THE ROCK STAR OF POETRY
by Mark Shaw

I’m not the rock star of poetry:
   I do not wear tight leather pants or liquefy my hair like a Chia Pet.
   I do not have a manager, an AV crew, or buffalo wing catering.
   Women never throw bras at my feet, and
   Teenaged girls with streaky hair, tears full of mascara,
   And tanorexic skin have never squealed over me.
   No one crowds around to hear me read my work,
   Or takes photographs of me in my underwear.
   In fact, no one ever reads my poetry except
   You and a couple of my friends.
   Truth be told, I’m really not a good poet at all.

I paused, waiting for a compliment.
Oh, don’t be so modest. I think you’re good, I wanted you to say,
But all I heard was your footsteps, so I continued with my argument.

No one reads poetry nowadays:
Alexander Pope may have made a living out of it,
   But he lived when men wore wigs,
   And we live when men reduce themselves to Chia Pets.
Robert Frost recited his poem “The Gift Outright,” at the inauguration of J.F.K.
   But I don’t think the president gave him a bra to autograph.
William Shakespeare wrote sonnets,
   But sonnets are so last year.
Homer was famous for epic poems,
   Which were almost as deep as MTV.
And Emily Dickinson only published a few poems in her lifetime,
   So it’s not like anyone ever screamed at her,
   That poem was so bitchin’! Read one more!

I paused, waiting for a response.
Then why do you write poetry?
You asked as you stepped in an oily puddle on Delmar Boulevard.

I don’t know,
But I like the way this stoplight reflects off your legs:
   Red, Green, Yellow for three seconds
   Stop, Proceed, Speed for three seconds

It reminds me when I was driving home from work:
   The streetlights in my peripheral vision numbed my consciousness
   Until a light from a freight train frightened me, momentarily.
   I thought the train passing overhead was going to ram into me.

It reminds me when I first met you:
   I was going to yank a conversation out of vacant matter.
   I’d say, Do you know so-and-so,
   And you’d say, I don’t think so.
   But then I caught my reflection in your Midwestern beach legs.
   Never mind. I don’t think so.

It reminds me when I ran into to you at I Heart Mr. Sushi:
   Actually, I overheard you were going to be there at such-a-such time.
   So I decided to drop by, but I was late.
   I ran every yellow light. I even ran a red light.
   It screamed at me like a police siren.
   Stop! You yellow faced, red faced boy!
   I quickly looked down at the wet street,
   But it reflected the siren light.

It reminds me of this moonlight:
   Not as captivating as it is on a lonely night.

I love food. I love BBQ baby back ribs from Kansas City or Memphis, I love Pad Thai with the right mixture of peanut sauce, I love IHOP omelets, I love cold cereal (every single morning and sometimes at midnight with lots of sugar added), I love Lay’s potato chips eaten with bananas that’ve been smothered with peanut butter (for some reason they go together. Try it. Do It.), and I love sweet potatoes mashed with maple syrup and brown sugar and baked with marshmallows on top. I better stop with my food descriptions—you’ll see why in a minute.

I also love the act of eating food. You know having something to chew on, having something to wash down, having something to get rid off 2 hours later, and having that sick, satisfying taste of overindulgence. I believe God’s a good God simply because he invented food, taste buds, and digestive systems.

Unfortunately not all digestive systems are created equally. Mine isn’t the best and hasn’t been the best since high school. Because of this and other health reasons, I’ve been seeing a holistic doctor since my freshman year in college. By holistic I mean she comes from LA, has a melting pot of medical degrees, and practices both Eastern and Western medicine. No, she is not a hippie or a witch doctor. Yes, I said it, but I only said it because I knew you were thinking it.

Anyway, all prejudices aside, she’s greatly improved my health over the years. So when she told me I needed to detoxify my body, I had no problem saying, “I’ll do it.” Then, she told me what I had to do in order to decrease the antigenic load in my system: a fast for 3-5 days. It’s technically called a modified fast, but really it’s a literal fast, straight-up. I’m only permitted to drink pure green tea, to brush my teeth (for all you ladies out there), and drink a weird concoction every 15 minutes. In consists of squeezed lemons or limes with the pulp (although I’ve only used lemons), water, and organic maple syrup. The lemons are used to alkalinize my body (just nod your head if you don’t understand what that means), and the syrup is used to stabilize my blood sugar as well as antagonize the sour taste (their big words, not mine).

