"Then that Cobain pussy had to come around & ruin it all."

At the end of a long work week I didn’t have much left in me last night, so we met up with CBGB at The Auld Spot for some comfort food and beer. Disappointingly something seemed to be wrong with the Denison’s, but a Mill Street Tank House Ale did just fine. Really, I was just in it for the pulled pork sandwich. Which I love. I know this because typing the words “pulled pork sandwich” made my mouth water. Hey, there it goes again.

Upon returning home we could see Buskerfest happening just down the street from us, but it was a little chilly out and, as I said, energy levels were low. We also have a mission to clear off the PVR before leaving for France, and so we watched The Wrestler (imdb | rotten tomatoes). It was excellent, as I expected it to be by now. I think I’d put off seeing it for so long because I know how wracking Darren Aronofsky movies usually can be, but this one didn’t leave me feeling drained. Of course, all the things I’d heard about Mickey Rourke’s performance were true. He was on the screen virtually every second, and made Randy the Ram real when it would have been so very easy to make him a farce, or fantasy.

Actually, I’m rather glad I left it this long. I think if I’d watched it when it first came out the hype — the unrealistic expectations of the miraculous performance we all heard about — would have blurred what a wonderful performance it actually was.

Useful anger

I’ve written many times before about the West Memphis Three. In case you weren’t paying attention, here’s the nickel version: in 1993 three teenage boys were charged with killing three eight-year-old boys in West Memphis, Arkansas. The evidence presented against them at trial has come under heavy attack. A key component of the prosecution’s case — that the accused were devil worshipers — got national headlines, but only years later, when the documentaries Paradise Lost and Paradise Lost 2 and Mara Leveritt’s excellent book Devil’s Knot came out, did renewed attention return to the case. Donations to a legal fund have made possible new hearings into the three men’s convictions and subsequent sentencing. The mentally handicapped suspect whose coerced ‘confession’ helped provide the conviction was sentenced to forty years in prison. Another of the three received life in prison, while the last received the death penalty.

Sixteen years later the three remain in prison, but new hearings are taking place. You can read about them in detail at the WM3 blog, and I can’t remember all the details, but the upshot is this: the defense team has hired some kickass forensic experts to refute the opinion of the state pathologist who analyzed the bodies. Their testimony: that what were counted as stab wounds and satanic ritual were actually animal bites, and there was no evidence of sexual abuse.

This testimony casts new doubt, in addition to DNA evidence found two years ago showing genetic material at the crime scene which “cannot be attributed to either the victims or the defendants”, and a slew of questionable evidence presented at the original trial, including lack of murder weapon, lack of motive, the questionable interview and confession of Jessie Misskelley, and the infamous charge of Satanism, borne out by the type of music the boys listened to and black t-shirts they wore. Pile on top of this improper conduct by the jury foreman, incompetent defense, leaks from the police department to the press during the trial, and so on. But the head-shaking doesn’t stop there.

One of the most frustrating parts of reading Leveritt’s book was the testimony of Vicki Hutcheson and her son Aaron. The two of them made incriminating, but wildly inconsistent, statements about the WM3 which Hutcheson later recanted, saying she was coerced and was looking for reward money. That intrigue continues now in a cruel twist. Hutcheson has said she is willing to testify that she lied on the stand at the boys’ trial, but as Arkansas law has no statute of limitations on perjury, by doing so she would face a felony charge. The state could make an exception and allow her to testify without fear of being charged. They chose not to.

And therein lies another twist in the case. The judge presiding over the original case also presides over the hearings. Defense attorneys filed a motion asking Judge Burnett to step aside because of widespread rumour that he would run for Arkansas state senate. Burnett rejected the motion, just as he rejected the motion to re-open the case based on the DNA findings, but it leaves open the question raised by the defence: whether Judge Burnett can rule impartially on a case that, if re-opened — or worse, overturned — would almost certainly kill any political ambitions he may have. Obviously Burnett has incentive to prevent this from happening. Just one more roadblock in the way of righting things.

If you haven’t already, I’d suggest you read Devil’s Knot (amazon | indigo) or watch Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (imdb). They’ll make you angry, but anger at injustice is a useful thing.

"When you point a finger at somebody else, you're pointing three at yourself and a thumb at the sky."

In an attempt to clear off the PVR (which is still holding some movies recorded well over a year ago) before the fall TV season starts and we go away for two weeks, we got through three movies in between all the beautiful weather this weekend:

Seraphim Falls (imdb | rotten tomatoes) started off with a bang (literally), but got slow, and then got positively glacial. I’m sure the descent from high snowy mountain to hot, dead valley was a metaphor for man’s fall from grace, but holy ass, guys. Oh, and you’d think someone could’ve hired a dialog coach so that Liam Neeson and Pierce Brosnan didn’t make a western sound like an afternoon in Cork.

