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Tuesday, March 30, 2004
"Tonight we're gonna party like Lob-stars," shouted my roommate, Josh, across the BP station parking lot to his buddies who were furiously scrambling to arrange 32 Budweisers into a cooler full of ice that might have held 24 empty. Obviously, Josh had meant to say "Rockstars," but the alcohol was already beginning to kick in and it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. I had taken the day off from work hoping to enjoy the gorgeous late March weather, and a game of volleyball with the guys sounded like the perfect way to take advantage of such an afternoon. Of course, with these guys no activity is attempted without the King of Beers presiding over the festivities. The fact that we were playing on a University court did not deter the boys from APO from enjoying a few drinks while pretending to play volleyball and soaking up some rays. Now that I think about it, perhaps partying like lobsters was, in fact, the appropriate description because by the end of the game that is what most of us looked like. I'd like to report that no one was injured, but an arrant elbow from a kid called "Tuna" landed straight between my neighbor, Marc's, eyes. He bled for thirty minutes, but no sign of a break.
I left the boys a little early to prepare for an evening of baseball and theatre, two of my favorite things. When I returned to 302D, the guys were sitting around the living room, beer supply exhausted, poking and prodding at Tuna who was passed out, face down on the floor. They invited me to a party and I reluctantly agreed not feeling like heading to an early bedtime on a Friday night. I am not much of a partier and rarely do I go out with Josh and the posse, but this time my other roommate Jimmy was going. If Jimmy was going, that meant that I would not be the most uncool person there, and he is always enjoyable to be around at these events because by his third beer he is singing Sinatra and if you're lucky you'll get to see his Chief Sitting Duck impression.
Not wanting to pay for a cup for the keg necessitated a trip to Harris Teeter to replenish the trusty beer cooler. We arrived at the party and, not wanting anyone to steal from it, stashed our cooler in the trunk of Travis' car. "But wait," someone interjected. "We don't want to be coming all the way back here every five minutes," he continued. Everyone agreed it was a valid point. So, each of the guys proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cans. This may have seemed like a brilliant plan at first, but then I started to notice all these big, cool guys acting all big and cool inside the house with large wet spots on each of their thighs.
As it would turn out, this was a Catholic School Girl party, and all the females in attendance were dressed as such. However, this was not quite as exciting as one might expect, and I was informed after just a few minutes that it was a pretty lame party. I would have never guessed because it was basically the same as every other party I had ever been to. Finding nothing worthwhile inside, me and the guys hungout for a while out in the lawn doing our own thing. It was at this point that I spotted a balcony that I thought would be a much cooler place to stand around and Josh agreed. So up the stairs we went only to find that this balcony was more or less like an extension of the roof with a railing around it and the only access was through a bedroom window. This did not slow us down one bit, and through the window we went. We were eventually chased off of the roof by the girl whos window we had climbed through. By that time, however, the novelty had worn off, Duke had won the basketball game (we were watching a tv through another window), and I had had enough and was ready to go home.
I was sound asleep when Josh and Jimmy arrived home from the party. Jimmy went straight to his room and proceeded to crank up Beethoven's 9th and attempt to sing along. I believe I would have been upset by such a rude awakening if I hadn't been laughing at that absurdity of it. Josh reminded him that I was probably in bed asleep, so he cut the volume down to a reasonable level. However, he still felt the need to stand outside my door and yell in to me, "Brian, I'm sorry if I woke you up, buddy...but I just get so wrapped up in Beethoven!"
The moral of this story: Possum parties like lobster with Tuna, gets wrapped in Beethoven.
I left the boys a little early to prepare for an evening of baseball and theatre, two of my favorite things. When I returned to 302D, the guys were sitting around the living room, beer supply exhausted, poking and prodding at Tuna who was passed out, face down on the floor. They invited me to a party and I reluctantly agreed not feeling like heading to an early bedtime on a Friday night. I am not much of a partier and rarely do I go out with Josh and the posse, but this time my other roommate Jimmy was going. If Jimmy was going, that meant that I would not be the most uncool person there, and he is always enjoyable to be around at these events because by his third beer he is singing Sinatra and if you're lucky you'll get to see his Chief Sitting Duck impression.
