The Black Dahlia...Oh my god

**Warning** If you plan to see the film "The Black Dahlia" then you probably don't want to read this post. It will contain spoilers of the film. However, if you follow my advice you won't bother to waste your two hours and fifteen minutes.

I think Joan Rivers said it best..."Don't go, better to die in the plane crash." Of course she was talking about Billings Montana but the lesson could well be applied to this wretched horrid film. I was so excited to see this movie and my disappointment could not have been any greater. Never in my life have I seen more people literally walk out of a film. Yeah, it's that bad.

James Elroy wrote the book upon which the film is based. Admittedly I have not read any of his books but love the film adaptation of L.A. confidential. This book was written in '87, before L.A. but only now turned into a film. According to Wikipedia, there are many differences in the book and film, though I warn you that reading them will spoil the movie for you. What am I kidding, this movie was spoiled before they had the wrap party. To paraphrase David Sedaris, by the time this movie comes to a close you no longer care if these characters live or die. Had I read the novel I would have realized that the film has little to nothing to do with the actual case of the Black Dahlia. Totally my fault I understand. In fact, outside of the fact that her murder happened, this film has nothing to do with the real case. The story has to do with two police officers, Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett), Lee Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart), his longtime girlfriend Kay Lake (Scarlett Johannson) and the uber rich Madeleine Linscott (Hilary Swank). Their lives entertwine through the mens investigation of the murder and their own twisted agendas.

Brian De Palma directed this train-wreck and like other films of his, it's a foray into the ridiculous, like the car wreck in Carrie. His style is to attempt to tell a story visually and we were luckily spared his split screen shots in this film. If you look back at his other films you start to recognize a pattern. Films that were good because they became cult favorites (such as Carrie or Dressed to Kill) or because they were carried by big stars like Al Pacino (Scarface). Remember, this is the man who made "Bonfire of the Vanities". Shouldn't he have been stopped then and there.

Even though I was looking forward to the movie, I wasn't holding out much hope for it's cast. Josh Hartnett may be the worst actor working today, and that's saying something in a land of Will Ferrels and Jim Carrey's. He doesn't seem to be capable of delivering a line without that sad eyed puppy dog look that makes you want to put a gun to your head and end the misery. He doesn't fail you here, his parted down the middle aw-shucks hairdo providing even more of a freakish look to his downtrodden puss. I've never really seen Scarlett Johannson in much of anything and won't be rushing to plunk down my eight bucks on her name anytime soon. She actually started out decently here but by the middle of the film she has faded into simply being a very pale girl with very red lips. She does deliver what has to be the best line of the film (and by best I mean the most hysterical when it's not supposed to be because it was clearly done in one shot without the slightest thought of rehearsal.) At the point when she discovers Bucky's affair with Madeleine she screams out hysterically "She looks like that dead girl!" I swear, half the theatre burst out laughing.

I remember the first film I ever saw Aaron Eckhart in was "In the Company of Men," which I loved. It's twisted and cruel, my cup of tea. He never seems to come to terms with his character here or his agenda. Most of the problem with his character seems to come from the writing, but his overacting, crying, swaggering and general Billy-badass routine fell as flat as the voice overs describing the hot and sultry nights in L.A. He's portrayed as a rogue cop, a hero, a caring lover and friend and finally meets his end dumped into a furnace after a several story fall into a fountain. I think he was as confused as the audience was as to who he was supposed to be from moment to moment.

Hilary Swank is a very good actress. I mean she's got two Oscars already and it seems there's no stopping her. Okay, so this short stopover at loser movieville hopefully won't deter her star and will only serve as a painful embarrassment to unwise career choices. Remember Hilary, wait for a good script, don't just do any old thing that comes along. Her vampy looks in this film are overstated and though her delivery is up to her usual standard, she too becomes a victim of the writing and directing. Her most annoying habit is her propensity for reminding the audience how much Bucky wants to fuck her. Continuously. There is also this oddity that she is a lesbian in the film until she meets Josh Hartnett. Is this supposed to say that Josh Hartnett can turn a gay woman straight. My prediction is that it's the other way around.

Several times in the film you get glimpses of the Black Dahlia. Again, these are not historically accurate. Mia Kirshner plays Elizabeth Short well, her wide eyes telling her story as well as her character portrayal. The absolute best person in the film has to be Fiona Shaw. She plays Ramona Linscott, Madeleines mother and a rabid drunk. She is hysterical, chortling her way through dinner, stabbing her meal and shooting out accusations of infidelity and marital strife. Sadly her character meets the fate of all the rest, lost in a sea of bad writing.

It's worth noting that Josh Friedman, the screenwriter who is responsible for at least the dialogue (which, fairly, did have some snappy lines.) also wrote "War of the Worlds." Explanation enough?

The website for the film does have an interesting facet though. They have cut outs of the story as it was reported in the L.A. times. Interesting read.

