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Moog Announces Contract With Hainan Airlines for Long Term Support For 787 Fleet
12 November 2012
East Aurora, NY, USA – Moog Inc. (NYSE: MOG.A and MOG.B) and Hainan Airlines signed a 10 year exclusive contract for comprehensive support of the Moog Flight Control Systems on Hainan Airlines' fleet of Boeing 787 aircraft. The program will include maintenance and inventory support via Moog's strategically selected worldwide stocking locations, giving Hainan 24/7 access to spares no matter where their aircraft are located.
Moog, the provider of both primary and high lift flight control systems on the 787, recently launched an entirely new suite of aftermarket support solutions. The Moog Total Support program is aimed at providing airlines with a comprehensive range of services for Moog products, including inventory support.
"We are exceptionally proud that Hainan Airlines has chosen the Moog Total Support program for our products on their fleet of 787 aircraft," said Kate Schaefer, Moog's General Manager for Commercial Aircraft Services. "We look forward to providing Hainan Airlines with a cost effective alternative for both maintenance and global inventory support along with an unparalleled level of service over the next 10 years."
Hainan Airlines Company Limited (HNA) is an airline headquartered in Haikou, People's Republic of China. Hainan Airlines is one of the world's SKYTRAX five-star airlines and the fourth largest airline in terms of fleet size in the People's Republic of China. It operates scheduled domestic and international services on 500 routes from Hainan and nine locations on the mainland, as well as charter services. Hainan has a significant fleet of 787 aircraft on order with Boeing.
Moog Inc. is a worldwide designer, manufacturer, and integrator of precision control components and systems. Moog's high-performance systems control military and commercial aircraft, satellites and space vehicles, launch vehicles, missiles, automated industrial machinery, wind turbines, marine and medical equipment. Additional information about the company can be found at www.moog.com.


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Ballparks, Beer, and a Whole Lot of Baseball
This is the travel blog for Malcolm MacMillan, founder of TheBallparkGuide.com. Visit the website for comprehensive guides to Major League Baseball and Minor League Baseball stadiums.
Baseball adventures of a Cub fan living in Southern California
30 ballparks by age 30
Traveling the world for cheap while working a 9-5
Escape to a new place for new scenery, new ideas. Here are some suggestions to inspire your day away.

subset: commoncrawl


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Uganda: Major National Review Recommends Ways of Ending Hunger in Uganda (27.07.2017)
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Review: Iris
Albert Maysles's portrait of Iris Apfel gradually emerges with cathartic clarity without compromising her inherent mystery.3.5
Iris Apfel offers explicit testament to the intangible dialogue between art and life. Anything done well, with care and expressiveness, can be art—and life, of course, is the totality of everything that might be best enjoyed through a mastery of some variation of the former. Art, then, is a process of whittling life down to a manageable control group. Iris's greatest creation is her public persona, as she's fashioned an outer skin—a portable, ever-shifting art—that appears to complete and please her. She's managed to live financially from this form of self-actualization, working first as an interior designer, then, with her husband, Carl Patel, as an entrepreneur of fabric manufacturing, and, decades later, as a fashion icon who's seemingly everywhere chic at once, turning herself into a legend in the process. Most jobs, especially those that are low-rung white-collar, in which we punch things into keyboards for hours a week, don't offer such a tactile merging of the interior (personality) with the exterior (social obligation), instead fostering an either/or dichotomy that greatly contributes to the self-questioning neuroticism of our culture at large. Iris is a woman powered by synchronicity, which is why she attracts throngs of worshipful admirers of all ages who yearn for a similar reconciliation between soul and skin.
This unity is famously and distinctly embodied by Iris's wardrobe. There are the glasses, which are big, egg-shaped, and often correctly described as "owlish." The eyewear is complemented by her shock of white hair, which offers compelling testament to hipness after age 90, and by an elaborate procession of accessories that combine high-end designer jewelry with antiques, Native American handicrafts, bargain-bin knickknacks, and everything imaginable in between. The key to Iris's fashion brilliance is simply described, ineffably achieved: The intricacies of her inspirations, both in her ensembles as well as in her celebrated interior designs, don't announce themselves as such. One doesn't catch Iris "working" at her look. Lightness of technique is one of the basic attributes of artistic transcendence. Iris is always seemingly naturally crisp, rumpled, eccentric, confident, and with confidence comes sexiness.
Director Albert Maysles emphasizes these transcendent qualities in Iris, allowing them to reach a cinematic blossom. The documentary is a celebration of redemptive totemic obsession. The filmmaker captures the comfort that clothes, toys, and other objects tangibly bring to a clotheshorse, thusly negating much of the snide elitism that often infuses reporting based on fashion figures. Much of Iris, like many of Maysles's prior productions, is an assemblage of shards of incident in which the subject talks to the camera, while performing minute (though, in this case, often glamourous) activities that don't initially appear to signify much of anything. In a more conventional director's hands, this approach would yield either nothing or a film that's less than nothing, with talking heads and voiceover that serves to awkwardly provide a theme that doesn't otherwise arise from the shape of the footage. But Maysles, both a subtly precise formalist as well as a humanist, ensures that each shard contributes to a portrait that gradually emerges with cathartic clarity without compromising Iris's inherent mystery, which is understood to be the universal unknowability that each person carries within them.
Certain details in Iris initially scan as obvious, even calculated, such as when Iris mentions that, as a teenager, the founder of Loehmann's once took her aside and said, "Young lady, you'll never be pretty. But you have style." One can sense the fashionista fanning the flames of self-mythology with the reminiscence, offering a pat explanation for herself as an ugly duckling transformed by interests that might have had their origins in deflection or overcompensation. Maysles provides the line at least three callbacks though, echoing that sentiment until it reveals an authentic reservoir of pain. First, Iris is at Loehmann's in the present day of shooting (now, the fashion retailer only exists online), operating as a wizened sage who's advising poignantly grateful women on how to dress, or, more specifically, on how to discover how they want to dress. Later, we see Iris as she's photographed for the cover of Paper magazine, drolly observing that she looks like a "ghoul." Finally, with an intensity that suggests confession, Iris is glimpsed in close-up in one of her apartments, saying that she never liked "pretty," and that women born pretty often fall into the trap of failing to cultivate anything else with which to live and define themselves. In this last sequence, Iris leaves the frame with a suddenness that suggests suppressed tears.
In the moment, the cumulative emotional effect of these various scenes isn't as obvious as it retrospectively sounds, as the resonances assert themselves in the mind upon reflection. The forging of such a domino effect was one of Maysles's great gifts as an artist. Certain parts of Iris, such as these scenes that collectively reveal an extraordinarily driven and creative woman who's haunted by every-human's ghosts, recall portions of the director's other films, particularly Salesman, which followed door-to-door Bible peddlers as their hectoring gradually took on an unnerving dimension of pleading that said more about the loneliness and the desperation of the men's lives than they ever intended to volunteer.
This irresolution lingers on the rebound, underneath every scene in Iris, though the film is outwardly a prismatic comedy that's infused with the sensory exhilaration of living as a famous person who travels to Europe twice a year and is courted by the Metropolitan Museum of Art (resulting in Iris's career-defining exhibit "Iris Patel, Rare Bird of Fashion") ¬and photographed by J.Crew and Vogue, among others, after reaching incredibly mobile advanced age. There's an implicit kinship between Iris and Maysles, himself a remarkably prolific aging legend until his death last month, which informs Iris with a buddy-comedy warmth that's unusual and seemly for the director, and this bonhomie is fleetingly, startlingly literalized when Maysles's camera nearly positions itself into a first-person angle from behind Iris's glasses. This is the master image of the film, embodying the great filmmaker's ability to detail for the screen a process of attaining empathy, allowing this understanding to reverberate across a spectrum of images that have been cannily assembled to represent the spiritual extremis that resides within the physical quotidian.
