Foundering in 'The Life Aquatic'

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"Nobody knows what's going to happen. And then we film it. That's the whole concept."

Steve Zissou (Bill Murray)

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Roger Ebert summed things up for me pretty neatly in his review of "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou," which premiered 10 years ago today.

"My rational mind informs me that this movie doesn't work," Ebert wrote. "Yet I hear a subversive whisper: Since it does so many other things, does it have to work, too? Can't it just exist? ... Wes Anderson's 'The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou' is the damnedest film. I can't recommend it, but I would not for one second discourage you from seeing it."

Anderson directed and produced this parody of famed ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau disguised as documentary. He achieved greater critical and commercial success with 2001's "The Royal Tenenbaums," but his style may never have been as clearly defined as it was in "The Life Aquatic."

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Steve Zissou (Bill Murray) had a bizarre assortment of crew members and general hangers–on aboard.

For example ...

Zissou's ex–wife (Anjelica Huston) and her ex–husband (Jeff Goldblum) were on board — as was a fellow who believed he was Zissou's long–lost son (Owen Wilson). Cate Blanchett played a journalist who was covering the expedition. She also happened to be pregnant.

Another member of the crew crooned David Bowie songs in Portuguese.

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And there was a girl who could be seen from time to time on board the ship (which looked like something dreamed up by Jules Verne). She seldom spoke and was noteworthy mostly for being topless in almost all of her screen time. Being topless had nothing to do, really, with the plot. It just seemed to be the way she rolled.

It was that kind of movie.

Seems to me everyone on board had a reason for being there that was unique (or nearly so) to him or her.

Steve Zissou was driven to track down and kill a shark that ate one of Zissou's team members.

Zissou's alleged long–lost son was there, essentially, to remove the alleged part from that description. The crew members were there because, well, it was their job to carry out whatever eccentric and obsessive mission Zissou was on. Willem Dafoe played the most prominent of the crew members.

I'm not really sure why Zissou's ex–wife (and the alleged mother of the alleged long–lost son) was there — and it is really a mystery to me why the ex–wife's other ex–husband was there at all. I'm sure a lot of it was explained when I saw it, but I saw it the day after Christmas 2004 — which was also the day of the great tsunami that killed thousands. In the aftermath of that event, which was unfolding when I was in the theater, movie details escaped me.

Anyway, along the way, Zissou's vessel encountered Filipino pirates and financial woes. And when the crew finally did catch up to the shark, as Ebert observed, "they fall silent and just regard it, because it's kind of beautiful. This could have been a scene from '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea' if Captain Nemo had been a pothead."

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Like Ebert, I wouldn't discourage anyone from seeing "The Life Aquatic." In hindsight, though, it strikes me as being disjointed and unfocused much of the time — a good idea that had a lot of unrealized potential.

The Science of Sex

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Alfred (Liam Neeson): When it comes to love, we are all in the dark.

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I have often wondered if the life of sexologist Alfred Kinsey inspired the story that was told in 1989's "sex, lies and videotape." After all, didn't James Spader's character do almost precisely what Kinsey did?

Well, not exactly, I suppose. Spader just switched on the video camera and let the women start talking. He did ask them questions as they went along, but the women introduced the topics, and it was entirely up to them how explicit they were.

Kinsey, on the other hand, asked a lot of specific questions. For his research, questions needed to be asked of many women to get an idea of how common certain sexual behaviors were. (The account of his life was provided in the movie "Kinsey," which premiered 10 years ago today.)

And, of course, Kinsey did not video tape his subjects. The technology didn't exist until near the end of his life. (He may have made audio tapes, though.)

Beyond that, Kinsey was raised by a sexually repressive father (John Lithgow), from whom he apparently received little useful instruction. That could well account for his curiosity about sex. I don't recall ever hearing anything about Spader's character's upbringing, only that he was sexually dysfunctional.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand.

Kinsey began his professional life as a professor of biology, which evolved into sexology, largely from personal experience — or lack thereof. There was a shortage of scholarly research on sexuality, you see.

"The staggering truth," wrote historian William Manchester, "was that men and women knew more about gall wasps [which had been Kinsey's previous field of study] than each other. Human beings were even uninformed about the erotic behavior of members of their own sex, and therefore had no way of knowing whether or not they were normal."

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Kinsey (Liam Neeson) fell in love with and married one of his students (Laura Linney, in an Oscar–nominated performance). Neither was sexually experienced before marriage, and their physical relationship suffered initially, but they worked it out, as I gather spouses had to do at that time; they had to find the solution to their problem almost entirely on their own through a kind of trial–and–error method.

As I say, there were few sex resources to which people could turn for answers, and most of the conventional wisdom was based on myths and old wives' tales. Thus, Kinsey's academic specialty was born.

