A personal diary keeping people abreast of what I am working on writing-wise.

Saturday, March 31, 2007


See you there!

Friday, March 30, 2007



* Blades of Glory, a pairing of the funny with the unfunny for a movie that only gets about half the laughs it should

* First Snow, a new, existential Guy Pearce thriller from the writers of Children of Men


* Early Bergman - Eclipse Series, a five-disc set of some of the Swedish master's first films, part of a new Criterion offshoot

* Entourage - Season Three, Part 1, another outing with the boy's club

* Pure, a cliche junkie tale with a stand-out performance by child actor Harry Eden

* Radio On, a surprising British film beamed in from 1979, bringing kitchen sink ennui to a post-punk landscape

* Tempest, in which John Cassavetes disappears from civilization to live on an island with a dog, a subject I know so well, I could write a book on it (and did!)

* Twin Peaks -The Second Season, a largely successful completion of the series that trips and falls into one of the worst TV finales of all time

Current Soundtrack: The Fratellis, Costello Music

Current Mood: nervous

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich


He may be a wiener, and he may have pooched the Love the Way You Love vol. 4 deadline really bad, but the kid does some damn fine comics. His latest self-released mini, The Venal Muse, is an insightful autobio comic about the creative impulse and where it comes from. He portrays himself as a self-deprecating but genial host, and he goes over his relationship with his most important muse with an honest microscope that doesn't focus so close it seems whiny or ever feel like he's playing it up to the audience.

Follow this link to Marc's site, and scroll down to the March 2007 post for information on how to get this fine little number. Tell him I sent you so he'll actually give me a little credit for once. And also ask him where Love the Way You Love #4 is.

Current Soundtrack: Dean & Britta, Back Numbers

Current Mood: nurturing

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Wednesday, March 28, 2007


...when you step outside.

Current Soundtrack: CocoRosie, The Adventures of Ghosthorse & Stillborn

Current Mood: desirous

Tuesday, March 27, 2007


The recent death of Arnold Drake was tragic, just as any passing is, but all the more so due to the timing of it. It Rhymes With Lust, his classic pulp graphic novel--what he called a "picture novel"--was just about to be reprinted by Dark Horse, and Drake had been dreaming of seeing the book re-released in its intended format for many years. Originally released in 1949, I'd been curious to read this book ever since I had heard Drake talk about it in Telling Stories when I reviewed the DVD a couple of months ago. I had no idea anyone was intending to reprint it, but it turns out that my old boss Diana Schutz was already heading up the restoration campaign.

It Rhymes With Lust was written by Drake and Leslie Waller (they are credited in the book under one pseudonym, Drake Waller) and drawn by Matt Baker and Ray Osrin. It's a crime story very much of its time, filled with salty language and narration that is purple in its hue. Only, I wouldn't dare call the narrator "purple" to his face. He's far too manly to take such insults.

The story focuses on Hal Webber, a reporter whose promising youth as a crusader makes him the last person anyone would expect to head a dishonest newspaper. That's exactly why Rust Masson calls on him when her husband dies, leaving her the ownership of Copper City's two rival rags. Well, more specifically, that crusading reputation and the knowledge that there is no moral belief Hal won't toss out the window for a look at Rust's gorgeous gams. No one knows that Rust owns both papers, and so with Hal as her mouthpiece, she'll use the Express to tear down her rivals without anyone knowing she's behind it.

As calculating and evil as Rust is, her stepdaughter Audrey (such a pure name!) is good-hearted and courageous. Not realizing they have a past, Audrey tries to steer Hal away from her stepmother, and her clean-cut beauty removes Hal's blinders and exposes Rust for the fatal femme she really is. That is, until Rust is in close proximity again. Then Hal gives in to his urges, to that thing that rhymes with Rust, and falls right back down into moral degradation. The comic's plot is the tug of war for Hal's soul. Can he ever again stand on his own two feet as the moral newspaperman he once was? Will he ever deserve Audrey's devotion?

Drake and Waller have a real feel for the twisting and turning plots of pulp fiction. There isn't a lot of mystery here, we pretty much know where everyone stands at all times, so the thrill of the read is how many bends there are in the narrative. Though from what I can tell this was published in one go, it's actually written like it was serialized, broken into compact chapters that run 22-pages in length, which just happens to be today's page-count standard for a single issue comic.

