister Goebbels. The officer and two of the Basterds are meeting their contact, a German actress turned double-agent, in a small basement tavern. Alas, a group of Nazi soldiers (and one officer) is at the tavern celebrating one of them becoming a father for the first time. And, similar to the first scene, the tension slowly builds until it reaches a climax of sudden and brutal violence.

The other main story thread involves the lone Jewish survivor of the first chapter, who now owns the small cinema where the plot is intended to become explosive. She meets a young Nazi soldier who is a hero for his exploits but also a film buff; he becomes smitten with her and talks Goebbels, his mentor, into moving the premiere of the film (in which he stars as himself) from its original site to her small cinema. And it is in that small cinema where Tarantino pulls off his most audacious move. Unlike some reviews I’ve read, I’m not going to give it away. Go see the movie, and find out for yourself!

Like all Tarantino films, Inglourious Basterds is an exhilarating roller coaster ride. And once again, Tarantino proves that he is a master of dialogue as much as a master of violence. But like an album with one great side, it’s difficult to figure out exactly where in the pantheon it should fall.

Why Don't We Add Old Harvey To that List?

Happy Birthday, Blog!

Well, leave it to me to forget the third anniversary of this here blog, which began on August 14, 2006. At the time it was known as "Apropos of Nothing," which helps explain to anyone who might have wondered about the strange URL.

1,400 posts later, I like to think that "Stuff Running 'Round My Head" is still going strong, and hopefully will continue to do so for a long time.

Thank you, regular readers!

Top 25 of the 2000s - Honorable Mention

Honorable Mention - A Bigger Bang, Rolling Stones

When considering The Rolling Stones in this day and age, one has to adopt an appropriate set of expectations. You just have to know that when you buy the new album, you're not gonna get Beggars Banquet. You're not gonna get Let It Bleed. You're not gonna get Exile on Main Street, or Some Girls, or even Tattoo You. Sure, there was a time when the Stones really were the greatest rock and roll band on the planet, and each of their albums held the promise of becoming a landmark in rock history - or at least within shouting distance of that standard. By my reckoning, that time ended around 1973, with the release of Goat's Head Soup.

So we've established that the standards need to be lowered. Having said that, I think it's fair for the consumer to expect that they're getting some value for the $13.95 or so that they're shelling out for a CD. And for quite some time, the Stones couldn't even meet that expectation. Sure, they released a pretty cool live (almost unplugged!) album in the 1990s, but their recorded product, Bridges to Babylon and Voodoo Lounge, was wholly unmemorable. Sitting here writing this, I literally cannot think of a single song on either album. Sure, if I ran over to the CD player and threw one of them on, I'm sure that something would catch my ear. But why bother?

But I'm nothing if not loyal, and when A Bigger Bang came out in 2005, I bought it. And I'm happy to say that, for what it's worth, it was the best album the Stones had released in over 20 years - probably all the way back to Tattoo You, from my college days. It's a very good, even excellent, album - the production by Don Was is crisp, Charlie Watts sounds great as always, Keith and Ronnie produce a dual guitar attack that hasn't sounded this good in decades, and even Mick sounds like he is trying. It's not in the same league (hell, it's probably not even on the same planet) as some of the legendary discs mentioned earlier, but it sounds really good, and it's the Stones.

Sometimes, that's all you need. It doesn't quite break the Top 25, but A Bigger Bang is definitely worth an honorable mention.

District 9 Provokes Horror, Thought

The first half of District 9 may be the best, most thought-provoking piece of film-making released this year. The second half is more conventional, but still light-years beyond much of what passes for summer fare in this day and age (although I have to say that I’ve really enjoyed the movies that I’ve seen this summer).

The basic premise is simple enough – twenty years ago, a gigantic spaceship “ran out of gas” above Johannesburg, and eventually the survivors were transported down to the surface, in what at the time seemed like (and probably was) a humanitarian gesture. The aliens look a little bit like an upright lobster, and they communicate with an odd-sounding clicking language. Their human hosts quickly tired of their presence, invented a derogatory term for them (“prawns”), made fun of their dietary habits (for some reason, they absolutely adore cat food) and generally did everything they could to ensure that the aliens were confined to District 9, just outside of the city.

Fast forward to the present day, when the distaste for the aliens has reached the point that a plan has been developed to transfer them to District 10, even further away from the city, to put some additional space between them and the human residents of Johannesburg. The move, which is “voluntary” in name but in fact nothing of the sort, is akin to moving the residents of the Warsaw Ghetto to a concentration camp. There is a reason that the movie is set in Johannesburg (other than the simplest one, the fact that the film-makers are South African) – the parallels to apartheid are obvious, and make even more affecting the easy cruelty with which all of the residents of the city treat the aliens.

In charge of this horrifying enterprise is one Wikus Van De Merwe, a bureaucrat will little sense and even less sensitivity for the job he has just been handed. It quickly becomes apparent that Wikus has no empathy for the aliens and the squalor in which they live (where their few neighbors include dangerous and ruthless Nigerian gangs), and the film’s most horrifying moment comes when Wikus stumbles across a “house” where alien eggs are being cultivated, and with glee on his face and in his voice, sets the house on fire while comparing the sound the eggs make to that of popcorn popping.

Up to this point, the story has been told in part-documentary fashion, with key figures from Wikus’ life (wife, parents, father-in-law, co-workers) telling his story. All along you know that something is going to happen to him, and eventually it does, when he accidentally sprays himself in the face with an alien liquid and begins a slow, painful transition to becoming a “prawn” himself. It is at that point that the movie becomes more of a standard action picture, as Wikus slowly comes to grips with his fate and eventually teams with one of the aliens and his son to retrieve the liquid, which as it turns out is fuel to allow this particular alien (“Christopher Johnson”) to return to the mother ship and get it running again. Shoot-outs and action scenes commence, all of which are well done (the baddest of the bad guys all get what’s coming to them), but none of which quite approaches the brilliance (or the bleakness) of the beginning.

But taken as a whole, the movie is a terrific debut effort for director Neill Blomkamp, and a triumph for Sharlto Copley, the actor who portrays Wikus. A science-fiction action picture that gets you thinking – can one really ask for more than that?

Unbelievable

I suppose we should all just enjoy this for the entertainment value that it's sure to add to this NFL season. What comes to mind is how Bill James always reacts when someone asks him whether it's crazy for _________ (fill in the blank) to come back for one more season when it's painfully clear that the guy's best years are long past. His reply has always been along the lines of, "Why the hell is that any of my business? If the guy wants to keep playing and some team is willing to pay him, more power to him."

So I'm going to make a pledge here (one that I may not be able to keep) that this will be the last Brett Favre post for the entire football season.

And since that's the case, I just want to go on the record and say that in my opinion, Favre is an idiot for what he's doing, and has done more damage to his reputation in the last 18 months than an athlete can do without breaking the law and/or using performance-enhancing substances.

Showing Off Its Best Side

What happens inside may be horrifying, but nothing changes the fact that it is an impressive looking building from the outside.

Taken from the 5th story of the parking garage at 10th and L Streets, downtown Sacramento.

The Morning Life of Cats

Gimme some sun, baby.

Live Saves the Day

Today was the first day of high school, meaning that son #2 and I got to resume our "what's the first song on the radio?" game. The first song of the day can ruin the entire day, you know, and when today's first song was something by Rush - a band I hate more than any other - I was really concerned.

But then this song came on, and things immediately got better. I've never bought anything by this band, so I've never heard the song anywhere but the radio. But I always thought it was a great song.

Thank you Live, for saving me from a Rush day.