I don't know a lot about Kinsey's life and work, but the movie seemed to have the ring of truth to it. My generation's teachers probably were students of people from Kinsey's generation — once or twice removed, perhaps — and many of them perpetuated the same sexual myths that were almost universally accepted in Kinsey's day.

That's kinda how it is with misinformation.

The findings from Kinsey's interviews informed people that nearly everything they had been told about sex was not true, and it changed a lot of things. In fact, my guess is that, were it not for Kinsey's research establishing that homosexuality was not a rare deviation but was actually much more common than had been believed, the subject of gay marriage would not be as prevalent as it has become in recent years.

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Kinsey himself was bisexual and had a relationship with one of his male assistants (Peter Sarsgaard in the movie) — who then went on to have a relationship with Kinsey's wife.

It was that kind of marriage. The Kinseys had their own definition of love, and Kinsey acknowledged in the movie that love was the one thing that couldn't be measured scientifically.

As I say, I don't know much about Kinsey's life, but I got the sense that he treated his sex research with the same clinical detachment he brought to his voluminous studies of the gall wasp. Film critic Roger Ebert confirmed that.

"The film's director, Bill Condon, who is homosexual, regards Kinsey's bisexuality with the kind of objectivity that Kinsey would have approved," wrote Ebert. "[T]he film, like Kinsey, is more interested in what people do than why."

The acting was great. Linney, as I mentioned, was nominated for an Oscar — for Best Supporting Actress. She lost to Cate Blanchett.

Neeson and Sarsgaard deserved to be nominated but weren't. Neither was Oliver Platt, who played the university president who tried, unsuccessfully, to get Neeson to consider the P.R. ramifications of his activities.

I guess "Kinsey" was the kind of historical movie I like best — one in which I have little knowledge going in and can readily confirm what I learned from watching it. If such a movie has been unnecessarily embellished or the facts have been altered, its credibility with me goes way down.

Ten years later, "Kinsey" remains a highly credible story in my book.

'Sideways' Was Giamatti's Tour de Force

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Jack (Thomas Haden Church): Try to be your normal, humorous self. The guy you were before the tailspin. Do you remember that guy? People love that guy.

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Has your life ever fallen so far short of your personal expectations, ever been so crushingly, depressingly disappointing to you that the specter of that disappointment seems to hang over your move in your every waking minute?

If you're lucky, that feeling isn't permanent, just temporary — although it can certainly feel permanent.

That essentially was the story of "Sideways," a movie about two friends (Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church) who went on a week–long road trip through California's wine country to celebrate the approaching wedding of one and the anticipated publication of a novel written by the other. It premiered 10 years ago today.

On the surface, it was obvious that Giamatti, a wannabe author, was disappointed in, well, everything. His ex–wife had found someone new. He had a mountain of unpublished books, and his daily life was a series of affronts and insults. He was a middle–aged English teacher, frustrated in his ambitions, but still he wanted to take his friend and college roommate (Church) on a traveling bachelor party to the Santa Ynez Valley.

Everything just boiled over on him that week.

Church played an actor whose best days, apparently, were behind him. He had, at one time, been a co–star on a TV soap opera, but he had been relegated to commercial voice–overs. There was no real glamor in that. He came on in the last seconds to breathlessly read off side–effects warnings or interest–rate ranges, depending on the nature of the commercial. It amounted to the fine print of broadcasting.

He intended to go into business with his soon–to–be father–in–law. Life clearly had not turned out the way he expected, either.

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Giamatti's character wanted to relax, play some golf, enjoy some good food and, being a wine aficionado, some good wine, too. He also wanted to turn Church into something of an oenophile, at least as much of one as you could become in a week's time.

Church's character craved at least one more sexual conquest before tying the knot, and he had decided that Giamatti needed to have sex, too. "That's going to be my best man gift to you this week," he said. "I'm not gonna get you a gift certificate or a pen knife or any of that other horse shit."

"I'd rather have a knife," Giamatti replied.

"Other actors excel at playing sad sack characters," observed Josh Ralske for AllMovie, "but few are as adept as Giamatti at precisely dramatizing self–inflicted misery."

Ralske was right when he noted that, in a movie filled with people who were disappointed with their lives, Giamatti was "the most self–aware." That may make his character the most narcissistic — but it wasn't the only narcissistic personality in the movie. Church's character certainly had those tendencies, as did the two ladies in the movie, played by Virginia Madsen and Sandra Oh.

In a movie like "Sideways," one must examine scenes and portions of dialogue by themselves to figure out their significance to the story.

Such a moment came when Giamatti was trying to explain to Madsen why he liked the pinot grape. The look on Madsen's face as she listened spoke volumes. It told the viewer that she could tell Giamatti actually was describing himself, even if he didn't realize it — and she was falling in love with him.

"[I]t's a hard grape to grow," he told her. "It's thin–skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's not a survivor like cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and thrive even when it's neglected. No, pinot needs constant care and attention. And in fact it can only grow in these really specific, little, tucked–away corners of the world. And only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody who really takes the time to understand pinot's potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and ancient on the planet."