Cast: Iris Apfel, Carl Patel, Harold Koda, Jenna Lyons, Bruce Weber, Margaret Russell Director: Albert Maysles Distributor: Magnolia Pictures Running Time: 79 min Rating: PG-13 Year: 2014 Buy: Video
Review: We Are Little Zombies Is a Fun, Wildly Stylized Portrait of Grief
The film is a kaleidoscopic portrait of a world where emotions are accessed and revealed primarily through digital intermediaries.3
Makoto Nagahisa's We Are Little Zombies follows the exploits of a group of tweens who meet at the funeral home where their deceased parents are being cremated. But, surprisingly, Hitari (Keita Ninomiya), Takemura (Mondo Okumura), Ishi (Satoshi Mizuno), and Ikiko (Satoshi Mizuno) are united less by sorrow and more by cool indifference, as they see their parents' deaths as yet another tragedy in what they collectively agree is pretty much a "shit life." As the socially awkward Hitari claims matter-of-factly in voiceover, "Babies cry to signal they need help. Since no one can help me, there's no point in crying."
Through a series of extended flashbacks, Nagahisa relates the kids' troubled lives, never stooping to pitying or sentimentalizing them or their utter dismay with the adult world. The new friends' deeply internalized grief and hopelessness are filtered wildly through a hyperreal aesthetic lens that's indebted to all things pop, from psychedelia to role-playing games. It's Nagashisa's vibrant means of expressing the disconnect between the kids' troubled lives and their emotionless reactions to the various tragedies that have befallen them.
With its chiptunes-laden soundtrack and chapter-like form, which mimics the levels of a video game, We Are Little Zombies will draw understandable comparisons to Edgar Wright's Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. But it's Nagisa Oshima's Three Resurrected Drunkards that offers a more precise analogue to this film's provocative rhyming of stylistic zaniness and extreme youthful alienation. Oshima's anarchically playful farce stars the real-life members of the Folk Crusaders as a disaffected group of rebellious musicians, and when the kids of We Are Little Zombies decide to form a band to express themselves, they even perform a bossa nova version of the Folk Crusaders's theme song for the 1968 film. This and the many other cultural touchstones in We Are Little Zombies are seamlessly weaved by Nagahisa into a kaleidoscopic portrait of a world where emotions are accessed and revealed primarily through digital intermediaries, be they social media or a dizzying glut of pop-cultural creations.
Nagahisa's aesthetic mirrors his main characters' disconnect from reality, incorporating everything from stop-motion animation to pixelated scenes and overhead shots that replicate the stylings of 8-bit RPGs. At one point in We Are Little Zombies, an unsettling talk show appearance brings to mind what it would be like to have a bad acid trip on the set of an old MTV news program. Nagahisa accepts that the kids' over-engagement with screen-based technology is inextricably embedded in their experience of reality and ultimately celebrates the sense of camaraderie and belonging that the foursome finds in pop artifacts and detritus. This is particularly evident once their band, the Little Zombies of the film's title, starts to explore their antipathy toward and frustrations with a seemingly indifferent world.
The Little Zombies wield the same charming punk spirit as the film, and once instant fame reveals its viciously sharp teeth, Nagahisa doesn't hold back from peering into the nihilistic abyss that stands before the kids. As in Three Resurrected Drunkards, We Are Little Zombies's most despairing notes are couched in the distinctive language of pop culture. Hitari's attempts to grab essential items before running away from the home of a relative (Eriko Hatsune) are staged as a video game mission. The band's hit song—titled, of course, "We Are Little Zombies"—is an infectious, delightfully melodic banger all about their dispassionate existence. There's even a fake death scene of the kids that, as in Three Resurrected Drunkards, effectively restarts the film's narrative, allowing the characters to once again test their fate.
For all of this film's reliance on the stylistic ticks of video games, its narrative arc isn't limited to the typically linear journey embarked upon by many a gaming protagonist, and the foursome's path leads neither to enlightenment nor even happiness per se. What they've discovered in the months since their parents' deaths is a solidarity with one another, and rather than have them conquer their fears and anxieties, Nagahisa wisely acknowledges that their social disconnection will remain an ongoing struggle. He understands that by tapping into the unifying, rather than alienating, powers of pop culture, they're better equipped to deal with whatever additional hard knocks that the modern world will inevitably throw their way.
Cast: Keita Ninomiya, Satoshi Mizuno, Mondo Okumura, Sena Nakajima, Kuranosukie Sasaki, Youki Kudoh, Sosuke Ikematsu, Eriko Hatsune, Jun Murakami, Naomi Nishida Director: Makoto Nagahisa Screenwriter: Makoto Nagahisa Distributor: Oscilloscope Running Time: 120 min Rating: NR Year: 2019
Review: Palm Springs Puts a Fresh Spin on the Time-Loop Rom-Com
The film smuggles some surprisingly bleak existential questioning inside a brightly comedic vehicle.3
The pitch for Palm Springs likely went: "Edge of Tomorrow meets Groundhog Day but with a cool Coachella rom-com vibe." All of those components are present and accounted for in Max Barbakow's film, about two people forced to endure the same day of a Palm Springs wedding over and over again after getting stuck in a time loop. But even though the concept might feel secondhand, the execution is confident, funny, and thoughtful.
Palm Springs starts without much of a hook, sidling into its story with the same lassitude as its protagonist, Nyles (Andy Samberg). First seen having desultory sex with his shallow and always peeved girlfriend, Misty (Meredith Hagner), Nyles spends the rest of the film's opening stretch wandering around the resort where guests are gathered for the wedding of Misty's friend, Tala (Camila Mendes), lazing around the pool and drinking a seemingly endless number of beers. "Oh yeah, Misty's boyfriend" is how most refer to him with casual annoyance, and then he gives a winning wedding speech that one doesn't expect from a plus-one.
The reason for why everything at the wedding seems so familiar to Nyles, and why that speech is so perfectly delivered, becomes clear after he entices the bride's sister and maid of honor, Sarah (Cristin Milioti), to follow him out to the desert for a make-out session. In quick succession, Nyles is shot with an arrow by a mysterious figure (J.K. Simmons), Sarah is accidentally sucked into the same glowing vortex that trapped Nyles in his time loop, and she wakes up on the morning of the not-so-great day that she just lived through.
Although Palm Springs eventually digs into the knottier philosophical quandaries of this highly elaborate meet-cute, it takes an appealingly blasé approach to providing answers to the scenario's curiosities. What initially led Nyles to the mysterious glowing cave in the desert? How has he maintained any semblance of sanity over what appears to be many years of this nightmare existence? How come certain people say "thank you" in Arabic?
This attitude of floating along the sea of life's mysteries without worry parallels Nyles's shrugging attitude about the abyss facing them. In response to Sarah's panicked queries about why they are living the same day on repeat, Nyles throws out a random collection of theories: "one of those infinite time loop situations….purgatory….a glitch in the simulation we're all in." His ideas seem half-baked at first. But as time passes, it becomes clear that Nyles has been trapped at the wedding so long that not only has he lost all concept of time or even who he was before it began, his lackadaisical approach to eternity seems more like wisdom.
Darkly cantankerous, Sarah takes a while to come around to that way of thinking. Her version of the Kübler-Ross model starts in anger and shifts to denial (testing the limits of their time-loop trap, she drives home to Texas, only to snap back to morning in Palm Springs when she finally dozes off) before pivoting to acceptance. This segment, where Nyles introduces Sarah to all the people and things he's found in the nooks and crannies of the world he's been able to explore in one waking day, plays like a quantum physics rom-com with a video-game-y sense of immortality. After learning the ropes from Nyles (death is no escape, so try to avoid the slow, agonizing deaths), Sarah happily takes part in his Sisyphean games of the drunk and unkillable, ranging from breaking into houses to stealing and crashing a plane.
As places to be trapped for all eternity, this idyll doesn't seem half bad at first. Barbakow's fast-paced take on the pleasingly daffy material helps, as does the balancing of Milioti's angry agita with Samberg's who-cares recklessness. Eventually the story moves out of endlessly looping stasis into the problem-solution phase, with Sarah deciding she can't waste away in Palm Springs for eternity. But while the question of whether or not they can escape via Sarah's device for bridging the multiverse takes over the narrative to some degree, Palm Springs is far more interesting when it ruminates lightly on which puzzle they're better off solving: pinning their hopes on escape or cracking another beer and figuring out how to be happy in purgatory. Palm Springs isn't daring by any stretch, but it smuggles some surprisingly bleak existential questioning inside a brightly comedic vehicle that's similar to Groundhog Day but without that film's reassuring belief that a day can be lived perfectly rather than simply endured.
