Cinemacid Reflux Pt. 1

    Okay, so this one is hard. I teased this one several years ago. *Ugh, years!*  No matter. It's here now. 

    Movies. Films. Filmed Plays, Motion Pictures, Talkies. When was the last time you actually went to an overly crowded theater, paid for seats that were probably too close to the screen, and sat for two hours minimum in a darkened (save for the barrage of cell phone flashes from your cinematic roommates) room?!

    [INSERT COVID-19 REFERENCE]

 

    Please note: The last movie I ponied up for was Downton Abbey. There was me, the wife, and maybe six other people in our row, all over the age of 50. No one else in  the entire theater. We were, without a doubt, the best audience in cinema history.

    So, years ago, I took a Communications course and, for one of my presentations, I gave an overview of the rating systems for various forms of media--movies, music, television, and video games. During my research, I discovered some interesting facts. For example, did you know that prior to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom there was no PG-13 rating? Apparently, Mr. Spielberg himself petitioned the MPAA (come on, you know what that stands for, right?!) for a rating that bridged the wide gap between (P)arental(G)uidance Suggested and (R)estricted - Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. It was something about Indy 2 being too dark or something.

"I'm the guy who kills all the Disney parents! And then enslaves their children!"

    Anyway, the mid-1980s saw the rise of two distinct forms of storytelling: (1) That which catered to sexually frustrated late teens and their college-aged older siblings (think Animal House, Porky's, and the first National Lampoon's Vacation movie), and (2) everyone else. Fun fact: Back to the Future was famously rejected as a film idea by every major studio for being "too sweet" . . . save for Disney, who passed on it because of the Marty/Lorraine car scene. 

 

This is, of course, the same Disney who would later craft a love story between a freak of nature and a "lady" (of the night). Also, the bad guy plunges into the depths of Hell The Grave.

    So anyway, I was born in 1986 (yay, carbon dating!) and my first memory is directly associated with a movie. And not just any movie. 

    Shame on those of you who forgot.

    Please know that I struggled with the crux of this post, whether the intent was an indictment of the film industry or a celebration of my favorite flicks. Of course, entertainment is subjective, and I would never presume to dictate the preferences of others. (Unless you like Batman & Robin. That is the worst thing EVER. Seriously, when the best part of your movie is a few seconds of a song with "fee, fi fo, fun for me," as the chorus, it's time to head back to film school!) 

    So I settled on a compromise: Here's a bunch of movies I like with an equal amount of those that, with but the slightest mention of their titles, induce in me the redundantly advertised "Cinemacid Reflux."

    [INSERT . . . Um . . . spoiler alert? Maybe?] 

• Strange Brew (1983) - It's old, its Canadian, it's ridiculously funny. Rick Moranis, another guy, and special guest Mel Blanc, the most prolific voice actor in the history of the medium. (Extra props for the scene where Hosehead, the dog, flies up the roof in an upward spiral.)

• Dick Tracy (1990) - The brightest (note: only 10 primary colors were used during filming!) movie about the coolest cop up against the worst and most colorful 1930's criminals ever assembled. Al Pacino in his rare, non-Corleone-est best, and Madonna at her Madonna-est playing a Madonna-esque type chanteuse. 

• Drop Dead Gorgeous (1999) - Small Town, MN. Teenage girls, regional modeling competition. An Adam West cameo, Post-Cheers but pre-Veronica's Closet Kirstie Alley, and several additional "Before They Were Famous" performances top off this quirky comedy that continues to make me ugly cry-laugh every single time I watch it.

• Battlefield Earth (2001) - One of only two movies I've ever walked out of. Mind you, I was only 15, and the idea of hearing John Travolta chuckle "Stupid humans!" was amusing to me. In retrospect, I was the stupid human.

• By now, you should realize that I have a soft, squishy spot in my heart for movies featuring capes and masks. The Bat comes first, probably the Big Blue Boy Scout second, and all others fall into place beneath. Next, I present the most underrated superhero film of all time. (No, it's not Blankman, although "Say 'Goodbye' to Other Guy!" is one of my favorite pieces of dialogue =)

"I shovel WELL, Lucille!", "Aww DANG!", and "Disco is NOT dead! Disco is LIFE!" should all be added to the Library of Congress as "culturally significant." There, I said it.

• Mystery Men (1999) - Superhero social satire without an ounce of irony. And just look at that cast! Watching Ben Stiller go through an existential crisis while working through anger issues is almost as entertaining as William H. Macy passionately defend a secret identity consisting of a pair of eyeglasses. 