While on their tour of the wine country, Giamatti and Church stopped at a restaurant, and the audience first encountered Madsen's character, a waitress who was already acquainted with Giamatti. Church, who seemed to be in a perpetual state of arousal, told Giamatti that Madsen was attracted to him. Giamatti shrugged it off.

Later, the three of them met up with one of Madsen's friends, played by Oh. Church and Oh hit it off, and their affair progressed steadily all week — at least until Oh found out that Church was about to be married.

Giamatti's character took some body blows in rapid succession — the news that his ex had remarried followed by the news that his latest novel had been rejected — and went off the deep end, trying to drink the wine from the spit bucket at a winery.

It was not his finest moment.

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He made up for it at the end, though, when he bumped into his ex and her husband — and was thoroughly gracious. The word that came to my mind when I first saw "Sideways" was noble. There was a certain nobility in how he carried himself.

Only someone who had watched the whole movie and had grown acquainted with Giamatti's character could see the pain he was feeling at that moment — and I got the feeling that perhaps his ex could see it, too. And perhaps she appreciated how much courage it took — even though she had not been present when he tried to drink from the spit bucket.

I've seen Giamatti in some other movies, and, frankly, I think "Sideways" was his personal masterpiece. Every great actor has at least one truly great performance that is his/her signature; for Giamatti, it is "Sideways."

I guess it was for several people. Church certainly gave one of the great performances of his career. I haven't seen enough of Madsen's or Oh's work to make similar judgments about them.

But when the Oscar nominations came out, Giamatti wasn't even nominated. Church was, and so was Madsen. The movie was nominated for Best Picture, and Alexander Payne got a nomination for Best Director. In fact, Payne shared an Oscar for adapted screenplay with Jim Taylor.

Telling the Tale of a Terrorist Attack

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"Michael Moore's 'Fahrenheit 9/11' is less an expose of George W. Bush than a dramatization of what Moore sees as a failed and dangerous presidency."

Roger Ebert

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To use a political term, filmmaker Michael Moore has known his base for awhile so it is no surprise when he plays to it — as he clearly did in "Fahrenheit 9/11," which premiered 10 years ago today.

That, I suppose, is the advantage of making a documentary. You aren't necessarily trying to win an election although you would like to persuade some folks who are sitting on the fence or are sympathetic to the other side that you are correct. In the end, though, I guess documentaries primarily succeed at reinforcing conclusions the viewers have already reached.

Most documentaries don't make a lot of money — few outside their niche audience will pay to see them. And many documentary makers' agendas are so slanted in one direction or the other that they aren't as meticulous about the facts as they should be — except for the ones that support their position.

Sometimes you have to wonder just how dedicated to the facts they really are. Indeed, there have been times when it was clear to me that the documentary maker was more interested in scoring points than being right — and, at times, that is certainly true of "Fahrenheit 9/11," just as it is true of most of Moore's documentaries.

Actually, in 2004 — as in all even–numbered years — there were the usual congressional elections, and a presidential election was scheduled, too, so the timing of the movie's release — slightly more than four months before Election Day — clearly was intended to influence voter behavior.

And part of that mission was to remind voters of what happened the last time — when George W. Bush and Al Gore were locked in a stalemate, and the Supreme Court voted to let vote counts in Florida stand, giving Bush the election.

While he didn't endorse Democratic presidential nominee John Kerry, Moore told USA Today, at the time of the film's release, that "I would like to see Mr. Bush removed from the White House."

Moore's narration was, alternately, indignant and sardonic, occasionally both. Actually, as verbose as he was, I was surprised when I read that Ebert wrote: "If the film is not quite as electrifying as Moore's 'Bowling for Columbine,' that may be because Moore has toned down his usual exuberance and was sobered by attacks on the factual accuracy of elements of 'Columbine'; playing with larger stakes, he is more cautious here, and we get an op–ed piece, not a stand–up routine."

I never got the impression that he was "more cautious." He was more toned down, not quite as in–your–face as he had been in other projects, but I thought that was a good thing. Maybe he was a little more meticulous about the facts, but that is something I never discourage.

There was a considerable controversy surrounding the documentary's release, and Moore countered complaints rather nimbly, but if his objective was to remove Bush, he failed. Some voters may have seriously reconsidered whether to vote for him, but in the end Bush, of course, was re–elected.

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There probably wasn't much Moore could tell viewers about the central event in the movie, either — the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks.

(Ebert, however, did observe that "Moore brings a fresh impact to familiar material by the way he marshals his images," and there certainly is truth in that. It is a big part of why "Fahrenheit 9/11" is the highest–grossing documentary of all time — and won the Palme d'Or, the most prestigious award given at the Cannes Film Festival.)

Most Americans saw part or all of the attacks on TV. There were many details that Americans did not know, details that trickled out over time although many were revealed only through the release of the findings of the 9/11 Commission later that summer.

