Summer officially began this weekend, and for me, it marked a chance to simply relax and get away from the hustle and bustle of work. This included a trip to Cape Cod for my friend E's birthday party and doing my part to contribute to the national decline in movie box office by renting some DVDs with which I have been meaning to catch up (Millenium Mambo, My Wife is an Actress, and Michael Haneke's terribly underrated The Time of The Wolf [which I found to be really moving]). Primarily, however, sun-drenched vacation time these days means one thing for me: catching up with the books that continue to accumulate, unread, in anxiety-ridden piles on my shelves. Not even the breezy sunshine of Memorial Day weekend relieves the unbearable sense of responsibility that accompanies books that stare at you, demanding to be read.

I love to read, and my relationship to books is probably not that uncommon; I devoured books as a curious kid, resented being 'assigned' books to read in school, was bored stiff by most of what I read in college, but was turned on by certain writers. As an adult, I have tended to read books by the writers I discovered in the late 80's and early 90's, and have tracked their influence forward (to like-minded, challenging modern writers) and backward (to the writers and books that influenced my formative favorites). If my teenage years laid the foundation for my musical tastes, my twenties certainly shaped my taste in books.

This weekend, I read two very different books and one of them was the ideal read; McSweeney's Quarterly Concern Issue #13; The Comics Issue. *

I found my copy of the book at the bookstore back home in Park Slope, sitting on a shelf and wrapped in plastic. The old cliché tells us never to judge a book by its cover, but one glance at this book and I knew right away that I would be walking out the door with it. That's because the cover is clearly the work of one of my favorite authors; Chris Ware. Finding an orphaned, unopened copy of the 2nd printing of the McSweeney's book was a wonderful discovery. I hadn't been keeping track of Ware's work in a while, but seeing the cover made me tingle with excitement.

An image from Jimmy Corrigan: Smartest Boy on Earth

I discovered Ware's stories when I read some of his short pieces in Raw magazine, and I was instantly captivated by his unique style of drawing and his quiet, intimate approach to storytelling. The details that Ware reveals in his drawings, his perfect panels and incredibly designed pages create a physical response in me; a wonderful stillness that invites me to get lost on the page, guiding my eyes around with arrows, text, and images. Ware's work, collected under his own ACME Novelty Library Company banner, reaches back to classic comic strip styles that span everything from Krazy Kat and Mutt and Jeff to maps, blueprints, print advertising, graphic design and beyond. Some of the great revelations of the McSweeney's book are the articles and historical documents that Ware presents, which begin to explain many of his sources, but also highlight Ware's argument for understanding the language of comic strips; an evolving, self-aware boiling down of human concerns to a simple relationship between image and word, a visual poetry. One of the pleasures of reading Ware's work is the revelation that his gifts are not limited to his intensely detailed artwork; his words and text are as profoundly important to the language of comics as his drawings.

In addition to presenting his own work, research, and historical sources, Ware presents dozens of comics by other artists currently working the in the comics medium. The array of stories is dazzling; from the intensely personal journaling of the wonderful Julie Doucet to the middle-class malaise of Dan Clowes, all the way to essays by John Updike and Michael Chabon. The bookaddresses several of my favorite, pet topics; 19th Century literature and history, childhood obsessions, research, and the long line of influences that lead artists to their own unique visions of the world.

Of course, in Ware's case, the specific influences are those that resonate with me on a personal level. All of these theories, ideas, influences and details culminate in Ware's award winning masterpiece, Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid On Earth, which came out in 2001 and remains one of the great reads of my adult life. Primarily a compilation of Ware's Jimmy Corrigan strips from his ACME Novelty Library Company magazine, the book is a heart-wrenching journey through the experience of being a son, of history and family, presented as one of the loveliest objects ever to be sold as a book. Do yourself a favor and grab a hardcover copy.

This weekend, lying in the sunshine of a warm, breezy afternoon in late May, getting lost in the mind of Chris Ware was the perfect start to the summer, and one more book pulled from the dreaded realm of the unread.

