A Mad Biker's Ongoing Tale

Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Oh, please.

There's a lot of nay-sayers who diss these movies. To them I say, if you don't like the movies, fine..... it is not a personal attack by Jackson against your mind's creations. If the lot of you are such paragons of literary virtue, please band together and create your own movie series. It's always telling when the self-styled critics don't take the time to check their grammar, syntax and spelling in their bile-spewing "reviews". As if Peter Jackson and crew exist to please them. Same for all the people who complain OR praise that the hobbits are gay because they're loving and friendly. Again - get a life! Same for those professional critics who refuse to praise this film too highly because after all, it is ONLY fantasy. What elitism!

As if Peter Jackson and crew exist to please you. One of you whined about his "unhindered arrogance." Check yourself in the mirror, please!

Sure, I had disappointments. But not in the first movie: The extended edition (EE) of Fellowship was, I thought, a perfect movie. Nothing wrong. Simply took it's time in establishing all these wonderfully-drawn characters.

My overall compliant is in the casting: I know what Tokien wrote was a masculine, whitebread affair, but I have to wonder what reasons Jackson gave for turning away all non-white actors at the door. I hasten to add that despite the obvious prejudices of his tome, I think it is the greatest ever written. Jackson’s film, by contrast and comparison, is the greatest sci-fi/fantasy film ever produced. And one of the best movies ever.

The biggest letdowns were in Two Towers; I mean as soon as Aragon asked Legolas what his "elf-eyes" saw I knew something was wrong. What, Legolas need to be reminded he's an elf? Glimli was mere comic relief. It was dawn in the forest and Osgiliath while night raged on at Helm's Deep. And those Ents and trees were mightily unaware of things transpiring in their own forest, but once made aware moved frighteningly fast. Eomer's forces multiplied quickly - and at that, how many men were left in Theodon's kingdom, anyway, if Eomer took away so many? The Fellowship needs the Riders to tell them that a large funeral pyre is burning directly behind them. The Fellowship is again surprised that Merry and Pippin retreated to Fangorn; Glimi even wonders aloud why on earth they went in. Call me glib, Glimli, but maybe it was war and imminent demise? How did the Elves get through the Orc defenses? And why on earth did Frodo reveal the ring to the Wraith and suffer no repercussions? Doesn't that defeat the narrative of the rest of the film? How would Sauron then think that Pippin has the ring?

Many of these changes work - not better or worse than the movie, just different. And others lack narrative sense - just Jackson uping the dramatic tension bereft of logical cohesion. Directors do that.

But ROTK atones for most of these puzzzlers. I know the EE will provide more for us diehards. Most everything worked - and I have only seven minor complaints:

(1) Of course, Merry may have only believed that Sauron thought Pippin had the ring. But still, how did that help Frodo and Gondor? Shouldn't have Sauron's attack been larger and more immediate?

(2) Sauron IS the eye? It looked silly portrayed as a searchlight, then as a helpless orb casting about wildly for a means of escape as it toppled.

(3) The Army of the Dead looked like casting extras from "Pirates of the Caribbean". Something a little less Disney would have been in order. Their dialogue was Disney-esque too.

(4) Aragon never seemed to have that “king-making” moment; he seemed less to aspire to greatness than have greatness thrust upon him. I know this may merely be a cinematic difference from the book, but kings are supposed to inspire others to follow. Aragon did that in TT. Then again, maybe that was Jackson’s purpose: reveal this aspect of Aragon’s character in TT so he could deal with so many other things in ROTK.

(5) Boy, Elrond moved fast, didn't he? You'd think that if the elves could move as fast as they did in these films, and since they apparently didn't deal with Sauron in their realms as Tolkien described, they'd have been able to defeat Sauron in Mordor themselves.

(6) The Witch-King was easily defeated, huh? Makes you wonder if a battalion of women could have leveled the whole fortress. Then again, maybe women elves.

(7) Bilbo is replaced by an obvious fleet-footed, skinny double in the final scene. With a bad rubber wig, to boot.

None of these take away from my enjoyment of this movie.