But, because they had seen the horrific things that happened on the morning of September 11, many Americans formed opinions that had hardened 2¾ years later — and had become more difficult, if not impossible, to dislodge.

In my experience, few minds were changed by "Fahrenheit 9/11" — and that really is the movie's story. Given his history in his documentaries about General Motors and the gun culture, Moore's influence via "Fahrenheit 9/11" was minimal. While it was entertaining, as Moore's movies usually are, my guess at the time was that it would reaffirm the viewer's opinion, whatever it happened to be.

Taken out of the context of its time, "Fahrenheit 9/11" is robbed of much of its impact. When it was released, though, it was fresh and — in spite of Ebert's comments to the contrary — electrifying in its own way.

Making a Supreme Selection

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Evelyn Baker Lang (Glenn Close): [Reviewing how she'd respond to a Senate question during a confirmation hearing] If you're Webster, the question is "Where do you stand on Roe v. Wade?" and the answer is "Judicial rulings shouldn't be based on personal ideology, mine or anyone else's." If you're Davies, the question is "How would you approach a D&X case?" because he's the drum banger on partial birth. And the answer is "I don't comment on hypotheticals." If you're Malkin, you're from Virginia, so you ask a de jure. I take you point by point from the doctor to the father to Casey to undue burden to equal protection back to Roe at which point you can't remember the question and I drink my water for a minute while you regroup.

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I'd like to think — and I hope most Americans would like to think — that every White House treats its obligation to nominate justices to fill Supreme Court vacancies as a solemn and sacred responsibility, always aware of the historical significance and the future implications of every nomination — with little attention paid to the political consequences.

(The Georgetown Law Library's website perpetuates that noble image: "[T]he President has the power, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, to appoint Judges of the Supreme Court. Since Supreme Court Justices are appointed for life, each nomination to the Supreme Court has a long–lasting influence on the Court and on the day–to–day life of every American.")

But the truth is that, like everything else that happens in Washington, the process is almost entirely political.

The episode of the West Wing that aired 10 years ago tonight, "The Supremes," was about that process.

It began with the death of a Supreme Court justice, and the liberal Bartlet White House had to select a replacement that could win the approval of the conservative majority in Congress. Initially, the president (Martin Sheen) was prepared to nominate a centrist (Robert Picardo), but he refused to take a position on any issue when he met with Bartlet.

His logic wasn't hard to understand. He said he didn't take sides until he had heard all the evidence in a particular case. He was preserving his initial neutrality. As a result, depending upon the facts, he might be on one side of an issue in one case and on the other side of the same issue in another.

That made him a bit too much of a wild card for Bartlet.

Ideologically, Bartlet would have preferred to nominate someone like the female judge (Glenn Close) who was asked in for an interview with White House staffers during their search.

She wowed the staffers who vetted her, too.

"I love her," Josh (Bradley Whitford) told speech writer Toby Ziegler (Richard Schiff) when they excused themselves to confer in private. "I love her mind. I love her shoes."

"Your work on the 14th Amendment in particular is the stuff that dreams were made of," gushed Toby when they were back in the room.

But she knew the conservatives in Congress would never approve her. Her record in general was too far to the left for them, but she was especially concerned about a heretofore hidden personal matter she felt certain would come out — that she had had an abortion when she was in law school.

She was content to be window dressing for whoever the eventual nominee turned out to be, but she knew that she could never be the choice.

The majority in Congress would prefer someone more like the conservative judge played by William Fichtner, but Bartlet couldn't do that.

(Personally, I always felt the scene in which Josh and Toby presented that particular name to Bartlet was one of the series' best. The camera never left the reception area. The president's secretary {Lily Tomlin} ushered Josh and Toby into the Oval Office, then went about her business while Vivaldi played on her radio. Behind the closed door, the president's anguished "No!" could be heard; his secretary calmly — and wordlessly — turned up the music on the radio and continued with her business.)

So there was an apparent impasse between the two branches of government, and it seemed that the oft–repeated caveat (in the West Wing universe) mdash; that the Supreme Court's destiny was to be centrist straight down the line — was coming true.

That's when Toby and Josh came up with a scheme, one that they hoped would breathe new life into a branch of government that was perceived as having grown stale and predictable with its overwhelming centrism.

(In reality, I am not so sure of that — but that underscores what is probably the hardest thing to keep in mind when you watch the West Wing. It was fiction, not documentary.)

Toby and Josh approached the chief justice (Milo O'Shea) about resigning, at which time, they said, the president would nominate Close to be the new chief justice and Fichtner to fill the associate justice vacancy.

The chief justice was intrigued and agreed to step down.

One of the things that I always appreciated about the West Wing was its ability to educate as it entertained. OK, I know that most of the people who watched the show probably forgot the history or social studies lesson that was taught before they went to bed, but I still appreciated the effort.