Image from Jimmy Corrigan: Smartest Boy on Earth

More fun with Chris Ware:

A discussion with Ware on the wonderful radio show This American Life

An on-line comic, posted as part the same program (originally printed in Raw Magazine)

An interview with Ware on the CBC's Brave New Waves program, the radio show that drifted over the Canadian border and into my cheap radio in Flint, Michigan every weeknight while I was growing up.

An interview with Ware at the Onion AV Club

Ware's work, once available through the Gallerie Lambiek (Oh, to be able to afford to buy art!)

More of Ware's wares...

A torrent file of Ware's interview on French television (Tres Bien!)

* Before the lit-snobs make fun of this choice as being non-literary, I encourage you to read the book and then tell me what you think; It's really a wonderful read.

Review | Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of The Sith

In the summer of 1977, as a six-year-old boy in Mt. Pleasant, MI, my dad took me to the Cinema Twin on Mission Street (now a Walgreen's Pharmacy*) to see the movie that had kids across the Mid-Michigan area lining up in hyperactive droves. Of course, the movie was Star Wars. I can't be sure anymore whether I had begged to be taken or if my father had suggested it; those were different times and I am not sure how media savvy I was or how much about movies I would have known. What I do remember is the film itself, which captured my imagination like no film before it had; a seemingly perfect blend of action, drama, and fantasy that created a moral universe of right and wrong, good and evil, that could be easily accommodated by my six-year-old brain. I probably saw the film five times that summer and, because of my younger brother's addiction to the series, innumerable times in the years after its theatrical release. Star Wars (now officially called Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope) is a touchstone for my generation, the first and greatest blockbuster to inspire a slave-like devotion to a movie series and a brand name whose sequels were guaranteed to knock your socks off.

Of course, the idea of fantasy cliffhangers and sequels started long before Star Wars with the wonderfully camp serials of the 1940's and 50's that provided Writer/Director George Lucas with the inspiration for the series. My dad was a fan of the serials himself, and I am certain part of his attraction to the film was its direct aesthetic relationship to the movies of his youth; the crazy wipe transitions, over the top plotting and unambiguous heroes and villains. While my six-year-old attentions and those of like-minded fans were drawn in by the stunning special effects (the glowing hum of light sabers, the laser beam screams of the fighter ships battling one another in space), I am sure my dad experienced the aesthetics of the movie serial as a nostalgic trip down memory lane, spruced up by state of the art filmmaking techniques.

Interesting, then, my own experience when attending a recent screening of the latest and thankfully last film in Lucas's six-film box office behemoth, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge Of the Sith. I am now roughly my father's age when he saw the original Star Wars and I went to the film hoping to experience my own sense of nostalgia; the unique brand of escapism that only a Star Wars film could deliver. Heartened by great word of mouth and the promise of a return to form, I optimistically walked into the theater and took a seat. As soon as the movie started, however, I experienced another kind of déja-vu altogether. Just as I had at the two preceding films, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace and Star Wars Episode II: Attack of The Clones, I left savagely disappointed in not only this movie but also the entire series. It's sad but true; the last three films have completely ruined my previous admiration for and memory of Star Wars.

Let's Get It On: Anakin and Obi Wan, Together Again

I am still in shock and over the moon... More film writing soon, but for now, a final photo celebrating Liverpool FC's Champions League triumph over AC Milan!

The 5th Cup Is The Sweetest...

...and I am nervous! My Mighty Reds are in Istanbul with a chance to win their FIFTH European Championship!

Liverpool FC (my football team!) are facing AC Milan in The Champions League Final (Live at 2:30pm on ESPN2). There is no bigger sporting event in the world this year. I won't go on, bemoaning how American sports fans dismiss 'soccer', but if anyone is interested in learning to enjoy football, tune in to this game and show Liverpool some love. We're the underdogs, and this is as big as it gets in club football.

Although I can't be home in New York City with my fellow Liverpool supporters, I am going down to Kitty Murtagh's Pub here on Nantucket on this rainy, nasty day in order to watch the game. Full report in the comment section after the match, but for now...

