The Adventures Of Philip Trostler Chapter One - In Which Philip Begins To Sporadically Post On Tumblr

It’s ridiculous how badly my generation was robbed when it comes to motion pictures. Watching a movie like “Chinatown” for the first time is an eye-opening experience. It was made in the 1970’s and tells a story that takes place in the 1930’s, but its overall production is timeless. To call Jack Nicholson a “Movie Star” would be putting it mildly. He’s in every scene of this film and in every scene he’s on. He’s not just full of charisma and swagger, he’s not just a handsome model type, he’s an actor to the fullest degree. And the best part is, you can’t tell. Nicholson is Jake Gittes from the moment you see him onscreen. I’ve read that Nicholson in the early 70’s can compete with any actor’s peak and I’d be hard pressed to argue that. Watching Brando in “On The Waterfront” is like watching Pete Rose run out a groundball. He’s talented and hustling like nobody’s business, but the strain is noticable. Nicholson at this period is like frickin’ Sandy Koufax steaming curves past the National League in the early ’60s before his arm gave out. Effortless.

There is no actor today off the top of my head who can compare. Dicaprio has the look of a young Nicholson, but nowhere near the prescence. Not even close. It helps that the script for “Chinatown” is top notch. The story is played out subtlely and the intelligence of the audience is assumed. Polanski shoots the entire movie from Nicholson’s perspective, meaning we find out clues when Gittes does. We don’t hear other characters conversations and when Gittes gets knocked out, we do too. Nicholson plays everything understated too for the most part. That way, when he does blow up or get excited about something, it means much more.

I’ve only seen Faye Dunaway in two movies, “Bonnie & Clyde” and now “Chinatown”. Her character in this was more diffrent than Bonnie Parker than I expected, but she played it just as well. There are little scenes of character development between her and Nicholson which separate movies of this era from today’s average release. There are generic scenes today where you find out items that happened in a character’s past. To me, these usually feel shoehorned into the plot between action scenes and unauthentic. In “Chinatown”, every scene flows, one into another. We barely find anything out about the main character at all, yet he’s not really a mystery to us. We know his personality, what’s important to him, and what he’s trying to do. Nothing else matters. Then we find out whatever he finds out.

There are movies that I like a little more than “Chinatown” like “L.A. Confidential” and “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” that take place in a similar time period as “Chinatown” (1930’s L.A.). However, although I may have my reasons why I like those movies better (Kevin Spacey dies and keeps his eyes open FOREVER, “When I killed your brother, I looked just like THIS!!!”), I believe “Chinatown” is much better at showing that period than any other movie. Within a few minutes of the movie starting, I had forgotten I was watching a period piece and just took for granted that this was 1937 Los Angeles. I don’t know how authentic everything was, but the way it was shot led me to believe everything I was seeing. There are movies today that take place 40 years ago that either try to shoot the footage more “arty” and “flashy” or the color scheme looks wrong, or somehow or another your taken out of the picture. With “Chinatown”, Polanski shot a movie in the 1970’s using 1930’s costumes and props and it worked perfectly. No crazy camera tricks either. There are points where the camera is RIGHT THERE in the scene and that’s all I really need to feel like what I’m watching is real.

It was refreshing to see a movie have no generic feel to it at all, even though it came out 40 years ago. I wish more movies assumed that the core audience was intelligent. I wish more actors were like Nicholson, who plays every line the opposite way you’d expect (in a good way). I wish there were more villains like John Huston, who is so incredibly evil and monstrous in this movie without acting like it at all. I wish there more actresses like Faye Dunaway, who is ten times a better actress than she is beautiful and she is gorgeous. I guess I’ll take what I can get.

1939 is often regarded as Hollywood’s peak year. “Gone With The Wind”, “The Wizard of Oz”, “Mr. Smith Goes To Washington”, and “Stagecoach” among others all were released in that short period of time along with France’s “The Rules of the Game” along as a bonus. Those are all bonafide classics, but I’ve always thought of 1998 as a year filled with top notch entertainment. “Saving Private Ryan”, “Pleasantville”, “The Truman Show”, “There’s Something About Mary”, “Out Of Sight”, “The Big Lebowski”, “Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels”, “Rushmore”, and “Blues Brothers 2000” have all made lasting impressions on me, and that’s not counting the other great 1998 films I haven’t yet watched. I’m aware now that 1998 was the year I started to notice non-Disney films so those 12 months of movies hold a special place in my mind.

