Multitasking
On the way home from a laundry-detergent run this evening, I passed by a bus with an United States of Tara ad plastered onto the side of it, just as I had finished listening to Louis XIV’s “Pledge of Allegiance.” This was undoubtedly a sign telling me to stop living and start updating my blog once in a while. It is also a sign that I apparently don’t own enough underwear and listen to the music of very bad men.
Technically, United States of Tara premiered on Showtime tonight, but I took a look last night, courtesy of Netflix, and was pleasantly surprised. When first I learned of the premise of the show — a woman and her family learn to function with her dissociative identity disorder — and that Juno-scribe Diablo Cody would be writing and Steven Spielberg producing, I thought gimmick. It’s not that I dislike those fine people — I don’t – it’s just that the combo struck me as too … something. Plus, I get very uncomfortable thinking about mean-spirited critics shoehorning Cody into some sort of cranny when she’s only just begun.
So, I watched, even though half of my brain was counseling, “If you don’t watch, you won’t have to feel all protective.” The other half reminded me how much I love to see what people are able to do with their bodies (ahem) — like, how magical it is to realize that Catherine O’Hara was just holding her face to look post-op at the end of For Your Consideration. I’m constantly undone by how many people, male and female, Amy Poehler was able to be on Saturday Night Live and with the Upright Citizens Brigade.
In Tara, Australian actress Toni Collette plays four very different roles — a “normal” mom, a housewife, a reckless teenager, and a somewhat backwoodsy dude — in 29 minutes. (OK, so actually it’s three “alters” in the first episode; we’ll see from here on out.) Collette, to me, is a bit like the female Ed Harris in that she’s been in everything, and yet, because she is such a generous and non-showy actor, she’s seldom remembered. Playing all over her range in Tara, I really believe she’s got a shot at the household-name status that she’s probably more or less uninterested in. That’s if she can continue to chew all she’s bitten off, and if the pathos generated continues to meet the level of acting gymnastics performed.
I wouldn’t buy a TV and subscribe to Showtime based on the pilot, but if you happen to have those things, and you like to be told stories, take a peek.
Spectres, sugar gliders, and (crystal) skulls
Critical Darling swearsies to update more often once she’s all moved to LA. Um, I can’t leave until I know the exact specifics of where I’m going to be living, of course. (So, uh, if you know anyone … )
I’d like to blame it on the fact that I’m fist-deep in Watchmen, ’cause then I’d seem cool, at least, if not completely on top of things. Truth is, my original plan fell through, and now I’m scrambling to figure things out. (Not that that means I’ve completely shelved Watchmen. I’m presently “enjoying” an argument with my ex-media-outlet’s designer about the forthcoming film’s “update” of the Silk Spectre’s costume.)
But when I’m not scouring Craigslist, pitting myself against graphic designers over womens’ wear, or expressing my distaste for small marsupials, I’m keeping an ear peeled for the next stupid thing George Lucas (aka person-sized thumb with beard) will say. Now he wants us all to know that an Indy 5 is in the works, and that Spielberg’s much more amenable to this next one. Yeah, so apparently Steve-o wasn’t crazy for 4, because he’s totes about reaching for the past, while Lucas is all about the Jar Jar, erm, future. That’d be responsible for the tension you felt.
(The shoddy writing would be responsible for us not having the slightest why anyone acted as they did.)
Whatev, man, I don’t care if Mr. But-I-directed-Schindler’s List is psyched. Sean Connery could come out of retirement to play an ectoplasmic Henry Sr., and I’d still skip.
I did say all this about Crystal Skull, though, so when the time rolls around, please hold me to my word. And … also about the Harry Potter films, but, I admit, I liked the last one, and was pretty pleased to hear they were keeping its director, David Yates, around for Half-Blood Prince — hands down the best of the books.
Yes, I’m one of those snobs for whom nothing will compare to the books, but if the trailer is any indication, I think we’re in for a treat:
