I'll always remember 2011 as my "Year of Enlightenment"; after spending much of my adult life sort of listlessly drifting through existence, I finally found a breakthrough this year, in terms of life goals, purpose of being, personality, and countless other things. A large part of that shift is likely due to the fact that I read more in 2011 than I have in any year of my life; by my count, I read over 20 books during the year, and plan on reading at least 20 more in 2012. Below are a list of the ten favorites I managed to get through, as well as some honorable mention (and dishonorable mention) candidates.
10. Never Let Me Go (2005, Kazuo Ishiguro)
Takes a little long to get going, but when it does...oh wow. The second half is an extremely difficult read, just for how powerfully sad it is, and the ending would make The Tin Man tear up. It's so good that I refuse to see the film adaption (released in 2010) for fear that it'll have nowhere near the emotional punch of the novel. (Note: This was in the top three until I read a review of it that imagined the three main characters as farm animals; needless to say, this analogy did not enhance my opinion of the book, and now makes me view it in an almost humorous light.)
9. The Sirens of Titan (1959, Kurt Vonnegut)
Similar to #10 in that the set-up is probably too long and the second half is simply sublime. The idea of all of humanity existing simply to transport a spare machine part to an alien stranded on Saturn is the best theory I've ever seen for why we were created. This won't be the last Vonnegut novel on the list.
8. Killing Yourself to Live; 85% of a True Story (2003, Chuck Klosterman)
Chuck Klosterman at his neuotric peak. Take the love essays and rock essays from Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs, meld them all together so that they transition seamlessly, slightly tweak the topics, and you've got this just-the-right length extended magazine piece (and that's a compliment). Highlights: the Kid A/September 11th theory, the discussion about Zeppelin, and the section about people who live in Los Angeles ("it is January or possibly July" is my favorite line in the entire book).
7. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter (1940, Carson McCullers)
Maybe the most brilliant idea in early contemporary literature was McCullers' introducing the idea of the "protagonist as audience surrogate." John Singer, a lonely deaf man living amidst a colony of lost souls, serves this purpose perfectly; he allows the other characters to share their rich, interesting, ultimately heartbreaking life stories as they search for love and mostly fail to find it. The fact that McCullers had this published when she was 23 actually kind of irritates me, since I'll likely be typing words for a school newspaper and working in the back kitchen of a two-star restaurant at that age.
6. 1984 (1949, George Orwell)
A little preachy? Sure, but still the ultimate dystopian masterpiece, and likely a huge influence on one of my all-time favorite movies, V for Vendetta. The feeling of constant suspense and danger present throughout the first two-thirds of the book is palpable, and Winston Smith's tragic journey is a remarkably written one. I like this book anywhere from two to two thousand times better than Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, which I find boring and overly ridiculous.
5. Slapstick (1976, Kurt Vonnegut)
Here's a reason why I don't like "Top Ten" or "Top 100" lists; the author often feels as though they need to represent the greatest variety of material possible, which leads them to not list multiple pieces of work by the same artist. (The worst example is probably VH1's list of the "Greatest Songs of the '80s"; it includes "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses at #2, but omits "Welcome to the Jungle" entirely, probably for the reason I noted above.) Yes, I read a lot of books by guys other than Kurt Vonnegut, but Slapstick was a laugh-out-loud emotional roller coaster ride with one of my favorite endings of all time. Why shouldn't I put it on the list? Because I also loved Sirens of Titan and Slaughterhouse-Five? That's reasonable?
4. A Confederacy of Dunces (1980, John Kennedy Toole)
Quite possibly the funniest thing ever written, and (more importantly) an interesting insight as to why the author committed suicide before it got published. All of Confederacy's characters are either unlikable or unredeemable (or both), which causes society as a whole to be portrayed in a highly negative light.
3. Eating The Dinosaur (2009, Chuck Klosterman)
Ralph Sampson, Mike Leach, In Utero, Lady Gaga, and countless other pop culture manifestations are critically analyzed by the P.C. guru himself. Klosterman was in his mid-thirties and married when he began work on this novel, which explains how its tone is much less negative and fatalistic than everything else he's written (and also why this is my favorite book of his).
2. Catch-22 (1961, Joseph Heller)
I take back my comment from #4; this is the funniest thing ever written. The story isn't particularly interesting, and the theme doesn't go much deeper than "War is stupid," but every single page contains at least two side-splitting laughs, and Yossarian is probably my favorite protagonist of all time. There may very well be no funnier chapter in literature history than the one about Major Major Major.
1. Slaughterhouse-Five (1969, Kurt Vonnegut)
Kurt's best. Rivals #2 and #4 on this list for humor, while also critically analyzing a host of deep themes: free will, love, marriage, war, and others that are the usual Vonnegut standbys. The fact that this Vonnegut novel features a frequently-time-traveling main character named "Billy Pilgrim," Tralfamadorians, and the always-enjoyable Kilgore Trout, pushes it to the top of my 2011 reading list.
HONORABLE MENTION:
Fight Club (1996, Chuck Palahniuk)
An enjoyable satire on the American male's existence in the late 20th century. Bonus points for the scene, tragically omitted from the film version, where the narrator and Marla engage in a kitchen brawl while using Marla's mother's liposuctioned fat as a weapon.
Cat's Cradle (1963, Kurt Vonnegut)
Is this what's going to happen on December 21, 2012?
Chuck Klosterman IV (2006, Chuck Klosterman)
Can't beat an anthology of Chuck's finest. His interviews with Val Kilmer and Bono are especially enlightening.
DISHONORABLE MENTION:
Fahrenheit 451 (1953, Ray Bradbury)
Just could never get into this supposed "dystopian sci-fi masterpiece"; nearly every character, including the protagonist, is completely unlikable, and the story goes nowhere. I did enjoy parts of it, though, which is why I'm willing to give Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes a chance.
A Clockwork Orange (1962, Anthony Burgess)
I don't really like Catcher In The Rye as a novel (my appreciation for it arises from deeper reasons), and Clockwork Orange generally feels like a carbon copy of the former book, if Holden Caulfield was 50% more violent and spoke entirely in ridiculous, nearly-impossible-to-decipher slang.
Tender Is The Night (1934, F. Scott Fitzgerald)
I still believe that The Great Gatsby is the greatest American novel of all time, and definitely one of my four or five favorite books ever. Tender is generally considered Fitzgerald's second-greatest book, which led me to take the understandable plunge. What I found was a long, boring, devoid-of-action romance novel whose only value lies in the fact that it's basically the story of the end of Fitzgerald's life. I suppose that there's some reason to appreciate it, in that regard, but as a novel itself I found it extremely hard to get through.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
SIC of the (week), 12/26 to 1/1
OKAY...so obviously, the "SIC of the day" gimmick lasted all of three days. (I could insert some bullshit about "taking a week off for Christmas," like most bloggers/respected writers do so that they don't have to worry about anything from December 19th to January 2nd, but I'm not a lazy fuck, so yeah.) That's impressively awful, even by my standards. So I've switched it up to the "SIC of the week" in order to make this a more realistic goal.
Also...I've read over the first few things I've written, and I hate them all and want to change almost all of them. They just don't reflect what I want to do at all. I've slowly come to learn that I began this blog with the intention to "try to understand why I feel the way I do about certain things in society," and from those first few essays it does seem as though I am working toward that goal. However, I come off sounding like a whiny emo kid, which isn't like me at all. I feel like I went overly emotional, in trying to sound important and make the blog "sound professional" or something. This goes against the point of what I'm trying to do, because if I contort my words and sound like a pretentious dick (which I'm not), then I'm not really expressing how I feel, which (again) is the point of this blog. Henceforth, I will make a conscious effort to put "content" above "form" in my essays, which will resume tomorrow.
As for the "SIC of the week," I present to you the most exciting two minutes the average movie geek has had in months: The Dark Knight Rises official trailer. Enjoy.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The book is more powerful than the sword.
Mind control absolutely exists.
There are any number of complex theories and methods one could use in this space to prove that true, but I will choose to focus on the basic forms. Take the simple example of "music." If a girl at a club has had a few drinks and hears a catchy song, her mind tells her to dance, and she usually does. If a stoner has had a few puffs and puts on a track with a laid-back groove, his mind tells him that he is getting very sleepy. If a flower child drops some acid and listens to prog-rock or trip-hop, his mind tells him that certain pictures and colors exist that actually do not. This is mind control. (Some might argue that this is simply "mind manipulation," and that true "mind control" can only exist if a certain individual can literally use their mind to control the thoughts of others. This is, at the very least, nitpicking.)
The concept goes a little deeper when analyzed through the lens of film. Taxi Driver convinced Ed Hinckley to shoot the president. Fight Club moved large groups of people to start "copycat" Project Mayhem organizations (although with, of course, much more realistic results). Jaws kickstarted a worldwide fear of sharks, leading to Animal Planet's highly-publicized "Shark Week" and the shark itself eventually getting tagged as an "endangered species" due to extreme over-hunting. Seemingly innocent films like The Wizard of Oz and Lord of the Rings became famous for wholly unintentional reasons (in each of these cases, "Dude, we gotta get high to this shit, man"). And so forth.
However, beyond these two methods comes the truest form of mind control, and the one that has arguably resulted in the most serious consequences throughout the years: manipulation through literature.
---
One of my friends is absolutely beautiful...or, at least, I've seen her at a state of absolute beauty. She has gorgeous blue eyes, tan brown skin, flowing brown hair, and some of the prettiest features I've ever seen in a woman's face. I've seen modeling pictures of her from several years ago, and she looks like a fucking ten (out of five). On paper, she has everything that any man would ever look for in a woman. It's unfortunate that those criteria don't include "a personality," but shit; if she did have a wonderful personality, she'd be the most attractive person on the fucking planet. Bar none.
This is where (at least, in my speculation) literature enters the picture.
This woman's favorite author is Chuck Klosterman, notorious always-depressed contrarian hipster/"philosopher for dummies." And I actually like the guy; in fact, I'm a huge fan of a lot of his essays, and definitely enjoy his takes on Star Wars ("Empire Strikes Back previewed Generation X"), the 1980s Lakers-Celtics rivalry ("Celtics = old school Republicans, Lakers = late-'60s Democrats"), and Advancement Theory (when an artist does something that is the opposite of unpredictable and also the opposite of unpredictable, they have done something genius). I'll even be referencing a lot of these essays in my own writing, and plan on my next one to even involve a "philosophical" question of his from the book "Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs." But here's the thing: I respect the guy's writing, but I wouldn't say I'm in love with it. Sure, I love certain parts, but generally it just seems too depressing; one of his books chronicles a road trip of his around America looking for famous places where rock stars died ("Killing Yourself To Live") that should have been fucking incredible...if he wasn't sulking the entire time over being lovesick. In that book, he also admits that the entirety of his most famous work ("SD&CP") was written when he was also lovesick. As you can imagine, he can very easily start to sound like a whiny douche in a lot of places throughout both books. This is why, although I definitely enjoy portions of his brainstorms throughout both works, I wouldn't call myself a Klosterman Disciple. Of course, since his writing is extremely relatable to the average American (since he's writing about everyday situations and pop culture in a slightly deep way), I can imagine that it would be easy for someone to get sucked in by him.