Come On You Reds!
You'll Never Walk Alone!

Can you find the author in this photo, taken at Giant Stadium in New Jersey during Liverpool's 2004 Summer tour of the USA?

I'm off. On Monday, the staff of the Nantucket Film Festival are moving to the island for a month in order to get everything in place for this year's festival. I am looking forward to a break from the hustle and bustle of the NYC lifestyle, but I will miss the city for sure. That said, it is always fun to get away for a while so that when I come back, I can kiss and make up with New York.

This weekend promises a lot of farewell fun, including my obligatory visit with Revenge of The Sith tonight (I am reviewing it for The Uncommon Sense back home in Flint, so I sorta have to see it.) I have mixed feelings about event movies, and I have been Star Wars'd out since Episode VI or whatever the fuck it was called back then. Jedi. That one. Plus, I am a little annoyed with the way this movie has taken over the national consciousness. We have far more important things to do and talk about than having a nature vs. nurture debate about Darth Vader. This story is NOT NEWS for fuck's sake. What's next? A urine stain passing as the Virgin Mary making national headlines? Oh wait. And to think, I had to wade through Catholic protesters to see Chris Ofili's painting The Holy Virgin Mary at the Brooklyn Museum's Sensation show. All he had to do was take a leak under an overpass and he could have been a saint?!?! Sign me up! I guess I shouldn't be so literal-minded about the ridiculousness of all of this. Why, "Only a Sith deals in absolutes!"

(Cue Tom's move to Canada...)

The Religious Right Learns How To Use Photoshop

Anyway, the hard news of Star Wars aside, tomorrow I am working hard to prep for our ever-popular Sunday Night dinner. I'm making my first batch of Molé from scratch. I hear it takes all day. I can watch The FA Cup as a prelude to watching my beloved Liverpool in The Champion's League final later in the week (Come On You Reds!!!!)

Of course, I'll have to flip back and forth to the Awards Ceremony live From Cannes on IFC while drooling over the Lumiére Theater. This is one of my favorite awards shows, primarily because of the live translations of Annette Insdorf (I'm a groupie...[blush] ) and the celebrity red-carpet ID-a-thon between her and Roger Ebert as they struggle to keep up with the absolutely logic-free editing from the Canal+ feed. There is also the multi-lingual awards presentation itself, which truly exemplifies why this awards show, and not the Oscars, is probably the most fun for cinéphiles. Sick of watching Scorsese battle Ron Howard and Clint Eastwood? How about Hou Hsiao-hsien vs. Jim Jarmusch? That's the kind of good TV I'm talkin' about.

After that, its off to sushi and a fun night seeing my former improv teacher (yes, I'm a nerd) at the The Upright Citizen's Brigade Theater. I'm sure there will be copious amounts beer involved. If I drink enough, maybe I can piss the entire The Passion of the Christ on a manhole cover.

On top of it all, I found a little link to the first song from Bob Mould's new record, Body of Song. I have a feeling this one will be dominating my stereo all summer long, alongside the new Sleater-Kinney record (Check out the album stream... So rockin'!) . I almost feel bad for the neighbors. Almost.

Hurry up, summer! I'm ready already!

Well. In her recent Cannes journal entry on Michael Haneke's film Caché, Manohla Dargis writes:

"Yesterday, I ran into a very smart Industry Bigwig and asked if he had seen anything he liked. Well, he "loves" the Michael Haneke film "Caché," but he also thinks it would be a tough sell to the older art-house audience, you know, those folks who support banal French movies about singing orphans and the like. Well, I think it's time to kill off that audience and grow a new audience if the only films we are going to get from abroad are nice, nauseatingly polite works about characters who simply hold up a mirror to that audience, who wear nice clothes, live in nice houses and have discreet but finally resolvable crises. If someone doesn't buy "Caché" and give it a seriously funded push, then the state of film distribution in the United States is far worse than I thought."

