Most of us have had the painful experience being dumped, and that is what "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," which premiered on this day in 2008, was about.
Jason Segel, who will probably always be remembered for the role he played in How I Met Your Mother, played a composer who worked on the same TV detective show in which Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell) was a co–star. They had been lovers for quite some time, too — until Sarah rather unceremoniously dumped him early in the movie for a British rock star (Russell Brand).
Granted, that's a higher altitude than most of us reach in our relationships, but it is still possible to empathize with Segel's devastation — especially considering that he was naked when she told him it was over. Film critic Roger Ebert referred to it as "a humiliating, emotionally naked break–up and breakdown."
And it was. I felt it was one of those movie moments that you only want to see once — if at all. It almost felt like intruding on what was a very personal and very private experience.
Segel did everything he could to get over Sarah, but nothing worked. So he decided a change of scenery might help, and he went to Hawaii. Turned out Sarah and her rock star boyfriend were staying at the same resort.
It was at that resort that Segel's character encountered a hospitality clerk (Mila Kunis), and she became his new love interest. In the process, he learned more than he probably wanted to know about Sarah Marshall — like the fact that Sarah and the rock star boyfriend had been having sex for a year before she dropped Segel.
Eventually, Sarah came to realize she had made a mistake, but it was too late.
Ebert thought the story was told well, but I disagreed. Far too many of the lines were about sex, either directly or indirectly. And while that is an important element of relationships, it is hardly the only one. Trust plays a big role, too, and the messages about trust were mostly implied — whereas the jokes about sex were, if anything, a bit too much in your face.
"We all do stupid, destructive and self–destructive things for which we're probably not going to forgive ourselves," Ebert wrote, "so the best thing in the world is when somebody else forgives us. In the movie's moral universe, there are no irredeemably bad people — just those afflicted to various degrees with shallowness, immaturity, selfishness, obliviousness, ambition."
I can't argue with that — but I also can't deny that the humor was often sophomorish. I didn't agree with Ebert's glowing assessment of it.
"Life should be lived on the edge of life. You have to exercise rebellion: to refuse to tape yourself to rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge — and then you are going to live your life on a tightrope."
Philippe Petit
The news of Philippe Petit's tightrope walk between the twin towers of the World Trade Center on Aug. 7, 1974, didn't pass without notice. The New York Times, for example, devoted a fair amount of space to the story the next day.
But enough photos and films were made that, when combined with interviews and re–enacted scenes, they formed a solid foundation for a documentary on the event, "Man On Wire," that premiered at the Sundance Film Festival 10 years ago today.
Unless you're talking about Michael Moore's films, which are in a category of their own, most documentaries — no matter how well done or informative — don't tend to be financially successful. "Man On Wire" was no exception, earning less than $3 million at the box office in a year when the 10 highest–grossing movies raked in at least $419 million apiece.
In terms of revenue, "Man On Wire" was way down the list.
"Man On Wire" wasn't financially successful, but it did succeed at telling a compelling story by which film critic Roger Ebert admitted to being "helplessly engrossed."
Ebert also acknowledged having a fear of heights.
Not being a wirewalker, I appreciated the fact that the movie went over the extensive preparation that Petit and his team undertook. They constructed a rehearsal wire in a country field that Petit used frequently, then he practiced in real places — the bell towers of Notre Dame and the towers of Australia's Sydney Harbour Bridge.
Those walks were harrowing enough to watch, but then Petit was ready to move on to the World Trade Center, which was still being built when he first decided to take his walk.
But, as Ebert observed, Petit "never just 'walked' on a wire. He lay down, knelt, juggled, ran." Things you wouldn't think a human could do on a wire at any height, much less dangling some 1,300 feet above the ground — especially someone with no formal training for that. He taught himself how to walk on a wire.
Petit was meticulous in his preparation, though. The practice wire in that field, while only a few feet above the ground, had been approximately the same distance he would later walk between the twin towers. To simulate the precarious winds that could pop up without warning and cause all kinds of movement, he had his colleagues tug at the wire during his rehearsals.
All the details of that walk were laid out for the viewers in the movie — including how the wire was strung between the buildings.
Petit was taken into police custody after his walk was completed, and the title of the movie was taken from the police report.
As I watched the movie, especially the parts that showed the World Trade Center, I couldn't help thinking of the post–9/11 attack scenes I saw of the towers' facade, all twisted amid the smoldering wreckage.
But director James Marsh wisely chose not to so much as mention what would happen to the towers nearly three decades after Petit's walk. It was a separate story. A native New Yorker, Marsh said his movie was a gift to the city and that he believed it would be wrong to mix the wirewalker's triumphant tale with the one about the terrorists.
