Aspiring Chef

I'm learning how to cook, and today was one of those days that I felt more inspired than most. Barbara had a tough day at work, and I really wanted to treat her to something nice.

So I went to the Hippie Store (that's what I call the organic food store down the street), and I put this together:

It's a seasoned New York strip steak (cooked medium rare), asparagus flavored with prosciutto, and marinated mushrooms fried with shallots and white wine vinegar.

This is probably the most ambitious thing, cooking wise, that I have attempted thus far. It tasted delicious, and Barbara thought so too. We were both a little immobile after finishing our respective plates.

I've tried cooking a lot of other things before, but here are the things I have pictures of (all made from scratch):

A scrambled egg breakfast, with sausages and toast.

Spaghetti carbonara.

Fresh Maine lobster stir fried in pork and egg sauce.

Other things that I have cooked successfully from scratch are: curry chicken and potatoes over rice, grilled hamburgers, Sriracha chicken wings, and pork & egg fried rice. I'm excited to see what else I can come up with.

Inception - Film Review

Twist in Time

By Kevin Wong

Usually, I write my film review right after I watch the film. This is when it is freshest in my mind, and I can remember all the details I need to write a comprehensive review. I also like to capture my visceral, emotional reaction to the film, which might dissipate if I wait too long to commit fingers to keyboard. I'll then reflect over the next couple of days and edit the draft accordingly.

After I watched Inception, however, I went straight to bed.

Christopher Nolan's latest, strangest, science fiction film is difficult to pin down. It unfolds in layers, both literally and figuratively, and it's hard to determine what is meant to be deliberately confusing and what is the result of poor screenwriting choices. Nolan's first film, Memento, did not have this effect on me. That film, an interesting exercise in jumbled chronology, had a single, simple plot line that could be followed. I admire a lot of things in Inception, including its ambition, but Nolan has bitten off a bit more than he can chew in this latest outing. The film wants to be two different things, and this compromises what could have been a more direct, and thus more effective, film.

The first thing that it wants to be is an Ocean's 11-esque heist caper. Don Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is the Danny Ocean of sorts - the leader of professional 'extractors' who enter people's unconscious minds to root out otherwise unattainable information. And like Danny Ocean, Cobb has also assembled a crew of professional, multicultural thieves for hire: Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a right hand wiseass who's the closest thing Cobb has to a colleague; and Adriadne (Ellen Page), a student and 'architect,' whose job it is to construct the setting of the dream through which they can access their victim's mind. The crew is rounded out by Eames (Tom Hardy), a 'forger' who roleplays necessary roles in the dream; and Yusuf (Dileep Rao) a 'chemist' who tranquilizes the victim with enough sedatives to keep them under while the crew performs their mental heist.

They've been asked by Saito (Ken Watanabe), a businessman with shady interests, to perform a nigh impossible task; rather than extracting a thought or fact from someone's mind, Saito wants the crew to plant one in the mind of a rival businessman.

This, however, proves difficult. In order to plant the thought well and not arouse suspicion, they have have to dig very deeply into their subject's mind. Have you ever had a dream within a dream? Where you have a dream, and then wake up and are still in a dream? Cobb and his crew have to go one more level down, and dig into a dream within a dream within a dream, to do their job effectively.

The intricacies of doing this is the great part of the film. There are visual sequences that adhere to a wonderful sort of dream logic: zero gravity enclosures, upside down cities, bridges being constructed out of spare parts, and time slowed to a jellied crawl. All of this, and the extended, expositional dialogue that explains how it all works, was grin-inducing and engaging in the fullest; I watched these sequences with the interest of a student, wanting to know more about the complexities of this strange, futuristic world.

The 'heist' itself was really enjoyable too. Apparently, time slows down the deeper one pushes into a person's mind, and this makes for some action sequences that were wonderfully edited and visually rich. From a rain-soaked urban backdrop, to a gaudily modern hotel, to a snow-covered, militarized landscape, the film's dreams get more and more compelling the further down they dig.

