Well everything is coming to a quick head here in this episode. What’s going to happen to Raylan now that Winona’s gone? And what will be the fallout from the summit meeting between Boyd and the Motor City’s newest madman? One question appears to be answered right away when two young girls (one of them Trixie, who we know is Limehouse’s spy) get out of a truck and head into an oxy clinic run by the doc Boyd recruited away from Quarles. It isn’t long before Tanner, the guy who Quarles called his “talent scout” shows up and starts gunning people down, including the doc and Trixie. Trixie’s friend, Ellie Mae, is hiding under the desk and sees the whole thing. Is this Quarles handing out payback?

Raylan is desperate to locate Winona. He calls her relatives, puts out an APB on her car and goes to her office to check her computer, which appears to have a lot of info on it about Costa Rica, which is not a good sign. Winona has been replaced, which is also not a good sign, and the replacement is not amused to find Raylan in her bidness. Winona’s boss, the good judge, counsels with Raylan about having patience with women who run out on you. Raylan can’t do that, however, and ends up going to the evidence locker to check on the money that Winona tried to steal last season. It’s gone. Did Winona take it? Something about the evidence guard, Charlie, looks suspicious.

Back at his office, Raylan gets the FBI file on Quarles from Tim, and Art tells Raylan he needs him to check out the shooting at the oxy clinic. Raylan wants to take time off to look for Winona, but Art tells Raylan that the shooting took place in his aunt’s house. That tears it.

Boyd is discussing the shooting with Johnny and Ava and they think it might be Quarles but Boyd is not convinced. He thinks Quarles is too smart to do something so brazen. He wants Johnny to keep looking for info while he and Ava take a drive. Any guesses where they’re going?

Trixie’s friend Ellie Mae returns home to talk to her boss, a skeezy white pimp named DelRoy. He needs her to get the pills that she was supposed to get from Boyd’s clinic and the fact that Trixie got killed is not going to deter him. I guess bidness is bidness, after all. After one of the most depressing pep talks of all time, this hillbilly Tony Robbins tells Ellie Mae to go out and be all she can be. Or else.

Raylan goes to his aunt’s house to investigate the shooting. He talks to the state trooper, Tom, who tells him that he already talked to Raylan’s dad, Arlo, and that Arlo told them to talk to Raylan. Raylan heads off to see Arlo, and he’s not in a good mood.

Ellie Mae goes to the new oxy clinic and finds Tanner there manning the desk. Awkward! She just watched him kill three people and now she’s supposed to buy oxy from him? She backs out quickly and heads back to see her good friend DelRoy, who I’m sure will show her all kinds of empathy and understanding.

Boyd and Ava arrive at their destination and it’s Limehouse they went to see. They want info on the shooting and Boyd thinks Limehouse knows things. He’s curious about this and Limehouse’s speech in response is really a masterpiece of hillbilly poetry:

It’s always been our business to know you. Why you don’t know us is a question you are welcome to ponder.

Limehouse sees no reason why he should give up any of his info to Boyd, but Boyd promises to use Limehouse as his bank, so Limehouse says that three people were killed, two of Boyd’s people and Trixie. Ava knows Trixie used to hang out with Ellie Mae, so they go to find her.

Raylan walks in on Arlo, who appears to be talking to Helen, or someone else long dead. Raylan threatens to relocate Arlo to a room with striped sunlight and Arlo tells him he set up the clinic for Boyd.

DelRoy beats up Ellie Mae for failing to get the oxy, and thereby jumps from skeezy straight to asshole. But for pure psychopath, you have to like our friend Quarles, who tells Wynn Duffy to get him all info on Raylan then goes in the back bedroom to do his lunchtime workout on a naked guy tied to a bed. Yeesh.

Ava meets up with DelRoy when she goes looking for Ellie Mae at Audrie’s, the hillbilly hooker hotel. DelRoy introduces himself as “the owner of this establishment” and tries to recruit Ava to come to work for him. As if. Ava finds out what she needs to know from JJ, an old school friend who works there, but she can’t get to see Ellie Mae with DelRoy lurking around.

Meanwhile, Raylan walks into Boyd’s bar with a full head of steam about Boyd’s use of his aunt’s house. Boyd calms Raylan down and gets him to go see Ava. Then we have this little exchange:

Raylan: You love it, don’t you. Getting the law to do your dirty work.

Boyd: Well, I have a big tank, Raylan, and it does save on gas.

Nice. Raylan meets Ava at Audrie’s and they locat Ellie Mae in her trailer. They want to talk to her about the oxy clinic, but DelRoy shows up with a knife and tries to chase them off. Raylan shows his gun and does the chasing, but DelRoy still has ideas about playing badass after they come out. Raylan convinces him otherwise and DelRoy ends up with his nose even more misshapen than before, which is a neat trick.

Raylan, tipped off about Tanner by Ellie Mae heads out to see him at the new clinic set up by Quarles. Tanner sees him coming ang tells his driver to take off in the truck, pulling the trailer, as soon as Raylan gets inside. He does, but the plan has less than stellar execution. The driver accidently gets shot by Tanner’s gun and Tanner gets thrown out of the trailer by Raylan. When Tom gets there to investigate, they can’t find Tanner but he tells Raylan where they found Winona before, just after Raylan was shot. From that, Raylan realizes where Winona is.

