the 90 percent rule

Last Thursday there was a foam party across the street at Sigma Phi. My roommate and I would have totally gone, totally. Except we had to catch the Midnight Express to San Francisco that night. Not a train... a bus. Charter bus, at least.

On our way to the Express, just outside the apartment, we passed two tall girls in dresses. One was covered in foam from the waist down. They were having a fairly intense conversation about something, but I couldn't figure out what. It wasn't a happy one, either. But that's par for the course where I live.

It's a fact: ninety percent of people you walk by in L.A. aren't smiling. And the other ten percent are probably jacked up on something.

The 90 Percent Rule even applies to a college community like the one I live in-- even on a party night like Thursday. Girls walk around wearing designer clothes and carrying expensive handbags, guys with gelled-back hair and probably-expensive-because-it-stinks cologne. If you took a snapshot of their faces, the scene would look like some kind of aftermath. Happiness is almost completely absent from the air. Bored looks, cool veneers, glares, sunglasses that are still being worn after 10 pm. And this is on a party night.

In San Francisco, every night seems like a party night. Jugglers, freak shows, fully grown adults in garish Halloween costumes, laughing and dancing and smiling. Music plays that seems to come from nowhere. In Berkeley, drunk band members walk the streets, haphazardly playing their instruments.

Still, it all felt a little bit "unapproved of". There were a lot of bystanders milling around that were definitely bemused by all of this nonsense. When my group of friends started singing band warmups a capella and put a hat out for tips, we were pretty much ignored. People would walk by, purposefully keeping their eyes ahead of them, not looking at us. Almost as if they were indignant that we would do something so blatantly "fun", right in public.

(edit: Yes, there's video footage of this awesomeness. It's on Facebook-- if you know my true identity of course...)

Those kind of people rule society these days. Happiness and acceptance of others is kept to a minimum. We're all too concerned with our own self-image.

Am I the only one who thinks our society needs to pull the stick out of our collective ass?

scattershot entry #1

Okay, I need to write a post today. I just haven't thought of what to write about yet.

-Sarah Palin was on Saturday Night Live this weekend. She was funny, in the same way that a fat guy in a Cinderella costume is funny. Sure, you laugh when he runs around shouting "Where's my carriage?! It's almost midnight!!!", but you probably wouldn't turn around and elect him vice president of the United States.

-Tina Fey honestly deserves a Nobel Prize for her Palin impression. She single-handedly made McCain's running mate into a national punchline, and in doing so, probably saved the country.

-Here's a nice way to kill five minutes: Winterbells

-As long as I'm getting political, let's talk for a second about Proposition 8. If you're a "Yes" proponent, and you think you have a shot of passing this proposition, you're crazy. Liberals own this state. Whether you like it or not, the "religious right" simply doesn't have the power that it used to-- at least not in California. So all your clever arguments about the specific wording of epistles written in Biblical times are falling on deaf ears. Gay people aren't going to lose the right to get married. It's 2008.

And don't even get me started on that commercial with the little girl who says "I can marry a princess! I learned it in school today Mommy" Aside from being extremely manipulative, that commercial misses the point entirely. It's not about what kids learn in third grade-- it's about the right of two people to enter a legally binding marital contract, in order to receive the same benefits that all married couples have. It's not even about religion. It's a matter of state. It's separate-- or should be, anyway.

Don't make it illegal just because your book says it's wrong.

(By the way, I do believe in the Book. I just don't think we have to force everyone else to follow it.)

Whew! That was fun. Let's move on to something lighter, huh?

-Rolling Bomber Special (Warning. This video is extremely awesome, and extremely Japanese. Also, I had no idea what the hell was going on at any point of this video, so there's that)

-I really wish I had a MacBook. I'm seriously considering taking out an extra student loan and buying one. Comment if you think I should do it.

-Think I'm going to take out a Netflix membership this year. There are a lot of great movies I need to watch, and I actually have time to do a little of that this quarter. I've never subscribed to something like Netflix on my own before... it's still a little bit strange being an adult. But I can afford it, so damn it, it's going to happen.

Okay, that's probably enough for a good post. Nothing to report on the "Quest" front, so I'll sign off here.

los angeles a.m.

Last week I drove down Wilshire Boulevard late. Somewhere on the other side of midnight. At that hour the city has a different population-- a different identity. Even the twilight is different. The sky glows with a pale yellow light, a glow that is tangibly man-made. It's a constant reminder of the millions of living bodies within ten miles of my car.

The atmosphere of L.A. at night is seductive to its target demographic: the young, lonely and scarred. It's electric, and it's ominous. There's a dangerous edge to it-- after all, it's the thieves who own the city after midnight, and the junkies and bad cops and all manner of scoundrels.

I was idling at a red light at Fairfax, and across the street I saw a girl in pumps and three layers of make-up, leading a doe-eyed john into the lobby of a hotel.

