Bout in Ukraine

After announcing to the congregation that he'd never lost a wrestling match to an American missionary, President Nadenenko challenged me to a match. I accepted the challenge, and needless to say, we had quite the turnout for our next branch picnic!

Alexi Murdoch at El Rey

True to a man who had just spent a year in the Himalayas, Alexi Murdoch appeared like a spirit on the stage, fluid and intangible beneath the low glow of blue lights, which shined just enough to illuminate the outline of an emaciated figure – made more so by his skinny jeans and tight fitting long tee – and a beard as unkempt and as the hair atop his head. It was clear that Alexi had “lost all care for the things [he] owned,” and as such, was prepared to deliver a show devoid of both pretense and extravagance, in favor of one filled with soul and truth. He looked like a man who had just spent a year in the Himalayas, and he played like one too, endowed with a spiritual strength from the mountains that rose above his physical slightness.

He stood with his guitar as an extension of himself, and sang a mixture of songs from his upcoming EP/Album, as well as some of the more celebrated songs from TIME WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE.

Also as an extension of himself were his fellow band members (rhythm guitar, bass, percussion, keys/electronics/effects, and trumpet), whose individual instruments could hardly be separated as distinct parts of the whole. Like Sigur Ros, rather than layer harmonies one on top of the other or serve accompaniments to a simple melody, they created atmospheres and worlds where Alexi’s smooth and dark voice (a deeper version of Nick Drake) slipped in as undetected as the instruments. And the music emanated from them as from one source, organically flowing and building like a spring that starts from groundwater, which turns into a brook and then a river, culminates in a waterfall, and finally finds rest in its outlet, the sea. In that way, they seemed to “feel” the music rather than play it, which assumption can find support in the fact that their eyes remained closed 75% of the time, opening only slightly the other 25%, perhaps in order to verify that they were indeed on a stage in Los Angeles in the El Rey Theatre, as opposed to floating on a cloud somewhere in another dimension.

In general, Alexi stayed true to the arrangements that were laid down in the studio, but also showed his artistry in a reinvention of “Dream About Flying,” which took on a whole new rhythm and more intricate riffs on the guitar (he must have had time work on his skills during his sojourn in the mountains), and a more simplified version of “Orange Sky” that was perhaps even more fulfilling than the studio version, slowing down the tempo to allow every stroke of the strings, every beat, and every lyric glow in our hearts like a setting sun.

The new tracks, which will be released some time in the next two to three months, still have that Alexi flavor – the combination of haunting electronica and indie acoustic riffs, and of course, the pure and unmistakable voice of Alexi himself –, but he has moved into a slightly more upbeat and optimistic realm, while maintaining a few of those moments of awe or reverence that permeate his previous work. It sounds strange to say, but this new direction, especially as it relates to his finger picking on the guitar, points almost towards folk and bluegrass, in the same way certain tracks from Ray LaMontagne’s GOSSIP IN THE GRAIN do. Needless to say, it fits and works brilliantly.

The crowning moment of last night’s performance came during the encore, when Alexi performed his stirring rendition of “Orange Sky,” and the crowd, without being beckoned or called upon, joined him in singing the chorus: “my salvation lies in your love, my salvation lies in your love, my salvation lies in your love, in your love, in your love...” Incredibly, like Alexi’s voice and the musicians that made up his band, the crowd became part of the whole, in no way overpowering Alexi or the song, but becoming yet another element in the atmosphere. A subtle smile came across Alexi’s face and not so subtle smiles played on the faces of his fellow musicians, and it was clear we had all found salvation in each other and our love for Alexi and his music.



Douglas W. Bailey
dwadebailey@gmail.com

TIGER MUST BE RACIST

I watched a report on ESPN’s Outside the Lines yesterday (which seems to be good for stirring up tensions where there previously were none), in which several white liberals and two mediocre black golfers (Steven Reid and some obscure golf instructor) complained about the lack of African Americans on the PGA tour, which, as a professional association, can only consist of golfers who golf at a professional level (as opposed to mediocre).

Once again, whoever slapped this little production together decided to ignore all the other minorities that excel in the sport (as they do whenever they bring up the lack of African Americans in NCAA football coaching positions, hockey, lacrosse, synchronized diving, etc.) – Asians, in particular, have taken the tour by storm (Choi, Kim, Maruyama), and the Spaniards and Latinos have always made their presence felt on the leader boards of nearly every tournament on tour (Garcia, Ballasteros, Olazabel, Villegas, Cabrera). I guess their skin isn’t dark enough to warrant any mention; either that, or the mention of that many successful minorities on the tour would undermine the report’s claim that the PGA (and golf in general) is backpedaling in this, the Golden Age of Diversity (which is another way of saying the PGA is racist).

And conveniently, Vijay Singh is left out of the equation completely when the report mentions Tiger Woods as the lone African American on tour (ironically, Tiger doesn’t even consider himself African American, having coined the term “Cablanasian” to explain his racial heritage, which includes African-American, Native-American, Asian, and Caucasian ancestry). I guess when you consider that Vijay is from Fiji, the claim that he is not African American is technically correct. But I thought we were dealing with racism on tour, which has to do with the color of one’s skin, regardless of where or how they inherited that color, be it on an island, in the Far East, the Southern Hemisphere, or on real live African soil. Or does ESPN believe racism only applies to those of purely African descent (although I have a feeling the Chinese, Japanese, Irish, Poles, and Jews might not agree with that)? Maybe ESPN also had a hand in writing the L.A. Times article that claimed Barack Obama was not “authentically black,” seeing as they’ve also placed poor ‘ol Vijay into the same category.

But does all this talk about race really matter in this day and age? Especially in regards to modern-day sports? Julius Erving, the lone voice of descent on the show (which also means he was the lone voice of reason), suggested that “sports are a meritocracy that rewards those who succeed, regardless of their skin color.” Hmmm…what a novel concept! Does that mean the golfers who are on tour earned the right to be on tour because they are better than those who aren’t on tour? You mean Brian Whitcomb and Tiger Woods didn’t collude to hedge up the way for other aspiring black golfers to get their Footjoy’s onto the pristine fairways of the nation’s elite courses?

I have an idea: instead of wasting energy by trying to find others to blame for his lack of success on the tour (among the others he blamed was, shockingly, Tiger Woods for not using his influence to temper the flames of racism that rage among the PGA’s “powers that be”), Steven Reid ought to be working on his short game. After all, it was he who missed a 10-foot putt in a tournament on the 18th green that would have earned him his PGA Tour card; not Tiger Woods or the racist “powers that be.”

And instead of wasting money and energy on these haphazard featurettes, which seem to be little more than 10-minute nuggets of good old-fashioned propaganda, ESPN could spend it teaching and developing young black golfers, if they really were concerned about the lack thereof on tour. But ESPN is less concerned about the racial disparity in golf than they are about legitimizing their own network by pandering to the hyped-up, bloated reputation of racism in today’s society. By so doing, they give themselves a sense of morality that would otherwise not exist in this age of White Guilt.

So give yourselves a pat on the back, ESPN, for being champions of the cause, for putting Truth in its rightful place beneath the all-important virtue of Diversity, as you so often do.


Douglas W. Bailey
dwadebailey@gmail.com

Watchmen

WATCHMEN

As soon as I got in the car after watching WATCHMEN, I sent a text message out to close friends and family. Normally, I wouldn’t risk my life and the lives of fellow motorists by texting behind the wheel, but getting this message out seemed more important than life itself. If I happened to crash into oncoming traffic, ending my life and perhaps a few others, then so be it, as long the send button had already been pushed. Our deaths would be a necessary means to save the souls of the aforementioned “close friends and family.” As I learned in the WATCHMEN, sometimes you have to kill millions to save billions.

Thankfully, neither I nor any other motorists died that night. I sent the text off swiftly and successfully. Now I just hope and pray that the close friends and family members will heed the message, which read as follows:

I beg you all, for the love of whatever good is left in your soul, do not see WATCHMEN.

That text message, in essence, is my review of the film. And I would leave it at that, but I feel that in order to at least partially cleanse myself of this experience, I must expel some of the most painful memories. I’d like to expel them all, but I can’t possibly mention every little thing that was wrong about this film, because it would take hours upon hours to do so (perhaps years if I really got going).

Speaking of “hours upon hours,” I’ve never been to 2 ½ hour movie that feels like three consecutive nights. Perhaps it’s because the filmmakers try to cram nine different story lines into one movie (one for each character, plus one for each character’s mother, and a few for characters’ past girlfriends, boyfriends, pets, etc.). As if nine storylines aren’t enough, within each one of them are nine flashbacks that add hints of other storylines. Do the math on that, and you’ll realize you’ve got 81 separate storylines to follow – a severely difficult task, especially for your average comic book moviegoer, who usually doesn’t even want one storyline in his movie, let alone 81. Luckily, the use of super slow motion in every scene directs the viewer toward which story within the story he is supposed to be following at what time. Unfortunately, there are so many stories within stories that need attention called to them through slow motion that the scenes within scenes becomes incredibly slow, which makes the overall scene intolerably slow, which makes the movie so excruciatingly slow that you begin to think you’ve been there for three consecutive nights when you’ve really only been there for about 2 ½ hours.

