Wyndham? Damn near killed ‘em

Last week I piled the wife, daughter and the son-in-law into my fourteen-year old Lexus ES350—really just a Camry dressed up for Saturday night—and took them down the coast to San Diego, where we were meeting up with my son and his fiancé to go see Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band.

I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

They were playing at Pechanga Arena, a venue I was unfamiliar with and had never been to, even though it’s been there over sixty years under various names.

Since it was just an overnight trip, and arena shows are notorious for hellish parking and hours-long traffic jams leaving afterwards, I used my big brain and thought the best thing to do would be to book us three rooms at a nearby hotel, where we’d be able to leave the car and just walk to the show.

The hotel I found, the Wyndham Garden San Diego Sea World (the arena is right behind the orca prison) was literally across the street from the arena.

Being the hotel snob I am, after perusing their website and seeing that the rooms and the hotel in general—while not up to the usual Hotel Del Coronado/Fairmont San Francisco/Essex House New York/Four Seasons Seattle accommodations I’ve grown accustomed to—looked decent enough for an inexpensive overnight stay.

But as we all know, when it comes to looks, as in used cars and the opposite sex at closing time, they can be deceiving.

Most arenas are not located in the better part of town, and Pechanga is no exception.

When we pulled into the hotel, which come to find out was more of a motel, it looked decent enough. The woman at the front desk who checked us in was pleasant, and directed us to the building our rooms were in. On the way over, we noticed several extremely sketchy characters not just around the property, but staying there.

It reminded me of the Crystal Palace on Breaking Bad, except without the charm. Although if they had room service, like the Crystal Palace, I was pretty sure meth was on the menu.

We went into the room and, as they say, it was nothing like the brochure. Dingy, dirty and with a prison bathroom, there was only one window with a transparent shade out to the upstairs walkway. I imagine that was to make it easier for the addicts to decide what to steal.

All I could think was Gitmo must’ve been booked for the weekend.

If I’d been a little more thorough in my research, and the only reason I wasn't was because I was pretty danged pleased I'd found a place within walking distance, I would’ve seen the pictures of cockroaches in the rooms and Wyndham’s less than stellar ratings on Yelp.

That would’ve been the first clue.

I told everyone not to put anything on the beds, we were getting out of there.

Speaking with the woman who’d checked us in not fifteen minutes earlier, I let her know the rooms weren’t what we expected and we weren’t going to stay. Without skipping a beat, she said no problem and gave us a full refund. Which told me this probably was a daily request.

Fortunately, the Hyatt Regency Mission Bay Spa & Marina had rooms available and we wound up staying there. Instead of across the street, it was a six-minute Uber ride to the arena, and a million miles away from the Wyndham.

In a word, the Hyatt was heaven. I can’t say enough good things about it. And I believe in my heart that their staff is as great and the accommodations as comfortable, clean and pleasant as they were all the time—not just because we’d made our escape from the bowels of hell.

I wasn't trapped in the Wyndham cell long enough to notice if they had movie channels on the TV. If they do, I'd recommend watching Escape From Alcatraz.

Not for the movie. For the plan.

On being Biff

You know the face right? Sure, it looks a little older than when you first saw it. But still, your mind instantly knows exactly who it is. And why you recognize him.

Isn’t that right, butthead?

Along with Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter, Ralph Fiennes as Lord Voldemort, Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates and Margaret Hamilton as the Wicked Witch just to name a few, Tom Wilson is in the unique and rarified position of having been one of the screen’s most iconic villains, Biff Tannen, in the wildly successful Back To The Future series.

As Tom points out in his revealing new YouTube documentary, Humbly Super Famous, being Biff is both a blessing and a curse.

In the film, Tom takes us on his journey to getting cast in the role, which he initially didn't want, and how surprisingly close it was to his own experience growing up.

Not being the bully, but being the victim of bullying on almost a daily basis.

There are sweet moments in the film, like fans tearfully talking about how BTTF changed their lives, and how much the film means to them. There are also surreal moments as well, like when a hospital employee wants to talk about the movie and Tom’s role while his mom is in her last moments. It’s those encounters that leave you shaking your head.

Another story about how Tom, fresh off his second hip replacement surgery, has a fan encounter in a restaurant while he’s eating, and despite the excruciating pain of standing up, does it without complaint to accommodate the fan’s request.

In the film we also meet Tom’s beautiful family, his son and daughters. His wife Caroline appears, though only in photographs, and with a label covering her face that says “wife.”

Full disclosure: I know Tom. We met through our mutual friend Ned when he was shooting BTTF. And while I wouldn’t call us close friends, we’ve run into each other several times over the years at different events—bar mitzvahs, a wedding, another wedding, out by the Korean BBQ truck—and every time, Tom is a funny, giving, gregarious, inclusive and a joyful instigator of fun. My kids and my wife adore him. When they know Tom's going to be somewhere we are, they prepare themselves to have their sides hurt from laughing and ask me to drive there faster.

Even if I didn't know him, I'd tell you to do yourself a favor and watch Humbly Super Famous. You’ll see why Tom is really nothing like Biff.

Now go on, make like a tree and get out of here.

Encore post: What's the rumpus

Last night the wife and I were doing a little channel surfing, and came across one of my favorite films of all time - Miller's Crossing. I was going to post about what a great film it is and how much I love it, but then I realized I'd already done that nine years ago. So you get to read it (maybe for the second time), and I don't have to write a new post. It's what I like to call a win-win. What's the rumpus is a recurring line in the movie. It's so good, someone really should grab that URL. Oh wait, someone already has. Enjoy the post. And as Gabriel Byrne as Tom Reagan says, "Don't get hysterical."

