Irish go home!

(the title of this post, by the way, was the answer a friend of mine gave when asked what "Erin go Bragh" meant.)

I'm going to express my feelings on St. Paddy's day with, in my mind, the best quote on the subject, from The Simpsons (in the voice of Kent Brockman).

"St Patrick's Day - when everyone's a little bit Irish, except for the gays, and the Italians."

I did completely forget to follow my usual tradition of wearing orange on the 17th, just to see if anyone knows enough to get offended (so far, just one person, and I've been doing it almost every year since 1997.)

So, as mentioned in the last post, we watched some Dr. Who this week. Yes, we are that nerdy. In our defence, it was "The Androids of Tara", one of the funny-and-not-overly-embarrassing Tom Baker series from the late 70's, and part of the larger "Key to Time" story arc (which has some genuinely awful sections.) I'd been hoping that the commentary (featuring Tom Baker, Mary Tamm [aka Romana mk.1] and the director) would be amusing and/or edifying, but, alas, it was a bit like listening to three old theatre people talk about something they were in 20 years earlier, when they were in their prime, which they now are most decidedly not. Wait, it was exactly like that. I turned it off when they started talking about how much they were impressed with the special effects in Gladiator.

As an aside, I should mention that I used to be a pretty big Dr. Who fan as a kid and up until I was 14 or so; then I discovered better, 'serious' speculative fiction films (Silent Running, Blade Runner) and writing (Harlan Ellison, Brian Aldiss, Frank Herbert, etc.) I also shoveled up a lot of crap, like Robert Heinlein (who writes a good adventure yarn but tends towards fascist politics and irritatingly self-righteous libertarian protaganists) and Piers Anthony (most of his work just makes me want to give him a solid cock-punching). I still like well-written sf now and then - I'm just enough out of touch with it that I'm not sure what to look for. Well, besides Iain M. Banks (and it appears my big post* about him has been eaten by Blogger, which upsets me slightly. Long story short: get Complicity, Against A Dark Background, Espedair Street and The Crow Road; under no circumstances get, read, or even look at the cover of Canal Dreams.)

The next film up, likely, is Jim Jarmusch's Mystery Train(s), and I nearly jumped up with glee when I saw that. I've only seen it twice now (once in film class, and once on video), but it's a film that sticks with you. Three interlocking stories are shown, in sequence (an idea lifted by Quentin Tarantino for Pulp Fiction), of two Japanese tourists, an Italian woman, and three working-class guys (one of whom is Joe Strummer) in Memphis. All three stories are, in essence: the day passes, then they stay in a seedy hotel (where the desk clerk is Screamin' Jay Hawkins), and during the night, a gunshot is heard. It's a simple enough story, like many of Jarmusch's other films - three guys get thrown in jail, and break out; a young man travels west to find work but finds trouble and death instead; a contract killer runs into problems with his boss; several people drink coffee and smoke cigarettes - but made with so few of the features of Hollywood films that it's startling, and once you get used to it, quite enjoyable.

Speaking of which: we're off to see Tristram Shandy tonight. Prepare for gushing at the geniuses that are Steve Coogan and Michael Winterbottom.

*in the spirit of which, I think I may resurrect my album buying guides, which I wrote for those few artists whose entire oevre I've heard. Everybody loves a list, right?

Crammit Hall II: Crammit Haller

So, you may be aware of our upcoming move out of downtown to the wilds of Mechanicsville (I've decided that I'm not going to euphemistically call it Hintonburg or Parkdale, because that's not what it's called. It's Mechanicsville, it's dodgy, suck it up.) It's kind of exciting, because it's a neighbourhood I know only slightly (more as a place to pass through or by) and those are getting rare for me, although I'm not brave enough to try moving to Vanier (yet).

Our new place looks pretty sweet: washer & dryer right in the kitchen, a gas fireplace (strangely and sadly, electric stove, though), and a nicely sized balcony off the living room. It does lack the charm (and built-in bookcases, and 12-foot ceilings, and foot-thick stone walls) of Crammit Hall Classic, but that charm is preventing us from saving money or taking vacations, and we'll be happier with the extra dosh and mass-produced windows that open without the help of a crowbar.

We'll also be very happy to get away from the noise of downtown; I think we're starting to get stressed out from all the yahoos ya-hooing at all hours and the endless traffic. We will miss having a grocery store across the street, and being within walking distance of our favourite pubs and shops and so on, but since we're moving partly to save money, it's probably for the best we'll be staying in a little more.

So, other details: it's a two-bedroom/two-bath apartment, on the second floor of a building that looks maybe 20 or 30 years old, maybe half-again as big as where we are now; bad but plentiful cupboard space, and laminate instead of hardwood (I had been a hardass about that for many years, but eventually decided that I'd rather not have to leave the house to do laundry than nitpick on an aesthetic issue, particularly when I'm only renting). The street we're on is one block long, which appeals to me for some reason, and it's mostly little wooden houses in varying states of repair; I kind of doubt they're getting snapped up by gentrifiers quite yet, but soon.

Sorry if that all was a little boring. We've recently escaped the grips of February Crabby-Assed Days, which runs every year from Feb. 1st through 37th; activities include the staying in, the grunting or yelling, and the finding of fault in everyone but yourself. If we've been a jerk to you recently, please remember, it's all part of the fun.

We have seen a few great films, though - Yellow Submarine, which I still can't believe Jessica hadn't seen before (and she loved, completely loved), and the 1940 Howard Hawks comedy His Girl Friday. If you wanted to show "they don't make 'em like they used to", this is a fine example to point to - Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell's repartee is brilliant and fast - I mean, blink-and-you'll-miss-it fast. There's also a few very knowing jokes - Grant says "the last man who crossed me was Archie Leach, a week before he cut his own throat" (Archie Leach is Cary Grant's real name), and describes Ralph Bellamy's character as looking "like that fellow from the movies...you know, Ralph Bellamy."

We also just finished Some Like It Hot (Tony Curtis & Jack Lemmon in not-convincing drag, Marilyn Monroe falling out of her dress), which isn't quite as funny or sharp as the aforementioned His Girl. For one thing, Jack Lemmon is in it. I don't like Jack Lemmon, with the possible exception of him as Shelley "The Machine" Levine in Glengarry Glen Ross - and there, it's because he plays such a completely unlikeable, bitterly washed-up bastard that I can't help enjoying his endless comeuppance (at the hands of Kevin Spacey's equally unlikeable office manager, who delivers my favourite line in non-Cohen Brothers cinema, when asked by Lemmon why Spacey's shopping him to the police: "Because I don't like you.") There isn't anything specifically wrong with Some Like It Hot other than that, it's just that the humour's a lot more broad and Curtis & Monroe (or Lemmon & Curtis, for that matter) have none of the comedic timing and chemistry that Grant and Russell are so blessed with.

Zip's been sending a raft of older films to us recently - on deck is another Hawks classic, The Big Sleep (which I've heard is one of Bogart's best roles, and I just discovered that the screenplay was by William Faulkner), and we've also got Alain Resnais' Hiroshima Mon Amour. I'm not sure if this is making up for the month or so where all we seemed to get were cartoons or documentaries, but I'm getting an itch for something with explosions or Tony Soprano.

(Just got an email advising that "Dr. Who: The Androids of Tara" just shipped. Kick ass!)