    There you have [part of] it! I figure a subject as broad as good/bad/aesthetically displeasing movies can take up an entire series of posts, but this smattering will suffice for now. If'n ya like what you see, lemme know and I'll keep it going. If not . . . I still got to use the phrase 'if'n' 😆

    [INSERT ENDING]

Lost in Transition

...Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is . . . wait. What? I haven’t posted anything for nearly a year-and-a-half? Well, that’s clearly a matter of opinion. That also happens to be a fact. What can I say? Life gets in the way of a blog? Life provides the material for a blog? Blog blogs in the blog of a blog? Yeah, let’s go with that one.

The primary reason I named this Cam Infinitum was to acknowledge the reality that, unless/until this becomes a legitimate source of revenue (sadly, it won’t!), this is, at best, a way for me to take a moment of introspection and exercise my creative muscles in the midst of my life’s “constant whitewater.” That's a concept born out of corporate risk management, one I was introduced to in the pages of Batman #526. When applied to one’s personal life, the term describes what happens when a trend of overwork (like juggling secular, chaotic familial, and other more important responsibilities) takes a quantum leap. And, just like whitewater rafting, life’s struggle is mostly about staying afloat. There’s plenty of math and so on that support hypotheses to that effect, but the short of it all is this: 

It’s been a looooong year and a half. 

And while I do need some more discipline in consistency with these posts, I’ve recently had the opportunity to hit ‘refresh’ with a lot of my major Life Stuff, so guess what? I am by no means at a loss for content for the foreseeable future.  

(INSERT TRANSITION)


Yesterday I was rummaging through some digital archives and I stopped to reread a few of my saved academic papers. This past summer, I and my wife moved, and she encouraged me to embrace the purging spirit. (She is as enthusiastic about decluttering life as I am about caped crusaders.) During the purge, I sorted through every document I’d saved since my freshman year in high school.

   

“You’re gonna need a bigger Trapper Keeper.”

The vast majority of my saved papers weren’t even academic. I’ve had an idea for a book series kicking around my head and heart since I was 13, so there were tons of character notes, plot points, partial chapters, and the rest of the rigmarole associated with that endeavor. All of those have been since consolidated, scanned and uploaded to a number of digital storage centers. But I also kept my first attempt at a writers’ workshop about a short story from 10th grade (truly the only time I can use the phrase ‘short story’ with a clean conscience). Then, following my time at community college, I kept a few of my term papers and some bits of writers’ wisdom from a textbook. In fact, I plan to showcase some of these works in future posts.

And theeere went the last reader.

My three favorite papers were all from different classes: Critical Thinking, Composition and Literature; World Literature; and, oddly enough, Contemporary Social Problems (Sociology). The topics are as varied as the courses, but I absolutely love the conceit of all three of them: 

• The English paper was an eight-page critical analysis of Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but here’s the catch: the entire paper was based, not on the novel itself, but, rather, three separate critical analyses found in the end notes of the novel. The overall thesis of this paper was that considering multiple perspectives on a single work (Jekyll/Hyde) can help us better understand the central theme of said work (the concept of man’s duality).

Your face after reading that last paragraph.

Also, my wife’s face any time I use the phrase ‘(word)_OF SAID_(word).’ 

• The Sociology paper was a little shorter at six pages, but it was a bit more satisfying. I cannot help but grin like an idiot at the thought that the highly underrated film Josie and the Pussycats could be used as a mechanism for a sociological critique of the media. 

• The World Lit paper is my favorite of the three, and not because it’s the shortest (three pages). Honestly, I’d have written three hundred pages if I’d had the time or energy. And not only do I grin like the Josie idiot mentioned earlier; I laugh out loud in pure, unadulterated creative joy (with perhaps a dash of hubris) at the notion that I pulled this one off: I wrote a case study comparing the themes presented in Molière's Le Misanthrope to the ones addressed in arguably the best commentary on mid-to-late-1990’s adolescent life: Daria.

Pretend you’re not singing ‘la la LA laa laa’ to a 

rockin’ guitar riff in your head right now. Go ahead.

Those three pieces brought me more satisfaction as a writing student than most everything else I’ve composed. More than the essay about Batman that granted me an early graduation from high school. More than the essay about Batman that got me a passing grade in my first college English course. Even more than the analysis in Social Psychology that, while having nothing to do with Batman, still required me to examine myself from the "me" rather than the "I" perspective (that one was a trip)! 

So I guess what I’m saying is this: it took me listening to my voice in print from eight, nine, ten—yeesh, even fifteen!—years ago to appreciate the value of expression. Not simply the everyday ramblings that all of you who know me have to put up with (i.e., “blah blah Batman, yadda yadda Director’s Commentary, something-or-other-On this date/time I remember . . .”). I'm talking about true artistic expression, and I can’t believe there’s actually a definition for that term, given the subjective nature of creativity: 

art(-istic expression): The conscious use of the imagination in the production of objects intended to be contemplated or appreciated as beautiful, as in the arrangement of forms, sounds, or words.