Not wanting to pay for a cup for the keg necessitated a trip to Harris Teeter to replenish the trusty beer cooler. We arrived at the party and, not wanting anyone to steal from it, stashed our cooler in the trunk of Travis' car. "But wait," someone interjected. "We don't want to be coming all the way back here every five minutes," he continued. Everyone agreed it was a valid point. So, each of the guys proceeded to stuff his pockets full of cans. This may have seemed like a brilliant plan at first, but then I started to notice all these big, cool guys acting all big and cool inside the house with large wet spots on each of their thighs.
As it would turn out, this was a Catholic School Girl party, and all the females in attendance were dressed as such. However, this was not quite as exciting as one might expect, and I was informed after just a few minutes that it was a pretty lame party. I would have never guessed because it was basically the same as every other party I had ever been to. Finding nothing worthwhile inside, me and the guys hungout for a while out in the lawn doing our own thing. It was at this point that I spotted a balcony that I thought would be a much cooler place to stand around and Josh agreed. So up the stairs we went only to find that this balcony was more or less like an extension of the roof with a railing around it and the only access was through a bedroom window. This did not slow us down one bit, and through the window we went. We were eventually chased off of the roof by the girl whos window we had climbed through. By that time, however, the novelty had worn off, Duke had won the basketball game (we were watching a tv through another window), and I had had enough and was ready to go home.
I was sound asleep when Josh and Jimmy arrived home from the party. Jimmy went straight to his room and proceeded to crank up Beethoven's 9th and attempt to sing along. I believe I would have been upset by such a rude awakening if I hadn't been laughing at that absurdity of it. Josh reminded him that I was probably in bed asleep, so he cut the volume down to a reasonable level. However, he still felt the need to stand outside my door and yell in to me, "Brian, I'm sorry if I woke you up, buddy...but I just get so wrapped up in Beethoven!"
The moral of this story: Possum parties like lobster with Tuna, gets wrapped in Beethoven.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
It followed me to high school, it implausibly followed me to college, and now, it appears that against all odds, it has followed me into the working world. I can remember clearly the day that the kid in my seventh grade class looked at me and with a big smile turned to his equally redneck friend and said, "look, it's possum!" No explanation, it just was.
The pair of hillbillies proceeded to refer to me as possum for the remainder of the school year. It wasn't until a friend of mine heard them the following year that the snowball effect began. Suddenly, everyone in school was calling me possum, and I wasn't quite sure what to think, and the more I protested, the more amusing my classmates found it. The name possum took on a life of it's own and possum jokes were the hottest thing in 8th grade. I had to learn to ignore them.
My elementary school friends continued to refer to me as possum as we moved on to 9th grade. The transition to high school was a little overwhelming for me, but I quickly found that a kid named possum was a lot more memorable than "Brian," especially during the height of my shyness. So, all these cool kids that I was meeting were saying, "hey, possum!" as I passed in the hall, and though I knew that essentially they were mocking me, at least they knew who I was. Slowly, through my four years in high school, possum became less of a joke and more of a proper nickname. My school was big on nicknames. We voted a guy named Chainsaw to be our Homecoming King, and there was a kid in my class named Weedge. I never knew his real name until we were seniors. By twelfth grade, however, only a close circle of friends were calling me Possum, and it had been something that I had made my own. I found it hard to distinguish whether different people called me Possum or Brian. I heard both as being my name.
While I had even caught myself referring to myself as Possum from time to time, I was not necessarily saddened by the thought of leaving the name behind in Sylva as I ventured off to meet a whole new world of people in college. I had a friend threaten to call everyone in Chapel Hill to assure that the monicker would follow me onward, but his services weren't needed. It didn't even take a week for me to unleash the Possum on Carolina. During the course of an icebreaker with a group of people that would become part of my circle of friends the question was posed, "did you have any nickname in high school." I figured it would be harmless to mention the name, but before I knew it, everyone in Intervarsity knew about the kid called Possum. However, this time I made it my own and embraced the title.