Wynn Duffy reports back to Quarles with info on the hit on Boyd’s clinic. He thinks Quarles arranged it, but Quarles denies it. Duffy tells him Raylan just shut down their clinic. Quarles thinks this means that Raylan is in Boyd’s pocket. Not sure what that is going to cause him to do, but it can’t be good.

Limehouse is talking with his right hand man, and knows the guy put the hit on Boyd’s clinic to start a war between Boyd and Quarles. Limehouse is not pleased and tells him he is going to have to finish what he started.

Raylan goes to Winona’s sister’s house to see Winona. She explains more about why she left, but the bottom line is that Raylan talks a good game but he’s really not interested in changing anything and Winona won’t raise a child in the environment that Raylan creates with his job. He accuses her of taking the money from the evidence locker but she denies it.

Winona: I can’t believe you think I would take that money again after all the touble we had putting it back.

Raylan: I saw all that Kenny Chesney on your computer and I figured you were capable of anything.

It looks like they are done for good this time, but they are going to be raising a child together somehow, so this won’t be the last we see of Winona.

Raylan meets Art at the office to talk it all over and Art admits that he and the other marshalls all knew Winona had already left once when Raylan got shot. No one bothered to tell Raylan that, which is awkward, but not as awkward as the fact that another of those bills from the evidence locker has now shown up in El Paso. This is awkward because Raylan’s name is probably the last signature on the evidence sheet relating to that money and Raylan did not report the money missing. The last scene is Charlie, the evidence guard, heading for the border in a new corvette convertible. At least someone is getting to enjoy that money.

This is not so much a review which encourages you to avoid or to see this film; it is predictably tense, Daniel Radcliffe is predictably average and all the supporting cast are predictably more engaging than he.  It is an average film.

Yet there is one strange and ( at least for me) unpredictable feature of the film that made it quite interesting. It is simply this: there is a happy-ending.

Daniel Radcliffe is a man consumed by the premature death of his wife which happened while she was giving birth to their first son. The film concludes with him being reunited with his wife and his son meeting his mother for the first time.  The ending was so out of kilter with the rest of the film that, on reflection, it became a metaphor for our neurotic fear of death.

In my analysis the ‘Woman in Black’ is ‘Death’.  Potentially the producers have gone to great lengths to recreate the archetypal image of death sans scythe.  Death is relentless, uncontrollable and impassive, and yet we also work relentlessly, uncontrollably and impassively to combat the grave, which, in the film, brings us back again to those we love. There is an odd kind of benevolence in that.

Perhaps this becomes most apparent when Daniel Radcliffe fails to appease the Woman in Black/Death when he brings back the lost body of her dead son. We are told that she will not stop; nothing will stop death. Radcliffe’s efforts resonate with our attempts to appease death, to make sacrifice to death, to negotiate with death in order to avert the inevitable.  Death continues.

Was this intended by the writer or the director? Probably not. Certainly it was Hollywood’s penchant for resolution and closure that made the slightly happy ending necessary, but in so doing it seemed unintentionally clever.

In line with this there is a sense in which the modern and pre-modern collide within the world of the film. Rather than drawing out a radical separation between these worldviews (the one able to account for the tragedies of the village, the other not) they were both afflicted, in their own way, with their wrestle with death. In fact it is the landowner and the lawyer (Radcliffe) who go to the most extreme, though in some ways rational, lengths to appease death.

These two characters represent the rationalization (or even the psychologization) of religious ritual. Religious ritual has always tried to circumvent death or to postpone its reality, either permanently (resurrection etc.) or temporarily (healing etc.).  In our post-freudian world, we try to connect the pain of the present to the past; and it is by reconciling these that we have a hopeful future. The psychological resolution of trauma fails in just the same way as superstition.  This ending seemed to expose the futility of either approach when it comes to death. What is rational is just as ineffective as what is irrational (the people in the village). These rituals of appeasement are somewhat empty.

Because we see the whole narrative through the eyes of people who think Death is aggressive and because the consequences of Death’s actions are not wholly negative the viewer is left with a profound ambiguity. Death is clearly violent and, especially when personified, pro-active and in response to this activity people feel the need to satisfy Death, which they also see as open to negotiation.

But this is the tragic fallacy of the film, Death is neither active nor open to negotiation. Rather it seems that the only appropriate response is to refuse to fear Death and instead cherish the gift of the present.

If you like Once Upon a Time feel good because that shows almost certainly safe. Grimm. Well things look Grimm. The best it has to offer is that nearly all of NBC’s shows look bad except for The Voice.

Since most of the stuff on TV I can’t stand I’ll just focus on the shows I do like (or once liked).

House has had pretty bad ratings slips. So I assume it got worse after I stopped watching. It’s unfortunate but then honestly the show jumped the shark last season.

Alcatraz went from OK to death spiral. This last episode got a 1.9 rating which is nearly Fringe levels of watching. But this is an expensive show. I like the idea but they put the police procedural too front and center. It’s just not interesting enough. Plus the lead woman bugs me. We’ll see if they can pick it up. Really though the problem isn’t the concept – it’s the implementation of writing. Compare and contrast to Lost which it borrows a lot from. At this stage I’m pretty skeptical it’ll be renewed.

Speaking of Fringe how bad is it?  It’s been doing 1.1′s.  Yeah. That bad.  I’ve really liked the show although I’m a little behind in episodes.

