no crime fighting for me - got a terse letter from the county office announcing that i didn't perform well enough on the oral exam to make their hiring list. the loss, the pain - now who will pay me $50k to wear polyester pants? no one, no one at all. guess i'll swallow the hurt and move to manhattan on time.
for various reasons, we had a number of german teenagers live with us when i was wee. i grasped their fascinations with peanut butter and billy idol, but i never got the eastern bloc bathing suit thing - didn't they have body glove on the continent? tanning in the garden with mom's elton john sunglasses and black underwear, i finally understand - if you're going to make a first attempt at seeming californian, you may as well look like you've been elsewhere for a long time. it's a good excuse for being translucent.
identity: so-so. gimmick movies at their best - fight club, being john malkovich - are fine things; the rather obvious key to their success is to save a little artistic oomph for supporting details. at their worst - say, anything by m. night shyamalan - admiring the twist won't justify two full hours, and fie on sloppy writers and wasted time. on identity - tough to defend without spoiling the gimmick - the material for a toothy conclusion is there, but it calls for a healthy scoop of external logic. i have no problem with arguing that camp movies are more than the sums of their parts; when a director has a decent budget and / or doesn't include at least one reanimated limb, i'm less inclined to do his work for him. one thumb up.
someone is playing an ocarina out here. god, agricultural towns are weird.
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