Having said that, though, I would be remiss if I didn't mention something that jumped out at me the first time I saw the episode. I guess my background in history and social studies made it inevitable that I would notice something that almost no one else would notice.

The West Wing writers usually were meticulous about their facts, but they really messed up in "The Supremes."

At the end of the episode, when Martin Sheen introduced the two Supreme Court nominees, he introduced Close's character as "the next chief justice of the Supreme Court." While, technically, it is true that the chief justice presides over the Supreme Court, the chief justice, as the highest–ranking judicial officer in the country, has the official title of Chief Justice of the United States.

You have just had your teachable moment for today.

Telling the Greatest Story Ever Told

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"By his wounds ... we were healed"

Tagline

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Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" was, without a doubt, one of the most controversial movies of my lifetime.

Movies with religious themes typically are controversial because they are usually so biased. I felt at the time that Gibson's movie about the final hours of Jesus' life was controversial primarily because it accepted without question so many things as literal truth.

Now, personally, I didn't really have a problem with that because I grew up in the American South. Church plays a huge role in daily life in the South, always has, and you grow up there accepting certain things as fact. (Truth is another matter.)

Call it indoctrination if you wish.

(That's especially true of my home state of Arkansas. After all, that's where creation science got its first real legal foothold.)

Consequently, it wasn't hard for me to accept what was presented on the screen. I don't consider myself a religious person, but I don't usually get into religious debates with Christians, either. I may not necessarily agree with their interpretations of the biblical accounts of Jesus' life and death, but I have heard so many different interpretations in my life (my father was a religion professor, as was his father before him). I was exposed to a lot of faiths when I was young, and it is easy for me to accept the idea that a man named Jesus lived in those times; whether I believe in many of the things that people say about his life is fine print.

I realized at the time, though, that Gibson's movie was more problematic for people who were not Christians. And it did spark a controversy, in part by being released on Ash Wednesday 10 years ago today.

That didn't really bother me, either, but the other thing that made the film objectionable was what was seen as excessive violence, and I must say it was a very violent movie. How could a movie about the Crucifixion be anything else? The answer is, it couldn't, but I thought Gibson went over the line in the scene where Jesus was scourged.

My understanding of Jewish law in those days is that scourging traditionally was limited to 39 lashes, and all the Protestant pastors I have known since I was a child accepted that as the number of lashes Jesus received. That was the number they always mentioned when they spoke of Jesus' crucifixion. I'm not sure if it is ever mentioned in the Bible, but, as I say, Jewish law limited scourging to 39 lashes, a number that was based on the accepted belief that 40 lashes would result in death. Therefore, 40 minus one was considered the most severe scourging that could be administered without causing death.

(No doubt there were those who received 39 lashes — or fewer — and died, anyway, but 40 was the number that was considered certain to cause death.)

The scourging in "The Passion of the Christ" went far beyond 39 lashes. I don't know if Gibson's version was correct, only that it was excessive when compared to what I have been taught since childhood. I couldn't even tell you how many lashes were re–created in Gibson's movie. I lost count long before the scourging ended, so engrossed was I in what I was seeing.

But the thing that I found truly fascinating about Gibson's production is that it was made entirely in reconstructed Aramaic and Latin. That required a lot of meticulous research. Of course, there probably weren't many people in the world who could authoritatively dispute the authenticity of the script or the actors' pronunciations of the words.

But most people could probably tell what the characters were saying.

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Of course, the stories of the gospels differ in many ways. They don't attribute precisely the same quotes to the same individuals, they don't always identify the same individuals, and they don't include the same details. But, to believers like Gibson, that is fine print. The challenge when making a motion picture based on the gospels is to reconcile them so they tell essentially the same story.

One of the intriguing examples of this reconciliation from within the New Testament could be seen early in the movie when Jesus was arrested. All four of the gospels mention a servant of the high priest who participated in the arrest. One of the disciples struck him with a sword, cutting off his ear. The gospels agree on that — but that is where the accounts begin to differ.

The servant is only named in one of the gospels, and another gospel, which does not name him, is the only one to report that Jesus healed the ear. In the movie, the servant is called by name and his ear is healed, as if it had been reported that way in all four gospels.

Still, there were other parts of the story that can only be explained as Gibson taking poetic license. Early in the movie, when Jesus is praying in the garden, he is visited by Satan (a character who pops up regularly in the movie), and Jesus crushes a snake beneath his heel. For those who are familiar with the Bible, this is a reference to the prophecy of a Messiah in Genesis. The gospels do not mention this event in the garden.

Nor, for that matter, do the gospels mention Judas being tormented by demons who look like children, but that scene also appears in "The Passion of the Christ."

Like any good dramatist, Gibson made effective use of symbolism.

The story of Jesus' life was told through a series of flashbacks — and I will admit that this is where I paid the most attention to the subtitles. The story didn't follow a chronological thread so the subtitles helped me make sense of the flashbacks. Once I knew what was being shown (i.e., the Sermon on the Mount or the Last Supper), I seldom felt the need to look at the subtitles.

