Borat
Sacha Boren Cohen’s fictional documentary, Borat, is an odd mix. On one level it’s brilliant, and his skewering of American culture is as fearless, pointed and outrageous as any I’ve seen.
But there’s also a self-indulgent edge to it. Since his satire has the subtlety of a sledge hammer, when he attacks an innocent target it’s pretty ugly.
Cohen, playing the part of a rube from Kazakhstan, travels across the southern and Western part of the U.S., eventually hoping to meet Pamela Anderson in California – a funny idea, to be sure. Along the way he inserts himself into real-life “candid camera” situations with unsuspecting subjects.
At a rodeo he interviews an old fellow who seems jovial but who in fact is horribly homophobic. Cohen (as Borat) skillfully plays the situation to highlight the man’s stupidity. At another point he hitches a ride with some drunken frat boys and it turns out that, yup, they’re callow and stupid. He’s particularly good at exposing and lampooning anti-Semitism, sending up caricatures of Jewish people.
Yet here’s where it gets troublesome. In the opening scenes in Kazakhstan (actually filmed in a Romanian village), he creates a similarly ugly caricature of the people who live in these small villages, portraying them all as half-wits, rapists, and prostitutes.
It’s a clear hypocrisy. He sends up anti-Semitism – properly so, and with a creative bite – but then he creates his own dark caricature of another group of people.
Similarly, there are people in the film who aren’t in on the joke who he shouldn’t be attacking. Like the people he hassles on the streets of New York as the cameras roll (or in the subway, where they have nowhere to run). Sure, their irritated reactions might be funny to some, but is it okay to irritate innocent passersby – actually even commit a kind of assault – for the sake of laughs?
So the final effect is unsettling. Cohen’s trope of the traveling rube is a fresh and effective way to reveal the dark underbelly of American life. And when he aims at a target he hits it. But Borat reveals him to be a narcissist, willing to do anything for a laugh regardless of the consequence.
For a while there, the monster called The Da Vinci Code was eating everything in its path. The hardback was selling 1.4 gazillion copies a month, the movie was out, even the Vatican was protesting.
Jazz vocalist Eddie Jefferson had a wonderfully warm style that always brings a smile to my face.
This
I’m always looking up words – I keep a dictionary tab on my browser so it’s easy to go there. I recently encountered
I picked up this 1983 comic novel because I’m a fan of Nora Ephron, whose screenwriting credits include When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle. I love her blog posts on
If you’ve ever been in a health food store or a Whole Foods store, you’ve seen them. They hang out in the vitamins section. They’re all pale, usually skinny, with an intensely concerned look on their face. They scan the rows of vitamins, anxiously, as if some salvage is there. As if some pill can protect us from the ravages of our little existence. 
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Against all logic, John McCain is recommending sending more troops to Iraq. That’s just plain kooky. Or, as General John Abizaid pointed out, it would be “unrealistic” to do so. (Among the problems: we’re running out of troops to send.)
This memoir by Franzen, author of the literary hit The Corrections, provides an intimate and entertaining view of his boyhood as a nerdy nebbish growing up in the airless suburbs.
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And feeling great. There’s so much I want to achieve. Definitely. It’s cloudy today, sure, but I feel it’ll be sunny tomorrow. Probably very sunny. I want to make lists — and check them twice — and I want to clean the house. I want to improve myself — God knows I need it. I want to dream of big things. Oh yes.
The melody to the middle movement of Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique is one of the few pieces of music that deserves the descriptive sublime. It was written over 200 years ago and it’s still gorgeous to the modern ear. He wrote it at age 27.
Since I so loved Frazier’s debut, Cold Mountain, I picked up his newest book with relish. I read the first few pages, thought the writing was beautiful, but I got distracted and put it down. I picked it up a couple days later, but again, felt like putting it down after a few pages.
Walking down a crowded Manhattan street a few weeks back, I overheard this snippet of conversation behind me:
Just think for a moment about all the love in the world. All those fathers who cheer at their kids’ softball games. All those spouses who do something special for their other half. All the worry and care, the patience, the generosity.
This lightweight movie is about a stockbroker with a major choice: Will he remain in the high-stress trading pits of London (where he has all the money he wants and the women swoon over him), or will he give it all up for the slow-paced beauty of southern France? (where, again, he has all the money he wants and the women swoon over him.)
Louis the 14th, otherwise known as the Sun King, lived a glorious existence. As king of France from 1643 to 1715, he was a big spender, living lavishing in Versailles, overseeing a high period in France’s cultural life. 
By giving control of the House to Democrats, the voters made it clear: the Bush administration needs adult supervision. That’s long overdue and I’m overjoyed to see it.
While waiting in a long snaky line to vote in the local grade school, I stood behind a trio of chipper little old ladies. We chatted. One of them, learning it would take longer than expected, realized she’d be late for her next appointment. “Oh, and I forgot my cell phone,” she said, “because I don’t have a cell phone.”
Some of the great timeless gems of the modern art song: years and years from now, people will still be moved by these tunes. What’s the No. 1 all time best?
You know, the world needs love songs. We’ve always had ‘em and we always will. As long as the human heart keeps beating, someone will be singing: “I love you, yeah, yeah, yeah,
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Whew, what a decade. Or rather, what an atomic explosion of pop creativity. Throwing off the shackles of 1950s conformity, young musicians went wild: the British Invasion, long hair, guitars and sitars and tambourines, new lyric freedom, social consciousness, music whose goal was to change the world. Like…wow. The best songs of this decade will always be seen as some of the high points in popular music.
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Set in London at the turn of the century, this film about two competing magicians has a dark, intense feel to it (much like its movie poster). At its best it’s intriguing, as these two masters of the art of prestidigitation vie to one-up one another, interrupting each other’s performances.
The Ronettes were the archetypal 1960s girl group, coming and going as quickly as a camera flash. But before they went, they left one truly sublime moment behind: “Be My Baby.”