Walking Dead is surprisingly doing fantastic. I gave up on it long ago. But it’s getting network TV style ratings for the network. I think this is more because people want it to be good rather than it really having good writing. But that’s just me.

Justified? It’s the pinnacle of TV writing right now but isn’t getting the love it deserves. Probably not bad enough to be canceled but it’s been getting a 1.0 or lower for a while now. So a lot probably depends upon how expensive it is. Why is it the real good stuff is never popular enough?

This is a really cool episode, with a ton going on and some amazing dialogue. It answers some questions (we know Detroit Guy’s name now: Quarles) and raises some others (Just how dumb IS Dewey Crow?) and we get to see Quarles in a confrontation with Boyd that is pure genius (Here’s a preview: they don’t become bowling buddies, but they may start a book club), as well as some great scenes contrasting Boyd’s relationship with Ava and Raylan’s relationship with Winona. The episode, “Thick As Mud,” is based on a story that is in Elmore Leonard’s new novel “Raylan.”

We begin with Limehouse and his righthand man, discussing the fact that Limehouse lied to Dicky about the money from Mags. Oops. Dicky should have checked the receipts. Regardless, Limehouse isn’t a guy that Dicky should mess with, as he warns his own man, “That will kill you faster than a bullet.”

Arlo and Boyd are burying Devil and Boyd prevents Arlo from taking Devil’s money, but decides to keep the guy’s cell phone for informational purposes. Boyd has some issues with having shot Devil, apparently, and he pauses to say a few appropriate words over the body.

Raylan and Winona are packing up the house but Raylan hasn’t been much help.

“I’m done trying to change who you are and I’m done pretending that I could ever feel about anyone else the way I feel about you.”

It’s a pretty nice thing to say, but it sounds more fatalistic than loving. Something’s up. She’s been too acccommodating without committing to anything.

Dewey wakes up in a bathtub of blood and is told by our friendly prison doc (who is actually a nurse), Lance, that his kidneys have been removed and he needs to get $20k in the next few hours to buy them back or Lance will sell them to a guy in Chicago. Something about that just doesn’t sound right, but Dicky runs right out to get his kidney money. Later, he’s robbing an appliance store and can’t figure out why there’s not much cash. Looking for a cash business, he naturally heads to a strip club where he has the following convo:

“Son, Drugs are a temporary solution to a permanent problem.”

“You think I’m a tweaker?”

“I’ve learned not to label.”

That’s just so awesome. Meanwhile, Ava finds Boyd at the bar, apparently upset:

Ava: You regret killing him?

Boyd: I regret that he made it necessary.

She then says she wants to show him something and unbuttons her shirt. Darn, turns out it’s just the bullethole scar she got from Dicky. Boyd has a matching one from Raylan. After comparing scars, she tells Boyd:

“Whatever you decide, I’m in it, same as you.”

That kind of loyalty can’t be bought, and Boyd seems aware of that. Contrast
this scene with the one Raylan had with Winona earlier. Similar things are said, but it’s Ava who you believe. Maybe matching bulletholes are good for a relationship.

Raylan talks to Ash at the hospital and asks him what he knows about kidneys. “They’re the cadillac of beans,” says Ash. He finally gives up Lance and tells Raylan that Lance was doing similar things at the prison. Raylan meets Layla (it’s Jules from Psych!), a nurse who tells Raylan about a doctor who may be willing to sell an organ or two to pay off gambling debts or pay for his illicit romps with nurses.

Boyd talks to Ava’s doctor, but not about Ava. He wants to talk about Oxy. Apparently, folks from Frankfort are offering to give him protection and Oxy in return for his writing prescriptions. The doctor is concerned that being squeezed by Boyd is going to result in Frankfort cancelling his Oxy contract permanently. Boyd says the doc is “between a rock and a much, much harder rock,” (nice) but Boyd feels like he holds the ace, because he knows where the doc’s mom lives.

Dewey just can’t catch a break. He goes into a convenience store just looking for directions and ends up in a gun battle with the owner. He gets shot with a shotgun and still manages to keep moving but ends up barricaded in the back room, which leads nowhere. Raylan shows up after the police do and figures Dewey will talk to him because, “He kinda likes me.” Sure he does. After racking in a load, Dewey does talk and Raylan informs him of the facts regarding kidney failure:

Raylan: Are you pissin’

Dewey: He took my kidneys, Raylan, not my dick!

Raylan: Your kidneys are for pissin’! So why don’t you try taking a leak and if you can do it then we know you’ve still got your two kidneys.

Dewey (pissing): You mean I had four kidneys?!

Someone that dumb has no right to still be walking around, but somehow, Dewey survives everything.

Raylan finds out Ash is now dead, supposedly of a stroke. He goes to the hospital to find out what happened and asks about the doctor that Layla told him about. He describes Layla to the duty nurse as “cute as a pailful of kittens.” Something tells me he may regret that description.

Boyd tracks down Tanner via Devil’s cell phone: “Well, it looks like we have a friend in common.” He sends a message via Louisville Slugger.