To this day, many of my friends still call me Possum, but surely, I thought, this would not infiltrate the business world. Going by Possum just didn't sound professional to me, and I saw no reason why anyone that I worked with needed to know. That is until this afternoon when one of my student staff members announces to the office that her roommate knows me and that she said that there was a "little name" that people called me. Thanks, Ellen!
So all the students got a good laugh. Fortunately none of my colleagues were there, so I still hold on to hope that this won't spread any higher. Somehow I can't picture my bosses calling me Possum.
Well, there you have it. I've been asked so many times why the name Possum. This is the full story, or at least my part of it, cloaked in mystery much like the man himself. I've been hit by a car in a parking lot, hung upside down in a tree, and rooted around in a dumpster, so maybe there really is a little possum in me.
The pair of hillbillies proceeded to refer to me as possum for the remainder of the school year. It wasn't until a friend of mine heard them the following year that the snowball effect began. Suddenly, everyone in school was calling me possum, and I wasn't quite sure what to think, and the more I protested, the more amusing my classmates found it. The name possum took on a life of it's own and possum jokes were the hottest thing in 8th grade. I had to learn to ignore them.
My elementary school friends continued to refer to me as possum as we moved on to 9th grade. The transition to high school was a little overwhelming for me, but I quickly found that a kid named possum was a lot more memorable than "Brian," especially during the height of my shyness. So, all these cool kids that I was meeting were saying, "hey, possum!" as I passed in the hall, and though I knew that essentially they were mocking me, at least they knew who I was. Slowly, through my four years in high school, possum became less of a joke and more of a proper nickname. My school was big on nicknames. We voted a guy named Chainsaw to be our Homecoming King, and there was a kid in my class named Weedge. I never knew his real name until we were seniors. By twelfth grade, however, only a close circle of friends were calling me Possum, and it had been something that I had made my own. I found it hard to distinguish whether different people called me Possum or Brian. I heard both as being my name.
While I had even caught myself referring to myself as Possum from time to time, I was not necessarily saddened by the thought of leaving the name behind in Sylva as I ventured off to meet a whole new world of people in college. I had a friend threaten to call everyone in Chapel Hill to assure that the monicker would follow me onward, but his services weren't needed. It didn't even take a week for me to unleash the Possum on Carolina. During the course of an icebreaker with a group of people that would become part of my circle of friends the question was posed, "did you have any nickname in high school." I figured it would be harmless to mention the name, but before I knew it, everyone in Intervarsity knew about the kid called Possum. However, this time I made it my own and embraced the title.
To this day, many of my friends still call me Possum, but surely, I thought, this would not infiltrate the business world. Going by Possum just didn't sound professional to me, and I saw no reason why anyone that I worked with needed to know. That is until this afternoon when one of my student staff members announces to the office that her roommate knows me and that she said that there was a "little name" that people called me. Thanks, Ellen!
So all the students got a good laugh. Fortunately none of my colleagues were there, so I still hold on to hope that this won't spread any higher. Somehow I can't picture my bosses calling me Possum.
Well, there you have it. I've been asked so many times why the name Possum. This is the full story, or at least my part of it, cloaked in mystery much like the man himself. I've been hit by a car in a parking lot, hung upside down in a tree, and rooted around in a dumpster, so maybe there really is a little possum in me.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
After years of resistance, I was conned into signing up for a VIC card at Harris Teeter this week. In a moment of weakness the words "yeah, sure" rolled off my tongue when faced with the inevitable 'what's your problem with saving money' look that comes with vehemently refusing the opportunity to become an Important Customer in the eyes of Harris Teeter and Big Brother, Inc.. Possum Holler readers may or may not be familiar with my problems with the VIC program and other equally suspect promotions. Aside from not wanting THEM to know everything that I eat so they can jack up the prices of what I do buy and offer me discounts on the stuff that I don't buy, I am also convinced that the VIC Card comes equiped with some sort of honing device that allows HT to trace your every step along with every bite you take. Why you might ask? Well, why not! Think about it. The ever convenient VIC Card fits cozily on your key chain where it will never be any further than 20 feet away from you at all times.
My suspicions became heightened when confronted with a blank space on the application where they expected me to provide them with my driver's license number. Do they need to check my driving record to make sure it is clear before I am allowed to save $.59 on a Healthy Choice frozen dinner? I've got nothing to hide, so I forked it over.
