Brush the Tips of Both Hands Up and Down...

I recently had the pleasure of dining with a gentleman named Art. He is a sprite of a fellow, the kind where age brings sparkly wisdom without seeming to decrease youthful vigor.

He spoke of a desire to translate the Bible into sign language, and the problems he has encountered. When in discussion with a theological scholar, it was pointed out that the language transition would raise perhaps too many questions.

You see, sign language is based on transmitting concepts and ideas, rather than words – so a literal translation would not work. The conversion would have to go back to the intended meaning of the author.

As an example, Arthur started translating John 3:16:

“Because G-d had such great love for the…”

First snag – does he love the planet, or the people? The people.

“…The people, therefore he gave his only baby boy so that whosoever believes…”

Hold on, big problem. How to translate the intention of “whosoever?”

The concept is: “It does not matter who.”

And now I get Art’s problem. What are we to do with that?

“It does not matter who.”

But what if they don’t dunk, or misinterpret what “the rock” is, or play music using electric guitars?

“It does not matter who.”

But what if they are sinners, and I mean with the sins that are my pet peeves, and not the okay sins that I regularly engage in?

“It does not matter who.”

But what if they are liberal, or conservative, or don’t vote how I want them to? Or aren’t pro-big business, or don’t recycle, or don’t hate the right people, or don’t love the right people, or are too accepting, or are too restrictive? Or smell, or don’t have a well paying job, or have irritating habits?

“It does not matter who.”

That’s fine and all, but what if they are a loud-mouthed jackbutt with a tv show and a large ministry? Or a loud-mouthed jackbutt with a radio show and a large secular audience?

“It does not matter who.”

Man, I’m glad I don’t have to read the sign language on the wall. It requires too much thought, and frankly, too much Christ. (And that isn't a joke so much as a confession.)

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Courtesy of CS Weekly:

"I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off. I reply, 'The Beatles did'. "

– Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake

Clare Sailing

I'm not one to brag about successes of friends as if they were my own, boring you with my six degrees of separation and standing just down the block from fame and glory. So I shan't.

Oh, on a personal, unrelated note: Hey, Alice, our friend Clare Sera was mentioned in the Hollywood Reporter.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Calgary Etchings

Palm Sunday found me in Calgary, Alberta, of all places.

(Only two things about Calgary I knew before this trip – both learned in childhood.

1. The Winter Olympics were there. I learned that by watching tv.
2. Jesus wasn’t crucified there. I learned that by having a priest correct me in front of my first communion class.
   

I worshipped with my friend at Centre Street Church, which holds their big Easter concert on Palm Sunday. One of the many wonderful things within the event was the use of visual art.

As the orchestra played, two artists worked on a black canvas that was draped over a white video screen. The two worked independently, yet their art joined seamlessly.

Then, once the canvas was near full, I noticed them adding what would become a cross through the center of the piece. At first I thought they were using iridescent paint, because the cross glowed – but in looking closer, I realized that they weren’t painting a cross at all.

They were scraping a cross into the painting – etching so deep that the light of the screen behind the painting was shining through. (Apparently they weren’t working on canvas, but rather plexi-glass coated in black paint.)

Okay, this is cool for so many reasons, not one of which was explained to the congregation – we had to have eyes to see for ourselves.

What did I get from it?

That the light of Jesus isn’t a layer that we paint onto ourselves, but only something that shines through us when we get our gunk out of the way.

And that for G-d to shine through us, first he has to scrape. A painter’s version of C.S. Lewis’ Aslan using his claws to painfully, bloodily rip off Eustace’s layer upon layer of dragon scales.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Sunk Ship

I never was a big fan of the epic disaster movie in general. Most of them seemed like poor excuses to combine massive special effects with a large roster of stars.

But I was a big fan of a few disaster movies in particular. There were some that were a cut above the others; some that found a personal touch within the noise of buildings falling and airplanes crashing.

Now I don’t want to get all overly gushy – even the best come with their own cheese factor. But the good disaster movie is always larger than itself, larger than its effects.

Towering Inferno, for example. After McQueen and Newman part company in that lobby full of bodies -- there is more lingering there then just joy that some of our favorites survived. There is the melancholy of the cost of that survival, as well as respect.

Respect for human life – we understand more about life’s value now – not just because we faced death, but because of how we faced it.

And respect for nature – or the power of G-d if you will – we also understand more the dangers of Babel and the cost of mans hubris.

The good disaster movies do that, anyway.

Which brings me to the remake, Poseidon. I wasn’t expecting much Tivo’ing it on my free HBO weekend; and it lived up to expectation.

The flick started out all right; the cast – Braugher, Dreyfuss, Russell – quite fine, thank you very much.

And it definitely has visual flare and moments of roller coaster ride excitement. It’s just when the ride was over, one is left with nothing more than the wish to have ridden in a different car.

By the time the guy who tried to commit suicide kicks a fellow human being to a horrific death in order to save his own skin, I was made fully aware that this movie would not have a heart.

Oh, that kick was presented as a heart moment – a true moral dilemma, a we-have-to-make-the-hard-choice scene. But Suicide Guy wasn’t allowing one man to die for the greater good – he was allowing one man to die so he and he alone could live.

The Irwin Allen epic of bygone days would have handled that differently. Either Suicide Guy would have come to appreciate the value of life at some point in the journey; or would have realized that there is nothing heroic in sacrificing another for yourself; or would have given his life trying to save Kicked To A Horrible Death Dude.

Sure there are moments of true heroism in this movie; but they are flat, lifeless choices for the most part. We don’t learn more about the characters by their actions, nor do they seem to grow/diminish in the midst of crisis.

(Earl Palmer notes that the root of “crisis” is “moment of distinguishing.)

In the original, The Poseidon Adventure, the choices illuminated the characters to us and to themselves.

When Shelly Winters makes the decision that will ultimately exchange her life for the group, it comes with such heart and heartache – she almost has a joy finding her calling, her moment to redeem her wasted years, to erase her own demon of a poor body image.

“You see Mr. Scott? In the water I’m a very skinny lady.”

In Wolfgang Peterson’s remake, there is no such revelations, no such grace, no such resonance to the deaths that pile up. His film ends with the cast cheering and woohooing upon their rescue; no somber reflection, no meaning to what that rescue cost.