“Dark City” was Roger Ebert’s pick for “Best Movie of 1998”, (Siskel’s was “Babe: Pig In The City”, another 1998 classic I haven’t yet seen). It’s also one of the few DVD’s he’s done a commentary track for, indicating his support and love for it. I’ve always been interested in seeing it; I’d only heard that it was similar to “The Matrix”, but better and released earlier. I also dig those mindbending sci-fi thrillers in the vein of “Minority Report”, “Vanilla Sky”, and the 1960’s classic “Seconds” (See Seconds NOW).

Anyway after not only watching “Dark City” for the very first time, but also choosing to indulge in the 11 minute extra “Director’s Cut” for my first taste of the movie, I feel like the case for 1998 being a golden year for cinema has just gotten a little stronger. This movie is a trip. The title is pretty literal, the setting is a “Dark City”, and this dark city is home to some of the most engrossing effects I’ve ever seen. You can keep your Avatar, here director Alex Proyas has buildings grow and shape themselves like organic objects in his 1930’s film noir town. You are thrown right in without a net right from the start as it seems to be a noirish detective story. A man wakes up in a hotel tub with amnesia, next to a dead body. As he struggles to figure out what’s going on, we do too…, but all of a sudden things go kind of crazy and you realize this is a totally different world you’re dealing with. Answers don’t come fast and they don’t come easy. By the end, there is a bit of exposition to fill in some of the blanks that appear, but while that helps answer some questions, it also raises lots more.

As I watched more and more, I realized what made “Dark City” stand out from other similar movies of its time period was its overall feel and design. Proyas was hugely influenced by the silent German expressionistic movies of the early part of the 20th century. The city in this movie is vast and mysterious, and becomes almost terrifying once you see it grow and morph. There is no sun and the constant electrical light adds a lot to the atomsphere. There were times where I was reminded of Terry Gilliam’s “Brazil”, especially during the chase scenes. Thinking your safe, but then realizing you are not where you supposed you were is a terrifying feeling.

There’s a great cast including Rufus Sewell, Jennifer Connolly, Kiefer Sutherland, and William Hurt (who, like Michael Caine, makes any movie better; example: Mr. Brooks). Sewell and Connolly both do fine work, but their characters aren’t very interesting. Hurt is a police detective and no one plays a noble authority figure like William Hurt. He fits perfectly into this mashed up film noirish world. Kiefer Sutherland, in between his roles as the raging a-hole in “Stand By Me” and Jack Bauer is almost unrecognizable as a sort of Quasimodo psych doctor who knows the secrets of the city. He’s really fun to watch and even as his character is somewhat over the top, he manages to underplay that. There’s also a character who’s a former policeman, who’s going crazy because he’s started to realize what wrong with their world. Apparently Proyas was going to base the story around this character, but flipped it to focus on Sewell’s “fugitive” character instead to make it less analytical and more emotional. Well the crazy police guy is also fun to watch and fills his scenes perfectly.

The plot itself is more a story to ponder than to watch. Halfway through I realized I wasn’t that interested in what was happening, I just wanted to find out the answers to what was going on. It also stuck me fascinating just how many “This isn’t what you think it is” stories were produced in the late ’90s-early ’00s period. At various points I was reminded of the inferior “Thirteenth Floor”, “The Truman Show”, and “Vanilla Sky”. There’s also a fantastic “Twilight Zone” episode referenced in “Vanilla Sky” that also falls into this sort of genre. “Shadow Play” with Dennis Weaver, about a guy on death row claiming that the world is only his recurring nightmare he has over and over. As a piece of art, “Dark City” is 5 stars, fantastic. It wasn’t nominated for any Oscars, not even an Art Direction one, which is ridiculous. As a story however, it has its faults, which is why I still love “The Truman Show” and “Pleasantville” much more

I’ve never seen the first “Babe”, the one that was nominated for Best Picture in 1995. I was ten when it came out and a non-animated film about a talking pig did not pique my interest. The sequel that followed in 1998 didn’t register on my radar at all as I figured it would just be more of the same shenanigans. However, “Babe: Pig In The City flopped at the box office and was lambasted by some critics for being too different from its predecessor. Fans were expecting another light romp with their favorite barnyard characters and director George Miller (of Mad Max fame) instead supplied them with a darker, more visually stunning approach. As the film ended up making both Siskel and Ebert’s top ten of 1998 list, even topping Siskel’s, and has now developed a cult following, I decided it was time to forget my biases and watch this underrated film.