In those 2 ½ hours, by the way, we somehow go from 1930 to 1985 (maybe I really was there for three consecutive nights). Obviously, that’s not an unprecedented amount of time to cover in a film, but it is quite the chunk. Maybe what is more baffling is not that the film covers six decades, but that it only uses songs from one of the six, no matter which decade the film is in. It’s as if they wanted to pull off the Forrest Gump thing, using iconic artists and songs to depict the era, but instead of using songs that were applicable to the times, they went with the most played out 70’s rock songs in movie history (All Along the Watchtower, Sound of Silence, The Times They are A-Changin’). Considering most of the film took place in 1985, they ought to have been playing Billy Ocean and Duran Duran.

In case you think I’m only harping on minor issues of the film, allow me to move on to the meat: performance, script, story.

Actually, the performances weren’t all that bad. I might even go so far as to say every actor gave a decent - good performance. Unfortunately, the characters themselves were so completely juvenile that even the most brilliant actor may as well have been trying to portray Barney in a serious light. The costumes were about that quality as well. At one point, I thought I recognized a pair of tights that I used to wear around the house playing dress-up at age five. And I know they got into my childhood costume box for Nite Owl’s goggles. And there was a serious casting mistake in Adrian Veidt. I’m I really supposed to believe that a 90 lb. Swede is strong enough to manhandle the Comedian, and wouldn’t “the world’s smartest man” have enough sense to get his hair cut by a competent stylist? I’ve never seen a more absurd hairdo, especially on someone I’m supposed to believe as a superhero.

While we’re on the subject of Mr. Veidt, I must mention is purple pet lynx, which has to be the worst CG character ever created, even surpassing the ridiculousness of one Jar Jar Binks. Take a bow, Jar Jar. You had a good run at the top. And actually, while you’re moving down on the list, you might as well go to spot #3, because Dr. Manhattan will be taking the #2 spot. Dr. Manhattan is basically a blue version of the Silver Surfer, but without the decency to cover his genitalia. I was so distracted by his glowing schlong wagging all over the place that I almost didn’t realize how ridiculous the rest of him was.

But even the lynx and Dr. Manhattan combined can’t compete with underlying themes so preposterous, it made me think Syriana was evenhanded. 1) People kill people because it is their nature, and 2) the world would be one giant commune filled with love and peace if the two superpowers, the U.S. and Russia were brought to their knees. I will not dignify either of those themes by attempting a response other than to say that they contradict each other. If people kill people because it’s what they do, then it doesn’t matter who’s in charge or if no one’s in charge at all. In fact, you might even take the first theme to justify the existence of superpowers, seeing as a superpower’s military might is the only thing to keep a murderous human population at bay.

Nice try with your political propaganda, WATCHMEN. Why don’t you go hang out with your purple lynx.


Douglas W. Bailey
dwadebailey@gmail.com

Joaquin Phoenix: Voluptuous Beard, Hoax of the Century

Joaquin Phoenix:
Voluptuous Beard, Hoax of the Century

When I heard Joaquin Phoenix publicly declare that he was through with acting, my heart groaned within, and I shed a tear. I felt we had lost one of our finest performers, and so soon after one of the greatest performances of all time as Johnny Cash in Walk the Line. What a shame! For a time, I sulked, and even went days without food, my appetite having disappeared as quickly as this great actor disappeared from the artistic community.

But then I caught him at a Vegas nightclub on YouTube, donning a stocking cap like T.I. and a beard that put Kris Kringle’s to shame, both in length and tonality (although Mr. Kringle may yet have Joaquin beat in fullness). Enveloped in this strange, new image, Joaquin began to rap, the words flowing from his mouth with such ease and fluidity, “spitting rhymes” (as Puffy Combs might put it) as well as any of our modern rap artists, and even throwing in the hand gestures and limping swagger to boot. As I watched, mesmerized, it slowly occurred to me that if this fine performer ever did leave the artistic community, then not only is he back, but he is back and better than ever!

The Academy and the general public recognized and praised Joaquin for his portrayal of the late Johnny Cash, and rightfully so. But let’s face it; he simply didn’t have the build or physical prowess to accurately portray the real Johnny (unlike Will Smith, for example, who actually put on 50 pounds of muscle to play Mohammed Ali). So let’s hope that the Academy and the people at large will come out in droves to give this performance – far greater, in my opinion, than any of his previous performances – the acclaim that it deserves. For not only does he get into the psyche of the character, but he also fits the physicality to a tee.

So convincing is his performance this go around, that he has succeeded in making nearly everyone believe that this is indeed him. Whereas, no matter how hard he worked at becoming Johnny Cash, he couldn’t actually convince a reasonable human being that he was in fact Johnny Cash. And for this, he deserves our praise. Who, other than Andy Kaufman and 2-Pac, has ever been able to pull a hoax off like this??

And as if the performance in the underground club in Vegas wasn’t enough, he goes on live national television for an interview with David Letterman! If you haven’t seen the interview, then do it now:

http://www.cbs.com/late_show/video/video.php?cid=446418043&pid=TOnYWLFIAq4k8vA0Me2lpEWu5ovWrJzB&play=true&cc=1

Needless to say, this performance catapults this hoax to a whole new level, rivaling that whole Y2K thing, and perhaps even Al Gore’s reception of the Nobel Peace Prize.

So let’s all give a round of applause to Mr. Phoenix for his incredible accomplishment; nay, a standing ovation. Bravo! Bravo! Or perhaps in honor of his new persona, we ought to raise the roof. Either way, let’s all show our appreciation.

If you’re wondering how you might show that appreciation, consider going to a theatre near you when Casey Affleck’s new documentary is released, which just so happens to be about his brother-in-law’s hip-hop dream (Casey was reportedly at CBS studios, filming the landmark interview with Letterman).


Douglas W. Bailey
dwadebailey@gmail.com

Obama Hates White People

Obama Hates White People

As we all know, FEMA has been under the microscope ever since the Bush administration's “botched” response to Hurricane Katrina in 2005, which Barack Obama and other Democrats made a favorite topic on the presidential campaign trail (because, of course, the devastation that swept across New Orleans had very little to do with a hurricane, the residents were not sufficiently warned beforehand to get the heck out of there, and the rescue efforts were not at all impeded by those same residents now armed with Uzis aimed and firing at the helicopters sent in to rescue them). One of the first items on President Obama’s agenda has been to reorganize and strengthen FEMA, in order to avoid another catastrophe like Katrina.

Well just as soon as the organization was reorganized and strengthened, as only federal organizations can be, it got the chance to show off its new muscle in Kentucky, where the recent winter storm (which happened to be the worst natural disaster in the state’s history) killed 24 people and left another 300,000 residents without power.

A week after the storm hit, Christy Horne, a resident of Kentucky and personal friend of mine, changed her Facebook status to “Finally! We have power!!!” Her sentiment was echoed by hundreds of thousands of fellow Kentuckians, now basking in the warmth of fluorescent lights and the flames of gas stoves.

But now that the power is back on and the good citizens of Kentucky no longer have to worry about how to cook their food or not freeze to death, many of them are wondering why it took FEMA so long to act. Indeed, four days after the storm hit, FEMA had yet to send any aid workers to the areas most devastated, which coincidentally (or maybe not so coincidentally) are populated predominately by Caucasians.

I just hope that at this year’s Grammy Awards ceremony, one of our artists has the strength and courage to follow in Kanye West’s footsteps and proclaim to the world what we all now know to be true about our once beloved president:

Obama hates white people.


Douglas W. Bailey
dwadebailey@gmail.com

The Real Curious Case of Benjamin Button: 13 Oscar Nominations

THE REAL CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON: 13 Oscar Nominations

Sure, it was well-crafted, the performances great, the cinematography gorgeous, and the special effects out-of-this-world, but what does it matter if the characters are no deeper than a kiddie pool, and the story is a poorly recycled version of the classic, Forrest Gump?

I’ll spare you the specific Gump parallels (the bloggers have jumped on that dilemma with reckless abandon), but let me mention briefly the thought that popped into my head when Benjamin decided to join the drunken fish boat captain on his exploits in Russia: “This captain guy is a lot like Lieutenant Dan...Benjamin’s a lot like Forrest…his love interest sure reminds me of Jenny…Wait a minute!” I felt like I’d been tricked. “I’m watching Forrest Gump all over again, except this version lacks the charm!”