I couldn't control the direction my thoughts took when I watched the movie, and I was powerless to block memories of that awful day, but I have to agree that Marsh's decision was the right one.
Richard Nixon (Frank Langella):You know those parties of yours, the ones I read about in the newspapers. Do you actually enjoy those?
David Frost (Michael Sheen):Of course.
Richard Nixon:You have no idea how fortunate that makes you, liking people. Being liked. Having that facility. That lightness, that charm. I don't have it, I never did.
I only saw "Frost/Nixon" recently. I didn't see it when it was showing in the theaters five years ago.
I wanted to see it. But my personal budget wouldn't allow it. (Still doesn't, for that matter.)
But, if I am to be honest with you as well as myself, I have to admit that I just couldn't see Frank Langella as Richard Nixon, and that was an obstacle for me.
That's one of the problems with movies about prominent people who have lived during one's lifetime, I guess. I was a child during the Nixon years, and I have a pretty vivid memory of what he looked like, what he sounded like. Of course, I only saw him on television. I never saw him in person, but that was probably the experience most Americans had as well. Nixon often spoke about life in "the arena," but the truth was that he wasn't very good at interacting with people. He never seemed to spend much time with them unless he felt compelled in some way to do so.
My gold standard for Nixon portrayals is Anthony Hopkins in the 1995 movie "Nixon." I will be the first to admit that Hopkins neither looked nor sounded like Nixon. But, as I have said many times, he captured Nixon's personality better than anyone I ever saw.
I still feel that way, but, after seeing "Frost/Nixon," I must concede that Langella looked and — not always but consistently — sounded a lot like Nixon.
Nixon was a complex man so I can understand why it would be damn near impossible for a single actor to adequately portray him. In a perfect world, I would combine Langella's external portrayal with Hopkins' internal one.
Perhaps then it would be possible to capture the essence of Nixon.
In a way, though, Langella's portrayal demonstrated quite vividly that an actor with a gift for mimicry probably could duplicate Nixon's unique voice and mannerisms well enough to get by. The movie told the behind–the–scenes story of a disgraced former president who desperately sought to rehabilitate his public image and the up–and–coming British interviewer who saw interviewing Nixon as one more high–profile credit for his resume.
It turned out to be something different than either anticipated.
I'm pretty sure it wasn't what either man expected. Nixon certainly had his moments in those interviews, but so did Frost.
If it was necessary to say which man was more successful after the interviews, I would have to say Frost. His career was revived, and he went on to do many things, including interview eight British prime ministers and all of Nixon's successors except Barack Obama. (Frost died of a heart attack nearly four months ago.)
And that was essentially the moral of the story. Frost went on to greater things; Nixon sank deeper into his post–presidential funk. In spite of the audience that the interviews generated, Nixon was yesterday's news.
As one of the characters said near the end of the movie, Nixon's legacy in his own lifetime was that every public scandal became known with the suffix –gate attached to it.
I still say Nixon was too complicated to be reduced to a single, simplistic phrase like that. But if one must summarize the man's life and work in a single sentence, that isn't bad.
"If you have selfish, ignorant citizens, you're going to get selfish, ignorant leaders."
George Carlin (1937–2008)
Five years ago today, George Carlin died of heart failure at the age of 71.
He was my favorite comedian — still is — and I still laugh when I hear his recordings.
And I marvel at his wisdom. It remains relevant, be it five years after his death or 40 years after it was put on a record.
That is the special gift of artists. Perhaps they paint or sculpt or perhaps they are comedians or actors or musicians — or writers like myself. The best do things that make deep impressions on us and continue to do so — even long after they are gone.
For me, George Carlin was such an artist.
At times, it almost seems as if there has never been a time when I did not know his name, but I know that isn't true. As nearly as I can remember, I first heard of him when I was in sixth grade. Some of my friends' parents (or older siblings) had his early comedy albums, and they had memorized some of his routines. They couldn't wait to share them with me, and I couldn't stop laughing when they did.
(The only comedy album my parents had was one by Bob Newhart. It was funny, but Newhart was never as funny as Carlin.)
I laughed even more when I heard the albums. I'm listening to one as I write this, and I have to stop writing now and then because it's too hard to write when I'm laughing so hard. I know what's coming — I've listened to them so often over the years that I have the material on many of his albums memorized — but they're still funny.
I expect Carlin to keep me laughing for the rest of my life.
Like any great artist, Carlin had certain themes to which he returned, time and time again.
He often ranted about language (which, as a journalist, I appreciate — and I often wonder if his routines, in some way, served to steer me in that direction). I could appreciate it when he complained about the pomposity of language, how it was often designed to conceal things.
"You can't be afraid of words that speak the truth," he said. "I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't like words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms."
And Carlin wouldn't stop after an observation like that. He delivered with both barrels.
