DVD Review: An Evening with Kevin Smith

I’ve always been a fan of Kevin Smith’s writing. I know, technically he is thought of as a director, but for me it’s really the dialog that makes his movies – the things his characters say are so smart and outlandish that the true pleasure is really in listening to Smith’s movies.

So I was prepared to watch An Evening with Kevin Smith to hear the wit I have come to know, love, and admire. I have to tell you, I felt incredibly ripped off.

The Kevin Smith of “An Evening” has proven to me that Smith is smarter and funnier than any of his movies, and I take personal offense that the son-of-a-bitch and I have never crossed paths and had a cup of coffee and discussed any fucking thing in the universe.

It’s an amazing thing to watch a celebrity talk to college students, answering their throw-away and serious questions with a ready wit: mocking stupid questions, encouraging the few bright ones and creating a dialog with the questioner, and generally telling hoards of college jocks and stoners the truth.

He doesn’t hold back. When he is asked a question he doesn’t blink or blush or flinch. He tells the story. He talks about having a gay brother, and what it means to him as a filmmaker to include storylines for the gay community, because his brother mentioned early in Smith’s career that mainstream movies don’t offer much to anyone outside the boy-girl love story. He talks about his influences, his choices, his relationships – everything is fair game.

Smith is so frank, in fact, that several times I felt myself squirming over the volume of detailed information provided. Not in the length of the stories. Not in their telling –for surely Smith is a gifted story-teller. The details themselves though…my god the things this man is willing to share about his life and his penis are quite impressive.

I cannot imagine that Smith has a handler of any sort, because Smith just comes out and gives straight answers. There’s no dodging. There’s no sugar-coating. I can’t imagine any A or B-lister ever getting up on stage and telling hoards of college boys to suck his dick, or describing in detail about his first time sleeping with his wife – it would be an Oprah couch moment.

And maybe that’s a huge part of Smith’s charm. He’s a regular guy. Only he’s smarter than most of the people I encounter, and he’s damn funnier. Listening to Smith reminded me of being back in grad school, having late-night coffee chats at an all-night diner with my friends, talking about everything from 17th century literature to various sexual techniques and preferences. There’s something about spending time with an old friend who makes you laugh so hard you think you’ll simultaneously vomit and pee. Good times.

An Evening with Kevin Smith is an evening well spent. Like all Smith offerings, I give it a 5/5 on what you will hear – don’t focus on the production values.


AV Rating: 5/5 Stars

Book Reviews: Echo Park and Born in Death

My pleasure reading of choice has always been mysteries. While I’ll watch any genre when it comes to movies or tv, I’m all about the mysteries when I spend my time actually reading. I’m generally pretty fussy about my mysteries, they need to be well written, compelling stories and/or characters.

Easily one of my favorite mystery writers, long since passed, is Mr. Rex Stout, author of the Nero Wolfe series. The thing about the Nero Wolfe series that made it the ultimate indulgent read was the dialogue. It still ranks supreme among the mysteries I have read (heck, it ranks up there with the likes of Shakespeare, and this is in the not-so-humble opinion of a former literature teacher). The mysteries may have been thinner than the meatier fare demanded by a society bombarded with true crime 24/7, but the character development and dialog still made them by far the best of the best. No matter how far fetched the ending, Wolfe’s intellect and Archie’s street-wise, determined nature made each ending satisfactory.

Of course I read the collected works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle when I was in 8th grade, and no one can dispute the excellence that is Sherlock Holmes.

But Doyle and Stout, having left this mortal coil, leaving behind stand-in writers who carry on their characters on a lesser scale, can only be read so many times before you need something new to sink your teeth into.

Years ago, in my pursuit of new blood, I found Michael Connelly and J.D. Robb, two very different mystery writers, and authors that I now read voraciously.

These are their latest releases:

Echo Park, by Michael Connelly

Echo Park continues the work of Hieronymus (Harry) Bosch, detective in the Open-Unsolved unit of the LAPD.

Harry Bosch is a good cop and a good character. He’s flawed. Damaged. Viet Nam vet. Drinker. Relationship problems. Rule bender. Stands up for victims.

We like Harry because he has problems with authority figures, solving the case is the most important thing, he’s smart, methodical, and he’s damn good at his job. In every way that he is screwed up as a person, he’s great at figuring out the ins and outs of a crime, putting it together, and making sure justice is done.

