This Just In: Ben Affleck Is Not A Hack

If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I never love anything right out of the gate. I’m very reticent to change, and I often have lukewarm feelings towards anything new or different. Anyone who knows me will tell you that it takes me a while to warm up to things, even things I’m excited about or looking forward to. For example, last August, Pete Yorn came out with a new album. Now, I love me some Pete Yorn. When Heather over at I Am Fuel, You Are Friends (a fantastic music blog that you absolutely must check out) blogged about Pete and offered up about 20 or so previously unreleased tracks, well, that was one of the happiest days of my life (seriously). I’ve been to at least seven of his concerts and had been zealously awaiting his third major release, so much so that on the day it came out I high-tailed it to Best Buy to pick up a copy because I literally could not wait to pop it in my CD player and get a load of what Pete had been working on for something like three years. I remember getting there right as the store was opening, making a beeline to the new release section, paying with exact change at checkout and run-walking to my car with the goofiest smile on my face. I was so jazzed that I could finally listen to what I had been dreaming about hearing for months and months. I was so excited and then…eh. It’s not to say that “Nightcrawler” is not an excellent album, because it is, it really, really is, definitely one of my favorites from 2006. It’s just that even if it had been the aural equivalent of absolute perfection, I still would have been indifferent to it upon first listen, because that’s just how I roll. I remember texting Andrea to tell her I got it. Here’s how that little convo went down:

Me: “So, I just got the new Pete.”
Andrea: “And?”
Me: “I don’t know. I’m not sure I like it.”
Andrea: “Yeah, that’s not so surprising.”

So there you go.

I guess it’s somewhat of a personality flaw (or “personality quirk” as I like to call it), but I figured out a long time ago that there’s really no changing who you are, at least not when it comes to things like this. That’s why it was shocking to me that I really liked - nay, LOVED – the film “Hollywoodland” when I saw it the other day. I had put it in my Netflix queue weeks ago and didn’t expect it come for a while since it wasn’t even released yet, and I was sort of nonplussed when I ripped open the envelope and found it inside. It just seemed like another one of those goofy, self-serving biopics that Hollywood is so fond of; the only reason I put it in the queue in the first place was because of the glowing reviews Ben Affleck received for his performance in the film at Cannes (wow, that just sounded so insider-y and film savvy, didn’t it? Truthfully, I read about it in People magazine – that’s how everyone gets their news, isn’t it?). I wouldn’t have watched it at all had something even slightly interesting been on TV that night. But nothing was, so I figured, “It’s just going to sit on my nightstand for weeks if I don’t watch it, so why not watch it now?” And, holy crap, am I glad I did.

To summarize, “Hollywoodland” is sort of a dual-story piece about the life of The Adventures of Superman’s George Reeves (Affleck), and his mysterious death, first ruled a suicide but, upon further investigation by the slimy yet ultimately good-hearted private detective, Louis Simo (Adrien Brody), is perhaps not quite what it seems. As Simo takes a deeper look into the life of Reeves, he reveals not a superhero but a man whose life never panned out like he thought it would. Groomed for stardom, with undeniable talent and devastating good looks, Reeves came onto the scene at an interesting time for Hollywood and never seemed to find his niche until he was offered the role of Superman, a part that he was at best reluctant to accept. As he gained more notoriety from the series, he became pigeonholed, with viewers refusing to accept him as anything other than the Man of Steel. After the series ended, he struggled to find work and suffered several failed developmental deals, all which could easily be pointed to as events leading up to a suicide, especially if alcohol or other substances were involved. But what the movie presupposes is: Maybe he didn’t kill himself?

There were certainly others who would have had a motive to end his life. His mistress, MGM head Eddie Mannix’s wife, Toni (Diane Lane), would have been an excellent suspect. After all, he had broken up with her after an affair that lasted for the better part of a decade (during which time she supported him financially) to marry little-known actress Leonore Lemmon. And what about Leonore Lemmon herself? Perceived by many, including Reeves’ mother, to be a gold-digger, perhaps she shot Reeves after becoming frustrated by his lack of career, reputable position in the community, and fortune (He wouldn’t have any of his own money, would he? He was, after all, Toni Mannix’s kept man – he died in the house she bought for him with a bullet delivered from a gun she gave him). And what of Eddie Mannix? He not only knew of his wife’s affair with Reeves, but approved of it; in fact, the two often dined out together with their respective significant others. Could he have killed Reeves for breaking his wife’s heart? All of those situations are examined through the eyes of Simo, who in the course of his investigation begins to see striking similarities between Reeves’ life and his own.