I guess I've gotten soft in my post-college years. Here I am working for the same Tsar that I once swore to do my best to overthrow not so very long ago and allowing the Big Brother/Harris Teeter conspiracy to watch my every step, and for what? What is the price that bought another chunk of my personal privacy? Well, yesterday it came to about four dollars and sixty cents.
The moral of the story, friends, is that once you start having to provide for yourself you learn pretty quick that money ain't cheap.
My suspicions became heightened when confronted with a blank space on the application where they expected me to provide them with my driver's license number. Do they need to check my driving record to make sure it is clear before I am allowed to save $.59 on a Healthy Choice frozen dinner? I've got nothing to hide, so I forked it over.
I guess I've gotten soft in my post-college years. Here I am working for the same Tsar that I once swore to do my best to overthrow not so very long ago and allowing the Big Brother/Harris Teeter conspiracy to watch my every step, and for what? What is the price that bought another chunk of my personal privacy? Well, yesterday it came to about four dollars and sixty cents.
The moral of the story, friends, is that once you start having to provide for yourself you learn pretty quick that money ain't cheap.
Monday, March 08, 2004
About a year and a half ago, Possum's Online Journal was started as a outlet for recounting random stories from my own life. As the old POJ morphed into Possum Holler there has still been stories from the life of Possum, however, I find that this journal has become more editorial. Oscar coverage, haikus, and an annual rant against Pete Rose are all well and good, but looking back at the entries over the past couple of months what do you really learn about me? I tend to be a little obsessed with Elvis. Partially true. There is some debate over my affiliation with the Communist party. I'll never tell. That I watch far too many movies. Perhaps. But what I want to commit to is keeping you, the faithful Possum Holler visitor, informed of the ode to randomness that is my life. So here is the Reader's Digest condenced version of Possum's winter.
I started the New Year by officially ending my homeless plight by moving in with two guys whom I had met for a grand total of five minutes. My fortunes took a further upward swing when I got a job offer from Playmakers Repertory Company on the campus of UNC. Within a week of moving in (and unsure of how I was going to pay the bills) I was settling in as the Assistant Box Office Manager.
My two new roommates, we'll call them Josh and Jimmy (those being their names), decided to throw a party in honor of my moving in with them (mainly because the guy whom I replaced in their apartment would not let them throw parties). It lasted three days. I felt like a pilgrim at the first Thanksgiving. I would go to sleep with the party still raging outside my room and wake up to random girls cleaning up the mess from the previous night in preparation for the day's festivities. I'd go to work when things seemed to be dying down and return to find a new cast of partiers in varying stages of inebriation. I suppose by the third day the neighbors had had quite enough, so around 2 am yours truly opens the door and gets to explain to the cops why exactly there was such a commotion inside.
The following week was the great snow/ice storm of '04. The entire state of North Carolina shut down; except, of course, for Playmakers. The university was closed, but irregardless, I knew that it was expected that I be at work the next day since everyone who had tickets for the cancelled Sunday show had been told to call back on Monday. Fearing the worst, I packed up a survival kit, bundled up and set out on a trek up to campus from my apartment with the plan of spending the night on campus for easy access to work in the morning. A simple enough plan, however, I decided to blaze a trail through the woods in an attempt to forge a straighter path. After crossing the same iced-over creek two or three times and coming face to face with a pair of deer, I decided that I better find my way out of the woods. I emerged in an unfamiliar neighborhood and after walking in circles for several minutes I flagged down a police car to ask directions. The female cops warned me of the "hinky" people that were around and offered to give me a ride. My first, and hopefully last, ride in the back of a squad car! I must say it wasn't very comfortable.
The temperatures began to rise (and fall and rise and fall) and the gates to Boshamer Stadium were opened for the start of another Carolina baseball season. I took my place for the first weekend series on the first baseline amidst the usual characters, the three older guys that Will, Jason and I have befriended over the years. We always have some great laughs at the expense of an umpire or some unfortunately named opposing player. However, it has always been an awkward situation because I do not know their names...and after three years, it is a little late to ask. It does make me feel better, though, that I don't think that they know my name. They've asked me to go up to Virginia with them, and Will and I are even considering meeting them in Miami this summer. I guess it just goes to show that the bond of baseball renders the details (ie first names) unimportant.