Cast: Andy Samberg, Cristin Millioti, J.K. Simmons, Peter Gallagher, Meredith Hagner, Camila Mendez, Tyler Hoechlin, Chris Pang Director: Max Barbakow Screenwriter: Andy Siara Distributor: Neon, Hulu Running Time: 90 min Rating: NR Year: 2020
Review: Hamilton Comes Home, Still Holding Conflicting Truths at Once
The show offers testimony to the power of communal storytelling, just as mighty on screen as on stage.3.5
The actual physical production of Hamilton has never been at the heart of the show's fandom. Its lyrics have been memorized en masse, Hamilton-inspired history courses have been created across grade levels, and its references have invaded the vernacular, but, for most, Hamilton's liveness has been inaccessible, whether due to geography or unaffordability. Hamilton the film, recorded over two Broadway performances in 2016 with most of the original Broadway cast, winningly celebrates the still-surprisingly rich density of Lin-Manuel Miranda's score and the show's much-heralded actors. But this new iteration is most stunning in its devotion to translating Hamilton's swirling, churning storytelling—the work of director Thomas Kail and choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler—to the screen.
Most films of live theater feel partial and remote. There's usually a sense that with every move of the camera we're missing out on something happening elsewhere on stage. The autonomy of attending theater in person—the ability to choose what to focus on—is stripped away. But instead of delimiting what we see of Hamilton, this film opens up our options. Even when the camera (one of many installed around, behind, and above the stage) homes in on a lone singer, the shots tend to frame the soloists in a larger context: We can watch Aaron Burr (Leslie Odom Jr.), but we can also track the characters behind him or on the walkways above him. Every shot is rife with detail and movement: the rowers escorting Alexander Hamilton's (Miranda) body to shore, Maria Reynolds (Jasmine Cephas Jones) hovering beneath a stairway as Hamilton confesses his infidelities to Burr, ensemble members dancing in the shadows of David Korins's imposing set. There's no space to wonder what might be happening beyond the camera's gaze.
Off-setting the cast album's appropriate spotlight on the show's stars, the film, also directed by Kail, constantly centers the ensemble, even when they're not singing, as they enact battles and balls or symbolically fly letters back and forth between Hamilton and Burr. Audiences who mainly know the show's music may be surprised by how often the entire cast is on stage, and even those who've seen Hamilton live on stage will be delighted by the highlighted, quirky individuality of each ensemble member's often-silent storytelling.
Kail shows impressive restraint, withholding aerial views and shots from aboard the spinning turntables at the center of the stage until they can be most potent. The film also convincingly offers Hamilton's design as a stunning work of visual art, showcasing Howell Binkley's lighting—the sharp yellows as the Schuyler Sisters take the town and the slowly warming blues as Hamilton seeks his wife's forgiveness—just as thoughtfully as it does the performances.
And when the cameras do go in for a close-up, they shade lyrics we may know by heart with new meaning. In "Wait for It," Burr's paean to practicing patience rather than impulsiveness, Odom (who won a Tony for the role) clenches his eyes shut as he sings, "I am inimitable, I am an original," tensing as if battling to convince himself that his passivity is a sign of strength and not cowardice. When Eliza Hamilton (Philippa Soo) glances upward and away from her ever-ascendant husband as she asks him, "If I could grant you peace of mind, would that be enough?," it's suddenly crystal clear that she's wondering whether taking care of Alexander would be enough for herself, not for him, her searching eyes foreshadowing her eventual self-reliance. And there's an icky intimacy unachievable in person when Jonathan Groff's mad King George literally foams at the mouth in response to the ingratitude of his colonies.
The production's less understated performances, like Daveed Diggs's show-stealing turn (also Tony-winning) in the dual roles of the Marquis de Lafayette and Thomas Jefferson and Renée Elise Goldsberry's fiery embodiment (yes, also Tony-winning) of the shrewd, self-sacrificing Angelica Schuyler Church, benefit, too, from the way that the film's pacing latches onto Miranda's propulsive writing. In Jefferson's return home, "What'd I Miss," the camera angles change swiftly as if to keep up with Diggs's buoyancy.
Despite Christopher Jackson's warm and gorgeous-voiced performance, George Washington remains Hamilton's central sticking point. While Jefferson receives a dressing down from Hamilton for practicing slavery, Washington, who once enslaved over 200 people at one time at Mount Vernon, shows up in Hamilton as a spotless hero who might as well be king if he wasn't so noble as to step down. There's a tricky tension at Hamilton's core: Casting performers of color as white founding "heroes" allows the master narrative to be reclaimed, but it's still a master narrative. For audiences familiar with the facts, the casting of black actors as slave owners (not just Jefferson) is an unstated, powerful act of artistic resistance against the truths of the nation's founding. But for those learning their history from Hamilton, especially young audiences, they will still believe in Washington's moral purity, even if they walk away picturing the first president as Christopher Jackson.
But Hamilton is complex and monumental enough of a work to hold conflicting truths at once. In attempting to recraft our understanding of America's founding, it may fall short. In forcibly transforming the expectations for who can tell what stories on which stages, Hamilton has been a game-changer. And as a feat of musical theater high-wire acts, Miranda's dexterity in navigating decades of historical detail while weaving his characters' personal and political paths tightly together is matched only by his own ingenuity as a composer and lyricist of songs that showcase his characters' brilliance without distractingly drawing attention to his own.
Dynamized by its narrative-reclaiming, race-conscious casting and hip-hop score, and built around timeline-bending reminders that America may be perpetually in the "battle for our nation's very soul," Hamilton, of course, also lends itself particularly easily to 2020 connections. But the greater gift is that Hamilton will swivel from untouchability as Broadway's most elusive, priciest ticket to mass accessibility at a moment of keen awareness that, to paraphrase George Washington, history has its eyes on us. The show offers testimony to the power of communal storytelling, just as mighty on screen as on stage. That we are sharing Hamilton here and now offers as much hope as Hamilton itself.
Cast: Daveed Diggs, Renée Elise Goldsberry, Jonathan Groff, Christopher Jackson, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Leslie Odom Jr., Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos, Phillipa Soo Director: Thomas Kail Screenwriter: Ron Chernow, Lin-Manuel Miranda Distributor: Disney+ Running Time: 160 min Rating: PG-13 Year: 2020
Review: In Family Romance, LLC, Reality and Fantasy Affectingly Collide
Throughout, it's as though Werner Herzog were more witness than author, simply registering Japan being Japan.3
Werner Herzog's Family Romance, LLC presents Japan as a place where the technological follies of modernity that many see as embryonic in the West are allowed to blossom unabashedly. The Orientalism inherent to this myth, that of Japan as a high-tech dystopia where human alienation reaches its pathetic zenith, is somewhat masked here by the film's style, which inhabits that strangely pleasurable cusp between fact and fiction. We are never quite sure of the extent to which situations and dialogues have been scripted and, as such, it's as though Herzog were more witness than author, more passerby than gawker, simply registering Japan being Japan.
The film is centered around Ishii Yuichi, playing a version of himself, who owns a business that rents out human beings to act like paparazzi, family members, lovers, or bearers of good (albeit fake) news. One of his clients, for example, is a woman who wants to relive the moment when she won the lottery. We follow Ishii as he travels to his business calls, which may consist of going to a funeral home that offers coffin rentals by the hour for people to test out, or to a hotel where the clerks behind the helpdesk and the fish in the aquarium are robots.
The camera, otherwise, follows Ishii's encounters with his 12-year-old "daughter," Mahiro (Mahiro). The girl's mother, Miki (Miki Fujimaki), has enlisted Ishii to play Mahiro's missing father, who abandoned her when she was two, and make it seem as if he's suddenly resurfaced. The film's most interesting moments don't arise from its largely obvious critiques of simulation, but from the human relationship between Ishii and Mahiro. In the end, the film's smartest trick is getting the audience to genuinely feel for this young girl on screen, acting for us, all while scoffing at Ishii's clients for scripting their own emotional experiences.
