I am still away on vacation, having just arrived in Flint after spending much of the last week cooling my heels on the shores of Lake Superior. I'll have photos and a recap soon, and will be participating in the upcoming avant garde blog-a-thon on Wednesday August 2nd, with a piece revisiting a film that has been haunting me for months now: Claire Denis' L'Intrus. Until then...

On CNN.com today, the 'most popular' story of the day carries the following headline:

Dakota Fanning, 12, raped in her next film (see list on right)

I have a fundamental problem with this headline. This is clearly a noxious attempt to shock and mislead the public. Obviously, Dakota Fanning is not raped in her next film. Deborah Kampmeier's upcoming film Hounddog, which stars Fanning, reportedly features Fanning's character being raped. This is an important distinction. It turns out that CNN followed up on NY Daily News gossiper Lloyd Grove's column, which outlines some of the powerful imagery from Hounddog in the following way:

"The screenplay for "Hounddog" - a dark story of abuse, violence and Elvis Presley adulation in the rural South, written and directed by Deborah Kampmeier - calls for Fanning's character to be raped in one explicit scene and to appear naked or clad only in "underpants" in several other horrifying moments."

Like many on the American festival circuit, I became aware of Deborah Kampmeier with her debut feature Virgin, which starred Elisabeth Moss as a southern teenager who, after blacking out during a rape, believes she has been impregnated by God. The film played at the Hamptons Film Festival (where I saw the movie) and at the Sarasota Film Festival (a couple of years before I started working there). It’s a powerfully-made independent film that tackles the emotional difficulties of sexual violence in a responsible, dramatically satisfying way. Not having seen Hounddog, I assume that Kampmeier will continue to bring her uncompromising vision to the screen, but the sensationalized coverage from the national and NY press seems to be the exact sort of manufactured scanadal that has been punishing artistic exploration in the age of the culture wars.

The sexualization of children, a hot topic in the culture and a constant source of sensational news items on networks like CNN, is certainly a difficult, important issue. From the farcical scandal surrounding the photographs of Sally Mann to Paul Reubens' having to register as a sex offender for collecting vintage photographs, the fictional depiction of childhood sexuality puts any artist on the bleeding edge of cultural examination. In fact, it wasn't so long ago that Americans were having copies of films like The Tin Drum confiscated because of their depiction of sexuality and children. In the case of Hounddog, the issue at hand is rape, an even more potent issue as it relates to a particularly brutal crime and sexual violence directed against a child.

Like any difficult subject matter, the issue of rape has always withstood artistic examination. I think of the opening moments of Bruno Dumont's L'Humanite as a striking example of how just how challenging this issue can be in a film. But by loading headlines with language that doesn’t differentiate between artistic representations of sexual crimes and the actuality of rape, an already loaded topic becomes sensationalized. I look forward to Kampmeier’s film and to making up my own mind, but in the meantime, here’s hoping that the media begin to treat art and artists seriously and stop exploiting this film’s content without the context of fiction, representation, and the narrative of the film itself.

This past Saturday, I hopped the F Train down to the vortex of the universe and visited the corner of 2nd and 2nd in Manhattan (“How can a street cross itself?!?!”). I like Manhattan on a summer weekend; Everyone heads out of town to escape the city, and the usually teeming streets are suddenly sparsely populated by people like me, people who stay in town for the majority of the summer if only to revel in the relative emptiness of once overrun neighborhoods. I find minor pleasures on these days (walking in and out of a store without waiting in a single line, sitting in half-empty movie theaters during afternoon screenings, getting a table immediately at typically overcrowded restaurants), and the cumulative effect of these happy circumstances is that I become relaxed, as if I were on vacation myself. Call it a stay-at-home getaway.

And I really need a getaway. The news these past few weeks seems to be tethered to the soaring thermometers on the eastern seaboard. North Korea launched a long-range missile into the Sea Of Japan, Israel has begun a full scale offensive against an Iran-backed Hezbollah in Lebanon, Iraq continues to be a blood-soaked disaster which, with every delivery of The New Yorker and the arrival of Seymour Hersh’s latest article, becomes a clearer and clearer picture of a power-mad American administration out of control, another Tsunami hit an already earthquake-devastated Java, New Orleans remains a dioramic monument to government inaction, individual rights, from free speech to academic freedom in research, are under attack as the culture tightens its belt and drifts closer and closer to the punitive, divisive society we all thought would never happen here. The new doctrine seems clear: Foster instability, trade on fear, and chip away at accountability and reason. Shout louder. Rinse and repeat.

