December 27, 2001

· · ·  Ali Floats Like A Butterfly Without The Sting

Michael Mann's Ali can most accurately be called flimsy. It had great potential but unfortunately fell victim to the Pearl Harbor Syndrome. Without being too critical, one could have easily enjoyed that film as a simple love story. But with its inclusion of assorted story angles, such as the Cuba Gooding, Jr. character, it made the audience lose focus of what was important. Was it a love story? Was it a war story with some love? Was this about heroes? The director has to be able to lead the audience somewhere. This doesn't necessarily mean you need a introduction and conclusion, as we're taught in the eighth grade. It means giving the audience a reason to care.

Mann's style is subtle, meticulous and poignant. With a smooth opening to Sam Cooke's melodies followed by a beautifully filmed bout against Sonny Liston, it seemed like Ali was going for gold. That is, until, the wheel started showing its many spokes. Not only was I a bit disappointed by Mario Van Peebles' overdramatized Malcolm X, I also didn't understand why there was such a big emphasis on his character. Along with that, there are several other substories with no rhyme or reason for the amount of screen time they each received. For example, I understand Ali had three women in his life in the ten years that unfold in the film, but there was no reason to give each one of them ten to twenty minutes of screentime. Due to this, the film never seems to have a direction. As a viewer, I kept on wondering, "When is this going to end?" This wasn't necessarily because I didn't enjoy the film, but rather because it failed to give me reasons to continue watching it. Not only that, these scenes tended drag on only to lead to no sort of conclusion upon the topic.

There are some great things about this film, the first of which you may have already heard: Will Smith is great. I won't say he deserves an Oscar, but it shows that he can do much more than slap-happy comedy or Independence Day 2. The best performance, though, seemed to come from Jon Voight, playing the late sportscaster Howard Cossell. Voight, almost unrecognizable, was on the mark so well that at times I forgot that it in fact was not the real-life, smart and biting Cossell. And Jamie Foxx continues to be one of the most underrated actors in Hollywood.

Something along the lines of 7/10, I would imagine. The glorification of Ali could have been achieved if only we had more substance backing up Mann's arguments. Otherwise, we're left with a somewhat enjoyable film that, at the end, leaves us wondering, "I don't get it."

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December 26, 2001

· · ·  Curing The Proverbial Insomnia

In the first semester of my freshman year, I was told to write a description of an art piece as a foundation to a writing composition. I chose Alexander Calder's White Lily and wrote the following:

We often speak in metaphors and let our ideas float. The heavenly white gate that lies below us is the safety net, our once-in-a-lifetime insurance plan that’ll support us to the very end. Then, of course, we have our hopes and dreams springing out like wheat seeds on barren fields of snowed-out grief. The overarching feeling we end up conveying to our own minds is one of futility: Yes, let the black, dark, gloomy string beans of poison own us. When we look up, they are what we see. We become scared, and that is what we are.

Meanwhile, we continue to float on what is blue, and watery, and shiny and whatnot. Intangible faith and the intermingling of dimensions lets us falsely coerce ourselves into submission of what may be and what may not be. Our universe is smaller than we can imagine, yet the paradoxical ideology exists that we may never be able to grasp the gigantic space that is available to us. But in the corner, while no one is looking, the yellow face of cowardice looks up, wanting to gain courage.

One of these it will—and all will be well.

I think in metaphors. So, if you are to come upon this site and read what I have written and then think to yourself, "I don't get it. What's up with this kid?" I would answer to you that in this world, there aren't many places I can convey myself in a manner popularly dubbed "experimental." But see, to me, it's not experimental.

I write in metaphors. I've found my thought patterns to be fluid, reminiscent of a Van Gogh painting. You know, how the brushstrokes simply bend and curve at will to come up with something proper. Incidentally, I'm not a huge Van Gogh fan. But examples are examples nonetheless.

What I try to do is simple: As a picture is worth a thousand words, I try to combat that and make it worth a hundred of mine. Sometimes the words on a page aren't to be taken for face value as their underlying visions are worth far more. Sometimes they come off a bit melodramatic, and I'll readily acknowledge that. But if I can be successful in conveying myself in that manner, then be it. After all, I've got time to sharpen up my skills.

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December 25, 2001

· · ·  Leaving Your Heart Behind

The Christmas spirit is tricky. On one hand, you've got twenty-something do-gooders, saviours of the human souls on a rampage to expunge all of the corporate influence out of our bones and marrows, worried that jolly Saint Nick is just Michael Eisner with some good old Disney-licious make-up. But, on the other hand, there's a world of people who live and love and don't think twice about Saint Nick's true identity. For them, it's not the truth that matters, it's the illusion that makes it happen.

Living in Houston, I was always close to home. Whenever Christmas came around, it tended to simply go back around without much notice. Sure, I'd easily be able to stock up on candy canes in the weeks preceding, but my bigger worry was how I was going to stop writing that "94" now that it was nearly "95." But now, living away from home with friends who also live away from home, I've picked up on a slew of actions that argue against the corporate theory, that Christmas isn't just business and, that even if it is, it doesn't hurt.

New York University, the East Village, my dorm on the Seaport: They all become deserted as soon as the finals end around December 21. I would have initially thought that this was one chance they could enjoy the city without the restrictions of academia. But it's not so, as there's an intangible Christmas spirit that takes everyone back home. It's some kind of wonderful, if you will.

Christmas is a good business. It fills people's hearts with joy. It fills other people's pockets with money, in turn filling their hearts with joy. In some way or another, a greater percentage of this country probably gains a greater level of happiness. There's nothing scientific here, I'm afraid. The IDC couldn't back me up: But my gut readily will. You just have to feel it. Feel it.

There are angels among us. I just spoke to one. She was delightful. She made me smile a million times over. And with that, let me wish you all a Merry Christmas. A Merry Christmas, Indeed.

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December 23, 2001

· · ·  On: Pizzicato Five Lounge Mix

Everything's a bit numb. I wake up and realize that it's already tomorrow's tomorrow. I have flashbacks of being a little kid in Paris walking along a garden path with my mother. We stand outside a kindergarten classroom for a friend. But we're informed, "He's sleeping." So we leave with regard to his comforted state.

It's hard to find a place where I can feel 100% comfortable. The grass is always greener where you're not: When I was in Dhaka between 1988 and 1990, every night I'd dream that a fairy would pick me up and drop me off in front of my uncle's apartment in Houston. And I still miss the milk I used to drink in London, from the bottles delivered directly to your doorstep every morning. Fresh and cold. Delicious.

I seem to associate a certain degree of comfort with foreign travels. Maybe it's due to their time periods, when my life was much simpler. I'm living through myself, my past. Every step that I take brings me closer to where I want to be, yet it seems to take me farther and farther away in relation to time.

Everything's so abstract now. We're working on a new and improved structure, soon to be launched internally. Hopefully you'll notice the changes soon. Passion has temporarily tilted over to the majority, but surely professionalism is on its way.

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