The Killer Inside Me

I know, I know. I've been away for a pretty darn good little while. What can I say. Writing blogs for other people keeps me pretty busy. But I recently sat down for this utterly disturbing movie set in the west Texas landscape and I just had to scratch my blog itch.

It's Saturday night and the Kentuckian and I have entirely too many movie options at our disposal. More is not always better, folks, sometimes it's just more. Between OnDemand and Netflix Instant Streaming to the XBox, we can easily spend an hour trying to decide what to watch, especially when he's in one of his moods, God bless him. On this particular night, he was in the mood for something bloody and scary. When we read 'WARNING: Graphic sex and violence' in the description for The Killer Inside Me, by golly we were sold.

The Killer Inside Me stars Casey Affleck as Lou Ford, an anti-hero of epic proportions hiding a taste for brutal violence and murder beneath the exterior of a soft-spoken southern gentleman. He poses as a tender-hearted deputy sheriff in a 1950s west Texas town, but really he has a "sickness." He's a serial killer, see. When he has the chance to avenge the death of his adopted brother, he suffers a flare-up and the results are truly nauseating.

Lou's crimes are sloppy and brutal. I had to avert my eyes. Bloody, yes, but hardly in the style of your modern day horror flick. Lou's style of murder is just plain sickening. I won't soon forget those moments. That's just it: this is not a horror flick, even though it is terrifying. The story is based on a classic piece of noir fiction from Jim Thompson, a major player in the hard boiled cannon, if there is such a thing, and I promptly added to my list of books to be read int he near future.

Kate Hudson is charming with a little extra flesh on her bones (The Kentuckian pointed this out) and Jessica Alba is surprisingly believable as the town prostitute with nothing but love in her heart for the homicidal lawman. Affleck's understated performance as the manipulative, unraveling lunatic of a protagonist is pretty spot-on and the script is surprisingly humorous at times. And then, of course, there's Texas. The unpretentious backdrop, dry and unforgiving, and ever present. I can't say if I really loved the movie--or just the scenery.

Crazy Heart

So, I almost didn't see this movie. One, the Kentuckian couldn't muster much enthusiasm for it. And this was due in part to the fact that some friends of ours who had seen it said it was the worst movie they'd ever seen.

Yes. The worst EVER. Strong words, I dare say.

These "friends" said it was so depressing and boring that one among them considered walking out mid-reel and another contemplated stabbing herself in the eyes with the spoon end of an Icee straw. Needless to say, I had my doubts. I wasn't expecting much. And maybe this is exactly why I LOVED it.

Yes. Love is a word you might think I used somewhat casually. In fact, I only use it when necessary. And this is an issue of necessity. Crazy Heart is beautifully acted (obviously), the music is incredible, and I can't wait to see it again.

I'd heard Crazy Heart compared to last year's The Wrestler. The comparison left me a little depressed. Perhaps it was the residue of the depression which followed watching The Wrestler the first time. Talk about a wrist-cutter. I'm tellin' ya. That movie put me in some kinda awful funk. But Crazy Heart was different even though there are some similarities.

"Bad" Blake is a washed up but legendary country star wallowing in resentment that his protege's career eclipses his own. He meets a young reporter and they fall in love and he plays the part of father to her son very well. The relationship inspires Bad to seek out his own estranged son and start writing songs again. When the relationship ends after Bad loses her son in the Houston tunnels, Bad finally gets sober to get back what he's lost.

This is a movie about redemption that's truly about redemption. Not redemption through death, which seems to be the only way to find redemption in movies lately (see: The Wrestler). Jeff Bridges is superb as Bad ("Friends" said you could actually smell his whiskey breath through the screen). But what's even better is the music.

Co-written and produced by T-Bone Burnett (raised in Ft. Worth) and Texas-by-way-of-New-Mexico artist Ryan Bingham. (Just downloaded his first album from iTunes. Amazing.) Everything T-Bone touches turns to gold, including the music of Cold Mountain, O Brother Where Art Thou, and the Robert Plant/Alison Kraus collaboration, Raising Sand. The original songs from the movie are already personal favorites, especially "I Don't Know" and "Fallin' and Flyin'."

I know the merits of the movie have been beaten to death by the critics, Academy, etc, etc. But I had to say my piece. It's right up there with the other contemporary Texas classics, like No Country for Old Men and Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. If you love country music, if you love Texas, you will love this movie.

St. Selena, TX

In this month's issue of Texas Monthly, the Mike Leach vs. Texas Tech scandal is just a smattering of text on the cover. The rest of the design is an iconic-style portrait of Selena Quintanilla Perez, who is perhaps the patron saint of Texas. And undoubtedly the Queen of Tejano Music, as the article claims.

It also says that even when she broke attendance records with her final performance in the Astrodome at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, she was virtually unknown to white audiences. I can't say this is true for myself. But maybe I had an edge because I lived in the same town where she was born and attended the same elementary school she did. Unfair advantages, to be sure.