From the first frames of Blood Simple, I've been a Coen Brothers fan. I've enjoyed everything they've done. I even managed to find a few lines worth hearing in The Ladykillers.

But for now and always, my favorite Coen Brothers film is Miller's Crossing.

For me, it's pitch perfect on every level. The writing in particular is so authentic and of the time, it demands attention to follow exactly what's going on. I like movies where I'm required to be an active participant and not an innocent bystander. I also like movies where I don't know what's coming, or, as Tom Reagan (Gabriel Byrne) would say, what the play is.

On the surface it's a gangster film. But it's really about loyalties, relationships, jealously, consequences, love and sacrifice in the most honorable sense.

Brilliant performances all the way around, it's also the movie that made Gabriel Byrne a star (at least in America), and introduced us to Marcia Gay Harden. Albert Finney is superb as mob boss Leo. The film is also filled with Coen Bros. favorites: Jon Polito is brilliant as usual as rival mob boss Casper. John Turturro gives yet another of his eccentric, memorable, scene-stealing performances (while we're talking about Turturro, have a look at him in Big Lebowski). Steve Buscemi, although not going through a wood-chipper in this one like he did in Fargo, has a short, memorable bit that's pure gold.

If you have an eye for detail, you'll notice an apartment building in the film called the Barton Arms. If you're a Coen Bros. fan, you'll know why that's so cool.

Sadly Miller's Crossing didn't do nearly as well commercially as it deserved to because it had the unlucky honor of being a gangster film released the same year as Goodfellas and Godfather III. For me, of the three, it's the best of its' genre.

In this movie, as one of the characters says, "Up is down, black is white." I say Miller's Crossing is a great film you owe it to yourself to see.

Toast

Some of my regular readers (pauses to laugh at the idea I have "regular readers") may know my beautiful daughter got married to her longtime boyfriend this past weekend. Needless to say, I got unexpectedly choked up. It was a complete waterworks show—a tear-filled event.

And that was just writing the check for the venue.

Ponying up for the day is just one of the traditions the Father of the Bride is required to abide by before and during the big day. The wedding toast is another one.

There are basically five steps to every FOB toast.

The welcome. Thank everyone for taking the time and making the effort to come. You know how you feel about traveling to a wedding on a perfectly good Saturday. They feel the same way and they still made the trip. Thank them all. Even the ones you wish hadn’t.

A story about the bride. Here the FOB has to tread lightly. There are a lifetime of stories to choose from, and while you may find the truly memorable ones amusing there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’ll find them embarrassing. Memory is funny that way. Choose accordingly.

A story about the groom. You know when he entered the picture, how he treats your daughter and what he’s like. My now son-in-law is an awesome person and I couldn’t be happier my daughter chose him. You may not be as lucky. But, and being a husband you already know this, what you think doesn’t matter. It’s her day, and he’s the one she’s riding off into the sunset with. Toughen up cupcake. Make sure you have nothing but good things to say, even if you don’t.

Welcome the groom and his family to your family. Do I think even though birthdays, Christmas and Thanksgiving will get a lot more crowded you should be excited about your new extended family, and go in expecting nothing but the best? I do.

Words of wisdom. Your daughter and her betrothed are entering into an arrangement you’ve been in for years. Have you learned nothing in all that time? Unlikely. Find some words of wisdom to pass on to the happy couple. The good news is they don’t even have to be your words. Movie quotes are a good way to go. I'd stay away from "You're gonna need a bigger boat" and "Make him an offer he can't refuse." I went with one from Good Will Hunting. Not the one about apples, the one that says "The guy doesn't have to be perfect, and the girl doesn't have to be perfect. As long as they're perfect for each other." Sweet, amIrite?

If you’re looking for a little inspiration, and trust me, I’m the last person you should ever be looking to for that, but if you are then maybe this will help.

Here’s how I started my FOB toast.

”Thank you all for coming. You know, when I started thinking about this toast, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot, several words came to me right away. Beautiful. Strong. Independent. Funny. Talented. Courageous. But then I thought, this shouldn’t be about me, this is her day."

You’re welcome.

Say no to NOPE

Here’s the obligatory SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t seen the movie NOPE, there are things in this post that will spoil some of the surprises in the film. Consider yourself warned.

I’m a great audience. Really, the kind filmmakers dream about. I go into comedies wanting to laugh, I go into suspense and horror films wanting to be nervous and scared—even more so than I am in real life—and I go into love stories wanting to fall in love all over again.

I’m easy that way. And other ways. For another post.

The point is when I went to see NOPE, I was ready to be scared and surprised. After all, I loved Jordan Peele’s directorial debut GET OUT, liked but less so his follow up US, and was ready to enjoy his latest offering.

Come to find out the biggest surprise was how disappointing the movie is.

It’s hard to write about it because even though I said SPOILER ALERT at the top—remember way back then—I don’t want to spoil too much if you’re planning to see it even after this review.

Jordan Peele is a massively skilled writer, director and visual artist. There are sequences stunning in their staging, and for the most part he doesn’t fall into horror film tropes like jump scares—for example the bathroom mirror being closed revealing someone, or something, behind it.

For the most part.

I understand Peele is going for symbolism and using the premise as metaphor for a broader message. But the screenplay is unfortunately so jumbled, and trying to convey several messages, it's unclear exactly what the story is supposed to represent or add up to at the end of it all. For me, there was absolutely no emotional attachement to any of the characters, with the possible exception of being afraid for the actors in the scenes with a chimpanzee that I'll talk about in a minute.