Certainly there is no Reverend Scott, hands burning in his act of sacrifice, Jacob-like in his refusal to let go until the G-d he claimed to no longer believe in grants a blessing and lets these, his sheep, survive.

Nah. That would have meant something.

And it would have made the movie larger than itself.

We simply aren’t aiming that high.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

ps In the original, the ship is left floating upside down, setting us up for the sequel. In the remake, Petersen allows the ship to sink. As if he knew...

Comedy at Bel Air!

Our church drama group is presenting another comedy night. If you are in the LA area, come check it out this Sunday night.

Cath and I have seen most of the acts - including the hamburger juggler (which we saw at the Magic Castle) and the magician (which we saw at McDonalds. Okay, it wasn't at McDonalds, but wouldn't that just be perfect?)

Oh, the juggler is considering balancing a running vacuum cleaner on his face. I haven't seen that before...

Join us for some real laughs!

"I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist
and that there are as few as there are any other great artists.
Teaching might even be the greatest of the arts since
the medium is the human mind and spirit."

- John Steinbeck

Empty Hands

As part of Cath and my preparation for Easter, we watched Robert Besson’s striking Diary of a Country Priest during Holy Week.

It is a thoughtful and at times achingly beautiful look at the inner life of a sickly priest dealing with a parish that despises him. (Thank you, Heather, for pushing me to watch this film.)

The movie is built on contradictions and tensions – a priest who painfully searches for G-d’s presence while being moved through His spirit; a congregation that rejects him because they see him as truly good; a life mystically set-apart yet mortally human.

The flick seems built on morsels of food-for-thought; nearly a gorging of simple bites.

One moment that struck me too deeply: the priest kneels at the body of a deceased woman – one whom he had recently (and supernaturally) counseled, resulting in her turning from bitter resentment to resigned contentment. His thoughts:

“I had said to her, ‘Peace be with you,’ and she’d received that peace on her knees. What wonder that one can give what one does not possess! Oh, miracle of our empty hands!”

I often have felt (feel!) empty; I know of the knee bruising, searching for a G-d inexplicably standing at the edge of sensation; I am familiar with eking out spiritual meals using ingredients solely from memory – of ecstasies past, earlier companionship, even the memory of communions yet to come.

And oh! I resonate with the awkward reassurance of being an instrument, of a spirit coursing through me on the way to someone else’s need, desire or whimsy.

To have a time of not hearing the Lord’s voice, save the echo as it is given, ventriloquist like, to an alternate audience!

In a way, is that not itself a communication? Is that not G-d in action, speaking to me by acting through me?

Is that not, in its own way, the answer to the petition, “My G-d, my G-d?”

Oh, miracle of our empty hands!

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Flowers or Fruit

I was walking in our park this week and noticed the flowers on the trees. Beautiful.









The only sad part was that many of the flowers had fallen off and were being trampled on the track.


As I lamented the squished blossoms, God reminded me that the goal of the tree is the FRUIT not the FLOWER.


So, I began to reflect how I mix those up in my life. I really like the good stuff, the big blessings, the "flowers" and I don't like letting go of them at all. But (metaphorically speaking) if I hold on to the flowers forever, I'm stunting my ability to bear fruit. Am I really more concerned with looking pretty? Do I mourn the flowers falling? Do I curse God because it's easier to see the flower part, and sometimes not as quick and easy to see the fruit?


Wondering as I walk...


--Catherine

From the good folk at Mars Hill Audio Journal:

"I may be wrong about this, but it seems that Christian lyricists these days

appropriate the victory before they carry the Cross; or they will rejoice that

Jesus bore the bitter wood for our sins, but do not consider that every one

of our sins was a thorn upon his brow, or a jagged stone to cut his feet

as he fought his slow way up to the Skull Place."

-- Anthony Esolen, "A Sign of Contradiction,"

on Touchstone magazine's Mere Comments blog, March 31, 2007

104,500 And Counting...

My publisher has informed me that LARRYBOY AND THE EMPEROR OF ENVY has had another printing.

I am now over a tenth of the way to having a million books in print -- EMPEROR has 72,500 copies, and LARRYBOY AND THE SINISTER SNOWDAY has 32,000.

Pretty nifty, thinks I.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Corinthian Sunshine

(Spoiler alert: scenes from LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE are discussed below. Oh, and while I am giving out warnings, LMS is R rated for a reason.)

This Lenten season, my small group has been focusing on St. Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians, exploring the notion of “Hope: Seeing Through Tears.”

Our look included chapter three, where Paul talks about how G-d writes on our hearts, and it is He (and not ourselves) that makes us competent and ready for life. Paul goes on to say that with that knowledge, he behaves more boldly.

We got to discussing how we would approach life differently if we also saw ourselves through G-d-eyes. Which got me to thinking about LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE.

There is a scene at the motel before the family arrives at the Little Miss Sunshine Pageant, where Olive expresses her doubts to Grandpa – about both being a winner and being pretty enough. You know the scene – the one that guaranteed a slue of acting nominations for both Abigail Breslin and Alan Arkin.

Grandpa reassures Olive that she is already a winner, because no matter what, she gets to dance. And he tells her she is beautiful, that in fact he is hot for her (and not for her mind!).

It is a beautiful scene, and one that I didn’t get the depth of when I first watched it. And I know I didn’t get it because of how I felt during the pageant scenes.

I felt as Olive’s mom and dad and brother felt – fearful that this contest was going to crush the little girl; that she was going to realize that she wasn’t as pretty or as talented or as adult sexy as the other girls; that she had no hope of winning this contest.

I felt that Olive was going to be shown as a fool.

I have no excuse; Richard and Sheryl and Dwayne didn’t see the scene in the hotel room, so they can be excused. But I should have known better.

You see, Olive couldn’t be shown to be a fool by the pageant; nor could she discover that she wasn’t pretty or talented or sexy. Because the pageant folk didn’t have a vote in the matter – she already knew that she was beautiful, gifted and “hot” by her audience of one.

When she dances at the pageant, she dances in complete freedom and confidence; because she sees herself through her grandpas eyes.

