The first track, “City of Ghosts,” barely sounds like Mason Jennings at all. It attempts to be atmospheric and full of sound, but remains ultimately unmemorable. Jennings’ voice is usually warm and inviting, but this song is cold and keeps its listener at a distance. I could also do without “Ain’t No Friend of Mine,” an unoriginal, slightly irritating piece that feels out of place on the album. “Pittsburgh” and “Sing Out” are also forgettable and feel as if they are second-rate versions of Jennings’ previous efforts.

The highlight of the album is definitely “The Field,” a song about a parent’s loss of a child to war. It feels as epic as “City of Ghosts” was intended to feel, yet has those quiet moments that Jennings does so well. It’s tender and emotional, an intimate whisper compared to the sterility of the lesser songs on this album. There’s an urgency to Jennings’ voice that makes it so affecting. While the following lyrics may appear trite as typed words, hearing them from his strained voice makes you want to cry:

If I was the president, if I was that man
I would walk out with those kids, out across the sand
If I was the president, if I was that brave
I would take a shovel then dig each child their graves
If I was the president, and my world turned black
I would want no victory, I’d just want you back

Other highlights include “Lonely Road” and “Black Wind Blowing,” a song that’s darker than something you’d expect from Jennings yet just as catchy as anything he’s done before. “Tourist” is an okay song and I liked the idea behind it regarding the fact that we are always searching for ourselves, even when we think we’ve found ourselves (There’s a tourist in every heart that just wants to stay). However, it remains simply adequate when it could have been brilliant. I guess if I had to choose one word for the album, that’s what I would choose: adequate. There are a few good songs, a few mediocre songs… nothing terrible or offensive or revolutionary. As I stated before, you can tell that Jennings is trying to grow with this album. Let’s just hope he grows into something better than “adequate.”

In summary… was it better than a nap? Compared to Jennings’ earlier efforts, I can’t rate this higher than a nap… there were just too many bland or simply not enjoyable songs on the album. I haven’t given up on him, though, and I hope that next time around he’ll provide something that can keep me awake.

Note: If you’re interesting in a 10-minute documentary about/interview with Jennings regarding the making of his album, go here. I didn’t really gather any new insights from it, and at the end I kind of lose him as he goes into the land of pretension, but maybe you’ll enjoy it.

The movie itself is about expectations. We are introduced to Mark Whitacre (Matt Damon), a nebishy man with a 1970s mustache who happens to be a high executive at the company ADM. Whitacre is a banal and dorky man, someone who you would not expect to be extraordinarily intelligent, cunning, or unbalanced. Due to odd circumstances, he soon becomes an FBI informant after revealing that ADM is involved in a global price-fixing scheme regarding the compound lysine (an additive to livestock feed). Despite being a highly complicit and adept informant with seemingly purely altruistic motives behind his actions, the film slowly toys with our assumptions of Whitacre, revealing him to be what we least expect.

Before I reveal why I was a bit disappointed with the film, I should state that it is a very entertaining movie, probably moreso if you know nothing about the true story behind it. It may sound boring (price-fixing, livestock additives, etc.) but it definitely is not. Damon is amazing to say the least – he completely inhabits the role and his performance is definitely the highlight of the film. The writing is sharp and the film never insults the audience’s intelligence. The constant voiceover narration of rambling thoughts going through Whitacre’s head (about butterflies, polar bears, and other seemingly irrelevant bits of information) was genius and I think for someone who doesn’t know how the story ends leads to a very rewarding payoff.

However, that said, I knew how the story ended. I had listened to an NPR piece that had interviews with the real people involved and that summarized Whitacre’s experiences with the FBI. I was fascinated by the story and my anticipation to see the film only grew after my chances to view it were postponed for various personal reasons. Thus, my expectations became inordinately high. By the time I finally saw the film, I was not impressed. It was not as detailed as the radio piece and definitely not as funny as I was expecting. There are times when you chuckle to yourself a bit, but if you’re expecting a laugh-out-loud romp, this is not the film for you. It was enjoyable, but after waiting weeks to see it, it was ultimately a let down. To call it mediocre would be an excessive insult, but it doesn’t deserve to be called brilliant, either. I wouldn’t mind watching it again, but I probably won’t seek out the opportunity any time in the near future.