Key scenes were missing, but again I hope they will be in the EE. These malcontents who complain loudly thought that the rest of the world would gladly sit through a four or five hour movie, and are dead wrong. If Jackson did that, his movies would not have made the money they did and would have died a quick death after the Fellowship, if having been green-lighted at all.

I heard many - including friends - who complained about the multiple farewells, but I think a film series of this magnitude needed them. Sigh - if only The Scouring of the Shire were filmed for the EE.

Fellowship was a character- and plot-driven movie. Two Towers action-orientated. Return of the King integrated these two elements seamlessly.

Peter Jackson made one for the ages, and I for one am deeply grateful for the wondrous effort. At least if the whiners had made a similar effort, I could then thank them for that. But instead they're content to damn others whose talent and ambition far outshine their own. Let them go back to their Internet role-playing games; I'm sure a lifetime of complaining about Jackson and whomever else they set in their crosshairs will make their lives very full, indeed.

Myself, I can't wait to watch the whole series in quick succession - again. Viewed as a whole, this series is peerless. And holds together exceptionally well. What, a long, strange trip it's been!

My deepest, deepest thanks to the cast and crew of The Lord of the Rings - and to the world, which made this triumphant vision such a success.

-Mark C. Still

posted by mark 9:13 PM

Monday, September 29, 2003

It’s hard to describe the loss you feel at a friend who’s been there for you every step of the way. Through tears cried from pain and rapture, through teeth clenched at the ignorance of others and the stupidity of oneself, Johnny Cash was this to me. I knew he was ailing and I knew he would go, but when a three-word news link on my mail server made me aware that it had indeed happened, my pulse stopped. With crushing finality, I knew the world had lost one of its most sympathetic and comforting presences – and that for me, the daily search for reason which life demands became a little harder.

Johnny’s was the first voice I heard outside my family raised in steely pride for the common man, the repentant outcast, the habitual sinner – often all the same person. His was the tongue of everyman and woman, the voice of humanity. There was no sorrow he couldn’t understand, no soul he couldn’t penetrate, no joy he hoarded. He personified the Human Quest as the sagacious prophet who knew the Answer as well as a few hundred reasons to ignore it. And I was confident he’d run off with me at a moment’s notice to find a few more. His was the most human voice to ever grace, effortlessly, vinyl or disc. It was my voice, even when – especially when – I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. So it will ever remain.

There are a good number of musicians and songwriters who express the kind of unabashed sentiment that was Cash’s stock-in-trade. His pen is potent and legendary, having authored well over 500 alternately haunting and soothing tunes. Yet in point of fact many of the songs he made his own were written by others, especially in his later years… “The Ballad of Ira Hayes,” “A Boy Named Sue,” “Highwayman,” “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” “Spiritual,” “One,” “Down There by the Train,” “Hurt,” etc, etc….. But it didn’t matter who wrote them, it mattered who laid them into your brains, embedded them into your souls. No one else sold them home with the kind of authority he delivered. He made you feel every word because every word was offered with utter conviction. Perhaps only Jimmy Rodgers and Hank Williams ever did the same…which is why their legions of fans have iconified, even deified, the two men. Cash belongs on that same plateau… as well as with Lennon and Marley. But none of them had that voice.

That voice…. Gift of the angels yet torn from the devil’s grasp. Cash made me know it was alright to make mistakes… even the big ones… as long as I didn’t allow those mistakes to take control of my life. Always fight, always help the ones who need it (‘cause they’re making a slew of their own mistakes), never compromise, never sell out, never give less than everything. I could hear it all in every syllable. What could be more rock ‘n roll, more unrepentantly independent?

Two of his best songs – “25 Minutes to Go” and “Mercy Seat” – are about the precious last few minutes of condemned men on Death Row…… horrifying ruminations. Cash immerses you in every bead of sweat as it carves a deep groove into their horrified faces. In the first, sung near age 30, he ends up swinging from the gallows, filled with rage and dread; in the second, sung near 70 years, his temperment is resigned and coolly defiant. At first. Or listen to “Hurt”… the song everybody’s currently talking about. Every note, every gesture, is filled with every second of Cash’s life. How anyone could sing, let alone record, songs like these is more than I can imagine.