As entertaining as the story is, however, the real draw of the book is the artwork (no pun intended). Matt Baker is known as an artist who is quite adept at drawing lovely ladies, and in any hardboiled tale, that's an important talent--particularly when dealing in the femme fatale vs. honest dame paradigm. I was even more impressed by the overall technique of the finished art, however. Baker uses some wonderful screentones, achieving the kind of effects we don't really see in comics anymore, as digital toning has sucked a lot of the innovation out of the process. (Exceptions being Steve Lieber's work on Whiteout and Eduardo Barreto on Union Station.) Baker has a great way of screening out the backgrounds so the line art appears as dot patterns, leaving only the main figures to stand in solid ink, bringing them away from the setting and giving them a stronger visual punch. There are also many great single-page illustrations that would make great paperback covers or movie posters. Much credit goes to Dark Horse for making it look so good. My understanding is they didn't have much to work from.

Like watching an old film noir or reading a classic Hammett novel, It Rhymes With Lust has an untainted immediacy that sets it apart from most modern crime comics. It also is unabashed as an exercise in style, neither hearkening back to anything that preceded it or using the technique as a pose. It's straight-ahead two-fisted storytelling at its best.

Rest in peace, Mr. Drake. You left us a great one with It Rhymes With Lust. You did so much more, but if this were all you were remembered for, it would be a greater legacy than most manage to create.

Current Soundtrack: believe it or not, it's still My Chemical Romance

Current Mood: impressed

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Monday, March 26, 2007


Hey, all, just a quick reminder that Joëlle Jones and I will be in Seattle this weekend as part of the Emerald City Comic Con. Newsarama has the official scoop, so check it out.

I have a little short story chapbook I'll be selling, and Joëlle has a sketchbook she made. She also has a one-page assignment showing up in this week's DC/Vertigo release, Fables#59. Go, Joëlle!

Hopefully there should be more updates this week. I was working on a new project last week and that kind of kept me focused as far as time. I also was watching three DVD box sets simultaneously for review, so I was feeling pressure, man.

Quentin Tarantino must have read my last post and sent me evil mental energy, because he showed up in my dreams the other night, and he wasn't very nice to me. I was being sent to prison for tax evasion at the same time he was being put away for something else. Apparently prison is a pretty regular place for Dream Quentin to go, as it was like returning home for him. Not only did he refuse to bunk with me and save me from a random cellmate assignment, he also took the last solo cell and told me he was really fascinated to see what prison would do to me. He wasn't saying that in an evil way, like he wanted me to die or nothing, but in a detached, "I want to observe this great social experiment" sort of way. Great, thanks, Q.T. Because, you know, being in for freaking tax evasion, that was really going to help me out when it came to scaring the boys in the yard. "You know, they sent Capone to jail for the same thing," I'd say in my best Clint Eastwood voice. "It's because they couldn't pin anything else on him. Do you want to take the chance that I'm as badass as Al Capone?"

Current Soundtrack: My Chemical Romance, The Black Parade

Current Mood: guilty

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Friday, March 23, 2007


There's been a lot of anticipation for the Grindhouse movie since the first images from it started to leak last summer. As its release date grows ever nearer, so does the hype and the anticipation, and I've had some interesting conversations recently with people who are already skeptical of the experiment (namely, my editor at DVD Talk and Joëlle). These conversations have caused me to hone in on some of my own thoughts about all things Tarantino.

I've been a Quentin fan from the get-go. Seeing Reservoir Dogs in a small theatre in college was a remarkable experience. It was the first time I'd seen anyone walk out of a movie offended (granted, those people practically needed walkers to get out of the place). And naturally, I happily rode the pop culture wave that followed Pulp Fiction. Though I got sick of seeing Tarantino's face on talk shows, I never tired of the work. I also never minded his transparency. He's always very aware about what he's doing and very forthcoming in regards to his methods and inspiration.

Grindhouse is no different. This was always meant to be a fun project, nothing more. It's possible that Tarantino and his fellow director, Robert Rodriguez, may be taking the conceit too far. Trying to manufacture a feeling of the old school grindhouse films could backfire. It's like corporate punk rock: you're trying to recreate things that happened because people had no other option, artists who weren't allowed access into the biz and had to do something different with the resources available. They run the risk of being too slick, of being the big boys ripping off the little guy.