But there were parts that had to have been inserted as symbols of things Gibson wanted to be sure the audience remembered. There is a flashback scene in which Jesus is building a table. As far as I know, there is no such story mentioned in the gospels. Its purpose in the movie must be to remind people of Jesus' earthly father and the trade Jesus was taught as a boy.

While Gibson acknowledged that the New Testament was the primary source for the movie, it is known that the Hebrew Bible also was used along with other sources.

I thought Jim Caviezel did a credible job as Jesus, not so much for what he said but for what he represented in the re–creations of Jesus' brutal final hours.

Roger Ebert called it "the most violent film I have ever seen."

Ebert pulled no punches: "You must be prepared for whippings, flayings, beatings, the crunch of bones, the agony of screams, the cruelty of the sadistic centurions, the rivulets of blood that crisscross every inch of Jesus' body."

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But this movie tells the story of Jesus' death by crucifixion. From all the accounts I have read, it was a particularly brutal, painful and lingering death.

An honest depiction could not avoid those facts.

I can't say that I always agreed with Gibson's filmmaking choices or his biblical interpretations, but I thought he deserved a lot of credit for a realistic treatment of the event. As a student of history, I appreciated that he didn't do as others did and overemphasize the resurrection while glossing over the particularly brutal parts.

If anything, Gibson was guilty of going too far in the other direction. But, I suppose, from his perspective, it was necessary to show what Jesus suffered on behalf of all mankind. Putting people to death 2,000 years ago was not a quick task.

"This is a movie about love, hope, faith and forgiveness," Gibson said. "[Jesus] died for all mankind, suffered for all of us. It's time to get back to that basic message."

Gibson tried to edit some of the most gruesome footage in an attempt to get a PG rating on re–release — and make it more accessible to more people — but the rating still wasn't changed, and the re–release only lasted a few weeks.

Being Good at Being Bad

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Niles (David Hyde Pierce): Will you listen to yourself?

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer): Oh, this is more than just sex, Niles. This is passion, kismet. A gift the gods bestow on only a chosen few. Wouldn't the real sin be to refuse it?

Niles: Isn't that your old second–piece–of–pie argument?

Frasier: Well, maybe it is, but I haven't had 'pie' in six months.

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Aficionados of the Frasier series — and I like to think that I am one — became aware of the existence of Frasier's first wife (Nanny G, whom he met and married during his college years) when Cheers was still on the air.

The character made two appearances on Frasier, the first as part of a fantasy sequence and the second 10 years ago tonight.

In the latter, Nanny G (played this time by Laurie Metcalf) was in Seattle with her children's show. Frasier went with Roz and her little girl to get tickets from Nanny G — the show, you see, was sold out, and Frasier had offered to use his personal connection to get tickets for Roz.

The flame of passion still burned inside Nanny G, though, and Frasier, who admitted that he hadn't had sex in six months, was all too willing to comply — but there was a problem. Nanny G was married. It was a marriage of convenience — to her producer — but it was still a marriage, and that produced an ethical predicament for Frasier.

Nanny G was lonely, tired of the monotony of being a children's entertainer and loaded with sexual frustration. At Frasier's apartment, she tried to explain her situation to him.

"If you knew how bored I am ..." she lamented.

"You have a wonderful career," Frasier offered.

"But nothing ever changes," Nanny G replied. "Do you have any idea what it's like to play the same character for 20 years?"

Well, as a matter of fact ...

(That was a clever jab at Kelsey Grammer, who, by that time, had played Frasier on first Cheers and then his own show for about 20 years.)

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After talking to his brother, Frasier had decided to resist temptation, and he offered to be a shoulder for Nanny G to lean on. When they went to the prop room to talk, Nanny G pounced, and Frasier gave in — and wound up accidentally being part of the show.

He wasn't naked — that would have been a completely different kind of show. Nanny G gave him a costume to wear, and he posed as her infant brother.

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"Caught in the Act" received no nominations, not even for its guest star. That was really unfortunate because I thought it was one of the best episodes in an 11th season that, while good, wasn't completely up to the series' standards.

Re-creating a Miracle

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"[N]ow that we have Dream Teams, we seldom ever get to dream. But on one weekend, as America and the world watched, a group of remarkable young men gave the nation what it needed most — a chance, for one night, not only to dream, but a chance, once again, to believe."

Herb Brooks (Kurt Russell)

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All my life, I have told people that the book is better than the movie — any book, any movie.

The same is true, I suppose, of movies that are based on real events.

It certainly was true of the gold–medal winning U.S. Olympic hockey team in 1980. I am not a hockey fan, but I will never forget the thrill of seeing the U.S. topple the mighty Soviets on that February day in 1980.

By the time I saw "Miracle," which premiered 10 years ago today, I had reached certain conclusions. For one, I believed it was impossible to duplicate dramatic sports moments like that, and, for the most part, that is true. I didn't believe that just because of the 1980 U.S. hockey team's triumph, although that did support my conclusion. But "Miracle" did manage to give viewers a sense of what the experience was like.

The story itself was so preposterous that it had to be the product of a creative mind. The American hockey team goes into the Olympics a few days after being thoroughly dominated by the Soviet team — and minus a player who was injured against the Soviets — and goes on to win the gold medal.

That U.S. hockey team overcame all kinds of obstacles, including a rematch with the Soviets.

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Kurt Russell, as coach Herb Brooks, was inspiring — but I never truly figured out if that was because his performance really was inspiring or because I already knew how the story ended and I was inspired by what I knew Brooks had accomplished. (I do have my suspicions.)

I couldn't help wondering if anyone could have played Herb Brooks and been inspiring. I mean, with that kind of material, how could you go wrong?

But then I realized that really wasn't the right way to look at it. The story of the 1980 U.S. hockey team was the story of the coach. The gold medal was the culmination of his vision.

(OK, I'll admit that I am influenced now by my own experience as a teacher.)

Patricia Clarkson — a very talented actress — played Brooks' wife and was good with what she had, but hers was a small role. I don't know how much she influenced that hockey team, but there were clear indications that the marriage was a solid partnership. I'm sure Patti Brooks played more of a role in the development of the team than was suggested — but to establish it in the film might have made it impossibly long for most moviegoers.

I think the best decision that was made by those who put the movie together was to cast unknowns in the roles of the hockey players. Using famous young actors would have distracted too much from the story.

Besides, none of the hockey players was a household name before the Winter Olympics. Neither was Brooks. It was appropriate that unknowns accomplished on film what unknowns accomplished on the ice a quarter of a century earlier.

There were no expectations for the U.S. hockey team that February. In his playing days, Brooks had been dropped from the '60 gold medal–winning team just prior to the Olympics. It is safe to say there were no expectations for him, either, even though he coached the University of Minnesota to three national championships.

When the U.S. won the gold medal, the reaction was unlike anything I have seen in my lifetime. "Miracle" did a remarkable job of recapturing that.

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"Great moments are born from great opportunity."

Herb Brooks (Kurt Russell)

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I don't know if Brooks' inspiring locker–room speech really happened. If it didn't, it should have, I suppose. Any good sports movie needs that motivational speech that — supposedly — gives the team that one final advantage that makes the difference between winning and losing.

Maybe that no–name squad needed that emotional boost just before taking on the mighty Soviets who had humbled them in an Olympic warmup less than a month earlier. Maybe the team just came together at the right time and didn't really need any more motivation that night.

But in a story that sounds too good to be true (except that it was true), if the writers made up Brooks' speech, they did a good job of what had to be done — making it a plausible part of a totally implausible story.

They justified their paychecks ...

... and inspired a generation of moviegoers.

Lincoln Metaphors Abound in 'The Stormy Present'

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"The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present."

Abraham Lincoln
Dec. 1, 1862

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The episode of The West Wing that aired 10 years ago tonight ("The Stormy Present") focused on a rare relationship in American life. It is the relationship that exists between American presidents — regardless of any of the usual barriers, including party affiliation and ideology.

It has been said before that those who have served as America's president belong to the most exclusive club on the face of the earth, and that may be true — although, now that we have a living ex–pope, perhaps the papacy, not the presidency, is the most exclusive club.

America has seldom, if ever, had more than five living presidents (former and present) at any given time in its history. Until last year, though, it had been centuries since there had been a living ex–pope.

On this night in 2004, President Bartlet (Martin Sheen) was attending the funeral of a former president whose views were often at odds with his own. En route to the funeral, Air Force One gave rides to a couple of other former presidents — played by James Cromwell and John Goodman. Cromwell's character (apparently based on Jimmy Carter) was more closely aligned with Bartlet philosophically and had been duly elected president; the conservative Goodman (apparently inspired by Ronald Reagan) was closer politically to the deceased former president and had served as the unelected interim president when Bartlet invoked the 25th Amendment and stepped aside temporarily during the search for his kidnapped daughter.

The story gave viewers a glimpse into the relationship between chief executives.

They had all dealt with the pressures of the presidency. They knew its isolation. They understood what Harry Truman meant when he called the Oval Office "the crown jewel of the federal penal system." A president could be candid with them in a way he could not be with anyone else.

He as much as said so himself. "When we were elected, I really thought we were going to own the place, do it differently, better," Bartlet said to his speechwriter, Toby (Richard Schiff), at one point. "Now I realize the men on this plane are the only others who have been there before, who really know."

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"There ought to be a warning sign when you hitch up to be leader of the free world."

Martin Sheen (President Jed Bartlet)

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As a backdrop, Bartlet was monitoring developments in a growing crisis in Saudi Arabia, and he got the kind of advice from his colleagues that a president can only get from those who have sat where he sits.