That’s a pretty good way to sum up the matter. And you know what? The designation totally fits even if you are the only one who 'contemplates or appreciates your work as beautiful.' My arrangements may have changed throughout the years because the experiences forming them have, but my voice remains constant. And even though I’ve long tired of the audible sound of my physical voice, I’ll never turn down or shut off my creativity. 

I will, on occasion, however, need to press Pause.


(INSERT ENDING)

Shuffle Play

I'm listening to Pandora right now, so let's get a bit musical.

I was born into both the greatest and worst musical decade of the last century--the mid-1980's. To put that in historical cultural context, everyone living before me grew up without MTV, and everyone born after me...wait, this analogy doesn't work anymore. That channel chopped off the words 'music' and 'television' from their logo and stopped showing music videos years ago. 

Reality killed the video star.

The point is that I grew up with the most diverse variety of musical styles available, and that was compounded by the fact that my family are all baby boomers and post-Depression 'greatest' generationists who witnessed the birth (and subsequent death) of music. I've only seen the rise and fall of grunge, the wave of mid-90's "rock" (you know, the stuff that sounds like the interstices of any episode of Friends), the odd permutations of hip hop--the Fresh Prince won the first Rap Grammy in 1988 and fifteen years later, Eminem took home the Academy Award!--and finally, the resurgence of pop boy and girl groups, for which I hold a special (and much derided by my friends/family) affection. But more on that later.

I can't recall my very first musical memory, but I have a few strong images of scenarios where certain songs were imprinted. The first is of 4-year old me in the front of the shopping cart at the grocery store with my babysitter, while Seduction's "Two to Make it Right" plays overhead. Second, there were many late Saturday or Sunday mornings when my mother would be frantically attempting to clean our apartment on the off chance that Grandma and Granddad would pull another spontaneous visit. At that time, over the roar of the vacuum I knew that Taylor Dayne was pleading for us to communicate directly with her second most vital organ while MC Hammer demanded that we could not touch...whatever "This" was. 

Back when school bus drivers were exempt from background checks, Miss St. James used to put Zhane and Salt 'N Pepa on full blast on the way to and from Ramona Alessandro Elementary. And here's a little twist: When Mom and I would drive up to visit the grandparents, she would put the (*sigh*) cassette of the Premiere Collection from Andrew Lloyd Weber on automatic repeat.

Your children will NEVER know the
symbiotic relationship these share. 

You know what? I do remember my first song, and, oddly enough, it's tied to my first memory, ever. When I was 3, my mom took me to the drive in to see the first Batman movie, and I was absolutely enamored with not only the visuals but the score. Danny Elfman's theme was so seismic that I started listening to movie soundtracks and, to this day, will see/pass on certain movies based on their composers alone. Elfman, WIlliams, Ottman--all of them persuaded me to spend my money on some real clunkers--see my upcoming Cinemacid Reflux post.

To be fair, someone 

gave this one to me.

J-14? Me-ouch!

So I got equal doses of everything except hardcore hip hop and heavy/death/folk/death metal until I was about 11 or 12. And then the Spice Girls came out, and not too long after that, Britney-Christina-Jessica-Mandy (that's all one name). Suddenly life was nothing but running home from middle school to see TRL and a hunt for the latest copy of J-14 for the removable poster to plaster on my bedroom wall next to that one close-up pose of Catwoman (Michelle Pfeiffer) holding her right clawed hand crossed over her face.

Haha, I don't have to pause for a breath in text and that last sentence STILL can't be considered run-on!!

What is it about the transition into adolescence that causes someone to reject every fiber of their upbringing only to re-embrace it with an unbridled passion in adulthood? In my case, I never truly walked away from Justin, JC, Joey, Lance(ton), or Chris. (Side note: *NSYNC made the best career decision in musical history. They got big, guest starred on The Simpsons, then called it quits.) I did, however, adopt a new life soundtrack when I took up street skateboarding. I won't bother with specific band names, mainly because I don't remember them. Suffice it to say that if a song was featured in a Tony Hawk's Pro Skater game or listed in the credits of Daria, it could be found on one my dozens of burnt CDs, mini CDs, or even in my earliest mp3 players.

** And now a moment of silence to remember the fallen mavericks of the Golden Age of peer-to-peer file sharing: Napster, iMesh, Kazaa, Limewire, Frostwire, and WinMX **




I rediscovered and subsequently fell in love with Garbage after (1) hearing their theme to The World is Not Enough at age 13, and (2) finding their debut album in a bargain bin at Goodwill at age 15. Somehow the dulcet tones of Shirley Manson "riding high upon a deep depression" just spoke to me more as an angsty teenager than it might have when the album was originally released in 1995. You know, when I was 9. And listening to Seal try to make out with some flower.