And that is how Olive approaches life differently.

If only I could fully get that lesson.

I have already won, because no matter what, I get to dance.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Catherine's TV talkie debut

Okay everyone ... I have 3 lines on an upcoming episode of "Passions".

It's a crazy show - you've been warned.

But, if you want to see me speak my first 3 lines on national television, tune in and watch for the head caterer about 1/2 way through the episode.

Episode 1.1963
THURSDAY - March 29th
NBC
2:00pm
check your local listings

If you miss it, I think you can watch it online the next day at the "Passions" recap site.

Scrubs' Higher Purpose

(Be aware: SCRUBS contains material both sexual and occasionally vulgar, and their occasional treatment of G-dly things does not automatically mean the show is appropriate for all viewers.)

I consider it part of my duty with this blog to give insight into the inner workings of Hollywood. For instance, many of you may not know how television shows choose their themes from week to week.

In the case of SCRUBS, the writing staff looks at what I am studying in the Lenten season and base their show on that. In this case, “The Reversals of G-d; Seeing Hope through Tears.”

At least I assume that is how they chose their episode for last week, “My No Good Reason” (continuing to this week). Why else would it be so perfect?

(WARNING: Do not operate heavy machinery while reading this blog. Oh, and major SPOILERS of last week’s SCRUBS episode ahead – so if you Tivo’d the show, stop reading now.)

A major subplot last Thursday dealt with Dr. Cox challenging the overtly Christian faith of the Nurse Roberts.

SCRUBS has often dealt with Christianity and faith in broad comedic strokes, sarcasm, and even-handedness (as all topics are dealt with in broad comedic strokes and sarcasm). And faith has tended to hold its own.

This battle between Cox and Roberts also showed faith holding its own.

You see, Cox is down on life, especially as his pregnant wife needed an emergency procedure and is now bedridden – making Cox her slave, providing for her every whim.

And Roberts views all of life with an upbeat attitude, espousing the belief that even the bad things in life happens for a divine reason. Or, as she quotes, “God uses all things for good.”

So Cox tries to dissuade her, even pointing out the 8 year old girl that was stabbed during a robbery. How could G-d use that for good?

Roberts holds her own, and seems to get the upper hand when the doctors uncover a tumor in the girl – one that would have killed the child if she hadn’t been there for the stab wound.

When Cox has had enough, and blasts Roberts with all he has about logic, and Universal unfairness, and the fact that life sucks, the nurse responds in fury. She can only get through her days at the hospital with faith – watching the suffering, the dying, the pain; it is only her belief in a higher power and purpose that allows her to show up every morning.

And don’t you dare take that away from her!

Oh, and she argues with one last example: Dr. Cox’s wife needed the procedure and is now on forced bed rest, a seemingly no-win, unfair situation, true? But Roberts asks how is Cox’s relationship with his wife.

He is forced to admit it: his tumultuous, fiery, often painful relationship – has never been so tender and loving.

Cox is seen snuggling with his wife that night, a new man: he has a fresh angle on existence – everything just might have a purpose after all; he may even have found joy in life.
Until he walks into work the next day to discover that Nurse Roberts has been in a car accident and is now in a coma, one that she will probably never wake up from.

To be continued this coming Thursday.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Miller, McKee and Me

My friend Jennifer is not only good for gritty soap recommendations, but also for finding bon mots online that she knows I will especially appreciate.

Such as this link to a Donald Miller essay on film and structure and Robert McKee. (You'll remember Miller from such hits as BLUE LIKE JAZZ.)

Favorite moment from the blog-- as Miller talks about the importance of story in the Bible:

"Right and wrong, then, are not often taught by lists (truth without meaningful context) but rather through the tools of story. The seminar made me wonder why religious institutions who aim to teach ancient texts don’t have story departments alongside their systematic pursuits. It seems that one might benefit from the other."

Hey, Miller, need a choir? I'm ready for you!

Just my thoughts,

Sean

For Crying Out Loud

Example #2

There is a scene in the movie where the wonderful Abigail Breslin is talking about being concerned about her mother. Abigail bawls her way through the scene; it is moving, this little girl’s concern for her mom.

But just kinda moving.

Donald Sutherland tells a great story about shooting ORDINARY PEOPLE.

There is a pivotal scene where Donald confronts his wife (played to icy perfection by Mary Tyler Moore). It is late at night; Mary has discovered that her hubby isn’t in bed, and has come downstairs to find him crying in the dining room.

Donald bawls his way through the scene, telling her that they are a family, and they have to make a choice – to struggle on as a family, or be doomed by remaining aloof individuals. Mary turns away from him, goes up the stairs, and packs her bags.

It is a powerful scene, and Donald – mustering all the tears he could – thought it moving.

But just kinda moving.

Months later he called his friend, the director Bobby (Robert Redford to you and me), and said he can’t sleep thinking about that scene and how they did it all wrong. Robert said he was thinking the same thing.

The got back together and re-shot the thing – this time with no tears.

The thinking was that Donald’s character had been crying all night, and had no tears left. That is why he needed his wife – he had nothing left on his own. The tearless cut is the one that made it into the movie.

And when Mary turns and goes up those stairs – devastating. Not a dry eye in the house.

Basic rule of acting/directing: if the character cries, the audience doesn’t need to. If the character can’t cry (or is struggling not to cry), the audience cries for them.

Think about it – a crying baby earns your pity. A baby that looks up at you with eyes welling up in tears, shaking in an attempt to hold them back – demolishing.

There are times when a character must cry, no way getting around it. But that is where the director really needs to step up and not let the audience get release from the character.

For example, in THE QUEEN; at that pivotal moment of breakdown, the director wisely moves the camera – we know she is crying, but he wasn’t about to let us intrude on it.

And that is how you get nominated for an Oscar.

Aristotle in his POETICS warned us against making the crying mistake millennia ago. He said it is the job of the storyteller to give the audience – NOT the character – a cathartic release.

Abigail was directed to bawl through her scene, giving the character, not the audience, a cathartic moment.

So we have an okay, competent scene.

But a lot of dry eyes in the house.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

PS I am referring, of course, to scenes where the crying is a way of conveying emotion, as opposed to showing vulnerability. So Glen Close curled up naked while crying in the shower in THE BIG CHILL is a whole other ball of wax.