In summary… was it better than a nap? I so wish I could have seen this movie ignorant of any details regarding the plot… however, as it stands, I would say that I would have preferred a good nap over seeing this film. It’s entertaining, but after my expectations were built so high, I wanted it to be more.

Note: If you want to listen to the radio program that basically ruined the film for me (and which I highly recommend as it is better than both the film and a nap, in my opinion), here it is: This American Life – The Fix Is In

The following post is by a special guest contributor who finally decided to grace us with her presence after many weeks that I spent harassing her, prodding her to write a review for this blog. Hopefully she becomes a regular, but until then, enjoy the following entry as I take the week off!

Having recently gotten Netflix, I am now prepared to indulge myself in all the movies I never had the time to watch and regale you with my deep, intellectual musings on them – beginning with The Exorcist. Classy, I know. As most everyone knows, the plot follows the bizarre events that keep occurring to 13 year-old Regan MacNeil. Beginning with a Ouiji board and a ghostly teacher, the events escalate from a shaking bed to convulsions to vomit and self mutilation. Finally, having exhausted all medical avenues, her mother turns to a struggling Catholic priest for an exorcism.

As a scholar of Islam (yes, pretentious) I am uncomfortable with the role of religion, especially Islam in opposition to Catholicism, in the story. The movie opens with the sound of an Islamic prayer, “Allah Hu Akbar” (meaning “God is the Greatest,” or “God is Almighty” – literally the biggest or oldest) and images of an archeological dig in Iraq. It is here that we are introduced to the demon that will later possess Regan through the discovery of several ancient artifacts, including a statuette of a face and a St. Joseph medallion. After a surprising amount of time following the mysterious, ailing archeologist, we leave him staring down the statue of a winged cat-like beast. Wikipedia tells me that this image is Pazuzu, an ancient Sumerian demigod. How is the audience supposed to know this? As far as I could tell, the strange statues found are part of the culture in which they are presented, either Islamic or Iraqi culture. Presenting these relics in opposition to Catholicism (through the pairing of the stone face with the medallion) only serves to delineate who is good and who is bad. Come on, start a movie with Allah Hu Akbar and end with the sacrificial suicide of a recently-repentant Catholic priest who died to save a virginal young white girl from an ancient Iraqi demigod?! (*sigh*)

That being said, the film scared me. In fact, I’m still jumpy – just waiting for the next stranger to rise several feet in the air, tell me that my mother is a prostitute in hell, and projectile vomit on me. (… Wait, what was that noise? ) Overall, this movie deserves its reputation. The special effects were fabulous, especially for the time period, and the mood it sets draws in the audience. While many of the characters are less than relatable, the film is saved by a very good performance from the young Linda Blair and Jason Miller. There is nothing quite like seeing a 13 year-old girl stab herself in the vagina while grunting, “Let Jesus fuck you.”

In summary… was it better than a nap? Better than one, yes. Better than the many it may rob me of with its haunting images and religious hamfisted-ness ? We will see.

Juliet, Naked tells the story about how Crowe affects (directly and indirectly) the doomed relationship between Duncan and Annie. Duncan is an obsessive academic-type who identifies himself as a “Crowoligist,” someone who thinks he knows everything there is to know about the reclusive musician. After the release of the acoustic, demo version of Crowe’s seminal work (titled Juliet, Naked), both Duncan and Annie post conflicting reviews on the album on Duncan’s website. While Duncan is convinced that it is far superior to the studio version, Annie despises it. Guess which review Crowe decides to respond to, thus forming a flirtatious email correspondence stretching from Great Britain to Pennsylvania?