Which, I know many see Tarantino as nothing but a rip-off artist anyway. I've never had a problem with his appropriating elements of other films. To me, he was right in the heart of the zeitgeist of the times. His technique was the cinematic equivalent of hip-hop sampling. He wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was taking pieces from other films and reassembling them, he wore that on his sleeve. This was done to its utmost in the Kill Bill films. It's a masterpiece of Cuisinart cinema. And that actually brings us to a problem.

If "Death Proof," Quentin's segment of Grindhouse, is just a rehash of other B-movies about killer cars, I'll have to ask, "What's the point?" Kill Bill really should have put the lid on that part of Tarantino's filmmaking career. He's done it as well as it can be done, and it's time to stop.

Even beyond that, though, I am not sure how well the whole Grindhouse thing bodes for the future of Quentin Tarantino. Has he decided to be a B-movie director by choice? If so, it kind of misses the point of why B-movies have become such an important part of film history. Traditionally, directors like Robert Wise and Sam Fuller, when forced to work with smaller budgets, were inspired to new heights of creativity in order to get their vision across. They were also working under a lot less scrutiny, and thus could be more subversive, using studio funded pictures to experiment with technique and create coded messages in the guise of genre; this is clearly not the case with an event picture like Grindhouse. But why lower expectations, Quentin? Why say you'll do B-movies? Why continue to recycle? It fails to deliver on what you're really capable of.

Namely, what happened to the Quentin Tarantino of Jackie Brown? Though it may not have reached the box office success of Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown has been vindicated over time as exactly the right move for Tarantino to have made. It dialed back on the pop-culture glitz and showed that Quentin was a mature director who could accomplish deeper, subtler moods than he had shown up until then. Most importantly, it showed that he could work within genre and create something new out of it without falling back on any of his tricks or borrowing from others. Yes, he has some nods to '70s Blacksploitation in there, and yes, Jackie Brown is an adaptation of an Elmore Leonard novel, but watch it again, there isn't much that can touch that movie. The only thing that can stand in the same room is that other quintessential Leonard adaptation, Soderbergh's Out of Sight.

So, why not be that filmmaker, Quentin? Why not do what you did in Jackie Brown and make smart, emotionally complex movies that use the trappings of genre for something greater than cheap thrills? "Death Proof" may be goddamned amazing, and I certainly hope I'll have the fun watching it that you've promised me, but I want so much more from you. You make us wait long enough for your movies, I'd love to see you give us something more than a lark. We know you can do it, and your next project, Inglorious Bastards, gives me hope. It's up to you to make good on that.

Current Soundtrack: Embrace, "Fireworks;" Timbaland, Presents: Shock Value

Current Mood: contemplative

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Saturday, March 17, 2007


My pal Christopher McQuain wrote a very insightful review of The Everlasting for Portland's gay and lesbian newspaper, Just Out. It's online here at the 'mo, but not sure how long that link stays current.

A pertinent selection: " True to Northwest urban cosmopolitanism, Rich includes a parallel queer subplot: Lance’s roommate, Roger, has his own snarled love issues with a closeted rock star. The novel’s main focus is on Lance, but Rich is adept at showing both the differences and similarities of the search for love in these young men’s lives. If anything, Roger is the better-adjusted one and is eventually revealed to be better able to learn from romantic defeat, but whether the two characters’ different mindsets are a function of sexual orientation is entirely up to the reader’s interpretation; Rich presents his characters warts and all, endearing one moment and exasperating the next, very much like the people we know (and are) in life."

Though, I really like this line: "Lance is a Jan Brady among prodigies." Ha!

Current Soundtrack: Camera Obscura stuck in my head...

Current Mood: superstar



* Curse of the Golden Flower, Zhang Yimou's historical tragedy comes to DVD

* Fires on the Plain - Criterion Collection, a brutal and satirical journey through the effects of war, directed by Kon Ichikawa

* The Naked City - Criterion Collection, Jules Dassin's revolutionary cop movie

* Nine Inch Nails Live: Beside You In Time, a solid concert film from the perennial '90s industros

Currenly Reading: Captain America: Winter Soldier, vol. 1 by Ed Brubaker, Steve Epting, Michael Lark, and John Paul Leon

Current Workload: Not for you to know...

Current Soundtrack: Babyshambles, and I'm not sure why...it's like this endurance test I give myself every once in a while, hitting play to hear their handful of good songs and seeing how long before it becomes unbearable.