If you want to read more about the actual case, here is a decent site.

Random Notes

I am a pack rat. I rarely throw anything away. Occasionally I will find a note that I have written to myself, usually in referene to something I mean to blog about. Since my blogging has been sporadic at best these notes have sort of piled up. I threw several of them away, forgetting their meaning, but have a few to share. Now, not all of these were blog references, some were notes I wrote to someone else and ended up keeping. One night I was talking to a friend about someone he thought was hot. I ended up going into the bathroom while the guy was doing his business and I wrote this to a friend:

The way he flexed his calves as he was putting it away tells me he was lifting something heavy. Oh, and he's wearing flip flops.

Nice huh?

A blog note I found reads:

Ab muscle ridges like mashed potato and gravy tunnels.

I remember writing this about a guy who was at my bar. He didn't just have a six pack or an eight pack, he had a beautifully sculpted stomach. There were so many ridges and lines in his stomach it reminded me of making tunnels in mashed potatoes so the gravy would have someplace to run...

Another note to myself:

I wish the DJ would play three songs in a row without emptying the Iberville Projects.

A note about a customer:

Spitting Bear Doing Cher

There were a group of bear type guys at my bar. The Cher song "Bang Bang" was on and one guy went from bear to drag in .5 seconds. He was swiveling his hips, snapping his fingers, in general he was getting down. Then he turned his head and spat a huge lug of tobacco on the floor. A spitting bear doing Cher.

Just a few notes to pass the time.

September 12th, finally...

I have avoided television for days now but think it's safe to return to the waters. Yesterday I swam through (and by that I mean I hit the delete key) on a number of e-mails sent out by various groups and certain friends. Basically anything that looked like a jingoistic war rally cry about how the wives of NY firemen needed more cash to buy a beach house was left unread. I logged on to MySpace to find what I think was the best thing written that day by my friend Dimitri:

As you know today is the anniversary of a terrible political event which changed the fate of a nation and the world. We must never forget it and we must always hold those behind it responsible and continue our attempts to bring them to justice.

I'm talking of course about the September 11 1973 US-sponsored coup against Salvador Allende of Chile; the world's first democratically elected Marxist leader. It brought along not only Allende's death, but also Augusto Pinochet's 27-year-long reign of terror, defended by the US and Britain.

Somewhere out there, Henry Kissinger lives as a free man.

Oh and as for the other thing that happened on this date....

Why do they hate us?

Confusion

My last post about flip flips in bars and the photo of the sign barring them was a bit mis-leading. If I had done what a good journalist had done and given a photo credit, this wouldn't have happened. This photo was a picture that was sent to me by Mattie and was taken of a bar in San diego. I have not convinced the pub to ban flip flips on any level. In fact, just the opposite. This sickens me, but I am going to tell you good people. Two of our bartenders actually wear flip flops while bartending. I know. I know. Gross, huh. Well hey, as long as they don't touch me with their blackened feet I will be okay. I ran into another friend over decadence who told me that he had been out all day wearing flip flops but then was going to go out to dinner. Being of somewhat sound mind he knew he couldn't wear them to a restaurant. Not having time for a shower he simply put socks on over his DIRTY DIRTY feet. He told me "Yeah, I knew it was nasty but I didn't have a choice." I hope he just threw those socks away...

Follow up...

Okay, so I've been fascinated with the wooden legged hooker since this story began. It's like one of those things, someone mentions peanut M&M's and all the sudden you see them everywhere. Since he was pointed out to me I notice this guy every day. Thursday night is the amateur strip contest at the bar and the host asks if anyone is celebrating anything. Pirate Joe (the wooden legged hooker) goes up and tells her it's his birthday. Afterwards I went downstairs and mentioned it to a friend. This is how the conversation went:

Me: So I was just upstairs and from what I gather, it's old peg leg's birthday...

My Friend: Oh yeah, well let's cut her in half and count the rings.

Only my friends...but the next big joke (mine) was wondering if he shouts "Thar' she blows!" when he has an orgasm...

Seriously, I need help.

Finally! The world starts to catch on to my plight...

Okay, this was funny...

So I was sitting at the bar on Thursday night, late, very late... Seated next to me was porn guru Chi-Chi LaRue. She was talking to one of our local thug/hooker/street trash types. They were macking on each other and it got to be time for me to leave. Another queen who I know was standing there looking at the scene and said "I hope she's not disappointed when she finds out he's got a 2 inch dick and a wooden leg..."

Hysterical, yes and I really thought this would be funniest thing I would hear the entire holiday.

I was relating the story to a co-worker last night and after I told him the punch line he said "Oh it's not 2 inches"

Perfect.

I will try to post a wrap up after the holiday is over. Thus far I would brand it as not that great. There are a lot of people here, and it's been great to see some old friends that I haven't seen in forever. Work wise it's been nothing more than a busy weekend, not the overwhelming speed demon type that Decadence used to entail.