Lonesome Jim (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was mildly amusing in parts, a bit annoying in others, and mostly just intriguing: why would Liv Tyler appear in back-to-back films starring the Affleck brothers, which carry nearly the same plot? I don’t want to run the movie for anyone, but if you’ve seen Jersey Girl you’ve seen a flashier version of Lonesome Jim.

Traitor (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was…well, kind of surprising. I thought it would be dumber than it was. I thought it would be a straight good-guy-on-the-run shooter, but there was more to it than that. It was fairly predictable, but still…not half bad. Good for a lazy Saturday morning on the couch.

"Just because she likes the same bizzaro crap you do doesn't mean she's your soul mate."

It’s been too nice to blog this weekend (as that would mean sitting inside), so here’s the point form version:

Friday night CBGB, Nellie and I went to Harlem, a place right around the corner from us that we’d just never made it to. We’re bad at that. Anyway, it was pretty fantastic. The starters (chicken lafayette, bourbon baby back ribs and seafood fondue) were all good, and while my main (jambalaya) and Nellie’s (barbecue chicken) were pretty good, everyone agreed that CBGB’s fried chicken was the winner. I ignored the giant cocktail list and drank Red Stripe all night. We book-ended dinner with drinks on the balcony. Awesome night.

Saturday was a day to get stuff done. I returned two ill-advised purchases: one at MEC (which I traded in for a pair of shorts) and another at Harry Rosen: a dress shirt that I somehow exchanged for two Etro shirts, which were on sale but would normally each be more expensive than the shirt I was returning, and still had a $60 credit left over! I considered this quite a coup, but my guy at Harry pointed out the downside: that I could now be developing a taste for very expensive shirts. After all that we set to the painstaking task of sitting on the Bier Markt patio and drinking cold, cold beer. I enjoyed my Weihenstephan so much we popped by the LCBO on the way home and picked up some more.

Today was movie day. We saw Funny People, which was good-not-great, and  500 Days Of Summer, which was fantastic. We then came home and watched Burn After Reading, which was mildly amusing (mainly for Brad Pitt) but not that impressive for the Coen brothers.

No work tomorrow. Thanks, obscurely named civic holiday!

Wrapping up the trip

The fruits (ha ha) of our labours
The fruits (ha ha) of our labours

In the twenty-four hours since my last blog post we:

  • Watched Taken (imdb | rotten tomatoes) which was both highly entertaining and patently absurd;
  • Had dinner at Seven Wine Bar with many Halifax friends, followed by drinks at Durty Nelly’s and yet another stop at Pizza Corner;
  • Awoke, arose and had breakfast with T-Bone and The Sof (who had an earlier flight) and were joined briefly by Marney and Amy;
  • Got to the airport early so we could catch a bite, where our friends were still waiting (their incoming flight was diverted) and who eventually took off after us, despite being on a flight meant to leave three hours earlier;
  • Arrived home to find some happy, happy cats.

By the way, here’re the wineries we visited Thursday. I couldn’t be bothered to find all the sites before:

None of the samples really blew us away, but we found enough interesting ones to buy nine bottles. I think the one we’re looking forward to the most is the Alchemy from L’Acadie, which we couldn’t sample but has drawn some fanfare.

"What once was innocence, has turned on its side."

I don’t know much about Joy Division. I was too young to have known about them when they existed, and the place I grew up wasn’t exactly a thriving centre of post-punk, so I wasn’t exposed to them after the fact either. I didn’t know much of their history either, but after watching 24 Hour Party People I knew a little.  What I did know was that they were — and continue to be — very influential, and that their singer Ian Curtis died very young.

Watching Control (imdb | rotten tomatoes) gave me a better lens on the man, as seen through the eyes of his wife Deborah and director Anton Corbijn, who before he premiered this film at TIFF two years ago had only done music videos and rock photography, some of which had featured Curtis and Joy Division years before. It was shot in a black and white that was achingly beautiful, as you’d expect from someone with Corbijn’s eye. I’d also heard that relative newcomer Sam Riley did a bang-on impression of Curtis, not that I’d know. I don’t think I’d ever seen footage of Joy Division before, or couldn’t remember if I did, but watching a few YouTube clips later proved that Riley nailed it.

Biopics are tricky things, especially about someone who’s become posthumously idolized like Curtis, but I thought this one worked well. It skipped the usual formula of tortured childhood + addiction/hardship = triumph over adversity, and it showed the weakness of Curtis’ character while never quite making him seem pathetic. I had no particular emotional interest in Ian Curtis or Joy Division, but I still found the story interesting and the method skillful. If you haven’t seen it it’s worth a look.