We know the relationship between Mahiro and Ishii to be false on multiple levels. They may not be professional actors, but they are very much acting, and their interactions nonetheless tap into something quite authentic and emotional. Although their kinship is an act of make-believe, it's driven by similar malaises that plague "real" father-daughter relationships. Mahiro, who doesn't meet Ishii until she's a pre-teen and is presumably unaware that it's all just an act, struggles to articulate feelings that overwhelm her. Asking for a hug from Ishii is a Herculean task for her. But granting her the hug is also a Herculean task for Ishii, who ultimately confesses to wondering whether his real family, too, has been paid by someone else to raise him. Must a father's hug be so clinical even when he's getting paid to do it?
Such moments as that awkward father-daughter hug, a scene where Mahiro gives Ishii an origami animal that she made for him ("It's delicate, so be careful," she says), and another where she confesses that she likes a boy all point to the ways in which feeling slips out of even the most perfectly scripted protocols. That's a relief for the kind of society that Family Romance, LLC aims to critique, one where tidy transactions are meant to neuter the messy unpredictability of human interactions but fail. Emotion slips out despite diligent attempts to master it, forcing even those who stand to gain the most from hyper-controlled environments to eventually face the shakiness of their own ground. Ishii, for instance, is forced to reconsider his business model when Mahiro's demand for love starts to affect him. Ishii's fear that he may also have been swindled by actors posing as parents tells us that authors are subjects, too, and that the equation between reality and fantasy is never quite settled.
Cast: Ishii Yuichi, Mahiro, Miki Fujimaki, Umetani Hideyasu, Shun Ishigaki Director: Werner Herzog Screenwriter: Werner Herzog Distributor: MUBI Running Time: 89 min Rating: NR Year: 2019
Review: Force of Nature, Much Like Mel Gibson, Is an Absolute Disaster
The film presents its scattershot cop-movie tropes in earnest, as if, like hurricanes, they were natural, unavoidable phenomena..5
If cancel culture truly had the power its detractors ascribed to it, then Michael Polish's Force of Nature would have probably never starred Mel Gibson. The film stars the one-time Hollywood idol as a trigger-happy retired cop who hurls insults like "cocksucker" at men who inconvenience him. By itself, casting Gibson as the kind of manic, violence-prone cop for which he was once known for playing speaks to the film's defiantly conservative politics, its will to return to a cinematic era when violent white cops were viewed as good cops. But also having Gibson's Ray toss out homophobic slurs almost turns this insipid action flick into a statement about Gibson himself, as if the actor's own record of making such remarks should be viewed as the charmingly impolitic outbursts of an old-fashioned geezer.
Because Ray joins a multiethnic crew of good guys to save the day, we're presumably meant to view his personality flaws as minor, the attributes of a classical cop masculinity that's entered its dotage but ready to be awakened for one last shoot-out with big-city scum. The big city in this case is San Juan, Puerto Rico, which, as the film begins, is under siege by a hurricane. Set almost entirely in a cramped apartment building, Force of Nature is part Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, part The Raid: Redemption (or one of its many clones), attempting but failing to imitate both the former's eccentric take on the clash of extreme personalities and extreme weather and the intensity of the latter's kinetic, close-quarters action.
Despite being the biggest star on the bill, Gibson isn't quite at the center of the narrative, even if the meaningless flash forward that opens Force of Nature, of Ray shooting at two figures in the rain, initially suggests otherwise. Ray plays second fiddle to Emile Hirsch's point-of-view character, Cordillo, the San Juan police officer who refuses to learn a word of Spanish and might as well be wearing a MAGA hat. ("Where is el victim-o?" he asks regarding an incident at a supermarket early in the film.) Cordillo and his new partner, Peña (Stephanie Cayo), are assigned to help move San Juan's residents to shelters, encountering Ray and his daughter, Troy (Kate Bosworth), at the apartment complex where Griffin (Will Catlett), Ray and Troy's newly arrested neighbor, needs to feed his very hungry pet.
For those who've seen Netflix's Tiger King, it will be clear from the 100 pounds of meat that Griffin intends to feed his pet that the man illegally owns some kind of wild cat. And if this offbeat scenario doesn't elicit the laughs it may be aiming for, that's at least in part due to composer Kubilay Uner's score, which applies Wagnerian bombast to nearly every narrative event, as if it could will the paper-thin plot into some kind of significance. The tonal inconsistencies, however, aren't confined to this clash between image and soundtrack. On a visual level, it's difficult to know what to make of the scene in which Griffin's pet, kept entirely off screen, drags Griffin into its pitch-black den and mauls him in front of a not-quite-horrified Cordillo, while a gang that Ray identifies as high-end burglars begins a raid of the complex. Neither funny nor suspenseful, it's a bewildering mash of visual codes.
Led by a ruthless figure known as John the Baptist (David Zayas), the burglars first make an appearance in the second of the film's two prologues, in which John kidnaps an elderly woman to get into her safety deposit box, before executing her as well as his accomplice in plain sight—a scene that somewhat belies Ray's later in-the-know description of the gang as clever plotters. The nature of their interest in Ray, Troy, and Griffin's apartment building is left vague until a late reveal, a nonsensically belated introduction of the story's MacGuffin that contributes to the feeling of arbitrariness that pervades the film.
While Peña and Ray confront John and his crew, Cordillo and Troy go off to find medical supplies, along the way developing a thoroughly underwritten and ill-conceived romance; Troy is abruptly drawn to Cordillo after he shares his history of accidental violence against a former girlfriend (Jasper Polish). Meanwhile, the wounded Griffin is left under the watch of Paul (Jorge Luis Ramos), a German about whom multiple characters ask, in all sincerity, if he's a Nazi, and based solely on his white hair and nationality—certainly not on any arithmetic, as the seventysomething man appears far too young to have been a Nazi Party member.
It would all be material for a parody of cheap-action-flick sensibilities: the preoccupation with Nazism, the hollow romance, the valorization of white male rage barely masked behind a rudimentary psychologism. Unfortunately, Cory M. Miller's screenplay presents all these scattershot cop-movie tropes in earnest, as if, like hurricanes, they were natural, unavoidable phenomena. The truth, of course, is that Force of Nature, much like the consequences of the hurricane that clearly inspired it, is a man-made disaster.
Cast: Emile Hirsch, Mel Gibson, Kate Bosworth, David Zayas, Stephanie Cayo, Will Catlett, Jasper Polish, Jorge Luis Ramos Director: Michael Polish Screenwriter: Cory M. Miller Distributor: Lionsgate Running Time: 91 min Rating: R Year: 2020
Review: John Lewis: Good Trouble Places a Hero in Dialogue with the Past
The film is well-outfitted with telling, thematically rich shards of historical information.3
John Lewis isn't easily rattled. As a nonviolent foot soldier for desegregation and voting rights in the 1960s, he was severely beaten on several occasions. As a U.S. representative since 1987, he's contended with a Republican Party that has tacked steadily rightward. John Lewis: Good Trouble presents another, if much less demanding, test for the congressman: Watching his life unspool around him on three large screens in a darkened D.C. theater.
Dawn Porter's authoritative documentary mixes contemporary and archival material, and the latter includes many rare images, including some that the 80-year-old civil rights pioneer himself had never seen. Porter and her crew decided to show their findings to the Georgia Democrat while simultaneously filming his reactions, and the emotions prompted by this experience are palpable but carefully modulated on his part. Like most successful politicians, Lewis knows how to stay on message, and it's clear from the moments captured here that he long ago decided which of his private feelings would be elements of his public persona.
One example of this is Lewis's story about his early desire to become a preacher. As a boy, he says, he would address the chickens on his sharecropper family's Alabama farm but could never get them to say "amen." Porter places this anecdote early in Good Trouble, amid comments from family members, so it plays like a revelatory glimpse at Lewis's formative years. But the congressman, of course, began constructing his biography long before this particular documentary crew arrived. And Porter acknowledges this fact with a scene, toward the film's end, where Lewis tells the story again during a get-together of former congressional staffers and it becomes clear that everybody in the room already knows it.