Unfortunately, my girl friend did. (Or, at least, I think she did; again, this all speculative.)
My female friend has pierced her nose at least three times. She rarely wears makeup. She recently cut her hair down to shoulder length. She seemingly deliberately wears the least revealing (i.e., least attractive) clothes she can find. On top of that, she also apparently tries to make her Facebook profile picture the least attractive picture she can find. The only things she ever talks about are how little money she has and how little luck she has with men. Although I could very, very easily imagine her being a "party girl" (at least, based on what I've seen and heard about her past life), it seems as if she's trying to go "alternative." And although we're friends, whenever I speak to her I get the general impression that she's attempting to disagree with everything I say and/or one-up me at every turn because she has to be smarter and "righter" than me about everything.
This is a Klosterman Disciple in a nutshell.
Again...I may be reading too much into this (no pun intended). Maybe she was always like that, and is just now choosing to go full indie chick. Maybe she's naturally condescending; fuck, most women are. Maybe she never was a "party girl," and just looked and acted extremely like one once upon a time (according to various sources, anyway). Maybe she honestly does find those clothes and those Facebook pictures attractive, in which case her choices to utilize them would be less "pretentious" and more "extremely misguided."
Or maybe she views Klosterman like Chapman viewed Sallinger. In which case, a) Chris Martin had better start wearing Kevlar in public, and b) we've lost another one to literature mind control.
---
So why does literature take such a strong hold over the people who read it? Here's my theory.
In the case of music at a club, you're around a hundred other people when you're hearing the song; it does dictate your actions to a point, but if absolutely nobody else was dancing to the music then you probably wouldn't either. It's just as much of a sociological thing as it is a psychological thing. It's a little different in the case of a movie, because you take it in on more of a personal level (what with the silent theater and the dark atmosphere). But immediately after the movie ends, you're probably discussing it with a friend or family member (and possibly multiple friends and family members), because movie viewing is almost completely a social exercise at this point. The film is all yours for about two seconds...and then the credits roll, and now it's everybody's. Again, sociology intersecting with psychology.
Literature is different because (unless you're in a book club, an entity which I don't actually believe exists because the heaviness of the cliche would end up crushing everyone in the room) it's just you and the author. You take everything in at your own pace, and dissect it in your own fashion. There's nobody around you while you're taking in that affects your opinion of it, and nobody to immediately discuss it three seconds after you finish reading it. Moreover, it also wasn't some conscious decision of a social group to pick out this book; it was something you chose, because you enjoyed the topic and probably wanted to be affected by it. I've never thought of reading a book as a bizarre form of self-fulfilling prophecy before, but there you go.
Does this mean that every anti-war novel will turn you into a '60s anti-Vietnam hippie, or that every apocolpaytic novel will turn you into the guy from Take Shelter? No. But it's a hell of a lot more likely that, if you do undergo a personal transformation due to culture, the inspiration will likely be "that book you just read."
There are any number of complex theories and methods one could use in this space to prove that true, but I will choose to focus on the basic forms. Take the simple example of "music." If a girl at a club has had a few drinks and hears a catchy song, her mind tells her to dance, and she usually does. If a stoner has had a few puffs and puts on a track with a laid-back groove, his mind tells him that he is getting very sleepy. If a flower child drops some acid and listens to prog-rock or trip-hop, his mind tells him that certain pictures and colors exist that actually do not. This is mind control. (Some might argue that this is simply "mind manipulation," and that true "mind control" can only exist if a certain individual can literally use their mind to control the thoughts of others. This is, at the very least, nitpicking.)
The concept goes a little deeper when analyzed through the lens of film. Taxi Driver convinced Ed Hinckley to shoot the president. Fight Club moved large groups of people to start "copycat" Project Mayhem organizations (although with, of course, much more realistic results). Jaws kickstarted a worldwide fear of sharks, leading to Animal Planet's highly-publicized "Shark Week" and the shark itself eventually getting tagged as an "endangered species" due to extreme over-hunting. Seemingly innocent films like The Wizard of Oz and Lord of the Rings became famous for wholly unintentional reasons (in each of these cases, "Dude, we gotta get high to this shit, man"). And so forth.
However, beyond these two methods comes the truest form of mind control, and the one that has arguably resulted in the most serious consequences throughout the years: manipulation through literature.
---
One of my friends is absolutely beautiful...or, at least, I've seen her at a state of absolute beauty. She has gorgeous blue eyes, tan brown skin, flowing brown hair, and some of the prettiest features I've ever seen in a woman's face. I've seen modeling pictures of her from several years ago, and she looks like a fucking ten (out of five). On paper, she has everything that any man would ever look for in a woman. It's unfortunate that those criteria don't include "a personality," but shit; if she did have a wonderful personality, she'd be the most attractive person on the fucking planet. Bar none.
This is where (at least, in my speculation) literature enters the picture.
This woman's favorite author is Chuck Klosterman, notorious always-depressed contrarian hipster/"philosopher for dummies." And I actually like the guy; in fact, I'm a huge fan of a lot of his essays, and definitely enjoy his takes on Star Wars ("Empire Strikes Back previewed Generation X"), the 1980s Lakers-Celtics rivalry ("Celtics = old school Republicans, Lakers = late-'60s Democrats"), and Advancement Theory (when an artist does something that is the opposite of unpredictable and also the opposite of unpredictable, they have done something genius). I'll even be referencing a lot of these essays in my own writing, and plan on my next one to even involve a "philosophical" question of his from the book "Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs." But here's the thing: I respect the guy's writing, but I wouldn't say I'm in love with it. Sure, I love certain parts, but generally it just seems too depressing; one of his books chronicles a road trip of his around America looking for famous places where rock stars died ("Killing Yourself To Live") that should have been fucking incredible...if he wasn't sulking the entire time over being lovesick. In that book, he also admits that the entirety of his most famous work ("SD&CP") was written when he was also lovesick. As you can imagine, he can very easily start to sound like a whiny douche in a lot of places throughout both books. This is why, although I definitely enjoy portions of his brainstorms throughout both works, I wouldn't call myself a Klosterman Disciple. Of course, since his writing is extremely relatable to the average American (since he's writing about everyday situations and pop culture in a slightly deep way), I can imagine that it would be easy for someone to get sucked in by him.
Unfortunately, my girl friend did. (Or, at least, I think she did; again, this all speculative.)
My female friend has pierced her nose at least three times. She rarely wears makeup. She recently cut her hair down to shoulder length. She seemingly deliberately wears the least revealing (i.e., least attractive) clothes she can find. On top of that, she also apparently tries to make her Facebook profile picture the least attractive picture she can find. The only things she ever talks about are how little money she has and how little luck she has with men. Although I could very, very easily imagine her being a "party girl" (at least, based on what I've seen and heard about her past life), it seems as if she's trying to go "alternative." And although we're friends, whenever I speak to her I get the general impression that she's attempting to disagree with everything I say and/or one-up me at every turn because she has to be smarter and "righter" than me about everything.
This is a Klosterman Disciple in a nutshell.
Again...I may be reading too much into this (no pun intended). Maybe she was always like that, and is just now choosing to go full indie chick. Maybe she's naturally condescending; fuck, most women are. Maybe she never was a "party girl," and just looked and acted extremely like one once upon a time (according to various sources, anyway). Maybe she honestly does find those clothes and those Facebook pictures attractive, in which case her choices to utilize them would be less "pretentious" and more "extremely misguided."
Or maybe she views Klosterman like Chapman viewed Sallinger. In which case, a) Chris Martin had better start wearing Kevlar in public, and b) we've lost another one to literature mind control.
---
So why does literature take such a strong hold over the people who read it? Here's my theory.
In the case of music at a club, you're around a hundred other people when you're hearing the song; it does dictate your actions to a point, but if absolutely nobody else was dancing to the music then you probably wouldn't either. It's just as much of a sociological thing as it is a psychological thing. It's a little different in the case of a movie, because you take it in on more of a personal level (what with the silent theater and the dark atmosphere). But immediately after the movie ends, you're probably discussing it with a friend or family member (and possibly multiple friends and family members), because movie viewing is almost completely a social exercise at this point. The film is all yours for about two seconds...and then the credits roll, and now it's everybody's. Again, sociology intersecting with psychology.
Literature is different because (unless you're in a book club, an entity which I don't actually believe exists because the heaviness of the cliche would end up crushing everyone in the room) it's just you and the author. You take everything in at your own pace, and dissect it in your own fashion. There's nobody around you while you're taking in that affects your opinion of it, and nobody to immediately discuss it three seconds after you finish reading it. Moreover, it also wasn't some conscious decision of a social group to pick out this book; it was something you chose, because you enjoyed the topic and probably wanted to be affected by it. I've never thought of reading a book as a bizarre form of self-fulfilling prophecy before, but there you go.
Does this mean that every anti-war novel will turn you into a '60s anti-Vietnam hippie, or that every apocolpaytic novel will turn you into the guy from Take Shelter? No. But it's a hell of a lot more likely that, if you do undergo a personal transformation due to culture, the inspiration will likely be "that book you just read."
Friday, December 16, 2011
The Problem Of Nostalgia
The art of filmmaking is not dead.
In the last year, I have seen the following films in theaters: Drive, Captain America; The First Avenger, Super 8, Moneyball, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II, The Rum Diary, Horrible Bosses, Cowboys and Aliens, Red Riding Hood, and The Hangover Part II. I would classify Hangover II and Red Riding Hood as "bad" (with the former movie probably bringing up the rear; sad to say, I laughed more often during the serious drama than the raunchy comedy); Horrible Bosses and Cowboys and Aliens as "decent"; Potter, Moneyball, Super 8, and Captain America as "good"; and Drive as "legitimately great." (The Rum Diary gets an "incomplete," as I was dangerously inebriated when I saw it.) I would purchase any of the "good"-to-"great" movies on DVD. Drive is probably one of my 15 or 20 favorite films of all time. Overall, it was a positive year for me, movie-wise. (For what it's worth, I also saw X-Men; First Class, Limitless, and Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil, three more 2011 releases, via online torrent; I would classify the two former films as "decent," and the latter one as "quite possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen.")
Here is the reason why this topic puzzles me: Absolutely every single media figure appears to agree that this year was one of the all-time worst for movies. Their arguments often reflect the fact that 2011 was a record year for sequels, remakes, and comic book movies, which are three genres that generally produce poor films (in the eyes of critics, anyway). These opinions probably hold water; although I did not see Transformers; Dark of the Moon, Pirates of the Caribbean; On Stranger Tides, Kung Fu Panda 2, Fast Five, The Twilight Saga; Breaking Dawn, Part I, Cars 2, The Green Hornet, Scream 4, Thor, Final Destination 5, Spy Kids 4D, Shark Night 3D, The Thing, A Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas, or Happy Feet 2, it would not surprise me if nearly all of these films were great disappointments or even completely awful. The premises of them alone (especially Shark Night 3D, which is about a group of rogue sharks terrorizing teenagers near a river, for some reason) sound far-fetched at best and "I think I'll wrap this marijuana in tinfoil to get it through the airport metal detector"-level moronic at worst.