Setup, Reinforce, Reverse

Nathan asked regarding my review of THE ULTIMATE GIFT: “What are the freshman mistakes you think the director made? I'd love to know what your take is.”

Okay, folks, we are entering the world of “things Sean is interested in because this is his field that you may be bored by.” Like listening to insurance salesmen chat about how rising rates adversely effect claims dispensations.

But here goes.

SPOILER ALERT: In answering how this good movie was spoiled, I may spoil a scene for y’all. I’ll try not to. Honest, I will.

Example #1

There is a comedic moment in the story that goes like this:

A Guy (we will call him Guy for purposes of this essay) goes to the hospital to visit his friend, Patient. The room is empty, except for a Nurse making the bed.

Guy: “Where is Patient?”
Nurse: “I’m sorry, Patient has gone to be with G-d.”

The camera focuses on Guy’s shocked look. Smash cut to:

Patient in the chapel, praying.

It’s a pretty funny idea, in my opinion. Nice play on words, with a visual payoff – perfect for film.

And the scene follows the appropriate three point joke structure – send us in a direction (the patient has died!); reinforce the direction (Guy registers that patient has died!); then give us the reversal (the patient hasn’t died, she’s just gone down the hall to be with G-d).

So what’s the problem? The scene I outlined above was not the scene in the movie. In the movie it went like this:

Guy: “Where is Patient?”
Nurse: “I’m sorry, Patient has gone to be with G-d.”

Smash cut to: Patient in the chapel, praying.

The director skipped part two: reinforcing the direction. The audience isn’t given enough time to register what the nurse said before seeing the Patient in the chapel. In other words, the director told the joke this way:

“Oh, the patient isn’t here, the patient is in the chapel, because she went to be with G-d.”

Joke telling 101 messed up; a freshman mistake.

More examples to follow.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Truly Gritty

My bathroom soap has grit in it. And for this I blame Jennifer.

I was in one of those fancy Body, Bath and Backagain type stores with my wife. You know, the places that sell shampoos with ingredients like cucumber, pomegranates, beef jerky and the like.

Hint for guys out there shopping for their lady friends: cleansing items containing ingredients normally found in fruit salad are high quality. Even better – ingredients from dinner salads. And foods listed in the Bible? Pure personal hygiene product gold.

So I’m hanging around the store, not really paying attention. My typical method of shampoo shopping includes finding the lowest price at the local supermarket, and making sure it doesn’t have a name from my wife’s disapproval list, like “Gee, Your Hair Doesn’t Stink” shampoo or “Eh, It’s Not So Bad Considering The Price” conditioner.

We had been in there awhile, and my wife was looking to finish off a gift certificate, when my eye caught something familiar.

“Hey, look, soap like Jennifer uses!”

Both Cath and I had spent time at Hotel L’Jennifer, so my wife snatched up the soap, and it now sits on our bathroom sink.

And the soap has grit it. Cucumber, true, but also grit. When washing, one can feel the grit, the feeling of dirt scrapping the hands.

I suppose the grit is there to help make true the label promise of “deep cleansing.”

It puts me in mind of camping with my Dad. When it came time to clean our dishes, Dad had an odd strategy. Whereas my Mom would suggest soap and sponges, Dad had us take up a handful of river dirt, toss it in the pot, and scrub away.

Clean with dirt? Every kid’s dream.

And you know what? It worked. Quite well, in fact.

So looking for a deep clean?

Maybe it’s time to roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Lockheed and Bread Runs

I met the guy a little over ten years ago, when I was courting Catherine.

He was the quintessential grumpy old man, his opinions stated as facts, his dislikes and prejudices along with his delights worn on his jumpsuit sleeve, his religion less an organized affair as an “understanding” between himself and G-d.

He would always greet Catherine as he had when she was knee-high: with a bear hug that would lift her off her feet, followed by a statement to the effect that she had gained weight since their last meeting. A cute ceremony when she was five; one that appealed only to Otto himself when she reached adulthood.

That is, until he fell too weak for the ritual; I think Cath instantly missed the much griped about way a life-long stoic had of saying, “I often think of you.”

He had a near century of stories, although I don’t think he knew it. His generation of people didn’t tell stories so much as relate facts. The year so-and-so got out of the army and moved to California; the route the trains took from Rapid City to Denver; the changes in Pasadena from the fifties to the sixties.

But in between the data, oh there were some grand stories.

As a boy, he sold pop outside the factory. One sweltering day, a customer wanted the last orange soda – the hot drink that had been on display in the sun. Shoving the searing glass bottle into ice caused an explosion – one that severed a tendon in his hand.

To his dying day, Otto couldn’t bend his middle finger, causing his hand to display a permanent and appropriate bird flip.

Deemed unfit for combat, the military asked him to serve as one on only two men at his Lockheed warehouse during the second war to end all wars. He was the cute one; the other guy, the geezer.

He rode the rails between Nebraska and California old-style, sitting on top of the cars, hopping off at slow curves. A picture straight out of SULLIVAN’S TRAVELS.

He filled retirement by volunteering at missions and soup kitchens. He put his forceful demeanor to work, bullying supermarkets into donating bread that Otto would then deliver to the ministries every morning.

As I said, stories.

I wasn’t able to collect anywhere near all of them; he required a bit of cajoling to convince him that his yarns were of more interest than the best route to travel to Modesto.

Catherine and I spent last Saturday at her folks’ place, memorializing her grandfather’s passing. We then drove down through gold country, as I learned of his cabin there, and the times the family would vacation together.

More stories.

Here’s to you, Otto. And don’t give Peter too hard of a time; I’m sure by now you’ve browbeat him into allowing you to do a bread run down to the less fortunate.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Laughtear

This Lenten season, our church is focusing on the journey of suffering – how pain in life paradoxically brings many good things, including hope.

We storytellers get that. No good story is painless; every true tale of hope means the hero is going to have to pay a big price along the way.

The great theologian, Walt Disney, lamented about PETER PAN (as quoted from the commentary by the goodly monks at Entertainment Weekly) that he wasn’t able to get close to his protagonist because Walt never found Peter’s pain. (Sorry for the unintended pun.)