Nick Hornby’s main strength lies in his ability to portray the childishness of adulthood. We relate to his characters because, let’s face it, we’ve all acted as immature and self-absorbed as they have. And it’s not as if they lack redeeming qualities… it’s just, well, it’s hard to be a good person, and Hornby likes to show people, not at their worst, but not at their best, either. This middle ground is where he lives, and his ability to treat these moments in life with such honest affection is his main appeal. For example,when Juliet, Naked arrives in the mail for Duncan, Annie knows that she could commit no greater betrayal than to listen to it before him. But part of her wants to betray him, wants to listen to something he holds so precious before he even knows of its existence, wants that kind of power over him. She tries to rationalize such a crime, saying that anyone else examining the situation would view Duncan as foolish for getting mad at such a triviality. But everyone knows that trivial matters such as these have a greater depth than they appear, and Annie knows deep down that this perspective will not absolve her of her misdeed. However, she does it anyway, and we can’t blame her for it because we would have done the same thing. It’s like that part in High Fidelity (one of my favorite novels) where Rob lists all of his transgressions against Laura, and afterwards asks the reader to list the shittiest things he/she has done to a partner, and then at the end states, “So, who’s the arsehole now?” The fact of the matter is, we all are. Annie makes an interesting contrast to Laura in that the latter was extremely mature, competent, and for the most part had a good head on her shoulders, while the former is in her forties and is still going through the stereotypical post-undergraduate “Who am I and what do I want in a relationship?” phase. Her life stopped when she started dating Duncan, and now it’s fifteen years later and she finally realizes that she wants it to start again (with the aid of a schoolgirl crush on a certain semi-famous singer/songwriter).

Crowe is easily the most well-drawn and interesting character in the novel, and his relationship with his death-obsessed son, Jackson, is both hilarious and poignant. I wish we would have gotten to know his ex-wives a bit better, but since Crowe wanted them as far away from him as possible, it makes sense that we only briefly glimpse them. I’ve always been curious about how real-life muses feel, having their personal lives and emotions immortalized into something that others view as a great piece of art. I mean, imagine listening to the radio, only to hear your ex-boyfriend’s voice crooning verbatim the last argument you had together… how would you feel? Or worse, imagine hearing a song from your ex-boyfriend that was written about the bitch he left you for. It’s an interesting perspective, but Hornby doesn’t delve deeply into these issues, and part of me wishes he would have. Instead, he focuses on Crowe’s post-Juliet life through his relationship with Annie, and how Crowe tries to cope with the ideas that a) he’s a lousy father and husband and has no hope or desire to change these facts, b) he’s a washed-up musician who only still interests a handful of people in the world, and c) his only album that anyone ever cared about is based completely on a lie. But does (c) make his album any less legitimate? Again, another interesting issue that Hornby only briefly mentions near the end of the novel.

In fact, if I had a major complaint with the novel, it would be that Hornby only dips his toe into waters that he should have dived into. He hints at the emotions underlying the fact that Crowe turned someone who he never really cared for that much in the first place into the perennial “the one who got away,” but doesn’t explore it enough. And while there are some good moments in the novel that deal with the dilemma of trying to disentangle the art from the artist, none of them are great. This story could have been one huge, enthralling dissection of this dilemma, but instead Hornby focuses on the smaller entanglements between the three characters. This isn’t to say that the novel is shallow – it’s not – but at the same time I feel that it could have reached further than it attempted to. Furthermore, I feel that Duncan gets a little shortchanged. He’s easily the least sympathetic character and I wish we would have gotten to know him a bit better.

In summary… was it better than a nap? Despite its faults, I thoroughly enjoyed Juliet, Naked. Hornby stated the night I saw him that the idea came to him when he started thinking about how it would feel if your girlfriend had the opportunity to have sex with your favorite musician (his example: Bob Dylan). Would you be pissed, or would you feel the need to insist that she sleep with him? It’s a simple concept, and Hornby executes it with his usual balance of charm, humor, and intelligence.