But here's the thing; aren't most of those movies supposed to be appeal to people that could safely be described as "stupid"? Transformers, Fast Five, Green Hornet, Thor, Scream, Final Destination, Shark Night, The Thing, and Harold and Kumar were all aimed to appeal to 12-to-16-year old boys, who are generally considered the third-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; Pirates of the Caribbean and Twilight were both aimed at young girls, who are generally considered the second-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; and Kung Fu Panda, Cars, Spy Kids, and Happy Feet were aimed at little kids, who are generally considered the dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at. It's not like any of these movies were trying to win Oscars; they knew exactly what they were, and made no pretension about it. Are we now also supposed to riot when Ke$ha puts out an awful album, or when Charlie Sheen gets arrested for acting like a terrible human being?
This is what confuses me about the characterizations of "2011 in film"; apparently, it was a terrible, awful year for movies because the movies that were supposed to be terrible and awful turned out to be terrible and awful. This does not make any sense. It also seems as if everyone decided to go out of their way to avoid praising the good ones that were released. By all accounts, 2011 films such as Take Shelter, The Tree of Life, The Descendants, Hugo, Beginners, Melancholia, Midnight In Paris, The Guard, Jane Eyre, Rango, The Muppets, Bridesmaids, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, and Attack the Block were all good-to-great; critics also (justifably) loved Potter, Moneyball, and Drive. So why do they get no love, and why does everyone choose to pin their focus on the types of films that feature Adam Sandler repeatedly punching himself in the face or Kevin James doing dance numbers with animated zoo creatures?
Based on these observations, it would be easy for me to say, "Well, it's because we've all become a bunch of whiny pessimistic movie brats." However, I believe that the real answer is more complicated than that. Yes, we've become somewhat cynical as a society in terms of film; in recent years, everyone was Usain Bolt-level quick to poke holes in movies such as The Dark Knight ("Joker was freaking omnipotent!"), Avatar ("Just a billion-dollar remake of Dances With Wolves!) and Inception ("Inconsistent rules of dreaming and too hard to follow!"), but you have to really dig deep to find people who have problems with classic films such as Citizen Kane (which is entirely based around a reporter trying to find the meaning behind Kane's final word, when nobody was even around to hear it), Star Wars ("Hold your fire, there are no lifeforms aboard"; um, "stolen Death Star plans" aren't lifeforms, last I checked), or even The Godfather (we're really supposed to believe that a group of shady men could stop at a tollbooth for 10 minutes, fire a thousand bullets loudly into a vehicle, and then speed away without getting caught or even seen?). As such, I believe that our obsession with critiquing new films does not have as much to do with the fact that we're all "whiny pessimistic brats" as it does with the fact that we're all "nostalgia whores."
---
Tradition is a dangerous thing.
Tradition is why no current artist should ever record a Christmas song, because even if they do, nationwide radio stations will still clog up their entire December "Christmas hours" with songs by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. (The lone exception to this rule is NSYNC's excruiating 1998 release, "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays," and it only gets airplay because 99% of it consists of the entire fivesome shouting, "Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!" Ugh.) Tradition is why the Dodgers just signed notorious hustler Adam Kennedy to a two-year contract, even though wise statisticians can prove that he's almost definitely the worst player in the majors. Tradition is why Notre Dame coaches get fired every three years for not winning national titles, despite the fact that no great athlete would rather spend four years freezing his ass off in South Bend when he could spend four years laying on the beach in Florida or California. Tradition is why America's health care system will never change (despite Obama's best efforts), as it would shift the country that much closer to the dreaded "socalist society" tag. And tradition is why 2011's Drive is too boring and too forced, and why 1976's Taxi Driver is an infallible masterpiece.
The longing for tradition is extremely prevelant in this year's movie scene. For example, Scream 4 had no good reason to be made (the story had wrapped up nicely with 2001's Scream 3; Wes Craven would merely be pissing on his legacy by creating a crappy fourth movie; there was a ten-year gap between sequels, et cetera)...but Hollywood higher-ups knew there would be a huge market for it. By all accounts, it was a far inferior production to the intelligent, psychological horror picture Take Shelter (58% Rotten Tomatoes rating for the former movie, 92% for the latter), and yet the worse film made $57 million while the better film actually lost money. Another perfect test case is the 2011 Mary Elizabeth Winstead vehicle The Thing, made only because Thing producer Marc Abraham flipped through the Universal Studios library looking for the movie whose re-make would prove the most lucrative; his film ended up in the red at the box office, but the mere fact that that was his strategy for picking a project is damning enough in itself. Instead of dreaming up an original horror story to satisfy the legions of hardcore fans of the genre and then putting that dream into action, he simply decided to re-produce someone else's dream, knowing that it would be more financially viable. This is disturbing, to say the least.
Interestingly, these sorts of trends have arrived primarily because of audiences, not because of greedy filmmakers. The movie business has always been just that: a business. A film goes into production nowadays because of how much money it will make, not because of how good it is. The aforementioned list of terrible 2011 films appealed to the exact demographics that pay to see most movies nowadays: young children and younger children (usually accompanied by their parents). New, original films are primarily produced to appeal to their preferences, not those of the "intellectual" movie audience. This is because the latter demographic is the one that either "waits until the DVD/Internet torrent comes out" (thus, waiting until they can see it for cheap/free) or skewers the film privately and publically. Zach Snyder's completely original film Sucker Punch is widely considered one of the worst movies of 2011 for being a "two-hour music video," but really, is it that much worse than Fast Five (which could also easily be described as a "two-hour music video")? Probably not, but as Fast Five already had a built-in audience and low expectations, it succeeded wildly both commercially ($500 million box office) and critically (78% Rotten Tomatoes rating). This is likely due to the fact that a large portion of these moviegoers liked the original Fast and the Furious back when they were younger and happier, and thus gladly enjoyed in the fifth film in the series without needing to break it down and analyze it critically. As Sucker Punch had no pre-existing material to go by and no "franchise" attached to it, it did not receive these same benefits of the doubt. Tradition is a dangerous thing.
So really, the only movies that adults will both pay to see and "accept" nowadays are those that remind them of their past. This is exactly why so many comic book movies and re-makes and sequels got released in 2011; not because Hollywood has run out of ideas, but because these are the ideas that make money. Basically, if you're a modern filmmaker working for a big movie company, you have two choices: you can make a film that the age 6-16 demographic will enjoy (either a harebrained animated movie or a terrible horror movie), or you can make a film that the age 48-plus demographic will enjoy (a nostalgia-filled production that reminds moviegoers of something they used to like). There's literally nothing original left for the age 17-47 demographic, because all those people are either going to rip the movie apart or just wait until they can see it for free.
In essence, we, as a general moviegoing population, are the problem; the movie-making people are not. They are simply appealing to the senses of ours that will cause us to spend our money. We have nobody to blame for "movies today being shitty" but ourselves. I decided to buck that trend in 2011 and go spend my money on a bunch of well-reviewed, interesting movies, and the result was that I genuinely enjoyed my theater experience this year. Therefore, I was able to shake my head at reports that declared the entire year a "loss" for quality filmmaking; despite the fact that there were a record number of stupid movies produced during the year, there were also a number of smart and creative films released that I happened to catch and like. Thus, I would advise any and everyone to actively go out and try to see under-the-radar movies such as Drive, Take Shelter, Melancholia, and others that aren't targeted at six-year-olds; then, and only then, will major movie-making "shift" away from idiotic/nostalgic pictures to original, interesting pictures.
(Although, even then, they'll probably still get the "glass-half-empty" treatment.)
In the last year, I have seen the following films in theaters: Drive, Captain America; The First Avenger, Super 8, Moneyball, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II, The Rum Diary, Horrible Bosses, Cowboys and Aliens, Red Riding Hood, and The Hangover Part II. I would classify Hangover II and Red Riding Hood as "bad" (with the former movie probably bringing up the rear; sad to say, I laughed more often during the serious drama than the raunchy comedy); Horrible Bosses and Cowboys and Aliens as "decent"; Potter, Moneyball, Super 8, and Captain America as "good"; and Drive as "legitimately great." (The Rum Diary gets an "incomplete," as I was dangerously inebriated when I saw it.) I would purchase any of the "good"-to-"great" movies on DVD. Drive is probably one of my 15 or 20 favorite films of all time. Overall, it was a positive year for me, movie-wise. (For what it's worth, I also saw X-Men; First Class, Limitless, and Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil, three more 2011 releases, via online torrent; I would classify the two former films as "decent," and the latter one as "quite possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen.")
Here is the reason why this topic puzzles me: Absolutely every single media figure appears to agree that this year was one of the all-time worst for movies. Their arguments often reflect the fact that 2011 was a record year for sequels, remakes, and comic book movies, which are three genres that generally produce poor films (in the eyes of critics, anyway). These opinions probably hold water; although I did not see Transformers; Dark of the Moon, Pirates of the Caribbean; On Stranger Tides, Kung Fu Panda 2, Fast Five, The Twilight Saga; Breaking Dawn, Part I, Cars 2, The Green Hornet, Scream 4, Thor, Final Destination 5, Spy Kids 4D, Shark Night 3D, The Thing, A Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas, or Happy Feet 2, it would not surprise me if nearly all of these films were great disappointments or even completely awful. The premises of them alone (especially Shark Night 3D, which is about a group of rogue sharks terrorizing teenagers near a river, for some reason) sound far-fetched at best and "I think I'll wrap this marijuana in tinfoil to get it through the airport metal detector"-level moronic at worst.
But here's the thing; aren't most of those movies supposed to be appeal to people that could safely be described as "stupid"? Transformers, Fast Five, Green Hornet, Thor, Scream, Final Destination, Shark Night, The Thing, and Harold and Kumar were all aimed to appeal to 12-to-16-year old boys, who are generally considered the third-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; Pirates of the Caribbean and Twilight were both aimed at young girls, who are generally considered the second-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; and Kung Fu Panda, Cars, Spy Kids, and Happy Feet were aimed at little kids, who are generally considered the dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at. It's not like any of these movies were trying to win Oscars; they knew exactly what they were, and made no pretension about it. Are we now also supposed to riot when Ke$ha puts out an awful album, or when Charlie Sheen gets arrested for acting like a terrible human being?
This is what confuses me about the characterizations of "2011 in film"; apparently, it was a terrible, awful year for movies because the movies that were supposed to be terrible and awful turned out to be terrible and awful. This does not make any sense. It also seems as if everyone decided to go out of their way to avoid praising the good ones that were released. By all accounts, 2011 films such as Take Shelter, The Tree of Life, The Descendants, Hugo, Beginners, Melancholia, Midnight In Paris, The Guard, Jane Eyre, Rango, The Muppets, Bridesmaids, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, and Attack the Block were all good-to-great; critics also (justifably) loved Potter, Moneyball, and Drive. So why do they get no love, and why does everyone choose to pin their focus on the types of films that feature Adam Sandler repeatedly punching himself in the face or Kevin James doing dance numbers with animated zoo creatures?