Good Trouble, which takes its title from Lewis's advice to young activists to get into "what I call good trouble," is partly a testimonial. It includes snippets of praise from Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi, and Bill and Hillary Clinton, as well as congressional new wavers Rashida Tlaib, Ayanna Pressley, Ilhan Omar, and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who says she wouldn't be where she is today without Lewis's example. Yet the film also recalls moments when Lewis wasn't in perfect sync with his allies, notably the bitter primary for the seat he now holds in Georgia's 5th District. Lewis defeated Julian Bond by winning support of the district's white voters, and by hinting that Bond had a drug problem. Earlier, Lewis had recoiled from the militancy of "Black Power" and lost his position in the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee.
Lewis doesn't say much about these chapters in his life, just as he doesn't reveal a lot when he gives tours of his homes in Atlanta and D.C. A widower, he seems to live alone, though a cat is glimpsed inside the Georgia house at one point. One of the documentary's most personal stories, about his tearful reaction to the news that his great-great-grandfather registered to vote in 1867, is told not by the congressman but by cultural critic Henry Louis Gates Jr., who unveiled the voter card on the show he hosts, Finding Your Roots. Good Trouble is well-outfitted with such telling shards of historical information, and Porter skillfully fits them together, assembling her subject's biography thematically rather than chronologically.
Thus, a section on the young Lewis's battle for African-American suffrage naturally begins in the 1960s before leading to 2014, when a Supreme Court ruling undermined the Voting Rights Act, and ultimately to the 2016 and 2018 elections swayed by voter suppression. The effect is illuminating, if not especially visceral. When the filmmakers arranged this kind of "This Is Your Life" for Lewis, they may not have elicited as much emotion as they'd hoped from the congressman. But they did fashion a microcosm of what the entire Good Trouble shows: the present in dialogue with the past, and a hero in the context of a larger movement.
Director: Dawn Porter
Sheffield Doc/Fest 2020: Mon Amour, Film About a Father Who, & The Kiosk
There's colossal might to a cinematic image achieved through the scrappiest of means.
In the opening narration to his documentary Mon Amour, David Teboul recalls a message that his former lover, Frédéric, sent him in the middle of the night before taking his life: "It's crazy how many things we must invent to keep us from just eating, shitting, and sleeping." The great organizer of these "many things" we invent to convince ourselves to be something more than mere organisms is the belief in love. That, anyway, is the idea that organizes Mon Amour as Teboul travels from his native France to Siberia in order to interview locals about their experiences with love, as a way to mourn the end of his own love story.
What Teboul finds in Siberia is quite disheartening: that love, when it materializes in the figure of the lover, burns fast, and what seemed like a panacea to make our miserable world a livable place turns into the poison we call domesticity. Lovers become enemies we can't get rid of. But the little bit of love that's saved in the ashes of the deflated mirage that once promised to save us is once in a while rekindled through Teboul's prodding as he interviews elderly couples who seem to articulate their feelings for the first time in ages.
The very dispositions of these individuals mimic the abyss between what was once a prospect of a pleasurable life and the crude reality of vodka and violence that replaced it. In the rare moments when someone sings the praises of togetherness, they do so by looking down or away, as if addressing their own partners when speaking about love would mean losing the little bit of honor they have left after putting up with so much betrayal.
Although Teboul interviews young people, too, the strongest portraits are those of the elderly, who, on some level, take advantage of their cinematic moment to air their grievances and, once in a while, admit gratitude. A very old-looking woman in her mid-60s who lost her sight from reading too much Pushkin late at night tells us that any other man would surely have left her long ago, but not her husband, who senses when she's awake in the middle of the night, makes her tea, and tells her that if she dies he will follow her to the grave. Teboul's questions can be refreshingly unexpected. As when he asks the woman what her husband's favorite body part is. When she whispers the answer into his cute little mushroom ears, you sense that it's the closest thing to an "I love you" that he will ever hear. We don't know if his eyes water as she praises his ears, for he looks down and away, before then heart-breakingly saying, "The main thing is not to suffer, and not to make others suffer."
Teboul juxtaposes these portraits with digressions about his simultaneously wonderful and dismal times with Frédéric. These reflections borrow from Hiroshima Mon Amour, which Teboul watched as a child and has haunted him ever since. Frédéric, like Emmanuelle Riva's character in that film, was also from Nevers. In these poetic detours, we see barely lit naked bodies meant to represent Teboul and his ghostly lover, recalling the opening of Alain Resnais's film. It often feels like these autobiographical avowals, plagued by unnecessary classical music, belong to a different film. But they're symbolically important, if not indispensable, as if Teboul was offering a self-implicating gift in exchange for awakening the long dormant intimacies of strangers.
The absence of love, and our insistence on spending our entire lives looking for it anyway, is also at the core of Lynne Sachs's Film About a Father Who. Sheffield Doc/Fest is screening several of Sachs's documentaries on its streaming platform. For Film About a Father Who, Sachs spent over three decades amassing footage (from Super 8 to digital) of her father, an eccentric salesman from Utah who lived a Hugh Hefner kind of life, neglecting his children and hosting a different girlfriend almost every night at his official family home. Lots and lots of them got pregnant, which resulted in Sachs having what feels like hundreds of siblings, whose testimonials she collects here. Some didn't know who their father was until they were adults. Others, in order to protect themselves from so much hurt, still think of him as a kind of godfather.
The title of the film is an obvious play on Film About a Woman Who…, Yvonne Rainer's experimental masterpiece about heteronormativity and monogamy. Rainer's approach is acerbic, perhaps even folkloric, in the sense that her film portrays one specific woman wallowing in the sinking boat of heterosexual coupledom at the same time that it tells the archetypal tale of heterosexual domesticity writ large. Sachs's approach feels a lot less multi-layered. Film About a Father Who is so fast-paced and Sachs's narration so detached, or literal, that it can seem more like an underdeveloped absurdist comedy as random siblings keep turning up out of nowhere to give a brief account of their contradicting feelings toward their father. One of Sachs's many sisters recounts how their father was arrested for possession of weed when they were kids and how she didn't know whether to weep or jump with joy at the time. But the family constellation in Sachs's film is so vast we never spend enough time with any one single relative to see them as something other than an element.
There's a sort of North American pragmatic froideur in the film, also present in self-ethnographic films like Sarah Polley's Stories We Tell, that Rainer queers through stylistic experimentation, and that Teboul completely avoids by surrendering to melancholia with gusto. There isn't much of a point in self-ethnographies where filmmakers protect their vulnerability through intellectualization, or prod their family wounds with a 10-foot pole. At one point in her narration, Sachs tells her audience that Film About a Father Who isn't a portrait but, rather, her attempt to understand "the asymmetry of my conundrum." The film is also shot in such a matter-of-fact manner that you may forget that the father is actually the filmmaker's. It doesn't help that the father himself pleads the fifth on every question and Sachs often directs her camera elsewhere, toward her siblings, instead of letting it linger on the silent and sad remnants of an aging womanizer.
Alexandra Pianelli also captures aging bodies in The Kiosk, but in a very different fashion. Her film was entirely shot on her phone, which was mostly stuck to her head, and without her ever leaving the tiny area behind the cash register of her family's press kiosk in a posh area of Paris. We never see the world outside of Pianelli's field of vision from her counter, and yet it feels like she shows us the entire mechanics of the contemporary world.
The film's subjects are mostly the elderly regulars who seem to show up at the kiosk everyday, for magazines and for Pianelli's company. Pianelli crafts a tale of hopeful pessimism about humans' relationship to otherness by explaining the ecosystem of her trade—namely, the slow decline of the printing industry in France and how the physical circulation of ideas can be the only connection to the world for an aging population that doesn't master digital technology and for whom kiosks play the role of cafés, pubs, or even the analyst's couch.
When filmmaker Pedro Costa said, at this year's International Film Festival Rotterdam, that all one needs to make a great film is "three flowers and a glass of water," not "money, cars, and chicks," this is what he means: the colossal might of the cinematic image achieved through the scrappiest of means. The Kiosk is a master class in filmmaking resourcefulness. Pianelli paints a portrait of our times through simple drawings that she makes of her clients, makeshift props and miniature sets made out of cardboard, and the anachronic gadgets around her workstation: a cassette tape player, an early-19th-century clock, coin holders that bear her great-grandparents' fingerprints, and the very publications that she sells. Pianelli's no-nonsense voiceover glues these elements together with the stunning honesty of the unflappable young Parisian for whom difference is an existential aphrodisiac. There's no affectedness here. It's as if a refined cinematic object accidently emerged on the road to her making an artisanal project for the sheer pleasure of making something out of dead time.