The best example I can give of lacking charm lies in the theme of the film itself, which is repeated by nearly every character at the end of some life-changing scene: “Nothing lasts,” they say with a heavy heart. As inherently false as that statement should be, it rings true within this narrative, because every character lives their life in a way that ensures no lasting impact on anyone or anything. The line they ought to be repeating throughout the movie is:

“Nothing lasts, that is if you live your life like Benjamin Button. But if you live a life even remotely comparable to someone like Forrest Gump, the friendships you develop, the service you render, the lives you improve, and the memories you instill in everyone around you, adding up to an inspiring legacy, will actually last quite a long time, probably even forever.”

Instead, the depressing refrain of “nothing lasts!” gets repeated over and over, not only in action, but also in deed.

Consider the fact that Benjamin, at the ripe old age of 11, begins frequenting a brothel, where finding an enduring relationship isn’t exactly the goal for a good majority of the patrons and/or suppliers.

I’m sure it was the life-lessons he learned at this reputable place of business that inspired him to have a recurring affair with an unhappy woman while they lived an old Russian hotel together (why either of them were there in the first place remains a mystery). While the affair was inevitably cut off when the woman and her oblivious husband moved back to the States, at least it lasted a little while, which was longer than his previous relationships…

Maybe what he learned from that somewhat longer lasting experience is what prompted him to start a family with Daisy (played by Cate Blanchett), the love of his life, which lifelong love was based on sleeping under a make-shift tent in early childhood, followed by a 20-year separation, followed by sleeping in, under, with, and around various other locations upon being reunited.

This was actually the longest lasting of Benjamin’s relationships, which could have lasted even longer, had Benjamin listened to the pleadings of his fair Daisy. But alas, with a man like Benjamin, NOTHING LASTS. And so, soon after the birth of their beautiful baby girl, and out of the sense of “duty” and “honor” unique to Mr. Button and his code of ethics (perhaps acquired in a brothel somewhere or maybe a dark hotel in Russia), he decides to high-tail it outa there, leaving his wife and child to fend for themselves in the world while he roams the streets of Calcutta and other third-world cities in search of more fleeting experiences.

Indeed, nothing lasts, including the impression this film leaves on its viewers. It will be forgotten as quickly as ‘ol Benjamin can pack a knapsack in the middle of the night. And the awards it inexplicably garners at this year’s Academy Awards ceremony will soon be erased from our collective memory along with other ridiculous winners of the past: Crash? Chicago???

If anything remains from this movie, it is the memory of Benjamin’s poor life-choices, which may be even more curious than the fact that he ages backwards!



Douglas W. Bailey
dwadebailey@gmail.com

Ending the Racial Injustice in College Football

Now that the College Football season is finally over, it’s time to stop simply talking about the egregious racial disparity in head coaching jobs and actually do something about it. Out of the 119 schools that have Division IA football programs, only seven have coaches that are African American (an abysmal 6%). One coach is Latino and one is of Polynesian decent. In a country as diverse as ours, where racial boundaries have been pushed back on so many fronts (including, most recently, the office of President of the United States), these statistics are appalling. It begs the question: why can’t we get a fair representation of our national racial profile in the sport of college football?

The answer is, we can! And here’s how:

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the estimated population of black residents in the United States is 36 million, or 12% of the total population, which is double the percentage of black men currently coaching. In order to raise the percentage of black coaches in college football to 12%, 7 of the current positions need to be vacated and filled by African Americans.

Navy’s football program is run by, Ken Niumatalolo, the only Pacific Islander in the entire FBS. But considering Pacific Islanders only make up .14% of the general population, it would seem reasonable to relegate Ken Numa…Whatever-his-name-is to some sort of Assistant Special Teams Coordinator or something like that, and place the recently fired Ty Willingham (African American) in his stead (Willingham went 0-12 last year, making his record at Washington a respectable 11-37).

That leaves six more spots that need to be vacated. But rather than go through each spot one-by-one, it will suffice to say that each of the major conferences could use one more black coach in order to ensure that no one geographical area maintains a white monopoly.

We’ve now solved the black coaching problem in college football! But wait…Have we, in our fervor to rectify this horrid situation, overlooked someone?

Hispanics are now the largest minority group in the United States at 37 million, or 13% of the population. The fact that only 1 of the 119 head coaching positions is filled by a Latino is downright inexcusable, and ought to be unspeakable in this day and age. How could we have forgotten the nation’s largest (and hardest-working) minority during this debate?! Well consider them forgotten no more. 16 white coaches must be canned immediately to free up some space for the Latinos.

Also, Asians make up 4.4% of the U.S. population; so perhaps 5 more white coaches could step down right away to make room for these perfectly qualified Asian coaches.

And what about Multi-racial Americans, who make up 2% of the population? I’m sure we can create one more job for them somewhere.

( Since Native Americans make up only .8% of the population, we don’t have to worry about them at all. Besides, they have their casinos. )

Now that we have a perfectly diverse field of head coaches – one that accurately reflects the beautiful rainbow that is America – we must move on to the players themselves and their positions on the field, in which exists an even greater racial chasm than in the job of head coach!

In 2008, only 9 of the 119 FBS schools had a white starting tailback. That equals 7%, and in a country where whites make up 68% of the population, the statistic is staggering! Surely, in a country with over 200 million white men, there are more than 9 who are athletic enough to take a handoff, hit the hole, and turn up the field. Surely! The fact that there aren’t more white tailbacks in college football can only point to one thing, and it begins with a capital R.

And don’t look now, but the numbers are even worse for the cornerback position!!

So, in the name of racial equality, 71% of currently starting black tailbacks must now ride the pine to make room for 80 white boys, 15 Hispanics, 5 Asians, and 3 Multi-racial Americans (and maybe 1 Native American too, to assuage the guilt we all still feel for the way they had it handed to them). And 86% of currently starting black cornerbacks must relinquish their positions to equally qualified Whites, Hispanics, Asians, and all the rest. And so on and so forth down the line, each position governed by the same standard (except for kickers – everyone knows only white boys can kick), until the FBS is thoroughly cleansed of its racial inequities, and all people, regardless of race, ethnicity, or gender are welcomed under the beautiful umbrella of tolerance and love.

Speaking of gender, how is it that there is not one female head coach in all of college football??? I am appalled and flabbergasted.

Mammal Mullets

I looked in the mirror this morning and realized it was time for a trim. The thought depressed me. I’m going to have to get out the clippers, cover the bathroom in garbage bags to prevent a mess, scrub the bathroom afterwards because the garbage bags don’t really prevent a mess anyway, take a shower, realize that I didn’t actually get all the long hairs upon getting out of the shower (especially the ones around the ears), at which point, the scissors have to come out to trim around that impossible area, which will lead to the inevitable discovery that not only do have to shave, but also pluck around the eyebrows, which is a whole other depressing story.

To make my moment in front of the mirror even worse, I realized that I was the only mammal on the planet that had to deal with this madness. Why do I have to go through this? Why don’t other mammals have to get haircuts?

Like a bolt of lightning, the answer was revealed:

Could you imagine what would happen to the little bear cub that is forced to wear a mullet? Not only would it be ridiculed and bullied by its peers, but there’s a good chance of it being mauled by its own mother as well, confused by its resemblance to some hideous miniature lion. And if the mother didn’t get to it, the father certainly would. Father bears are dangerous enough to their cubs. Just imagine how crazed it would make him to see his own child donning a mullet. Add that to ravenous hunger and you’ve got yourself a dead bear cub.

And what would become of the jaguar that has to traverse through the dangers of the jungle with a rattail dangling from the back of his head. I’m sure a bird or a lizard or something is gonna snap hold of that thing…

And what of the elephant with the mustache?

Or the wildebeest with the Afro?

I guess there’s a good reason why God decided not to curse the rest of His creations with ever-growing hair.

The Positive Effects of Fist Fights

The Positive Effects of Fist Fights

Much like the debate over the BCS and whether there should be a playoff system at the end of the season or a “plus one,” etc., the question about whether fighting should be allowed in the National Hockey League gets recycled and rehashed every single year. And every single year, the arguments are the same:

Pro: A) Fighting is part of the game. B) It happens rarely, and when it does, it’s consensual, and C) it gets viewer ratings.

Con: A) Fighting is archaic, gruesome, and B) adds nothing to the game. C) Real hockey fans don’t watch hockey for fights, they watch it for the hockey. D) Above all, it’s dangerous both for the players involved as well as E) children who might be influenced by the violence they see on television.

All valid points and worthy of some consideration, but if you are to make a decision based on those points alone, you might be left stuck in the middle (as we have been for the past several years). Perhaps the following opinion (mine) on the matter will tip the scale in favor of fighting once and for all:

Fighting makes Hockey safer! Sounds like an oxy moron, I know. But just think – if the penalty for swiping someone’s knee with your stick were getting your nose busted by your opponent’s bare fist, you would probably think twice about swiping at someone’s knee, right? Wanna take a cheap shot at the opposing team’s best player? Well before you do, consider the fact that the opposing team also has an “Enforcer,” whose job is to punish those who take cheap shots at their best player with his concrete knuckles.

