Wham bam van damme alakazam

Pronouncements, observations, and reflections of the week (3 posts squashed into one — I'm busy, whaddaya want?):

Wham bam

A 7-game losing streak is considerably less ominous when followed by a 4-game winning streak. The Ms are now 14-13 for July (the Angels are only 11-12, which also helps a great deal) — so the worst that could happen is they break even for the month, and last night's win means the worst possible outcome of this so-called “do-or-die”series would be that they fall one game in standings.

What we have here is a real race going into August. And since neither club seems poised to make any big deals before tonight's trade deadline, it's very likely going to come down to the Angels' offensive power vs. the Mariners' pitching and defense in this division. This is fun, this baseball.

PS - For the record, the Cubbies are only 1 behind the Brewers — which means there are going to be a lot of clenched sphincters around Wyatt's grandfather's house this August as well.

Van Damme

Speaking of Wyatt, he turned 2 months old on Sunday, 9 weeks old today. And speaking of clenching, he's rolled out a brand new kind of cry for us — it starts out loud, full, and steady, then descends into his gut as he slowly runs out of air but strains to keep it going. It ends as a long, deep growl fading into a silent, open-mouthed grimace. The only comparison that comes close would be the sound Jean-Claude Van Damme makes when he hits his opponents in Bloodsport:

Wyatt has also learned how to punch us in the face, so for us parenthood may very well turn out to be our own private Kumite.

Alakazam

Of last year's two turn-of-the-century-European-magician movies, The Illusionist is better than The Prestige. Most people seem to disagree with this assessment, so I will enumerate my reasons three:

1. Hitchcock vs. Mamet. The mystery of The Illusionist appears to be complex and surreal and impenetrable, but the truth behind it turns out to be quite simple. The truth in The Prestige, on the other hand, becomes increasingly complicated and twisted as the film progresses.
   
   The Illusionist (like Hitchcock) removes the layers of a seemingly supernatural mystery to reveal a simple, even obvious, truth. As with Rear Window, Vertigo, Psycho, and North By Northwest, everything in The Illusionist seems much more sinister and twisted than it really is.
   
   On the other hand, The Prestige (like Mamet) layers new truths upon truths until the only thing we know for sure is that “truth” is going to continue twisting back on itself until the credits roll. The former method requires careful and deliberate filmmaking; the latter is more of an exercise in being clever and devious.
   
   
2. Paul Giamatti (et al). After American Splendor, Sideways, Cinderella Man, and now The Illusionist, anyone who doesn't see Giamatti as one of the most talented and nuanced performers of his generation simply isn't paying attention. And regardless of how they handled the billing on the posters or in the credits — in The Illusionist, Giamatti is clearly the leading actor.
   
   Besides Giamatti, there's Edward Norton, who's always good — we already knew that. And then there's Rufus Sewell, who we haven't seen since Dark City, but still expect to be good (and he is). And finally, we learn something new: We learn that Jessica Biel, when properly clothed, can also be good.
   
   The Prestige also had a fine cast, but it looked something like a collision of Batman Begins and Scoop. For their part, Jackman and Bale are both fine actors (and superheroes), but neither of them holds a candle to Norton when it comes to suggesting a quiet, sinister darkness behind the kind face.
   
   
3. Summon the Cinemagician. The soft light, warm hues, and gentle flicker of the The Illusionist conjure up comparisons with the great Georges Méliès — himself a magician as well as Europe's greatest turn-of-the-century filmmaker. There's even a scene in the film that suggests that early motion-picture trickery (of which Méliès was the master) could be the secret behind Norton's most amazing — and disturbing — illusions.