"Sometime during my life," he said, "toilet paper became bathroom tissue. I wasn't notified of this. No one asked me if I agreed with it. It just happened. Toilet paper became bathroom tissue.
"Sneakers became running shoes. False teeth became dental appliances. Medicine became medication. Information became directory assistance. The dump became the landfill. Car crashes became automobile accidents. Partly cloudy became partly sunny. Motels became motor lodges. House trailers became mobile homes. Used cars became previously owned transportation. Room service became guest room dining. Constipation became occasional irregularity."
See what I mean?
Carlin had some choice words to say about things like religion, politics and several subjects that usually aren't mentioned in polite company. But it was his routines on language that I liked the best.
Like his most famous routine — "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television." In recent years, I have heard a few of those words on television, which is something I think would have amused Carlin. Perhaps it did. A word or two from that list had already gained a certain amount of TV acceptance by the time of his death.
Nevertheless, I think he was spot on about some of those words. I doubt that they will ever be permissible on network television (cable is another matter) — at least, not in my lifetime.
The movies, of course, are another matter, and Carlin did appear in a couple of movies. I saw one — "Dogma" — which came out in 1999. Carlin (who was brought up a Catholic) played a Catholic cardinal who was busy promoting a new pro–Catholicism campaign — Catholicism Wow! — with a more modern version of Jesus (Buddy Christ) as its representative.
I can only imagine how Carlin responded when the part was offered to him.
Carlin always seemed to be busy with something. On Oct. 11, 1975, he was the very first host of Saturday Night Live.
I know it is hard for a lot of people in the 21st century to believe, but, for about a decade before the debut of Saturday Night Live, NBC aired reruns of Johnny Carson late on weekend nights. But Carson decided he didn't want to do that. He wanted to hold the taped shows to run during the week whenever he took time off.
That alone was kind of a stunning development. Originally, Carson preferred to have guest hosts (of which Carlin was one) to fill in for him when he took his vacations. He wanted the show to be fresh in those days.
NBC ran promotions for the new show, featuring Carlin, for weeks — and, when the show made its debut, it was an immediate smash hit. Part of that was undoubtedly due to the talented ensemble cast (the Not–Ready–for–Prime–Time Players), but I always felt that at least part of it was because of Carlin's popularity.
In October 1975, I don't think anyone knew the names of those who would become regulars on the show — but darn near everyone knew who Carlin was, and I believed that a lot of people who tuned in that night did so because Carlin was the host. I know that is the reason why I tuned in.
I don't recall if Carlin ever hosted SNL again. But he lent the show his fame in its first program, which gave it instant credibility. And, once people watched it and began to become familiar with people who would soon be household names (i.e., John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Dan Aykroyd), they became regular viewers.
SNL has now been on the air for nearly 40 years. It is conceivable it would not have lasted past its first night if Carlin had not been the host.
I don't watch the Academy Awards as much as I did earlier in my life.
One thing I always enjoyed watching on the Oscars broadcast was the annual video tribute to the people in the entertainment industry who have died in the previous year — but I was extremely disappointed last spring when the Oscars left Farrah Fawcett off the segment honoring those who died in 2009.
I don't know why she was omitted. I have my suspicions. And, as a result, I don't think I will watch the Oscars next spring — or in the foreseeable future.
However, I will continue to watch the annual video tributes that are put together by Turner Classic Movies. They are typically brief, understated and complete.
I've only seen the latest tribute (attached to the top of this post) online, but I look forward to seeing it on a bigger screen.
It certainly seems a worthy successor to other TCM tributes, like the one that aired at the end of 2008.
The song, in case you're interested, is called "God Only Knows." The performer is Joe Henry.
That's a trademark, I guess, of TCM's annual tributes. The music that is used tends to be from someone who hasn't received a lot of attention from the mainstream listeners.
Sometimes, I suppose, that exposure provides a bit of a boost to their careers.
The 2010 tribute is done to the song "Headlight" by Sophie Hunger, a Swiss–born folk singer who is slated to release an album for the North American market in April.
The 2007 version was set to the song "Promise" by Badly Drawn Boy.
In fact, you can see a certain continuity in the musical style, even though the performers change from year to year.
I don't know who did the music for the 2006 video.
But it was effective, don't you think?
Nor do I know who did the music for the 2005 video. But I think it also was effective.
There is a suitably melancholy strain that runs through the TCM videos.
And almost no one gets left out.
Watch for the latest if you are watching TCM this holiday season.
I got my bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Arkansas, and I got my master's degree in journalism from the University of North Texas. Most of my adult life has been dedicated to writing and editing in one form or another. Most recently I have taught writing (news and developmental) as an adjunct journalism professor at Richland College, where I advise the student newspaper staff. Go, Thunderducks!