So there are a few brief anecdotes from my adventures. I hope that you feel like you've gained a little more incite into my life. That is, of course, why Possum Holler exists: to prove that Possum's mind is not hollow.
I started the New Year by officially ending my homeless plight by moving in with two guys whom I had met for a grand total of five minutes. My fortunes took a further upward swing when I got a job offer from Playmakers Repertory Company on the campus of UNC. Within a week of moving in (and unsure of how I was going to pay the bills) I was settling in as the Assistant Box Office Manager.
My two new roommates, we'll call them Josh and Jimmy (those being their names), decided to throw a party in honor of my moving in with them (mainly because the guy whom I replaced in their apartment would not let them throw parties). It lasted three days. I felt like a pilgrim at the first Thanksgiving. I would go to sleep with the party still raging outside my room and wake up to random girls cleaning up the mess from the previous night in preparation for the day's festivities. I'd go to work when things seemed to be dying down and return to find a new cast of partiers in varying stages of inebriation. I suppose by the third day the neighbors had had quite enough, so around 2 am yours truly opens the door and gets to explain to the cops why exactly there was such a commotion inside.
The following week was the great snow/ice storm of '04. The entire state of North Carolina shut down; except, of course, for Playmakers. The university was closed, but irregardless, I knew that it was expected that I be at work the next day since everyone who had tickets for the cancelled Sunday show had been told to call back on Monday. Fearing the worst, I packed up a survival kit, bundled up and set out on a trek up to campus from my apartment with the plan of spending the night on campus for easy access to work in the morning. A simple enough plan, however, I decided to blaze a trail through the woods in an attempt to forge a straighter path. After crossing the same iced-over creek two or three times and coming face to face with a pair of deer, I decided that I better find my way out of the woods. I emerged in an unfamiliar neighborhood and after walking in circles for several minutes I flagged down a police car to ask directions. The female cops warned me of the "hinky" people that were around and offered to give me a ride. My first, and hopefully last, ride in the back of a squad car! I must say it wasn't very comfortable.
The temperatures began to rise (and fall and rise and fall) and the gates to Boshamer Stadium were opened for the start of another Carolina baseball season. I took my place for the first weekend series on the first baseline amidst the usual characters, the three older guys that Will, Jason and I have befriended over the years. We always have some great laughs at the expense of an umpire or some unfortunately named opposing player. However, it has always been an awkward situation because I do not know their names...and after three years, it is a little late to ask. It does make me feel better, though, that I don't think that they know my name. They've asked me to go up to Virginia with them, and Will and I are even considering meeting them in Miami this summer. I guess it just goes to show that the bond of baseball renders the details (ie first names) unimportant.
So there are a few brief anecdotes from my adventures. I hope that you feel like you've gained a little more incite into my life. That is, of course, why Possum Holler exists: to prove that Possum's mind is not hollow.
Monday, March 01, 2004
I should have seen it coming. I failed to remember the rule of thumb for guessing the awards that you're not sure about: go with the film that is likely to take home an arm load. The Return of the King was honored for the entire trilogy and deservingly so, but I was too socialist in my prophecizing trying to give an award to as many films as possible. Nonetheless, I bettered my scored from a year ago, improving two for a total of 14 correct predictions. I know there are several of you that beat me. The best way was to use my sister's method of voting a straight LOTR ticket, and then going with my picks for the ones in which LOTR was not nominated (she did stray on a couple of picks, but this method would have scored you a 21 out of 24).
So, let's break it down:
Hits: Best Picture, Best Actress, Supporting Actress, Animated Film, Cinematography, Directing, Documentary, Documentary Short, Editing, Foreign Film, Sound, Sound Editing, Visual Effects, and Original Screenplay. A couple of the most exciting wins for me were Lost in Translation for Original Screenplay, and Master and Commander for Sound Editing and Cinematography. I was glad that those two films were recognized in some capacity.