Pianelli humanizes the figure of the press kiosk clerk who, in turn, humanizes the strangers she comes across, from seniors who spend more time with her than with their own children to the Bangladeshi asylum seeker who goes to her for legal help. In one sequence, Pianelli witnesses a homeless man insistently offering his metro-ticket money to a bourgeois lady upset that the machine won't take her credit card. We also learn that the demographics of the clientele per day of the week is contingent on what kinds of publications come out on which day, as well as which niche newspapers are the most anti-Semitic, anti-Arab, or pro-monarchy.
Pianelli lets the serious emerge but doesn't dwell on it. Seriousness often comes wrapped up in quirkiness and play, as when she plays a guessing game with the audience, telling us what a random customer will buy before they open their months, solely based on what they wear, and always she gets it right. Men in suits and ties go for either the newspaper Le Figaro or Les Echos, while the well-coiffed ladies who don fur coats gravitate toward Voici, unless Kate Moss's ass is on the cover of a nearby fashion magazine.
At one point, Pianelli says that she considers herself a seller of dreams. By this she means that each magazine at the kiosk stokes a different fantasy, from a supermodel body to a nation without Arabs. But The Kiosk makes Pianelli a saleswoman of a very different sort. Instead of working as the intermediary between vulnerable denizens and the idealized images that tease and haunt them, she cobbles a much more original fantasy through the bodies they actually have. The kiosk becomes the prototype for the most utopian vision of the public library, or any old space inhabited by a curious mind—an ebullient infinity of poetry and care.
Sheffield Doc/Fest's online platform will be available to all public audiences from June 10—July 10.
Review: My Spy Is a Clumsy Mix of Comedy, Action, and Romance
Peter Segal's film is pulled in so many different directions that it comes to feel slack.1.5
From Arnold Schwarzenneger in Kindergarten Cop to Dwayne Johnson in The Game Plan, pairing an oversized, hyper-masculine actor with a cute and precocious youngster has long been a staple of Hollywood family-friendly entertainment, as well as something of a rite of passage for action stars since the 1990s. And now, with My Spy, it's Dave Bautista's turn to ward off an array of villains with the help of a spunky, three-foot tall sidekick.
To its credit, Peter Segal's film at least has the decency to cop to its derivativeness throughout, with several shots that cheekily poke fun at characters slow-walking away from explosions and one character calling out how a scene feels eerily similar to the famous fight scene near a propeller plane in Raiders of the Lost Ark. But these occasional self-referential nods prove to be only fleeting distractions from how antiquated and unimaginative My Spy is much of the time, and how clumsily it tends to its mixture of comedy, action, and romance.
The film's mismatched duo consists of nine-year-old Sophie (Chloe Colman) and JJ (Bautista), a C.I.A. operative who's spying on the girl and her mother, Kate (Parisa Fitz-Henley), with the help of his tech officer, Bobbi (Kristen Schaal). It's all for a good reason, as Sophie's Uncle Marquez (Greg Bryk) not only recently murdered her father, but is now caught up in some shady Russian dealings that have put Sophie and her mother in danger. But these more nefarious threats fade to the background as soon as the film starts to fixate on Sophie's concerns about being the new girl at school, as well as her blackmailing of JJ, which results in the beefcake being uncomfortably forced into the role of surrogate father.
Given that JJ is still reeling from his prior overseas combat experience and Kate is coping with the fresh challenges of single motherhood and a time-consuming job, My Spy too readily foreshadows their later romantic entanglement. And while Bautista and Fitz-Henley share a charming, easy repartee, and Coleman has impressive comic timing for a child actor, the film is pulled in so many different directions that it comes to feel slack. JJ's efforts alone are split three ways, as he's not only dealing with becoming a long-term father figure to Sophie and partner to Kate, both of whom force him to confront his trauma, but he's also stuck with Bobbi, who hero-worships him and wants to learn all his tricks of the trade.
And that is to say nothing of the half-baked subplot involving the Russian crooks (Vieslav Krystyan and Jean-Michel Nadeau), or the gay couple (Devere Rogers and Noah Dalton Danby) that appears to have stumbled in from the set of a '90s sitcom. Schaal's unrestrained zaniness ensures that a few jokes land here and there, but My Spy is ultimately sunk by a reliance on clichéd character types—the emotionally distant vet, the overworked single mom, the isolated new kid at school—that leaves it feeling like several mildly amusing after-school specials were stitched together with a handful of action scenes tossed in for good measure.
Cast: Dave Bautista, Chloe Coleman, Parisa Fitz-Henley, Kristen Schaal, Greg Bryk, Ken Jeong, Nicola Correia-Damude, Devere Rogers, Noah Dalton Danby Director: Peter Segal Screenwriter: Erich Hoeber, Jon Hoeber Distributor: Amazon Studios Running Time: 101 min Rating: PG-13 Year: 2020
Review: The Audition Grapples with the Consequences of Oppressive Discipline
With great clarity, the film conveys how discipline can be directed both inward and outward.3
A film about the oppressive discipline of classical musicianship, Ina Weisse's The Audition recalls The Piano Teacher, only with the erotic grotesqueries dialed all the way down. Nina Hoss, like Isabelle Huppert in Michael Haneke's film, plays a middle-aged music teacher whose fragile sense of self becomes entwined with a new student. Here, though, the student isn't a peer but a young high school violinist, Alexander (Ilja Monti), and her projections onto him, mercifully, are more about her own perceived failures than any shameful sexual hang-ups. Even if it takes us to some rather dark places, Weisse's spin on the tortured psyche of a professional female musician is more humanistic than Haneke's.
Weisse, a violinist herself, clearly knows the pressures of high-caliber musicianship. The film aptly opens with an audition in which we see the impassive administrators of a Berlin youth conservatory, including Anna (Hoss), evaluating young teens taking turns playing orchestral instruments on stage. Although each of them has prepared multiple pieces to play, the judges consistently cut them off moments through their first piece—an unforgiving intimidation tactic that introduces us to the film's portrait of music education as a regime of oppression.
Anna's cold exterior is momentarily broken by Alexander's audition, which, however much his performance of a difficult piece by Édouard Lalo moves her, fails to fully impress her colleagues. Gradually we learn that Alexander's visible nervousness is part of what draws her to him, as Anna suffers from a nervous condition that led her to retire from an orchestra and become an instructor, and continues to manifest itself in a daily inability to make decisions, as in an early scene in which she repeatedly changes orders and then tables when out to dinner with her husband, Philippe (Simon Abkarian). "Whenever I play, I'm thinking of how I'll fail," she later confesses to Christian (Jens Albinus), a colleague with whom she's having an affair.
Anna takes Alexander on as her student, to prepare him for their school's intermediate exam—also referred to in the dialogue as an audition. The film's German title, Das Vorspiel, has two meanings—"audition" and "prologue"—and most of Weisse and Daphne Carizani's screenplay, in fact, could be seen as a kind of prologue, centered around the series of rehearsals preceding Alexander's big performance for the conservatory, tracking their gradual devolution into punishing routines. Anna begins directing her own self-punishing thoughts onto the vulnerable young boy, at one point forcibly clipping his fingernails.
The filmmakers let us into Anna's life through compact scenes that often open in media res, or end abruptly in the midst of a character's movement. It's a subtle way of communicating the anxiety encroaching on the order of Anna's world. Glimpses of Philippe, a luthier who runs a shop below their apartment, handling her with kids' gloves, and of her son Jonas's (Serafin Mishiev) neutral responses to her presence, come to be emplaced within the atmosphere of alienation that Anna's unraveling sense of discipline has produced. Anna, of course, knows that her insecurities themselves actually lie at the root of the problems in her life—a neurotic feedback loop of inner despair that Hoss captures wordlessly in her performance as a woman who puts on an increasingly fractured stone face for the outside world.