Current Mood: morose

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Wednesday, March 14, 2007


I finally got my pictures from my London trip, and I've put them up on Flickr. I'm afraid they aren't very interesting, so hopefully no one was actually waiting for them.

Much better is me and Terry on Oscar night. I'm wearing my new $26.50 suit. It has matching pants. You'd think it was tailored for me, the way it fits.

I took today off and treated myself to a movie. I hadn't seen Zodiac yet, it opened while I was traveling, otherwise I'd have been there right away. I'm a huge David Fincher fan, so I was very eager for it. I liked it a whole hell of a lot.

One thing that really struck me about the film is how much it looked like a 1970s movie. Not just that it was set in the '70s, but like a film that might have been made back then, something by Sydney Pollack or Alan J. Pakula. Given the nature of the Zodiac case and how it's really just a long string of information that all the characters follow, one clue to the next, I think it required a director with a pronounced fetish for detail. Fincher was as much concerned with the trappings of the story as he was the actual plot elements. At one point in the movie, Jake Gyllenhaal's character, Robert Graysmith, is hunkered down in his apartment surrounded by boxes upon boxes of files and documents relating to the killings. He is completely obsessed with the details, and I imagine at some point, that was also David Fincher in regards to this movie.

It was almost fortuitous that I would see Zodiac the day after I reviewed Jules Dassin's 1948 film The Naked City. That was the movie that invented the idea of a police procedural told in a semi-documentary style, and the director and his writers tried to tell a real police story, one that wasn't glitzed up for the screen. Rather, they wanted to portray the reality of police investigations--the hard work, the hours of chasing dead ends, of going from person to person seeking new intel. Zodiac is a police movie where the cops never draw their guns. They even scoff at Dirty Harry, which riffed on the Zodiac killings. Yet, Fincher still makes it interesting, still gets you wrapped up in the chase.

He also makes the killings grisly and terrifying, somehow putting his audience in the victims' places and making us feel how frightening it must have been. You'd think that would be a pretty tough feat these days, but I think he kind of disproves the notion that we're all desensitized to violence. By mostly staying away from the blood and the gore, he reminds us that the best storytelling technique is to incite our imagination. It's the horrific run-up to the murders that puts us on edge, the feeling of the threat being more palpable than the follow-through. I was truly creeped out in several instances. Now, that's good cinema!

Current Soundtrack: Sarah Nixey, Sing, Memory

Current Mood: thoughtful

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


The website Diverging Comics has posted two new reviews of my books.
* 12 Reasons Why I Love Her
* Love the Way You Love

Thanks to Wayne Ree for two such nice reviews!

I came down with a little bit of a cold over the weekend. It made the days a bit rough going. I was under heavy deadlines already, and my sleep patterns are still screwed, not helped by daylight saving's time. So, I slept probably more than half of the weekend away. Still, I got my manga stuff done, and I am now tying the bow on Have You Seen the Horizon Lately?--so you'll forgive the radio silence.

I've had some thoughts I've meant to share on the Brett Anderson solo album. I'm still somewhat undecided about it, despite having listened to it nearly once a day for the last two weeks. At first, I wasn't that blown away. It sounded like side sessions to A New Morning and some of the slower tracks the Tears recorded, but it seemed to lack punch. Lyrically, Brett attempted to stay simple and straightforward, and I'm not sure if it works. His appeal has always been his use of common language, but he usually appropriated the language to twist it in interesting ways, he didn't just allow it to sit there and be common. So, for a writer whose work I've usually had some real connection to, I'm finding myself a little on the outside. I find myself longing for his usual panache.

Musically, Brett Anderson is another matter. The more I pay attention to the fact that there aren't a lot of guitars on the record, that he relies more on strings and keyboards, the more I appreciate how far out of his comfort zone he is. Many of his arrangements are extremely powerful, and others are delicate and lovely.

It's strangely backwards. In Suede and the Tears, Brett Anderson was a singer and a writer who had paired himself with extremely talented musicians. One would have expected him to step away from those partnerships and come up with material that was sonically weak while being verbally impressive, not the other way around. Unlike other Britpop alums who have recently released impressive solo discs where they expand on the sound that made them famous in their bands (Jarvis Cocker, Luke Haines, Gruff Rhys), I'd say Brett has played it the least safe of any of them. Honestly, would I have expected any less? Unfortunately, I'm just not sure as of yet if it paid off completely.