I’m on the fourth day of this fast now, and I haven’t eaten a single thing. I’ve drank 2 cups of green tea, brushed my teeth (the toothpaste tastes really good now), and drank this awful voodoo concoction (she’s not a witch doctor. Really.). I’ll admit it—I have had one piece of Trident sugarless spearmint gum. Ymm. It was good. My doctor said gum was ok but not great—whatever that means—BUT I had to chew it in order to pay attention to my Wednesday night class. Wednesday was my second day of the fast, and I felt drowsy, dead beat, and fatigued all day. Obviously, I was also hungry.

Tuesday was the first day of my fast. I was a tinsy-bit hungry, but one day isn’t difficult, not even for a foodie like me. However, my subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo from my brain that I was fasting. I kept opening the refrigerator door and the pantry door thinking that I was going to take a scrumptious item out, open it, rest it on my taste buds, chew it, and let it nourish my body. Well, “nourish my body” is not entirely accurate. I have an over-active neuroendocrine-immune system that is sensitive to the foods I eat most often—hence my total annihilation of foods for 4 days, hence my fast. (Nod your head if you know what neuroendocrine-immune system means)

On Thursday, the third day my tongue thought I was playing a practical joke on him (Yes, my tongue has a personality. Yes, it’s a “him”—otherwise I wouldn’t need a woman), something strange happened. Something my doctor said would occur. I no longer felt hungry. I no longer felt tired. I no longer felt crabby. Instead, I felt great!

It’s Friday now, I’m on the fourth day of this biological experiment, and I still feel great! No stomach aches, no gas, no bloating, no digestive problems (I’ll let you use your imagination), no fatigue, and no growling (from my stomach. Duh). Furthermore, I no longer feel like a heavy rock, and I don’t mean in the sense that I was once fat and know am skinny. Although truth be told, the Christmas season wasn’t kind, and the scale now says I’m at least 11 pounds lighter and at most—a whopping—14 pounds lighter! Since Monday! I don’t know how much weight I’ve lost exactly because sometimes I wear socks when I step on the scale and sometimes I don’t. All my socks are really old and dirty. Who knows how many dead skin cells have accumulated on them over the years. They say that after a few years a pillow gains 5 pounds. They also say that after 10 years a mattress gains 20 pounds (I can’t eat. Now you can’t either!), but I digress. The goal of my fast wasn’t to decrease calories but to decrease the antigenic load in my system, and I think I’m now starting to feel the effects of that happening. Thank you God!

Surprisingly enough, I want to continue my food deprivation through tomorrow (!), but I can’t. Saturday morning I get on a plane headed for Seattle. Because planes do not allow liquids to be carried onboard, I won’t be able to bring my all important concoction of lemons, water, and syrup. Thanks a lot terrorist—I’m really not liking you right now! I’ll also need to start eating in order to keep my energy level up. This coming week I’ll be with my younger brother in Yakama Washington. Several times now he’s gone on mission trips (once for spring break and twice for the duration of the summer) to help the Yakama Indians there. Our mom’s a Stockbridge-Munsee Indian, so we both feel called to aid the Native Americans in some degree or another. If you want to pray for Michael, me, and 17 other Covenant College students that would be great, extremely great. We’ll be repairing homes and leading kids in games and Bible learning activities. It should be fun annnnd emotionally draining, but hopefully God will use us to make a lasting impact on the people there.

…Don’t try my fast at home kids. Especially you anorexic people out there. I seem to gain weight and loss weight easily, and like I said, my goal was not to decrease calories. So don’t expect this really radical diet to work well for you. Instead, expect your body to crash. Or expect your hand to fall off. Oh wait, that’s something fathers say…          

I saw a man in Italy,
When morning came, he walked the sea.
He’d wait until 3 fish were caught,
Then sell them in the market lot.
He’d exercise that fish money
To buy bread loaves, to buy whiskey.

All day the man sat on the dock,
Without a care, without a clock.
He’d talk to folks that he had met,
And laugh all day, the sun would set.
He’d walk back home, a single block.
When morning came—back down the dock.

I saw a boy who watched and said,
“A man needs more than fish and bread.
Launch a business selling fish,
Make all the cash that you might wish.
Among most men, you’d be ahead,
You’d watch the sunset from your bed!

“It’s in your reach! What do you say?
So don’t get old, and don’t delay!”
The man then laughed, “Did you say old?
Why wait for dreams to turn to gold?
All dreams of mine are at the bay,
I watch the sunset every day!”