In Walt’s words, “With every laugh, there must be a tear somewhere.”

Here’s to a few tears, and the laughs they bring.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Ultimate Opens

My friend, Cheryl McKay, wrote a movie that is opening this weekend -- THE ULTIMATE GIFT.

The movie stars James Garner and Abigail Breslin (of LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE fame), Brian Dennehy, and a bunch more. It also won the Crystal Heart at The Heartland Film Festival.

I haven't seen it yet, but I know that Cheryl is a wonderful writer. How good of a writer?

THE ULTIMATE GIFT is based on a best selling book. Cheryl was about the fifth writer hired to try and adapt the thing (typcial for Hollywood). Here's a secret for you non-writer types: a good adaptation requires change -- since it is being translated into a media with a completely different set of strengths.

Oh, and a good adaptation has to stay true to the heart of the original.

Cheryl was the first writer to come up with that winning combination -- different, yet true.

So, back to my question -- how good of a writer?

A novelist (Rene Gutteridge) has been hired to write a novelization of the movie. Yeah, Cheryl did her job so well, that there will now be two THE ULTIMATE GIFT novels -- the original, and the one based on Cheryl's work.

You can see the flick this weekend, AND support my favorite writing class: Act One Writing for Hollywood by buying your tickets online.

Go to: http://www.foxfilmfund.com/
Choose The Ultimate Gift and enter your zip code.
If you find a theater in your area, proceed to GET TICKETS NOW.
It will direct you to Fox Faith’s section of Fandago.
Upon check out, you can enter the Act One code: 500231

To view the trailer - go here.

And enjoy the show.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Snow Fall

My brother Mark, resident of the snow thumped Upstate New York, recently sent an e-mail I thought worth mentioning.

His 82 year old neighbor got up on his barn, trying to get the snow off the roof to relieve the building of some weight.

Well, his neighbor fell off the roof.

Oh, don’t get this wrong, I’m not writing this as a prayer request. The neighbor wasn’t hurt in the least.

And this isn’t really a praise report either, as there wasn’t much miraculous in an 82 year old falling off a barn and suffering no injuries. Well, at least not this winter.

You see, he fell a total of two feet into the snow drift that had engulfed his barn.

Two feet up.

If you’re gonna fall off a barn, that is the way to do it.

Below is a picture taken on my brother’s property.

Now, don’t go all feeling sorry for my relatives (they’ve been competing, what with Mark’s drifts, Matt and Mike’s windy Colorado snow, Mary’s iced roads, and… well, I have ten siblings with rivaling winter stories).

You see, we’ve had it rough here in Southern California ourselves. As Cath pointed out, it is nearly impossible to shovel snow in eighty degree weather.

You try it some time.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Prepare to be spontaneous

I have absorbed bits and pieces of wisdom about acting from many teachers, friends and peers. One of the most profound and lasting was "prepare to be spontaneous" which I learned from a truly great actor (Jeff Berryman). The concept is that, as an actor, we do all our homework (all the character analysis, script work, etc) but then we must be free enough to let go of it, trusting that the foundation is there, and follow the impulses that occur when we get it on its feet in rehearsal and performance.

I found another quote today that reinforces this thought - but from a musicians point of view.

From the Sunday LA Times, Takacs Quartet first violinist Edward Dusinberre is interviewed.

"Athough many in the audience know this music, we hope to convey a sense that it is being played for the first time, that we are just as surprised and transported by changes of harmony, character and tempo as were its first performers and listeners. Paradoxically, it is repeated rehearsal that gives us the freedom to surprise ourselves and the audience."

I love that. "It is repeated rehearsal that gives us the freedom to surprise ourselves. Cool!

Just Catherine's thoughts!

Heroic Faith

The notion of faith has been popping up a lot on television, and quite prominently on one of my geek guilt favorites, HEROES.

This past week, as the cheerleader sits tied up and in dire straights, her mom attempts comfort by saying that Dad will come save them. Based on what, the cheerleader wants to know.

Faith, says mom.

This, in face of the news that Dad may well be the cause of their danger, that Dad has been lying about his job, that Dad may be the one that gave Mom her brain aneurysm that will likely take her life.

With all of that, how can you have faith, the cheerleader rightfully wants to know.

Because of what I have seen in the past, is the simple answer given by this simple woman.

Faith is based on things seen.

Interesting insight, especially as it comes from someone that calls her dog Mr. Muggles. (Even worse, from someone that calls that ball of barking fur a dog at all.)

No wonder that when G-d would ask his people in the Old Testament to have faith, he most often started with the word, “Remember.”

Earl Palmer says that the call of the artist is contained more in that word from G-d than anything else. We are called to remember, and to help our audience, our people, remember.

We are called to faith.

Oh, and not to give out spoilers or anything, but Dad shows up.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Prison Grace

PRISON BREAK continues to surprise and entertain me. I was a bit worried about the whole, “they are out of prison, can they sustain" thing. Not worried any longer, as several other shows have kept up the “on the run” feel for seasons (FUGITIVE or even BATTLESTAR, for examples).

I am, as always, several weeks behind in my viewing. Just saw the ep “The Message,” which borrows a subplot from LES MISERABLE. As the word “faith” has been played with in the show (as well as in HEROES, see tomorrow’s blog), I’m not surprised that such an inspirational book is being referenced.

Of course, man on the run from prison being chased by unflagging forces, well that's got Hugo's thumbprint on it from the get go.

So, Sucre is now on the run in Mexico, trying desperately to get to his girlfriend before she returns to the states. He meets up with an old man, who offers him food and lodging for the night – Sucre accepts, mostly because he plans on stealing the old man’s car.

During dinner, the old man gets Sucre to talk about where he is going. At one point, the old man – not a priest, but certainly a priestly figure, as confirmed with all the candles in the scene -- leans back and sighs. (Conversation translated from the Spanish):

Old Man: “A man living on hope.”

Sucre: “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Old Man: “Hope if for people who do not already live in grace.”

Interesting, says I.

What is to follow plays straight from the Les Miz handbook, but that didn’t bother me. It was adapted well. I look forward to seeing if Sucre pays the old man back with as much integrity as Val Jean.