Raylan finds Layla at her house and starts having a flirty talk with her about stealing organs and causing strokes. You know, romantic stuff like that. Turns out that Lance is there with his handy needle and sticks Raylan with it. Lights out Raylan. Layla isn’t too happy about Lance’s M.O. and shoots Lance while he’s putting Raylan in the bathtub for carving. Raylan gets his own gun out of Lance’s waistband after Lance falls on top of him and manages to shoot Layla through Lance’s body, surpising both Layla and himself. Art shows up to help with the aftermath and has a talk with Raylan who is a little shaken up, as he should be. It was only dumb luck that saved him and he was being totally stupid by not being on his guard while casually chatting up Layla in her house.

Quarles wants to launch a new business venture with Boyd:

Boyd: If you wanted to be my partner, why didn’t you come to me directly?

Quarles: Call it a speed bump on the way to cross-cultural understanding. Important thing is, I’m here now. Boyd, have you heard the saying, “the most successful war seldom pays for its losses”?

Boyd: Thomas Jefferson?

Just one more reminder that Boyd is a lot smarter than anyone ever gives him credit for. Quarles isn’t going to make that mistake again. He calls Boyd an “educated man” and tries to prevail on him to see that they can make a lot more money as partners than enemies. Problem is, Boyd doesn’t trust the guy, and rightly so. He calls Quarles a carpetbagger and, after a stare-down, Quarles heads for the door, but Boyd has a final warning:

Carpetbaggers in three pice suits have been coming to Harlan for a long time. They have a habit of dying off like deer flies at the end of the summer.

Somehow, Quarles knows this is a quote from Saul Bellow. Hmmm. Okaaay. This isn’t exactly a well-known quote, from what I can tell. It’s actually from a letter Bellow wrote to Philip Roth which said “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about the journalists. We can only hope that they will die off as the deer flies do towards the end of August.” Are we supposed to believe that both Boyd and Quarles knew that? Seems unlikely, but hey, maybe both of them were pursuing masters degrees in American Lit before they became drug dealers.

Limehouse has some knowledge from unlikely sources as well. Luckily, he doesn’t start quoting Thomas Pynchon. He is paying Tanner’s girl to keep him updated on what’s happening between Boyd and Quarles. In this case, having a network of spies may turn out be just as smart as having a knowledge of arcane quotes from Jewish-American novelists.

On the drive home, Raylan tells Art that Winona “seems fine with the way things are,” but even he seems unconvinced by that, and Art sounds positively sarcastic: “She’s a special lady.” Raylan goes home to find no Winona, just a note. Uh-oh.

With doodies like Moneyball and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close managing to bag a few Oscar nominations, it seems appalling that so many other great films missed out on any real award recognition for the Oscars 2012. What follows are some films which I feel lost out in some way this Oscar season, with suggestions where they could have got a nomination or two.

We Need to Talk About Kevin

How on earth this one got missed is beyond me! We have Rooney Mara and Glenn Close clogging up space where Tilda Swinton so rightfully belongs. Granted, We Need to Talk About Kevin is not a well rounded film, and it does suffer from the occasional airs of its director. But this realisation of Lionel Shriver’s chilling novel is halfway between American Psycho and Silence of the Lambs, utterly disturbing stuff. The two leads (Swinton and newcomer Ezra Miller) hold the film together like demonic adhesive, drawing you in at every turn whilst they chisel out a dynamic that is both ghoulishly funny and effortlessly horrifying.

Proposed nominations:
Actor in a Leading Role – Ezra Miller
Actress in a Leading Role – Tilda Swinton
Film Editing – Joe Bini
Art Direction – Charles Kulsziski
Writing (Adapted Screenplay) – Lynne Ramsay & Rory Kinnear

Shame

Ironically, the film’s title is reflective of its award recognition (or lack thereof). Shame is a very powerful movie that could be career defining for both director (Steve McQueen) and actor (Michael Fassbender). For those that don’t know, Shame is the story of a sex addict who gradually spirals into despair when his sister comes to stay. On paper, the film sounds like dull shock schlock, but in reality Shame is something quite brilliant. Dealing with the very real issue of sex addiction, director Steve McQueen and co-writer Abi Morgan handle the subject matter with reverence and care. There are some arguably ironic notions to the film (one being that those who could relate most to Fassbender’s Brandon, probably cannot watch the film due to its overt sexual content – addiction recovery 101, avoid temptation), but there is no denying that the film bubbles away hypnotically for an hour and 40 minutes, and leaves you feeling awe struck by the closing credits.

Proposed nominations:
Actor in a Leading Role – Michael Fassbender
Cinematography – Sean Bobbitt
Directing – Steve McQueen
Sound Mixing – Niv Adiri
Best Picture – Shame
Writing (original screenplay) – Steve McQueen & Abi Morgan

Drive

As if you haven’t seen Drive! It was only one of the most hyped indie hits of the year! The result of Nicolas Winding Refn’s neo-noir blood bath is that now everyone has one or all of the following;
a) A man crush on Ryan Gosling
b) A white bomber jacket
c) A toothpick permanently in their mouth
d) The soundtrack
There is no disputing the awesomeness of this 80’s throwback. The dialogue was slick – “There’s a hundred-thousand streets in this city. You don’t need to know the route. You give me a time and a place, I give you a five minute window.” The action was fast paced and brutal. The cinematography was spellbinding. And Gosling was the embodiment of a young Clint Eastwood. A thousand curses on whoever decided NOT to give Drive any nominations.

