i received the best father's day gift - our son (20 mos) finally recognized my existence by referring to me as "papa" with intent. he had said it some time ago, a random word among the others, but then suddenly, and inexplicably, refused to utter it again - instead preferring to monologue periodically about "mama" "key" "car" "vrmm" throughout the day.

now i'm a person again, a reference point with meaning. this also means some of the annoying grunts and whining has disappeared (cute, but, like anything, annoying when repeated x100). he can now say things like "papa. papa. papa. nana" instead. which i'll take over "nnng. nnng. nnnnnng. mmmnngg" (pointing to counter).

he's unleashing his word hoard with a new-found speed and determination, and i'm glad to be included in the growing list of things he feels it essential to talk about.

fleeting thought: i wonder if stereolab's hiatus and eventual return will be anything like portishead's? in that i mean will they take on even further risks and new directions? yes, please. two helpings.

john cleese recently made a comment about how difficult it is for a writer to strike a balance between character and plot. he notes that mike leigh's early dramas suffered from this, and it is one of the more interesting dynamics of his filmmaking. when i watch a mike leigh film i really don't expect much to happen. i don't think back to life is sweet, naked, all or nothing or secrets and lies and think about the plot. i think about the absolutely brilliant acting and the way leigh makes you care about the film you are watching. his characters breathe their dialogue so effortlessly it is a joy to watch. timothy spall's character, phil, in all or nothing is still one of my all time favourites. so sad and pathetic, so stuck, yet unbelievably compelling. there is more emotional truth in a mike leigh film than in a dozen hollywood flicks.

happy-go-lucky does not let us down. sally hawkins is genius as poppy, the outwardly-bubbly school teacher bringing a bit of happiness to the world around her. it is not the kind of over-simplified and dialogue-vacant film one would expect out of the lalaland machine, of course, and poppy's kindness causes her to veer towards the edge of danger on more than one occasion. it is this balancing act that hawkins manages with the character that is so watchable. although she initially seems absurd as a character, the way hawkins and leigh flesh her out is remarkable. in the end you cannot help but wish the world had a few more like her.

although i've never enjoyed live theatre (i can't manage the suspension of disbelief), i think some of the most enjoyable fiction is in the form a play and the some of the best directors come from the theatre (leigh, fassbinder and mamet are the only ones that jump to mind, although i'm sure there are many others). they bring a depth of character development that is rare to come by. perhaps it is that they understand the workshop idea of building the character collaboratively. whatever it is, i can't wait for leigh's next characters.

i haven't seen pulp fiction since it played in the theatre back in 94, but it appeared on cbc this weekend and i found myself sucked in. watching movies on tv is dreadful stuff, what with the bad aspect ratio, the commercials and bleeping of "fuck", and all its magical variants, but i hung in there. i couldn't look away for some reason. perhaps i was shocked at how the movie didn't quite live up to my memory of it.

when pulp fiction first hit the screen i was excited beyond words. after being blown away by reservoir dogs i couldn't help but be filled with anticipation at what tarantino would come up with next. the instant dick dale's "misirlou" blasted out and that giant candy-coloured title rolled up i was in love. this was shaking up contemporary film, or at least my conception of it, with its expletive-filled dialogue and over the top violence. it wasn't a straight up crime film, a thriller or any other genre flick. it was everything all at once.

fifteen years later it feels much imitated and not at all as clever and innovative as it did back when it came out. maybe i've seen too many films in those in-between years. the pacing now feels too slow, the dialogue thinner than i remember. granted, there's still some hilarious bits that i had forgotten about. like samuel jackson's "bad motherfucker" wallet. overall, though, it is clever bordering on pretentious and unecessarily long. most of this can probably be written off to history and all the imitations that have come since. and my over-enthusastic 19 year old brain.

pulp fiction was transgressive - still is in some ways - and that's what i think grabbed me the most about it at the time. did tarantino continue to evolve as a filmmaker after this? i've seen those efforts and i seriously can't recall. they all have that trademarked slickness of script/acting/sound/cinematography/film-reference. they seemed good at the time. maybe one day i'll stumble upon them again and find out.

although i'm keen to work with new ideas online, i've long (in internet terms) avoided twitter. it struck me as idiotic and pointless. who cares what you ate for breakfast?

it clearly has uses and probably more fans than detractors. a twitter page is the new blog, since few people are literate enough anymore to sustain a thought for more than 140 characters. i'm likely one of these people.