There is no question that chippiness between hockey teams is drastically decreased because of the unwritten penalties that are applied.

I would also like to see this unwritten rule be applied to the National Basketball Association. There is nothing more irritating and frustrating than the “flopping” that occurs on the court nowadays. In order to remedy this problem, I propose that a person who fakes an elbow to the face ought to receive an actual elbow to the face (after it has been determined through instant replay that he indeed faked the elbow to the face). The rule could also be instituted for teams that choose to employ the “Hack-a-Shaq” method. They can still hack Shaq, but with the caveat that whoever hacks Shaq will also be at the mercy of Shaq and his forty-pound fists. I’m certain that if Hockey’s tolerance of fighting were adopted in the NBA, flopping and spineless (albeit intelligent) fouling would decrease, if not cease completely, drastically improving the purity of the game.

And while we’re on the subject, it occurred to me that we ought to adopt this rule on California’s freeways as well. Who would dare cut someone off without so much as a blinker if they knew the person they cut off had the legal right to throw a right across the jaw?

I think the NHL is really on to something here…

Messina for President - 2013

Messina for President – 2013

I went to a JoDee Messina concert a few years ago during Cheyenne Frontier Days, a week-long rodeo-themed booze festival. During the evening hours of Frontier Days, a stage replaces the bucking bulls, broncos, and rodeo clowns, and the nation’s top country singers come out to play. They are lit not only by the lights on stage, but also the distant beams of carnival rides and the orange glow of cigarette butts, and of course the obligatory waving lighters that appear at the beginning of every slow song. And in addition to these various light sources, the one and only JoDee Messina was lit by a righteous fire from within. Her cheeks radiated goodness and her smile outshined even the brightest swaying flame, which was actually a lot brighter than you might think (someone must have changed their lighter for a blowtorch). And she lit a fire in the heart of every listener as she spoke in between songs:

Jo Dee: You know, I think the world would be a much better place if we would just love a little more and hate a little less.

Crowd: Yeeessss!!! Yeeeahhhh!! Jo Deeeee!!! [The fans raised their voices with their glasses and drank to the brilliant words spoken by their fair JoDee]

Jo Dee: You know, I don’t know why we think we need to buy expensive clothes from Armani or Goutier or any of those other designer labels. You know where I bought this shirt? Wal-Mart!

Crowd: Yeessss!! Yeahh!! I love you JoDee!!! [The roar bellowed from the crowd and tears gushed from their eyes]

Jo Dee: You know, I think if we just stopped fighting these wars and started loving one another, there would be peace on earth.”

Crowd: Oh yeahhh!!! Yesss!!!! JoooDeeeeeee! [Hands burst forth from the crowd, all raising the sign of peace toward Heaven, and strangers fell upon strangers, offering free embrace in the spirit of good will]

Jo Dee had transformed the heart and soul of every individual in attendance that night. That is, until the concert ended and those individuals hit the town. Bottles were popped, cans were cracked, and drunken debauchery ensued in all its forms.
For some reason, as fundamentally pure and good as JoDee’s words sounded, and as inspired as some in attendance felt, it all added up to nothing, because the words were never applied to real life.
So please, let’s not shed tears over the slick words spoken by our new President, Barack Obama, until his words get applied to real life. Remember, he still hasn’t done anything.

Please allow one more analogy:

As I looked at the faces of those present at the Presidential Inauguration, I couldn’t help but think back to clips of the Beatles on tour, and the mania that gripped the teenage girls in their presence. Their worship of these musicians led them to complete hysteria, almost to the point that it looked painful for them to be there, screaming, crying, pulling their hair…
I have seen that reaction from fans only one other time, and it was at an Oasis concert. That’s right. Oasis. The difference between those two bands (among many) is that the Beatles actually had a few platinum records under their belt, while Oasis had succeeded only in convincing a few poor saps that they were as big and successful as the Beatles!
Obama has succeeded in convincing the world that he is The One, or at the very least, the new Lincoln. For all we know, the mass hysteria might be getting spent over just another one-hit-wonder…

Honesty is the Best Policy Unless Your Life is in Danger

Honesty is the Best Policy
Unless Your Life is in Danger

I have justified many a white lie over the past few months in dealing with a self-absorbed, paranoid, devious freak for a boss. They have all been difficult to justify, as I whole-heartedly believe that Honesty is always the best policy, and has been since the dawn of time, or at least since God commanded men, “Thou shalt not lie.” And then, as if the commandment wasn’t enough (perhaps because men were constantly justifying breaking it) He reiterated it in the 119th Psalm: “I hate and abhor lying.” And as if that unequivocal statement wasn’t clear enough to those who continued to justify their dishonesty, He promised that liars would be thrust down to the burning lake of fire and brimstone in hell unless they ceased all fibbing, lying, scheming, and cheating.

If I were to take God up on His word, which I assuredly should, seeing as He does NOT lie, then it becomes extremely uncomfortable living through the lies I’ve told. How am I supposed to enjoy a family stroll through the park when the burning flames of a lake of fire are licking at my subconscious? How am I supposed to feel comfortable in skin that will soon be scorched to white-hot ash? How am I supposed to laugh at the ESPN commercial that shows the mascot of the New Jersey Devils descending to hell on an elevator? It’s impossible I tell you!

That is until I came across the following verses of scripture:

And it came to pass when I [Abraham] was come near to enter into Egypt, the Lord said unto me: Behold, Sarai, thy wife, is a very fair woman to look upon; Therefore it shall come to pass, when the Egyptians shall see her, they will say – She is his wife; and they will kill you, but they will save her alive; therefore see that ye do on this wise: Let her say unto the Egyptians, she is thy sister, and thy soul shall live.
(Abraham 2:22-24)


In other words, “Hey Abraham, these Egyptians are going to kill you so they can get their hands on your wife. That is, unless you tell them she’s your sister. So my advice to you as that you tell them she’s your sister.” Abraham heeded that advice. And guess what? His life was spared.

And so, it seems that God is okay with a lie as long as it saves a life. And so, perhaps my repeated “doctor’s appointments” during working hours were necessary falsehoods that allowed me to interview with other companies without the risk of being hunted down and massacred by a cagey and psychotic egomaniac. And so, I’m now comfortable strolling through the park with my family, and in my own cool skin, and can even give a whole-hearted chuckle at ESPN’s jest at the devil and his supposed fiery hell. Ha ha-ha ha…

On the other hand, maybe Abraham’s lie was justified because it literally saved the life of Abraham – the Prophet and Patriarch – through whom virtually all mankind has been blessed. And furthermore, it wasn’t exactly Abraham’s lie, but God’s. I am neither a prophet nor a patriarch (except in the sense that I have one child, which can’t possibly be compared to Abraham’s numberless seed), and did not receive a directive from the Lord to deceive my boss. Hmm…


I think I’m starting to get a little hot under the collar.

Barack the Nation

I wrote this little note after watching Barack Obama's speech at the DNC. I sent it as an email to close friends and posted it on the Shanor family website to see if I couldn't open a can of worms the way Uncle Roger always does. Here's the note, and a few of the responses:


I don't know about the rest of you, but after tonight's speech at the DNC, I'm on board!

You know, I've been nervous about my brother-in-law heading over to Afghanistan to fly Black Hawks. Thank heavens Barack will repair our relationships with terrorists and dictators in the Middle East. Why fight al-Qaeda if you can laugh and play cards with al-Qaeda?

I've been working as long and hard as a man can work, and I just can't seem to get over the hump on those bills and loans. I can't wait for Barack to pick up the tab.

I've been worried about how to pay for the soon-to-be Bailey boy's college education. Well, worry no more! Barack will make it affordable!

I haven't been able to go to the beach as often as I'd like on the weekends because of high gas prices. But thanks to Barack, I'll be a professional surfer in no time! I don't have a board yet, but I'm sure Barack wouldn't mind finding one for me.

I haven't been able to eat as many sweets lately because I've got some sensitivity in one of my back molars. I would get it fixed, but even with dental insurance, I doubt we can afford it. But don't worry, sweet tooth. Barack will see to it that you get your fillings replaced for free!

FINALLY, a leader who will give us all health, peace, and prosperity!

Come unto Barack, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and he will give you rest. Take his yoke upon you, and learn of him, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For his yoke is easy, and his burden is light.

Amen.

Doug,

I was working and missed the speech, but do you think Barack would be
willing to talk to this girl I dated during my last semester at Chapman.
Things didn't quite pan out for us, and we had some fundamental
differences in faith...but I was thinking that I don't really have to
work at finding a solid relationship if the government could crank one out
for me. Do you think?