Based on these observations, it would be easy for me to say, "Well, it's because we've all become a bunch of whiny pessimistic movie brats." However, I believe that the real answer is more complicated than that. Yes, we've become somewhat cynical as a society in terms of film; in recent years, everyone was Usain Bolt-level quick to poke holes in movies such as The Dark Knight ("Joker was freaking omnipotent!"), Avatar ("Just a billion-dollar remake of Dances With Wolves!) and Inception ("Inconsistent rules of dreaming and too hard to follow!"), but you have to really dig deep to find people who have problems with classic films such as Citizen Kane (which is entirely based around a reporter trying to find the meaning behind Kane's final word, when nobody was even around to hear it), Star Wars ("Hold your fire, there are no lifeforms aboard"; um, "stolen Death Star plans" aren't lifeforms, last I checked), or even The Godfather (we're really supposed to believe that a group of shady men could stop at a tollbooth for 10 minutes, fire a thousand bullets loudly into a vehicle, and then speed away without getting caught or even seen?). As such, I believe that our obsession with critiquing new films does not have as much to do with the fact that we're all "whiny pessimistic brats" as it does with the fact that we're all "nostalgia whores."
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Tradition is a dangerous thing.
Tradition is why no current artist should ever record a Christmas song, because even if they do, nationwide radio stations will still clog up their entire December "Christmas hours" with songs by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. (The lone exception to this rule is NSYNC's excruiating 1998 release, "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays," and it only gets airplay because 99% of it consists of the entire fivesome shouting, "Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!" Ugh.) Tradition is why the Dodgers just signed notorious hustler Adam Kennedy to a two-year contract, even though wise statisticians can prove that he's almost definitely the worst player in the majors. Tradition is why Notre Dame coaches get fired every three years for not winning national titles, despite the fact that no great athlete would rather spend four years freezing his ass off in South Bend when he could spend four years laying on the beach in Florida or California. Tradition is why America's health care system will never change (despite Obama's best efforts), as it would shift the country that much closer to the dreaded "socalist society" tag. And tradition is why 2011's Drive is too boring and too forced, and why 1976's Taxi Driver is an infallible masterpiece.
The longing for tradition is extremely prevelant in this year's movie scene. For example, Scream 4 had no good reason to be made (the story had wrapped up nicely with 2001's Scream 3; Wes Craven would merely be pissing on his legacy by creating a crappy fourth movie; there was a ten-year gap between sequels, et cetera)...but Hollywood higher-ups knew there would be a huge market for it. By all accounts, it was a far inferior production to the intelligent, psychological horror picture Take Shelter (58% Rotten Tomatoes rating for the former movie, 92% for the latter), and yet the worse film made $57 million while the better film actually lost money. Another perfect test case is the 2011 Mary Elizabeth Winstead vehicle The Thing, made only because Thing producer Marc Abraham flipped through the Universal Studios library looking for the movie whose re-make would prove the most lucrative; his film ended up in the red at the box office, but the mere fact that that was his strategy for picking a project is damning enough in itself. Instead of dreaming up an original horror story to satisfy the legions of hardcore fans of the genre and then putting that dream into action, he simply decided to re-produce someone else's dream, knowing that it would be more financially viable. This is disturbing, to say the least.
Interestingly, these sorts of trends have arrived primarily because of audiences, not because of greedy filmmakers. The movie business has always been just that: a business. A film goes into production nowadays because of how much money it will make, not because of how good it is. The aforementioned list of terrible 2011 films appealed to the exact demographics that pay to see most movies nowadays: young children and younger children (usually accompanied by their parents). New, original films are primarily produced to appeal to their preferences, not those of the "intellectual" movie audience. This is because the latter demographic is the one that either "waits until the DVD/Internet torrent comes out" (thus, waiting until they can see it for cheap/free) or skewers the film privately and publically. Zach Snyder's completely original film Sucker Punch is widely considered one of the worst movies of 2011 for being a "two-hour music video," but really, is it that much worse than Fast Five (which could also easily be described as a "two-hour music video")? Probably not, but as Fast Five already had a built-in audience and low expectations, it succeeded wildly both commercially ($500 million box office) and critically (78% Rotten Tomatoes rating). This is likely due to the fact that a large portion of these moviegoers liked the original Fast and the Furious back when they were younger and happier, and thus gladly enjoyed in the fifth film in the series without needing to break it down and analyze it critically. As Sucker Punch had no pre-existing material to go by and no "franchise" attached to it, it did not receive these same benefits of the doubt. Tradition is a dangerous thing.
So really, the only movies that adults will both pay to see and "accept" nowadays are those that remind them of their past. This is exactly why so many comic book movies and re-makes and sequels got released in 2011; not because Hollywood has run out of ideas, but because these are the ideas that make money. Basically, if you're a modern filmmaker working for a big movie company, you have two choices: you can make a film that the age 6-16 demographic will enjoy (either a harebrained animated movie or a terrible horror movie), or you can make a film that the age 48-plus demographic will enjoy (a nostalgia-filled production that reminds moviegoers of something they used to like). There's literally nothing original left for the age 17-47 demographic, because all those people are either going to rip the movie apart or just wait until they can see it for free.
In essence, we, as a general moviegoing population, are the problem; the movie-making people are not. They are simply appealing to the senses of ours that will cause us to spend our money. We have nobody to blame for "movies today being shitty" but ourselves. I decided to buck that trend in 2011 and go spend my money on a bunch of well-reviewed, interesting movies, and the result was that I genuinely enjoyed my theater experience this year. Therefore, I was able to shake my head at reports that declared the entire year a "loss" for quality filmmaking; despite the fact that there were a record number of stupid movies produced during the year, there were also a number of smart and creative films released that I happened to catch and like. Thus, I would advise any and everyone to actively go out and try to see under-the-radar movies such as Drive, Take Shelter, Melancholia, and others that aren't targeted at six-year-olds; then, and only then, will major movie-making "shift" away from idiotic/nostalgic pictures to original, interesting pictures.
(Although, even then, they'll probably still get the "glass-half-empty" treatment.)
"SIC of the day," 12/16/11
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the "sic"-est dog of all?
Come on...you were expecting someone else?
Anyway, the new essay will be up in a little bit. I realize now that I probably should have saved yesterday's "SIC" for today, given that today's the day that the Drive-related essay is going to go up. So...fuck. I guess I'll incorporate a new feature into this feature: "When in doubt, go with the sexiest picture of Katy Perry you can find." Done and done! Enjoy.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"SIC of the day"; 12/15/11
What's up, dog?
Just another day of being a badass muthafucka, I see. Anyway, I'm running low on time today and I'm pretty sure I just stuck my fingers into week-old bacon grease, so before I head to the DeTox station I'll just throw this out there: This song is called "Nightcall," by Kavinsky, and it's from the Drive original soundtrack. I'm going to have an extensive essay up tomorrow on how 2011 movies are/were disrespected, so this'll kind of "tie into that" or something. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV_3Dpw-BRY&ob=av2e
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Song/Image/Clip (SIC) of the day, 12/14/11
So I've decided that, since I won't be able to post every day due to the nature of my blog's content, that I'm going to incorporate a "daily" aspect: the Song/Image/Clip of the week, or "SIC" for short. I'm going to name it in honor of my menacing dog. Here is his picture.
No, his name isn't "sic" (it's Max), and no, he doesn't look that menacing. But he gains this honor because of the fact that the word "sic" is his "kill word." Just look at what happens after I say it. "Sic" Max, "sic"!
*shivers* *shivers again*
Whew...okay, I'm good. So here's the first annual "SIC of the day." It's a song by Puscifer, off their latest album, Conditions Of My Parole. I nearly saw these guys (and girls) in Vegas last weekend despite the fact that I would have had no money for tickets, airfare, lodging, food, or gambling, and it was basically just because of this song. If you're a fan of ambient trip-hop, this is for you.
Requiem For Roy
"If you're keeping score at home, that either makes him the first Outlaw on the Blazers or the fifth."
Many people constantly search for a singular interconnection in the world; i.e., proof that everything happens for a reason, that the universe follows an exact plan, and that the various coincidences people often find themselves in are simply "clues" to help us understand said plan. Anyone with a deep-rooted belief in that theory definitely fucking rejoiced during the 2003 NBA Draft, when the Portland Jail Blazers selected high school small forward Travis Outlaw with the #23 pick. The fact that that particular player with that particular name was available in that particular spot for that particular team with that particular reputation is just fucking mindblowing, unless you're one of the singular-meaning truthers.
Of course, this is because the Portland Trail Blazers were the joke of the NBA in the late-'90s and early-aughts, due to the entire team's highly criminal (and possibly completely insane) nature. The franchise entered Bill Simmons' "Tyson Zone"; no crime was too outlandish, no reason for missing a practice too strange. They had registered sex offenders, dog fighters, and alcoholics. They had a point guard who tried to smuggle marijuana onto an airplane by wrapping it in tinfoil. They had a shooting guard who would regularly remove his headband and throw it into the crowd during game play. They had a franchise player who set the single-season record for technical fouls in a season. It would not surprise me to learn that the 2000-2001 squad was the secret organization that caused 9/11. Et cetera, ad naeseum.
Of course, all funny things have to come to an end sometime, and after a few years the "Jail Blazers" running joke slowly began to reach its conclusion. Rasheed Wallace was (mercifully) traded for 30 cents on the dollar. Shady small forward Ruben Patterson was dumped, as was the probably-sociopathic Bonzi Wells. Martell Webster was inexplicably drafted with the sixth pick of the 2005 draft, solely because he was a "good character guy." Still, despite all of these major moves, the first real step that the team took to re-invent itself, the one that definitively moved them out of the Jail Blazer era forever, was their trading of Randy Foye to Minnesota for Brandon Roy during the 2006 NBA Draft. It is doubtful that anyone knew it at the time, but this seemingly simple trade would mark the dawn of a new era for Rip City.
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I was a junior in high school when Brandon Roy made his debut for the Blazers. You know how high school society works; you've got your "haves" and your "have-nots," and the two different cultures are almost completely separate from one another despite existing within the exact same space. The "haves" think that they're absolutely and completely above the "have-nots" in every single way, and the "have-nots" think that they're so much smarter than the "haves" that they're above them in every single way, which causes something of a Class Cold War that lasts the entire four years. Everybody writes in the senior yearbook that they're "going to miss everyone" and that "this was the best class ever," when in reality, they probably disliked the majority of the people they were graduating with. This was not supposed to be the case at Jesuit High School, my alma mater; the school's moral code, focus on religious faith, and numerous bond-building activities and retreats were supposed to bring everyone together and tear down those boundaries between the cultures. Of course, this did not actually end up happening; sure, there were no almost no fistfights within the school halls, but all that meant was that everyone's hatred manifested itself through passive-aggressive jokes made in the hallway five seconds after someone they didn't like walked by. This was still your typical high school, only with neutered bullies.
