I have been to three parties since the semester began, which I think is more parties than I went to last year, in total. I must be getting more popular. Last night was more of the history folks, with slightly less awkwardness, I think. Or maybe I've just comes to terms with it. I guess that's good? In the bad news category, several too many ounces of red wine left me praying to the porcelain god last night. I did make it home first, so my humiliation was kept between me and the linoleum, and the linoleum doesn't judge.

In other news, I've been watching some movies. (Which I guess isn't news. But just go with me here.) Among them, may I strongly recommend Midnight Cowboy (1969)? It was shown on 35mm on Thursday night as part of "Sex Week," and it was advertised as the only X-rated film to win an Oscar for Best Picture. That is true, but I think it set the wrong set of expectations for the audience, who SUCKED. I totally understand and accept that different people have different ways of watching movies -- you don't go to a Magic Johnson theater on "Denzel Night" and expect to watch a movie in stately silence, for example. But at the Whitney Humanities Center, we watch movies in stately silence. Unless it's Sex Week, and the undergrads don't understand that X-rated in 1969 doesn't mean pornographic, and so a determining chunk of the audience came ready to chatter and giggle. It was pretty irritating, because Midnight Cowboy is actually a very serious film -- a melodrama, in fact. It just has some boobies in it, and the ratings system was brand-new then, and boundaries of taste have changed.

Nevertheless, I was able to appreciate the movie despite the distractions of a tittering and texting audience (hey, did you know that even if the light on your iPhone is dimmed, it's still an f-ing light in a dark theater?). It's about a Texan (Jon Voight) who moves to New York to be a hustler. He is fleeced by, but eventually befriends, a down-on-his-luck New York native, Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman). Hoffman's is the showier role, since he gets to play with a limp and an accent, but don't get distracted -- Hoffman's good, but Jon Voight absolutely kills. You don't even notice, that's how good he is. Jon Voight: More than just Angelina Jolie's dad, folks.

Second week of classes over already? Sheesh. It's my last semester of classes, can you believe it? After this semester, it's all oral exams and dissertation. I thought I would miss classes, but I don't think I will, because too many I've taken haven't been that great. And yet I've had to read all the books, even when they're stupid; and sit in class discussions I couldn't contribute to, because they were stupid; and write papers at the end, even though they've been stupid, too.

It occurs to me that I may still be bitter about my film theory class from last semester. Any class that ever, at any point, poses the question, "How would Zizek repond to this?" had better also have previously provided me with an easy-to-read chart of possible answers. Because the best I can do is, "Probably in Slovene, before making a mental translation into English." So. After this semester, I can audit courses, so I can skip out of any class meetings requiring Continental philosophy as an unannounced prerequisite.

Listen, okay, Claudia, that was last year. Black Eyed Peas: Two thousand and late." Stella Adler: "Don't go back, go on." New semester, new times! Here's the lineup:

1. Research Seminar in Urban History

I have a lot riding on this class. At the end of the research seminar, we're meant to have produced a significant piece of original research, ready (or nearly ready) for submission to an academic journal. I totally need this kind of focus; don't tell anyone, but I don't know how to research. Also, I'm using this to try out an idea a project that may be able to turn into dissertation. And if my idea doesn't work, I have no idea what I'm going to for a dissertation. More on that as I work on it.

2. Sexual Modernity and Censorship: Lubitsch and Wilder

We're looking at the movies of writer-directors Ernst Lubitsch and Billy Wilder, and how their films played around with sexual relationships and the Production Code. Billy Wilder's movies you may know: Sunset Boulevard (1950), The Apartment (1960), Some Like It Hot (1959). Lubitsch is less well-known these days, mostly I think because his films are older. I loved The Merry Widow (1934) at one point in my life -- that Maurice Chevalier, what an adorable French rake. You may know The Shop around the Corner (1940) with Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan. Or you may know its remake, You've Got Mail (1998). (Interestingly, the original does much less stripping-the-female-of-everything-she-is-in-order-to-fit-her-into-the -male's-world-order.) And oh, my god, watch Ninotchka (1939) if you have any interest in feeling joy. Note: This is my last semester of class and yet my first seminar in Hollywood cinema, which was what I thought I came back to school for. But let's not talk about that.

3. Theatricality in Film.

I have no idea what this class is about, really, except that it's about time for me to take another film class to fulfill my requirement, and about time to take a class with Brigitte Peucker (MHC '60!), who I expect will be overseeing one of my oral exam areas. Once I figure out what it means to be "theatrical" in the context of film, I'll have a better idea of what I should be doing in here. Does it mean to be explicitly connected to a theatrical property? Does it mean to have a stripped-down production design? Does it mean to be uncommonly dramatic/melodramatic? My first reaction to the course was, "Well, once it's on film, it's cinematic, so it's no longer theatrical." That shuts down the conversation pretty quickly, though.