I know I like Daniel Kaluuya, who also starred in Peele's GET OUT. But here, he appears to be sleepwalking through most of the film, especially in his scenes with Keke Palmer who single handedly provides the jolt of energy, humor and liveliness missing from the other performances. You can even see it in the trailer:

The main story revolves around the first black Hollywood horse wrangling family, and a flying saucer that visits them to maybe devour them? Take them to the planet from whence it came? Stop by for a spot of tea? Never really clear where it's from or why it’s there other than to hide in a cloud that doesn’t move, and come roaring out once in awhile so the sound design department has something to do.

Steven Yuen is also in the movie, and there’s a backstory to him about being a child star on a sitcom with a chimpanzee as his co-star. There are flashbacks to this, and a horrific incident with the chimp that's without a doubt the genuinely truly scariest thing in the whole film. But sadly the entire sequence is only about five minutes total of a two-hour, eleven-minute film.

And as long as I’m picking at the bones, I know I said Peele is a great visual artist. Which is why it’s so baffling near the end of the movie, the flying sauce which had looked like a solid object earlier transforms into something like a king-size sheet caught in the wind, rippling through the sky trying to be scary.

NOPE has been getting mixed reviews, with an 81% Fresh from critics and 69% from audiences on Rotten Tomatoes. My feeling is Jordan Peele is experiencing what I like to call the M. Night Shyamalan effect. That is to say he's the recipient of a great deal of residual goodwill from his awesome first film, making people show more restraint when it comes to being as honest about his follow up efforts as they might want to be.

It’s probably worth a viewing once it comes on the streamer of your choice, if only for the two horrifying scenes with the chimpanzee. In the comfort of your home, with some Ruffles and onion dip at the ready, and the ability to stand up every once in a while.

But as far as spending money to see it in the theater, paying the concession stand and parking tax, and not be able to stand up for over two hours?

I can sum up my answer in one word.

Unchained Melody

This may come as a surprise to you—I know it did to me—but some of the people who come to this blog actually come here to learn something. Mostly what they learn is there are better things to do with their time.

Today however, I’m putting out a few facts you may not have known about one of my favorite songs: Unchained Melody. So there.

Most people are familiar with Unchained Melody either by way of the Righteous Brothers hit in 1965, or the infamous Demi Moore / Patrick Swayze penis pottery scene in the 1990 film Ghost. But, and here comes the learning part, Unchained Melody had already been a hit a decade before the Righteous Brothers sang it.

Originally written by composer Alex North and lyricist Hy Zaret for the 1955 movie Unchained (hence the name), it was sung in the film by Todd Duncan, playing a prisoner longing for his wife.

Two different versions, an instrumental and one with lyrics, were released with the film and recorded by various people including Harry Belafonte. Unchained Melody was on the Billboard charts four times that year.

It would be impossible to show all the versions of the song that’ve been done in the last 65 years, but hell you’ve obviously got too much time on your hands or you wouldn’t be here.

I kid because I love.

Anyway, I’ve curated a few versions—including the Righteous Brothers—for your listening and viewing pleasure.

My personal favorites of this bunch are Rodric King, who started his musical career doing karaoke in bars and Mike Yung, a subway busker for the last 37 years performing on America’s Got Talent. They’re both genuinely amazing.

See if you don’t agree.

All alone in the moonlight

Here's what I love about my friend Nicole. When I confessed to her, somewhat quietly and definitely with a heapin' helpin' of personal shame, that I actually wanted to go see the movie CATS, without missing a beat she said, "I DO TOO!" So right then and there we made a date to get liquored up (the only way to enjoy it) and go.

Sadly, by the time we were ready to make a night of it, CATS was out of the theaters (tried for an "out of the bag" joke here, I just couldn't make it work).

Anyway, this post was going to be all about how awful the movie is, the horrible reviews, the millions it cost Universal, why I wanted to see it and how on her worst day Nicole is a far better writer than I am (although I wasn't going to dwell on that).

But on the way to looking for an image to go with this post, I ran into a bunch of CATS parody posters.

If you know anything about me—and I believe you may know more than you want to by now—you know I'm a dog person. I'm constantly overdoing it with posts on the interwebs about my Hide-A-Sock terrier Lucy, and my second German Shepherd Ace.

By the way, you can read all about my first German Shepherd Max in a tearjerking yet heartwarming story I wrote for a book called Gone Dogs, which every dog lover should have sitting on their coffee table, and every dog lover's friend should be buying them. What's that? Oh sure, you can buy it here.

I may have digressed a bit.

So anyway while I was looking for the CATS movie poster for this post, I ran across several parody cat posters. Apparently there's an entire cat underground that spends their days on Photoshop making these posters. Any one of which I'm guessing is better than the CATS movie.

So for your pleasure, here are a few I found that I'm pretty sure are more entertaining than the movie.

And Nicole, one word: Cable.

Downton Jeffy

I’ll be the first to admit every once in awhile I’m late to the high tea party.

A few years ago, I remember walking through my living room as my wife and daughter, both of whom I recognized immediately, were watching Downton Abbey. They invited me to join them, but I had better things to do than sit through what I assumed was a boring British period piece where I couldn’t understand half the things they were saying.

Whose language is it anyway?

Besides, if it didn’t involve cooking meth, a rock and roll singer from New Jersey, a mob family or playing craps I wasn’t that interested. Yes I drive a very narrow lane. Shut up.