Proposed nominations:
Actor in a Leading Role – Ryan Gosling
Actress in a Leading Role – Carey Mulligan
Actor in a Supporting Role – Albert Brooks
Actor in a Supporting Role – Bryan Cranston
Cinematography – Newton Thomas Sigel
Costume Design – Erin Benach
Directing – Nicolas Winding Refn
Music (Original Score) – Cliff Martinez
Best Picture – Drive
Writing (Adapted Screenplay) – Hossein Amini

Take Shelter

Jeff Nichols’ slow burning mind screw pretty much came out of nowhere. Take Shelter is the story of Curtis, a simple family man whose world is suddenly torn apart by visions and hallucinations of storms. As Curtis delves deeper into his family past, what seem like daydreams, suddenly become nightmares. If anyone has told you about Take Shelter, then the sentence will probably contain the following words; “Guy from Revolutionary Road”, “brilliant”, “canteen sequence”. American independent cinema has really come on leaps and bounds in recent years. The days when Sundance and Toronto film festival were for Hollywood hating soap dodgers are pretty much gone. I think it’s appropriate to say that at this point in time, some of the best directors in the business are coming out of festivals, and Take Shelter is a prime example of this. I cannot understand how the academy were not blown away…pardon the pun.

Proposed nominations:
Actor in a Leading Role – Michael Shannon
Actress in a Leading Role – Jessica Chastain
Directing – Jeff Nichols
Music (Original Score) – David Wingo
Best Picture – Take Shelter
Writing (Original Screenplay) – Jeff Nichols

Contagion

It left us all with a horrendous fear of…well, everything. So it’s a mystery to me why Steven Soderbergh’s pandemic-drama got totally biffed off by the Oscars. Tight and well paced, Contagion is a beautifully crafted exploration of what would really happen if things all went south. No stranger to an ensemble cast, Soderbergh uses pretty much all of his actors to great effect (with the exception of a slightly OTT Jude Law). The film’s bio-babble might have put some off, but make no mistake, everything in Scott Burns’ script is functional and central to the film’s plot. Particular moments of note come, not when rousing monologues are given, or even when key cast have emotional breakdowns, but rather in the quiet close ups of hands touching doors, wiping noses, holding hand rails. It’s in these simple moments that Soderbergh creates and propels the film’s horror and tension.

Proposed nominations:
Cinematography – Steven Soderbergh
Directing – Steven Soderbergh
Film Editing – Stephen Mirrione
Make Up – Kate Biscoe
Best Picture – Contagion
Writing (Original Screenplay) – Scott Burns

Another Earth

Mark Cahill’s muted sci-fi tragedy floated around the festival circuit in the early part of 2011. Eventually finding a limited release, Another Earth was one of the hidden gems of the year. It’s the story of young Rhoda Williams (Brit Marling), a tortured University graduate who sees her window of opportunity to escape the past errors of her life with the discovery of a parallel Earth. Much in tone with Take Shelter, this is one of those films which works purely on word of mouth, but for those lucky enough to have seen it what a treat it is. Brit Marling’s portrayal of Rhoda is ghost like; she floats through each scene with dearth…emotionless, yet full of character. She is magnetic, highly watchable, an enigma of a personality, fraught with heartbreak. Somewhat overshadowed by the publicity (both negative and positive) of Lars von Trier’s similarly themed Melancholia, Another Earth has been robbed at every turn. It is a truly poetic and heartfelt little movie that definitely deserved more than it got.

Proposed nominations:
Actor in a Leading Role – William Mapother
Actress in a Leading Role – Brit Marling
Actor in a Supporting Role – Kumar Pallana
Cinematography – Mike Cahill
Directing – Mike Cahill
Music (Original Score) – Will Bates & Phil Mossman (as, Fall on Your Sword)
Sound Editing – Sasha Awn, Ryan M. Price, Steve Giammaria & Sebastian Henshaw
Writing (Original Screenplay) – Mike Cahill & Brit Marling

…and the others

The Beaver
Actor in a Leading Role – Mel Gibson

Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows: Part 2
Actor in a Supporting Role – Ralph Fiennes

Rise of the Planet of the Apes
Actor in a Leading Role – Andy Serkis
Actor in a Supporting Role – John Lithgow
Sound Mixing – Ron Bartlett & James Bolt

Bridesmaids
Best Film – Bridesmaids

One hundred and twelve million people tuned in to the Super Bowl last week, and I admit I was one of them. (Well, at least the first half of the game; halftime came a little after 1AM here, so I went to bed instead of staying up to watch Madonna and the Giants come out as victors.) I admittedly enjoyed the game, though not as much as I enjoyed watching the BBC commentators try to explain American football to a British audience. (Especially when they attempted to explain the “safety” rule when Tom Brady was sacked in the end zone–that was comedy gold.) But I’ve felt guilty for the rest of the week over watching the game, and I still feel bad for tuning in. Why? Because I’ve been somewhat outspoken in my critique of football as a destructive sport that thrives on legions of fans watching top-notch athletes beat each others’ brains out to a point that many will likely die an early death, or at least suffer serious repercussions for much of the rest of their life. I have increasingly grown more strident in my belief that there is something seriously and morally wrong with American culture’s obsession with football, and yet I still gave in and watched the crowning moment of the sport in question. I have sincerely felt troubled with this hypocritical slip, and one of my cousins even called me out on it on facebook.