Misses: Best Actor, Supporting Actor, Art Direction, Costume Design, Make Up, Score, Song, Animated Short, Short Film, Adapted Screenplay. I knew that Mystic River's sweep of the Actor categories was coming, but I voted against them anyway out of stubborness. Another disappointment for me was Best Song where I really didn't like Annie Lennox's song for LOTR. I thought either of Allison Krauss' songs for Cold Mountain were far better, and the best moment of the entire show was when Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara recreated their performance of A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow from A Mighty Wind.
I know it's a little late, but as any good film critic would, here is my Top 10 list for 2003:
1. 21 Grams
I'm not going to recommend this movie to everyone. It is definately the hardest film I've watched in a long time. The non-linear story line is sometimes difficult to keep your head around, but the three incredible performances from Sean Penn, Benecio Del Toro and Naomi Watts shake you up and leave you unsure of whom to feel sorry for.
2. Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
The thrilling conclusion to the greatest epic ever told on film. The most incredible cinematic experience that I have witnessed.
3. Lost In Translation
I think this one ended up being my favorite of the year, but the people I watched it with (my third viewing) the other day weren't all that impressed. Perhaps I am just drawn to these movies about lonely people.
4. Cold Mountain
So, this film hits close to home...literally. I live about 30 minutes from Cold Mountain, and I was a little bit peeved (as were most Western North Carolinians) by the fact that they were filming this movie in Romania and had cast an Australian and Englishman to play the leads. However, once I thought about it, I decided that they might be better suited to pull off the very specific southern appalachain dialect than some American. I was a bit annoyed by the over play of the love story, but they did what they had to do to successfully adapt the great novel onto the screen. Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this one and felt it could have gotten Oscar nominations over Mystic River or Seabiscuit.
5. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
This was just a solidly crafted film by Peter Weir. Russell Crowe was great in an understated way. His mere presence is so strong that he does not need to over act his heroic roles. A prime example in this film is his "win one for the gipper"-esque speech before he leads his ship into battle. It was not your typical Hollywood star, self glorifying, "hey Academy, look at me" speech. It was strong without being overly loud....just like the rest of this movie.
6. Big Fish
A film overlooked by Oscar, but one of the most entertaining movies of the year. An interesting side note that I'm not so sure most people are familiar with is that co-star Billy Crudup is a graduate of our very own UNC-Chapel Hill.
7. Thirteen
This movie really caught me by surprise. I had heard nothing about it until Holly Hunter grabbed a supporting actress nomination, but picked it up one night not sure what to expect. It is a fascinating and very scary probe into a culture where teenagers are getting involved in sex and drugs at a younger and younger age. Thirteen seems to point the finger of blame squarely at the parents. Also a movie with some interesting cinematography. Watch as the color slowly fades out of the film as Rachel Evan Wood's character gets deeper and deeper into trouble until the final climax where all of sudden you realize that you are watching a black and white sequence. I was also blown away by the scene in the living room where mother and daughter have a very heated argument. I loved the way the camera rocks back and forth as the energy in the room shifts.
8. A Mighty Wind
For my money this is the funniest film yet from Christopher Guest and his troupe of mocumentarians.
9. School of Rock
I wanted to include one popcorn movie on this list and School of Rock narrowly edged out Pirates of the Carribean. This was the first Jack Black movie I had seen and I believe he made a fan out of me. Watch the way he move and even the way he dresses. It reminds me of John Belushi in Animal House...not really sure why, but this was so much better than I ever thought it could be.
10. Seabiscuit
I didn't want to like this movie. I was not in the mood for nostalgic, Hollywood "inspiration," but I couldn't help but respect it. It is a beautiful movie, and Tobey McGuire and Michael Cooper are extremely talented actors. It almost had a Field of Dreams feel to it.
Runners Up: Pirates of the Carribean, The Cooler, Capturing the Friedmans, American Splendor
Biggest Surprise: Bubba Ho-Tep
For an ultra low budget film starring the world's most famous B-movie actor, this ended up being one of the most fun movies I've ever seen. Elvis, who switched places with an impersonator just before his "death" is living in a nursing home where his best friend is a black man who believes he is JFK. Together the two fight off an evil Egyptian mummy that is killing off the residents of their home. Sheer genius!!!