Here’s another fun poem I wrote awhile ago:

To My Brother Michael on his 22 Birthday (1-27-08)

I remember:
Raking leaves and Wiffle Balls,
Climbing trees and headless dolls,
Lego cars and soccer goals,
Army wars and digging holes,
Spying games and B-ball fights,
Ripping Hanes and breaking lights,
Rexburg bikes, mountain hikes,
Car rides, taking sides,
Black eyes, screaming cries,
Fists, knees, insults, pleas,
Red heads sharing beds,
Red hair—a matching pair,
Early years are memorable,
But who would have thought
A childhood could be so wonderful?

So I’ve been working on a poem entitled “To Mariana” for a month now. A couple of weeks ago I completed this 13 stanza A,B,C,B rhyme scheme poem only to realize that it sucked. Now I’m completely rewriting it in an iam meter and no rhyme scheme. Sometimes I hate poetry.
I just finished a 20 page short story if anyone’s interested.

Shifting gears here, I’ve found my calling in life. It is to be a presidential campaign fundraiser. THE CHIEF presidential campaign fundraiser–it doesn’t matter who it is. Anybody wanna run for President? Statistics nowadays say you don’t need a lot of experience to get support! Here’s some catchy phrases I’ve already come up with (If you’re serious about running, just insert your name in place of David’s name because David dreams about being a Supreme Court Judge and not a President. Clearly, his dreams aren’t big enough) : ”Say ‘No’ to intolerance, cruelty, and injustice. Say ‘Yes’ to David.” Or how about: ”We have tried it President Bush’s way, now join the rest of America and vote for change.” And here’s my best one yet: ”Voter’s from the West Coast to the heart of America need to stand up and say ‘Yes we can.’” Pretty darn good don’t you think??!!

If we loose, just don’t ask where all the money went. I’ll probably be living outside of America on my own private island and not thinking about politics. Ever.

But if I do decide that we want win, and we do win, I want a new job: interior decorator for Air Force One. Don’t get me wrong–I’m not a girly man (the Governator wouldn’t approve of that). I wouldn’t want all the seats to be wrapped in leopard skins or anything stupid like that (as I just wrote that sentence I thought, “That doesn’t make any sense. Girly men like animals way too much.”) Instead, I’d take pages from “Where’s Waldo” books and cover the inside walls of the plane! That way future presidents will never get bored with all the traveling they have to do. Say YOU–the future president–wanted to go on a little world trip with your main man Kim Jong-il. Okay. All you’d have to do is fly around in Air Force One and hang out and chill. You’d never have to talk about sticky subjects like politics and bad girlfriends at all! You two would just be trying to find Waldo the entire time and laughing at all the characters who are drawn with big butts! Best idea I’ve ever had!! I’ll even draw in a few bonus characters for good measure. Bill Clinton hiding among the Fighting Foresters. Vladimir Putin (that name could almost be put in a Harry Potter book) playing with the Great Ball Game Players. And bin Laden–well, I better not say where he is–we’ll offer a $500 million reward for whoever can find him.          

There Will Be Blood will win the Best Picture category. Although I haven’t seen Michael Clayton or Atonement (which I hear is amazing), I don’t think I have too. Blood is an American movie, very American. Simply as that. It’s based off of a novel by Upton Sinclair called Oil!, and it’s about a oil tycon who stops at nothing to get what he wants. How more American can you get? “How more American can you get?” says liberal Hollywood who’s fed up with the current administration. Not that politics ever have anything to do with the Oscars. To the film’s credit, it also happens to be exceptionally good all the way around. Exceptionally good script, directing, acting, set design, etc.

For this reason and for the whole “American movie” reason, Paul Thomas Anderson will win the Best Director category. I’ve gotta hand it to the guy; there aren’t too many directors as good as him. He seemed to bring out the best in Tom Cruise (Magnolia) and Adam Sandler (Punch Drunk Love), and his pacing and timing and ability to make you feel the way he wants you to feel is just incredible. Yes, it takes a long attention span to watch his movies, but like Francis Ford Coppella, his filmmaking is mesmerizing. If you don’t like watching a movie for it’s composition, you don’t need to bother watching this one. See sidenote.

But if you like watching a movie for it’s acting, you may want to watch Daniel Day Lewis, a British theater actor, in Blood. He plays Daniel Plainview–the oil prospector–with more authenticity than most American’s could (Paul Dano is great in it too). Because he starred in this “American movie” and because he deserves to win, he’ll win the Best Actor category.