The best heist films in Hollywood, from The Killing to A Fish Called Wanda, focused on the process of the heist itself, because the filmmakers knew what was most fascinating to focus on. Characterization, in other words, took a backseat to process. And this is how I wish the film had remained: as a science fiction heist film. It's when Nolan turns the film into a thesis about the difference between reality and make believe, between forgiveness and carrying guilt, that the film goes off the rails. DiCaprio plays Cobb as a tortured, mentally unbalanced fellow who, unfortunately, is identical to the same tortured, mentally unbalanced fellow he played in Shutter Island, which was released earlier this year. Just as in that film, he's pining incessantly over a dead woman, and it's an unnecessary complication to what we're really interested in: the intricacies of dream travel.

Come awards season, I can definitely see this film snagging a nomination or two; the first half is done expertly well. Inception has a great look and a clever premise, but it aims to be transcendent, and in this attempt, falls short of its goals. Cobb's psychological problems come to dominate the film, both literally and thematically, and the issues are merely grazed, not delved into deeply enough to make us sympathize with Cobb or any of the associated characters. What could have been a clean, well-drawn plot thread becomes unnecessarily twisted, and I left the theater more puzzled than I ought to have been and more emotionally disconnected than I wanted to be. Inception's audience receives melodrama instead of drama, and is ultimately left out in the cold, wondering what happened to the slick, fun movie they were watching.

Rating: 6.5

To see my ratings system, click here

My Film Rating System

I'm seeing Inception tonight with Barbara, and I'm really looking forward to it!

One of the main reasons I started this blog a couple of days ago is because I missed writing. From 2004-2007, I wrote constantly. I wrote poetry, I was working on a screenplay about Asian men in America, I was freelancing for three culture magazines, and I was doing online journalism for free. I wrote so much that I gave myself a wrist condition (I still have a faded scar from the surgery).

I stopped writing because I was focused, to the point of isolation, on attaining my Master's degree and learning to be a good teacher. This blog is my first step in reclaiming my status as a writer, and this time, in an environment where I don't have to adhere to word limits and style sheets.

I plan on reviewing a lot of films, because I love films. Below is my rating system for films on a scale of 0 - 10. Like most film critics, I struggle with how to rate films; does a film that aims high and falls short deserve a lower rating than a film with low aims that perfectly achieves its goals? It's the sort of thing that's probably garnered more words amongst film nerds (myself included) than it's worth, and I try not to over think it too much. Without further ado:

0 - Irredeemable: Just as most films don't deserve a 10, most films don't deserve a 0 either. This is a film that is not only poorly written, acted, directed, and edited, but it also lowers the general discourse.

1 - Poor: A disaster. Basically the same as a 0, except perhaps the acting is slightly better, or it's harmless in its content despite its ineptitude. The Hollywood system usually axes 0s and 1s before they get filmed, but there are exceptions.

2 - Bad: A film is bad if it sets low aims of achievement, and it mostly fails in achieving the mediocrity it expects of itself. It may have one or two laughs or some interesting camera work, but it's mostly a disaster.

3 - Mediocre: A mediocre film doesn't distinguish itself; there's nothing offensively bad, but it's dull. A general lack of ambition or creativity can result in a rating of 3.

4 - Flawed: This is a milquetoast film that is slightly below average. Maybe there are some good scenes or funny bits, but the bad ultimately outweighs the good. It could also be an ambitious film that falls short of its aims.

5 - Average: An average film is fun or meaningful during the time that you spend in the theater, but it is forgotten the moment you leave your seat. You don't feel like you wasted your money by renting it or purchasing a ticket, but it made no impact beyond entertaining you for the moments you were watching it.

6 - Enjoyable: This is when I would start recommending the film to a friend. An enjoyable film is fun, and I might watch it again if I saw it on TV. It may contain basic flaws, like awkward editing or a predictable ending, but I can overlook these because I was entertained. Many films fall into the midrange of 4 to 6.

7 - Wonderful In Its Genre: A film that is solid on all counts would deserve a 7. There are few discernible weaknesses in a 7 film. However, the film is not transcendent and does not say anything profound about the human condition. The film does not emotionally 'stay' with the viewer after having been viewed. Many lowbrow comedies and melodramas, no matter how well conceived and executed, hover at a 7.

