Just found out from Robin Parrish's Infuze mag that Joss Whedon will direct a future episode of The Office. If you aren't familiar with Whedon, he's the creator of three late, great shows: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and the short-lived, vastly underrated Firefly, which segued into the equally underrated Serenity film. No matter; committed Whedonites recognize his genius, even if the masses don't.
I used to be among those masses, figuring Buffy was just another lame, teeny-bopper show until one night years ago when my daughters were watching it and I stopped to look at the TV long enough to witness one of the funniest, best-written scenes ever. (Joss fans, you know the one—when Spike can't do his vampire thing to Willow.) That did it—I watched every episode after that and got caught up by watching videos of all the previous episodes. Sarah's such a huge fan that she even helped a bit with the research for Jana Riess's fabulous book, What Would Buffy Do? ("Oh, you need to know where that quote came from? It was episode 6, season 3, at about the 18-minute mark." She could do that off the top of her head, that daughter of mine.)
So I'll be checking The Office schedule for Joss's name. Wouldn't miss it for anything. The man is brilliant.
Showing posts with label Movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Movies. Show all posts
Friday, January 19, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
An Inconvenient Label
By all accounts, Al Gore's film on global warming, An Inconvenient Truth, is one of those rarities, a must-see documentary. After deciding that I must see it but must not buy it, I placed it on hold at the library. Our library system owns 22 copies, but it still took more than a month for my hold to reach the top of the waiting list. Buoyed by my position at #1 on any list, I went to pick up the long-awaited DVD as soon as I got the call.
"This is due in two days," the librarian said as she handed it to me.
Huh? Documentaries are three-week loans, one week if they're new releases.
She saw the look on my face, and since all the librarians know by now how to interpret my dumbfounded expressions, she explained, "It's a two-day loan because it's labeled fiction."
So An Inconvenient Truth is considered fiction.
Poor Al. Poor, poor Al. The guy can't win for losing.
"This is due in two days," the librarian said as she handed it to me.
Huh? Documentaries are three-week loans, one week if they're new releases.
She saw the look on my face, and since all the librarians know by now how to interpret my dumbfounded expressions, she explained, "It's a two-day loan because it's labeled fiction."
So An Inconvenient Truth is considered fiction.
Poor Al. Poor, poor Al. The guy can't win for losing.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
I Read the News Today, Oh Boy…*
The year: 1970.
The context of the year: The release of the powerful but deeply disturbing movie Joe, starring Peter Boyle Jr., who became Peter Boyle after Sr. went to a better place.
The place: Joe Allen's Pub on W. 46th Street in Manhattan.
The context of the place: One of my favorite hangouts when I was a junior and beyond at Monmouth College in West Long Branch, NJ, now Monmouth U.
The principal players: Peter Boyle Jr. and a friend whose name I forgot minutes after I heard it. My friend Priscilla and I.
So there we were, Priscilla and I, eating burgers or something at a table in this pub known for its clientele of Broadway actors. At the next table were Peter and friend.
Peter's eyes met mine as a smoky cloud wafted between us...
Okay, so maybe the bottom half of Peter's eyes met the bottom half of mine. He was in his cups, as they say, but not in the belligerent sense. Being in my own cups, likewise peacefully, it's somewhat surprising that I recognized him. But I did, and this otherwise nondescript guy at the next table went from being "Why would I ever even notice you?" to "Oh my God, it's Joe!" -- Joe from the movie Joe, that is, not Joe as in Joe Allen.
We talked. I didn't bring up the movie. After all, Joe the character was a hippie-hater, and I was a…a…counterculturalist (I did not like the word hippie, even then). I remember laughing a lot. I don't remember what we talked about. Priscilla and the other guy didn't say much at all. Then Peter invited us to a "party," which we were smart enough, and maybe even sober enough, to know probably meant "party of four."
We declined. Somehow, driving back to the Jersey Shore in our questionable condition seemed the wiser choice. Not a wise choice, just wiser.
Years later, I was especially glad I didn't mention the movie. Peter said in an interview once that the movie haunted him for years because he got so much mail praising Joe's anti-hippie rage. It is a haunting movie, or at least it was in the context of the time.
Today my kids think it's pretty cool that Frank Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond once tried to pick me up in a bar. I don't know. All I know is that for the half-hour** I spent in his presence, he really was a funny guy.
The memory of that night has popped up at random times over the years -- that is, until Raymond. Then it popped up pretty consistently. But never more clearly than today, when I read that Peter Boyle died last night.
It's a good memory, one that I don’t need therapy to recall. I like that kind.
* A bit of Peter Boyle trivia: John Lennon was a good friend and Peter's best man at his wedding, which took place a few years after the encounter at Joe Allen's. Honest.
** A half-hour? Like I have any idea how long I was in that place.
The context of the year: The release of the powerful but deeply disturbing movie Joe, starring Peter Boyle Jr., who became Peter Boyle after Sr. went to a better place.
The place: Joe Allen's Pub on W. 46th Street in Manhattan.
The context of the place: One of my favorite hangouts when I was a junior and beyond at Monmouth College in West Long Branch, NJ, now Monmouth U.
The principal players: Peter Boyle Jr. and a friend whose name I forgot minutes after I heard it. My friend Priscilla and I.
So there we were, Priscilla and I, eating burgers or something at a table in this pub known for its clientele of Broadway actors. At the next table were Peter and friend.
Peter's eyes met mine as a smoky cloud wafted between us...
Okay, so maybe the bottom half of Peter's eyes met the bottom half of mine. He was in his cups, as they say, but not in the belligerent sense. Being in my own cups, likewise peacefully, it's somewhat surprising that I recognized him. But I did, and this otherwise nondescript guy at the next table went from being "Why would I ever even notice you?" to "Oh my God, it's Joe!" -- Joe from the movie Joe, that is, not Joe as in Joe Allen.
We talked. I didn't bring up the movie. After all, Joe the character was a hippie-hater, and I was a…a…counterculturalist (I did not like the word hippie, even then). I remember laughing a lot. I don't remember what we talked about. Priscilla and the other guy didn't say much at all. Then Peter invited us to a "party," which we were smart enough, and maybe even sober enough, to know probably meant "party of four."
We declined. Somehow, driving back to the Jersey Shore in our questionable condition seemed the wiser choice. Not a wise choice, just wiser.
Years later, I was especially glad I didn't mention the movie. Peter said in an interview once that the movie haunted him for years because he got so much mail praising Joe's anti-hippie rage. It is a haunting movie, or at least it was in the context of the time.
Today my kids think it's pretty cool that Frank Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond once tried to pick me up in a bar. I don't know. All I know is that for the half-hour** I spent in his presence, he really was a funny guy.
The memory of that night has popped up at random times over the years -- that is, until Raymond. Then it popped up pretty consistently. But never more clearly than today, when I read that Peter Boyle died last night.
It's a good memory, one that I don’t need therapy to recall. I like that kind.
* A bit of Peter Boyle trivia: John Lennon was a good friend and Peter's best man at his wedding, which took place a few years after the encounter at Joe Allen's. Honest.
** A half-hour? Like I have any idea how long I was in that place.
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