Peace,
Billings

P.S. Let me know when the little one arrives and I'll cook dinner for you
and Frannie one night.

Brilliant...

Only you could summarize such a travesty with "on the money" sarcasm.

All Josh and I could do while watching was shake our heads in disgust and scream at the television set. Is it me or do Democrats just despise this country??? All I hear when they talk is how horrible life is and how everything is George Bush and Dick Cheney's fault! And if I have to hear the term "working Americans" one more time, I might lose it! I guess people that make over $80,000 just don't work that hard??? Yeah Barack, life is rough but no worries, the government will solve all our problems. I got news for him and every other liberal in this country... I don't want you to take care of me!!! We barley make ends meet as well but it's not their job to give me a wealthier life. I'll do that on my own! Oh yeah, and the only "whiners" I hear are people like Barack and his friends, crying about how terrible their lives are. So I say "enough" to you, Barack, Michelle, Joe, Hillary, Bill, Nancy, and co....

I'll take anyone other than that joke of a politician.

Marc

Vail

Some thoughts from various family members on our vacation to Vail. It was the first time we'd all been together for about five years (between school in different states to missions around the world, it's been tough to gather).

My favorites will be the hike we took the Booth Falls where I learned just how crazy Doug and Andy can be. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But next time, guys, no blazing of new trails. Jeff was smart enough to say "enough!" Just humor your old dad and let my heart beat a little longer. And Katlyn's prayer. I will always remember the sweet expression of gratitude for the vacation she enjoyed so much. Katlyn, I am so happy you had fun. It wasn't long enough, but it was sure great while it lasted. And our last evening together when we "owned" the park! Brian and Jennifer were real troopers, and so was Marc. Bad timing with bad stomachs, but you hung in there and made the best of it. Jackson's return to health blessed us all. I can't imagine Vail without "mean guy rocks" and "Spidey!" Frannie riding the bike around the park while B.J. Thomas sang "Raindrops keep falling on my head . . ." and Doug racing across the grass to gently knock her from that unsafe ride! I wish I had that on video. Little Henry III must have been laughing himself silly. "Look at my mom and dad!" The expressions on the faces of the hostesses and hosts when I told them "There are 20 of us for dinner." Yes, I said TWENTY! And I was proud of all you. Just being with everyone was such a joy for your mom and me. Sorry about golf, guys. Next time we'll make the tee time reservation upon arrival, or maybe even before we get there. Aubrey's hugs, Bri'e's smile, Kami's energy, Addison's joy, Colin's reaching for new things, Jeffrey's laughter as he passed me on the trail, Marc's home evening for the girls, Brian's lesson about Amulek and the things really matter, Andy's willingness to try everything and his conversation with Elizabeth, Katie's sunshine which always brightens my soul, Aaron's thoughtfulness in going with mom to look at the houses, 'Draya's devotion to her boys, including Jeff, Frannie making the sacrifice to come even though she had to have been miserable much of the time, Randalyn's helpfulness with EVERYTHING. And of course Mom's spirit, which makes everything happen the way it ought to, even when the dad is grumpy and tired. And especially to Heavenly Father who makes all things possible. We owe it all to Him - the beauty of Vail and the beauty of family. Love, dad

Hey Now,

I was anything but miserable in Vail! How could I have been? I was carted around like a queen for 3 days. I would've been miserable laying in my bed in LA missing Vail, but I was thrilled to be there with you all. Everything was great from the ride up w/ Aaron, Andy, and Doug to the smooth ride to DIA in Princess Buttercup. Sandy's ingenuity started Vail off right when she rigged the wheelchair with a bungee so I'd have a foot rest. I loved how everyone just relaxed and did their own thing, yet we still ended up all being together most of the time. I loved the crisp Vail mornings, indulging ourselves w/ ice cream whenever we felt like it, delicious dinners, seeing a show in the amphitheater, the Betty Ford gardens, playing w/ my adorable nieces and nephews, relaxing in the jet pool, being pushed around by my loving protective hubby (and nieces, sisters and Sandy), and of course I enjoyed the 60 second bike ride. The scenery, the rooms, the company, was
all the best 3 1/2 days I could've asked for. I'm SO happy I didn't miss it. Thanks again Sandy and Hank for making it happen! You were so generous. I loved every minute of it. I love our family, each and every one of you.

Love, Frannie

In case I don't get to see or talk to everyone before leaving tomorrow, I just wanted to write and say thank you so much for all your help over the last month. Partly because I'm so sick right now I can hardly talk. Really, I'm just so bad at verbalizing my feelings. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how difficult a time it's been for us. No, I could see the understanding in your eyes and feel your sympathy through the countless acts of kindness for my family. I was taught a great lesson throughout the course of this time. I need you all. Aaron has been a steady go-to guy for anything and everything that needs a quick remedy. Andy's brute strength helped get us through a difficult move in the face of so much stress and worry about Jackson. Katie's willingness to give up her entire day to go to our house and pack it up along with Aaron meant so much. Doug and Jackson became great buddies in Vail. Doug and even Frannie would entertain Jackson for hours at a time, mostly because they could see that Draya and I needed a break. I'm grateful for Marc's phone call and words of encouragement for Jackson and Randalyn's desire to cook us meals when we had too much going on. Brian has been dealing with illness in his own family, yet he was there bright and early the morning of our move and he helped the entire day with a smile on his face, always reliable. And for Mom and Dad. Dad steered the ship in all matters of importance while Jackson was sick. He wouldn't want me to tell you everything he did but he knows, and I hope he also knows I couldn't have done it without his help. And the same goes for Mom for taking care of the boys, rocking Colin at all hours of the night to give us a break, cooking, cleaning, folding laundry. She really is Supermom. I love you all so much. I hope you know you can always count on me when you're down. I hate goodbyes so let's just pretend we're going on a long vacation and we'll be back soon.

Love,
Jeff

Talking with mom and dad a couple of weeks before the vacation, I remember telling them that I had never been so excited for a vacation in all my life. And it didn't disappoint... Thank you so much mom and dad for making that week possible. And thanks to all members of the greatest family in the world, for the amazing times and memories. I'm so glad we got all those pictures taken of beautiful Vail and all of us together. There was a time when I really disliked taking pictures, but now I am so thankful for them.

I loved being with everybody last week and can't wait until the next time we all get together!

I love you all!

Marc

The Sky is Falling

This is an interesting article about the state of Independent Film. The outlook is pretty bleak, but there's some great advice at the end. And actually, the bleak state of affairs may do a lot to improve product. So it may not be a bad thing...

On Saturday in Los Angeles, Mark Gill declared provocatively, "Yes, The Sky Really Is Falling." Speaking at the L.A. Film Festival's Financing Conference, the CEO of The Film Department (and former President of Miramax Films) detailed a litany of challenges currently facing independent film, yet offered his audience a happy ending. His complete prepared remarks are included below.


Good morning.

Last week, an old friend who is a director called to catch up. It almost seemed as if he was seeking reassurance.

"You good?" he asked.

My answer was simple: "How good can I be? I work in independent film."

He laughed. And then he wondered aloud: "Do you think maybe Chicken Little was right--I mean, about independent film."

Leave it to a director to hope Chicken Little might be a cinephile.

And again, my answer was simple: "Yes, the sky really is falling."

The last thing I heard him say was "I have to go throw up now."

Unfortunately, he's not alone in that feeling these days.


I know I don't have to repeat all the ways that the independent film business is in trouble. But I'm going to do it anyway--because the accumulation of bad news is kind of awe- inspiring:

1: Picturehouse and Warner Independent have been shut down.

2: New Line's staff was cut by 90 percent, and the survivors were sent to hell...I mean...Burbank.

3: Paramount Vantage was folded into the mother ship (this one may not be all bad news, by the way, but it still scares the hell out of independent film people).

4: Sidney Kimmel shrunk his company in half.

5: ThinkFilm is being sued for not paying its advertising bills, even as the unions repeatedly close down their David O. Russell production with the prophetic title "Nailed" for failure to meet weekly payroll.

6: Another five companies are in serious financial peril. And those are only the ones I'm sure of.

7: The $18 billion that Wall Street poured into Hollywood over the past four years has slowed to a trickle, and shows no signs of being replaced at even remotely the same levels from any new source.

8: There's a glut of films: 5000 movies got made last year. Of those, 603 got released theatrically here. And there's not room in the market--as there used to be--for even 400 of those.

Maybe there's room for 300. So everything else just dies. Most of these pictures are pre- ordained flops from independent distributors who forgot that their odds would have been better if they'd converted their money into quarters and taken the all-night party bus to Vegas.

9: Advertising costs have radically outpaced inflation even as media delivery of audiences falls through the floor. So movie companies now enjoy the privilege of paying way more to be far less effective marketers.