Bosch is Connelly’s cop. Connelly has a retired FBI agent too. Flawed in different ways. Connelly writes good, flawed characters that you respect, but know you’d never get involved with.

I like Bosch. Connelly has been consistent in developing Bosch across the series of books, so you trust the character. His behavior is consistent. You trust his judgment. You know the mistakes he will make will be in his personal life, or will be in arguing with his superiors, but will never be with evidence or with solving the case. Is he always the most ethical? That’s debatable.

But while the treatment of Bosch is handled well throughout Echo Park, the rest doesn’t really jive for me. There’s something uneven about the plot – too many layers to the conspiracy – too many misdirections.

Still, the writing is solid and Bosch is done right.

AV Rating: 3.5/5 stars, there are better Bosch novels.

Born in Death, by J.D. Robb

Born in Death is the 25th installment of the “In Death” series by Nora Roberts writing as J.D. Robb.

Maybe it’s due to my recent car accident and subsequent medicated state, or maybe it’s due to the bombardment of “Nora Roberts writing as J.D. Robb” commercials on TV these days but I just want to say this: shut up.

Here’s the thing: Nora Roberts is a romance novelist, J.D. Robb, her pseudonym, is a mystery writer.

I’ve got to make the distinction, because when I hear this stupid commercials reminding me that Nora Roberts is writing as J.D. Robb, I cringe, because I don’t read romance novels. I hate them.

Before I knew that J.D. Robb was a pseudonym, I picked up the first In Death book, read it, liked it, and picked up the next one. I had probably read half the series before I figured out who the heck Nora Roberts was.

Now I know, so now every little romantic or sexual thing that happens in one of the mysteries makes me stop and think, “does this belong here?” – like is this some romance novelist playing mystery writer, or does it really fit the story? Usually I conclude that it does, but let’s be honest, it’s distracting.

As to the latest installment, Born in Death, again, I’m on a regular diet of pain meds at this point, so when I say that the book was slow, that may have just been the drugs.

Then again, when the second crime was introduced, I knew instantly that it was linked, because puh-leaze. Also, I was doing the equivalent of checking my watch by counting pages left every so often.

This was undoubtedly my least favorite of the In Death series. The plot seemed weak, the secondary storyline seemed contrived, and what seemed like a promising beginning wound up seeming very thrown together.

Again – to be fair – pain pills.

AV Rating: 2/5 stars. I would actually skip this one and read any of the others.

Movie Review: Running with Scissors

Running with Scissors is based on the book of the same title by Augusten Burroughs. It’s his memoir, and my god, what a childhood he had.

From the previews you might believe the mother to be a drama queen and the father to be a bit of a drinker. This is simply too much of an understatement.

This movie is simultaneously hysterically laugh-out-loud funny, painfully disheartening, and disturbing.

The cast has done a superb job of making each character real, believable, flawed, lovable, and despicable:

• Annette Bening: here’s an actress who is willing to take on ugly roles and put her all into them. Her performance is stellar. She embraces her role as the self-absorbed, mentally unstable, overly dramatic mother. Like her American Beauty role, she’s the mom you love to hate. Only here it’s less about glamour and more about self-absorbed poetry.
• Brian Cox: Cox could get away with just using his amazing voice to be a convincing therapist, but his delivery is so spot on that you’ll have moments of wanting him to be your therapist. You really don’t, but you might be tempted to at least engage him in conversation so he will take you on a tour of his masturbatorium.
• Joseph Cross: Our protagonist, while looking a bit older than the 13-15 years he is supposed to portray throughout the movie, is otherwise stellar. His ability to hold his own in scenes with Bening and Cox will make you forgive the obvious age discrepancy.

The rest of the cast includes such notables as Joseph Fiennes, Evan Rachel Wood, Alec Baldwin, Jill Clayburgh, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Gabrielle Union. All did an outstanding job.

Since this is an autobiography, it’s character heavy, not plot heavy, so the one thing that was hard for me was the pacing and the limited plot (I always want something to happen). Still, it’s worth the price of admission and the 2 hours of your life.

Forget your childhood trauma. Your mother never gave you away to her therapist, did she?

AV Rating: 4/5 stars