Biggest Disappointment: tie: Mystic River and The Last Samurai
Tom Hanks in a movie where he is the only one speaking for 2 hours is entertaining; Tom Cruise in a movie where he is the only one speaking English for 2 hours is draining.
Mystic River has quickly become my favorite movie to hate this year. Problem #1: Lawrence Fishburne's character, aside from being the token black guy named Whitey, is so poorly written, spouting every cop movie cliche that has ever been muttered.
Problem #2: Uh, where did that soliloquy that Laura Linney gives towards the end come from?
Problem #3: The resolution is too simple for such a dark and tragic movie, pinning the murder on a minor character that is little more than an extra. After all this movie puts it's viewers through emotionally, it leaves them with a copout killer and a non-existent motive.
Problem #4: Kevin Bacon's ex-wife that keeps calling. I can only assume that this was important in the book, but in the film, please give us some explanation of why it is included or cut it out.
5th and biggest problem...to me: I liked the ending to this movie. Sean Penn and Kevin Bacon walking down the street in a scene remeniscent of the two kids watching their pal riding away in the back of that car so many years ago. However, this time they know he isn't coming back. But then it keeps going! I was ready for a fade to black, but all of a sudden everyone is at a parade...what a happy ending! Maybe they'll explain why we should care about Kevin Bacon's ex-wife...nope. Maybe they'll give us some incite into the mute kid and why he shot that poor girl...nope. Maybe Lawrence Fishburne will get shot the day before he is scheduled to retire...not even. Sean Penn killed his best friend for no reason. Lets have a parade!!!
I'm gonna stop writing about movies for a while. I know that I have exhausted the subject. I hope you have enjoyed this year's Possum Holler Oscar coverage. We'll see if we can do better next year.
So, let's break it down:
Hits: Best Picture, Best Actress, Supporting Actress, Animated Film, Cinematography, Directing, Documentary, Documentary Short, Editing, Foreign Film, Sound, Sound Editing, Visual Effects, and Original Screenplay. A couple of the most exciting wins for me were Lost in Translation for Original Screenplay, and Master and Commander for Sound Editing and Cinematography. I was glad that those two films were recognized in some capacity.
Misses: Best Actor, Supporting Actor, Art Direction, Costume Design, Make Up, Score, Song, Animated Short, Short Film, Adapted Screenplay. I knew that Mystic River's sweep of the Actor categories was coming, but I voted against them anyway out of stubborness. Another disappointment for me was Best Song where I really didn't like Annie Lennox's song for LOTR. I thought either of Allison Krauss' songs for Cold Mountain were far better, and the best moment of the entire show was when Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara recreated their performance of A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow from A Mighty Wind.
I know it's a little late, but as any good film critic would, here is my Top 10 list for 2003:
1. 21 Grams
I'm not going to recommend this movie to everyone. It is definately the hardest film I've watched in a long time. The non-linear story line is sometimes difficult to keep your head around, but the three incredible performances from Sean Penn, Benecio Del Toro and Naomi Watts shake you up and leave you unsure of whom to feel sorry for.
2. Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
The thrilling conclusion to the greatest epic ever told on film. The most incredible cinematic experience that I have witnessed.
3. Lost In Translation
I think this one ended up being my favorite of the year, but the people I watched it with (my third viewing) the other day weren't all that impressed. Perhaps I am just drawn to these movies about lonely people.
4. Cold Mountain
So, this film hits close to home...literally. I live about 30 minutes from Cold Mountain, and I was a little bit peeved (as were most Western North Carolinians) by the fact that they were filming this movie in Romania and had cast an Australian and Englishman to play the leads. However, once I thought about it, I decided that they might be better suited to pull off the very specific southern appalachain dialect than some American. I was a bit annoyed by the over play of the love story, but they did what they had to do to successfully adapt the great novel onto the screen. Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this one and felt it could have gotten Oscar nominations over Mystic River or Seabiscuit.
5. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
This was just a solidly crafted film by Peter Weir. Russell Crowe was great in an understated way. His mere presence is so strong that he does not need to over act his heroic roles. A prime example in this film is his "win one for the gipper"-esque speech before he leads his ship into battle. It was not your typical Hollywood star, self glorifying, "hey Academy, look at me" speech. It was strong without being overly loud....just like the rest of this movie.
6. Big Fish
A film overlooked by Oscar, but one of the most entertaining movies of the year. An interesting side note that I'm not so sure most people are familiar with is that co-star Billy Crudup is a graduate of our very own UNC-Chapel Hill.
7. Thirteen
This movie really caught me by surprise. I had heard nothing about it until Holly Hunter grabbed a supporting actress nomination, but picked it up one night not sure what to expect. It is a fascinating and very scary probe into a culture where teenagers are getting involved in sex and drugs at a younger and younger age. Thirteen seems to point the finger of blame squarely at the parents. Also a movie with some interesting cinematography. Watch as the color slowly fades out of the film as Rachel Evan Wood's character gets deeper and deeper into trouble until the final climax where all of sudden you realize that you are watching a black and white sequence. I was also blown away by the scene in the living room where mother and daughter have a very heated argument. I loved the way the camera rocks back and forth as the energy in the room shifts.
8. A Mighty Wind
For my money this is the funniest film yet from Christopher Guest and his troupe of mocumentarians.
9. School of Rock
I wanted to include one popcorn movie on this list and School of Rock narrowly edged out Pirates of the Carribean. This was the first Jack Black movie I had seen and I believe he made a fan out of me. Watch the way he move and even the way he dresses. It reminds me of John Belushi in Animal House...not really sure why, but this was so much better than I ever thought it could be.
10. Seabiscuit
I didn't want to like this movie. I was not in the mood for nostalgic, Hollywood "inspiration," but I couldn't help but respect it. It is a beautiful movie, and Tobey McGuire and Michael Cooper are extremely talented actors. It almost had a Field of Dreams feel to it.
Runners Up: Pirates of the Carribean, The Cooler, Capturing the Friedmans, American Splendor
Biggest Surprise: Bubba Ho-Tep
For an ultra low budget film starring the world's most famous B-movie actor, this ended up being one of the most fun movies I've ever seen. Elvis, who switched places with an impersonator just before his "death" is living in a nursing home where his best friend is a black man who believes he is JFK. Together the two fight off an evil Egyptian mummy that is killing off the residents of their home. Sheer genius!!!
Biggest Disappointment: tie: Mystic River and The Last Samurai
Tom Hanks in a movie where he is the only one speaking for 2 hours is entertaining; Tom Cruise in a movie where he is the only one speaking English for 2 hours is draining.
Mystic River has quickly become my favorite movie to hate this year. Problem #1: Lawrence Fishburne's character, aside from being the token black guy named Whitey, is so poorly written, spouting every cop movie cliche that has ever been muttered.
Problem #2: Uh, where did that soliloquy that Laura Linney gives towards the end come from?
Problem #3: The resolution is too simple for such a dark and tragic movie, pinning the murder on a minor character that is little more than an extra. After all this movie puts it's viewers through emotionally, it leaves them with a copout killer and a non-existent motive.
Problem #4: Kevin Bacon's ex-wife that keeps calling. I can only assume that this was important in the book, but in the film, please give us some explanation of why it is included or cut it out.
5th and biggest problem...to me: I liked the ending to this movie. Sean Penn and Kevin Bacon walking down the street in a scene remeniscent of the two kids watching their pal riding away in the back of that car so many years ago. However, this time they know he isn't coming back. But then it keeps going! I was ready for a fade to black, but all of a sudden everyone is at a parade...what a happy ending! Maybe they'll explain why we should care about Kevin Bacon's ex-wife...nope. Maybe they'll give us some incite into the mute kid and why he shot that poor girl...nope. Maybe Lawrence Fishburne will get shot the day before he is scheduled to retire...not even. Sean Penn killed his best friend for no reason. Lets have a parade!!!
I'm gonna stop writing about movies for a while. I know that I have exhausted the subject. I hope you have enjoyed this year's Possum Holler Oscar coverage. We'll see if we can do better next year.