I still remember when she was killed. Murdered, rather, by her own friend. I was in junior high, eleven years old. The hallways were very somber and lots of students were even in tears. A large percentage of the students at my school were Latino and many of my best friends were Latino. They grew up speaking Spanish, unlike Selena herself, and loved her music. Her English cross-overs "Dreaming of You" and "I Could Fall in Love" were anthems at school dances for years after.

Fifteen years later, her songs take me back to Texas, to my schools where whites and Latinos sit side by side in class rooms and at lunch tables. They share a culture if they choose to. I can't see that here in California. Maybe I'm missing it. But it seems like everyone stays away from each other.

Issues like immigration law and teaching Spanish in schools are controversial. Almost too controversial to talk about--depending on who you're talking to and what side of the fence you're on. I can't help thinking we're all in this together. Nothing proves that more than Selena's popularity during her lifetime and her legacy after her death.

She is/was both/and. Both Texan and Latino, an icon to Spanish-speaking peoples on both sides of the border. Yet she was neither: self-conscious about her Spanish in Mexico, American as apple pie. Can I not claim Selena as part of my culture because I'm white? Some would say so.

The Kentuckian grew up in a predominantly black community in northern Kentucky. Granted, even today, a well-to-do black real estate agent drives his Hummer with trepidation in to rural communities in this part of the world. But the Kent was surrounded by the African-American culture of the South. Played side by side with them in basketball games. They were his friends. They became men together. A regular Larry Bird. He is white with black influences to be sure. Is it any less real because he isn't black?

We're so focused on lines and boundaries and rules. I decide what defines my culture, don't I? Selena was born on the Gulf Coast of Texas. We are the same. My people came from Europe. Hers came from Mexico. But we are both Texans.

Oscars, Baby...

It's Oscar week. The Oscars give me a little thrill, I won't lie. And this year, there are a few changes, as in lots more movies up for Best Picture. I am torn beyond measure because I've seen quite a few movies this year thanks to The Kentuckian, who drags me to almost every new release. Kicking and screaming.

Of the Best Picture Noms, I haven't seen 'Up,' 'A Serious Man,' or 'Precious' (I know!!!). All I know is if Avatar wins, I'm gonna choke on a Junior Mint. It was wonderful, but it did not affect me the way 'An Education,' 'Up in the Air,' or 'The Hurt Locker' did. Same goes for 'The Blind Side.' After reading Christopher Kelly's article in February's Texas Monthly, 'Stop the Blitz,' I just didn't feel the same way about it.

What do you think? Who's going home with faceless gold dudes?

Libraries, Literature, Love

I am excited--BEYOND MEASURE--about this weekend. Is it because of the Tech vs. Texas game on Saturday? Close, but, um, no. Actually, I'm dancing in my seat right now because the relentless little hopeless romantic that lives inside me is so revved up about the release of Bright Star.

I'm not going to pretend like I'm a John Keats fan, much less an expert. This particular section of Survey of British Literature II is a little fuzzy and not because it was at 9 am. But, I think all lovers of literature--poetry and prose--relish the opportunity to have a peek into the real lives of the enigmatic characters of literary history. And Keats is definitely one of the brightest stars (wink) in the cast. Even I have to admit that.

Bright Star is the story of his three-year long secret love affair with Fanny Brawne, passionate and tempestuous, that ended only with his untimely death. Okay, so it's not a wink-wink, ho-ho romcom in which the omnipresent Katherine Heigl tries her darnedest to pass as a romantic lead. I get the feeling there could be tissues involved. And sleepless nights. And a tender ache in the chest as the credits roll. But nevertheless, I will be there. Even if it does cost me ten dollars.

I might not be quite this excited if the film's creator wasn't the beloved and brilliant Jane Campion, director of the The Piano and my personal favorite, which I've seen at LEAST 100 times, The Portrait of a Lady. I haven't seen all of her movies, but I haven't seen one I didn't like. Think this one's going to be a winner. Leave the boyfriends/husbands at home. They can watch the Red Raiders/Longhorns game.

Speaking of Keats, and college, and survey courses, I was in a public library for the first time in a long time yesterday. Whoa, things have changed. I have to admit, I was little disappointed at the selection. You never appreciate the things you have until they're gone, like a university library. Even at that, Southwestern's library wasn't exactly epic. But it was three stories tall. And they certainly had every book I could ever want. Pickins' were a little slim at this particular branch of the Sonoma Co. Library system.

But what stunned me was this: gone are the days of library cards and the cathartic stamping of the due date on a sleeved chart inside the book of your choice. Things have gotten a smidge high tech. Check out process is as follows:

1. Scan library card--name and profile appear on computer screen.
2. Computer message tells me to 'place books on table' (table being a black pad under the screen.)
3. I cautiously and skeptically place book #1--Larry McMurtry's Texasville--on said 'table'.
4. Title miraculously appears on screen. Serial number and all.

Aside: Before proceeding, I'm looking around trying to find the conspiracy in all of this. I look at the lady behind the desk to see if she's typing in my titles. Apparently not.

5. I place remaining books, in a single stack, on the 'table'. Each title appears accurately on screen.
6. Complete transaction.
7. Dialogue box appears: How would you like your receipt? Email? Fax? Print? Or Text? Email please.