Fast forward. The wife and I are in a theater, and we see a trailer for Downton Abbey: The Motion Picture coming out this September. It revealed nothing, other than an interest on her part to re-watch the entire TV series in preparation for seeing the film. She invited me to watch it with her, and, never being one to miss an opportunity to score some marriage points, I agreed.

Here’s the thing: I am so hooked. I love this show in a way I have loved very few shows. It’s totally character driven, and the lives of the Crawley family are as interesting and intriguing as said meth kingpins or mob bosses.

There's no shortage of palace intrigue at the Abbey. Murder, rape, World Wars, the Titanic sinking, relatives dying, bastard children, backstabbing, romance, betrayal, sexual identity crisis, illicit affairs, women's liberation and the changing times just after the turn of the century are all a part of it.

Then there’s the brilliant, subtle, nuanced, hitting-every-note acting. A British cast for the most part (with one notable exception being a pivotal character played by Shirley MacClaine), each character has an opportunity to shine with a storyline devoted to them. My personal favorite standout is Dame Maggie Smith, a distinguished and accomplished actor, who if you don't know her large body of work which covers over 70 years, you'll at least remember her as Professor Minerva McGonagall from the Harry Potter series. She conveys more with a look than most actors do with a soliloquy.

The show itself is like watching a feature film every episode. Rich, beautiful cinematography, stunning scenery, magnificent production design and a wardrobe budget costume designers wait their entire career for.

The writing is, as they say, spot on. Beyond cleverly written, each character (and there are a lot of them) is completely drawn.

As of this writing I’ve just finished up season four, which ended on a sweet note with a heartfelt Christmas episode. I cried like a baby. My macho self-esteem is not threatened.

If you have the time, Downton Abbey is well worth the binge. As Violet Crawley (Maggie Smith) says, "It seems a pity to miss such a good pudding."

Quite right.

Mr. T-Rex

I'm not gonna lie. I can't wait for Jurassic Park: Fallen Kingdom. Even though it'll be the fifth installment in the series, after 65 million years it still never gets old.

After the primordial mess that was Jurassic Park 3, I thought for sure the series was extinct for good. But like a mosquito trapped in amber, sequels find a way.

Being a Hollywood kid I should've known better: never underestimate the power of recycling an old idea to make new money. Besides, even though Jurassic World wasn't great, it was fun. There were enough things about it I liked to keep me wanting more. Just like my high school girlfriend.

The story hadn't gotten much better, but the technology had. Those raptors and the T-Rex were looking mighty real. Plus Chris Pratt is a personal favorite, and always good for a laugh. Put that together with Bryce Dallas Howard running through the jungle in high heels, and you've got gold Jerry. Gold!

I'll never be too old to love dinosaurs, especially when they're running rampant, devouring bad guys and chewing the scenery. And I mean chewing the scenery. Judging by the trailer, it looks like it's going to be exactly what it was intended to be, and exactly what I'm looking for: a great summer popcorn movie, wildly entertaining and satisfying if you don't stop to think too much about it.

And if I'm wrong, there's always the next one.

Don't ask: Taking the middle seat

In my ongoing Don't Ask series I've covered such hot-button issues as moving, watching your stuff, sharing a hotel room and loaning you money to name a few. In tonight's installment, I tackle a topic that makes me very uncomfortable. The middle seat.

The middle is a place I've never cared for much. Middle management. Middle America. Middle earth. Middle of the road. Thanks, but no (being a night owl, I don't mind the middle of the night, but we're going to table that for the purposes of this post).

Let's start at the movies. When I go with friends, often they like to sit dead center in the theater. Alledgedly the picture and sound are calibrated for the optimum movie-going experience in those seats. You know who doesn't have the optimum experience sitting there? Me. My comfort zone is on the aisle—right or left, center or side. Doesn't matter. I've been going to movies my whole life, and I don't feel like I've missed much by sitting on the aisle.

There's a method to my no-center-seat madness. For starters, I'm a not a small guy. I'm built for comfort, not for speed—at least that's what I used to tell my high school girlfriend. I don't like feeling crowded.

I also have the bladder of a three-year old. At some point he'll want it back, but until then I'm using it (I'll be here all week). Because of that inconvenient truth, I don't like having to crawl over strangers in the dark, potentially stepping on their toes or knocking over their stupid bag of popcorn that should've been in their lap instead of on the floor. But can I tell them that? I can't, because there's no talking during the movie. And besides, I don't have time to chat. I need to get to the bathroom.

The other place you'll never find me in the middle seat is on an airplane.

Being the pampered poodle I am, it's always my preference to fly in the front of the plane, where middle seats are imaginary, non-existent things like unicorns or responsible Republicans. People always ask me, "Isn't it really expensive to fly in the front of the plane?" I always give them the same answer: that's what the college fund is for.

But on those occasions where I do find myself in a three-seat row on the plane, my seat choice happens in this order: window, aisle or window or aisle in another row.

I don't fly in the middle seat. Ever. Not to sound mean, but I'm not switching to the middle so you can be closer to your wife who's sitting behind us. Or so you can put a little distance between you and your screaming baby. Not because you're scared of flying and my window/aisle seat would make it easier.

I used to be scared of flying, and look how good I am at it now. Know what helped me get over it? Not flying in the middle seat.

If you somehow find yourself traveling with me, or going to the movies, I promise we'll have a good time. But make sure you set your expectations ahead of time, because when it comes to where I'm sitting, there's no middle ground.

So don't ask.

One word too many - again

Here's the situation I find myself in tonight. I can't keep my eyes open.