Sidenote: There Will Be Blood isn’t really that entertaining if you don’t like watching a movie for its directing, cinematography, or acting. It’s pretty depressing, slow, and nerve wracking, esp. with Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood’s eerie score.

No Country for Old Men, however, is a very entertaining movie about a man with a case full of money and a man who’s chasing the man with the money. The chasing man is a psychotic killing machine with a fatalistic, albeit weird, philosophy played by Javier Bardem. He’s surperb. Through his acting, we learn that his character can live with himself as a murderer because he doesn’t think about his murders, except when he’s in the act of murdering someone. Then, then–his eyes light up as if the act of killing someone is the only thing that turns him on. Because of this reason, Javier Bardem will take the Best Supporting Actor Oscar. (To anyone out there: what did you think of the film’s ending? I’d really like to know someone else’s take on it.)

Juno will not win any awards. It’s a comedy. Sorry comedies–there’s just no place for you at the Academy Awards. I am surprised though that it got so many nods–that really speaks to the movie’s ability to connect with people).

I don’t know who will take the Best Actress award because I’ve only seen Juno, but I bet that it’ll be Julie Christie with her role in Away From Her.

Best Supporting Actress: Cate Blanchett. I haven’t seen I’m Not There, but come on, she plays a young Bob Dillon. Bob Dillon’s a man. And a very complex one at that.

Cinematography: that American movie.

Adopted Screenplay: that American movie.

Will there be any screenwriters writing the comedy lines before and in between the awards? No. You know screenwriter Bruce Vilanch?–the homosexual, overweight man who sports red framed glasses and long dishwater blond locks? He’s always a regular on the Hollywood Squares and played Edna Turnbad (John Travolta’s cross-dressing role) in Broadway’s Hairspray production. Anyway, he usually writes a lot of the jokes for the academy awards and if the Screenwriter’s Guide is still on strike, he’ll be sitting on his couch on Feb 24 throwing a nerf ball at his TV. I also imagine him eating a large bowl of icecream and shouting obscenities during the ceremony.

Footnote (don’t ask me why): What’s also amazing about P.T. Anderson is that he’s entirely self-taught. He attended NYU for 2 days and then dropped out when he handed in some of Pulitzer Prize wrinner David Mamet’s work as his own. The teacher gave me a “C,” so he dropped out of the film program, got his money back, and used that cash to make the short film “Cigarrettes and Coffee.” I’m not suggesting that you try that kids. Stay in school.   

I came into this movie thinking that screenwriter Diablo Cody was The Man (proverbial man) and director Jason Reitman was the Reitman (just look at his father’s impressive resume). A month before Juno came out, I read all about its amazingness from Entertainment Weekly and other magazines. When I saw the first 10 minutes of the film however, I felt misled. Jipped. The retro clothes, the hamburger telephone, the geeky pop-culture references screamed “I’m your basic non-independent indie film that’s trying too hard to be hip with the hipster crowd.” Additionally, the dialog jarred me for the first 10 min: lines like “Silencio (whatever the dog’s name was)” and the witty conversation between Juno and Rainn Wilson did not feel genuinely real. They felt canned, almost as if I could see the dialog written on the screenplay as I was watching the movie. Maybe I just needed to warm up to Diablo Cody’s unique writing style or maybe she improved at smoothly incorporating jokes into the storyline as she wrote the script. Whatever it was after the first 10 min of the film, I fell in love with the characters and the jokes, and I forgot I was watching an indie film that was trying hard to be to hip.

By the end of Juno, I was convinced that the movie succeeded in its goal of hip-tuity, and it wasn’t because of Michael Cera’s stylish short shorts and tube socks. It was because of Cody’s writing. Before this picture came out, Cody wrote a popular blog, which caught the attention of a Hollywood producer. He told her to write a screenplay, and she wrote Juno. In a way, this movie reflects her hilarious blogs and the way bloggers communicate with each other. Her dialog, syntax, and vocabulary is identical to millions of bloggers’ slang, vocab, and syntax. In other words, she struck a cord with the internet generation. In case any of you were wondering, I don’t care if my blog is popular (but I am grateful of my readers out there–62 views on Nov 21–crazy!), nor do I think a Hollywood producer will ever read my blog.

Is this movie pro-life or pro-choice? Internet bloggers can’t agree. The strongest pro-life argument: Juno decides not to abort her child after hearing that her unborn baby already has fingernails. The 2nd strongest pro-choice argument: the movie protrays how hard it is to be pregnant in high school (I won’t say the #1 strongest argument because I don’t want to give anything away). However if the movie did not protray the heartaches of pregnancy, it would not be realistic; whereas a movie that does not protray the heartaches of abortion is certainly unrealistic.