It’s now 1962, several months after the end of Season 1, and many things have changed. Peggy has had the baby and is no longer Don’s secretary, but a copy writer, trying to fit in with the male-dominated world of advertising. Pete, without the knowledge that he already has a child in the world, is attempting to conceive with his wife, unsuccessfully; Roger Sterling appears to be in better health than the last time we saw him, but other than that, he’s the same old Roger that I’ve come to admire; Betty, Don’s wife, is now riding horses on a regular basis instead of going to therapy; Joan gets tied down (in a manner of speaking); and our man, Don Draper, begins an affair with a new woman that leads to something we don’t often see him having to deal with: the consequences of his actions. This season is littered with amazing moments, including Don uttering the most shocking sentence that he could ever utter, and the viewer meeting the one person who knows him better than anyone else, someone who knows the real Don Draper.

Within this season we also get some great one-on-one interactions between various characters. Peggy and Don have some really terrific moments this season and I relish every moment that they are on the screen together. Peggy develops a relationship with a priest (played by Colin Hanks) that starts off promising but, to me, ends rather anticlimactically. We get to know Pete a hell of a lot more, and while he’s not my favorite character on the show, he’s consistently entertaining in the way that he’s so predictable. He’s a lost little boy in a grown-up’s world, and it’s almost refreshing to witness how little he changes throughout the season. Both Salvatore and Joan get more screen time, which they completely deserve, and we get to know each one a lot better. I think more than any of the other characters (excluding maybe Betty and Don’s children), they make me the saddest. Their pain is so sharp and so overwhelming, my heart breaks for both of them. Particularly Joan, who’s developments this season were arguably the most compelling. Honestly, though, what character on this show isn’t tragic in one way or another? The only complaint I have is that I think Betty wasn’t given as much to do this season, although she had a few nice interactions (including one with the neighborhood divorcee ) .

During the first season I was perplexed by and unable to get a grasp on Don Draper. Now, I feel I know him very well, and I’m finally able to pinpoint why I find him so fascinating. He reminds me of another of my favorite TV characters, Nate Fisher from Six Feet Under, and the two men have many similarities. Both men try so hard to be something that they are not. They struggle to live up to some ideal that they think they need to be in order to be considered “normal.” They care so much about appearances, about doing what they think others perceive as the “right thing,” and ultimately they end up denying themselves of any happiness. They never stop to figure out what they really want out of life and, deep down, they don’t think they deserve real happiness. The season ends with a look of resignation on Don’s face, because he knows that this is the life he’s chosen… if it looks perfect on the surface and it’s a life that everyone else envies, he should hold on to it tightly and eventually it will make him happy, right?

At one point in the season Don and Betty are fighting, but they have to keep up appearances in front of Betty’s family. When they are alone in a room together, Don tries to act considerate, but Betty brushes him off, saying, “Stop it, Don. Nobody’s watching.” The sad thing is that in Don’s mind, someone’s always watching.

In summary… was it better than a nap? There were many nights when I should have gone to bed, but instead, I watched another episode. Top three episodes: “Flight 1″ (Episode 2), “A Night to Remember” (Episode 8), and “The Mountain King” (Episode 12).

Note: For some great episode-by-episode commentary, check out the A.V. Club.’s TV Club on Mad Men and many other ongoing television series (if you haven’t noticed from all my links and references to them, I’m a huge fan of theirs). I also highly recommend this hilarious SNL clip from when Jon Hamm hosted the show, “Don Draper’s Guide to Picking Up Women.”

Paige: Admit to God you are a whore. Make a list of all the people you’ve fucked, and apologize to their parents.

So I should admit right away: I LOVE John Waters. Love him. I was introduced to Pink Flamingos by my college roommate, and I’ve never been the same since. I find him and his movies utterly hilarious, unique, and experiences in and of themselves. I want to be Waters’ friend, moreso than almost any other filmmaker or celebrity, but I fear that if I ever met him, he would find me too normal, too clean-cut, too boring. If I ever made it to Baltimore and happened upon him, I would hope that my adoration would somehow win him over, because I’m not so sure my personality would. I want to live in the worlds of Divine and Cry-Baby and Hairspray, where the soundtrack is always amazing and the characters always so strange and brilliant.