So I leave you with this command: “Find your girl. Then find grace.”

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Oscar

I know some folk out there read this blog because it gives them insight into the biz called Hollywood. I’m never too sure whether they should be trusting my inside take, as I rarely get this biz right.

I started making a list comparing what I said would win at the Oscars, and what actually happened. Here’s the shocker: This year, all of my predictions were accurate except for Best Animated Feature.

Don’t think I’ve ever been that right before – and this year I didn’t enter any betting pools. Ah well.

The important thing to remember – and the real reason to distrust my opinions on the inside of Hollywood – is that by accurately predicting who will win, I showed the disparity between who did and who I wanted to win…

So maybe I’m getting to understand Hollywood’s taste, without necessarily having the same tastes.

Is that a bad thing?

-Sean

Just My Oscar Thoughts

Disclaimer: I am not an Oscar voter, and I haven’t seen all the movies. So I am sure to have missed much. Take what I say with two grains of salt, and call me on it in the morning.

BEST PICTURE: I really enjoyed LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (review) and THE QUEEN, but neither feels like a “great” picture – one that is a classic for the ages. THE DEPARTED (review) seems the frontrunner – and it is a piece of masterful moments and great performances; but the flaws are also so prominent, it also doesn’t feel deserving of an A+. BABEL is touted as “important,” and I’ll risk being taking to task again (as I did last year) by saying that “important” doesn’t mean “best.” So where do I stand? Maybe there isn’t a best this year…
What I want to win: LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
What should win: LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA
What will win: THE DEPARTED

BEST DIRECTOR: Scorsese did a fine job, and got great performances from his actors. Is that enough? Maybe – I won’t complain when he takes the statue (and he will).
Who should win: Clint Eastwood.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY: THE QUEEN is a marvelous flick, but that’s Helen and Stephen; the screenplay is very good, but not the goods.
Who I want to win: LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE
Who will win: LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY: I’m having trouble with the nominees here. First, if a movie has no screenplay, how does it get nominated? BORAT allegedly has raw material from improvisation sculpted by an editor – unless an admission to a scandal is afoot – was the whole thing scripted with actors, and just one big joke on the American ticket buyer? Wouldn’t surprise me…
THE DEPARTED was fine but flawed (I blame the director, I think the writer had all the holes filled). But until I see INFERNAL AFFAIRS, I won’t know how much this writer did beyond translating from the Chinese.
Who I want to win: No opinion.
Who will win: THE DEPARTED

BEST ACTOR: Will Smith moved me in THE PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS – marvelous. Peter O’Toole is deserving of the honor, but VENUS – how do I say it? One reviewer pointed out that it is the only feel good movie that leaves you wanting a shower. Too true. Some of it is wonderful, breath-taking, touching; and some of it is just icky. Too icky, maybe, to see past and give Peter the chance for more than his honorary Oscar.
Who I want to win: Will Smith
Who will win: Forest Whitaker

BEST ACTRESS: Meryl Streep earns the nom with her no-makeup scene admitting the troubles in her marriage. Earns the nomination, not the night. No question on the best performance here.
Who I want to win: Helen Mirren
Who will win: Helen Mirren

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: I am torn. Abigail Breslin did an amazing job in LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE – I want her to win for the small things – admitting to gramps that she doesn’t think she is beautiful, giving her brother a hug, believing she can dance – and enjoying her dancing without need for audience approval.
But Jennifer Hudson owns the screen. I want her to win for the big and brassy. (Sidenote – there is some scandal over DREAMGIRLS not getting nominated for best pic. It is a false scandal; the movie has amazing performances, and standout moments, but structurally was a mess (review). Want proof that the movie doesn’t know what its real story is? Jennifer Hudson was nominated for supporting actress. So who’s the lead?)
Who I want to win: Split decision, as both Abigail and Jennifer share the podium…
Who will win: Hudson

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: Eddie Murphy surprises with his turn in DREAMGIRLS. Who knew? But watching NORBITT ads, and the fear that he will feel the need to show up in a fat suit scares me from wanting him to win.
Who I want to win: Alan Arkin
Who will win: Alan Arkin

BEST ANIMATED FEATURE: Who I want, and will, and should: CARS.

BEST SHORT DOC: Haven’t seen any of them, but heard interviews on NPR. Won’t make win predictions, but TWO HANDS seems to be a must see.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

More Oscar Prep

In honor of the Oscars, some quotes from William Goldman, in The Big Picture: Who Killed Hollywood? And Other Essays.

“There is no “Best.” Last year I thought Fargo was the flick. The English Patient took the crown. Doesn’t make me wrong. Doesn’t mean I’m right, either. Last year I thought the most putrescent effort was Twister. (I will never get over the scene in which a cow is flying past and the dumb lady shrink is on her cell phone talking to a patient. Disgraceful.) But I’ll bet there are people who thought that Twister got robbed, that it should have been nominated. Are they wrong? Nope. For all we know, in 50 years there will be doctoral dissertations on such diverse subjects as “Symbolism of the Flying Cow in Fact and Fiction” or “The Behavior of Women in Windstorms.””

In case you were wondering what Mr. Destroyer looks like, here is an artist's rendering (courtesy of Cory Edwards).

For more info on my reading, head to The Fantastical Adventures of Mister Destroyer Vs. The Code.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Fantastical Reading

Are you in the LA area?

Come play with us! Or, more to the point, come hear a play with us.

My opus, THE FANTASTICAL ADVENTURES OF MR. DESTROYER VS. THE CODE, will have a staged reading at the Blank Theatre in Los Angeles on Monday, February 26^th.

I have a killer cast, including hot babe Catherine Gaffney.

Joining her, in no particular order, are: Joel McCrary, David Storrs, Julie Mitchell, Jodi Shilling, Kevin Brief, Timothy Horner, and Kimberly Delozier. Directed by Shon Little.

For more information, visit: http://www.fantasticaladventures.com/

- Sean

More Sick Thoughts

I can hear my face.

And I don’t like it very much.

It sounds like my cartilage is constantly crinkling, like one of Matt’s boys squirming to get comfortable on a new leather couch.