The last decade has witnessed a tremendous rise in frightening research results concerning the impact of American football (and sports in general) on the human body. More and more attention has been given to the dangers of concussions. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention has estimated that close to two million student athletes suffered a brain injury every year. Neurologists have demonstrated that those who suffer multiple concussions risk severe cases of memory loss, a decrease in performance at school, cognitive impairment, and frequent migraines. Even more troubling, research has shown that it doesn’t require a diagnosable concussion to cause serious problems; numerous minor hits that happen play after play after play (the nature of football) can have just as scary results as one or two major hits. To put it simply, the more conclusions that have come out, the darker the picture is. (See a great overview here.)

The most disturbing research concerning the NFL has been in diagnosing chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). Possessing symptoms similar to Alzheimer’s, CTE is the result of the brain crashing into the skull too many times. While research is still young, early results have been spectacularly scary. Middle-aged NFL vets have been tested to be twenty times more likely to display symptoms. Twenty. Times. But official diagnosis can only be achieved through autopsies, so until more NFL vets donate their post-mortem brains to research, we can’t know the exact number for sure. (Fortunately, there have been growing numbers who have signed over their bodies for autopsies after they die, but that still requires waiting for them to, well, die. In one tragic case, an ex-NFL player who was plagued with early-onset dementia, amongst other medical issues, was so fed up with his symptoms and beset with depression that he gave in and shot himself in the heart so that his brain could still be examined.) The medical unit at Boston University that has been specializing in this research have only collected fifteen brains thus far–and guess what? Fourteen of them had CTE. This is serious stuff. (See this excellent summary of CTE, as well as other issues, and how it is likely just as prevalent at high school levels as at the professional level.)

It is tragically ironic that these statistics are becoming more well known at the very moment football has never been more popular. The National Football League likely made over ten billion dollars last year. That’s right, billion. It is the most profitable sport in America, and the competition isn’t really close. College football has been similarly successful, with numerous schools running after new collegiate conferences and tv contracts like high school girls chasing after a handsome jock. And that’s where the problem is: as long as we perpetuate a culture in which football is valorized, people will keep flocking to it, despite the medical risks. Instead, the NFL keeps introducing silly rules that try to decrease serious hits, when in reality they are impossible to follow and ridiculously difficult to regulate. (Do you really think it is fair to make James Harrison decide in a fraction of a second whether a quarterback is about to release the football, and then manage his 270lb body that is flying at full speed to hit a narrow “safe zone” on a moving target? Well, I don’t.) All of these rules are just lipstick on a pig, an attempt to rearrange chairs on the Titanic. If the sport is to be saved, and I’m not sure it can, it has to be modified in a way that will make it not very recognizable to what it used to be.

(And for the record, football is at least three times more dangerous than the next most dangerous sport: girls’ soccer.)

An excellent write-up this past week by Tyler Cowen and Kevin Grier examined the different possible ways that football will die as a sport. The quick way would be through legal action, as former athletes or parents of current players will sue leagues and schools for the damage that took place on the field. (The NFL has already faced three high-profile suits this year, and those were just the beginning.) It is not outlandish to imagine a state legislature in the next decade to pull all funding from school districts that maintain a football team. Then there are the economic issues: as the growing awareness of medical issues will cause insurance rates to skyrocket, thus making it impossible for schools to continue their football programs. And finally, and perhaps most importaning, parents will start realizing the risks that come with football, and will stop allowing their children to participate. Registration in youth football has already started to decrease, and I imagine that decrease will only continue. If the legal or economic issues don’t strike soon and offer football a quick death, it will only then suffer a slow decline as less and less youth enter the sport and it becomes, like boxing, a marginalized niche that will be predominantly filled by individuals from low-income families with poor schooling and little support.

But enough prognosticating of what parents, school districts, legislatures, and judges will do in the future. I’m more interested in the moral duties of us, the public consumers. For someone who, like me, finds serious problems with the current football culture, am I complicit in the debacle when I watch the Super Bowl? Are there moral issues concerning entertainment beyond being entertained? Because football players are using their own agency to participate in the sport, and are getting monetarily rewarded for their risks, does it justify our enjoying of their sacrifice? Am I justified in watching the Super Bowl, or in maintaining an irrational interest in the college football season? I often dismiss my concerns by explaining high school players are learning important life lessons, college players are getting free tuition, and NFL players receive a ridiculous salary…but these self-justifications always seem so, well, shallow.

I am haunted by how Malcolm Gladwell closed his brilliant and highly-recommended article on this issue. In response to a statement by Ira Casson, who heads an NFL committee investigating concussions, that it is ridiculous to think football will just stop, Gladwell wrote: “Casson is right. There is nothing else to be done, not so long as fans stand and cheer. We are in love with football players, with their courage and grit, and nothing else—neither considerations of science nor those of morality—can compete with the destructive power of that love.” He then included this poignant excerpt from a scholarly work on dogfighting:

When one views a staged dog fight between pit bulls for the first time, the most macabre aspect of the event is that the only sounds you hear from these dogs are those of crunching bones and cartilage. The dogs rip and tear at each other; their blood, urine and saliva splatter the sides of the pit and clothes of the handlers. . . . The emotions of the dogs are conspicuous, but not so striking, even to themselves, are the passions of the owners of the dogs. Whether they hug a winner or in the rare case, destroy a dying loser, whether they walk away from the carcass or lay crying over it, their fondness for these fighters is manifest.