Less than a mile away, the club scene was in full swing, as a line of impeccably-dressed yups snaked out of a little door and down a narrow side alley. Beyond that little door, subwoofers shook and lights flashed. Out in the alley, cinder blocks and broken glass littered the concrete on which they all stood, shivering in their expensive shoes and shirts and dresses. They didn't seem to care.

And that made sense, when I thought about it. They weren't there to sight-see.

Five minutes later. A black Lincoln Towncar was in the lane adjacent to mine. The driver surveyed his surroundings with the look of a hardened mercenary. He monitored his speed carefully to make sure I wasn't driving next to him. The car's windows were tinted.

Every time we would pull up to a stoplight, he'd keep his cab five feet behind mine, giving me a hard stare every time I glanced his way in my rearview mirror.

I don't know what was going on in the back seat of that Towncar. A passionate affair... maybe. Could've been a big crack deal. Whatever it was, it involved someone who could afford a hired driver. A CEO, a movie star, a record producer, a high-ranking public official. Maybe a crooked lawyer trying to cop a bargain with the prosecution.

More likely, a forty-five-year-old married businessman on a joyride with a very friendly girl named Trixxie.

In this city, it could have been anything.

we don't need no talkin pictures

Had my first film midterm today. It was harder than I expected. I think a lot of people messed up on it, so I'm still probably okay.

I've been watching some silent films lately-- The General, The Navigator, and just tonight I watched City Lights. The first two were made by Buster Keaton, and the third is a Charlie Chaplin movie. If you've never seen a silent movie before, check out one of those.

Seriously. DO IT.

You'll be surprised-- I know I was-- how entertaining and moving a film can be without spoken word.

City Lights, in particular, had one of the best endings of any movie I've seen in a long, long time. I don't want to give anything away if you haven't seen it, but if you have, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I never thought I would resonate so well with Charlie Chaplin.

The General was just absolutely classic from beginning to end. I'm so impressed by Keaton's ability not only to act and direct, but to pull off all his own stunts, which for this movie must have been extremely dangerous. The Navigator is also worth checking out, as it contains some classic scenes as well.

I have some more Chaplin films to watch, and I should probably check out Metropolis and Battleship Potemkin as well. There are a HUGE number of great movies I still haven't seen... I have a lot of catching up to do. But I'll definitely enjoy every minute.

wow

I completely fail at updating this blog.

Last week in Film 188B, we talked about genre classifications. You know the drill-- western, sci-fi, comedy, thriller, horror, musical. My professor brought up an interesting point about why genres are actually not confining to an artist, but actually liberating.

(By the way, I should probably explain-- this fall I'm taking a film class. It's called "Art and Technique in Filmmaking", and the purpose of the class is pretty much to consider film as an art form, and analyze what makes a film both artistic and, hopefully, successful. I love this class, because it's confirmed what I've already realized about movies-- they're ART. A very complex art, in fact.)

So anyway, back to the topic at hand.

I have to confess something: I've always hated genres. Why put a label on something? Why impose a bunch of overused clichés and structures onto an otherwise acceptable story? Some of the best movies are the ones that don't fit into any particular genre. (Eternal Sunshine comes to mind.) To me they've always seemed unnecessarily restrictive.

My professor said that genres are useful in a couple of different ways. First of all, they have a pre-established audience. There's an audience for Indiana Jones-type adventure pics, as much as there's an audience for the latest Judd Apatow production, the next Pixar flick. There's an audience for horror movies-- who will go see any scary movie that comes out, no matter how crappy. (how else could a movie like "Prom Night" have opened at #1? yeah, remember that one? no thanks)

The point being, one of a filmmaker's main goals is to get asses in the seats. Making a genre picture helps achieve that goal.

But the artistry has to be considered, too. That's where my prof's next point comes into play. He said that genres provide a set of thematic issues to explore, plots and characters to tangle with, over multiple films.

In westerns, morality can be dark and complex; in sci-fi, the ethics of technology and human advancement; in horror, our universal fear of death and the supernatural; even in comedy, we can question what makes us laugh.

Not only that, but genre films can allow a director to grow and gain skills, offering many technical challenges that are unique to each genre. If I were to make a musical, I'd probably want to use warm lighting, bright colors and fast-moving cameras; but if I wanted to do a film noir, I'd film black-and-white in stark lighting, and probably hire Billy Wilder to write the script. So making a genre picture can be a great learning tool for a director-- like me!

So I'm thinking my first big feature has to be a musical.

I have some ideas ("24: The Musical" anyone? Kiefer Sutherland faces off against a band of singing terrorists in a wacky real-time romp-- featuring Kristin Chenoweth as Chloe! Tickets on sale now, get yours before time runs out... *tick* *tock* *tick* *tock* *tick* *tock*)

But I think I'd better wrap this up before I give away the farm.