For those curious, Brett will be previewing the B-sides to "Love is Dead" on his website all this week. One song a day starting today.

Current Soundtrack: Maximo Park, Our Earthly Pleasures

Current Mood: relieved

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Thursday, March 08, 2007



* 300, a middling adaptation of the Frank Miller graphic novel. I recommend also reading the David Walker review linked at the bottom of mine, just to see how two guys can get to the same conclusion by very different paths. Also, for the fun of it, my original review of the book from eight years ago.

* Air Guitar Nation, a rockin' good time documentary


* Let's Go to Prison, Will Arnett and half of Mr. Show team up for a much maligned comedy, but screw you, I thought it was funny.

Current Soundtrack: Idlewild, Make Another World

Current Mood: nauseated

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich

Tuesday, March 06, 2007


And another interview with me surfaces. This time, over at Silver Bullet Comic Books. I talk about everything this time out, and there is even a few new pages from Love the Way You Love vol. 4.

On working with Marc Ellerby: Part of it was I knew we were both passionate about music and comics in the same way. We don't agree on everything, but we have enough crossover that it keeps it interesting. Marc has a kind of classic indie comics feel to his work, and there is a real sense of rock 'n' roll to his approach, and I thought he was young and fresh enough that he could bring a healthy sense of life to the page. There is also some honest emotion in his work, which I don't think gets pointed out enough. Marc understands the heavy drama of this kind of story, and he knows how to bring it while also being very tender with it. Ultimately, I think his jagged, hook-laden linework makes him the Johnny Marr of our little group, and my cleaner scripting style is the Morrissey, and putting them in tandem creates an effect that you just wouldn't get separately.

Again, go forth and read.

Current Workload: script rewrites for Peal Pink vol. 3 and You're So Cool vol. 2

Currently Reading: Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy & Death Note vol. 5 by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata

Current Soundtrack: Bright Eyes, Four Winds EP

Current Mood: confused (as to why I woke up at 7:00 am)

Monday, March 05, 2007


I found it kind of funny that several folks were baffled by my Peter Pan post. Now that my DVD Talk article is up about my trip to London for the press junket surrounding the new Peter Pan DVD, it should all be clear. I am kind of paranoid about broadcasting when I travel, so I sometimes keep such things on the down low. Putting the picture up was a signal/good-bye to the people who knew, and then something I could call back to...now.

(This will just be the text post, photos will follow in a day or two.)

I left for England on Wednesday, arriving there on Thursday morning thanks to the time difference. While a good portion of my time on the three-day trip was scheduled by Buena Vista Home Entertainment, there was also a lot of free time for me to wander the streets of Piccadilly and marvel at how expensive everything was (particularly with the exchange rate, thanks to our current President and his flunkies messing up the world). I tried not to let that get me down, though, and wanted to take in a little culture. In fact, when I first got there, I just started walking from my hotel and within blocks, I was in the Green Park. I walked through the park and found on the other side was Buckingham Palace. Right when I got there, a marching band and a procession of soldiers/guards on horses were parading through the gates. From there, I took a walk around St. James Park. Amusingly, there was a sign by the lake that said, "Please Do Not Feed The Pelicans." I didn't see any pelicans, but I saw lots of other birds. I am not sure what makes the pelicans so special they need to be singled out. (For the Pan-specific stuff I did on my trip, you'll have to read the article; this post is only about the rest of my activities.)

I decided to go and see a stageplay the first night, but the fact that I fell asleep in the early evening meant I had to stick in the immediate area, or I wouldn't get to the theatre on time. I actually tried to go see Equus with Harry Potter showing his bum, but it had only opened two days prior and the theatre was a madhouse. Tickets were available, but they were 50 pounds, which is roughly $100 American, and the seats were bad, so I passed.

Instead, I hopped next door to see Jessica Lange in Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie. This was somewhat of a misstep only because of the timing. I was tired from travel, and so sitting down in a dark room proved difficult for me. Through the whole first act, I had to struggle to stay awake. The second act actually picks up anyway with the arrival of the gentleman caller. Lange was really good, as was the actress playing Laura, Amanda Hale. She had a great way of speaking, with the stops and stutters of an overly shy girl. Funnily enough, the male lead, Ed Stoppard, was the least effective, and the guy I thought I was going to hate, the gentleman caller, pulled it out. Mark Umbers entered the scene like he had just stepped out of a 1940s movie, playing an overly gregarious American go-getter, but as the drama progressed and grew quieter and more intimate, his facade dropped and revealed what a front it was.

