Thursday, October 10 2002
Ask the mole rat about the egomaniacal pursuit of what some in the military call 'command and control'.
Just as we have overworked our ears to the point that we are nearly deaf and subjected our eyes to all sorts of visual clutter, we have overworked our noses to the point that our noses hardly know what to tell us.
Sikov's book may be the most painful celebrity bio I've read since Albert Goldman's 'Elvis' (the similarities between the two men's lives are startling)...
The sting of the word was undercut, however, by the humorous voices Rushdie used to emulate his characters, obliging the audience to consider the dialogue and the many ways that the word can act as a political fulcrum in American society.
Seems stuck in first gear, grinding through a series of very "safe" clichés.
While the book is laced with a youthful sense of wonder concerning life and death, the film is a troubled teenage love story.
Weaving together a vivid assemblage of stock footage, archival documents and talking-head spots, the movie winnows the book down to three of its more damning studies.
Speedy, colorful, and clever, The Transporter establishes Jason Statham as yet another next-generational, hybrid action hero.
What Swept Away calls love, I would call the usual terror and degradation that keeps battered women in dangerous relationships.
Attraction is not comprised of rules, only missed opportunities.
In its preoccupations with history, In Praise of Love suggests if one has no history, one has no basis for thinking about or defining oneself.
J-Lo rocks combat boots.
Brown Sugar can blur lines between mainstream and margin, mix up the spirits, just as hip-hop -- so-called real hip-hop but also, in its way, brashly commercial hip-hop -- has always done.
Wednesday, October 9 2002