I can’t stress enough how much I loved this film. I mean, I just can’t get over it. Ben Affleck? The horrendous star of crappy fare like “Surviving Christmas” and “Jersey Girl”? The “Gigli” guy? In a good movie? Really? Ben Affleck good in a good movie? Bizarre, right? Bizarre but true. He was fantastic as Reeves, portraying him as a gifted but ultimately disillusioned man who was never enough for himself. While his physical resemblance to the actual Reeves is minimal, he captures the essence of a broken and embattled man perfectly. How he’s not nominated for an Oscar is totally beyond my comprehension. Adrien Brody, as the fictional Louis Simo, was first-rate as well. What I really love about the film is how the stories of Reeves and Simo play off each other; the more Simo understands about Reeves, the more his eyes are opened to the realities of his own life, the mistakes he’s made and the consequences of not at least attempting to fix them. The great thing is, that realization is accomplished without becoming preachy or moralistic. I don’t know much about moviemaking (unless you count watching all three seasons of “Project Greenlight,” though the main lesson I learned from that is that you should never hire Kevin Pollak because he’s a straight up a-hole, and also that if you only release a movie on six screens across the United States, you’re probably not going to make any money), but I would guess that we can thank Allen Coulter, the director, for stopping it from going in that direction (and it was his feature film directorial debut! I couldn’t believe it when I read that). If you haven’t already seen this movie, please, please do. Do yourself a favor (and save some money) by forgoing the renting and buying it straight out – after you see it, I promise you’ll want it in your collection. And coming from me, the girl who is apathetic towards everything the first time she experiences it, that means a lot.

Now go. Your local Best Buy (or other DVD-selling retailer) is waiting.

Cupid Is Not My Homeboy

Confession: I have never been in love. I mean, yes, I do love things (things like portobello mushrooms, “Drumline,” the Dodgers, yousendit.com, and plasma televisions), but I’ve never actually been in love with another person. I thought I was once, but I was young – too young to know any better – and, well, the feeling passed. Anyway, I’m single now, and that’s fine with me; I’m happy being on my own. I know people say that all the time to downplay their true feelings of unhappiness while inside they’re like that board game, Operation, but instead of the funny bone or the bread basket they’re full of loneliness and despair (though similarly, both versions have a broken heart – do what you will with that). But that’s not me. I really mean it. I’m sort of a solitary person in general anyhow. Most of the time I’m either reading or listening to music or cooking, and those are pretty hermitic activities. I’m not averse to eating out alone or seeing a movie solo, and, for the most part, I can take care of myself. I’m good at being alone and I like being alone.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way. I’m probably part of a huge contingency of people who actually prefer being single. I imagine that we’re a pretty solid group – focusing on our futures, enjoying our families and friends, and getting to know ourselves well enough so that one day, when love finally greets us, we can embrace it without reservation. At least that’s what we tell ourselves to keep from completely falling apart when the world delivers its biggest slap in the face to singletons everywhere: Valentine’s Day.