Yet, being the determined professional blogger I am, I don't want to disappoint my audience of 9 and let them go an entire day without a post.

So I won't. It's just not going to be a good one. It's going to be a lazy one (so lazy I didn't add the Baby Driver poster to it - you'll see what I mean in a second).

It's not even a lot of writing, which is good because those sheep won't wait to be counted much longer. Instead it's just a silly little visual gag. The good news is it'll only take less than a minute to read it. The better news is that I didn't have to write it.

I'm going to bed now. Please to enjoy.

Is it just me, or does anyone else see a pattern here?

The lost art

A long time ago, in a world and time that seems more quaint with each passing minute, people had this thing they used to do with each other. Can you guess what it was?

I'll give you a hint. It didn't involve phones, smart or otherwise. Or glowing screens. Not even fast typing with your thumbs. Give up? People used to talk to each other.

Uninterrupted, interested, interesting, engaging conversations. Even in disagreement, their tongues managed to stay civil. They were receptive to new ideas. And found joy in the camaraderie. Told you it was a quaint time.

The picture above is from a movie that wouldn't stand a chance of getting made today, unless it had commitments from Vin Diesel and Mark Wahlberg. But, you know, neither of them are known for being great talkers. So probably not even then.

The movie was called My Dinner With Andre. Made 37 years ago, it was directed by Louis Malle and starred Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory. The entire film is the two of them sharing a conversation at Café des Artistes in Manhattan. They talk about their lives, their philosophies, the simple pleasures. There are no car crashes, no CGI monsters or superheroes and no phones ringing.

And it is wildly intelligent and entertaining.

What brought on this unexpected nostalgia for a time where a social network was a cocktail party at Tavern On The Green was a conversation I had with my writer friend Eric at work today. We weren't solving any of the world's problems. For that matter we weren't solving any work problems either (Shhhh!). We were just chatting it up about cars, family, movies, This Is Us and how the older our kids get the stupider they think we are.

I enjoyed it immensely. The exchange of viewpoints, the in-the-momentness of it all. Nobody was rushing to answer a call or get back to work.

It's a contradictory world we're living in, what with devices that promise connection yet deliver isolation. Yet without a two-year plan, roaming charges, eye strain or digital chimes we can make a human connection that's so much more entertaining and enjoyable.

As Wallace Shawn in another movie might say, "Inconceivable!"

Guilty Pleasures Part 11: Paddington 2

Okay, okay, okay. Before you start in on me, let me explain.

It's been awhile since I've done a post to my wildly popular, highly quotable and often referenced Guilty Pleasures series. I'm sure you all remember Guilty Pleasures 1 through 10, including such overlooked, underrated and attention-starved films such as the Final Destination movies, Breakdown, The Faculty, Carrie, Devil's Advocate and the ever popular Three Stooges.

Now in a normal world, which I think you'll agree it hasn't been since January 20, 2017, you couldn't drag me into a theater to see Paddington 2. Not that I have anything in particular against animated, British-accented, marmalade-loving bears. It's just not my wheelhouse.

So it begs the question: why did I see it?

Because my film major son recommended it. Highly. I figured okay, I'll check out exactly why I'm paying thousands of dollars for his sensibilities and cinematic taste to be corrupted to the point of him liking Paddington 2.

My review: it was outstanding. And as you can see by the Rotten Tomatoes score below, I'm not the only one who feels that way.

The animation is as beautiful as anything you'll see this year, especially Paddington's trip through the pop-up book which is central to the plot of the movie. Hugh Grant is wonderful and a revelation in ways he hasn't been before. Funny, loose and clearly enjoying himself more than he has in years, his physical comedy and timing are nothing short of masterful. There's a genuine depth and emotion to all the characters, animated or not, and their family feels like yours by the end of the movie.

The unexpected part, besides the fact I forked over ten bucks to see it, is how emotional it gets-not with manufactured, manipulated feelings but with genuine empathy for the characters.

Like the best of Disney's animated movies—The Lion King, Beauty & The Beast or Little Mermaid—I found myself with a tear on deck for a couple things that happen towards the end of the film. With eyes welling up, I was forced to quickly reach for the incredibly thin napkins I got with the $15 dollar hot dog and medium drink combination.

Sally Hawkins plays a lead role in Paddington 2. If you saw her outstanding performance in this year's The Shape Of Water, you'll appreciate a scene at the end of Paddington 2 (one of the emotional ones) that's sort of an unintentional inside joke referencing that other film.

Before the movie, there were five trailers for other animated films that all looked like crap. Chaos, fart jokes, stupid one-liners and characters you couldn't care less about.

A lot like my high school graduating class.

Anyway, if you're in the mood for an entertaining couple of hours, do what I did. Get over yourself, put away the attitude and get ready to have some good laughs and a good cry at Paddington 2.

And don't worry if you haven't seen the first Paddington. You won't have any trouble following along.

The bore is strong with this one

SPOILER ALERT: Ok, I'm required by blogging law to let you know I'll be talking, actually writing (if you can call this writing) about things that happen in the newest Star Wars installment, The Last Jedi. If you don't want to know about them, you might want to skip this post, you know, the same way you blow by most of the other ones.

The fact the Star Wars mythology and its characters are all some people live and breath has not escaped me. In fact, I appreciate and understand it. When it comes to being compulsive about things, we're all on this bus together (for reference, look up posts on Springsteen, Breaking Bad and sushi). So agree or disagree, I fully expect there'll be a lot of blowback. I can take it. And besides, the comments are moderated. Just like Trump's EPA, you don't get to use all your words here.