"You start saddling up camels in every country in the Middle East then you better be prepared to spend the next 50 years sifting through sand because this isn't a quick run on the beach, Jed," Cromwell's character warned him. "This is the new world order."

The writers for The West Wing had a technique of which, as a writer myself, I was envious — in the sense that I wished I had thought of it first. I guess I still am.

The writers used metaphors galore in this episode.

They used a phrase from one of Abraham Lincoln's presidential speeches as the name of the episode — then, as a tie–in, they had the entire cast preparing to go to a performance at Ford's Theater, which is, of course, where Lincoln was assassinated.

Just as the group was preparing to leave the White House, word came that a former president had died, and everyone's plans changed.

Lincoln was a recurring theme in the episode — from its name to the plan to go to Ford's Theater to a final plea from the late president.

Lincoln was there by implication, too, in a side story that was present in which the state of North Carolina was trying to get back a stolen copy of the Bill of Rights. Apparently, a soldier from Connecticut had taken it during the Civil War, and North Carolina wanted it back.

Josh (Bradley Whitford) was the mediator.

After the funeral, Bartlet and the widow spent some time together, and she gave him a letter her husband had left for Bartlet.

In it, he advised Bartlet to "go see Lincoln and listen."

And he did. At the end of the episode, Bartlet could be seen ascending the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

And the story went on in the West Wing universe.

The Scales of Justice

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A decade ago tonight, as the Frasier series was coming to a close after 11 seasons, Frasier and his KACL colleagues were competing with a rival radio station to lose weight. The prize for the winners would be a trip to Las Vegas.

The KACL gang resorted to a number of strategies, including gorging just before the initial weigh–in to artificially boost their group weight ...

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Bulldog Briscoe (Dan Butler): We got cheeseburgers, doughnuts, french fries, tacos ...

Gil Chesterton (Edward Hibbert): And a duck confit that's as rich as Donald Trump and twice as greasy.

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and trying to steam away additional pounds in the hours before the penultimate weigh–in. Eventually, it all came down to a hilarious moment when Roz (Peri Gilpin), in a Rockyesque moment, got one of her colleagues to "cut me" (meaning her ponytail) — to claim victory by an ounce or so.

Frasier was disinterested, at best, and his initial weight–loss strategy was to add a salad to every meal (for you dieters out there, it didn't work — so don't try that at home!). But, after the first weigh–in, he had a brand–new motivation. At the weigh–in, he discovered that a prep–school nemesis was on the other team.

Apparently, in addition to being Frasier's main rival for the affections of a Scandinavian exchange student, this nemesis was memorable for how he tormented Frasier when he mistakenly signed up to play girls field hockey. To hear Frasier tell it, it was a completely understandable error.

"The sign said 'F Hockey,' " Frasier protested. "I assumed it meant 'Freshman Hockey.' "

"The little plaid skirt didn't tip you off?" Martin (John Mahoney) asked.

"I thought it was a kilt!" Frasier replied.

As a result, to the winners of the competition would go more than merely trips to Las Vegas. Frasier and this one–time nemesis made a bet. If Frasier's team lost, he would have to wear his field hockey uniform. And if Frasier's team won, the nemesis would have to replace a chess set he took from Frasier in prep school.

Bess Armstrong, making her second appearance on the show, was the host of the local TV program on which the competition played out and acted as the moderator for the competition.

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In a parallel (although not necessarily connected) story, Niles (David Hyde Pierce) and Martin tried to nurse an ailing pigeon. The pigeon was a "buddy" of Eddie's who flew onto Frasier's balcony and observed Eddie through the glass doors — while Eddie observed him.

In explaining the relationship to Frasier, Martin said, "The bird's like his pet."

"Eddie is a pet," Frasier said. "He doesn't get to have a pet."

To prevent the pigeon from flying into the glass, Martin had put a smudge on it, but compulsive cleaner Niles cleaned up the smudge, and the pigeon — whom Martin called Barney — had flown into the glass.

"Are you happy?" asked Martin when they hurried to the balcony to see if Barney was all right. "You killed Eddie's friend. Poor little guy."

Then, after a pause, he looked at Niles and asked, "Now what should we do? Just kick him over the edge?"

The pigeon wasn't really dead, though, so Niles and Martin put it in a box and tried to nurse it back to health.

But, in the end, Eddie was the instrument of Barney's destruction.

Martin put the box on the floor next to Eddie and urged him to "say hello." Instead, Eddie stuck his head in the box, grabbed the bird and ran off down the hall.

Niles, who had been out of the room, returned, and Martin quickly closed the lid of the box. He told Niles that the bird was asleep, and Niles set down a bowl of bird seed he had in his hand.

"You know, Dad," Niles said, "I think he may like me even more than he likes Eddie."

"No contest," Martin replied.