One of the only times I can ever remember the whole school being united by a particular occurence was in the winter of 2006-07, when Brandon Roy was tearing up the NBA and looking like a lock for Rookie of the Year. Everyone's AIM profiles included the phrase "Roy for ROY!"; it didn't matter if you were cool or not, you still wanted Brandon Roy to win the Rookie of the Year award and you didn't care who knew it. This was the first thing in years that any Blazer fan could even be remotely excited about, and everyone embraced it. People would wear "Roy #7" jerseys to school on Free Dress Day and be genuinely complimented by the same enemies who would ordinarily be making fun of their haircut. In essence, Brandon Roy did what religion, morality, and basic principles of common courtesy could not: he brought my entire high school together. This was his fourth-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
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Portland is generally not a very angry city. Violence has always been relatively low compared to other major cities; citizens barely bat an eye when the state government throws a billion dollars behind a useless building project; and Occupy Portland was almost certainly the tamest of all the "Occupy" movements. I tend to believe that this is because Portland, in the technical sense, is a "hipster city," and that easily one of the most uncool things hipsters can do is passionately care about something besides indie rock or veganism. So of course, the general population of the city is not going to get mad unless there's a really obscure reason that you've probably never heard of.
However, one of the city's most furious moments ever came in the winter of 2008, when Brandon Roy was wavering on the edge of being selected for the NBA All-Star team. Objectively, it didn't really make any sense to leave him off; he was averaging a 19-5-5, and was beginning to emerge as a superstar despite failing to get "superstar treatment" from writers or referees, ala Kobe Bryant. He was also Portland's first likeable star since Clyde Drexler, and had invigorated the franchise after nearly a decade of embarrassment. I will always believe that the collective venom of the Portland fans directed toward the NBA for overlooking Roy was what willed him to earn a reserve spot on the team, although all reasonable analysis would simply say that his election was merely due to a completely understandable late surge in the voting. I consider myself to be an extremely logical and analytical person; as such, Roy making me honestly believe this ridiculous theory is his third-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
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Most sports movies are not, technically speaking, good movies. They mostly pander to an audience hungry for a definite hero, a definite villain, and a definitively happy ending. These three things are relatively nonexistent in the real world, which is why the best movies often include heroes of questionable moral background, villains with conflicted or misguided motivations, and ambiguous endings. For example, I believe that the best movie of 2011 has been Drive, in which the protagonist was a silent murderer who brutally killed no less than four people during the film (often in painful and excruiating ways). The song that played over the ending credits was called "A Real Hero," and it was used completely unironically. Could the protagonists of "Rocky," "Rudy," and even "The Natural" have committed such acts and been considered "heroes" within the confines of their worlds? Absolutely not; as characters, they are not permitted to be anything less than "ideally" heroic. This is partially why all of these films suffer as artistic achievements; they are weighed down by the usual limitations of sports movies. Every character in "Rocky" is extremely unrealistic, despite the fact that the movie is based on a true story; every character in "Rudy" is as one-dimensional as is possible to be; and every villain in "The Natural" is so laughably villainous that it's hard to believe there are no scenes in the film of the Judge presiding over a dogfight while text-messaging pictures of his penis to a crack-addicted supermodel. That's just the way sports movies are supposed to work, I guess; turn the brain off and enjoy the ride.
Very, very rarely, you come across an example in the real world where, although the "hero/villain/happy ending" dynamic is not nearly as black-and-white as the media eventually says it is, you can't help but feel like you're watching a sports movie moment unfold when it happens. Willis Reed dragging himself onto the court before Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals, thus whipping the previously nervous MSG crowd into a crazed frenzy, was a sports movie moment. Kirk Gibson limping off the bench to deliver a shocking walkoff home run in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series was a sports movie moment. The practically-still-in-diapers 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team defeating the dynastic Russian team at the height of the Cold War was a sports movie moment. The 2007 Boise State-Oklahoma Fiesta Bowl was the best example of a sports movie moment, as it featured a po-dunk hick squad upsetting a major historical power through the following means: 1) a fourth-down hook-and-ladder touchdown to tie the game at the end of regulation, 2) a fourth-down touchdown pass by a halfback to save the game in overtime, and 3) a do-or-die Statue of Liberty play to win the game, which was immediately followed by the underdog's star player proposing to his girlfriend in the aftermath of the victory despite the two of them belonging to different races. These are the reasons why we all watch sports: for the mere chance that we could witness something that looks like it should be featured during the end credits of a sports movie as "the real story."
Brandon Roy's performance in Game 4 of the first round of the 2011 NBA Playoffs was probably not as significant as any of the moments mentioned above; it did not swing a championship, and in fact the Blazers would not win another game the rest of the season after it happened. The moment only took on "sports movie" proportions to Blazer die-hards, who had begun to hear terrifying whispers about Roy's long-term health during the 2010 season, one which culminated in Roy's soul-crushing knee injury at the end of the season that cost him nearly the entire playoffs, and then hampered him throughout 2011. In winter of the latter year, doctors revealed that Roy would never, ever be truly healthy again; he was playing bone-on-bone, and this was the kind of injury that could not be healed through surgery or rest. In fact, it could not be healed at all. It was the equivalent of Sandy Koufax' incurable arm troubles that forced him into his 1966 retirement. Blazer fans refused to believe the doctors' reports, steadfastly reassuring themselves that Roy was a higher level of being who wouldn't let this silly "lack of knee cartilage" bullshit hold him down. Then Roy returned to the court after months away...and wow, oh wow. It was as if Koufax had returned to the Dodgers in 1968 as a soft-tossing middle reliever who could barely get throw an inning without allowing three laser-beam line drives. Roy looked slow and sluggish. He couldn't defend anyone. His only valuable quality was his ability to catch fire from the field for a few minutes at a time, but these spurts were now viewed as achievements for him; just two years prior, they were regularly expected. Roy was not Roy anymore. This was patently obvious to everyone, even the eternally optimistic "Portland Soccer Moms" (Bill Simmons again) who still believe that Greg Oden will lead the team to multiple championships. Blazer fans losing hope in a player is nearly unprecedented, which is what made Roy's night especially magical to them.
Portland found themselves in a 2-1 hole entering Game 4 of their first-round series with Dallas. With a healthy Roy, they probably would have been up 2-1 or even 3-0, and Mark Cuban would have spent the entirety of Game 4 wondering about the fiscal ramifications of signing both Nene Hilario and Marc Gasol over the summer even though he already had a center. (As of this moment, Cuban is a favorite to become the new owner of my favorite baseball team, the Los Angeles Dodgers. Color me less than ecstatic.) Not with 2011 Roy; Portland simply had nobody who could carry the offense. LaMarcus Aldridge had done so admirably during the season in Roy's absence, but the Blazers couldn't rely on him alone against Dallas, the best team in the Western Conference. They needed someone else to step up. And this was why they looked up at the scoreboard with 40 seconds left in the third quarter and saw that they were down 67-44, their season all but over.
The movie begins here.
Seemingly harmlessly, Roy proceeds to sprint down the court and flick up an alley-oop to Aldridge, who does not have an interested Maverick within five feet of him. 67-46. Next time down the court: Roy dribbles the third-quarter clock down, stutter-steps, then steps back and launches a fadeaway three. The ball hits every single part of the rim, whirls around, hangs on the edge of the basket...and then drops in. The crowd wakes up. 67-49. End of the third.
10:30 remaining in the fourth, Blazers down 67-51. Roy drives into the paint, kicks it out to Nic Batum for three. Goggles. 67-54. Dallas scores twice in a row to make it 71-54. Roy responds by driving into the paint and laying the ball up beautifully off the glass and in, as color man Kevin McHale narrates, "This is the Brandon Roy of old." 71-56. A few possessions later, it's 73-60. Roy drives in, posts up Jason Kidd, spins around and tosses in a floater with Matt Devlin screaming, "Flashback!" Lead cut to 11, timeout Dallas. Now it's 75-62 with seven minutes to go. Roy drives inside and kicks it out to his team's best offensive player statistically (Aldridge). LaMarcus is completely wide open from eighteen; the Mavericks are now solely concerned with slowing down Roy, a one-kneed man who has not dominated a game in over a full calendar year. LMA hits the jumper, making it 75-64.
This next portion of the movie is the one where an audience in a theater would grumble things to the effect of, "Psh, like that could happen in real life." Roy again drives into the paint, and instead of shooting throws a beautiful no-look to an open Rudy Fernandez. Rudy shanks the jumper, but Roy grabs the rebound and hits a fadeaway fifteen-footer over a snarling seven-foot-tall German man to slice the lead to single digits. Several minutes later, Roy somehow manages to pull off the exact same move and hit a similarly tough jumper over Shawn Marion, who will effectively shut down Lebron James in the NBA Finals in a few weeks. 77-70, Dallas lead at its lowest since the first half. Finally, the climactic scene arrives: down four, with just over a minute to go, Roy lets fly a wild three-pointer as he's being hacked by Marion. Somehow, some way...twine. TNT cameras show Blazer fans in varying states of hysteria, as well as Peja Stojakovic sitting listlessly on the Dallas bench and looking like he just hit a gravity bong for the first time. The free throw makes it 82-82, and The Legend of Roy is complete.
I say this because, although Roy later hits a tough banker with 40 seconds remaining to give the Blazers the lead and the eventual victory, it was all over after the four-point play. Every single person in the building knew that Roy was going to make the winning shot, and every single person knew that Jason Terry would brick the attempted buzzer-beating three that would have won it for Dallas; these moments merely constituted the movie's epilogue. Roy's four-pointer was one of those classic examples of a team wrapping up a victory simply by tying the game, because the momentum and energy would simply not allow the team to lose. (My favorite example: in September of 2006, the Los Angeles Dodgers trailed San Diego 9-5 in the bottom of the ninth inning, and the first four Dodger batters all smashed baseballs into the bleachers to tie the game at 9. San Diego responded by going up 10-9 in the top of the tenth, and absolutely nobody thought that the Dodgers were going to lose. And they didn't; within about five seconds of the bottom of the tenth inning starting, Nomar Garciaparra had hit a walkoff home run and the entire team was dogpiling at home plate. But I digress.) In the immediate aftermath of Roy's spectacular three-and-one, analyzing the situation from a completely objective point of view, the Blazers had a team of inferior talent, were entirely reliant on a man with one healthy leg, and did not even have the lead...but for all intents and purposes, the game was over and they had won. Roy managing to achieve this rare feat, the strangest phenomenon in all of sports, is his second-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
---
I wish we could incorporate the amnesty clause into everyday life. It would certainly help me; I would amnesty the memories of nearly every New Year's Eve party I've ever gone to, as they've basically all been train wrecks. Pete Rose would amnesty his gambling career. Magic Johnson would amnesty his womanizing. Don Imus would amnesty the time he called Rutgers' female basketball players "nappy-headed hos" with a live microphone in front of his mouth. The only person who couldn't completely save their life situation is probably Charlie Sheen, and he could at least kick one of his destructive habits (or one of his idiotic news interviews, which might even more helpful). Maybe the amnesty clause wouldn't make the world a better place, but it would make the world's population feel much less stupid about itself.
