OH, FORGET IT

Slate's rave notice for "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" makes me cringe with disbelief. "This is the best movie I've seen in a decade," David Edelstein wrote, and he had lots of company from critics across the spectrum. There's no accounting for taste and all that. But it reminds me of a recent conversation I had while standing on line in the men's room waiting for a urinal, having just seen a special theatrical screening of "Ripley's Game" (with John Malkovich as Ripley).

Guy on line asks me, "Like it?"
"Loved it."
Guy next to me says, "I didn't like it at all."
"Why not?"
"Badly directed. No suspense. I didn't care about the characters."
"That's three strikes. What films have you liked?"
It takes him a while. "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg."
"That's 40 years ago. Nothing more recent?"
Guy stares at me. He's still thinking when it's my turn at the urinal. End of conversation.

In the scheme of things, neither Edelstein's rave in Slate nor my conversation in the men's room means much. ("Ripley's Game" hasn't even had a commercial release.) But the critical hype for "Spotless Mind" has led to some peculiar conclusions, like the one that sums up a lengthy disquisition on the science of memory erasure, which is the key to that flick:

While the culture frets over the perils of high-tech erasure, we should really be worrying about the opposite: what will happen when we remember too much.

Until I read that, I hadn't realize the culture was fretting about such perils. I thought it was fretting about the perils of Iraq, the economy, gay marriage, bared breasts, corporate corruption and the W Ltd. gang. I guess I'll have to add high-tech memory erasure to the list. If you want to know the truth, I thought my problem was plain, low-tech forgetting. Like what did I do with my glasses? Oh, there they are, on the bridge of my nose.

April 2, 2004 10:43 AM |

Categories:

Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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