10: Movies now routinely fight with really compelling leisure alternatives that nobody in the last great era of cinema--the 1970s--even imagined: from iPods to Xboxes to Tivos to You Tubes to the radically improved behemoth that is cable television.

11: The international marketplace may be growing dramatically, but all of that growth is eaten up by studio movies, a couple dozen top independent films, and burgeoning local language productions. Everything else we make in this country doesn't sell for less--as it has for the past 20-plus years. Now, most American independent films don't sell at all overseas. I've never seen more depressed people in my life than I did in Cannes last month. The phrase "worst market ever" could be heard from every corner. A lot of film market veterans were musing about never coming back. It's that bad out there.

12: One entertainment industry banker I know believes another 10 independent film financiers will exit the business in the next year. I think he's low.

And finally, just for bad luck:

13: The average cost of an independent film released theatrically in North America shot up dramatically last year (not as much perhaps as the 60% the MPAA reported for its member companies, but a lot nonetheless). And this of course makes it a hell of a lot harder to break even or squeak out a small return and stay in business.

Aside from that, everything's great.

We've heard "the sky is falling" in the movie business before--notably with the introduction of TV, home video and DVD. On all three occasions, the business survived. And DVDs arguably helped grow the worldwide movie-viewing habit considerably-- even as they threw off a ton of cash.

But this time, at least as it relates to independent film, the sky really is falling.

The marginally good news is it won't hit the ground everywhere. The strongest of the strong will survive and in fact prosper. But it will feel like we just survived a medieval plague. The carnage and the stench will be overwhelming.

Of course, it's fashionable to bitch in the independent film world. It's what we do. We brood. We wear black. We drink too much coffee, followed by too much alcohol. And we bemoan a future devoid of real culture, homogenized to death by unfeeling conglomerates, and increasingly determined by ADD-addled 14-year-olds with nothing but internet porn and Grand Theft Auto on the brain.

The Major Studios

Every now and then we get tempted to look over the fence to where the grass is greener. We're human. We can't help it. We see all that cash rolling into the major studio coffers, and we secretly covet it.

But it's not so easy for the big boys anymore either. The average cost of a major studio production is $70.8million, and the average marketing budget in North America alone is $35.9 million. In other words, there's an average of more than $100 million at risk every time they get up to bat. And if they're going to lose $75 million or more, they know it by 2 p.m. Los Angeles time on opening day.

As the press has chronicled ad nauseum, the major studios have been forced largely to embrace the world of the tentpole movie--the big budget spectacle that tries to be for everyone. In market research terms, they call it the four-quadrant film, meaning it appeals to all four demographic quadrants of moviegoers: men and women, over and under 25. In economic terms, this means a movie that invariably costs more than $100 million, and on occasion more than $300 million.

The amount of effort and cash devoted to these tentpoles--and the enormous rewards that follow when they work--has radically altered the focus of the big studios. And generally speaking, these films don't have to be great to work. They have to be just good enough. It's the last place in the movie business where the old habits still apply, where the phrase "execution dependent" doesn't matter so much.


Hollywood has spent a lot of time and money making films that are at best mediocre and then hoping for marketing to save the day. We can blame a good movie for this very bad habit. "Jaws" ushered in the era of wide-release marketing-driven movies. It lasted for more than 30 years. A lot of bad films got made under the theory that quality didn't matter. But it's not working like it used to.

Here's why: fooling the audience is getting harder for the major studios in the age of blackberries, instant messaging and cell phone texting. Good buzz spreads quickly, bad buzz even faster.

A tentpole movie has to be truly atrocious to be victimized by this. But for any movie smaller than a tentpole, the bar has been raised. Good isn't good enough anymore. It used to be that a film with a nice performance, a cool look and a broken story could get through. Not any more. Unless you're making a tentpole, your movie now has to be very good--in the eye of its intended audience.

I may have liked "Juno" and "The Bourne Identity." My female colleagues loved "Sex in the City." And there was a big, happy audience for the last "Halloween" movie. In each case, the intended audience got what it wanted: a movie that satisfied them.

We're entering an era where the only films with any chance for success will be the $100 million-plus tentpoles, and reasonably priced films of some perceived quality.

I've had far too many fight-the-power wannabe filmmakers cheer this vision of the future, which they believe will usher out the bloated, soul-less big studio retreads and usher in a new democratic era of access to moviemaking fame and glory for all.

Lots of people are drinking this Kool-Aid. Fifteen years ago, the Sundance Film Festival got 500 submissions. This year, they received 5,000. Virtually all of these are privately financed. There's only one problem: most of the films are flat-out awful (trust me, I have had to sit through tons of them over the years). Let me put it another way: the digital revolution is here, and boy does it suck.

It's not enough to have access to the moviemaking process. Talent matters more. Quality of emotional content is what matters, period. In a world with too many choices, companies are finally realizing they can't risk the marketing money on most movies.

Here's how bad the odds are: of the 5000 films submitted to Sundance each year-- generally with budgets under $10 million--maybe 100 of them got a US theatrical release three years ago. And it used to be that 20 of those would make money. Now maybe five do. That's one-tenth of one percent.

Put another way, if you decide to make a movie budgeted under $10 million on your own tomorrow, you have a 99.9% chance of failure.

OK, so now that I've battered you into severe depression, let's move on to the hopeful part of these proceedings.

The famed film editor Walter Murch (of "Apocalypse Now" and "English Patient" renown) likes to say there are only two important elements of any movie: the beginning and the ending. And the beginning isn't really all that important.

With that in mind, I promise, by the end of this talk, you won't want to slit your wrists. There actually are some hopeful signs amid all the carnage.

Those terrible odds for movies under $10 million? Ironically, they get far better if you spend more money. All the financial data I've looked at--and it's a lot--clearly shows that the sweet spot is between $15 and $50 million. But that has a lot to do with being able to pay professionals who know what they're doing to create quality emotional content that has a market. And it has a fair amount to do with the prices that international distributors can afford to pay in the top 12 countries, which is what gives financiers enough comfort to commit capital.

I can hear my nauseous director friend now: "So what are you saying: should we all just quit?"

Not at all.

I'm saying we have to do better. Much better.

The sky may be falling, but in the end, it isn't going to hit the ground. We will be left with a little breathing room. And the question will become: what will succeed in this much narrower space?

I believe that a fair number of people--call them what's left of the theatrical audience if you like--will always need to get out of the house: in part because they enjoy the benefits of a communal experience.

Clearly, only the better films will succeed in the theaters of the future. Certainly the number of releases will drop--by half or more. Probably everyone other than the folks who work on tentpoles will be paid less. The words "theatrical necessity" will take on greater and greater meaning. Probably a lot of theaters will close. But I think the best theaters showing the best films will always have an audience. And the rest of the films will have their premiere in Walmart, or on your cell phone.

Interestingly enough, in this Darwinian new future, there will absolutely be a premium for good films on tv, pay per view, on-demand, internet--or whatever that large pipe that goes to all of our houses will be called.

Why do I know this? Because one of the big research companies conducted a study recently which gave viewers on-demand everything. No more schedules. No more appointment television. Just tune in anything--any movie, any TV show--at any time. And guess what: the best stuff won out. Hands down.

In a nutshell, the audience is sick & tired of the atrocious but all too familiar version of television on a schedule: 500 channels to choose from, and nothing to watch.

Some of this is purely a function of demography. There actually is a growing audience for quality.

*It's not hard to figure out why: the baby boom is aging. And as they do, their tastes mature. But they don't behave like their parents at the same age. They are smarter, more active, have more disposable income. And because of pay cable, home video and DVD in particular, they've become much more movie literate-- and more sophisticated in their tastes.

*Traditionally specialized films accounted for 5-6% of tickets sold. In the last few summers, it's been over 10% on average. And that's the season when Hollywood is supposed to dominate and indies are supposed to cower in the corners, waiting for the arrival of fall.

*And to back that up, for the first time in the roughly 20 years I've been looking at this data, more than 10% of the audience now is telling pollsters they prefer independent films.

We also know there's an opening for quality based on data from the good folks at Netflix. Yes, they rent plenty of tentpole movie dvds, just like everyone else. But they also have the most accurate collaborative filtering technology I've seen. Type in 50 movies you like, and Netflix will tell you--with remarkable accuracy--what other films you will like.

This is how a relatively obscure film from 1974 became the most popular picture among Netflix's six million subscribers: because it's really good. The movie, by the way, is "The Conversation."

I keep telling the Netflix people they should start sampling audiences on Friday nights outside movie theaters, so we'll all know by Saturday if people whose taste we share like a movie. But of course they're probably rightly worried about their biggest suppliers, the major studios, who are terrified that the audience will find out even sooner just how bad "Speed Racer" is. Yeah, like we couldn't tell just from being forced to watch the trailer.