Alright, you've been warned. Which is more than I was before I walked into the theater. Perhaps I've tipped my hand.

Here we go.

I don't know why, but my son, along with several friends of mine, were somewhat perplexed at the fact I didn't rush out to see Star Wars: The Last Jedi on opening weekend. What can I tell you? On the list of things I had to do for the holidays, it wasn't at the top. But I did get there today, and I left the theater with a few questions.

First and foremost, at what point do the Star Wars movies become parodies of themselves? Answer: this one. It's like that holiday recipe you have every year. You know it's coming, and exactly what to expect. Start with the "long time ago in a galaxy far, far way..." line, a crawl explaining the story you're about to see so you know what you're seeing, add a cup of Skywalker legend, mix in a smattering of Storm Troopers, add a pinch of rebellion, some force whammy-jammy, a surprise appearance for absolutely no reason of a Jedi Master (guess which one you will), nervous, chatty droids, double-bladed lightsabers, a new character for no reason other than they'll sell plenty of plush-toy versions of it next Christmas, a couple cameos from serious actors who don't usually do "these kinds of films", lots of talk about the First Order and Supreme Leader, TIE fighters, X-wing fighters and a casino scene reminiscent of the bar scene in the original film.

Mix thoroughly for two and half hours, and it's done. Just like last year's movie. Just like next year's.

Here's another question: how tall is Oscar Isaac? The Google says he's 5'9", but if that's true it doesn't show on screen. He's supposed to be the next generation Han surrogate, cracking wise, looking handsome and mad pilot skills. But to me all he looks is short. Don't get me wrong, I like Oscar Isaac. I just think in a world of 7' tall wookies and a 6'2" Kylo Ren, maybe taller might've been a way to go.

When did Luke become a stand up comic? The Last Jedi is funny in the way the Terminator movies are funny. There are laugh lines written in, and Luke has a lot of them. Many of them stick the landing, but they also break the tone of the film.

Speaking of the tone of the film, what is it? Serious? Funny? Suspenseful? Is it a love story? A story of redemption? Luke is always tearing up in the close ups, which makes me think he has some issues he's not dealing with—besides that whole father thing and kissing his sister a few films back. Will or won't Kylo Ren and Rey start dating?

Then there's just the overwhelming sadness of Carrie Fisher. Like in the last film, she seems to be in a somewhat enhanced state, giving all her lines a neutral, relatively even, emotionless read. Still, she is the one character you care about, not because of the film but because of real life. There is a moving exchange between Luke and Leia near the end of the movie that takes on much more poignancy in light of her passing.

Why the hell is Adam Driver yelling through the whole thing? What's with the shirtless scene? Never mind, I know.

Why is Snokes chamber a bare stage with a seamless lit in red? My guess is the budget went to the effects, and by the time they shot those scenes that's all they could afford. Seriously, you can see where the curtain hits the stage floor.

Who am I supposed to care about? I suppose the answer would be everyone, but that would be wishful thinking in the extreme. I cared about Rey a bit. I was invested in Luke for a while. Didn't care much about any other characters. Film after film, they're not really growing or doing anything different. Can't mess with the recipe.

Did I mention two and a half hours? The last thirty or forty minutes aren't bad, but the two hours before that are slow. Really slow. The opposite of hyper speed slow.

The movie crawls to its end, only to have us discover what we already knew since The Force Awakens—that Luke is in fact not the last Jedi.

At least not as long as Disney keeps making billions cranking them out.

The rafters

I put up a Facebook post recently about my trip back to New York to see Springsteen On Broadway. In the comments, I saw my good friend Shivaun put one up asking me if I saw anything in the rafters. I was startled by it, not because of what it said, but because she remembered. It was a reference very few people in my orbit know about, and an experience I hadn't thought about in many years.

And Shivaun, if you're reading this, I'm grateful to you for reminding me of it.

It begins, as so many of my stories do, at a Bruce Springsteen concert. Bruce was doing a five-night gig at the late, great Los Angeles Sports Arena. My girlfriend at the time—now my wife—would always go with me to the opening and closing shows of his multi-night gigs. So it didn't come as a surprise that she didn't want to go to all five shows this time—two were enough for her.

Yeah, I know, but I married her anyway.

Naturally I wouldn't have missed the shows for any reason, but this tour it was more important than usual that I be there. My dad had died unexpectedly a couple months earlier, six years after my mom had passed away. Being an only child, after I lost my dad, I jokingly (kind of) referred to myself as an orphan. My spirit—sad, defeated, lost and feeling very much alone—was in dire need of the kind of lifting only a Springsteen concert can give me.

I don't remember which show in between the opening and closing one it was, but with me that night was an art director, friend and one-time roommate of mine named Monte Hallis.

Now anyone who knows me knows I'm long past believing there's any concert worth a few hours sitting in the nosebleed seats. Unless of course that concert is Bruce Springsteen. If it means the difference between being in the building and not, I'll sit wherever I can get a seat.

Monte and I sat in the very definition of nosebleed seats: the very last row where you could reach up and touch the ceiling of the arena, at the complete opposite end of the building from the stage (may I direct your attention to the yellow arrow in the top picture).

It was just after intermission, and Bruce came out to start his second half of the show. Because I'd already seen it two or three times, I knew the first song was going to be Cover Me.

My Bruce tramp pals and me have a name for his songs we're not crazy about. We call them bathroom songs, because if we have to go, those are the ones we don't mind missing. And, I know you never thought you'd read these words from me, but there are songs of his I'm just not crazy about.

