1999-12-29 :: 23:42:05

Tal Bachman, I'm a gentleman

Soundtrack: Afghan Whigs, "Gentlemen"

Saw The Talented Mr. Ripley, and I have to say I liked it a lot. Brings up a lot of interesting issues and Matt Damon did a really great job of making Ripley likable (in fact, probably the most likable of all the characters!) while being a total sociopath. Two great lines regarding schooling... "I can't write or spell... I'm the product of a first class education," and "Princeton has the cream of America -- rich and thick." That second one kicks ass. Fuck Princeton, yay! Jude Law (big in the UK) should definitely break out with this film.

It's absolutely gorgeous (spectacular postcard quality shots abound) and really captures the feel of the good life in the 50's. Made me think about the idle rich and the fact that they have the time to appreciate art (in this case, jazz, which musically underpins the movie -- improvisation is Ripley's "talent," along with uncanny impersonation tactics). At least, the rich probably have more time than the rest of us (Elizabeth disagreed, see below). On what levels can the rich appreciate art, though? How many artists did you ever hear of that were rich from the get-go? Perhaps this just means they can't really create art, but can still relate to it; you could also say that you can get rich from art, but you have to start unrich. She made a good point about them probably being able to pretend well when it comes to understanding a lot of art, but wondering how well they can conceive of the true underpinnings (here Bruce Springsteen was the example -- I guess he's the "people's rocker" or something). And people who aren't rich create opportunities to make and appreciate art as well too -- Elizabeth had an excellent example: graffiti. (You can tie the clich� about suffering for your art in right here -- but I think it's very, very true. People suffering for lack of money tend to create since it's an outlet.) So maybe it's all a question of how out of the way you are willing to go. Maybe if you are rich you want to be able to feel something besides money, therefore you seek art. Hm. If I get nice and loaded (that's the plan, man), and I reread this, I would like to tell myself the following: be grounded and don't spoil.

(Normally I'd tie that graffiti thing in to hip-hop, but I'll have to expound on music some other time. Just like sexuality. I haven't forgotten.)

There's a wonderful line that Cate Blanchett's character has in the movie about how she despises her money, and yet, she must socialize with other people who despise their money. No one can understand their lifestyles except the other rich people that live them, familiar norms and whatnot. I mean, if you say "Oh yes, I just went to Monaco last weekend," you don't want a person to respond "Are you for real? Monaco, eh? Wow." You want them to say "Oh yeah man, I'm going to Ibiza tomorrow. See you after that for martinis at the Blue Note. Bring your Vespa so we can ride. Or if you don't feel like it, we'll get one of my drivers." I brought up Michael Jackson as a person who can't really trust people in his life since he's got so much money he always has to wonder if someone loves his wallet or who he is (I realize this breaks down at the "questionable child-molester" part, but run with it).

But if you aren't rich, other things isolate you or label you (race, sex, etc.). So hooray, spin into depression. Or at least, since we all have our isolating qualities, perhaps we all can see our own meanings in art. We are, after all, so very good at focusing on whatever lacks in our lives (it's so very hard to hold onto the positive). The rich have just as much right to appreciate art as the rest of us, then. I just found it amusing that Jim Barksdale (Netscape and SGI kahuna) has a yacht with a $30 million art collection on board (saw this on the inside flap of The New New Thing). Craziness.

So the main theme is becoming someone else -- the big hype line is "I'd rather be a fake somebody than a real nobody." Tom (Damon) does try to be real [at first] with Dickie (the rich guy he befriends, Jude Law), only to be emotionally rejected -- then he becomes the biggest fake somebody ever, and is forced to maintain this phoniness to avoid going back to being the real nobody he was before. I keep wondering lately when you can really know someone, how you can really know someone -- if you can really know someone. That's a stupid and dramatic thing to tack on; I have some excellent friends that I believe I truly know. I suppose I mean that more in the angsty soulmate sense, the doubt that comes at this age regarding relationships. The heated exchange on the dingy between Tom and Dickie was excellent; you could feel Tom's rejection and sadness (and homoerotic overtones, reminiscent of Fight Club). Like I said, Damon did a spectacular job of forcing you to empathize with him, I give him a lot of credit for taking on this role and doing it justice. I hate when people/reviews ruin films, so I will just say this: the ending felt perfect to me, particularly how it was shot and the fact that you do not see the final acts that occur, but rather voiceovers and torment in Ripley's head. Beautiful. Slight minus: it was a bit too long. Arm over her seat with an hour left means the blood had drained out so much that it was ice cold when I got up. Oops.

Greg Dulli is one rolling stone man. I haven't seen Being John Malkovich (I must, I must, I must), but I bet there could be a Being Greg Dulli that would be worth seeing.

Oh. Good quote:

jordan (1:05:24 AM): i dont know if that looks bad
jordan (1:05:30 AM): but that's gamey

brent (1:05:43 AM): it is extremely gamey not to if you want to
brent (1:05:55 AM): games are when you do what you dont wish to in order to succeed

Cut back to Ripley. I have often wanted the ability to take pictures with my eyes (not entirely inconceivable if we could take output from the retina or off the optic nerve) or digitally record things I hear (similarly, digital cochlea decoding and storage of some sort). I'm obviously not quite that good since the brain forgets, but I try to retain what I can. Sarah's always talking about how I remember conversations from years ago, she doesn't get it or something. My attitude is, why would someone tell you something if they didn't want you to know it or recall it? Biology being as complicated as it is, we don't have that ability(s), though. But Ripley does -- he is like this human video and audio tape recorder, constantly cataloguing everything that his senses bring him, able to recall it at will. So what is his reality? I suppose you could argue he sees people for what they truly are, the ability to understand and record their smallest minutia would let you create the ultimate characterization of a person. But at the same time you see so many surface details, would it prevent you from reaching soul? Could you ever get past your incredible ability to see the exterior physicality to see interior truth? Then I wonder how that ties to "actions speaking louder than words." Does it mean you see the ultimate interior by seeing the complete exterior? I try to pay attention to details lately; I wonder if this is good or bad. I think it's good since I'm nowhere near Ripley-class at it, and being alert to the general gist of things tends to be helpful.

I think I heard "She's So High" at least 3 times (partially or completely) on the radio today. What kind of omen is that? I like my pop rock, but something about that song doesn't go down right with me. Get the fuck out of my head, Tal Bachman. And you too, Dorkus. My goodness, he stole my thoughts!

Writing these things down makes me realize the jigsaw puzzle nature of how my mind is working as of late (has it always?). This movie kick and relating everything to film is kinda funny.

Oh, Brent's reading Slashdot again.

brent (1:19:10 AM): "This is a basic network congestion issue that we see every Mother's Day. This is Mother's Day on Viagra," he said.
brent (1:19:22 AM): they're worried people will pick up their phones across the coast at midnight
brent (1:19:24 AM): to see if they work

Cool. Do your part to fuck shit up on Y2K (no, not really). Me? I want to drive to the mountains, get out of the car at midnight with my friends, toast, and keep on driving. But maybe we'll just go to the Harbor. Just so long as we're outta here.