(Matt’s boys are each over six feet tall. And the couch isn’t very cozy, as the darned kid won’t stop moving. I bet it’s Josh. Yeah, Josh is squirmy.)

Cath says the noise isn’t cartilage at all, but rather it is mucus. The sound is caused by sections of mucus breaking off, like ice calving from a glacier. She also says that it is good, a sign that I am healing.

She says other things, but I’m not listening. I’m too taken with the mucus as glacier image.

I wonder if there are native mucus people – let’s call them Mucamos – and I wonder if they put their elderly Mucamos onto mucus floes, and watch them as they float off into the Sinus Sea.

And I’m glad that this is a sign that I’m healing, because I can’t wait to stop hearing my face.

And to start thinking and writing of things other than little snot populations and booger bergs.

And maybe you can start reading about other things as well.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

In Typos Past

I thought of Janet as I looked at the screen.

I was lost in worship, so it required a double then triple take to register the mistake. But sure enough, up there in bold letters were the lyrics to the hymn we were singing – “our shelter from the stormy blast.”

Only “stormy” was missing an “m.”

I thought immediately of Janet – who lists worship related typos among her pet peeves.

And Janet is a story teller, so I wondered if she would’ve taken this one personally, had she been in Kansas with me.

My guess is she would have let out a laugh before even realizing it.

I mean, seriously, when was the last time anyone in church needed “shelter from a story blast?”

Although, come to think of it, such a blast would be welcome from time to time.

And I imagine G-d, in His love, would choose to not shelter us from it.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

A Thought Flu Across My Mind...

On day three of bed rest from a bug picked up in Kansas. Going a little stir crazy, but too loopy to focus for extended periods of time.

I wouldn’t want this period of rest and relaxation to go to waste, so I’ve collected the bits of wisdom one can learn in such a setting:

-My cat, River, is fascinated by Kevin Kline as Hamlet, but doesn’t care much for the ghost. I'm sure this information will come in handy in the future.

-Being loaded with drugs still doesn’t help make The Hulk a good movie. But it does make me giggle thinking that I wouldn't want to see him Ang Lee.

-Charlotte Bronte is a decent enough companion for the bed-laden; although Rochester is so dense, the exasperation thus inflamed may not bide goodly for the patient.

-A cat sitting on one’s head in health is cute; a cat sitting on one’s head whilst one attempts to breathe through a fog of phlegm tips towards irritating.

-While a half hour of Jon Stewart allowing our government to mock itself is very funny, catching up on hours of back programming (and realizing that Mr. Stewart doesn’t have to work hard to find this stuff) is distressing.

-Chicken soup aids in healing by creating an overwhelming desire to get away from any more chicken soup!

-A cracker in hot soup: 4 seconds – barely wet enough to hold flavor; eight seconds – nicely softened with soupy goodness; twelve seconds – dissolved, need the spoon to retrieve.

-Good rule of thumb: if one falls asleep in the same spot in the same book three times or more, it is time that one moved on to a different book.

-One blessing of a head bug is the opportunity to convince one’s brother via the phone that Sean isn’t here right now, but has somehow managed to lure Bea Arthur away from show business long enough to act as his personal assistant.

I’m sure my wisdom will only increase as I sit here.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill...

My legs are probably the most in shape part of my body, but they are also the ones that gripe the most.

They complain when I jog.

They moan in disbelief when I move past the car, choosing instead to walk the two blocks to the grocery store (“we’re in LA, nobody walks to the store!” they cry out).

They even whine when I get up from watching tv to go to bed. (“Hey, what’s wrong with the floor? Some of the greatest leaders in history slept on the floor.”)

So of course it was the legs that complained the most when I foolishly agreed to take a hike up the hill with my comrades.

First off, don’t agree to go on a hike with Elizabeth and Miguel. They don’t get what hikes are supposed to be about – they are supposed to be leisurely strolls until the ground starts arcing upwards. Then they are supposed to be about turning around and conferring on how far we are going to tell everyone we hiked.

But these two think that going to the top of a hill means going to the top of a hill. Who ever heard of such a thing?

And as we were in Eden, Utah, the hill was really a ridge on a mountain.

My legs started complaining fairly early on. They simple didn’t like the looks of this – they had been in situations like this before. They knew what was coming.

When we hit the picturesque cabin – a perfectly good stopping point – my companions merely paused long enough to look up. See that ridge? We can make that ridge.

And my legs started “I told you so”ing as my pride moved my mouth to say, “Sure, we can make that ridge.”

Making the ridge wasn’t as hard as other hikes I’ve been on. And I recounted those hikes to my legs as they started getting shaky further up the mount.

“Remember Hawaii?” Hawaii was bad, because Cath and I hiked farther than we should have, and had to choose between struggling back or offering ourselves as sacrifices to the volcano gods.

The volcano gods rejected us – something about wedding nights, Madonna, and Virgin Airlines. I didn’t quite understand, as I was mostly thinking about how this wasn’t nearly as bad as Mount St. Helens.

I did St. Helens before it erupted. The part near the top, where it is all ash? Yeah, that part I took one step at a time. Literally.

Step. Pause. Breath. Okay. Step. Pause. Breath. Okay. Step…

“See?” I told my legs in Eden. “We survived much worse – and there are no volcanoes in Utah, so how bad can it be?”

My legs grumbled, but knew that they weren’t nearly as influential as those two guys closer to the brain – pride and ego.

Elizabeth and Miguel could do it. And not only that, they were chit-chatting about marathons, and mountain runs, wrassling bears and crocodiles while winning triatholons. Those two were making it look easy.

Besides, said Pride, if you quit now, not only will you have to admit that you didn’t make it as far as the others, but these two are going to have to carry you back down. Is that worth avoiding a few aches in the morning?

So I kept on, until we reached the top – or at least as far as the brambles would let us go.

Not so bad. Spectacular view. The good feelings of pushing oneself past the limits. The soaring belief in the limitless potential of man.

The realization that I still had to get down.

“Not so bad,” says the brain. “The return trip is always easier.”

My brain is not so bright, as you all have figured out by now.

So my legs gripe, “Remember the return in Hawaii? Or Oregon? Why is control always given to the idiot in the head? Why not let the knees decide where we go next?”