My musical recollection from 2002-2007 is a bit fuzzy, save for my exposure to the same cultural phenomena we all got stuck with. Time and text do not permit me to relate the struggle to get "Hey Ya!", "Yeah", and "Trapped in the Closet" (something else that ran ad infinitum) out of my head. And I am still mystified at how 'spelling words over a melody' constitutes a hit single (Gwen, Fergie...S-H-A-M-E O-N Y-O-U). 

But something beautiful happened to me in the summer of 2008: I got a job at an overrated, overpriced, understaffed and underpaying restaurant. Specifically, I began closing the aforementioned restaurant on Friday and Saturday nights, and I found myself driving home after 11 pm, searching for something to keep me awake until I could crash safely into my bed. 

Now, I've grown up listening to San Diego radio and, like most rational residents, learned to despise the local stations. Why? Almost all of them are owned by Clear Channel (who somehow managed to rebrand themselves with the dumbest, most blatantly Pandering-to-Millennials name--iHeartMedia) and most of them share a common 15-20 song playlist. During the summer, you can hear the same Lady Gaga song on four different channels at the same time. The on-air personalities have none to speak of. Et cetera. 

  

"Boy Toy" Jesse has a daughter in high school. 91X plays rock music as much as McDonald's serves healthy cuisine--never. 

So I'm driving home, scanning the airwaves, and I stumble across FM 94.9's Big Sonic Chill. This was (and, as of last December, is once again) a three-hour blend of down-tempo, trip-hop, and ethereal music from artists like Thievery Corporation, Massive Attack, Zero 7, Portishead, and the like. Mind you, at this point I'm 22 and have never heard this kind of music before! It's calming at times, rhythmic at others, and mostly just weird. It instantly became my favorite genre, and I am proud to say that, to this date, the only concerts I've ever paid to attend have featured one or more of those groups. The audience is a gazillion times more mellow than that of a bookstore coffeehouse, which is such a relief. 

(Normally, I hate being at crowded events that don't feature the words 'circuit', 'district', or 'regional'...*wink*)

Over the past few years, I've begun embracing what I feel is the elder cousin of modern trip-hop and electronica: jazz. None of that "smooth" nonsense; save that for elevators. (Side note: One of the strangest experiences I've ever had was being in a mall elevator in Japan and hearing a Muzak version of The Jackson 5's "ABC.") 

Subarashii!!!

No, I'm trying to acquaint myself with the classics, and that's been a fun and interesting exploration. And every so often I come across a contemporary artist who has imbibed the sensibilities of the greats before them, but their resulting work is neither derivative nor overly flattering. One example is Madeleine Peyroux. She's an American of French descent and includes a a few tracks in each album sung entirely in French. Her voice and style are reminiscent of Billie Holiday--no mean feat!

As I said earlier, everything comes full circle in adulthood. Currently, I listen unabashedly to a goulash of artists and genres, and will continue to well into senility. If any of my groomsmen possessed an iota of rhythm, I would've choreographed a New Kids/*NSYNC mashup for us to perform at the reception (I'm sorry, my esteemed guests. And you're welcome, fellas)! On Pandora, I've created at least 15 stations, which include such creative nicknames as...okay, fine. Here they are:

1. Big Sonic Chill - 1st one out of the gate!
2. Smooth Criminal - 80's music. So there.
3. *NSYNC - [INSERT ANNOYING LYRIC/DANCE MOVE]
4. Batman (Film Score) - Film and play soundtracks.
5. Madeleine Peyroux - Jazz.
6. BoA - J and K-Pop.
7. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Did you know that Flea is actually a jazz prodigy?!
8. Yoko Kanno - She is the Elfman, Williams, Zimmer, and Coltrane of anime, all in one. The song "Tank!" is one of the best musical arrangements. Ever? Ever. 
9. Flight of the Conchords - "...because it's Wednesday..."
10. Sia 'n Stuff - I've liked her since before she lost her face.
11. 90's Pop - Pretty self-explanatory.
12. Mike Birbiglia - He's funny. And clean.
13. New Kids on the Block - See comments for entry #2, while sporting a high-top fade.
14. Weird Al - "Word Crimes" should be required listening in English class for everyone born after 9/11. 
15. Under the Sea - How'd that get in there? Just kidding. Love me some Disney classics. 

There you have it. The soundtrack to my life is a tapestry of some of the late 20th and early-21st centuries' greatest contributions and worst atrocities. What about yours? Not entirely sure how to do the comments/feedback thing, but I'm thinking of getting another account on the Facebook (the 'the' was intentional. Ask anyone who knows me--I still call it that). In the meantime, you can find me on the Twitter at @cagordon86. 

[INSERT ENDING]