As promised, I headed to 2nd and 2nd to visit The Anthology Film Archives and escape the escalating tensions by attending a triple feature of Michael Haneke's films. I should have known better than to seek comfort in Haneke's films as, upon first glance, they can seem harsh, unflinching critiques of bourgeois expectations dashed against the rocks of a chaotic and violent world. Well, maybe it’s just me, but having been seated in the Anthology’s memorably disagreeable chairs for the better part of seven hours on a scalding summer’s Saturday, I actually did find a great deal of comfort in Haneke’s worldview. What the fuck should I expect? Violence, cruelty and manipulation seem to be the true forces of nature; it is only justice, the idea that actions can be categorized and responded to by an organized social agreement among men, which suddenly feels arcane. This intersection, where chaos crashes against the need for civilization, is the bull’s eye on Haneke’s dartboard, and in watching Benny’s Video, 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance and Funny Games back to back to back, the Austrian director proves to be an expert marksman.

In Benny’s Video, Haneke tells the story of Benny (Arno Frisch), a dispassionate teenager who, after repeatedly watching a video depicting the slaughter of a hog with an air hammer, murders a young woman while taping the event on his video camera. Haneke’s obsession with the ways in which video and television foster voyeurism and place us at a remove from the realities and consequences of human activity seems angrily directed against the complacency of bourgeois living, but in not delivering a just outcome to his narratives, he also forces his audience to examine their own expectations. Haneke’s triangle, the relationship between random, seemingly meaningless violence, the crisis of family ‘normalcy’, and the distancing from real emotion engendered by video and television, is the stuff of real life and true horror. The world marches by on the television (and the movie screen) and we huddle closer together on the couch and thank our lucky stars that the parade of victims of disaster, tragedy and crime doesn’t include our family and friends.

Secular Penance: Benny (Arno Frisch) Gets A Haircut

Throughout Benny’s Video, 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance, Funny Games, Code Unknown and Caché (and to a lesser extent Time of The Wolf and an even-lesser extent The Piano Teacher), the audience endures shocking cruelties only to have Haneke round back on us with news clips of war, global violence and mass murder playing on television screens, both in the background and at the forefront of his films. Haneke’s message is clear; In a world saturated with violent images that often pass without a single sigh of compassion, if the harrowing murder of a single innocent girl can be such a powerful cinematic moment, what in the hell do we think is going on in Bosnia or Rwanda, Iraq or Lebanon? The never-ending tension in Haneke’s films between the personal suffering of a few characters and the terrible suffering of the masses around the world comes through most clearly in 71 Fragments of a Chronology of Chance, which details the lives of five people whose lives fatefully intersect during an indiscriminate murder in the film’s final moments.

71 Fragments feels like a precursor to both Code Unknown, sharing that film’s rhythmic cuts to black (also featured in The Seventh Continent, but more on that film later) and its representation of disparate lives converging in moments of personal conflict, and Caché, with its sudden outburst of individual violence shaded in visual allusions to global tragedy. But the film is more than just a signpost to later and arguably better movies, it is a dazzling work in its own right. 71 Fragments' final sequence powerfully juxtaposes news coverage of the film's central murder with suffering in Bosnia and Michael Jackson’s trial for pedophilia. Again, Haneke’s triangle surrounds his message; We could take any one of these stories, plunge down the rabbit hole with our movie camera, and the senseless, harrowing tragedies you’ve just encountered would be magnified one hundred fold. Or, you could continue to spend your days nonsensically worrying about the crimes and misdemeanors of celebrities. And yet, in the boiled-down marketplace of newsgathering and human spectatorship, things quickly become equivocal; No matter what they show you, they will have reduced human suffering and tragedy into the stuff of entertainment.

It feels strange to take comfort in such a difficult philosophy of the world, but I think it has to do with the fact that it feels absolutely refreshing to be told the cold, honest truth. I’ve read other critics who accuse Haneke of cynicism, and point to his detached manipulations as some sort of pessimistic elitism, but they would be mistaking the necessity of the director’s ice-cold detachment for a lack of human concern. Besides, what filmmaker isn’t a manipulator of the story and the medium? Isn’t that the point? The real question is whether Haneke is merely playing funny games with us or, as Manohla Dargis writes in her review of 71 Fragments, if he “realize(s) that his wagging finger is not an arrow but a pendulum”? I believe the answer lies in Haneke’s refusal to romanticize the cruel realities of the world in which we live and his insistence upon stripping pleasure from violence by exposing viewer complicity in seeking cheap thrills and easy answers. By exposing violence as the most terrible form of intimacy and then surrounding that intimacy with the reality of unfathomable global tragedy, Haneke’s “wagging finger” can be seen an even more potent gesture; he’s flipping the bird to those who feed us a steady stream of bullshit about the relative value of human life and showing that, in the context of our own times, the bombs falling on Baghdad are scarring us even more deeply than we would ever care to admit to ourselves. Suffering is suffering, and we must recognize the scope of tragedy in relationship to our own lives.

Tragedy And Family: Haneke's Caché

What makes Haneke’s films so effective is that he brings the overwhelming indifference of pathological self-interest directly to bear on the family unit, using interpersonal distance to show us how far apart we stand from one another. Haneke’s conception of the family as an alienated unit in both the social and interpersonal spheres has been one of the filmmaker’s central concerns since his first feature, The Seventh Continent, which I was fortunate to see this evening, again at The Anthology.