8 - Transcendently Good: This is where we start getting into "Best of the Year" discussions. A transcendently good film either leaves a lasting impact on its viewer, or it contains a single element (a stellar acting performance, beautiful cinematography) that is truly noteworthy. Flaws in the film are minor.

9 - Memorable: Nearly flawless in its execution. A great film that resonates with its viewer. Creative and ambitious. A 9 film can be perfect, but it may lack that extra 'oomph' that would push it to the last level.

10 - Golden: Hopefully, this needs little explanation; you know it when you see it. A 10 film often redefines film and is pervasive in its influence. It resonates deeply, and it gives true pause for thought.

I plan on writing reviews of current films as well as past films. Included among these will be films that I consider to be 10s.

I will post my review of Inception late tonight or tomorrow morning.

The Case for Sarah Palin or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Hockey Mom

I don't plan on turning this into a political blog, but I have something to say about Sarah Palin. Until they get some real dirt on the woman - and I don't mean this 'refudiate' junk either - Palin haters need to cool it. Because they are going to have the exact opposite effect of the one they are trying to accomplish.

Let it go, people. Let it go.

Sarah Palin is considered, I think, by the majority of correctly functioning people, to be unqualified to be the leader of a charity car wash, let alone the head of a political organization of any sort. She made a single, really good impression on me, and that was at the Republican National Convention in 2008. As an Obama supporter, she actually made me nervous.

"Lipstick? She's funny! Hehehehe... uh oh."

Since then, it's been a string of embarrassing, public gaffes that consistently demonstrate Palin's mediocrity and inability to lead. Which is why I don't think that nitpicking her to death is really necessary. Given enough time and rope, she'll do the job herself. Instead, by overplaying the little things and attacking her stupidity, liberals risk alienating a crucial voting block. This voting block has played a big part in every major political election and cannot ever be discounted from a serious political discussion.

I am, of course, talking about voters who pick their candidates not based on their content, or their looks, or even their speaking skills, but instead, ask themselves (perhaps subconsciously), "Which one of these candidates is roughly as smart as I am?"

There is a sizable, dim segment of the population that is intimidated by the intelligence of others. They dress up their lack of education and worldliness in populist terms, broadly referring to themselves as 'working class' (as if educated people don't work for a living) or 'salt of the earth', and they claim a sort of authenticity for themselves that someone with a fancy schmancy college education couldn't possibly have. In my Long Island hometown, these sort of people were fairly common - they're the type of person who never tried in school, because their father, who also never went to college, will ladle them a job fixing pipes when they turn 18. He or she will eventually die in the hometown he or she grew up in - the result of misplaced values in team sports and the 'big game.' Have you ever watched Friday Night Lights (the super depressing film, not the TV series)? After senior year, it's all downhill from there.

Focusing on football instead of academics turns you into a drunk Tim McGraw.

Growing up, I was always taught to admire successful, educated, intelligent people. In my family, there was a belief in economic and social advancement. By contrast, I had to deal with a pervading anti-intellectualism in my middle school and high school. The smart kids were bullied for superficial reasons, and the bullying would often turn racial and homophobic in a pinch. My mother would always teach me not to feel angry at these people, but to feel sorry for them and show them pity. After all, as she said, they were "losers" who "weren't going anywhere in life."

Which brings us back to Palin. Historically, politicians and advertisers have made a fortune off this dullest part of the American populace. There was, however, always the sense of self-awareness that went along with the pandering. We all knew Ronald Reagan wasn't a cowboy, although he seems to be wearing a cowboy hat in half of his publicity photos. We all knew Bush Jr. was a Yale educated, upper class kid, even though he played up his Texas ranch. It was a case of smarter, more worldly people playing off the vulnerabilities and insecurities of the less fortunate.

He made this look GOOD.

With Palin, however, I see none of this tap dancing. She seems, for all intensive purposes, to be the genuine article, born and bred from the same ignorant stock as her supporters. She believes every last word that comes out of her mouth. It's no calculated ploy to appeal to the uneducated; she herself is woefully uneducated. Instead of being led, she is being thrust into leadership positions, and the majority of her base is loyal, because they identify with her low frequency thinking. "She doesn't read newspapers regularly? Neither do I!"