As the amnesty clause only extends into the NBA, however, we are forced to settle for just analyzing the rule as it pertains to professional basketball players. By far the most significant media story relating to the ruling was the initial rumor of the Portland Trail Blazers using it to shed Brandon Roy from their cap, thus opening up significant space in their payroll for future free agents (ones who weren't playing on one leg and making fifteen million dollars per season). Overall, it would have made absolutely perfect sense: Roy had no business making anywhere close to that much money, and because of his injury he didn't have a chance of ever approaching his All-Star numbers of 2008 or 2009 again. NBA fans knew this, Blazer fans knew this, and anyone with common sense knew this. From a purely financial standpoint, the Blazers would have been fucking idiots not to exercise this clause. It would have been a Get-Out-Of-$80-Million-Free card.
They elected not to do it. Of course they didn't. After everything that Roy meant to the team, and after all of his heroics, and (especially) after the Game 4 Miracle, simply cutting Roy loose would have caused a bigger outrage than if the entire city of Portland had banned smoking. Paul Allen would have had to spend all of the $80 million saved from Roy's contract on bodyguards, body doubles, Kevlar vests, and armored limosines to keep from getting murdered by an irate, probably-bearded Blazer fan (most likely with a crossbow). The Rose Garden would have burned to the ground. Hell, the entire city might have burned to the ground. That's how much Roy meant to Portland, and how much he needed to stay against overwhelming evidence that he should have left. Instilling that kind of completely irrational commitment within a fanbase, to the point where the relationship mirrors that of a desparately hopeful wife and her permanently comatose husband, remains Roy's greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
---
On December 9, 2011, Brandon Roy officially announced his retirement from basketball. He only lasted five seasons in the NBA, and will now join the long list of Blazer careers cut tragically short by extenuating circumstances. Given everything mentioned above, it is tempting to label Roy as one of those "Rocky/Rudy/Roy Hobbs"-esque heroes, who rose above all challenges to wildly succeed beyond anyone's expectations or beliefs with evil villains and demons weighing him down at every opportunity. In reality, he was exactly the kind of sports hero that can actually exist: an exceptional athlete brought into a situation where success would grant him lifelong fame who often achieved great things in times of great distress. Of course, he was not a superhuman like Rocky, or an invincible Hobbit like Rudy, or a Greek god like Roy Hobbs. But he was as big a hero as the real sports world will allow, and for this reason, the entire Rip City nation is currently in mourning.
Many people constantly search for a singular interconnection in the world; i.e., proof that everything happens for a reason, that the universe follows an exact plan, and that the various coincidences people often find themselves in are simply "clues" to help us understand said plan. Anyone with a deep-rooted belief in that theory definitely fucking rejoiced during the 2003 NBA Draft, when the Portland Jail Blazers selected high school small forward Travis Outlaw with the #23 pick. The fact that that particular player with that particular name was available in that particular spot for that particular team with that particular reputation is just fucking mindblowing, unless you're one of the singular-meaning truthers.
Of course, this is because the Portland Trail Blazers were the joke of the NBA in the late-'90s and early-aughts, due to the entire team's highly criminal (and possibly completely insane) nature. The franchise entered Bill Simmons' "Tyson Zone"; no crime was too outlandish, no reason for missing a practice too strange. They had registered sex offenders, dog fighters, and alcoholics. They had a point guard who tried to smuggle marijuana onto an airplane by wrapping it in tinfoil. They had a shooting guard who would regularly remove his headband and throw it into the crowd during game play. They had a franchise player who set the single-season record for technical fouls in a season. It would not surprise me to learn that the 2000-2001 squad was the secret organization that caused 9/11. Et cetera, ad naeseum.
Of course, all funny things have to come to an end sometime, and after a few years the "Jail Blazers" running joke slowly began to reach its conclusion. Rasheed Wallace was (mercifully) traded for 30 cents on the dollar. Shady small forward Ruben Patterson was dumped, as was the probably-sociopathic Bonzi Wells. Martell Webster was inexplicably drafted with the sixth pick of the 2005 draft, solely because he was a "good character guy." Still, despite all of these major moves, the first real step that the team took to re-invent itself, the one that definitively moved them out of the Jail Blazer era forever, was their trading of Randy Foye to Minnesota for Brandon Roy during the 2006 NBA Draft. It is doubtful that anyone knew it at the time, but this seemingly simple trade would mark the dawn of a new era for Rip City.
---
I was a junior in high school when Brandon Roy made his debut for the Blazers. You know how high school society works; you've got your "haves" and your "have-nots," and the two different cultures are almost completely separate from one another despite existing within the exact same space. The "haves" think that they're absolutely and completely above the "have-nots" in every single way, and the "have-nots" think that they're so much smarter than the "haves" that they're above them in every single way, which causes something of a Class Cold War that lasts the entire four years. Everybody writes in the senior yearbook that they're "going to miss everyone" and that "this was the best class ever," when in reality, they probably disliked the majority of the people they were graduating with. This was not supposed to be the case at Jesuit High School, my alma mater; the school's moral code, focus on religious faith, and numerous bond-building activities and retreats were supposed to bring everyone together and tear down those boundaries between the cultures. Of course, this did not actually end up happening; sure, there were no almost no fistfights within the school halls, but all that meant was that everyone's hatred manifested itself through passive-aggressive jokes made in the hallway five seconds after someone they didn't like walked by. This was still your typical high school, only with neutered bullies.
One of the only times I can ever remember the whole school being united by a particular occurence was in the winter of 2006-07, when Brandon Roy was tearing up the NBA and looking like a lock for Rookie of the Year. Everyone's AIM profiles included the phrase "Roy for ROY!"; it didn't matter if you were cool or not, you still wanted Brandon Roy to win the Rookie of the Year award and you didn't care who knew it. This was the first thing in years that any Blazer fan could even be remotely excited about, and everyone embraced it. People would wear "Roy #7" jerseys to school on Free Dress Day and be genuinely complimented by the same enemies who would ordinarily be making fun of their haircut. In essence, Brandon Roy did what religion, morality, and basic principles of common courtesy could not: he brought my entire high school together. This was his fourth-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
---
Portland is generally not a very angry city. Violence has always been relatively low compared to other major cities; citizens barely bat an eye when the state government throws a billion dollars behind a useless building project; and Occupy Portland was almost certainly the tamest of all the "Occupy" movements. I tend to believe that this is because Portland, in the technical sense, is a "hipster city," and that easily one of the most uncool things hipsters can do is passionately care about something besides indie rock or veganism. So of course, the general population of the city is not going to get mad unless there's a really obscure reason that you've probably never heard of.
However, one of the city's most furious moments ever came in the winter of 2008, when Brandon Roy was wavering on the edge of being selected for the NBA All-Star team. Objectively, it didn't really make any sense to leave him off; he was averaging a 19-5-5, and was beginning to emerge as a superstar despite failing to get "superstar treatment" from writers or referees, ala Kobe Bryant. He was also Portland's first likeable star since Clyde Drexler, and had invigorated the franchise after nearly a decade of embarrassment. I will always believe that the collective venom of the Portland fans directed toward the NBA for overlooking Roy was what willed him to earn a reserve spot on the team, although all reasonable analysis would simply say that his election was merely due to a completely understandable late surge in the voting. I consider myself to be an extremely logical and analytical person; as such, Roy making me honestly believe this ridiculous theory is his third-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
---
Most sports movies are not, technically speaking, good movies. They mostly pander to an audience hungry for a definite hero, a definite villain, and a definitively happy ending. These three things are relatively nonexistent in the real world, which is why the best movies often include heroes of questionable moral background, villains with conflicted or misguided motivations, and ambiguous endings. For example, I believe that the best movie of 2011 has been Drive, in which the protagonist was a silent murderer who brutally killed no less than four people during the film (often in painful and excruiating ways). The song that played over the ending credits was called "A Real Hero," and it was used completely unironically. Could the protagonists of "Rocky," "Rudy," and even "The Natural" have committed such acts and been considered "heroes" within the confines of their worlds? Absolutely not; as characters, they are not permitted to be anything less than "ideally" heroic. This is partially why all of these films suffer as artistic achievements; they are weighed down by the usual limitations of sports movies. Every character in "Rocky" is extremely unrealistic, despite the fact that the movie is based on a true story; every character in "Rudy" is as one-dimensional as is possible to be; and every villain in "The Natural" is so laughably villainous that it's hard to believe there are no scenes in the film of the Judge presiding over a dogfight while text-messaging pictures of his penis to a crack-addicted supermodel. That's just the way sports movies are supposed to work, I guess; turn the brain off and enjoy the ride.
Very, very rarely, you come across an example in the real world where, although the "hero/villain/happy ending" dynamic is not nearly as black-and-white as the media eventually says it is, you can't help but feel like you're watching a sports movie moment unfold when it happens. Willis Reed dragging himself onto the court before Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals, thus whipping the previously nervous MSG crowd into a crazed frenzy, was a sports movie moment. Kirk Gibson limping off the bench to deliver a shocking walkoff home run in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series was a sports movie moment. The practically-still-in-diapers 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team defeating the dynastic Russian team at the height of the Cold War was a sports movie moment. The 2007 Boise State-Oklahoma Fiesta Bowl was the best example of a sports movie moment, as it featured a po-dunk hick squad upsetting a major historical power through the following means: 1) a fourth-down hook-and-ladder touchdown to tie the game at the end of regulation, 2) a fourth-down touchdown pass by a halfback to save the game in overtime, and 3) a do-or-die Statue of Liberty play to win the game, which was immediately followed by the underdog's star player proposing to his girlfriend in the aftermath of the victory despite the two of them belonging to different races. These are the reasons why we all watch sports: for the mere chance that we could witness something that looks like it should be featured during the end credits of a sports movie as "the real story."
Brandon Roy's performance in Game 4 of the first round of the 2011 NBA Playoffs was probably not as significant as any of the moments mentioned above; it did not swing a championship, and in fact the Blazers would not win another game the rest of the season after it happened. The moment only took on "sports movie" proportions to Blazer die-hards, who had begun to hear terrifying whispers about Roy's long-term health during the 2010 season, one which culminated in Roy's soul-crushing knee injury at the end of the season that cost him nearly the entire playoffs, and then hampered him throughout 2011. In winter of the latter year, doctors revealed that Roy would never, ever be truly healthy again; he was playing bone-on-bone, and this was the kind of injury that could not be healed through surgery or rest. In fact, it could not be healed at all. It was the equivalent of Sandy Koufax' incurable arm troubles that forced him into his 1966 retirement. Blazer fans refused to believe the doctors' reports, steadfastly reassuring themselves that Roy was a higher level of being who wouldn't let this silly "lack of knee cartilage" bullshit hold him down. Then Roy returned to the court after months away...and wow, oh wow. It was as if Koufax had returned to the Dodgers in 1968 as a soft-tossing middle reliever who could barely get throw an inning without allowing three laser-beam line drives. Roy looked slow and sluggish. He couldn't defend anyone. His only valuable quality was his ability to catch fire from the field for a few minutes at a time, but these spurts were now viewed as achievements for him; just two years prior, they were regularly expected. Roy was not Roy anymore. This was patently obvious to everyone, even the eternally optimistic "Portland Soccer Moms" (Bill Simmons again) who still believe that Greg Oden will lead the team to multiple championships. Blazer fans losing hope in a player is nearly unprecedented, which is what made Roy's night especially magical to them.