Working On A Dream is one. So is Outlaw Pete, or as my friend Kim appropriately calls it Outlaw Pee. And at the top of my list, Cover Me.

So the lights dim, Bruce rips into Cover Me, and I'm just removed from it all. I'm watching Monte watching Bruce. I see the entire arena in front of me rocking out.

Then it happened.

It was like a fog set in, figuratively speaking. Movie like, the sound slowly faded way, way down but not out entirely. The crowd jumping up and down and pumping their fists seemed to be doing it in slow motion. Scanning the building, I tilted my head up and peered into the darkness that lay just up above. Moving my eyes along the rafters from one side to the other, my vision landed on a beam above and a little in front of me.

And a smile came across my face, because that's when I saw him. My dad was sitting on the rafter waving to me.

He was sitting on a horizontal beam, legs crossed and dangling below him. His right arm was wrapped around a vertical beam, and he was wearing the new purple plaid bathrobe my girlfriend and I had given him at Christmas—two months before he died. He had his blue striped pajamas on underneath, and his brown slippers with the fleece lining on his feet. His glasses, like always, were sitting askew on top of his nose that'd been broken years ago and never set correctly.

As our eyes locked in what definitely was a moment out of time, I realized he wasn't just waving randomly at me.

He was saying he loved me.

He wanted me to know everything was going to be okay.

He was telling me he was at peace.

He was waving goodbye.

I understood, and I smiled and nodded up at him. Then, I slowly looked away from him and came back to the room. The sound dialed back up again, the fans were moving in real time and Monte was enjoying herself immensely.

I looked back up at the rafter, and he was gone.

Where's Wilford Brimley when you need him?

Wilford Brimley takes a lot of heat because of those stupid Quaker Oats commercials he did years ago. I didn't like 'em either, but I get it: there ain't no shame in making the rent.

From The China Syndrome to The Firm to The Thing to any number of other films that start with "The", Brimley has had an interesting career chock full of exceptional performances.

The one I want to talk about here is the character he played in a great, too-little-seen movie called Absence Of Malice, starring alongside Sally Field and Paul Newman. Brimley played Assistant U.S. Attorney General James A. Wells, a no nonsense, straight-shooting public servant who was going to do what it took to get to the truth.

He didn't suffer fools lightly.

Speaking of fools, I was watching the Senate committee hearings and the testimony, such as it was, of Jeff "I do not recall" Sessions today. While I was, it dawned on me how much more streamlined and quickly the proceedings would go if Brimley's character was doing the questioning.

Have a read of some of his quotes, and see how easy it is to imagine how much better things would be going if he was in charge.

"Now we'll talk all day if you want to. But, come sundown, there's gonna be two things true that ain't true now. One is that the United States Department of Justice is goin' to know what in the good Christ - e'scuse me, Angie - is goin' on around here. And the other's I'm gonna have somebody's ass in muh briefcase".

"You had a leak? You call what's goin' on around here a leak? Boy, the last time there was a leak like this, Noah built hisself a boat."

"Tell you what we're gonna do. We're gonna sit right here and talk about it. Now if you get tired of talking here, Mr. Marshal Elving Patrick there will hand you one of them subpoenas he's got stuck down in his pocket and we'll go downstairs and talk in front of the grand jury."

It only speaks to how surreal and desperate the current situation is that I'm wishing a fictional character would come rescue us.

But maybe it's going to take a fake person to get rid of a fake president.

Lost weekend

It's all a blur.

I wish I could say it was because I spent 48 hrs. in Vegas, non-stop drinking and gambling, maybe taking in a few shows. But sadly, no.

This past weekend was a total loss because that cold, flu-y bug that's been taking no prisoners finally came a knockin' at my door. Well, it came knocking at my wife's door about a week ago, so I knew it was only a matter of time.

Hard to imagine, but I'm not as pleasant a patient as you might think. At the beginning I'm fine—the part where it looks like I can go on with my life and work through it without having to carry around a box of Kleenex. But once we move on to phase two, the sore throat, runny nose, coughing up all colors of the rainbow, sneezing and other sordid bodily adventures, I'm not good about it at all.

I get that no one likes being sick. I just think I hate it more than most people.

All weekend long, I was taking naps in between CNN repeating news about the groper-in-chief's middle east trip and The Aviator playing over and over on HBO.

The other thing I hate is that my normally marginal level of productivity is reduced even more (I know, how would you know), and every little thing seems to take its toll.

Sunday morning, after two days of sweating through a fever and hot weather, I thought a shower was in order, not just for me but as a public service to my family. They all said it would make me feel better. It didn't. While I was in the shower it felt great, and I was tricked into thinking I was refreshed and felt good enough to get a few things done.

Come to find out it was only one thing: make a beeline back to my bed and take another nap.

The older I get, the longer it takes to bounce back from anything: colds, flu, bad movies, the price of sushi. I hate being reminded of that.

But I know that this too will end. Being the considerate individual I am, and the fact I'm still under the weather, I've decided to stay home from work today (you're welcome co-workers) and take care of myself.

Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be back at it: showered, rested and ready to be marginally productive.

Banjo boy

At just the right angle, the adult Billy Redden looks a bit like the late, great Robin Williams.

Whom, you might ask, is Billy Redden? He happens to be an actor who was in one of the most iconic scenes in motion picture history, playing the banjo boy in Deliverance. In a stunning moment, he winds up playing a musical duet, the now famous Dueling Banjos, with Ronnie Cox as Jon Voight, Ned Beatty (who has his own iconic moment in the film for an entirely different reason) and Burt Reynolds look on. Truth be told, it was a little Hollywood magic: it wasn't actually Billy playing. But that ain't no never mind.