Watching the film, I couldn’t help but think of it as the philosophical opposite of A.M. Holmes’ darkly comic novel Music For Torching, which appeared some eleven years after Haneke's 1989 film. In The Seventh Continent (a reference to Australia, portrayed here as the barren mirage of an unattainable paradise), a couple, parents of a school-age girl, spend their days as silent participants in the bourgeois routine of their own workaday lives until one day, no longer able to tolerate the oppressive structure of their self-imposed normalcy, they destroy their home piece by piece, from their photo albums to their furniture, murder their daughter, and commit suicide. Whereas Holmes’ plays the malaise of a middle class marriage for shits and giggles, using the destruction of the family home as a funny metaphor for the decaying institution of the American Family with a capital 'F', Haneke is unsparing in his commitment to the notion that such decay is no laughing matter. In fact, his austere examination of the empty, routinized mechanics of modern living is far more powerful for taking the issue as a cause for great concern. For me, the difference between the two, between Holmes’ sassy, entertaining book and Haneke’s fragmented, stark film, showcases a real problem in American culture and art.

I have asked this before, but I still wonder why America cinema has never produced as concise and serious a critic of American detachment and complacency. Yes, Haneke’s concerns are universal, but knowing what we know about what goes on in America’s newsrooms, who is going to be the first among us to step away from the now-clichéd 1970’s conception of screen violence as a “hip” metaphor for American moral decay and stand up to the voyeuristic impact this strategy has had on our culture? . Too often, American artists use snark and satire to underline their concerns about our culture, but our ongoing apathy regarding the pain of others will come home to roost, I promise. It is just a matter of time. It is very hard to see what is going on around you when you’ve blindfolded yourself with the American flag.

I don’t mean to sound like some cinematic Cassandra, but there is something haunting about the lack of introspection and our collective blindness regarding what happens to others, whether it be outside of our borders or right next door. Haneke's unsparing approach shows us our own complicity in those activities. Of course, Haneke's rebuke of voyeuristic pleasure could inspire empathy in viewers, but he is sure to remove the comforts and self-satisfaction of that emotion by refusing to provide some ham-fisted, over-arching meaning or message in his films. It's a cold hard world out there and there are no happy endings here. Shout louder. Rinse and repeat.

As a proud member since July 18, 2001, an indieLooper, and as one of the lucky people who somehow tricked you into allowing me to blog on this tremendous website, I wanted to extend a happy birthday and big thank you to indieWIRE for your consistently excellent work over this tumultuous decade for the independent film world.

If It's Good Enough For Kiarostami, It's Good Enough For Me!

My personal indieWIRE story (and we all have one) goes something like this; I was working at IFC when I first discovered the website (around 1997), and I read it pretty much every morning—while so many of the trades focus on Hollywood as the center of the film world, indieWIRE had a New York frame of reference which was much more engaging to me. The site also spoke volumes with its honest, no bullshit approach to the entire world of independent film. Before the development of online communities, I was pretty much just a reader (despite being tangentially involved in the first few IFC Rant magazines). I was never really compelled to join the site until July 18, 2001, which is when indieWIRE daily started showing up in my e-mail box.

I remember this time very well; I was interested in supporting Jeff Lipsky and Lot 47’s efforts to get L.I.E’s ridiculous NC-17 rating reversed (it still gets my blood boiling), Todd Solondz was ready to add a big red box to Storytelling (prompting the aforementioned Lipsky to write one of my favorite indieWIRE pieces ever...see the second item), and the day I joined, Shooting Gallery went belly-up, which was a sad day for me as I had always been a supporter of their films.

It has all happened so quickly, hasn't it? Today, I count my fellow bloggers here as friends; those that I have met in person have been great people and those I haven’t, well, I read about your lives all the time. I was even lucky enough to do an interview with Arnaud Desplechin for indieWIRE which was a huge thrill for me. In my opinion, indieWIRE serves a very important purpose in the independent film world; it has created a sense of community among those of us who care about film, among those who work in film in one way or another, and is a place where our work, from festivals to filmmaking, distribution to producing to criticism, is celebrated.

That said, we all have so much to do. As I write, I read that Little Man, the Wayans Brothers' latest assault on the national IQ, made over $21.7 million dollars this weekend which, in three days of mass distribution, is probably more than Techine’s Changing Times, Ozon’s A Time To Leave, Chereau’s Gabrielle, Cantet’s Heading South, Gordon’s Edmond, Kent’s The Oh In Ohio, and Turco’s Excellent Cadavers will earn combined. There is still a lot of work to be done, and I look upon indieWIRE and this community as the vanguard in working to change our culture and find an audience for these films. I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job. Here’s to many years of success and growth. Keep fighting the good fight!

No, not like THAT.