It’s these words that make me think that we perhaps need more consideration on the morals of watching football. And it is these words that make me feel guilty for, once again, giving in and watching the Super Bowl.

Band of Skulls has been one of my top five favorite bands since their debut, Baby Darling Doll Face Honey discussed here, and they are also in my top three of bands to see live (discussed here). So you can imagine that I have been awaiting their sophomore album with great anticipation. Sophomore albums being what they are, however, I have tried to keep my expectations in check.

As it turns out, I needn’t have worried. This band can be counted on to produce music that reminds you of their previous hits, yet explores new territory and never repeats itself. The new album has a softer side than the debut had, and I don’t know if it will grab people right off the bat like that album did, because it’s less obviously hooky and more complex, but its a great follow-up, and it contains my favorite song title in the last five years: You’re Not Pretty But You Got It Goin’ On.

You can listen to the whole album here. Let me know what you think.

We’ve seen a lot of different things from Boyd Crowder in this show, but usually his more extreme impulses are tempered buy the better angels of his nature, as another backwoods philosopher once put it. Rarely have we seen the sort of cold-blooded behavior that this episode shows us. And yet, you can’t help but still be on Boyd’s side, especially in the conflict that approaches him in the person of the man from Detroit (they still haven’t told us his name have they?). The first move of that conflict takes place in this episode and, as per usual, it looks like Boyd may have been underestimated. The question Boyd asks at the end of the episode is a good one:

“Knowing me the way that you do, whatever led you in your imagination to believe that you could pull this off?”

At the start, Detroit Guy is recruiting Devil to run his enterprise in Harlan County. Apparently, Devil’s buddy Tanner is working as a sort of talent scout for Detroit Guy and he has recommended Devil as just the guy to get the job done. Detroit Guy’s recruiting speech is hilarious, as he inexplicably rolls straight from CEO to Old Time Gospel Hour Preacher in the blink of an eye. Devil seems reluctant but in the end, he appears to get in bed with Detroit. Doesn’t seem like a good idea.

Dicky and Dewey are making good on the plan to bust out of prison, only Dewey wasn’t officially invited to the party. As usual, he’s just riding along on dumb luck. The guard, Ash, and prison doctor who execute the plan are not nice guys. Looks like staying in prison might have been the safer option.

Raylan shows up with Rachel to investigate the escape and the doc has his story down and some wounds to lend the story credibility. Raylan isn’t sure he’s buying it, but there doesn’t seem to be much alternative but to go along with it for now. Dicky and Dewey are in the truck with a dead body that was driven out to be buried. Dicky is in on the plan, while Dewey is twitching like a stuck bug inside his body bag. The next order of business is to go to Nobel’s Hollow (or Holler, if you’re from around there) where the black folks live, and talk to Limehouse to get the money he’s holding for Mags. Something tells me it’s not going to be that simple.

Raylan goes to visit Loretta, who claims to be dealing Heroin, but is really doing a lot of babysitting. He asks her if she knows where Mags kept her money, and apparently she does, because Raylan ends up heading For Nobel’s Holler as well. Apparently, it’s the place where emancipated slaves were sent after the civil war. Raylan and Rachel go to talk to Limehouse and get nothing to speak of besides having a lovely little conversation about Rachel’s past. They decide to set up a roadblock on the way into the Holler and see what shakes out.

Dicky and Ash find the roadblock and decide discretion is the better part of valor. They head to a hotel where Doc and the gang are holding Dewey. There’s bad blood between Dicky and the father/son team that are acting as muscle for the Doc, and Dicky’s response is pure Dicky:

“No need to get all spun up there, Tater-tot.”

Dicky calls Limehouse and finally gets Limehouse to agree to consider bringing the money down to Dicky.

Meanwhile, Boyd is distributing cash to his boys, including Devil, who clearly isn’t satisfied with his cut. Raylan shows up and wants to talk. He tells the story about Nobel’s Holler being the place where abused white women could go for sanctuary, which is what happened with Raylan’s mom, whereupon Arlo tried to go get her and got beat up by Limehouse. Fascinating. Raylan wants to know if Boyd has any info on Dicky and Dewey and Boyd sees that his interests are best served by getting Dicky back into prison where he can find him. He gives up Ash as the person who most likely got Dicky out.

Devil is trying to recruit Johnny to join him in his rebellion against Boyd in favor of Detroit. Johnny appears to go along, but I’m more suspicious than Devil seems to be.

Raylan tracks down Ash at the hotel, and Ash tries to draw on him. Raylan doesn’t bother with a gun, just runs him over with the car. Works pretty well. Doc and the others get away, but Raylan finds out the info from Ash.

Doc is making Dicky go pick up the money from Bennett’s store, while he and Dewey do something else. Raylan figures he has to go save Dicky from the bad guys and the irony is not lost on him. Dicky is going to get shot if he doesn’t find the money, but it’s tough digging it out of the abandoned store. He finds a cooler, but the guys with the guns can’t figure out how to let him open it without risk. They finally get it open just in time for Limehouse to show up and blast the two gunmen. The cooler doesn’t have much money in it because Limehouse used it to buy property for the mine deal that took place last season. Dicky isn’t happy and wants to stay in business with Limehouse, hoping his money can increase that way.