A Dirty Shame introduces us to a whole new cast of wonderful misfits who fit into the warped Waters universe. The people of Hartford Road are divided into two groups: sex addicts who wish to revolutionize the world with a brand new sex act, having been converted to their horny selves after being accidently bumped in the head; and “Neuters,” the puritanical townspeople who rally against anything remotely deviant. Specifically, the film follows Sylvia Stickles (Tracey Ullman) after her transformation from a normal wife and mother to a “cunnilingus bottom.” Her daughter, Caprice (better known as Ursula Udders, for obvious reasons, played by Selma Blair), is also a sex addict and they both (along with a gang of lascivious individuals with their own unique fetishes) follow a messiah-type figure played by Johnny Knoxville.

The plot really doesn’t matter, though. The first half hour is so incredibly enjoyable and funny, it makes up for the last third of the film, where the story gets lost a bit and starts to drag. The film isn’t as outrageous as you’d expect, and the themes (tolerance, acceptance of individuality, opposition towards suburban conformity and conservatism) are presented in a fairly heavy-handed manner, but it’s just so much damn fun, who gives a shit? Sure, it’s a little bit of a mess, but most of Waters’ films are. What makes up for it (other than the humor) is the fact that, despite how ridiculous and crazy his characters are, Waters treats them with respect and a little admiration. He cares for these people, relates to them and their issues, so you do, too. And despite the heavy-handedness, it never hurts to pound home the idea that even the most depraved individuals deserve some form of acceptance. As long as they’re not hurting anybody, why not let a couple puke on each other while they fornicate? Who are we to judge? Honestly, my biggest criticism is that Dreamland regular Mink Stole isn’t in the film hardly enough. However, whenever she graces the viewer with her presence, she steals the scene. Tracey Ullman fits right in with Waters’ world, and Johnny Knoxville isn’t half as annoying as you’d expect.

In summary… was it better than a nap? Basically, if you’re like me and find lines such as “Something is the matter with your vagina!” and “We got blatant homosexuals shopping right in our store. They eat life, you know. Sperm!” absolutely hilarious when delivered correctly, and want to live in a world where even the trees have hard-ons, then you’ll like this movie more than a nap. 

Harvey Milk: We’re not against that.

Dan White: Can two men reproduce?

Harvey Milk: No, but God knows we keep trying.

Harvey Milk was an eloquent, witty, larger-than-life person who came to a tragic end at the hands of a mentally unstable man, and Gus Van Sant’s Milk depicts him and his story with respect and love. It should be known that I am not an objective viewer to this particular subject matter. I know Milk’s story, and as someone who doesn’t cry easily during films, my eyes began to water within the first fifteen minutes of this movie. Milk himself knew that he most likely would not live past 50 and recorded a sort of epilogue to his life, tapes that one was instructed to play if he was ever assassinated. The film begins with scenes of him recording these tapes, as well as the real-life footage of Dianne Feinstein announcing Milk and Mayor George Moscone’s death (a bystander shouting “Jesus Christ” in this footage with such despair and shock is what made my eyes tear up).

The film follows Milk (Sean Penn) from his 40^th birthday, when he moves from New York to California with his lover Scott Smith (James Franco) and begins his foray into politics. Within eight years Milk becomes the first openly gay man to hold a major public office (a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors), where he puts forth the majority of his effort in opposing Proposition 6, an ordinance that would allow public schools to fire teachers based on their sexual orientation (as well as those who support homosexual rights). During this time period San Francisco and particularly the area known as The Castro are evolving into predominantly gay neighborhoods, with Milk naming himself The Mayor of Castro Street. He forms a tenuous and complicated professional relationship with fellow Supervisor White (Josh Brolin), a conservative ex-firefighter, that ultimately leads to his and Mayor Moscone’s murders in 1978.