Juventus, The 'Old Lady' of Italian Football (la Vecchia Signora), has been relegated to the Italian Second Division, (Serie B) along with Fiorentina and Lazio, for their roles in the Italian match fixing scandal. All three clubs will carry massive points deductions as well, leaving it likely that all three will struggle to return to the Serie A in a single season. AC Milan, the fourth club involved, will stay in Serie A but have been docked points for the coming season, and all four clubs will lose their Champions League spots.

"Several officials have also been hit hard following the verdict in the match-fixing scandal which arose after allegations that Juventus tried to arrange the appointment of referees. Former Juve general manager Luciano Moggi has been banned from the game for five years - the same penalty meted out to Antonio Giraudo. Ex-Italian Football Federation president Franco Carraro has been suspended for four years and six months - the same length of time which referee Massimo De Sanctis has been banned for. Milan vice-president Adriano Galliani has been banned for 12 months, Fiorentina president Andrea Della Valle for four years and Lazio supremo Claudio Lotito for three years. The scandal has rocked Italian football and has taken the gloss off the national team's recent World Cup victory, with some having called for leniency. But Italian Federation Commission judge Cesare Ruperto has come down hard on the clubs involved, with the punishments possibly seeing a mass exodus from those concerned."

Relegated: Juve Fans March In Support Of The Club Prior To The Judge's Decision (AP Photo)

In summary:

Juventus to Serie B (-30pts)
Lazio to Serie B (-7pts)
Fiorentina to Serie B (-15pts)
Milan in Serie A (-15pts)

I can't say I am surprised. While Italy have spent the week basking in the glory of their World Cup victory, it is now time for this league to pay for the cheating and match fixing that has taken place the last two years. A disgrace. It is hard for a Liverpool supporter to not feel for Juventus supporters at this time, as the clubs have a long, difficult history that was slowly on the mend, but I have no pity for the club's management, the referees, and the people responsible for match fixing. They have let their supporters down in the worst possible way, invalidating all of the glories that the side had accomplished in the past couple of years, including winning the Scudetto twice. Those titles will now be given to Inter Milan, I assume.

Of course, the clubs having been relegated, it's now open season on the players who are on the relegated teams. It looks like Canavarro will end up with Real Madird (and maybe Zambrotta as well), but what about players like Luca Toni, Gianluigi Buffon, Patrick Viera, Alessandro Del Piero or David Trezeguet? Personally, I would love to see David Trezeguet in the red of Liverpool. So many players, its like going on a shopping spree in Italy! Come Rick Parry, bring Trezeguet to Anfield!

He'd Look Good In Red: Juventus Forward David Trezeguet

Joking aside*, it is a sad day for Italian football and for all football supporters. I wish the best to the supporters of these clubs and hope that they return to the top flight soon, with their dignity restored.

*Although, I am not joking about Trezeguet coming to Liverpool. I'd be thrilled!

Buckle up.

Director Michael Haneke, whose powerful films explore the underbelly of race, family, and the conventions of cinematic violence, is finally getting the retrospective treatment he deserves thanks to the good folks at The Anthology Film Archives. The retrospective runs Friday, July 14th- Sunday, July 23rd. I am a latecomer to Haneke's work; I caught up with him when I saw The Piano Teacher at a festival screening, and I have been devoted to his films ever since. This retrospective offers a rare chance to see films like The Seventh Continent and 71 Fragments Of A Chronology Of Chance on the big screen and in 35mm. Kino's long-awaited DVD release of many of Haneke's early films* seems to be the occasion, but nothing beats seeing these films in the cinema surrounded by friends and strangers.

Strangers on a Train: Maurice Bénichou and Juliette Binoche in a harrowing scene from Haneke's prescient Code Unknown (2000)

I will admit a minor disappointment; there is no screening of Haneke's adaptation of Franz Kafka's The Castle (Das Schloß) scheduled, and it is one of the few films of his I have never seen. Nor are his numerous made-for-television movies being shown**. But with so many great films being screened in the coming week in all of their 35mm glory, it would be disingenuous to complain. Of most interest in the 'current events' department would be Code Unknown, which looks at race and immigration among the French bourgeois, and Time of The Wolf, a science-fiction film about the end of the world without any science and far more truth than fiction.

Each of Haneke's films will inspire endless discussion, but one film stands divisively apart for its polarizing impact; is there a better cinematic deconstruction of the summer vacation than Funny Games? Seeing it with an audience should be just the tonic as we await Haneke's rumored English language remake, with Naomi Watts slated to play Anna.*** The idea of Haneke bringing his unflinching sensibility to the unreality that is post-9/11 security anxiety in America is almost too perfect for words. Will America be repulsed or will the film strike a chord with audiences exhausted by the non-stop diet of Freedomland, Firewall and the innumerable other bullshit "American family in danger" stories that have polluted screens in the past few months? I can hardly wait. I think Naomi Watts could be an inspired choice for the role provided we see less of The Ring and more of Mullholland Drive's third act. The question is which English-language actors can duplicate the blood-curdling sense of bored entitlement brought to the original by Arno Frisch and Frank Giering? Ryan Gosling and Jonathan Rhys Meyers? Peter Sarsgaard? Talk about a tough casting job...