Friday night was reserved for Marc Ellerby, who took the tube in from wherever it is he lives to enjoy some fine Oban scotch with me. We had actually never met face to face before, or even spoken without using our fingers (for typing, you pervert), but it was like we'd known each other forever. His voice was deeper than I expected, but I guess only I sound like I'm 12 (compare my adolescent serial killer voice to Joëlle's sexy adult tones on that podcast). I did like talking to his father on the phone, because he sounded like a typical English father from the movies.

Saturday was the day I had the most time, but I had a couple of missteps that caused me to do less than I would have hoped. The bulk of the day was the premiere. I didn't recognize most of the celebs, because they were Brits, but you could tell they were celebrities, they just looked different. Thandie Newton was there, and she was gorgeous, even dressed down and hanging with her kids. After, I went to Gosh! Comics, where I bought a Posy Simmonds collection, Literary Life. I had decided to walk rather than take the bus, and I ended up missing a turn and going a little out of my way. I tried to take the bus back, but the ticket machine took my 2 pound coin. Some old lady was staring at me while I grumbled at the machine. "Bloody American," she was probably thinking.

At Gosh, I also learned that geekery knows no borders. There was this dude hanging out that would not shut up. He went on and on about how Miyazaki was overrated. You've heard this kind of guy before, because he repeats everything as he says it. "You know, a lot of people like Miyazaki, but I think he's overrated. I know why they like him, but he's overrated. I mean, he's good, but he's overrated." He also bragged to some 12-year-old boys how he had spent a lot of money on the American DVDs of Dragonball GT, but he never finished watching it because he didn't like it. I am not even sure they were impressed that he was stupid enough to invest in imports of a show he didn't like. (I actually think calling things "overrated" is overrated. I think it's a shortcut to you claiming to be smarter than we all know you are.)

After that, it was a stop by Carnaby Street to look at the clothes, and a short breather before heading down to the Tate Modern to check out their Surrealist room. That may have been another bad choice, just because I was too knackered to take it all in. I couldn't really process--though it was neat to see some Cindy Sherman prints. There is a scene in Love the Way You Love where Isobel gets a Cindy Sherman book. I didn't know her work, but Joëlle suggested her when I was working on the script, so it was neat to see what is a new discovery for me.

That was about all I could handle that night, though, and I knew the hired car would be there at 7:00 in the morning to take me home. I bought a couple of souvenirs--a Powell & Pressburger box with A Matter of Life and Death is a must--but it was pretty much over in a shot. Yet, everything else was on Mickey Mouse's dime, so I can't complain. I'm not entirely sure what the whole purpose of a press junket is. It wasn't like my mind was changed about the DVD, which I had already watched before I left the States. They flew people from all over Europe, Japan, and Korea, as well as other Americans and Canadians. Most everyone else in the group do these kinds of things all the time, and I guess maybe it means guaranteed coverage for whatever movie is being showcased. It's pretty wild.

One side story: There was a bizarre incident at the customs counter at Heathrow that I still haven't figured out. When I was waiting in line, there was also a Middle Eastern family waiting--a mom, a dad, and three or four children of various ages. I first noticed them because the oldest boy was wearing a really nice Glenfiddich jacket, and I thought it odd to see a 12-year-old advertising whiskey. The family ended up in the kiosk next to me, and when I stepped out of line, I saw what looked like the mother trying to push the oldest boy through to the other side of the kiosk. He looked like he was resisting, and my immediate thought was that maybe they were being denied and she believed if she got him to the other side, England had to take her son. When I was walking out, though, I saw that he was on the other side and was laying on the floor, eyes closed, his mother over him. Both times I looked, no one was really getting excited or freaking out, and I kept watching him as I walked away. As I turned the corner, the boy opened his eyes and, I swear, he looked at me. Was he faking? I'll always wonder what was really happening.

Current Soundtrack: Bryan Ferry, Dylanesque

Current Mood: rejuvenated

e-mail = golightly at confessions123.com * The Website * Live Journal Syndication * My Corporate-Owned Space * ComicSpace * The Blog Roll * DVDTalk reviews * My Books On Amazon

All text (c) 2007 Jamie S. Rich