It's this genuineness that makes her a dangerous target to put in the crosshairs. Liberals! Point out Palin's mistakes, but don't mercilessly harp upon them. When you go out of your way to insult Sarah Palin, you alienate the millions of Americans who think and function JUST LIKE SARAH PALIN. Stupid people don't like to be called stupid. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is let them figure it out for themselves.

While in Hawaii, I ran into a former student...

In an attempt to show me just how small the world is, the "Powers That Be" threw me for a loop last week:

That's me with one of my former students, Cesar, at Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii. I was vacationing there with my family, and he was coincidentally there with his college classmates on a summer trip. We snapped this photo next to Kilauea Volcano, which looks like it's going to blow any minute (the crater glows red at night).

I remember that when I was 16, it was surreal to see my teachers outside of the building and living their lives; whenever I ran into my teachers wearing dress down jeans, or lighting up cigarettes, or buying groceries at the market, I felt a bit like Jane Goodall.

"Look! He's eating!"

"She has a mate! Isn't this incredible?"

A lot of people ask me if it's awkward when today, as a teacher, I see former students outside of the school building. They are particularly curious about the students that I have suspended or disciplined in the past. To their surprise (and mine, I must admit), my interactions, even with former 'problem' students, have been overwhelmingly positive. I suspect it's because the power dynamic is absent; in a real world situation, they don't feel intimidated by my authority, and I don't feel the need to regulate their behavior. Also, the initial shock of seeing one another tends to blot out any hard feelings.

None of this, of course, applies to Cesar. He was one of my best, most memorable students. After this photo was taken, I observed him and his classmates, and I saw him taking notes in a notebook he had with him. He was attentive and engaged, and it made me so proud. To struggle from the Lower East Side of NY all the way to the top of a volcano in Hawaii is a hell of an accomplishment.

From The Archives: Sin City Review (2005)

Sin City, Without Pity

By Kevin Wong

After completing his Spy Kids trilogy, which bristled with childish fun and irreverence, Robert Rodriguez turned his eyes back to the seedy world of gangsters and dangerous women that made him famous. However, the Mexican locales of his El Mariachi folk hero have been switched with a stylized, urban backdrop, and Rodriguez’s spaghetti Western influences have been replaced with the noir color contrast of comic book art. Welcome to Sin City, a film so bursting with eye candy and deliberate overacting that it threatens to undo itself, even as it’s making the audience’s jaw drop.

Based on three out of the six graphic novels written and illustrated by Frank Miller – who gets a co-directing credit for the film – Sin City tells the non-chronological tales of three protagonists, all of whom cross paths during the story. Although this observation has earned Rodriguez many comparisons to Quentin Tarantino – who stops in to direct one dialogue-laden, hilarious scene – the stories in Sin City are much less character-driven, and the spliced timeline seems to be an added flair rather than a plot device to inspire deeper meaning.

The first protagonist the viewer meets is Hartigan (Bruce Willis), one of the only good cops left on the force, who’s one day away from his retirement. However, his moral fiber moves him to try and save 11-year-old Nancy Callahan from a pedophile (Nick Stahl), even at the risk of his life and reputation. Eight years later, Nancy (Jessica Alba) has grown up and “filled out,” and Hartigan must protect her again at all costs. The second protagonist is Marv, a physically ugly ex-con, who goes on a vengeful rampage in search of the people who killed Goldie (Jaime King), a prostitute he spent a single night with. The final story deals with Dwight (Clive Owen), who makes a bloody attempt to keep the peace between the corrupt police force and the prostitutes of Old Town, who enforce their own brand of street justice with guns, swords, and fists.

From the first frame of the film, Rodriguez’s eye for camera placement and color becomes apparent. His gift for filming visual intensity was apparent in both Desperado and From Dusk Til Dawn, but never before has he been this engaged. The first scene features close shots of a woman’s blood-red lips, and the light that hits her tobacco smoke creates striped shadows, which invoke a noirish sensibility. In another action sequence, Marv kills an entire squad of police officers with great relish. A crane shot gives the viewer an all-encompassing view of carnage. However, most striking is the portrayal of blood throughout the film; sometimes pure white, sometimes unnatural red and sometimes neon yellow, the decapitations, dismemberments and castrations in Sin City engage the highest taste in aesthetics while playing to the lowest sensibilities.