I met, but not really met, director Jason Reitman at the DVD release party of ”Thankyou for Smoking” at Arclite Theatre in Hollywood. After the movie, audience members asked the director many questions regarding the message of the film. He kept saying over-and-over, again-and-again, that his movie wasn’t making a political statement about anything at all. It wasn’t saying that smoking should be banned nor was it saying that the government should not have the right to ban smoking. Instead, Reitman explained that the movie was a satire and that satires are mirrors. When someone sees a satire, his own worldview is reflected back at him. If someone thinks cigarrettes should be banned then his/her belief will only be strengthened in watching a satire about smoking, visa vera. According to Entertainment Weekly, Reitman says the same thing about his current film, “Juno seems to be a mirror, and people [on both sides] see themselves in it. [Politics] was never the purpose.” The purpose of his 2 movies, I gathered from the DVD Release Party question-and-answer session, was to entertain, to make people laugh, to make audiences feel good.

What about Diablo Cody’s take on abortion? I have no idea. I just know that her highschool friend got pregnant and had a baby. Therefore, we have a movie, just like we have a movie from Judd Apatow. His wife got pregnant, had a baby, and then he wrote and directed “Knocked Up.”

Along with “Waitress” and “Bella,” it has been quite a year for woman to go ahead and have babies. Sidenote: I recommend Bella despite its melodrama. 

Going back to Reitman’s purpose for the movie (I don’t need smooth transitions), Juno does entertain, it does make you laugh, and it does leave you with a feel good ending. But, the movie seems to have done a whole lot more than that–it seems to have connected with teenagers, and many non-teens, more than just about any movie in 2007. Why else would the Academy give it so many Oscar nods? Obviously, Juno connected with them.    

Sunsets*I saw a man in Italy,

When morning came, he walked the sea.

He’d wait until 3 fish were caught,

Then sell them in the market lot.

He’d exercise that fish money

To buy bread loaves, to buy whiskey.

*

All day the man sat on the dock,

Without a care, without a clock.

He’d talk to folks that he had met,

And laugh all day, the sun would set.

He’d walk back home, a lonely block.

When morning came—back down the dock.

*

I saw a boy who watched and said,

“Why use 3 fish, your mouth ain’t fed?

Launch a business selling fish,

Make all the cash that could be wished.

With all rich men, you’d be at head.

You’d watch the sunset from your bed!

*

“Of this dream what do you say?

You’d then be old, but you’d be gay!”

The man then laughed, “Did you say old?

Why wait for dreams to turn to gold?

When dreams of mine are at the bay,

I watch the sunset every day!”

In case your wondering, “It” is a supernatural creature that can take the form of anything it wants to including someone’s worst childhood fear. This is a fantastic premise for a horror novel, but King hardly explores the depth and gravity of why childhood fears still effects grown adults. Perhaps this is because Stephen King doesn’t care to psychoanalyze or philosophize or say something profound about human nature. Instead, his primary goal is to scare his readers and entertain them. He basically says this in his book “Stephen King On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft,” which I read before “It.” He comfortably admits that he’s not writing Shakespeare or Liturature, and he has no desire to do so. To his credit, I do think he has written some weighty stuff, just read “Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption” and (I hear) “The Stand.” Furthermore, ”It” clearly conveys what human beings are truely like: carnal beasts that are perverse, selfish in nature, and inherently evil.

At the same time, King isn’t Ernest Hemmingway, so don’t expect thoughtfully constructed, poetic sentences and paragraphs. Hemmingway could write a paragraph 29 times before he’s satisfied with it, while King writes everything twice. The first draft and then his rewrite. He humbly suggests to some aspiring writers that they may want to try his method of writing too. It’s certainly appealing. King is by far the most prolific author today; no author has published as many pages as he has, and only a few living authors have sold more books than he has. Yet, he probably won’t go down in history as a great writer/story-teller like Hemmingway.    

Speaking of rewriting, I wrote edit this post because my brother just told me that he’s locked out of his car. Bye.

You’ll have to check out “Sunshine” on DVD. It’s a futuristic Sci-Fi thriller. The sun is dying and 8 astronauts are sent out to reignite the sun with a futuristic nuke the size of Manhattan. I just saw it yesterday for the 2nd time and remembered how much the film compares the sun to God. The sun gives life, warmth, light, and with the light guidance. If the sun starts dying mankind questions his immortality and feels abandoned by it. If someone gets too close to the sun, it can burn him, kill him, or cause him to fall in love with its power. Man can lose his humanity to this power and begin to play God. That was my take on what the story was trying to say, but I have no idea if that’s what the filmmakers were trying to convey.