I ask you now: What moron created Valentine’s Day? I don’t think I’m a violent person, but if I ever met this idiot, I think it would get very, very ugly. Like mafia ugly, but without the hoagies afterwards. Or like Tarantino movie ugly, minus the swords (I’m just guessing that I would prefer hand-to-hand combat; swords are heavy and, coupled with my tremendous rage, I’m pretty sure my fists of fury would be both more accurate and more powerful). It would be brutal because…because it would have to be, wouldn’t it? Because really, is there an actual need for Valentine’s Day? No. All it does is remind single people that they’re not in a relationship. It might as well be called “No One Loves You, Loser” day (or in my case, “No One Loves You, Loser, But Here’s A Box Of Chocolates From Your Dad Because He’s The Only Man In Your Life But Even That’s A Sham Because Your Mom Probably Told Him to Get Them for You Because She Feels Bad for You; Could You Be Anymore Pathetic?” day). It’s like suddenly, all that carefully crafted acceptance of the single life is shattered to pieces that, just to get a good kick in there when you’re down, land on the floor and spell out “LAME-O.” It’s enough to send even the most stable (but partnerless) person into a tailspin of shame, hopelessness and desperation. Bottom line: It’s horrible, and every year I black it out on my calendar and wait for the oxygen to stop feeling like it’s being sucked out of every lovey-dovey room that I enter.

(And as a side note, where is the day that honors being single? Why don’t we celebrate people who refuse to waste their time in relationships that go nowhere? Where are the cards that praise us for waiting to get married until we find the perfect person instead of settling for any old doofus? Any fool can be in a relationship. Most fools are in relationships. It takes a special person to be all right with being single. And you can put that on a card, Hallmark.)

Still, as much as I rail against it, fume about it, and protest it loudly in the streets, I don’t really see Valentine’s Day going away any time soon. There are too many couples, smug twosomes who look down on us parties of one with pitying disgust, to eradicate this disease of a day permanently, which is why I’m posting this today. Tomorrow, as they say on “24,” I’m “going dark.” I plan on coming home, shutting all the blinds, bypassing the lounge clothes and going straight to pajamas, then eating, oh, I don’t know, an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie Chunk while watching “Lost” and hoping that perhaps the dog will be in a snuggly mood and curl up next to me until the day is finally over and I can breathe again.


…


I realize that whole post reeks of bitterness, but I think that even if I were in a relationship, I’d still be turned off by Valentine’s Day. Probably not so vehemently, but turned off nonetheless. I mean, come on – if you need a special, nationally recognized day to remind you to be crazy in love with your partner, then you’re probably not in such a great relationship anyway. If you really love someone, you should tell them, and tell them often. I would think that that would be better than a gorgeous box of roses, a fancy dinner and expensive diamond earrings combined. But that’s just me.

I Always Say Yes To Quality Programming

Well, the folks at MTV have done it again! They’ve just recently added a new show to their seminal catalogue of quality programming. No, it’s not “Bam’s Unholy Union.” I’m referring to “Engaged and Underage,” a reality show that follows young couples as they stumble their way up the altar of marriage (I know, the title is so ambiguous in meaning you couldn’t decipher what the show was about without my help). I think from just the 4 episodes aired so far, I’ve already gleaned off some important life lessons that I can take into my own potential child-bride future…

• Pubic waxing is really the best way to bond with your future in-laws. Two birds with one wax strip.

• Avoid meeting with monsignors at all costs because they’re apparently wicked scary.

• Why wait until you’re 26 to get that $20,000 trust fund that will help you set the foundation for supporting your future spouse when instead you can get married now with no money and no career to speak of because you can’t wait to have sex? Give me my sex, damn it!

• If you end up living in a shack 30 feet behind the in-laws’ house and his mother can see into your bedroom from her kitchen window, just close the blinds. No biggie.

• It’s totally possible to live on turkey sandwiches for weeks. Food budget, schmood budget.

• Marriage licenses might actually cost more than the spare change, lint, and old jolly rancher in your pocket.

• It’s perfectly normal and healthy for your future mother-in-law to want to see detailed pictures of where your wedding night will take place.

• You might not be able to be independent of your parents’ money, but there’s always enough money for a Netflix subscription.

• It’s pronounced “ko-see-doh.”

• Receiving an Ultimate Cookie Cookbook is always preferable and much more useful to your marriage’s success and happiness than some old tired gift of lingerie.

• Punching a fence so hard your knuckles bleed always equals “I Love You.”


I really pull for these fools (in love) to do well in their marriages. I mean, when that 20 year old girl said “finances aren’t really his thing” about her fiancé while he stupidly grinned into the distance, I asked myself, how could that possibly fail?

The theme song:
Hellogoodbye - Oh, It Is Love