The film is incredibly well-made, engaging, and cast perfectly, particularly Penn, who captures Milk’s humor, charm, and warmth. It’s not as manipulative as I was expecting and does a good job at not completely demonizing White as the villain (although, with the knowledge that he got off with manslaughter after murdering two public officials, it’s hard not to demonize him in your own mind). It’s apparent that White was deranged, and while the film doesn’t delve deeply into his character, it does not depict him as merely one-dimensional. One criticism I have about the film is that it doesn’t do a great job at showing the negative aspects of Milk, something that I think someone could say about any and every biopic ever made. I’m not talking about his personal life (some have complained that it didn’t deal with his romantic relationships realistically)… I’m talking about his arrogance, his tendency to be a media whore, and his political ambition and shrewdness. While the film didn’t completely idealize him, it did make him a bit softer around the edges. And while I don’t know how realistic the portrayal of Milk’s relationship with Scott Smith was in the film, it saddened me to see the cliché of the lover/partner who leaves because his/her partner is too passionately devoted to a cause that’s much bigger and more important than their relationship. Tasha Robinson at the A.V. Club dubbed this stereotype the John Grisham Whiny Wife, as it’s often a wife character that succumbs to becoming a caricature. In this case, however, I believe the situation is more believable than in other films, and I also liked that Smith continued to come and go in Milk’s life throughout the film.

However, these are minor criticisms in an overall solid, uplifting film that still resonates very deeply in today’s social climate. While I may have cried out of sadness, I also cried out of joy at various times in the film. It’s so strange to realize that as recently as thirty years ago laws such as Proposition 6 were being supported across the country… it makes you think that the gay civil rights movement has come so far, yet at the same time you think about Proposition 8 and realize that it still has such a long way to go. Despite the social statements within the film, its strength lies in the main character. This is not a film about gay rights, and the filmmaker never tries to make it that way.  Rather, it is a film about one man who tried to make a difference, tried to fight against hatred and bigotry of all kinds, and succumbed to a tragic end.

In summary… was it better than a nap? Absolutely. Also, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t recommend The Times of Harvey Milk, a beautiful 1984 documentary directed by Rob Epstein that Gus Van Sant thanked at the end of this film for its enormous contribution (of real footage, inspiration, etc.). Honestly, I watched the documentary before I watched Milk, and if I could only recommend one, I would recommend the former.

My friends make fun of me for many things, because, well, there are many things about me that are worth mocking, but one thing that comes to mind currently is the fact that I often am very hesitant to like things that are universally adored. I am a firm believer that individuals can be intelligent, but people for the most part are stupid and have terrible tastes. How else can one explain why someone thinks that making a sequel to White Chicks is a good idea? But anyway, I digress. I’m telling you this because, despite all the oohs and ahhs and raves, I was very hesitant to start watching Mad Men, for the sole reason that not a single person seems to dislike it in this world. And it took me almost until the last 4 episodes of the season to even warm up to it, probably due to this bias I have against things that are, well, popular.

“Mad Men” are named as such due to the fact that they work in the advertising firms on Madison Ave. in Manhattan, and the show follows those who work at such a firm (Sterling Cooper), particularly Don Draper, a lead executive at the company, and his family (and mistresses). I know that the show is renown for its accuracy to the time period (it begins in 1960 I believe), and I wish I could say more about this, but I haven’t read much about the show and went into it fairly blind to such information. I did like how they mentioned The Twilight Zone (one of my all-time favorites) and the music that ends each episode is always amazing. The show allows you into the world of advertising, where you get to see execs figure out how to sell cigarettes, steel, and an exercise device for women that turns out to have a much better purpose than slimming your tummy (“You’ll love the way it makes you feel.”). Looming in the background throughout everything is the election between Nixon and Kennedy, a struggle that illuminates the changes in the characters’ lives.

Like I said, it took me until the last four or five episodes to really start liking the show. It starts off extremely slow, gradually introducing you to many characters. It’s frustrating when you start really liking a character, but then have to wait a few episodes before he/she becomes part of the major story again. However, I really appreciated how well developed the writers made each and every character, how each one starts out as some sort of cliché but slowly evolves into a deeper, more complex person. You have the unhappy, bored housewife; the office slut; the wholesome, naive new girl; the scumbag coworker you can’t trust; various womanizers of all types; the closet homosexual; etc. It takes talent to give caricatures like these real depth, and the writers do it exceedingly well. Oftentimes I feel like writers want to make a character complicated, but instead they just make him/her inconsistent and unbelievable, and it’s really annoying. However, throughout the season I felt like each character stayed consistent and true, and I really admired that about the show. While I started out feeling that it was more style than substance, I quickly changed my tune as I continued to go through the season.

