Ellen's Got Milk

by Pa Rock
Cultural Observer

I don't watch daytime television, due in large part to the fact that it is so bad - and also because I work days. But yesterday I happened to walk past a television set just as Ellen DeGeneres was discussing the movie Milk on her show. I liked that movie, a lot, and wondered what the lesbian take on it might be. Ellen, being Ellen, delivered a sock-o one-liner that slammed the nail right on the head. She said, "This is a great movie and I know that you're going to like it - unless you happen to be lactose intolerant!" And then she told her audience that they each would be receiving a free copy of the DVD.

Before I could pull myself away from that clingy television, Ellen flashed up a picture of her wife, Portia de Rossi, and said that she would air an interview that she conducted with Portia on her show next Tuesday. I don't claim to be totally in tune with modern life, but I certainly have no problem with gay marriage. The DeGeneres - de Rossi union, in particular, is very understandable. Ellen latched on to an absolutely beautiful wife, and Portia now has a rich spouse who can dance.

What's not to love?

At the Movies

by Pa Rock
Popcorn Connoisseur

Last night while the rest of the world was watching the Grammy's or playing World of Warcraft, I was tuned into the annual awards show presented by the British Academy of Film and Television Arts, also known as the BAFTA's. The Golden Globe Awards and the BAFTA's are two indicators of where the Oscar's may be heading later this month. My objective in watching the Brit awards was to see whether my unflinching enthusiasm for Kate Winslet's performance in The Reader was on-the-mark or not.

There was quite a bit of correlation between the Golden Globe winners and those who took home BAFTA awards. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were so ignored by both award shows that I was embarrassed for them. Heath Ledger was selected by both groups as Best Supporting Actor for his quirky portrayal of the Joker in The Dark Knight. Both groups also selected Mickey "old piece of meat" Rourke as Best Actor. Mickey looked slightly less stoned last night than he had been at the Golden Globes, and this time he was able to make it up the steps to receive the award without tripping.

Slumdog Millionaire won the Golden Globe and BAFTA for Best Original Musical Score, Best Director, and Best Picture. It was clearly the crowd favorite at the BAFTA Awards, eliciting screaming and yelling each time that it was announced as a nominee.

And Miss Winslet? She won Best Supporting Actress at the Golden Globes for her role in The Reader, something that I don't fully understand because she was clearly the star. That was possibly due to the fact that she was nominated for Best Actress for her role in Revolutionary Road, and the Globes did not want to put her in the tacky position of running against herself. She won both of those awards, by the way. The BAFTA's had no compunction against having Miss Winslet compete against herself (and Angelina Jolie, Kristin Scott Thomas, and Meryl Streep) for their Best Actress award - and she won - this time for The Reader.

At that point I realized that I knew just as much about good drama as a room full of stuffy Brits!

I have now seen three of the five nominees for the Oscar for Best Picture: Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, and The Reader. All three are outstanding. The other two are The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Frost / Nixon. I have been trying to forget about Nixon for decades, and will not be paying good money to bring back the bad old days. I also chose not to see "W" for essentially the same reason. I may try to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button if time permits, but if the Golden Globes and BAFTA's are reliable indicators, Brad and Angelina might as well stay home and play with the kids because Oscar ain't gonna go home with either of them.

I guess that's what happens when you dump on a Friend!

Where Have All the Good Films Gone? Gone to Scottsdale Every One!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A couple of weekends ago I was driving through Goodyear or Avondale one evening when a young man (high school young) passed me in a small red car. Printed across his back window in six-inch tall Old English Script was this bit of personal vitriol: "Fuck Scottsdale." It wasn't overly eloquent, but Shakespeare probably wasn't either when he was this lad's age. I assumed the boy had probably lost his lady love to some yuppie spawn in the East Valley who was born with a silver spoon up his nose.

The longer I live in the Valley of Hell, the more I come to realize how things here really work. The proletariat lives in central Phoenix and in the West Valley, while those who are not so frantic to make a living (including university students), gather in the coffee bars, art galleries, and outdoor cafes that border their comfortable neighborhoods in the East Valley. Later this month they will also have the Valley's first Light Rail which should help to lessen the horrendous bicycle traffic and save on valuable Birkenstock leather! (The West Valley, where the workers live - and necessarily drive - has been told that they can expect their own Light Rail in twenty years.)

But, I digress. My purpose today is to talk about movies. Recently there have been a spate of advertisements on television for what appear to be some really great films. The problem is that when I pull up the movie guide for a twenty-five mile radius of where I live, all of the films that are available in the local theatres are crap. The really good shows are beyond the twenty-five mile limit - in Scottsdale! If I want to drive twenty-nine miles (forty minutes) to Scottsdale this afternoon, I can see: Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, I've Loved You So Long, or The Boy in the Striped Pajama's - none of which are playing any closer. The film distributors seem to believe that the intellect of the East Valley hasn't seeped beyond Central Avenue. People in the West Valley should be content with movies that they are capable of understanding: Christmas comedies, cartoons, and violent action flicks.

The more that I think about it, the more I agree with the philosophy of the kid in the little red car!