I agree with this 100%, but only because the state of film distribution in the United States IS far worse than she thinks. As I wrote in an earlier post, there is a huge problem with the presentation of foreign film in America. From my point of view, there is an entire campaign required in order to turn American audiences on to the pleasures of foreign film, a campaign that utilizes film festivals, grass roots marketing campaigns and an expansion of foreign titles from urban art houses into suburban and rural theaters.

Volume I: Tom's Way

OK, I can admit it. I am going through a severe bout of Cannes envy right now. For the past week, I have been unfolding myself into my desk chair every morning, reading over the daily news from the festival , and feeling a profound sense of longing rising up inside of me. While I have been hard at work locking up the schedule, film program and catalogue for the Nantucket Film Festival, assembling all of the bits and pieces of information required to have a complete website/catalogue/press release, my colleagues* are all over in France, sipping Taittinger champagne (my favorite!) and watching scantily-clad 'stars-to-be' frolicking up and down the beach.

But it is not the "fun in the sun" aspect of Cannes that has me wishing I was there. In fact, champagne aside, it has pretty much nothing at all to do with it. There are many things to love about Cannes, but I am not a huge fan of big, lavish parties. I think A.O. Scott speaks for people like me when he writes in his Cannes journal;

"Finally, you arrive, bedraggled and thirsty, in a tiny, damp garden, where you chat with the same five people you always chat with after the screenings. And then you leave, long before whatever promised special entertainment arrives... You trudge home looking forward to the morning's screening, and hoping there is enough gloom, death and suffering to lift your spirits."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

I pretty much make it my mission to avoid anything with a velvet rope. Instead, like Mr. Scott, I love the screenings. And when your line-up features the new work of so many great artists (as this year�s does), it is hard, after a 40 minute commute from Brooklyn to Midtown, to trudge through another shift of copy editing, fully aware that an incredible line-up of films is continually unspooling in the best movie theater in the world, the Salle Lumi�re in the Palais du Cinema in Cannes.

Leave the parties to the star-fuckers and the suits. I am in love with the Lumi�re.

A sip of champagne (my film festival equivalent of a petit madeleine) and I am off�

...summed up in a single headline.

From The NY Times' Special Section on Cannes:

The Buzz
By THOMAS CRAMPTON
Nothing gathers photographers faster in Cannes than the prospect of a scantily clad woman on the beach. Also, Agnes Varda and Wang Xiaoshuai.

If only I could be there to see it. Sort of.

Today, indieWIRE is running my interview with Arnaud Desplechin. Allow me a moment of excitement: it is my first piece of professional film writing.* That said, there is a lot that I did get to ask Arnaud that didn't run in the interview, as space and brevity are an issue for indieWIRE. But not for me. This is why Al Gore invented the internet! The interview begins after the jump....

Sorry for the hiatus... I've been in the middle of locking the Nantucket FF Program as well as finalizing the catalogue for the festival, so I haven't been to the movies in a while, and when I have (I did take in the excellent double feature of THE HOLY GIRL and FUNNY HA HA last weekend), I've been too busy to write much of anything. I was able to transcribe my interview with Arnaud Desplechin, most of which will run in indieWIRE very soon (my first professional piece of film writing), and I will run the unpublished portion on this blog. It's an in-depth discussion, and I am pretty excited about it.

On a personal note, this past weekend was my niece's 3rd birthday, so I flew home for that and Mother's Day, which was a real treat. I also got to watch my beloved Liverpool lose 3-1 to evil Arsenal, but I have the Champion's League Final on May 25th to stay excited about... In the meantime, my niece Sophia really enjoyed the present I got her for her birthday...

She looks great in Red, doesn't she?

Anyway, I don't like to do short little posts, I'm more of an essay writer, and I prefer to do longer entries so I can say what I really mean. I apologize if anyone reads this blog and has been looking for a new post, but I'd rather do things in longer form and stay true to my own way of writing. So, I promise more frequent posts after May 18th (Nantucket should be locked by then) and thanks for checking in...