And My Neighbors Wonder Why I Never Lend Them Eggs: Arno Frisch and Stefan Clapczynski in Haneke's Funny Games (1997)

Thanks again to The Anthology for assembling this challenging retrospective. Maybe I'll see some of you at my planned Benny's Video, 71 Fragments Of A Chronology Of Chance and Funny Games**** triple feature on Saturday, July 15th. I will most certainly need a drink afterwards.

The Films of Michael Haneke
The Anthology Film Archives
32 Second Avenue NY, NY
Friday, July 14- Sunday, July 23, 2006

THE SEVENTH CONTINENT
BENNY'S VIDEO
71 FRAGMENTS OF A CHRONOLOGY OF CHANCE
FUNNY GAMES
CODE UNKNOWN
THE PIANO TEACHER
TIME OF THE WOLF
CACHÉ

Michael Haneke

*Thanks to the inimitable David Hudson for a link to the news...

**Ideas on tracking down any of Haneke's made-for-TV films is appreciated. I am especially interested in Die Rebellion and the Lemminge films.

***Also, see the original announcement corrected. No Celluloid Nightmares for Haneke.

****Yeah, I spend my summers in the city watching movies. Enjoy the Hamptons, but for goodness sake watch out for uninvited guests! *grin*

Now that the World Cup is over, here are my choices for the BRM's All-Tournament Team, the players who gave their best and entertained us during this wonderful World Cup.

Goal: Gianluigi Buffon (Italy)

(AP Photo)

Buffon, facing shame back in Italy for his role in a match-fixing scheme (which will now probably go unpunished in the wake of Italy's World Cup victory), was far and away the best keeper of the tournament. His save on Zinédine Zidane's thunderous header in extra time was the save of the tournament and Buffon staked his claim as the best in the world.

Defense: Fabio Cannavaro (Italy)

(AP Photo)

What can you say? He was the best player in the tournament and deserves the Golden Ball. A rock solid defender. World class tackling. Character on the pitch. Captained his team to the title. Bravo, Fabio.

Defense: Lilian Thuram (France)

(AP Photo)

Was at the right place at the right time for France and was the general in charge of a very organized back four. I also love that he took no shit from French far-right politician Jean-Marie Le Pen. "We are all Frenchmen!" indeed.

Defense: Philipp Lahm (Germany)

(AP Photo)

Lahm exploded on the scene with a wonder goal in Germany's opening 4-2 defeat of Costa Rica and went on to have a blinder of a tournament. An exciting defender who created a lot of opportunities going forward.

Defense: Miguel (Portugal)

(AP Photo)

Miguel was the most outstanding defender on a tough defensive team that ground their way to the semi-finals. Portugal was probably my least favorite team, as I don't think the diving of Ronaldo and his bunch did anything positive for the game, but Miguel was quality. Sure, there is a case to be made for Lucas Neill (Australia) among others (Materazzi did score twice in the final), but I'm going with Miguel.

Midfield: Maxi Rodriguez (Argentina)

(AP Photo)

Maxi Rodriguez scored some wonderful goals during the tournament and lead Argentina to the quarterfinal against Germany with his wonder strike in extra time against Mexico. His stock rose with this performance and he played terrific football.

Midfield: Zinédine Zidane (France)

(AP Photo)

Sent off in the final after scoring, but quite frankly, he lifted France on his shoulders and got them to the ultimate match. If he could have completed his quest and won the World Cup, he might go down as the greatest player of a generation. Now, he remains an enigma, but there is no doubting his greatness.

MIdfield: Stephen Appiah (Ghana)

(AP Photo)

Stephen Appiah played his guts out for Ghana, the team that shocked the world and escaped the Group of Death. His penalty against the USA was the deciding goal that saw Ghana through, and his quality shone throughout the Black Stars' campaign.

MIdfield: Gennaro Gattuso (Italy)

(AP Photo)

Sure, Patrick Viera (France) scored more goals, but Gennaro Gatusso was superlative in the unglamorous (and very important) role of defensive midfielder. I would argue that no player in this World Cup had a more positive impact on his team than this ball winning, counter attack destroying d-mid. He's not pretty, but he's not supposed to be. A monster on the pitch.

Forward: Miroslav Klose (Germany)

(AP Photo)

You don't win two Golden Boots in a row and fail to make the All-Tournament Team. Klose was huge in the clutch, sending Germany into extra time against Argentina and scoring five goals in the tournament. Tremendous.

Forward: Fernando Torres (Spain)

He’s young, he’s fast and his clinical finishing built hope into every Spaniard’s heart. A great tournament for Torres; He‘s one to watch in the future and showed tremendous quality for as long as Spain were able to stick around. Here's hoping he doesn't end up at Manchester United as it would be a shame to have to hate his guts after such an entertaining performance. [Grin]

Golden Ball for Best Player in the Tournament: Fabio Cannavaro (Italy)

See above. Solid, steady and professional all the way. Italy’s Capitano was the best player in the Cup.

