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2005: Hooray For Chaos
"Here's what we know about 2005: The movies are not as good."
-John Fithian, president of the National Association of Theater Owners
Last year's "Wrap Up" was called "We're Doomed," based almost entirely on my depression over the re-election of G. W., but it was somewhat prescient since this really was a year for disasters, mostly in the form of: the Hurricanes that obliterated the Gulf Coast, the bombings in London (Ellie!), the rising casualty count in Iraq, the riots in France, the riots in Belfast, the terrorist bombing in Bali, Nick McDonell publishing another novel, Jonathan Safran Foer publishing another novel, the Asian earthquake, those summertime gas prices, the sadly endless debate over God's placing us on earth like chess pieces and making men out of mud and women out of men, the transit strike in NYC, my forgetting to tape Narrow Margin off TCM, the avian flu, the continued lack of a reasonable health care system in the United States, and other things I'm trying to forget about.
Considering these ... problems, I'm not sure asking everyone if they feel fine is the best question (we're here, and that's a good thing). Maybe I should talk about movies instead. I know I felt un-busy enough to see some 110 movies from 2005 alone (and 416 total), which is kind of an unhealthy number if watching movies is not a full-time job (speaking of which, whenever I'm asked "How are the kids this year?" I usually dodge the question and change it to "Hey, did you see ___________ yet?" with the blank space being a film title). And of those 110 movies from 2005 ... eh ... not all of them were good. But when I spotted Mr. Fithian's above quote (referring to the summer releases), it led me to think of the following retort: not as good as what? 2004? 2003? Not as good as 1955? Clarification is in order, sir.
Both John and I have observed that a lot of the movies we really like we don't catch up with until, oh, March. The Corporation, The Brown Bunny, Dig!, Notre Musique and Birth were just five outstanding 2004 movies I didn't see until well into 2005. So unlike previous years, I'm not going to jump the gun like Mr. Fithian and come up with my own personal conclusion about the complete crop of 2005 films until, er, can we say April? Because by then, I'll have seen all the movies that showed maybe once in someone's attic in SoHo and have since been given pity releases on DVD.
One thing I can talk about with the utmost certainty are books. Yes, I read a lot this past year. Lost count of how many books and magazines, really. I do know I frequent the local bookstores so often that I keep scraps of paper in the books I start reading so when I return to the same place the following week with my caramel fudge vanilla cherry peppermint whipped fraccucicianato latte in hand I know where I left off. (Let me tell you: Cheever's way easier to get through when standing in the middle of a not-so-busy fiction section of Barnes & Noble than tucked into bed at 1 A.M.) If I'm going to have to recommend some modern-day releases, may I say that Jacobs' The Know-It-All (redundant but amusing; a must for fact junkies and Trebekites), David Rakoff's Don't Get Too Comfortable and Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time are good. Someone shoved David Schickler's short story "The Smoker" under my nose and I really dug it (it's the only gem in Kissing In Manhattan). In my favorite oddball book-reading moment of the year, I was trying to get through Duras' The North China Lover while lounging on the top deck of a cruise ship in the Caribbean when a cute hostess from Poland (think: Tina Fey) came up to me, tilted the book so she could see the title, shook her head and said, "Is very dirty." I'm not going to reprint my response, but let's just say that if it was a young lady I was trying to date, it would have been a disaster (another disaster!). I consoled myself later with free champagne and the delusional thought that she didn't understand me.
So with the birds from Asia coming to kill us or the bombs in the subways and the environmental disasters and the panic panic panic run run run, am I just going to give up and end it all? No. Why? Because, like Mr. Theo, I cannot stop vacationing. Because I have a horrible fear that the theatres in the Great Beyond won't have first-run movies or NetFlix or multi-region DVD players, and I'll never get to see the next Woody Allen/Tsai Ming-Liang/Jacques Rivette film. I wouldn't have the chance to listen to Teen Bitching and the endless drama that takes place in the hallways, I wouldn't have the fortune of fielding questions from their concerned, inquisitive parents when I'm trying to buy saline solution, pretzels and toothpaste in Walgreens, I wouldn't have the opportunity to break up fist-fights over the dumbest fucking things, I wouldn't have the blessing of coming home with a headache, talking to friends and relatives about 'how the kids are doing' and changing the subject to, "Hey, did you ever see the Criterion release of Le Samouraļ yet? Who's in it? (scoffs) Alain Delon. Never heard of him? (deep breath) Let me explain...."
Yes, life. Irvine Welsh and a young heroin addict named Obi-Wan Kenobi said we should choose it. I agree. Tragedies and homes flooded and job problems and all, you really can't beat it. You can only let it age 18 years and then send it to die in the desert. Hooray for us! Hooray for the future!
My Top Ten List, nonstop references to the child stars and their sex and their drugs and their rock and rock and rockandrockandroll, hey.
© Copyright 2010 Matthew Lotti.
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