Off to read a book or two. As a last thought: I'm sure that everyone has done what they can to support the rescue and recovery efforts in Haiti. If you are looking for a way to do something else, keep Heifer International in mind. They have been supporting over 16,000 families in Haiti, and so many of them will need to start over. This is one way to offer a different kind of assistance, as the recovery phase moves into the rebuilding phase, and moves off of the front pages.

Last night, I went to an on-campus sneak preview of the new movie musical Nine, which will officially open in a couple of weeks. I love musicals and I love free, so I was really excited to go. I was wary of Nine when I first read about it, because it's got a star-studded cast of people I didn't have faith in the singing/dancing abilities of. I was a little concerned that Kate Hudson was going to ruin the movie like she ruined Luke Wilson's life (ouch!), or that Penelope Cruz was going to annoy me beyond endurance. Because she does. (In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have been introduced to her via Vanilla Sky. That wasn't her fault. I should cut her a break. I did respect her in Volver, and in this one, too.)

But I really enjoyed the movie! Nine, which has been on Broadway a couple of times, is not the strongest musical, as source material. So the songs are okay -- appropriate to the characters but not awesome as stand-alones -- and the story, like 8 1/2, is more about impressions than narrative. But thanks to the director, cheorographer, editor, production designer, costume designer, and cinematographer, it's got a lot of style and flash. And there's good acting and singing, especially that Marion Cotillard. With whom I am just a little bit in love. In conclusion, three stars. But honestly, if you can barely stand musicals, this one won't change your mind.

In the auditorium, I was sitting around some of my film studies folk, and as soon as the credits started to roll, Jeremy turned to Takyuya and said, "That was horrible, wasn't it?" (That question was rhetorical.) Now, I ignore 40-60% of what Jeremy says, because he's 10 different kinds of snob. We're taking about a guy who once, upon taking leave of me at a party, bowed. Unironically. Bowed. As if being Belgian means that one lives inside a 18th-century royal court of one's own making. But Takuya -- who, despite being JAPANESE, has never bowed in my presence -- apparently agreed. When he asked me what I thought, and I said, "I really liked it!", Takuya nodded, paused a second, and patted me sympathetically on the back.

Later, Jeremy said to me, only half-kidding, "I think most film studies people would hate that movie. But, you know, it's really good that the program has diversity." To quote Ralph Kranden: One of these days, Jeremy -- TO THE MOON.

That was, I remember now, the second time that day I outed myself as a film studies outlier. Earlier that day, I was sitting with a fellow AmStud-Film student, Josh, and he was going on about Citizen Kane. I actually admire a great deal about that movie, but it can be really undynamic if you're not in the mood. Like if you're sleepy. So I said something like, "That movie can be so boring. Orson Welles? Just a fat man with a camera."

I'm gonna get myself put on film studies probation soon.

"Tomorrow" was a little ambitious, but it's still this week!
Last night, I went with a couple of classmates to see This Is It, which was awesome. I had two fears:
1. That the film would be filled with treakly confessionals and interviews, as some kind of redundant memorial service and/or overblown recuperative project.
2. That MJ's face would be scary on the big screen.

But no!
1. It was a straight-up concert film, the rehearsals stitched together to allow the audience to experience the concert as it was conceived. Full songs, full choreography, and some really valuable peeks into the rehearsal process. Director Kenny Ortega and the rest of the creative team knew what they were doing. It's all about the music, man. (By the way, Ortega's filmography is fascinating -- from Xanadu to Dirty Dancing to High School Musical. He's one of my new favorite people.)
2. Not scary, because the movie shows MJ as a whole person and not a subject for extended dissection, both in terms of framing (medium and long shots) and content (by capturing genuine human interactions).

Above all, what you get to see is Michael Jackson perform. Watching his body move in space is a recuperative project, and the most appropriate and meaningful memorial for the audience, who never knew the man himself.

And completely from a personal perspective and from this moment in my life: Often in my program I have to watch a lot of boring movies. I find interesting things in them, because that's what I'm trained to do; but sometimes I lose sight of whatever it is I like about this medium, because I spend the course of a movie I don't care about, trying to explain to myself why it has value. Although I always know why I study movies, I don't always know why I watch them. But then I see a film that has value because I really like it. This Is It is not visually distinctive or, you know, part of the French New Wave, but I was totally engrossed for almost two hours, and it made me happy. And that makes me happy, too.

Do not cast Jessica Biel in anything. No, I don't want to hear it. I've seen Easy Virtue, and I'm telling you: NO.