Young Player Award: Franck Ribery (France)

He was electric on the wing for France. The only question is, where will France be in four years? Can Ribery be the lynchpin for a new France side?

Goal of The Tournament: Esteban Cambiasso of Argentina vs Serbia-Montenegro

One of the great goals of all time. 24 uninterrupted touches by Argentina before Cambiasso buries it. Amazing teamwork.

Congrats to all the teams and players. Time to begin the long countdown to South Africa 2010!

After 120 minutes of hard fought football, a piece of unexpected violence, and penalty kicks, we have a winner: Italy has won the 2006 World Cup and I can finally re-claim my life* and get back to the cinema. I doubt any film I will see in the coming days will carry as much drama as today's final, which was full of heartbreak and brilliance.

First, the brilliance. Hats off to Fabio Cannavaro who, in my opinion, was the player of the tournament. His class and perfect timing in the back, along with the amazing goalkeeping of Gianluigi Buffon, carried Italy to the title. There is no denying that the back line of Italy, playing without Alessandro Nesta, was the class of the tournament and as the old saying goes, defense wins championships. There is no doubt in my mind that today's first goal came on a bogus penalty call against Marco Materrazzi, but since the referee missed an obvious penalty later on, we'll just call it even. Italy was a model of organization, and they certainly are deserving winners.

Next, heartbreak: Zinédine Zidane, in the dying minutes of extra time, lost his cool and planted a perfect headbutt into the chest of Materazzi. There is already a world of controversy as to what might have been said between the two players but one thing is certain; you can't put a thunderous head into the chest of another player and stay on the pitch. The card was deserved.

Ciao: Zidane Loses It

A couple of points to be made here. The moment the replay was shown, I assumed that Materazzi said something racist to Zidane. If that is the case, I wish Zizou would have gotten him square in the face. There is no room for racism on the pitch, and judging from Zidane's reaction, whatever was said by Materazzi, a notoriously dirty player and a problem child on the pitch, was probably very, very bad. Also, since all of the officials missed the headbutt (it was well off the ball and away from the action), Zidane was clearly sent-off as a result of a video replay, which should never be the case. I am not justifying the headbutt (although if what I think was said was said, he had it coming), but I can't understand what else could have been said that would make lose it like that. I only hope that, in the coming days, Zidane reveals what Materazzi said to him and the world knows the truth of the situation. Like I said, I have my assumptions, but I am withholding judgement until the facts come out. If Materazzi was just giving Zidane some stick, this is one of the most mysterious pieces of violence I have seen on a football pitch.

Make Your Last Touch Count: Zidane Is Sent Off (AP Photo)

The reality is, France's manager had Italy on the ropes and refused to play attacking football, keeping a lone striker up top and refusing to go for the throat. I have been barking against the 4-5-1 all tournament long, and again, the negativity and refusal to be aggressive cost France. Of course, in the end, Zidane's sending off had little impact on the game. During the penalties, it was David Trezeguet who missed from the spot for France, and we all assume Trez would have taken a penalty wether or not Zidane was on the pitch. Instead, the Italians bucked history and buried all of their strikes from the spot. Fabian Barthez, never the best penalty stopper, looked at sea the entire shootout, and when Trezeguet missed, there was an immediate sense that the game was over. It was. Italy are champions.** A tournament plagued by terrible officiating and conservative play in the knock-out rounds, but all in all, a great way to spend the start of summer. Congratulations to Italy and I look forward to 2010.

(AP Photo)

* For three weeks, until the Liverpool pre-season gets into full swing.
**Of course, Team USA drew Italy in group play, the only team to get a result against them, but I digress.

France 1-0 over Portugal. Goal by Zinédine Zidane.

Just like I wrote it.

France vs Italy
Sunday, July 9th, 2006
2:00pm EST

What a tournament. After weeks and weeks of football action, the end of the road is in sight. It has been a great World Cup in my opinion, and despite the usual run of somewhat negative football in the knockout stages (with teams bunkering down and playing not to lose), the games have lived up to expectations. Yesterday's Italy-Germany semi-final will go down as one of the classic games of the tournament. That game, won by the Italians in the dying moments of extra time after they absorbed and controlled the German attack for 119 minutes, was highlighted by some of the best refereeing we have seen, and it made all the difference in the world. This World Cup may go down as one of the most poorly officiated in history, with yellow and red cards coming fast and furious all tournament long, and controversial calls deciding games (see Italy vs. Australia in the Round of 16).

Yesterday's referee, Armando Archundia of Mexico, did so many good things in calling the match that, in light of some of the terrible decisions throughout the World Cup, it felt startling to see a referee do his job properly. Dives consistently went unrewarded and unpunished; players faking injury on both sides were simply ignored and made to look fools, lying on the pitch clutching their faces. I never thought I would say so, but credit where credit is due; congratulations to Mr. Archundia for allowing us to enjoy a tense, pulsating match between two great teams.