Portland found themselves in a 2-1 hole entering Game 4 of their first-round series with Dallas. With a healthy Roy, they probably would have been up 2-1 or even 3-0, and Mark Cuban would have spent the entirety of Game 4 wondering about the fiscal ramifications of signing both Nene Hilario and Marc Gasol over the summer even though he already had a center. (As of this moment, Cuban is a favorite to become the new owner of my favorite baseball team, the Los Angeles Dodgers. Color me less than ecstatic.) Not with 2011 Roy; Portland simply had nobody who could carry the offense. LaMarcus Aldridge had done so admirably during the season in Roy's absence, but the Blazers couldn't rely on him alone against Dallas, the best team in the Western Conference. They needed someone else to step up. And this was why they looked up at the scoreboard with 40 seconds left in the third quarter and saw that they were down 67-44, their season all but over.
The movie begins here.
Seemingly harmlessly, Roy proceeds to sprint down the court and flick up an alley-oop to Aldridge, who does not have an interested Maverick within five feet of him. 67-46. Next time down the court: Roy dribbles the third-quarter clock down, stutter-steps, then steps back and launches a fadeaway three. The ball hits every single part of the rim, whirls around, hangs on the edge of the basket...and then drops in. The crowd wakes up. 67-49. End of the third.
10:30 remaining in the fourth, Blazers down 67-51. Roy drives into the paint, kicks it out to Nic Batum for three. Goggles. 67-54. Dallas scores twice in a row to make it 71-54. Roy responds by driving into the paint and laying the ball up beautifully off the glass and in, as color man Kevin McHale narrates, "This is the Brandon Roy of old." 71-56. A few possessions later, it's 73-60. Roy drives in, posts up Jason Kidd, spins around and tosses in a floater with Matt Devlin screaming, "Flashback!" Lead cut to 11, timeout Dallas. Now it's 75-62 with seven minutes to go. Roy drives inside and kicks it out to his team's best offensive player statistically (Aldridge). LaMarcus is completely wide open from eighteen; the Mavericks are now solely concerned with slowing down Roy, a one-kneed man who has not dominated a game in over a full calendar year. LMA hits the jumper, making it 75-64.
This next portion of the movie is the one where an audience in a theater would grumble things to the effect of, "Psh, like that could happen in real life." Roy again drives into the paint, and instead of shooting throws a beautiful no-look to an open Rudy Fernandez. Rudy shanks the jumper, but Roy grabs the rebound and hits a fadeaway fifteen-footer over a snarling seven-foot-tall German man to slice the lead to single digits. Several minutes later, Roy somehow manages to pull off the exact same move and hit a similarly tough jumper over Shawn Marion, who will effectively shut down Lebron James in the NBA Finals in a few weeks. 77-70, Dallas lead at its lowest since the first half. Finally, the climactic scene arrives: down four, with just over a minute to go, Roy lets fly a wild three-pointer as he's being hacked by Marion. Somehow, some way...twine. TNT cameras show Blazer fans in varying states of hysteria, as well as Peja Stojakovic sitting listlessly on the Dallas bench and looking like he just hit a gravity bong for the first time. The free throw makes it 82-82, and The Legend of Roy is complete.
I say this because, although Roy later hits a tough banker with 40 seconds remaining to give the Blazers the lead and the eventual victory, it was all over after the four-point play. Every single person in the building knew that Roy was going to make the winning shot, and every single person knew that Jason Terry would brick the attempted buzzer-beating three that would have won it for Dallas; these moments merely constituted the movie's epilogue. Roy's four-pointer was one of those classic examples of a team wrapping up a victory simply by tying the game, because the momentum and energy would simply not allow the team to lose. (My favorite example: in September of 2006, the Los Angeles Dodgers trailed San Diego 9-5 in the bottom of the ninth inning, and the first four Dodger batters all smashed baseballs into the bleachers to tie the game at 9. San Diego responded by going up 10-9 in the top of the tenth, and absolutely nobody thought that the Dodgers were going to lose. And they didn't; within about five seconds of the bottom of the tenth inning starting, Nomar Garciaparra had hit a walkoff home run and the entire team was dogpiling at home plate. But I digress.) In the immediate aftermath of Roy's spectacular three-and-one, analyzing the situation from a completely objective point of view, the Blazers had a team of inferior talent, were entirely reliant on a man with one healthy leg, and did not even have the lead...but for all intents and purposes, the game was over and they had won. Roy managing to achieve this rare feat, the strangest phenomenon in all of sports, is his second-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
---
I wish we could incorporate the amnesty clause into everyday life. It would certainly help me; I would amnesty the memories of nearly every New Year's Eve party I've ever gone to, as they've basically all been train wrecks. Pete Rose would amnesty his gambling career. Magic Johnson would amnesty his womanizing. Don Imus would amnesty the time he called Rutgers' female basketball players "nappy-headed hos" with a live microphone in front of his mouth. The only person who couldn't completely save their life situation is probably Charlie Sheen, and he could at least kick one of his destructive habits (or one of his idiotic news interviews, which might even more helpful). Maybe the amnesty clause wouldn't make the world a better place, but it would make the world's population feel much less stupid about itself.
As the amnesty clause only extends into the NBA, however, we are forced to settle for just analyzing the rule as it pertains to professional basketball players. By far the most significant media story relating to the ruling was the initial rumor of the Portland Trail Blazers using it to shed Brandon Roy from their cap, thus opening up significant space in their payroll for future free agents (ones who weren't playing on one leg and making fifteen million dollars per season). Overall, it would have made absolutely perfect sense: Roy had no business making anywhere close to that much money, and because of his injury he didn't have a chance of ever approaching his All-Star numbers of 2008 or 2009 again. NBA fans knew this, Blazer fans knew this, and anyone with common sense knew this. From a purely financial standpoint, the Blazers would have been fucking idiots not to exercise this clause. It would have been a Get-Out-Of-$80-Million-Free card.
They elected not to do it. Of course they didn't. After everything that Roy meant to the team, and after all of his heroics, and (especially) after the Game 4 Miracle, simply cutting Roy loose would have caused a bigger outrage than if the entire city of Portland had banned smoking. Paul Allen would have had to spend all of the $80 million saved from Roy's contract on bodyguards, body doubles, Kevlar vests, and armored limosines to keep from getting murdered by an irate, probably-bearded Blazer fan (most likely with a crossbow). The Rose Garden would have burned to the ground. Hell, the entire city might have burned to the ground. That's how much Roy meant to Portland, and how much he needed to stay against overwhelming evidence that he should have left. Instilling that kind of completely irrational commitment within a fanbase, to the point where the relationship mirrors that of a desparately hopeful wife and her permanently comatose husband, remains Roy's greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.
---
On December 9, 2011, Brandon Roy officially announced his retirement from basketball. He only lasted five seasons in the NBA, and will now join the long list of Blazer careers cut tragically short by extenuating circumstances. Given everything mentioned above, it is tempting to label Roy as one of those "Rocky/Rudy/Roy Hobbs"-esque heroes, who rose above all challenges to wildly succeed beyond anyone's expectations or beliefs with evil villains and demons weighing him down at every opportunity. In reality, he was exactly the kind of sports hero that can actually exist: an exceptional athlete brought into a situation where success would grant him lifelong fame who often achieved great things in times of great distress. Of course, he was not a superhuman like Rocky, or an invincible Hobbit like Rudy, or a Greek god like Roy Hobbs. But he was as big a hero as the real sports world will allow, and for this reason, the entire Rip City nation is currently in mourning.
Greg Oden, Political IPhones, and the idea of Portland, Oregon being "weird"
Portland isn't that weird.
This may come as a shock to anyone who's ever walked around in the Hawthorne District or seen an epsiode of Portlandia...but actually, I don't think it would. I would imagine that most locals understand that the town itself, and its citizens in general, are extremely similar to those of other cities with comparable populations and climates, although Portland's probably infinitely more concerned about seeming weird (see: Voodoo Doughnuts, every vehicle's bumper sticker). I've spent a considerable amount of time in Montana, Los Angeles, Maine, and Chicago, and it's not like every person in Portland is substantially weirder from every person in all of those other places; Portlandian men are just slightly more bearded, and Portlandian women are just slightly more tattooed. It's not exactly Bizarro World.
To be fair, I can't pretend to be a complete expert on those other cities; I've only spent one year in Montana, parts of twelve summers in Maine, a total of about "several months" in Chicago, and numerous vacations in Los Angeles, whereas I've lived nearly my entire life in Portland. And the aspect of Portland's culture that's probably the weirdest is the one that I've interacted with most over the last 22 years: the youth culture. I haven't really done the same in most of those other places; the closest would probably be Montana, and as most of my time there was spent trying to avoid freezing to death, I didn't have much time for critical cultural analysis.
So the big question, then, is this: Would I consider Portland's youth culture (which I designate as the "anyone aged 18-24" demographic) to be definitively "weird"?
It's cliched to respond to a yes-or-no question by saying "yes and no," but that's my answer, and for this reason: as in most divisions of America, you can safely divide the youth of Portland into either "liberals" or "GOP supporters," but in Portland's case the definitions of each group are possibly what you might consider "weird." I will explain.
The young liberals in Portland are exactly the kind that you see in Clerks, Reality Bites, and Kicking And Screaming. This probably doesn't come as a huge surprise, but here's why it possibly should: the young liberals are completely, one hundred percent the kind that you see in those movies, because that's exactly what they're trying to be. Portlandia die-hards know that Rip City is "where the dream of the '90s lives on," and it's true. On one entire end of the spectrum, you've got your kids who:
The last characteristic is probably the most important. These people are the kind that you can have an informed, interesting discussion with at a party; they are absolutely willing to talk about everything from irrelevant music to the ridiculous bill that Obama just passed, and they usually have a reasoned opinion about it. For this reason, they are very easy to talk to and even easier to like. This is probably what helps them form the bonds they do with members of their "class"; they are extremely willing to let near-strangers borrow their things, or drink their beer, or crash on their couch, or even sleep with them without much effort. They're often so open-minded that it's almost alarming.
It is likely that adults, or even members of the opposing "class" of Portland's youth culture, would not approve of these sorts of actions, or even of these people taking a world-weary approach to life despite barely graduating high school. However, it would be hypocritical if members of this group did not do these things; their mindsets are tied to those of the young people of the '90s, who definitively believed in the "us against the world" mentality (or the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" mentality, if you will). They completely trust all of their peers and completely distrust anyone who has government-mandated authority over them; this may be considered short-sighted or even dangerous, but it's basically their obligation.
(Note: It's tempting to label this entire section of kids as "hipsters," especially after reading the bullet points regarding smoking, cheap drinking, obscure music, and flannel shirts. But I believe that it's important to make the distinction between "hipsters" and "people who live alternative lifestyles"; for example, both types of people think that "Pumped Up Kicks" is a terrible song, but only one of them will actually look down on you for liking it. Here's a sure-fire way to detect if the person you're talking to is a hipster: go out of your way to drop an h-bomb into your conversation with them. If they smile and chuckle at the word, then you're dealing with a laid-back '90s-throwback kid; if their face flushes and their eyes roll, you've got a Grade-A Portlandia stereotype on your hands. Stick with the former group; their compliments are much less backhanded.)