His heart was big enough to take in all the ills of the world. His soul vacuous enough to indulge in all the ills of the world – and create a few of his own along the way. The Man in Black taught me about life… after my parents, this guy graced my soul with a resonance that I will take to my grave.

Nick Cave said it best: “God isn’t making any more” people like Johnny Cash. Williams, Rodgers, Lennon and Marley all left long ago. Cash was the last of the breed. Believe it – the world will never be the same. Kris Kristoferson once named him “the father of our Country,” and later solidified the Rushmore imagery by comparing him to “Lincoln with a wild streak”. Myself, I recall a line from “Desperadoes Waiting for a Train,” a melody he uplifted along with Kristoferson in the musical supergroup The Highwaymen. It was about a hero-worshiping lad who becomes a wizened cowpoke’s sidekick. Over the decades that follow he watches him age until at last he knows Death is rapping at the door. “To me he was one of the heroes of this county/ So why is he dressed up like those old men?”

The Man in Black’s face and voice betrayed his every thought and second thought, his every breath, his every heartbeat, his every tear and peal of laughter. They aged with him, towards the end at a startling rate. The body and all those physical trappings grew old, yes, but heroes never die. This desperado’s train finally arrived, and he rode it to all the glory he deserves. I just wish I wasn’t standing here on this platform watching it go. May we all aspire to be just a little bit like the Cash.

posted by mark 9:14 PM

Sunday, September 07, 2003

Life is funny, ain't it?

I didn't make the Burn this year, but I feel more connected to it than ever. It's not an exaggeration to claim that the Burn itself is indirectly responsible for my current situation: married, with family, in the Poland's capital city. Everywhere I go, every way I turn, I try to reconnect with the antediluvian energy that I discovered in such abundance upon the Playa in the blistering summer heat of 2001.

Witness this past July. I with my very pregnant wife, Gosia, returned to my small, blue-collar New Jersey hometown to bathe within the enduring warmth of family. I knew I would have been sorely remiss if I didn't look up some East Coast Burners to toast old memories and forge new bonds. I had been in communication with Taco Boy (who wore a Mexican fundamental upon his Grecian parts - and nothing else but a goofy grin) via e-mail since before the 2001 Burn, but we had never hooked up. TB, aka Ken, is the New Jersey regional rep, and he lives in a Victorian-era two-story which he restored himself. Fact is, after years of slaving over the high-sales insurance pitch and slowly nursing an inevitable stroke, he ditched it all (literally) for refuge on the Playa. He never looked back. He now finds and helps to restore homes fulltime for his Freehold hometown (a guy named Sprigsteen hails from there).

Ken didn't pause for an instant in treating the two of us as old friends. He brought the wine, we brought the food, we hit a local concert, and then he showed us around his stunning house - complet with player piano, a cylinder-phonograph, and much more. To top it off, our carrot-topped pal is more than a little Polski himself, who has been to the motherland and is probably the only Burner who will take me up on my standing invitation to come visit.

Then Gosia and I hit the shore points, did some other family touristy stuff, flew back to P-land, and wouldn't you know it? Last Tuesday the 27th, just as the latest Burn was gearing up full-throttle, had a baby boy! Little Zbyszek (ZBI-jek) Royal Still. Never have I been happier; man, I just LOVE being a daddy! It was the Burn that brought me out through Nevada and then, by linear extension, to Lake Tahoe, where I bumped into my Polish Queen - and the rest, as they say is history.

My life changed that summer of 2001. Profoundly, irrevocably. A reborn man made new friends, plumbed new depths, scaled new heights, and eventually found a new family and homeland. For a moment not too long ago I wished that we could had been there with you. But I realize I'm tickled pink being just where I am. Come on over and I'll pour you a glass of local vodka - then we can toast old memories and forge new bonds. Burn on, effendi!

posted by mark 12:37 AM