Mellow Yellow: Archundia gives Italy's Mauro Camoranesi what's coming to him

I am no fan of Italian football, but this team look like world beaters. Their constant, tenacious defense (with players working in combination to trap the ball all over the pitch) has been a thing of wonder; there is no doubt in my mind that Fabio Cannavaro and Gianluigi Buffon have been the best players in the entire tournament. Combine that with a ballanced attack that can change the scorline in an instant from almost every position on the field, and you have the makings of a champion. There is no other team that has done what the Italians have accomplished; with 11 goals from 10 different players (Pirlo, Iaquinta, Gilardino, Matterazzi, Inzaghi, Totti, Zambrotta, Toni, Grosso, and Del Piero), Italy is playing amazing team football. There is a certain arrogance about the Italian team, a sense of entitlement that is usually reserved for small, champagne-soaked tables in the cocaine fueled nightclubs on Ibiza, that sets my teeth on edge; a part of me wants to see these whining, diving pretty boys lose. On the other hand, there is no denying they are talented, tough footballers who have taken the team concept to new heights in this tournament. I wish them luck in the final.

A Bolt From The Blue: Grosso Wins It For Italy

Next up is today's match between France and Portugal. Portugal comes into the semifinal after out-boring England on penalties in the quarterfinal, and much to my chagrin, the dirtiest team in international football have a chance to make it to the final. Head-butting, diving, time-wasting, card begging, pushing, winking Portugal have arrived in the semis without much love. At the center of the storm is Cristiano Ronaldo, the Portugese winger and Manchester United show pony who will forever be infamous for demanding that his club teammate Wayne Rooney be sent off in the quarterfinal contest between Portugal and England.

No Honor Among Thieves: Ronaldo Seeks Red For His Club Mate Rooney

There are some players on Portugal that I admire (Pauleta and Simão seem perfectly decent), but the way this team has made its way to the semis, on the back of some pretty dirty gamesmanship, I think most of the world would like to see them lose. And who better to beat them than France and Zinédine Zidane, the greatest player of this generation.

I was living in Washington, DC in 1998 when Zidane delivered the World Cup to then-host nation France. He was a player at the height of his powers, a transcendent performer whose abilities on the ball were matched only by the depth of his humility and burning desire to win both on and off the pitch. I remember watching the final in a DC bar full of Brazilian fans with my friend who supported France, and as Zidane headed two goals past the Brazilian defense, he electrified everyone who loved football that night, including the Brazilians. Last weekend, as France faced Brazil again in the quaterfinal, the heavily favored Brazilians and their playmaking star Ronaldinho were once again humbled by one of the best performances of the tournament as Zidane put France on his back and dazzled his way to victory. It was as if 2002, when France was eliminated in the Group stages without scoring a goal, had never happened. In Sunday's game against Brazil, when Zidane's perfect cross found Thierry Henry alone on the back post for the 1-0 win, the playmaking midfielder cemented his already legendary career by earning a place among the greats; Pelé, Maradona, Zidane. He carries a yellow card, so I can only hope that today's officiating is as controlled as yesterday's or else we might see disappointment in the final.

I am hoping France win again so that we can continue to watch Zidane; an Italy vs. France final would be a great match, one I think the tournament deserves. Even more importantly, Zidane and France represent change in Europe; a "non-practising Muslim" of Algerian descent born in France, he and his teammates showcase a diversity not often found on European national teams. In fact, when right-wing French curmudgeon Jean-Marie Le Pen lambasted this team for not being 'white enough', he may have unified the team, as the enlightened response from defender Lilian Thuram suggests.

If anyone can silence the fools, its is Zidane.

As you get ready for the semi-final, here is a look at the master at work. What is the old saying?

Form is temporary, Class is eternal

Let's hope Zizou shows us both tonight.

Zinédine Zidane at work. (Warning: European dance music au fromage may be involved.)

The bad boss, whose ambition and extravagant sense of entitlement are the foundation of his (in most cases, his) downfall, is one of the great archetypal villains in the history of American cinema. The examples are too numerous to count; films as diverse as Nine To Five, Office Space, The Firm, Norma Rae and The Apartment, as well as television's The Office, highlight the eternal obsession with rank, privilege and the moral dilemmas that arise when we agree to do what someone else tells us to do. Things get even more complicated when that someone is morally and intellectually inferior to us. There are fun, interesting twists on the story as well; films like Secretary, which literalizes the mutually agreed upon sado-masochistic bond between boss and employee into a turn-on for everyone involved. The universal trope, however, usually involves a morally superior underling and an intellectually inferior boss, with the bad boss usurping credit from the employee and making his or her life a living hell until the employee takes righteous revenge and restores the moral order. Of course, if the bad boss character didn’t have its roots firmly planted in the day-to-day reality of most people, the narrative would never work. I’m sure Colin Powell has some stories to tell.

