I lost interest in Breaking Bad almost immediately – the second episode focused gruesomely on how to dissolve a body – and so missed the finale which, as one friend told me, was “completely awesome”.Today’s Breaking Bad cult reminds me of the M*A*S*H* hype in 1983. My film class that night – unwisely scheduled opposite the series-ending finale – was reduced from 400 to 50 students, who watched Veritigo instead. This is not to say that I’m above it all. I did witness the finale of the first Survivor series and have seen The Bachelor’s After the Final Rose more than once. Although, as the drama tends towards tedium, I do tend to watch these on DVR.
Brendan at the Chelsea, a play written by Behan’s niece Janet Behan, recalls Brendan Behan’s tumultuous days in New York during the early 1960’s.While Behan referred to himself as “A drinker with a writing problem,” he had the lyrical gift like few others. The days passed, and I was fitted and refitted, and every old one in the house came up to look at the suit, and took a pinch of snuff, and a sup out of the jug, and wished me long life and the health to wear and tear it and they spent that much time viewing it round, back, belly and sides, that Miss McCann hadn’t time to make the overcoat, and like an answer to a prayer, I was brought down to Talbot Street, and dressed out in a dinging overcoat, belted like a grown-up man’s. (From The Confirmation Suit)
The Wizard of Oz is not so much a spectacle as it is a wonder. It is the details of the enterprise – recently re-released in 3D – the dialogue and characters as much as the make-up and set design.
When Dorothy plummets with her house into Oz, after the whirling symphonic chaos of the twister, the sequence ends in dead silence broken by Dorothy blurting, “Oh!”These small and wonderful things punctuate the film. A lonely peacock wanders around the Tinman’s house. The Cowardly Lion sings of genuflecting chipmunks. A flying monkey’s face is immersed in poisonous smoke. And Toto, energetically wagging his tail, is in almost every shot, following the troupe on their quest.
Yes, the songs and dance numbers are something to behold, but in the end, it’s really all in the fluffy green gloves.
The train has stopped. There are no announcements. The signs inform us that the 18% who drop out need 100% of our help and that you will go to jail if you resell your guns. A wide-eyed woman searches her phone for another song while a bearded fat devil licks cheesy-fry grease from his fingers and a gaunt man, new accounting textbooks on his knees, speaks too loudly into his phone, declaring his price and promising to be there soon.
The train has stopped.
My mother was leaving me notes, slipping them under the door. I waited in bed and then was back at the door and found them there. They were threats. I tried to wait in the hall, but they only came when I was back in bed, in the dark. It wasn’t only her, but they were in her hand-writing, even and clear, a long list of things against me, what I had done wrong, what was wrong with me.It was awful thinking of her out there, by my door, waiting for me to lie in my bed, thinking of what to write and sliding the next note, the next bit of torture, along the wood, leaving it there for me to endure.
There aren’t many jobs more difficult than construction. And while these guys are only ten stories above ground, the challenge and risk are in no way diminished. Look at the worker, in the upper left hand of this sequence, scaling down the girder. There is a video for each of these sequences. Just click on any of the pictures above.