Discipline can be directed both inward and outward, as personal rigor or as interpersonal punitiveness. Anna has been raised in a culture of self-discipline, as a line from her father (Thomas Thieme) intimates. "Your mother always saw her illness as a lack of discipline," he reminds Anna, a recollection that neatly sums up the cultural and possible genetic roots of her issues. The Audition is about the relation between those inward and outward senses of discipline, as the strict self-control that Anna has internalized cracks, turns outward in imperious, borderline violent behavior, and eventually shatters.
It all builds toward a tragic conclusion that may have better served the narrative by letting the consequences of Anna's unglamorous breakdown remain as understated as Hoss's captivating performance. Nevertheless, The Audition captures with clarity an irony at the base of accomplished musical expression: the conflict between interiority and imposed technique, which can be fraught with repressed frustration and resentment.
Cast: Nina Hoss, Simon Abkarian, Jens Albinus, Ilja Monti, Serafin Mischiev, Thomas Thieme Director: Ina Weisse Screenwriter: Ina Weisse, Daphne Carizani Distributor: Strand Releasing Running Time: 90 min Rating: NR Year: 2019
Review: As Political Satire, Irresistible Too Often Pulls Its Punches
Jon Stewart's amiable satire tries to show that you can make light political comedy in the Trump era.2.5
Is it possible to make a light political satire in the Trump era? Jon Stewart's amiable and occasionally quite funny Irresistible makes a credible, if not fully successful, effort to do just that. While not all of the film's punches land, its low-key confidence in its characters, snappy dialogue, and disinterest in pandering to heartland stereotypes (positive or negative) makes for a decently thoughtful, but not exactly groundbreaking, comedy.
After a scene-setting and soul-depressing 2016 election audio montage, the film proper begins in the economically depressed small town of Deerlaken, Wisconsin. Jack (Chris Cooper), a local farmer, makes an impromptu speech at a council meeting in which he rails against Republican Mayor Braun's (Brent Sexton) move to demand IDs for town services. Called "Hero Marine Stands Up for Immigrants" on YouTube, the speech is shown to Gary Zimmer (Steve Carell), a star Democratic consultant who's looking for a way to get himself and his party out of their post-election depression. Calling Jack a guy who makes "Joe the Plumber look like Dukakis in mom jeans," Gary seizes on him as a vessel for winning back the heartland.
Acclimating to life in flyover country is a rough transition for this creature of the Beltway. But while Stewart's screenplay tries to mine some yuks out of a very familiar fish-out-of-water scenario—in one scene, Gary turns the radio from the country station to "Fresh Air" and sighs in relief—it focuses more on Gary's desperate need to turn Jack into a polished and gleaming West Wing hero capable of rallying a demoralized political infrastructure. The stakes get ramped up quickly, particularly once the Republicans realize what Gary is up to and turn this rinky-dink mayoral race into a multi-million-dollar referendum on the nation.
Carell's knack for playing small-minded, explosively anger-prone, and relentlessly clueless men supplies most of Irresistible's laughs early on. Fortunately, just when the appeal of the cringe comedy threatens to wear off, Gary's nemesis appears in the form of a soulless GOP operative, Faith Brewster (Rose Byrne, playing the role as a gleeful mercenary). The mixture of her cynical appetite for battle ("Twenty bucks says I do better with fear than you do with shame"), Gary's frustrated desire for a win, and a strong dose of sexual tension gives their scenes a nearly Preston Sturges-like vibe at times.
Too often, though, the film seems to be pulling its punches. The satire is so heavily focused on the D.C. consultants crashing around the sleepy town of Deerlaken that it seems to forget the actual political differences that brought them there in the first place. Even though the reason for that is ultimately explained in a not entirely satisfactory third-act twist, it leaves a good part of this ostensibly political story feeling somewhat light on substance.
Irresistible will likely be criticized for not taking a harsher tone in the face of incipient fascism, and there's some merit to that critique. The film's both-sidesism is particularly noticeable in one scene where Faith rolls out her Koch brothers-esque billionaire backers, only to have Gary present his own billionaire liberal backer, Elton Chambers (Bill Irwin clowning as an animated-corpse-like octogenarian held upright by a mechanical exoskeleton). But this feels less like Stewart ducking the issue than taking the longer view.
The film doesn't focus its ire on Trump, conservatives, and the like, but rather on the cable news and consultant infrastructure that was accelerating America's collapsing democratic polity long before anybody in a red baseball cap screamed "Lock her up!" and will continue to do so after Trump leaves the White House. This makes sense from Stewart, who went after Glenn Beck back in 2010 not through white-hot invective, but by holding a rally dedicated to polite, level-headed disagreement. These are desperate times, but if Stewart wants to tack toward a more Frank Capra vein, that's just fine. We already have one Adam McKay.
Cast: Steve Carell, Rose Byrne, Chris Cooper, Mackenzie Davis, Topher Grace, Natasha Lyonne, Will Sasso, C.J. Wilson, Brent Sexton, Debra Messing, Bill Irwin Director: Jon Stewart Screenwriter: Jon Stewart Distributor: Focus Features Running Time: 101 min Rating: R Year: 2020


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*1655 (Wittichenau, Upper Lusatia), †1738 (Prague)
Representative of high Baroque , woodcarver and sculptor originally from Upper Lusatia. He came to Prague probably in 1684 and founded there a workshop which produced mainly wooden works of different quality for more then a half of century.Among its products there were also valuable wood carvings, stucco plastic art and stone sculptures. Jäckel brought to Prague as the first one Roman Baroque style: for his sculptures is characteristic kind of soft movement and picturesque draperies. He can be considered as one of the predecessorrs of M.B.Braun.
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ignorant here. I am trying to make a package with an old delphi twain.pas, which is
attached below. Anyway, there are 2 filename string declares listed:
- Code: Select all
TW_SETUPFILEXFER = packed record
FileName: array [0..255] of Char; //<<---------------------------
Format: TW_UINT16; // Any TWFF_ constant
VRefNum: TW_INT16; // Used for Mac only
pTW_SETUPFILEXFER = ^TW_SETUPFILEXFER;
- Code: Select all
FFileName: string
and when it comes time to open said filename:
hF := OpenFile(setup.Filename, ofs, OF_CREATE);
it gives error message
[DCC Error] OopsTwain.pas(859): E2010 Incompatible types: 'PAnsiChar' and 'array[0..255] of Char'
I have tried casting to setup.Filename to PAnsiChar but it doesnt work.
Can someone help me figure this out


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211 members9 Likes
Li has not received any gifts yet
Hey man. I'm coming from NYC to Fort Lauderdale for a week (6/10 - 6/17) and looking to find someone to hit with. you can email me at ilanferdman @ gmail. Let me know if you'll be around.
Thanks man. I'll email you probably next week and Windmill sounds great.
Hi Li,
I'd be very interested in playing some day as we live near and I too and a solid 4.0 player. Currently thought I'm ill so fell free to give your email so that I can contact you when I'm better.
yes, lets play. email me at firstname.lastname@example.com
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Ramble on: Size doesn't matter on Cherry
SIZE: 1252 fin. / 781 unfin. sq. ft.
ADDRESS: 1418 Cherry Avenue
NEIGHBORHOOD: Johnson Village-ish
CURB APPEAL: 5 out of a possible 10
LISTED BY: Patrick Punch of Montague Miller and Co. 293-3079
What the City of Charlottesville lacks in grand old homes with stained-glass windows and parquet floors (think circa 1900s Richmond) it makes up for with cute 1950s ramblers.
Neither opulent nor even very pretty, they represent a post-war ethos of functionality and service. And now that the current fashion in homebuilding stresses grandeur and wasted space once again, viewing one of these small, sensible Cape Cod ramblers is a refreshing treat.
Its location on a corner lot surrounded by an extra-wide swath of grass lends this small house a slightly regal air. Nothing grand, the entrance opens up to a spacious living room sparsely but appealingly decorated, connected on the left side to a semi-formal dining area that leads to the kitchen and to another casual eating spot.