The result of all these changes--especially the catalyzing effect of lower costs and high technology--is very good news for people who care about the quality of cinema, singularity of voice, resonant themes, and all the other things that today can rarely be found outside independent film.

It all comes down to what a former glove merchant named Schmuel Gelbfisz said more than 50 years ago: "Make Fewer Better." This isn't by any means the most famous Goldwyn-ism. In fact it isn't even on most of the lists alongside such classics as: "An oral contract isn't worth the paper it's written on"; "A wide screen just makes a bad film twice as bad"; and "Don't pay any attention to the critics. Don't even ignore them!"

But for my taste, "Make fewer better" is the one Goldwyn-ism that should never go out of style.

If we give the audience fewer and better movies, we might even create a virtuous cycle. People might start saying: "Hey, the movies are good again." They'll start going more often, tell their friends...you get the idea.

So how do we get to "Fewer and Better"?

The studios have already done it. Disney once released 47 movies in a year. This year: the number will be 12. Warner went from 35 to 20 in less than 10 years. The rest of the majors have also slimmed down.

Now of course anybody can reduce budgets and the number of films they make. That part is easy. The hard part is quality of content--or, well, taste. How the hell do you improve that?

The cynic's view--encapsulated in the famous dictum of Oscar-winning screenwriter William Goldman--is: "Nobody knows anything."

Meaning: Nobody knows what will work. It's hopeless to try to inflict taste on the movies. Give up immediately. If that were entirely true, we should just shut down the business right now.

But of course this isn't entirely the case. There are changes we can undertake that will make a difference. Odds are that most of show business won't make these changes until they're in serious danger of going under--which is ...any day now. Anyone who changes sooner will have an enormous advantage.

The single biggest change should be to only make movies that we absolutely love. Not ones we like. Not ones we need to do as a favor. Not the ones we do because they seem like a good "piece of business." Not ones we do because we think, hope or wish that "the kids" will like them. Not the knock-offs of the ones that worked at the box office last year. In a word, we should only pick the films we're passionate about--and that have an audience.

Another way of articulating this is: we need to thread the needle twice: once for quality, and then for audience demand.

Let's talk about quality first.

As simple as it sounds, it all comes down to a good story, well told. And that's a lot harder to do than it is to say. But not as hard as Hollywood would have you believe now--in an era where until very recently aiming high was considered an effete eccentricity. Or where, as the New York Times recently put it, "quality is considered a genre."

It's a show business cliche that "it all starts with the script." This is usually uttered by some semi-literate, mouth-breathing, prada-wearing, 24-year-old hipster poseur who wouldn't know a good story if it hit him in the head.

We could spend an hour or two just on the topic of what makes a good script. But not today.

In the most reductionist fashion: tere's the holy trinity of structure, character and dialogue, of course; the crucial if more ephemeral notions of authenticity, voice, theme, and tone; and the imperative for originality of utterance and perception.

In the end, all of this has to add up (seamlessly if possible) to something that moves us-- to the quality of the emotional content. It doesn't matter if we're talking about thrills, laughs, tears, or an adrenaline rush. What matters is that we are engaged and, ideally, emotionally transformed and satisfied.

In a world increasingly dominated by numbers--financial, technological and most importantly the finite number of hours in a day, our very human desire for contact, meaning and emotional transformation isn't going away. It's growing. Those who remember that will survive and most probably win.

By the way, notwithstanding my 10-year-old son Jack's question: "Dad, why do movies suck so much?" our quality control isn't as bad as it could be, and this has enormous implications for our not following the music business down the toilet.

Here's why: when the music business went from tape to digital, they nearly doubled the wholesale price of an album, and proceeded to pump out albums that have very few good songs. Like one or none.

When the movie business went from tape to digital, we dropped the wholesale price per unit from $65 to $10. And everyone said: "Oh my god, they're killing the business. Our profit margins are ruined." Well, the margin was smaller, but sales exploded. The studios made tens of billions of dollars on the difference. And consumers mostly like what they're getting. So much so that movies are the second-highest rated consumer value for the money. Behind only chicken. Not so for albums, which are so far down the list you can't find them.

The next big change will be when we start shooting movies to mobile devices in a big way. The wholesale price will drop again--probably to $3 per unit. But we'll sell so many more of them that revenue will explode all over again. This has very favorable implications for getting past piracy problems that helped kill the music business: the charge for downloading a film will land on your phone bill. And the moviemakers can hold the phone companies accountable (whereas now internet providers duck and hide when we try to pursue them for what amounts to transfer of stolen goods).

So now you're probably wondering: if all this money is going to flood into Hollywood in a few years, why can't we get some of it for independent film and just keep on doing what we do? The answer, in a word, is marketing. Or, how do you get noticed in a world of endless possibilities?

And that brings us to the second crucial threading of the needle: for audience demand.

The first and most important thing to remember is that two-thirds of the tickets are sold outside the U.S. now. So if you're making a film that only appeals to Americans, start cutting your budget now. Or better yet, make one that the whole world can embrace.

This is mostly about subject matter. The rest of the world doesn't care about westerns or American sports movies. I've gone out of my way to tell people we won't make them. And yet, no matter how many times I say this, it still doesn't seem to stop some people with a passion to get their story told. Not too long ago, a producer called me up to tell me the true story, circa 1890, of cowboys and Indians in the Arizona territory who put down their weapons to play a friendly game of baseball. I offered to scalp him.

After you get past subject matter, the next most important factor is "who's it for." Women of all ages. Men under 25? The dating audience 18-34. Please don't tell me "everyone" unless you have a $100 million budget.

And then I like to think about the rest of the audience demand question in the way that we analyze titles. A good title should have many of the attributes that a movie needs to embody now:

*Succinct & Descriptive: the film has to lend itself to brief encapsulation. A high concept is no longer the thing that studio movies do and independent films shun. In this age of info overload, it's crucial for every picture to have this. Without it, your odds shoot through the floor.

*Distinctive: not the same story we've heard five times before; something that at least takes the cliche and twists it; not something we get too much of somewhere else in our lives (Exhibit A: Iraq movies; who wants to see more of that mess? We already get too much of it every day in the news media).

*Provocative: something that cuts through the clutter, stands out, gets attention; not "So then Phoebe sat by her mother's bedside, suffering in silence for eight weeks." Give us incident, conflict, excitement, ideally something that hits a cultural nerve.

*Memorable: this is essentially an accumulation of the other traits, or sometimes altogether separate. It's the avoidance of cotton candy. The possibility of resonance. Something sticky.

*Not too dark: these are very dark times, for audiences the world over. Audience enthusiasm for dark films is as low as I've ever seen it. There are a lot of reasons for this, of course. But the one I hear almost nobody articulating and everyone feeling is this: in the western industrialized world, wages haven't even remotely kept up with productivity demands, and that stresses us out.

Will some films get made that defy all of these conventions? Yes. Will a couple of them go on to achieve enormous success and acclaim? Probably. The romantic in all of us hopes for David to triumph over Goliath, for the visionary individual to beat the system.

Scratch a successful person in Hollywood, and they'll tell you about their movie that did this. I happen to have quite a few stories like this. The best is probably this: In its April 2005 issue, Premiere magazine famously intoned: "What was Mark Gill thinking when he paid $1 million for a French documentary about a bunch of penguins?" What I was thinking was very simple: "we can fix it, and it will be emotional." So we did. Yes, I did save that article. And yes, I am happy that the magazine subsequently went out of business.

Here's the problem with that brand of romanticism: the odds of it happening to any of us with any reliable frequency are extremely low--and getting much worse.

As some famous wag once said: "You can die of encouragement in Hollywood." I frankly don't want to be responsible for your death.

Instead, let's just tell the truth...

If you want to survive in this brutal climate, you're going to have to work a lot harder, be a lot smarter, know a lot more, move a lot faster, sell a lot better, pay attention to the data, be a little nicer (ok, a lot nicer), trust your gut, read everything and never, ever give up.

If you're looking for a cool lifestyle, you're in the wrong business. If you want work-life balance, go get a government job.

But if you really want to make movies--even after all the unvarnished bad news I've dumped on you today--then by all means do it.


For starters, by whatever legal and moral means necessary, come up with a great script. How will you know if you have one? That's easy. It's the day you stop chasing talent. Because everybody--from the directors to the actors to the editors and costume designers--starts chasing you, and will show up and make the film for a little--or a lot-- less.

And if we do it for less, we can afford to make something that's not a moronic, homogenized piece of lowest-common-denominator drivel.

If we get all of that right, the sky might fall further than we like, but it won't hit the ground.

And the independent film business--leaner, harder-working, but still wearing black and drinking too much caffeine--will indeed survive.

Thank you very much.

