"Retirement? You're talking about death, right?"

“Filmmaking is a chance to live many lifetimes.”

Robert Altman

1925 - 2006

Wrong wrong WRONG

Saw the long-awaited Casino Royale last night, a worthy addition to the Bond legacy on nearly all points:

• Daniel Craig as Bond: Very good.
• Mads Mikkelsen as Le Chiffre: Excellent.
• Story, locations, action, music: First-rate.
• Caterino Murino as Solange: Hello.
• Eva Green as Vesper: Eh.
  (I expected more from the primordial Bond girl.)

My only nagging complaint is the sacrilegious and profane “updating” of the classic high-stakes, winner-take-all game between Bond and Le Chiffre from Baccarat to, ugh, Texas Hold Em. Sorry, but James Bond does not wear sweat pants, does not smoke Kools, does not drink beer, and does not play Texas Hold Em. Nor, I suspect, do megalomaniac archvillains whose achilles heel is high-stakes gambling.

Baccarat is an elegant game of simple luck and poise. It involves no hushed narration from the sidelines, nor rote calculation of odds, nor bells and whistles such as re-buys, all-ins, check-raises, showdowns, or “tells” — and it's played in French.

Just watch the Baccarat scenes in Dr. No, Thunderball, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, For Your Eyes Only, GoldenEye... and then watch The World Series of Poker.

And you tell me.

Damn we're good

I'm geeking out again.

Tuned in to Smallville tonight, hoping to catch a little more Green Arrow (and wondering if he'd put away that ridiculous little Batman-style crossbow gadget and finally wield the longbow he's supposed to swear by) — but it seems Oliver's left Metropolis for Star City. Where he belongs.

Instead, we were treated to Clark visiting our own fair city. (Ever notice how Seattle's guest-city appearances are always filmed down at the waterfront or from the deck of a ferry? Why is it film crews seem unable to penetrate that rock-solid bulwark that is the Alaskan Way viaduct?) Anyway. Clark's battling some Phantom Zone escapee with a Predator-like M.O., and then he's saved at the last minute by a mysterious stranger appearing only in silhouette. Bald guy. With glowing eyes. Who can fly.

I want to know who this is. A phantom? Yet another Kryptonian? Brainiac back from the dead? I say as much to Maus. “Who was that? I want to know who that was!”

And Maus says, “I want to know about the Oreo.”

Hold the phone. Oreo? What Oreo?

“What Oreo?!”

We wind it back. (Tivo, don't you never ever walk out on me.)

She's right. That there is an Oreo on the ground. And that's when my geek-drive starts spinning up.

Oreo... Oreo... Great Caesar's ghost! It's the Martian Manhunter! Shapeshifter, mind-reader, loather of fire, and hopeless Oreo addict.

I don't read spoiler sites or fan forums or anything like that, so I had no idea J'onn J'onzz was on deck for Smallville. And maybe I'm the last person to know about this (I'm sure the guys at the comic shop would roll their eyes — no doubt they were clued in on this surprise appearance months ago), but for about 2 minutes I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself for piecing together this mystery man's identity, based on nothing more than a half-crushed sandwich cookie.

Which Maus identified. Without the Oreo, you see, there is no case for me to crack. Because Maus and I, we're just like Laura Holt and Remington Steele. She does the work, I take the bows.

I need to get Maus a Laura Holt hat, I think.

Harumph.

Rewatched Blazing Saddles last night for about the 20th time (but, it's been at least 10 years since the last time). There are very few movies I've seen that often that still make me actually laugh out loud. And I don't think I've ever watched this movie without repeatedly rewinding the scene of Alex Karras cold-cocking that horse.

I picked up two new things this time around.

Number one: Madeline Kahn is the funniest woman ever to walk the Earth. Close on her heels are Carole Lombard, Lucille Ball, Mary Tyler Moore, Carol Burnett, Lily Tomlin, and Gilda Radner. And maybe that lady who played Aunt Esther on Sanford & Son. But today at least, Madeline leads the pack in my book. I weawy mean it. It's twue, it's twue.

And number two:

It's twue, it's twue.

He crapped bigger than you

Jack Palance: 1919 – 2006

Of course, he'll be best remembered for Shane and City Slickers. For most of my life, though, he was the Ripley's Believe it or Not guy who also played the space-tyrant-with-the-glowing-touch-of-death on Buck Rogers. That guy freaked me out when I was seven.

As villains go, Palance was always the happy badman — not crazy-happy like a giggling Richard Widmark or sleazy-happy like an oily George Sanders — but coldly pleased with himself. A coiled, smirking, naughty snake who liked to toy with his prey. He even hissed when he spoke.

For the best possible elegy to this man, we need look no further than the one offered by Billy Crystal in City Slickers: “Lord, we give you Curly. Try not to piss him off.”

Like a baptism

Anyone else feel like we've had to crawl through 500 yards of shit-smelling foulness to get here?

D-Day

Remember this little rule-of-thumb for multiple-choice tests: If you can't eliminate any of the choices, if all four answers seem equally plausible, then C is most likely correct? Well today, the correct answer is always D.

Normally, I would not advocate knee-jerk, party-line dot-filling. In elections past, I tried to read up on as many candidates as I could, and throughout the 90s, I answered a lot of these questions with a G or an I or an L — and even a few Rs.

Not so this year. This year it's all about righting the ship (so to speak) and offloading the dead weight. It doesn't matter if the D is an idiot and the R is an honest and upstanding public servant, because this year all of the Rs need to be sent to their room to think about what they've done. Any vote for any R at any level of government is really a vote for W. What's needed is a top-to-bottom, party-wide GOP timeout. In 2008, the Rs can come out of their room and ask the nation's forgiveness. And I will happy to hear them out. This year, R is the scarlet letter.

As for the Ds, well, after six years of their lame nonsense, Bill Maher pretty much summed up my feelings towards the Democrats on last week's Real Time, with this [long and profane] “New Rules” admonition inspired by Alec Baldwin's memorable “brass balls” speech from Glengarry Glen Ross:

“Finally, New Rule: Controlling Congress is for closers. Listen up, Democrats, it's as simple as A-B-C. Always Be Closing. First prize: subpoena power in the new Congress. Second prize: set of steak knives. Third prize: you're fired. The election is four days away and I'm through dicking around with you. Here are the leads. Here are your talking points:

“One: when they say Democrats will raise taxes, you say, “We have to because someone spent all the money in the world cutting Paris Hilton's taxes and not killing Osama bin Laden.” In just six years, the national debt has doubled. You can't keep spending money you don't take in. That's not even elementary economics. That's just called, “Don't be Michael Jackson.”

“Two: When they say the terrorists want the Democrats to win, you say, “Are you insane? George Bush has been a terrorist's wet dream.” He inflames radical hatred against America and then runs on offering to protect us from it. It's like a guy throwing shit on you and then selling you relief from the flies.

“Three: When they say, “Cut and Run” or “Defeat-ocrat,” you say, “Bush lost the war. Period.” All this nonsense — this nonsense about “the violence is getting worse over there because they're trying to influence the election”; no, it's getting worse because you drew up the postwar plans on the back of a cocktail napkin at Applebee's. And of course Democrats want to win. But that's impossible now that you've ethnically-cleansed the place by making it unlivable. Just like you did with New Orleans.

“Four: When they say that actual combat veterans like John Kerry are denigrating the troops, you say, “You're completely full of shit.” Remember when Al Gore caught all that flak for sighing and moaning during that debate? Yeah, don't do that. Just say, “You're full of shit.” If I was a troop, the support I would want back home would mainly come in the form of people pressuring Washington to get me out of this pointless nightmare! That's how I would feel supported.

“So when they say, “Democrats are obstructionists,” you say, “You're welcome.” Sometimes, good people have to intercede to prevent dire consequences. You wouldn't like to think of me as an obstructionist, but what if Roseanne had offered to sing? So I would be happy to frame this debate as a fight between the obstructionists and the enablers.

“There's your talking point. Vote Republican, and you vote to enable George Bush to keep ruling as an emperor. A retarded, child emperor — but an emperor. So, Democrats, you've got four days to get out there and close! And it's not about slogans this time. Although, when it comes to slogans, the only one I'm prepared to accept from the opposition is, The Republican Party: We're Sorry.”

Go and do likewise...

NaNoWriMope

November 1. Which means National Novel Writing Month is off and running. For years I've regarded the participants in this annual novel-writing binge (many of whom are close friends) with a mix of sincere admiration and involuntary disapprobation — they same way I look on people who jump out of airplanes, get up before 6 in order to exercise, or do their own roofing.

This year, though, I signed up — and for no reason other than the fact I really have nothing better to do (job search aside, of course). The goal is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. That's roughly 1,700 words a day — or, in my case, as I have to discount both weekends and Thanksgiving week, it's about 3,000 words a day.

Today I wrote about 50 words. Then I did the dishes, took the dog for a walk to the comic shop, and met Poupolis for beer and billiards at Molly Maguires. Yep, I'm off to flying start.

So tomorrow, I'll need to squeeze out about 5,950 words. You can see where this is going.