The acting performances are less arresting. There are several individual performances that stand out; Bruce Willis gives the film its only moral center as Hartigan, and the dichotomy between his tenderness and viciousness is jarring. Also notable is Alexis Bledel’s performance as a blue-eyed prostitute, and she strikes the perfect balance between naivete and sexual street smarts.

Less impressive is Michael Madsen, who gives a wooden portrayal of Hartigan’s embittered partner. Jessica Alba badly underplays Nancy’s trepidation, and although she looks beautiful, her pivotal role requires more depth. Everyone else in the film chew the scenery with B-movie enthusiasm, which serves the purpose, but doesn’t elevate the film to anything greater.

However, given that the characters are meant to be archetypes of the comic book genre rather than fully-realized protagonists, it would be missing the point to harp upon weaknesses such as these. The film makes its own excuses; a criticism of the indulgent misogyny is parried by Rodriguez’s loyal retelling of Miller’s novels, and a complaint about the action sequences’ repetitiveness can be deflected by the same. Sin City was a film made for comic book fans and lovers of virtuoso action for its own sake. The politically correct and detractors of ‘low art’ will find themselves shaking their heads and searching for the exits. But for the expectant viewer, one couldn’t ask for more.

From The Archives: Walk On Water Review (2004)

Walk On Water

by Kevin Wong

Robotic Precision

Etyan Fox's Walk on Water is a juggling act of emotional ambiguities and moral lessons. Following enough plot threads to fill three more films, Gal Uchovsky's screenplay considers alienation in several forms: Jews displaced by Nazism, Israelis and Palestinians displaced by one another, and gays contending with homophobia. While the film follows one man's individual growth quietly and compellingly, it is less convincing when it reaches for broad social prescriptions.

Eyal (Lior Ashkenazi) is an Israeli intelligence agent who, when asked about the recent Palestinian suicide bombers in his homeland, coldly dismisses them as "animals." As he suffers from a medical inability to cry tears, Eyal seems primed for blatant symbolism. Instead, he repeatedly moistens his eyes with drops, a more subtle, figurative reminder of his robotic precision.

The first scene alternates between shaky handheld indications of Eyal's unsteady view and a more stylized, omniscient angle as he assassinates a known terrorist organizer in front of the man's wife and son. Shortly afterwards, he finds his own wife dead in their bed, a suicide. As he reads a letter she left on her nightstand, the scene fades to black without any further explanation.

One month later, Eyal is back at the shooting range, refusing the help of psychiatrists. He takes on a new assignment, and Menachem (Gideon Shemer), a head of the Mossad intelligence agency, instructs him to track down an escaped Nazi war criminal and "get him before God does." Reluctantly, Eyal poses as a tour guide for the Nazi's two grandchildren, Axel (Knut Berger), a gay "peacenik" unaware of his family's history, and Pia (Caroline Peters), who lives in an Israeli kibbutz, estranged from her family.

In Israel, Walk on Water's political intrigues transform into Eyal's personal redemptive journey. Initially put off by Axel's naïveté and German heritage, Eyal soon becomes protective, even tender. They bathe each other at the beach, their frank discussion of circumcision invoking a sensuous, mutual curiosity. While Eyal's initial demeanor is both menacing and darkly humorous, Ashkenazi also reveals glimmers of vulnerability during the course of his character's development; he smiles faintly and without derision at Axel's early attempts to "walk on water" when they visit the Sea of Gailee, and becomes possessive when a Palestinian man monopolizes Axel's affections. As these seemingly isolated events build to an emotional breaking point for Eyal, his response is heartbreaking and redemptive.

Eyal's encounters with Axel function on personal and historical levels. Sitting by a campfire, they appear in close-ups, warm underlighting suggesting their growing intimacy. As they talk about German national guilt for the Holocaust and the continued Jewish anger, Axel accuses his own generation, who refuse to take responsibility. At the same time, the righteously ferocious Eyal is also uncomfortable at Axel's bearing blame. Their tentative understanding suggests that old wounds might be repaired through open dialogue.