Raylan gets to the store and finds Dicky with the two dead gunmen, claiming to be the victim. Dewey is still with Doc and Doc is planning something terrible, like selling Dewey’s organs or something. Devil comes to see Boyd for the come-to-Jesus meeting he has been planning. It goes about the way you’d expect. Your move, Detroit.

These will be films which I loved, and still do, but which seem to be forgotten by most people – the type of films that sit in the DVD wall of a minority, sparingly loaned out and shared with close friends. But films none the less, which deserve true recognition. Some are reasonably current, others slightly older, but each and every one, in my view, a modern classic.

Gone Baby Gone opens like a documentary, on the sweeping yet claustrophobic streets of a Boston neighbourhood known as Dorchester. Throwing us into calm and surprisingly visceral realisms, sophomore director Ben Affleck leaves no misconceptions about his intention to ground the film in an urbanised pragmatism one comes to expect from low budget independent affairs. The two hours that follow, are not only a consummately empathetic depiction of dark human drama, but also the blossoming of a true talent in Ben Affleck.

As a concept, Gone Baby Gone sounds rather familiar. It tells of Patrick Kenzie (Casey Affleck) and Private Investigator who, with his partner Angie Gennaro (Michelle Monaghan), is hired to “augment” the police in the case of a missing child – Amanda McCready. Well versed in the Boston underworld, Kenzie and Gennaro delve deeper and deeper into this seedy environment, with every passing minute losing hope that Amanda may well be forever gone.

In terms of context, Gone Baby Gone fills the criteria for a film which many actors would flock to in an attempt to either win an Oscar or launch their directorial career. At a cursory glance, this could be the sort of film easily dismissed or ignored. But upon deeper inspection, one will notice a cast peppered with thespians at the top of their game, and a Dennis Lehane novel as the source material; a writer who has an aptitude for writing human emotion and complexity with incomprehensible accuracy. Ben Affleck’s talent as a director comes with his understanding of these points, and choosing to surrender his ego to Lehane and the cast. One particular example of this comes when Kenzie takes Detectives Remy Bressant (Ed Harris) and Nick Poole (John Ashton) to meet Helene McCready (Amy Ryan), the mother of Amanda. Much in the way Quentin Tarantino uses dialogue, and Clint Eastwood uses controlled emotion, to make their most memorable scenes pop. Affleck takes the framework of Lehane novel and filters it through a series of static medium shots. The scene evolves organically, developing subtly through the interaction of the characters, leaving the audience with a real sense of frustration, as the apathy of Helene reaches another shocking level whilst those around her reach a fever pitch of fear for young Amanda. This is also a prime opportunity for Amy Ryan and Titus Welliver as Lionel McCready to shine; both being extremely underrated actors.

When Gone Baby Gone veers away from our expectations, doubts are placed in the way we contextualise these ‘types’ of films. By following the source material, Affleck (whether intentionally or accidentally) draws our attention to all the wrong things, and when the story suddenly whip pans in a different direction we feel a real sense of excitement and shock which is very rare in modern cinema. The excitement could be based upon a sense of smug self congratulations, but there is no doubt upon a second viewing that all the clues are in front of us, we just fail to connect the dots. So when Amanda goes missing, and our attention is diverted elsewhere, we are not emotionally prepared for what follows. As Kenzie enters the home of Leon Trett (Mark Margolis) and finds what he does, our disgust and revulsion is equal to, if not in excess of Kenzie, and the lingering flashes of his reaction say more to us than any glorified close up could. The entire scene evokes memories of David Fincher’s Se7en, in the way that everything feels exaggerated and distended – overly sordid, if you will. This sentiment is echoed throughout, with each character’s personality being very much a visual representation. But the result of this is a raw and intense reaction to the story and the characters in a way we never expected.

It is the finale of Gone Baby Gone which slightly deflates the lasting effects of the film. Elements of predictability and over simplification make a slight dent on moments which really challenge our notions of ‘right’. But Affleck pulls things back for his final shot, which lingers on two key characters watching TV. Distant yet deeply connected, one not knowing how to react with the other, but firm in the knowledge that the decision they made, not matter how flawed, was the right one for them. Their relationship is unrequited in intensity, as one has no knowledge of the other’s importance in their life. The words mentioned of this day from a previous scene ring in our ears, and we are left to make a final judgement. It is a lingering and emotive moment, amplified greatly by a beautiful and haunting piece of music.

Gone Baby Gone is truly an attack on the moral code we hold as a people. Whether pro Mosaic Law (eye for an eye) or a true disciple of forgiveness, what Affleck achieves here is a cinematic experience that hits the heart and mind – resonating deeply. With other inept or egotistical directors, it is easy to see how a film such as this would be garbled, making ethical decisions for us. But it is with this version of Gone Baby Gone that we are not simply presented with a dilemma, but physically forced into an expressive reaction. Some may argue that Affleck is not the ‘director’ of this film, but rather a ‘vessel’ for its creation. There may be truth to this, but it is not fair to the director, he shows a skill and understanding which is evident in many celebrated filmmakers – not to mention, room to grow. No one can take away the fact the Affleck had the foresight to make this film exactly as it should have been; by making it about real people with real choices, setting it in a world which appears a million miles away from our own, but one that we recognise and can see ourselves being a victim of. So when you sit and watch Gone Baby Gone, you will know why the film starts like a documentary, on the sweeping yet claustrophobic streets of a Boston neighbourhood known as Dorchester.