The type is so prevalent that the bad boss has become a cliché, which is why watching Meryl Streep pound Anne Hathaway into a model employee in David Frankel’s The Devil Wears Prada comes as a huge, delightful surprise. I have never read Lauren Weisberger’s novel, but the debate over her book began before the first page rolled off of the printing press; a former assistant to Vogue Editor-in-Chief Anna Wintour, Weisberger’s roman à clef reportedly describes Wintour’s excesses and cruelties as a boss (although Weisberger denies the connection.) I don’t read Vogue and am probably the least fashionable person you are likely to ever meet, so my interest in another bad boss story set in a world with which I have no connection held very little appeal to me and failed to light a spark in my limited pocketbook. A holiday weekend at the movie theater, however, provided an opportunity to hang out with a dear friend and the Mrs.-to-be and see what all the fuss was about.

I think the story goes without saying at this point, but as a recap for those who don’t know; The Devil Wears Prada is the story of Andrea Sachs (Hathaway), a young Ohioan and a recent graduate from Northwestern’s prestigious school of journalism (changed from Brown in the book, and Cornell in Weisberger’s real life) who goes on a job interview at Runway Magazine and walks away with the job “a million girls would die for”; assistant to the Editor-in-Chief Miranda Priestly (Streep), a critical, demanding, high-powered executive who constantly requires the prompt rendering of the seemingly-impossible. Working with Miranda’s more experienced and competitive assistant Emily (a wonderful Emily Blunt), Andrea overhauls her dowdy wardrobe and learns to master Miranda’s demands, falling into favor and earning a trip to Paris for fashion week. Ultimately, Andrea is confronted with the reality that her excellence at her job makes her complicit in Miranda’s value system and she must decide if she will continue to sacrifice her dignity to Runway or if she will walk away and possibly lose a chance in the publishing world, where Miranda’s influence runs deep. What’s a girl to do?

If the film traded in the unambiguous morality of most films in the bad boss genre, it would still be worthwhile, if only to catch Meryl Streep in one of her best performances to date as Miranda (and that is saying something). Streep oozes priviledge and ego, and her character is such a presence on-screen, it lends totaly credibility to the premise of and the world depicted in the film. This is a commanding, powerful woman and Streep has us laughing and hanging on her every word. But a funny thing happened to me on the way to moral indignation and comeuppance; I actually found myself sympathizing with Miranda. I don't think my sympathy was based on acting chops; though I was in awe of Streep's nuanced performance, I also thought Hathaway put in a game and funny turn as her struggling assistant. As a person, I am almost genetically encoded to root for the little guys when they face off against the big, bad boss (I have worked for my share of morons), but there is something that the film endows to Miranda Priestly that most on-screen baddies never receive; absolute credibility as a professional.

Where there's a will, Anne hath a way: Andrea Sachs (Anne Hathaway) and Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) and in The Devil Wears Prada (Photo: Barry Wetcher)

Priestly's Runway is a hugely successful enterprise, and the film portrays that success as the result of Miranda’s hard work and dedication to her company. Sure, it is Andrea’s job to wait for the mock-up of the magazine and deliver it to Miranda’s home at 10:30 at night, but we understand that it is Miranda’s deep understanding of the fashion industry that makes everything work; She’s the one staying up to all hours of the night, applying her exacting standards to the magazine. The film seems firmly on the side of Miranda’s standards, promoting the idea that the pursuit of perfection and the rejection of mediocrity are no way to run a business. I couldn’t agree more; working for a demanding boss who refuses second-rate work can actually be a privilege. Miranda’s excesses, which range from changing her mind after making Andrea do hard work to meet her demands to hinging Andrea’s job on her ability to track down an unpublished Harry Potter novel, seem almost fair in the light of Miranda's overwhelming responsibility to carry Runway on her shoulders. I would never want to be a personal assistant, but as Andrea grumbled her way through another difficult task, I kept thinking to myself “What do you expect?”

As Andrea grows dexterous in her job, the movie becomes a lot less fun and Miranda’s acceptance of Andrea leads to the inevitable story of the reluctant corporate climber. That said, when Andrea ultimately walks away from her job, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was walking away because she recognized that she shared Miranda’s ambitions or if she was rejecting Miranda’s values altogether? I think the movie intended to make the latter point, but I don’t believe it for a minute. America tries to idealize its common man approach to our unspoken class structure, but at the risk of sounding like Liev Schreiber’s Carl in The Daytrippers, there is something to be said for passionate people working in whatever field they love and seeking perfection. Does this justify Miranda’s treating Andrea like shit? No, but it doesn’t justify Andrea excoriating her boss’s excesses either. In the end, what could have been a boring exposé of a typically bad boss becomes a far more interesting tug of war between two types of entitlement; that of the decadent master and the misguided expectations of her apprentice. I know where my sympathies lay.