Specifically, it’s interesting how one’s conception of Don Draper evolves throughout the first season, as he’s an extremely mysterious man from the get go. I still don’t know what to think of him. At times you find him extremely callous and unemotional, at other times so vulnerable and frightened. Often the main character of a show is plagued with being the most boring person on the screen; however, that’s not the case with Don. I also really like his secretary, Peggy, who knows and understands more than she lets on and has an integrity that is refreshing in the Mad Men world. Also, Don’s wife, Betty, represents an entire world of disgruntled, disenchanted, trapped housewives from the 1960s, but somehow is an individual in her own right. The internal changes that occur to her during the season are probably the most captivating, particularly when she’s faced with what she most fears yet secretly most envies: a divorceé. Finally, by the end of the season I was also warming up to Joan, the voluptuous redhead who roams the office, treating every man like he’s her plaything and knowing exactly what she wants and how to get it.  I disliked her at first, but she really grows on you. (Note: These three women are pictured above).

While I’ve spoken a lot about the women on this show, the male characters are definitely provocative in their own right. I guess another bias I have is that I’m always on the lookout for well-written female characters due to the real dearth of them in film and television, and I’m impressed that a show can have, not just one, but three really great, three dimensional females. All in all, however, this is a man’s world, where white, middle class men seek to stand out and somehow find themselves in a universe devoted to selling products that no one really needs.

In summary… was it better than a nap? Definitely. Starts off slow, but ends beautifully. I’m going to keep watching, and I’m glad I didn’t let its overwhelming popularity stop me from experiencing it. Overall, I would say my three favorite episodes were “5G” (Episode 5), “Shoot” (Episode 9), and “The Wheel” (Episode 13, season finale).

So begins the opening voiceover to Billy Ray’s Shattered Glass, the fictional depiction of the real-life journalist Stephen Glass, who worked at The New Republic from 1995 to 1998. If you know nothing about this man, you should STOP READING THIS RIGHT NOW (and not read anything else about this movie, not even the back of the DVD case) and just watch it. While viewing the film I wondered how it would be perceived with naïve eyes, whether it was even made to be seen in such a manner, so I encourage it if at all possible.

The film was based on an article in Vanity Fair on Stephen Glass, who became notorious after it was uncovered that he had fabricated over half of his pieces for The New Republic. Hayden Christensen portrays Glass as an awkward, unassuming journalist who entertains his colleagues with too-good-to-be true stories and gains their trust by being the type of guy who remembers that you hate having to put ice in warm Diet Coke (even if you mentioned this years ago). Peter Sarsgaard portrays the colleague-turned-editor Chuck Lane, who had the misfortune of replacing the trusting, munificent Michael Kelly (played by Hank Azaria) and becoming everyone’s least favorite man in the office. When Glass writes a piece detailing a corporation being outsmarted by a teenage computer hacker, some reporters working for an online journal look into the story and start finding massive holes in Glass’ “facts” (the original article, “Hack Heaven,” can be read here). As events slowly unfold, it soon becomes clear that Glass may not be as sweet and innocent as he appears.

The film allows events to unfold slowly, where your suspicion towards Glass gradually increases with Lane’s. The film is not a deep character study into either Glass or Lane, and part of me wishes that it could have delved more into these men and their pasts, particularly Glass’… How did he rise to be the journalistic star that he was? What was he like before his career? What was he like outside of his job? But perhaps then the filmmaker would have tried to explain in some way why Glass lied in the first place, and I’m glad he decided not to manufacture some stupid explanation. I also really appreciated how Glass was not portrayed as the stereotypical liar… you know, confident, arrogant… basically how he describes most journalists. And in that opening monologue, not only does he provide the viewer with how one can stand out as a journalist, but also how one can gain trust and appear credible.