My friend Patrick (film studies & German) told me the other day that he refused to be confirmed in the Catholic Church because his parents promised to take him to see Jurassic Park when it came out, but they took him to the local drive-in with terrible sound and worse picture quality. And if they didn't respect his religion, he wouldn't respect theirs.

After watching all 160 minutes of the legendary Nashville (1975) for the first time tonight, my suspicions have been confirmed: I can't stand Robert Altman.

How I am a "film scholar," I don't know. Because I have conversations like this, with my non-film-studying American Studies cohort member Yusong:

Y: Some of us were thinking about going to see a movie next week at the Criterion. So if you want to come?...
Me: Oh, cool! What do you guys want to see?
Y: Maybe The Class [the French film nominated for an Oscar this year for Best Foreign Language film]?
Me: Oh, man. I was really hoping you were going to say Duplicity or I Love You, Man. Oh, okay. The Class. Okay, maybe.

I just watched Birth of a Nation (1915) for class (Blackspace & Cinema), and that movie is wild, y'all. It's one of the most important films in US film history, for sure, and also globally important as a groundbreaking narrative film. If you've ever heard about it, you'll know that it's super-controversial because it is set in the Reconstruction South and depicts the Ku Klux Klan as the hero of the post-Civil War era on account of the KKK saving the South from rule by unscrupulous carpetbaggers and ignorant blacks.

Of course, I've seen "problematic" films before, and I've seen racist films (including Australia (2008) -- sorry Hugh Jackman, it's gotta be said.). But I've seldom seen a film that was so racist that it didn't even upset me so much as astound me. This movie was so racist, I didn't even know what was going on half of the time. I kept asking my classmates (all two of them), "Wait, is that person in blackface supposed to be black?" And, "What is wrong with that mulatto woman? That person in blackface is supposed to be mulatto, right?" And, "Did that intertitle just refer to that crowd of people as 'crazed negroes'? If yes, where can I get a t-shirt with that on it?" I tell you, I don't even know what history books D.W. Griffith was reading. Because I am pretty sure that the Civil War was not fought in order to allow black men to rape white women. But listen, I only took a few American history classes, so maybe I don't remember.

Entering week three of break, which means that I'm beginning to get tired of doing nothing. I like coming back to Houston and hanging out with family and friends, but Old Home Week should last not much longer than that. I have been grateful to be able to spend time with friends from high school, and I've been impressed by how much we get better and better, as we grow more and more into ourselves. In a few minutes, I'm off to see a friend from elementary school (that's you, Angela), and both of us have changed quite a bit since first grade. I'm much taller, for example.

What's been really exciting about this break is that the Game Show Network has returned to cable! (Last time I was here, GSN had moved to some stupid super-extended package.) So I've been able to watch What's My Line and To Tell the Truth, which come on from 2-3am, because GSN has no respect for 50s and 60s game shows. And maybe also because I'm the only person in the world who watches this ridiculousness.

Movie-watching has been the primary activity, and I've seen a few I would recommend. Penelope (2007) was released under the radar -- a fairy-tale romantic comedy with Christina Ricci and that adorable James McAvoy. The film, like McAvoy, is adorable. I enjoyed Sex and the City (2008), not because it's great, but because it felt good to spend more time in the world of the characters. So if you like the series, it's a good investment of 2(+) hours. I kind of recommend Australia (2008), which I saw in theaters a couple of days ago. Admittedly, it's racist in the way that Westerns are racist, and it's kind of long. So as I type this, I realize that, really, what I recommend is watching Hugh Jackman in any context, and especially on a very big screen.

Most astounding film of the break: King of the Newsboys (1938), which had an average Netflix rating of about 1.0 stars. I thought, it can't be that bad -- after all, it's got my favorite, Lew Ayres! He's so awesome! And you know what? It was that bad. I've never before seen a movie that made absolutely no sense. I've seen movies in which plot machinations aren't totally believable, but they make sense within the story the movie is trying to tell. It may be a really stupid story, but the actions do connect in a logical fashion. This movie managed to be constantly surprising in that each scene seemed to have nothing to do with the next one. In the film's favor: it was not predicatble. Against the film: Everything else. I have to include Lew Ayres in that, and it breaks my Dr. Kildare-loving heart.

Speaking of Lew Ayres: I bet you didn't know that he was a conscientious objector during World War II. Man of principle, that one. He's great in Holiday (1938), in which he has a supporting part -- the stars are Kate Hepburn and Cary Grant. It's set around the New Year, so it's seasonally appropriate. (By the way, that's not the holiday the title refers to.) It's one of my favorite movies. And it's available through Netflix -- so queue it up!