Oh dear, it seems as if this may be my last column. I’m sure this comes as a relief to most readers, who after a fit of excitement in late August over the highly anticipated Cine-Files 07-08 edition, found themselves quickly turning the page in search of Ed Klein. I do have my fans though—my own mother, Molly, for instance, commented, “Why don’t you have them change that horrible photograph of you? You’re much better looking than that!”
Shortly before spring break, President Michael Roth proposed an explicit, prescriptive program for art at the University. He fearlessly recommended that the administration exclude whole genres, movements and subcultures from University-funded cultural events. Defying the vogue for aesthetic inclusiveness, he declared, “The institution should make it clear that it’s not supporting things that are stupid.”
This is what is going on in my living room right now. 58 Fountain St.: four hot single guys (and one girl) having a happy Valentine’s Day in the living room. “I always wanted to be in the Argus,” explained Brian Colgan ’08. “You could make a good riff on the sexy singles,” Colgan added. “Tell them I’ll be waiting in the back of one of the film series screenings with a….” quipped Mike Litwack ’08.
Oh man, did I screw up. I think I looked at the Film Series calendar and decided to disregard the dates and the movies that are playing. This Wednesday we will not be showing Mean Streets, but RASING ARIZONA. Don’t panic, we will show Mean Streets, but on the following Wednesday, Feb. 20.
I’m pretty sure that it is statistically impossible to be at Wesleyan this semester and not be taking either (or both) “The Past on Film” or “Western Movies: Myth, Ideology, and Genre.” The sheer amount of students enrolled in these classes has two direct impacts on the student community.
I’m happily convinced that, as we move toward the close of the aughts, Hollywood is beginning to experience a second Wesleyan surge. The first happened in the 1990s with a rush of Wesleyan graduates from the 80’s taking a firm grip of commercial cinema’s delicate parts. Graduates Michael Bay, Paul Schiff, and Joss Whedon, among many others, found great success and paved the way for a new batch of Wesleyan grads from the 90’s.
The sun is gone. My circadian rhythms are ruined. The weather is turning colder under the graying November sky. The thermostat in my house is accurate. I need to find my silk long underwear. I’ll wear it underneath my women’s jeans in the Goldsmith Family Cinema, watching “Rocky” on Friday evening.
As of today, Wesleyan will be on its most proper and traditional behavior for the remainder of the weekend. With the homecoming football game, a Presidential inauguration, the Douglas Cannon (?), and a boatload of parents on our hands, we have a bevy of things to be apathetic about or inconspicuously absent from.
We fucked up. The film series calendars you received in your mailboxes are not only tersely written and seductively designed but also flat out wrong. This week we will be showing SICKO, not SUPERBAD. Both movies are essential viewing, incisively surveying the comprehensive failings of our nation’ health care system and the drinking age, respectively.
Earlier this week I was at a loss as to what to write in this week’s column, and although this early onset of writer’s block is perhaps distressing, it was recently quelled by a gem of an e-mail that I received yesterday. I was informed that the one and only Wesleyan University graduate to testify at the Phil Spector murder trial would be appearing on campus TODAY. I’m talking, of course, about Michael Bay ’86.
I think that we’re off to a good start. In fact, I think we have had the most fantastic opening weeks in my now-elderly Film Series memory. "Pee Wee’s Big Adventure" made me think about my Dad, which is sometimes an adventure in itself. "The Holy Mountain" prompted Anna "not a girl, not yet a woman" Szapiro ’11 to confess that she’s "seriously scarred for life."
Lawrence of Arabia, Holy Mountain, Stop Making Sense, and Adam’s Rib.
This is a sad time of year for the film community. Every day, it gets a little bit harder to entice people indoors, because every day is just a little bit more beautiful than the one before. Why the hell would anybody want to sacrifice this weather to go watch a stupid flickering screen? I’ve been trying to come up with reasons, and all I can think of only two: A) the Goldsmith Family Cinema offers the finest in air conditioning technology B) everybody is more attractive in the dark.