Eyal's sympathy for Axel is tested again when he learns he is gay; unable to discuss his repulsion with Axel, he slowly comes round, defending a group of drag queens from a street gang and sharing a frank, funny conversation with Axel about gay sex. The film is less explicit in its exploration of the Israeli- Palestinian conflict, to the point that it's relegated to background for other tensions. All remain mostly unresolved, an ambiguity only underlined by an unmotivated scene of domestic tranquility.

Walk on Water is a worthy, though frustrating, film. Ashkenazi's dynamic performance takes Eyal from calculated cynicism to some sort of self-understanding. But in attending to so many topical tensions, the movie ends up not detailing any of them.

http://www.popmatters.com/film/reviews/w/walk-on-water.shtml

From The Archives: Scoop Review (2006)

Scoop

By Kevin Wong

Self-Indulgent

Woody Allen is usually an intensely intimate filmmaker. So much so that his stars tend to adopt his mannerisms, from his halting speech patterns to his fluttery hand gestures. Scarlett Johansson follows suit in Scoop, a repetitive movie that never deviates from what viewers have come to expect from Allen’s latter work.

It begins inventively. Acclaimed British newspaper reporter Joe Strombel (Ian McShane) dies, and on the boat to hell, he gets a crucial lead on the Tarot Card Serial Killer terrorizing London. So determined is he to get the scoop that Joe comes back as a ghost to deliver the clue to Sondra Pransky (Scarlett Johansson), an American college student vacationing in London. A comedy focused on the journalist’s sometimes vulture-like tendencies could have been funny, and for the first 10 minutes here, it seems like a refreshing possibility.

But Scoop quickly devolves into familiarity. By his own admission, Allen has only played two primary roles over the course of 30-plus years—the intellectual professor type and low-aiming hustler. Allen shoehorns himself into this plot as the latter, a cheap magician named Splendini, who finds himself drawn into Sondra’s hijinks. The pairing of Allen and Johansson recalls Bringing Up Baby, and like Cary Grant, Allen’s character here resists the adventure while he secretly loves every liberating second of it. Despite his insistence that he “made other plans,” Splendini accompanies Sondra on her investigations.

They pursue Peter Lyman (Hugh Jackman), an aristocrat whom Strombel believes to be the killer. Sondra falls in love with Peter, and Splendini, posing as her father, begins to care for her like a daughter. Johansson, whose glasses and flustered look recall Mia Farrow in Zelig, gives a warm, gabby performance that recalls the zaniest of Allen’s women. Precocious and rough-edged, Sondra brings to the film a brash enthusiasm. Whether arguing with Joe or pretending to drown in front of Peter, Johansson’s Sondra is her own character.

But while no one would confuse Sondra Pransky with Annie Hall, Splendini is much like previous Allen characters. At the start of the film, he is cowardly, physically weak, and can’t drive to save his life. During an early “heart-to-heart” with Sondra, Splendini reveals that his wife left him, and he has no one to care for him in his old age. He blames himself, saying he was “immature,” but this minute-long confession is the last the viewer hears about his personal life. By the end of Scoop, he is more mature, courageous, and protective, but his route to this change in character, as well as his devotion to Sondra, seem unmotivated.

This sort of arrested development appears in many of Allen’s films. In his world, men are misogynistic and, regardless of age, ethnicity, or social position, listen to jazz and classical music. Allen’s many alter egos, from Alvy Singer to Larry Lipton, are immature, nervous Brooklynites with a fondness for younger women. On top of his sameness, Splendini is also superfluous and strikingly out of place.

Just so, his one-liners and extended gags mostly fall flat. One in particular—“I was born into the Hebrew persuasion, but when I grew up I converted to Narcissism”—only restates what we already know about Splendini. A running gag has Splendini viewing the entire world as his stage. Whether in front of a paying crowd or British bluebloods, he’s cracking bawdy jokes or performing card tricks. Splendini adlibs constantly but also repeats himself, and while his tics may illustrate his “immaturity,” they’re also increasingly irritating and unfunny. Allen once channeled Bergman in Interiors and Fellini inStardust Memories, and he was criticized by some for crossing the line between tribute and plagiarism. But in Scoop, he commits a more self-indulgent crime, paying tribute to his own works.

http://www.popmatters.com/pm/review/scoop-20061/