The kitchen, although small, has a stylized New York City loft feel. With exposed cabinets, chrome detailing, and a cork floor (to cushion the feet of the gourmand), it epitomizes the adage, "the difference is in the details." It seemed to be a regular kitchen until we were asked, "Do you notice anything different?" Challenged by the question, we looked curiously around but saw nothing unusual.
It turns out that the uncluttered feel is a result of the absence of a behemoth refrigerator. A small, under-the-counter variety (very common in Europe) is supposed to suffice for urban living, while a larger model in the basement keeps frozen and bulk items.
The partly finished basement has storage galore plus an extra living room-sized space where the current owners' 20-month-old son, Sam, happily rides his bike. A door to the back yard leads to a cement patio and a two-car off-street parking area.
Recent landscape installations include a row of nandinas that will provide eye-candy with their drooping plumes of fiery-red berries in the early wintertime. Beyond them at the edge of the property is a row of wax myrtles that in three or four years will top out at 15 feet and provide a privacy screen.
Back inside, to the right of the front door, a television room, a bedroom, and the only full bath round out the downstairs. In what is technically the attic, behind a door and up a painted white stairwell, the top floor has been fully refurbished into a living space with master bedroom and two smaller spaces (one for Sam). This could almost be considered a separate apartment.
A closet located directly above the main plumbing could easily convert to a bathroom. Before deciding to move, the current owners had a professional estimate done and found that a full bath could be added there for $2,000. Sounds doable, but we wish they'd done it.
Recent renovations include new plumbing, wiring, central air, a dehumidifier, and an air purifier that runs independently of cooling and heating units. The entire interior has been freshly painted in natural hues that add sparkle to an otherwise plain little place.
This is a loved home, one that just no longer fits the current owners' expanding family. The neighborhood is centrally located between downtown and the University, and if the city ever gets around to finishing the sidewalks, it could be a lovely pedestrian thoroughfare.
Even so, as we stood on the front lawn, surveying the lay of the land, the owner was able to identify and give a brief description of all the occupants within a stone's throw from his own house. Truly, a place to call home.


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Water scarcity is one of the main challenges of the twenty-first century. Novel low-cost, bio-based filtration and purification membranes promise increased access to clean water for all. Water use has been growing at two times the price of the populace during the last century. Every 12 months, competition for water resources for ingesting, washing, and sustaining farming and life intensifies. A new project is developing nanomaterials-based water purification membranes for decentralised commercial and domestic water therapy to help relieve the issue. Scientists are designing, developing and testing membrane-based prototypes based on nanocellulose and/or nanochitin, polysaccharides discovered in plants and the exoskeletons of crustaceans. The primary focus is on the removal of toxic chemical compounds such as heavy metal ions, pesticides and fertilisers from contaminated industrial water making use of membranes and membrane modules. The membranes will be evaluated for their suitability for disposal by composting and its effect on environment, at end-of-life. These bio-based functional membranes therefore offer an extremely energy-efficient, cheap, biodegradable, non-toxic and green substrate for water therapy. Using existing industrial processes, the team was able to quickly up-scale manufacturing of nanoparticles (cellulose and chitin nanocrystals and cellulose nanofibres) isolated from bioresources. Nanocellulose and nanochitin have demonstrated satisfactory adsorption of hefty metal ions from water for efficient water purification. Researchers prepared 100 % bio-based membranes from cellulose nanocrystals, cellulose nanofibres and chitin nanocrystals in indigenous type as well as from surface-modified cellulose nanocrystals. Various changes were tested to improve filtration, mechanical properties and adsorption efficiency. The project will assist to recover heavy metals while ensuring high-efficiency decentralised water cleansing, high adsorption prices and high adsorption selectivity. It will additionally feature reuseable antifouling or low fouling areas. The treatment of water toxins will have long-term benefits for individual health and quality of life. This work will lead to brand new products based on green nanotechnology in the form of nanomembranes, filters and adsorbents for water purification that will be much more efficient, cost effective and environment friendly than currently available items. They will offer sustainable solutions for water recycling and elimination, and the recovery of hefty steel ions, fertilisers, medications and pesticides from industrial effluents. The ensuing enhancement in the quality of surface and groundwater, at first in Europe and then at the worldwide level, will have a far-reaching effect on the environment.
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"The National Black Foot Soldier Network deplores violence," says Divine Racial Karma interpreter Hallowed Yclept. "And with the confirmation from the Divine that reparations offender Carter Strange is the incarnation of the unidentified racist in the state's historic Elias Clayton, Elmer Jackson & Isaac McGhie lynching we know now that the young brothers who began witnessing to him were inspired by the immutable and undeniable forces of Divine Racial Karma itself. It is unfortunate that white people's behavior on the planet has brought this kind of retribution against them."
While Carter Strange, his parents and many whites in the local community continue to proclaim the nineteen year old was the victim of an unprovoked attack, Richland County Black Foot Soldiers maintain Strange was a flagrant reparations offender who, apparently, adamantly denied the Holocaust.
"Carter Strange was not an innocent person," Richland County Black Foot Soldier Sterling Dunham is reported as saying in condemnation of the teen.
"While today's white people remain in denial that they are responsible for making restitution for the racially terroristic crimes their forefathers committed against our people and then manipulated their way out of making restitution for, know today that we aren't accepting their ignorance, denial or arguments they present as excuses for the reason restitution has not been made. Oh how we'd hate to look at Carter's broken nose and cracked skull as part of that restitution. For, how wrong would that be?"
South Carolina Yakub Muslims have also reportedly issued a condemnation against Strange and allege that he may have been thinking unacceptable racial epithets that, in a moment of extra sensory perception (ESP) clarity caused by increasing amounts of Ultraviolet Light in the atmosphere, may have been overheard by the youths accused of assaulting him. They are asking that any blacks who heard Strange say or think "nigger" to come forward.
"I don't know about forgiveness," Strange who has reportedly said about his so called unprovoked attackers. Dunham, however, said Strange's inability to forgive his attackers was just fine with him and local and State soldiers. "We don't forgive you motherfuckers for your unrestituted for crimes against us either," Dunham is quoted as saying. Contacts wouldn't confirm whether Dunham asked whether Strange now appreciated the concept of making restitution for racially terroristic crimes against others more now when he looked in the mirror and saw his reflection than before the alleged unprovoked attack.


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San Francisco, CA – September 24, 2008 – Joby, Inc. is pleased to announce the arrival of the Gorillapod Focus™, a unique, bendable tripod engineered to support SLR cameras with larger telephoto lenses or digital video cameras. Designed with professionals and motivated amateurs in mind, the Gorillapod Focus is the biggest, strongest Gorillapod® yet and is the fifth addition to the growing and award-winning Gorillapod family.
The Gorillapod Focus provides the stability of a standard tripod at a fraction of the size and weight – only 1.1 pounds (500g). Sturdy machined aluminum sockets, debuting in an anodized gunmetal finish, offer incredible flexibility while ensuring a rock-solid hold in almost any environment. The Gorillapod Focus uses a stainless steel screw for maximum strength to support an amazing 11 pounds (5kg) of gear. It's shipped with a 3/8" adapter screw in place and can be used with or without a professional tripod head.
Cleverly designed to help capture "hard to get" images like time-lapse, available-light, night-time or long-exposure, the Gorillapod Focus helps photographers refine their imaging skills. Wrap it around a railing, twist it around a tree branch, loop it onto a shopping cart, stand it on a table in the studio, or perch it on a rock during a hike! The possibilities for taking unique images are endless. And, it makes a great travel companion, folding up to fit in most gear bags.
At $149.95, Joby's new Gorillapod Focus offers the same great features and functionality of all Gorillapods. The medium-sized members of the family are the Gorillapod SLR-Zoom for cameras up to 6.6 pounds (3kg) and Gorillapod SLR for cameras up to 1.75 pounds (800g). The lightweight, original Gorillapod supports compact digital cameras up to 11.5 ounces (325g). And, the Go-Go! is an original Gorillapod that comes with clips to attach cell phones, PDAs and music/video players for mobile entertainment on the go.
The Gorillapod debuted in February 2006 and now sells in over 40 countries. The Gorillapod Focus is available online at www.joby.com.