California Split (1974)

Gambling movies tend toward fable: The Cooler, Intacto, The Cincinnati Kid, even Alfred Hitchcock Presents and the goulash that is Rounders--all tacitly accept that Fate and Chance and Luck are real, primal forces, or agents to be angered, appeased, and bullied. The struggle against fortune (good or bad) is broad and dramatic rolls/parleys/hands mark the plot like a metronome (I have convinced myself that the poker scenes in Casino Royale are acid parody). These films pair the gambler's superstition with the gambler's degeneracy: The willingness to wager everything (the only stakes worth making a film about) is the mark of an action junkie, someone eager to burn his house down if he has a bet on fire department response time. Altman's California Split puts these two parts together in a way that avoids cliche: we settle into an immersive, barely plotted character study of two degenerate gamblers and only very late in the film do we realize that they are in the middle of a gambling fable that cannot end well.

Crossposted from Not That Critical.

You just need to want it bad enough

It is possible to smoke a cigarette with a mouth full of gauze, a face full of -caine, and a head full of Lortab. It is not easy nor advisable, nor dignified, clean, nor even safe, but it is possible.

The glory of the 70s could not be sustained

If you read only one ESPN article all year, make it this one:

My favorite YouTube clip runs 572 magical seconds. It celebrates an impossible-to-fathom era of political incorrectness, egotistical celebs, misguided testosterone and the purest unintentional comedy possible … only it finishes with a Hall of Fame sports moment. That's right—I'm referring to the match race between Robert Conrad and Gabe Kaplan on the 1976 debut of Battle of the Network Stars.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqWU9huMMco

Remodel observation

This shit is expensive.

The Very Best Children's Book

Is Richard Scarry's Busy Busy World, and it's not even close. Where the Wild Things Are is just preening hipsterism, and Goodnight Moon can go fuck itself.

Where else will children learn that a clever thief can hide in a pot of soup, or that if you fuck up a house-painting job for a Greek pig she'll probably still be pretty chill? Or that Italians drive like psychos?

In the picture, all the animals are going to Rio for carnival, but the overcrowded plane splits open before they can leave (thanks Aunty Ant). Not to worry: As you can see, Noah the Boa totally saves the day.

And you know in the real world Noah would just keep squeezing...

Funnyman for Senate

I have been following this race for months, and (as it's basically the only still-newsworthy element of Election 08) still am, and with obsessive enthusiasm formerly reserved for The O himself.

I want this. A lot. Partly because Minnesotans are pretty cool (since they're covered with ice eight months a year HAW HAW GEDDIT) and don't deserve to have a gladhanding corrupt toady like Coleman representing them in the Senate. Okay, that's reason enough.

But we need a professional satirist in the Senate. NEED. Not because of the comedy, snark, and endless Daily Show appearances that it would portend. Rather, a satirist has superior understanding of issues, because satire is one of the best tools of reason: It is a direct comparison between the world as it is and the world as we proclaim it to be; addressing this disjunct has to be one of the goals of the federal government over the next few years. (This understanding is evident in Franken, who is educated, informed, and has been politically active for decades.)

Plus, if I can channel grade-school civics patriotism for a second: The legislative bodies primarily comprise (successful) lawyers and businesspeople, a fair number of (successful) doctors, academics, and engineers, and a handful of political celebrities. This mix is neither representative nor, really, well-suited to understanding the realities of day-to-day existence. Perhaps a millionaire comedian is just as detached from reality as those others, perhaps not; what is certain, however, is that a comedian cannot become a millionaire (or at least can't have a decades-long successful career) while so detached.