As anyone who's in the industry knows, show biz can be a cruel tease. And the years and opportunities haven't been particularly kind to Billy. Few and far between, he has had other parts. He was in Tim Burton's Big Fish, and had a small part on Blue Collar as—wait for it—an inbred car mechanic who plays the banjo.

Currently, Billy is working in maintenance at WalMart, picking up trash among other things.

Like Andy Robinson, who did go on to a moderately successful career after playing the Zodiac-esque killer Scorpio in Dirty Harry, Billy was typecast fairly quickly at a young age. He reminds me of Ron Wayne, the third founder of Apple who sold his shares after nine days for $900. If he'd held on to them, they'd be worth $32 billion today. And while it's a fact Billy never flirted with that kind of fortune, I can't help think they're similar in that "what might've been" way. Given the right management, a little more training and a few lucky breaks, would he have been a household name, with a brilliant debut as a child actor?

In the few interviews I've read, it's clear I'm more bothered by it than he is.

The truth is he has a scene that any actor would kill for, one that will now and forever be an enduring part of film history. Every once in a while, I find myself in the mood to watch it. And it always brings me great joy when I do.

If he watches it, I hope Billy feels the same way.

Goodbye Bill Paxton

Here's how I met Bill Paxton.

One of my best friends and my best man Scott Thomson was filming Twister in Ponca City, Oklahoma. Coincidentally, Scott was going to have a rather significant birthday while he was shooting. So the wife and I decided to fly out there and throw him a surprise party to celebrate the occasion. We also thought it might be a hoot to take in the sites Ponca City had to offer—one of which was the WalMart on a Saturday night. Whole other post.

Anyway, with Apollo 13 taking off (no pun intended), in order not to be bothered Bill didn't use his own name when he checked into hotels. In one of the conversations we had while he was filming, Scott happened to drop the name Bill did use. I made note of it, then called the luxurious Holiday Inn the cast was staying at, got hold of Bill and we proceeded to plan Scott's party.

Unfortunately, on the weekend we were going to have it, Bill was going to be in Houston doing PR for Apollo 13. But we set it up, and since we were flying in on Friday would have a chance to speak with him before he took off for his home state of Texas.

Bill was one of Scott's best friends, and we'd heard a lot about him over the years. We were excited to meet him.

Scott introduced us, and with a firm handshake and smile as wide as Texas—with a drawl to go along with it—Bill said hi to us. He was gracious, funny, energetic and didn't let on at all we'd been talking and planning Scott's party.

I don't remember exactly what my wife said to him, but the answer Bill gave in his Texas drawl, with a little Elvis thrown in, is a line we use to this day, and deliver in Bill's voice: "That's right baby.""

The next time I met Bill was at an Academy screening of a film he directed called Frailty. He was in a whirlwind that night, but he took time to speak with me and we reminisced a bit about the time we spent on set with him watching them film Twister.

My other memory of the party by the way is being in the basement of the Ponca City VFW, playing Barrel Of Monkeys with Helen Hunt, which I wrote about briefly here. She won, but I don't hold it against her.

You hear the term "underrated" a lot when people write or speak about Bill Paxton. But it doesn't quite jive with the place he held in the industry. Well respected and well liked by his peers, he was money in the bank. A guaranteed great performance given with everything he had, regardless of the medium, the material or the location.

Just this week I watched Bill in A Simple Plan, one of my favorite films. I know from Scott he had a less than fun time filming the movie, but testimony to his exceptional talent, it's one of the best performances he's ever given. There are dozens of reviews to back me up on that.

I'm going to miss Bill. He was always a bright light for me whenever I saw him on screen. Rare as an actor, even rarer as a person, Bill was one of those personalities deeply liked by everyone he encountered.

There was so much more of his talent to be revealed. But for now, all I can do is be grateful for having met him, and the work he leaves behind.

That's right baby. Rest in peace.

Stardate 7202016

It's the most recognizable starship in the fleet. And in July, it's docking in San Diego. Well, on the big screen anyway.

July 20th, the next installment of the franchise - Star Trek Beyond - is going to have its world premiere at Comic Con. And, if you know anything about me, you know that when it comes to Star Trek vs. Star Wars, while having great appreciation and affection for the latter, I've always been Team Kirk first and foremost.

I've also had a lifetime worth of Comic Cons. I've been to the last ten or eleven of them, and at this point, as the kids say, been there done that.

The problem is I have a film major living with me for the summer, and Comic Con is like breathing to him. So, despite the same reluctance I have every year, come July we'll be packing up the energy bars, the Stark Industries t-shirts, the camera and the credit cards and heading down San Diego way.

I wasn't excited about it until I heard about the premiere. I've actually been to one world premiere at Comic Con. That's the good news. The bad news is it was Cowboys & Aliens. The movie wasn't as bad as the critics made it out to be, but in the end it just didn't work (Note to Chung: it was still better than Interstellar). However, Harrison Ford sat in front of us and Daniel Craig was ten seats down in our row, so it wasn't a total wash.

At this point they haven't announced how the tickets will be distributed or who will get them. Maybe a lottery. Maybe lining up days ahead of time. Maybe a last minute announcement and a mad dash to the theater.

Oh, speaking of the theater, did I mention it's going to be screened at an outdoor IMAX theater, with Michael Giacchino conducting the San Diego Symphony orchestra, performing his score along side the screening? True fact. It's going to be worth it, no matter what we have to go through to get there.

Unless it's drinking Romulan ale. I hate that stuff.