And onward I go.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Super Sis

Even my own sister is more super than I am! Which is, like, totally unfair because she is a superhero in real life (four kids, all within a year of each other in age -- need I say more?).

Here are Mary's results:

Your results:You are Superman
Superman 80%
Robin 72%
Spider-Man 55%
The Flash 50%
Supergirl 45%
Iron Man 35%
Wonder Woman 30%
Green Lantern 30%
Hulk 20%
Catwoman 20%
Batman 15%

You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.

Oscar Watch - Sunshine

(Little Miss Spoilers contained below. You've been Little Miss Warned.)

Abigail Breslin is up for an Oscar for her role in LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE. And worthily so; this tyke is in the scenes that carry the heart of the show.

Olive confessing to her grandpa that she doesn’t feel pretty (a scene that got Alan Arkin his Oscar nod).

Dwayne writing a note to Olive, telling her to hug Mom (he does care!).

And the best moment in the whole film: Olive sent to talk Dwayne into coming back to the van. What does she say? Not a word; rather she puts her arm around him, in support of his needs rather than hers.

What was that I was saying a few blogs ago? Preach the gospel at all times; use words if necessary.

Abigail is a busy little actress, going from SUNSHINE to a movie written by my friend Cheryl McKay, THE ULTIMATE GIFT. (Opening next month at a theatre near you!)

Cheryl even claims to have an early look at “the dance” – as Abigail showed it to her at a wrap party.

Of course, being before the release of SUNSHINE, the dance looked rather precocious, even for an actress so gifted so young.

Maybe we’ll see more of the dance when Abigail steps up there to accept her award…

Just my thoughts,

Sean

An Ad Even A Cat Can Smell

Every once in a while, I run across an ad that makes me want to buy a different product.

For example, there is a kitty litter ad out there with a picture of a cat on two feet, front paws over the privates, back legs crossed.

The idea (and slogan) is that the kitty litter is so fresh smelling, that even the cat can’t find it, and hence is running about with a severe case of the "I gotta goes."

That’s great in terms of not smelling kitty litter in one’s home.

But imagine how a house will smell if the cats can’t find the kitty litter box.

Yeah, I’ll go with another brand.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Super. Bowl, That Is

This year’s Super Bowl was an amazing and exciting game. The commercials, not so much.

Here is my round-up:

Best Opening: The game had an opening kick-off returned for a touch-down. The ads had “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” showing the true value of rock over paper. It seemed like we were heading in the right direction…

Lamest of the Day: On the field, constant fumbles and dropped passes. In the ads, saleslead.com came out early to let us know that just because one is paying hundreds of thousands of dollars for the space, doesn’t mean one has to put any thought or creativity or entertainment in one’s ads. Saleslead’s successful guy was a joke waiting for a punch line; but they were serious, and the punch line was the ad itself.

Most Insensitive: In the game, Phil Simms announced during the opening kick-off that it was good for the Colts to start by kicking (seven seconds later they had given up a TD); and later announced that the Bears quarterback was in a groove and will now show improvement (just as Grossman threw an easy interception).

Between the action, GM, apparently forgetting the painful history of lay-offs and communities destroyed by lack of work in the auto industry, showcased a commercial where the GM organization fires a machine for dropping a screw, and drives said worker to suicide. What chance do human workers have at such a company?

Best Use of Assets: The NFL wins this one in an ad for itself: Getting Indiana native David Letterman to cozy up on the coach with Chicago institution Oprah Winfrey. Delightful.

Best Attempt: The Bears defense kept coming up with turnovers; which failed to help as the Bears offense kept coming up with turnovers. Sprint had a nice spoof going on those blue pill ads with it’s own “Connectile Dysfunction.” Didn’t quite pull it off, pretty much by giving away the joke too early. Fill in your own joke here.

Runner-up: The Bears. Off the field, Fed-ex “Moon Office.” Clever, and kept building. Several turns. Surprise ending. Just like the game.

Most heartfelt: Coach Dungy giving props to his opposing coach, and pointing out that both of them together proved that there is a way to win that involves class, respect, and building up the sport. As to the ads, the series of shots of African Americans watching the game, coming to a stop on the grandfather watching with his young grandson, smiling in the knowledge that this generation will grow up assuming that such an event is normal.

Best of the Day: The Colts need no explanation or voting. Commercials, however, need some explanation.

For me, a great ad should be like 4H (of which I was briefly a member). The “H’s” are: Head (it makes you think), and Heart (it makes you feel).

The other two for 4H are hand and health, but what do they know about commercials? So I’m substituting Humor (it doesn’t take itself too seriously) and Howitmakesyourememberwhotheadisadvertising. (Hey, you come up with an h word that says the audience doesn’t forget the sponsor.)

The winner: Jack in the Box, with Jack’s son announcing in front of the school and other parents that he wants to grow up to be a vegetarian.

Extra points for hinging a million dollar ad on a bad pun. My kind of people.

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Spiderwife

My wife is more of a superhero than I am.

The universe is laughing.

Here are Catherine's results:

You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 75% Green Lantern 75% Superman 65% Supergirl 55% Hulk 55% Iron Man 45% Robin 40% Catwoman 35% Batman 25% Wonder Woman 20% The Flash 20% You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

A bit geeky? I have rubbed off on her!

Just my thoughts,

Sean

Somewhat Super

I’m not much for those “who are you” quizzes, but the geek inside couldn’t stay away from http://www.thesuperheroquiz.com/.

It ranks the percentage similar to various superheroes.

The closest for me is 60%; those around me taking the quiz are up in the high 80 and 90%. Maybe I’m not a superhero…

But if I was, here’s the breakdown:

60% Superman, tied with 60% Spiderman. I think it might be confusing the two with a whole lot of Clark and Petey.

Robin is close with a 58% likeness. Question for those that know me: Dick Grayson or Tim Drake? (No Jason Todd, please, as I have low enough self esteem as it is).

I am 38% akin to Supergirl, and both Wonder Woman and Catwoman make my numbers. So I guess I’m in touch with my feminine side.

Not sure I know anything more about myself than before the quiz.

Except that my feminine side can really kick some butt.

Just my thoughts,

Sean