You’ll have to see it and let me know.

Yes, my blog is back, my computer is fixed, and my Holiday Lights job is over.

Stay tuned (David)!

DARJEELING LIMITED

The latest film by writer/director Wes Anderson staring Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody, and Jason Schwartzman is about 3 brothers who travel around India on a “spiritual journey” one year after their father has died. Owen Wilson’s character, Francis, is the oldest brother who attempts to force his siblings to go on this trip with him and bond with each other. He does this because he has been in a severe motorcycle accident and realizes that they haven’t talked to each other since their father’s death.

I love this film because it portrays the power struggles that go on between siblings (yes, I do have 2 brothers), the hurt that family members cause one another, and the repercussions that these painful memories have many years later. I’ve noticed that (1) family power struggles and (2) family members trying to let go of the hurt they’ve caused each other are two common themes that appear in most of Anderson’s movies: “The Life Aquatic”, “The Royal Tenenbaums” (definitely), and “Rushmore” (a little). Probably none in “Bottle Rocket” though). That being said, I LOVE these types of themes in stories–I don’t have a disfunctional family or anything–but for some reason they strike a cord in me. I should also say that I love Wes Anderson’s quirky dry humor, loopy story elements, pastel-ish colors in the art design, and meticulous set designs. So, yeah, I’m biased towards anything this man does.

Brody and Schwartzman’s acting performances are fine and so is Owen Wilson’s. I’m generally not a fan of Wilson’s acting, but he does perform his own, unique brand of comedy very well. Since Wilson has worked with Anderson in all of his movies, whether it be in acting or co-writing, he seems to be at his most comfortable state in his friend’s films. Their humor is very similar, which is why they make a great team. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about Wilson’s real-life suicide attempt while watching this movie; I mean the guy’s got his entire head bangaged up throughout the entire film for crying out loud. Wilson’s brush with death in real life and in the movie is not a very good coincidence to be thinking about.  

In my opinion, ”Darjeeling Limited” was better than Wes Anderson’s last film, ”The Life Aquatic”, partly because it was a half-hour shorter. “Aquatic”, which was over 2 hours long, had several slow areas that could have been cut, and I’m willing to bet many people would have loved that film much more if it was only 90 minutes long. I still maintain “The Royal Tenenbaums” is his best work and is one of the best films made in the last 10 years. Seriously.

Granted, if you don’t like Anderson’s quirkiness, then you won’t like his stuff, and you may not like his movies because they are not Hollywood-ish either. I was watching him on “Charlie Rose” last week, and Anderson said he originally wanted to be a novelist. It shows. The screenplays that he co-writes are not typical Hollywood formula scripts. Their plots usually meander and their 3 Acts (beginning–act 1, middle–act 2, and end–act 3) are not always as clear cut as regular Hollywood plots. This is especially true in his lastest movie, which may be why half of the movie critics out there didn’t like it. They wanted to see one event lead to the next with bold-faced motivations and visual expressions of character change. Hollywood films have to follow more rules than novels do, UNLESS you’re as good of a filmmaker as Anderson. I didn’t mind when the plot took a big turn an hour into “Darjeeling” nor was I ever confussed during the film–I understood the character’s motivations throughout the entire movie even though they weren’t always shown visually.

Plus, I enjoyed some of the symbolism in the film including the obvious and almost cliche one involving the 3 brother’s baggage–I mean luggage. Also be thinking about the whole traveling on a train metaphor when you watch the movie. Anderson makes it clear that he was thinking about this kind of stuff in one montage scene in particular. You know what I’m talking about if you’ve seen this movie.     

Lastly, I loved the short film that showed before ”Darjeeling”, staring Schwartzman and Natalie Portman. It was called ”Hotel Chevalier,” it took place before “Darjeeling–kind of a prequel, and it was about Schwartzman’s character and his “ex”-girlfriend’s rocky relationship. Anderson directed this short much slower than the feature film, which effectively set the tone and mood for the story prehaps better than the pace of the feature film.    

I’d give you reviews of other movies I’ve just seen–”Bella” and “Across the Universe”–but I’m going to bed. Sorry. Day Light Savings is not an excuse to stay up later. You got that Nate! 
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