what struck me about the character limitation of twitter was that it could be a great parametre. since i often impose parametres and rules on my writing style, i figured this might be an interesting way to use the site. i mean, who really gives a shit about random thoughts completely pulled out of context? wait, that's what my writing is like. oh well. the only difference is that i'm using twitter for fiction. or is that what everyone else is using it for as well? i wonder.

here's my twitter page.

update: clearly the uses of this tool have been discovered and utilized to good aim, as recent events in iran would illustrate. i suspect ongoing skepticism towards, and ridicule of, the tool will now drop permanently to the wayside.

a man gets shaved, cut and bleeds. he's naked and rambling, led back to his small, empty cell.

another man considers the nature of his illness, the medication he's on and the institution he's being confined to.

later, a feeding tube is administered to another man who refuses to eat. he appears tranqued out of his skull, and you wonder if he really knows what's going on at all.

later the house doctors reveal the psychiatric attitudes of the time, insisting that the institutional philosopher needs more tranquilizers to get his delusions under control.

this is the realm of the titicut follies, a 1967 documentary that could not be released in its time. it's readily available now, and i can't encourage you enough to watch it.

one reflection i had while watching it was on how much the format/style of the documentary has changed since the 60s. long shots have been replaced by hyperkinetic editing. what feels like a precursor to the so-called dogme films is swapped out with soundtracks and storytelling and superb cinematography. titicut follies feels simple and honest, though contemporary editing techniques are not necessarily any more or less truthful. the long takes feel like they're showing you everything, but of course they're not. but these extended sequences do allow for the story to emerge on its own, requiring a patience that few viewers probably have any more. i'd like to be wrong about that. maybe the viewer today is indeed capable of more but the urge to continually refine and evolve the format of filmmaking has given us a stream of progressively amped-up films that require no attention span whatsoever.

has the audience been dumbed and numbed or do filmmakers/documentarians/tv producers think they know what we want and need?

regardless, just go watch titicut follies.

and now ballard is gone.

i`d been looking forward to the next one, wondering if he`d shift direction at all. the last four books bleed into each other, forming a unique contemporary world. although i`m not big on re-reading books, i`m going to have to start the habit to get my ballard fix every once in a while. the atrocity exhibition sits as one of my favourites for some reason, and i could certainly stand to enjoy it again. vermillion sands left me in a delightful dream state. or i could begin again at the beginning. there`s so many good ones to choose from.

lately i was trying to crack open some of the ballard classics that i`d been saving for a rainy day. after finally going back and reading empire of the sun a few months ago, i agree that it well deserves its status as one of his great novels. and i still haven`t read crash, perhaps unconsciously waiting until there was no more ballard to come before taking it on. there`s his autobiography, too, which may be fun.

now we are left with michel houellebecq and will self to give us that dystopian fix. i can`t complain with that, i suppose, but i`m sad i will no longer have a new bit of ballard to fix me up once in a while.

my first response is that we don't need another grey gardens, or an extension of the original, since the first one is perfect.

i've seen it several times and will watch it again - it's one of those rare films that i can come back to. i think it's that viewing it teeters on boring at times. this allows the mind to wander and with each viewing certain things become almost new again.

i don't want to see anyone in makeup and prosthetics prance around as the edies. they are perfectly disfunctional in the way they represent themselves in the original. the mystery around their circumstances adds to the charm of the train wreck that is their lives.

don't we all have a big edie and little edie in our family tree?

my threshold for strange and difficult things is fairly high, but this may have surpassed it.

i was in the wrong time (2000s not 1960s) and wrong place (straight not high as fuck) to enjoy it.

the story of ira cohen, the character behind it, is far more interesting.

if you're considering purchasing this i'd recommend spending your money on shrooms instead.

i hadn't seen the legendary scarface since i was way young to be watching it.

in rewatching it i was expecting to be blown away. perhaps that was my problem. pop culture has given the film a status i question whether it deserves. tony montana is held as this kind of figure of gangster cool. the cartel guy you need to look up to. a figure who has made his way into the mtv cribs essentials list.

yet the man is a complete fool. is he overwhelmed by greed or is he just stupid and lucky? his success is a combination of arrogance and happenstance, and the only thing impressive is that he doesn't get whacked earlier.

i was rooting for the bad(der) guys when they finally take him out. good fucking riddance.

is this de palma's desired effect? or was oliver stone still stuck in the mindset of conan the barbarian after just having finished writing for that?

the whole thing left me annoyed for a day after watching it, and i regret giving it another go.

ps - al pacino was pretty friggin al pacino in it, though, which is worth something. although i'd still take dog day afternoon / serpico / godfather al pacino any day.