The Picture

This is the picture that is now on my desktop (read the post below for more information)

So Long, Old Friend

This whole thing with the badly battered Buick has been sticking to my soul. I couldn't scrape it off to save my life. I was worried about how Fran would get to work now, how we'd get groceries, how I was supposed to make my church meeting on Thursday, how we were going to make it to Santa Barbara for our lovely free getaway that Frannie won by being the top sales rep this past month, and how we'd afford a new one. I was worried that these worries would distract me from my job, which is demanding enough to require 100% of my attention. 95% simply isn't good enough.

My heart pounded as I turned on my computer, warning me of the impending doom that surely awaited. But as soon as I entered my password and logged on, the pounding ceased, and the sick sticky sensation melted and evaporated into thin air.

How did this happen?

Last Friday, I had downloaded Katie's picture of all the grandkids on the steps of the Bailey abode at Willow Bend and set it as the "wallpaper" on my desktop. Their smiles, tiny toes, and gleaming eyes appeared on my monitor as soon as the password cleared, and completely set my mind and heart at ease.

After all, what's the worth of a '97 Buick when compared to children's smiles, tiny toes, and gleaming eyes (although I must say, 'Ol Blue was as a true a friend to man as any car I've ever known...)?

A Father's Contemplation

Sunday morning.

I took a walk this week with Jackson on my shoulders. I held his legs with my hands and he held onto my hair. Thirty years ago I did the same with Brian. We walked from our little apartment in married student housing to Buttreys, where I purchased him a Matchbox car to play with. Then we walked home. I held his legs and he held onto my hair. Thirty years goes by so quickly. The next thirty will see the end of my days here. And you will all be raising children and grandchildren of your own, maybe walking with them on your shoulders.

Yesterday evening, Marc, Bri'e, Aubrey and I watched "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium." I highly recommend it! Aubrey snuggled on my shoulder and whispered, "I love you, Papa." I cannot express what those words from that perfect little heart meant to me. Nor can I tell you how I felt carrying Jackson on my shoulders. Someday, you will all understand.

In the meantime, it is a lovely Sunday morning. And despite all that life has done to separate us, eternal covenants bind us together. I am so thankful for that this morning.

I love you all. Dad.

Kirby Heyborne Drinks a Beer

And actually, he never drank one. He never even put the bottle to his lips. In fact, you can barely tell that he grabbed the bottle in the commercial. And yet 1000's of folks in Utah have come out in droves against him, condemning him to hell - one person shot him an email that said, "If my kid starts drinking, it'll be on your head."

Kirby is pretty upset by it. He didn't WANT to do this commercial, but he felt like it was a great opportunity (maybe even a blessing) to feed his family for 6 months. He's been struggling to find acting jobs the past year, especially with the WGA strike and now the debacle with AFTRA and SAG. And Miller Lite came along with a nice little offer to do a commercial. He prayed about it, felt good about it, and did it.

And like I said, there was a backlash. But there's also been a lot of support. The following article is one that Kirby sent me, published in the Mormon Times:



Heyborne in the Age of Purity
By Orson Scott Card
Published: Thursday, Jun. 19, 2008

I am so thrilled to be alive during this new Golden Age of righteousness and purity in the Mormon Church.

I wrote an essay a few weeks ago about how we all had to find our own place to draw the line between what the world asks of us and what we believe is consistent with being a good Latter-day Saint.

After all, the world has all the money and bestows it according to its own corrupt rules. Yet we must support ourselves and our families, and try to get in a position to make the world a better place.

So I figured we had to make some accommodation with the world, while trying to maintain righteousness and spirituality in our lives.

But now I see that I was wrong.

I've learned my lesson from what happened to Kirby Heyborne.

I had a chance to direct him in a play a few years ago and found him to be extraordinarily talented, disciplined, reliable and generous, both as an actor and as a man.

I was glad to think of him representing the church and gospel on movie sets throughout Hollywood.

But then he faced the temptation to work in a beer commercial. Enough pay for his family to live for half a year. A chance to be seen by Hollywood bigwigs. Not actually drinking beer or even pretending to drink beer. Fully clothed.

Me, I would have thought only a crazy man would turn that down. Apparently, he thought so, too.

But from the storm of condemnation Kirby has had dumped on him, I realize now that the church is far more pure than I had supposed. Good Mormons don't make such compromises!

We are in a golden age of righteousness!

That is why Mormons are resigning from any advertising agency that handles alcohol advertising, or creates ads that use seductive models or that entice people to spend beyond their means.

Mormons who work at TV and radio stations and for networks that accept advertising that in any way violates church standards are also quitting their jobs.

The Marriotts are ceasing to serve alcoholic beverages in their hotels; their own wine label is being shut down, and the current stock is being destroyed.

Mormons who own or work for convenience stores and restaurants and airports and broadcasters and, in short, any business that requires any employee to work on the Sabbath are now going to resign.

Not only that, but Mormons who teach at universities where atheism and anti-religious beliefs are taught by anyone are resigning their positions rather than lend their support, by implication, to such anti-Christian activities.

Mormons in government office, elective or appointive or merely hired, will all resign in protest whenever their branch of government passes a law or enforces a policy that is contrary to the teachings of the gospel.

In California, every Mormon in state government is writing a letter of resignation right now, rather than be part of a government that has, by judicial fiat, corrupted the meaning of marriage.

And no Mormon will remain in office in any state that runs a lottery or has legalized gambling.

Mormon lawyers will cease to represent any client whose actions might not have been righteous at all times.

Mormon businessmen will refuse to buy from suppliers or sell to customers or work in partnership with anyone who does not conduct their business according to the principles outlined in the Doctrine and Covenants -- which includes management according to Section 121 and accounting by the Law of Consecration.

Mormon writers will now refuse to depict or mention any act of violence or other sin of any kind. We will show only good people doing good, in a world of perfect goodness, where nothing thwarts or distracts people in their pursuit of righteousness.

Furthermore, the Bible, Book of Mormon and Pearl of Great Price are being revised to eliminate all reference to sin, making the scriptures so brief that now we can expect Primary children to memorize them in their entirety.

And, above all, because of Kirby Heyborne's tragically bad example, all Mormon actors will refuse to play any role where someone does something bad.

No Mormon will play Goneril or Regan or Edmund in King Lear, or Macbeth, or Othello, or Iago; the current temple films are being withdrawn, so that the character of Satan can be eliminated, lest some actor be required to portray him.

The temple ceremony will also be vastly shortened, since Adam and Eve now remain in the Garden forever.

In all this new purity in the church, there is no redemption for Kirby Heyborne. Despite his years of being the only thing worth watching in Mormon comedies, he not only helped sell Miller Lite to beer drinkers, but also, in his brilliant performance in "Saints and Soldiers," he played a character who smoked incessantly.

Yes, a lighted cigarette was in his mouth. There was no excuse for this. Plus, his character did and said things that weren't nice.

Never mind that in the story as a whole, the cigarette was a pivotal symbol used for profound moral teaching. Kirby, how could you?

You should have played only Glinda the Good Witch -- oh, wait, that would be cross-dressing.

OK, you should have waited for the chance to play Peter in a film about the life of Christ, and -- oh, wait, he denies Christ three times, and young Mormons might follow your example.

No, Kirby, you are forever condemned. Meanwhile, the rest of us, who are all living lives of perfect purity, are looking for manna from heaven so we can feed our children, since we will certainly not get any money from the world.

I don't mean to be sarcastic here, but ... Oh, wait. Yes I do.

Actors portray characters who do things that the actors themselves would not do. They take part in films in which there are scenes that don't meet church standards. The audience is supposed to understand that the actor did not actually do those things. That's why actors are not prosecuted for murder after playing Macbeth.

That is why actors playing characters in commercials are not considered to be endorsing the product being sold.

Mormon actors do exercise their own judgment and refuse to take part in productions that require them to violate their personal standards. A naked actor is as naked as the character. But that's a private decision, even if theirs is a public art.

Likewise, to the Mormon lady who wrote to me that she was sure I must not have been a Mormon when I wrote "Ender's Game," because of the "graphic violence" in the book: I was a Mormon then, and am a Mormon now, and would hand that book to the Savior if the occasion arose, because I'm proud of the complex moral reasoning in that story. I believe that those who read it with understanding are changed for the better by the experience.

Will anyone be changed for the better by Kirby Heyborne's appearance in a beer ad?

I doubt it. But because his career as an actor has been prolonged by another half year, he may be available to play a life-changing role when it comes along. Meanwhile, he has done no harm to anyone.

I just have one question. Now that I've resolved to write only pure books, how long will my family go hungry before the manna starts showing up in the morning?


Orson Scott Card is a writer of nonfiction and fiction, from LDS works to popular fiction. "In the Village" appears Thursdays in the Deseret News.


MormonTimes.com is produced by the Deseret News in Salt Lake City, Utah.
It is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.