The best moments are when Glass and Lane are pitted against one another. You get to see Lane slowly realize who this journalist who he was always slightly jealous really is, and how he grapples with that realization, and you get to see Glass squirm and sweat and never give up on his story… “It’s in my notes,” he constantly mutters. At times you think that he even believes his own bullshit.  It’s integrity versus popularity, being respected versus being liked… These are not new concepts, and in a film about journalism you expect them to come up in one form or another, but the film handles them well. Rather than being heavy-handed or preachy, it mostly lets the events speak for themselves. I enjoyed the way the film plays with the idea of what makes a great editor, and how it changes your perspective on both Lane and his editorial predecessor throughout the film. There’s a great scene near the end when both Glass and Lane are being applauded, and the film cuts between these images, and you have entirely opposing emotions towards each man. Also, while watching the movie I realized that Peter Sarsgaard, whom I’ve respected as an actor for awhile now, really needs to find a good role to sink his teeth into. He’s leading man material, and not just in stuff about why you don’t adopt an Eastern European child.

In summary… was it better than a nap? Definitely.While it didn’t raise any particularly new insights regarding integrity in the journalistic world, it dealt with those issues well and succeeded at being  an overall enjoyable film.

When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. (p. 11)

So famously begins Frank McCourt’s 1999 memoir Angela’s Ashes. I borrowed this book from a friend and read most of it during some long weekend treks on the subway. It’s a fast and easy read, and while I wouldn’t call it engrossing, it holds your attention enough to want to continue reading it until the end. I really had no preconceptions about this book before I read it… I knew it was about a poor Irish family and I knew it had won the Pulitzer Prize, but that’s about it. After reading it I looked up some information about it online, and apparently it really pissed off some native Limerick-ians.

The book chronicles McCourt and his family’s life, from his conception in New York City to the family’s move back to his mother’s native Limerick, Ireland after the death of his baby sister. There, his family lives in poverty and squalor, doing everything they can to simply survive (and not everyone does). His father is not only an alcoholic who’s unable to keep a job but from Northern Ireland as well, a nearly unforgivable sin in southern Limerick. When he does have a job, it only lasts a week or so, and he spends his salary on Guinness rather than bringing it home so that his family can eat without having to resort to begging or stealing. He even takes money offered as a gift for his newborn child and spends it on booze. By the end of the book, McCourt barely manages to live long enough to leave Ireland as a teenager and return to the supposed promised land: New York City. This is after having to deal with typhoid, chronic conjunctivitis, the death of three siblings as well as his first “love,” and being so desperate for fire wood that the family decides to start chopping the beams of their own house.

If it sounds bleak, it is. However, McCourt keeps everything fairly lighthearted and has plenty of humor scattered throughout the tragic. He writes in the present tense, so when he speaks about his experiences as a child it is through a child’s voice that we hear them. This style is the book’s major strength; McCourt’s prose, while simple, is instantly likable and believable. His detailed memory of events that occurred in his childhood is impressive, as if they happened recently rather than decades ago.

It was an entertaining read, but nothing about it has really stuck with me. I will admit the image of a grown man using his mouth to suck out the snot from a baby’s nose is something I probably will never forget. Also, I liked when a young McCourt went to confession (I think it regarded stealing food) and the priest, who had obviously heard such sad confessions from the poor for some time now, was so overtaken with emotion, so sick of having to treat these people as if they were doing something sinful and wrong, that he asked the young boy to pray for him for penance. However, overall I wasn’t moved by the book emotionally or intellectually, and while it was written well, it wasn’t anything exceptional. Some parts were sad, some parts were funny… but in general it was pretty underwhelming. You expect a book about a poor Irish upbringing to be fairly miserable, and Ashes describes some pretty miserable stuff, but if that’s all something has to offer, is it really worth the time?

In summary… was it better than a nap? If you can’t sleep on the subway, you might as well try to read something, right? For a subway read it sufficed, but I would choose a good nap over this any day.