Yeah. Space-agey or what? Maybe I'm behind the times, but I was so charmed by it all. Plus it's one of the few places in town with free Wi-Fi where I don't feel pressured to buy coffee. So awesome.

Still Alive

Indeed, you may--or may not--have noticed that new posts on this blog have recently been reduced to...zero. That's right. Very little blogging has been going on at this particular site.

I have little to say on the subject except that I have been doing a little too much of the above...I'll give you a minute to assess the image now.

Done? Mmmk. A little bit too much of THAT, along with working, traveling, bridesmaidsing, and other such shenanigans have significantly diminished my time and desire to blog. However, I feel the drive and inclination to continue said blogging coming back.

Do you ever just run out of crap to say? That's kinda what I was experiencing. But then maybe I was just saying it elsewhere. Who knows. But I've missed the ole blog and my sprinkling of readers. And so, I'm back. Hopefully.

In other news, I'm strongly considering a subtle renaming of the blog to match the direction it seems to naturally follow, which is a longing for all things Texan. Along with a few digressions into the areas of movies, television, news, and goofy anecdotes. Should be fun.

Speaking of which, how about that Gerard Butler? I just can't seem to get enough of that guy lately. Bad movies notwithstanding. When you're willing to sit through The Ugly Truth just so you can spend two hours with him, you know there's an issue. So what if it's just in a movie theatre. And it costs you ten dollars. IT'S WORTH IT. Suddenly Schumacher's Phantom of the Opera has strange appeal. Mmm.

I will be back for more. See you there.

MIA, The Piano, and College Memories

So I've been totally M.I.A. the last week. I'm going to blame the overflow of work I've been accumulating. I am slammed, y'all, SLAMMED. But hey, I'm not complaining. It sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not.

Anywho, in the midst of all this work I'm doing, I've also watched The Piano like three times this week. It's on OnDemand, you see. I know it's an oldie, but it may have worked it's way into my top ten. Who knew Harvey Keitel could be sexy.

See, usually, the mere thought of this movie made me go 'ugh'. I get that way about some movies sometimes. I don't know why. Slingblade is one of them. I refuse to watch it.

Why I was so against The Piano, I couldn't tell you. Historically, I love Jane Campion. I was one of the few folks that liked In the Cut and her The Portrait of a Lady is definitely one of my all time faves. It's weird, but you've got to see it. Amazing.

Honestly, you could probably blame it all on my college women's literature professor. She loved The Piano. And Jane Campion. And Harvey Keitel. She managed to bring it up in just about every class I ever had with her. By senior year, I was sick of hearing about it.

Speaking of which, some pretty shocking news from the Southwestern front. Steve Brandt, my senior cycling teacher and the head swim coach at SU, was found dead in his home last Thursday. Thirty three years old. A fine-tuned athlete. And they don't know why, according to my internet research.

I remember distinctly him ranting about how cycling was one of the few sports left because one person always won and every one else lost. "Running's not a sport. If you cross the finish line, you get applause. 'Everybody wins.' In cycling, if you're not first, you lose. End of story." Cool guy, to say the least. And gone WAY before his time. And I got more than one good quote out of him before the semester was up.

Some of my best stories are from the college class room. Gotta love the eccentric ramblings of the intelligentsia. That's probably why I love Richard Russo's Straight Man because that's pretty much all it's about. Crazy college professors, their paranoia and over analysis. It's a hoot.

If there's no other reason why you'd go to college, you should just to experience professorial mayhem. Apparently, academia makes people weird. Or so I'm told.

Got any good tales from the crypt, er, college classroom?

To Sneak or Not to Sneak

Confession, y'all. I did a bad thing. I know I should feel sort of guilty about it, yet I slept like a baby last night. Ugh, the torment!

See, I've been a pretty straight-laced kinda gal. Don't much care for breaking the rules. But then I'm not sure if it's because I want to do the right thing--or because I don't want to get caught doing a bad thing. Oooo....

At the movies with the hubs and a friend this weekend (we saw Body of Lies, not bad, not bad), we had the idea to go for a double-header. You know, two movies, one night. It's fun, you should try it. Anywho, so we start roaming around the halls to find a movie that a) we want to see and b) hasn't already started. We land on Burn After Reading which, as fate would have it, started in only fifteen minutes.

Now, I just assumed that we would exit the theatre, purchase tickets, and re-enter as good, law-abiding citizens would do. However, as hubs and friend got that devilish twinkle in their eyes, I realized that this was not the plan.

And so...we did it. We casually entered the theatre as if we were paying customers only...we weren't.

Now, it wasn't a sold out theatre or anything. And there were a few other folks in there. And the theatre runs the movie anyway, whether there's people watching or not. So...what's the big deal, right?

Not ironically, there was something wrong with the film and Burn After Reading--which really isn't that good anyway, to my shock and awe--was a little bit blurry the whole time. We couldn't complain of course because we didn't have any tickets, you see. Karma, leave me be.

Under the circumstances described above, was it wrong to sneak into said movie? I can't lie, I feel a little guilty about it. But then the hubs says I'm just being a baby. And Friend gave me a speech about the importance of civil disobedience.

Thoughts, rebels?