Inside Inside Llewyn Davis
Went to see Inside Llewyn Davis a week or two ago. When a new Coen brothers movie comes out, you can always count me in. But having seen the film, all I can say with confidence is that I can't say much about it with confidence.
Honestly, I didn't like the movie that much when I was watching it. There's no one to root for. Llewyn's a prick, and the rest of the characters are hard boiled. Thus, you watch with a kind of detachment that feels, like, cold or something. Also, the trailer made the movie seem a lot funnier than it actually was. I don't mean not-funny trying to be funny. I just mean that it was very, very melancholy—a feeling that suffused everything like a vapor, so that the quips you laugh at in the trailer—you don't laugh at ’em in the movie. They're a lot darker against the larger blackess of the piece.
But! It really stuck with me—this film. I thought about it often after (still am). What really happened? What did it mean? What does what I think it means say about me? And so on. Also, the scenes and scenery are luminous—nice light, and so much attention to detail. And the dialogue—weird and whip smart. And the faces—sour, but exceptionally interesting.
In general, all Coen movies are a little like that—better after time and, maybe, multiple watchings. This one's a super slow burn, doesn't hit you all at once, stays smoldering long after the credits roll. You kinda just have to trust!
Anyway, see it for yourself. Simmer on it. And then find me and tell me what you think. There's def something there … but what?!
Favorites 2.13.14 (Snowpocalypse-Themed)
Walking in a blizzard. An aesthetic delight—not to mention a zen-like low-impact exercise in which you gain new perspective on the city and realize that your two feet really can take you anywhere.
A glass of tequila with a wedge of lime. Yes, yes, tequila is the warm-weather drink. But what if, on a blizzardy walk home, you duck into a taco joint and just order a glass of it along with your rice and beans? What if it warms you up, starting with your cheeks? What if when you leave, you no longer care about the storm spraying snow in your face—but instead just march bravely on ahead, feeling very much alive?
Dinner Party Download. It's a podcast. Sharp banter, food, music, jokes, and odd little history lessons. There's nothing about this situation that I do not like.
Dominoes. Simple—not all headachy like other games can get with their rules and whatnot. All it takes is a few friends, a flat surface, and the ability to add. I find that yellow cake and a cup of whiskey fit in nicely here, too.
Winter Voodoo
Phil, the groundhog, saw its shadow. Do you buy into Phil's voodoo? Because as predicted, snow dumped down onto Portland a few days later.
I like the way, when it snows in Portland, everyone is immediately wild with joy and never once doubts that it'll all be over in one to two days' time. It's brave, ya know? I like the way the house looks with said snow treatment—cute and old timey. And I like the way a snowy brightness streams in the windows all day, resulting in a light-splashed living room.
HOWEVER, was there ever anything uglier than a thaw? Wet brown snow banks, low-hanging gray skies, and rain on fields adorned with dog turds.
Everyone should know the happiness of dogs in the new snow. Life-affirming and shit.
Riding bikes in inappropriate conditions on streets not being used for anything else.
Still life with melted snowman and pee.
This One Time In Russia
All this talk of the Sochi Olympics has reminded me that, in fact, I have been to Russia. To Sochi! I used to travel tremendously for work. This was before I built/ran an indoor skatepark, when I owned one less house and supervised one less dog than I do today. I went there with a film crew making a movie about snowboarding. My job was to write about that.
The surprising thing was how non-cliche all the cliched parts were. People do shuffle about in large furry hats because it's deeply, authentically cold there. Vodka is preferred over beer, as it warms your throat and heart. The culture of bribery and corruption runs as deep as you can imagine—but also on the day-to-day surface. And it's all very, very Russian.
Now, this was way back in 2005, so I don't remember much. Just snippets really. How high the mountains were. How much we hiked, post-holing through the deepest snow. How hungry we got. How at dinnertime all we could ever smell anywhere was onions browning in pans. The bribes we paid. The cabbage-based food we ate. How obviously, tragically American we looked at all times, in all situations.
This was way before Russia was the 2014 Olympic venue—and before a lot of other stuff, too. You have to come to your own conclusions. But me? I don't think I'm gonna watch the Games—not beamed from a country who's leadership would deem my sister's family at best illegal and at worst "a very dangerous sign of the apocalypse."