"I don't dance with naked soldiers."

Though Thursday and Friday were supposed to be a short vacation, we actually used them as get-shit-done days. Here’s what we’ve managed so far, the major points anyway:

  • Got my driver’s license and health card renewed in what must surely be the most efficient government-related service experience ever. Ten minutes after entering the Service Ontario office at Bay & College I’d completed both renewals and was on my way home. I was actually a little shocked, and left wondering if I’d done something wrong.
  • Watched all four Wimbledon semi-final matches, or at least parts of them.
  • Went to the distillery district with Nellie (who left work at noon) in search of a hopside down glass (since I broke one) but to no avail. We had a bite to eat and a couple of cold ones at the Mill Street brew pub, and managed to get home without being rained on.
  • Went for a run. Good one too.
  • Watched Passchendaele (imdb | rotten tomatoes), which I had really hoped would be good, but it wasn’t. At all. It could have been, but when a movie called Passchendaele spends the majority of its time in Calgary it wastes whatever potential it has.
  • Walked along the waterfront, checked out the new wave deck at the foot of Simcoe, despaired at the putrid wasteland that Queens Quay becomes east of Yonge.
  • Visited the LCBO to pick up some wine for tonight (simple, tasty Cab Sauv from J. Lohr) and a few bottles of the Innis & Gunn Canadian Cask, as recommended on the always-helpful Great Canadian Pubs & Beer blog.
  • Bought a new camera bag for the SX10 at Henry’s.
  • Finished off (more or less) some rearranging we started last weekend. Lots more room now, junk recycled, shelves put up. Time to finally hang that diploma I got last fall.
  • Picked up the new bench for our balcony at Andrew Richard Designs.

Now we’re getting ready to grill some Rowe Farms steaks, maybe watch a movie. It actually feels more like Sunday than Friday…I have to keep reminding myself that we have two more days off!

You knew it was him

Maclean’s (who I’ve been going to a lot lately) reviews the new book about John Cazale, and makes it sound very interesting. I might pick it…

Wait, who?

This guy. The guy who only acted in five films, all five of which are considered to be among the best American cinema ever made: The Godfather, The Godfather II, The Conversation, Dog Day Afternoon and The Deer Hunter.

More than three decades after his death, this unsung talent is now being hailed as one of the most brilliant and influential actors of his generation. Those doing the hailing include Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Gene Hackman and Meryl Streep, who all worked with Cazale. Their opinion is seconded by younger actors who never knew him but cite him as a crucial influence, notably Philip Seymour Hoffman, Steve Buscemi and Sam Rockwell. These testimonials are part of a remarkable new HBO documentary titled I Knew It Was You, which is showing this week as part of the Worldwide Short Film Festival in Toronto.

I noticed his impressive credentials a couple of years ago, but I didn’t grasp the level of respect Cazale still commands among the top actors of his generation.

I feel ashamed that I haven’t seen The Conversation, even though it’s by far the least well known of the five on that list. If you haven’t seen one of the other four, you should hang your head.

"I tend to think of myself as a one-man wolf pack."

Couple of movies I forget to tell you about:

The Hangover (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was funny. Not smart funny…altogether dumb funny, really. Occasionally over-the-top funny and awkward funny too. But funny nonetheless, and an enjoyable two hours. I’m glad to see Ed Helms get a chance to do something other than Andy Bernard, but I’m worried that Zach Galifianakis is the second (bearded) coming of Chris Farley. I could do without that.

At the other end of the funny scale was Gran Torino (imdb | rotten tomatoes), in which Clint Eastwood rattles off every racist slur and every angry-old-vet cliche possible. All in all I thought the movie was okay, but I’m torn on the decision to use non-actors for the secondary characters. It gave an air of legitimacy to use real kids we’ve never seen before, rather than actors, but it also meant that they were utterly incapable of acting. Better than I could do, sure, but still bad enough to be distracting and pull my brain out of the scenes. Still, worth watching.

"I have that effect on people."

Two more movies down as of yesterday:

In Search Of A Midnight Kiss (imdb | rotten tomatoes) showed, in the vein of Once, that romance/comedies can actually be good. Better yet, they don’t even need a big budget. A guy, a girl, an impending deadline and some untimely photoshop skills give you all the story you need. That, and a clever script.

10 Items Or Less (imdb | rotten tomatoes) landed pretty squarely in the “meh” category. It was cute (not really a big plus for me), and pretty funny in parts, but it’ll leave my brain the second I stop typing this. If the two leads had been anyone except Morgan Freeman and Paz Vega this movie probably would’ve been unbearable.

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