Okay, now on to the GOP supporters. It's important to note, before beginning this section, that Portland GOP supporters don't actually vote Republican; in fact, I challenge you to find one young non-business major in Portland who does vote Republican. (Don't waste your time; this is akin to challenging you to jump in the air and not land on the ground.) No, these GOPers can be defined by the following characteristics:
This may come as a shock to anyone who's ever walked around in the Hawthorne District or seen an epsiode of Portlandia...but actually, I don't think it would. I would imagine that most locals understand that the town itself, and its citizens in general, are extremely similar to those of other cities with comparable populations and climates, although Portland's probably infinitely more concerned about seeming weird (see: Voodoo Doughnuts, every vehicle's bumper sticker). I've spent a considerable amount of time in Montana, Los Angeles, Maine, and Chicago, and it's not like every person in Portland is substantially weirder from every person in all of those other places; Portlandian men are just slightly more bearded, and Portlandian women are just slightly more tattooed. It's not exactly Bizarro World.
To be fair, I can't pretend to be a complete expert on those other cities; I've only spent one year in Montana, parts of twelve summers in Maine, a total of about "several months" in Chicago, and numerous vacations in Los Angeles, whereas I've lived nearly my entire life in Portland. And the aspect of Portland's culture that's probably the weirdest is the one that I've interacted with most over the last 22 years: the youth culture. I haven't really done the same in most of those other places; the closest would probably be Montana, and as most of my time there was spent trying to avoid freezing to death, I didn't have much time for critical cultural analysis.
So the big question, then, is this: Would I consider Portland's youth culture (which I designate as the "anyone aged 18-24" demographic) to be definitively "weird"?
It's cliched to respond to a yes-or-no question by saying "yes and no," but that's my answer, and for this reason: as in most divisions of America, you can safely divide the youth of Portland into either "liberals" or "GOP supporters," but in Portland's case the definitions of each group are possibly what you might consider "weird." I will explain.
The young liberals in Portland are exactly the kind that you see in Clerks, Reality Bites, and Kicking And Screaming. This probably doesn't come as a huge surprise, but here's why it possibly should: the young liberals are completely, one hundred percent the kind that you see in those movies, because that's exactly what they're trying to be. Portlandia die-hards know that Rip City is "where the dream of the '90s lives on," and it's true. On one entire end of the spectrum, you've got your kids who:
- Live in shitty, falling-apart five-bedroom houses in crappy parts of town, usually with at least one complete stranger;
- Have an entire wardrobe of flannel shirts and old jeans;
- Smoke;
- Drink anything as long as it's cheap;
- Don't believe that doing coacine is that big a deal;
- Hate authority;
- Drop out of college after their freshman year;
- Listen to anything as long as it's not on the radio, and preferably if it's old;
- Play some kind of instrument, no matter how obscure;
- Don't own an IPhone or an IPad and might not even have an internet connection;
- Work crappy dead-end jobs just to make rent, and
- Probably have more friends than you ever will.
The last characteristic is probably the most important. These people are the kind that you can have an informed, interesting discussion with at a party; they are absolutely willing to talk about everything from irrelevant music to the ridiculous bill that Obama just passed, and they usually have a reasoned opinion about it. For this reason, they are very easy to talk to and even easier to like. This is probably what helps them form the bonds they do with members of their "class"; they are extremely willing to let near-strangers borrow their things, or drink their beer, or crash on their couch, or even sleep with them without much effort. They're often so open-minded that it's almost alarming.
It is likely that adults, or even members of the opposing "class" of Portland's youth culture, would not approve of these sorts of actions, or even of these people taking a world-weary approach to life despite barely graduating high school. However, it would be hypocritical if members of this group did not do these things; their mindsets are tied to those of the young people of the '90s, who definitively believed in the "us against the world" mentality (or the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" mentality, if you will). They completely trust all of their peers and completely distrust anyone who has government-mandated authority over them; this may be considered short-sighted or even dangerous, but it's basically their obligation.
(Note: It's tempting to label this entire section of kids as "hipsters," especially after reading the bullet points regarding smoking, cheap drinking, obscure music, and flannel shirts. But I believe that it's important to make the distinction between "hipsters" and "people who live alternative lifestyles"; for example, both types of people think that "Pumped Up Kicks" is a terrible song, but only one of them will actually look down on you for liking it. Here's a sure-fire way to detect if the person you're talking to is a hipster: go out of your way to drop an h-bomb into your conversation with them. If they smile and chuckle at the word, then you're dealing with a laid-back '90s-throwback kid; if their face flushes and their eyes roll, you've got a Grade-A Portlandia stereotype on your hands. Stick with the former group; their compliments are much less backhanded.)
Okay, now on to the GOP supporters. It's important to note, before beginning this section, that Portland GOP supporters don't actually vote Republican; in fact, I challenge you to find one young non-business major in Portland who does vote Republican. (Don't waste your time; this is akin to challenging you to jump in the air and not land on the ground.) No, these GOPers can be defined by the following characteristics:
- They have either graduated college or will graduate from college if it's the last thing they ever do;
- They go to "college bars" every Thursday and Friday and usually end up singing karaoke;
- They definitely got a tattoo/piercing and went to a nightclub on their 18th birthday while loudly Facebooking about it;
- They only occasionally smoke weed or do molly, and never partake in anything stronger;
- They often wear merchandise from their school or their favorite sports teams;
- They loudly proclaim themselves as members of "Rip City Nation" or the "Timbers Army" or both;
- They like "all kinds of music";
- They posted their "RIP Steve Jobs" status to Facebook via IPhone;
- They have definitely seen "The Hangover" and probably own a "One-Man Wolfpack" T-shirt even if they are female;
- They live with their best friend in either a dorm room or an apartment;
- They know barely anything about almost everything, and
- They definitely believe that Greg Oden will lead the Blazers to multiple NBA championships. (If you haven't realized it by now, "GOP" in this case stands for "Greg Oden's Potential.")
It's fair to accuse this group of being "fake" or "basically still in high school," but the overwhelming consensus of the general population would undoubtedly characterize them as "normal." They are the ones who will be going on to legitimate jobs after their 18-24 status is complete, and who will probably always have stable living conditions and lifestyles. They are generally disliked by the opposite faction of the youth culture, and the feeling is mutual; the GOPers generally view their "rivals" in an extremely condescending light. In a way, the relationship between the two directly mirrors that of the one between "traditional" (i.e., "political") liberals and GOP supporters.
So is this unique brand of youth culture "weird," and does it lend credence to the argument that Portland itself is "weird"? I'd come down on the side of "probably not" on both fronts; after all, only a faction of the youth sub-genre could be defined as "weird" (the liberals), and the other faction (the GOP supporters) exist in different varations in almost every major city, only with different colleges and sports teams. As for Portland itself, believers in the Weird Theory would probably point to the aforementioned doughnut shop and various other hangouts and neighborhoods around the town as their "proof," but it's very hard for me to think that places such as those do not exist in every other city. (So...every single shop and neighborhood in San Diego or Dallas or Miami is "exactly how you would expect it to be"? This is unlikely, to say the least.) In the end, the mere fact that a percentage of Portland's 18-24 population could be classified as "weird" does not make the entire sub-genre "weird," and it definitely does not make the entire city "weird."
(Final note: Naturally, to ensure the relative validity of this essay, it is necessary for the reader to know which of these two camps I am aligned with, so as to understand where my opinions are coming from. Given the tone of the writing, it should be fairly obvious. Although I do have to say that I know myself and my personality well enough to (probably) never try cocaine, and I quit smoking two years ago after buying $15 worth of cough drops in a week. I guess that this might make me a "shade of grey" between the two groups if such a thing actually existed, which I believe does not.)
About Me.
You might have guessed by now that, in fact, I am not the same Sam Lloyd who once portrayed Teddy Buckland on the hit comedy Scrubs from 2001-2010. This particular variation of the name is in no way affiliated with that one; just a disclaimer, if it's somehow possible to take someone to court for having the same name as a famous person (which I'm almost positive it is, since our country actually allows you to run someone over with your car and sue them for damages).
Here's what you need to know about this Sam Lloyd: I'm sort of thoughtful, I like sports and music and movies and critically thinking about sports and music and movies. In the last few years, dating back to my senior year of high school, I have aspired to become a writer, and currently type words for the Vanguard (the bi-weekly student newspaper of Portland State University, a school that I attend as an English major). Seeing as how the creative restrictions of that profession are, well, restricting, I've decided to use this medium as a way to "publish" essays that I write in my spare time. The topic choices don't exactly fit in a single particular category; the first one I wrote is a dissection of the idea of Portland's "being weird," and the second one is a requiem for the unfortunately short-termed career of Portland Trail Blazer Brandon Roy. The third one will most likely be about a trip I took in July of 2011 to Eugene to see a 311/Sublime show. Clearly, none of those topics are much related to each other; hence, "variety."
I know that basically everyone who will read this blog is a friend or family member of mine, and you all know that I'm normally not one to share my feelings or experiences. Well, this blog will likely stick by that narrative...but occasionally, I'll let an experience or a feeling slip out that may offend or shock. Just be warned. And there will be occasional f-bombs (sup, Grandma!), as well as highly political or philosophical opinions that'll probably seem pretentious. Either way: these are my thoughts and I'm stickin' to 'em (until someone offers me a better or more logical way of looking at things). Also: the essays will be based highly on opinion, so if you catch something that's factually iffy or incorrect, please call me on it so that I may use that information to possibly re-think my viewpoint.
Let's do this motherfuckers!!!
Here's what you need to know about this Sam Lloyd: I'm sort of thoughtful, I like sports and music and movies and critically thinking about sports and music and movies. In the last few years, dating back to my senior year of high school, I have aspired to become a writer, and currently type words for the Vanguard (the bi-weekly student newspaper of Portland State University, a school that I attend as an English major). Seeing as how the creative restrictions of that profession are, well, restricting, I've decided to use this medium as a way to "publish" essays that I write in my spare time. The topic choices don't exactly fit in a single particular category; the first one I wrote is a dissection of the idea of Portland's "being weird," and the second one is a requiem for the unfortunately short-termed career of Portland Trail Blazer Brandon Roy. The third one will most likely be about a trip I took in July of 2011 to Eugene to see a 311/Sublime show. Clearly, none of those topics are much related to each other; hence, "variety."
I know that basically everyone who will read this blog is a friend or family member of mine, and you all know that I'm normally not one to share my feelings or experiences. Well, this blog will likely stick by that narrative...but occasionally, I'll let an experience or a feeling slip out that may offend or shock. Just be warned. And there will be occasional f-bombs (sup, Grandma!), as well as highly political or philosophical opinions that'll probably seem pretentious. Either way: these are my thoughts and I'm stickin' to 'em (until someone offers me a better or more logical way of looking at things). Also: the essays will be based highly on opinion, so if you catch something that's factually iffy or incorrect, please call me on it so that I may use that information to possibly re-think my viewpoint.
Let's do this motherfuckers!!!
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