“Babe: Pig In The City” is a remarkable achievement. It defies classification as a family film or children’s picture. Obviously the main characters are talking animals, but they live in a world straight out of a Terry Gilliam movie. I can’t stress enough how fantastic this movie is. Pixar fans consistantly tout those films as being made for all ages; that there are jokes subtle enough for the parents, but the kids will love the characters and scenery. “Wall-E” and “Up” have made adults bawl in their theatre seats. Personally, I’ve enjoyed every Pixar film I’ve watched, but none would ever make any top movie list of mine. “Babe: Pig In The City” is the first film I’ve seen in who knows how long that fits those qualifications.

Within ten to twenty minutes I knew I was watching something special. The set of “Metropolis”, the city where Babe and his owner stay, is wonderfully charming, quaint, mysterious, and wild at the same time. It represents all cities, having landmarks as varied as the Statue of Liberty, Sydney’s Opera House, and the Golden Gate Bridge, and the sight of seeing all those buildings and monuments in one realistic setting was mind-blowing. The narrator describes the farm Babe is from as a “little left of the Twentieth Century”. The farm is a beautiful place and the juxtaposition of Babe on the farm and in the city is jarring at first. Then we discover that “Metropolis” has Venitian waterways home to a hotel for talking animals and Mickey Rooney in a clown suit and everything feels a little better.

I don’t know how they made it look like the animals were talking, (a combination of real animals, special effects, and puppets I presume), but the “acting” by the variety of creatures Babe the pig encounters is realistic and engrossing. There are monkeys wearing clothes, including an orangutan named Thelonius who has come to adore his human keeper and perhaps like King Louie, aspires to be human too. The animals’ faces in this movie all carry very realistic human expressions and Thelonius with his combination of wisdom, sadness, and mysteriousness was my favorite character.

There were defintely some dark moments. There is a scene where a character comes close to drowning that reminded me of the scene in the episode of “Lost” where Sayid is forcebly held underwater. What makes the dark scenes in this movie even darker is that unlike a old time Disney cartoon or even computer animated Pixar creation, the animals in this movie are real and lifelike. It’s not like watching Nemo the fish or Ratatouille the rat narrowly escape death. The fact that these are real animals in a real world with real rules with discernable personalities is very affecting for the viewer. I didn’t cry, but some scenes made me feel very anxious and sad. The movie’s also hilarious, with the laugh out loud scenes outnumbering the melancholy ones.

I find it hard to describe just what the tone of “Babe: Pig In The City” was. It’s similar to a lifelike version of those old Warner Brothers and Disney shorts, minus most of the slapstick. It’s one of the few films made for children in the last decade-plus with the same intelligence as those old cartoons from the forties and fifties. It almost felt like a children’s movie that Terry Gilliam or Guillermo Del Toro would create, but there was something about that transcended any sort of description. The combination of the art direction, sets, characters, music (including Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien”, Martin’s “That’s Amore”, and Elvis’ “Are You Lonesome Tonight” sung by high-pitched mice), and script took me away so fully to this world that I can only be in awe of the people behind it. If you’re against the idea of watching a movie like this just like I was, I implore you to give it a look anyway. This is why movies exist.

Billy Fisher is an incredibly relatable young man who lives with his parents, has a boring job at a funeral home, two fiancee’s, and tries to keep himself sane by spending as much time as possible daydreaming about Ambrosia, a perfect world where he is the king, war hero, and all other types of interesting people. He does believe that he has a job waiting for him in London working for a famous comedian as a writer, but first he needs to quit his job and get rid of the fiancee’s he doesn’t want anyways.

I was instantly struck by how easy it was to emphasize with Billy. He knows that he’s better than the situation he’s found himself in and just has to find a way to get out. He uses little fibs to make social situations easier, but these have snowballed into him finding himself with two unappealing fiancee’s. When he seemingly catches a lifeline from comedian Danny Boon, it seems like everything will be easy from then on in. Boon however has never even heard of him and was probably just sending him a polite thank you for his material. It’s a completely accurate representation of what happens when you build something up in your head as being much more important than it is. This setback just kills Fisher inside and might be the thing changes the course of his life forever.

Tom Courtenay made Billy into the most everymanish everyman possible. I constantly thought I was scenes from my life play out on screen, not by what he was doing, but by how he reacted to everything. Here is this young man who just wants to be comfortable, but has sank so deep into the rut that is his average life that he can’t find a way out. The daydream sequences are entertaining to be sure, but the scenes where we see Billy truly react against his life are my favorites. When he is in the graveyard with one of his fiancee’s and he has to lie to keep his facade going, but he becomes so frustrated he almost blows up at her; it’s such a great example of the daily balance one must go through between one’s own needs and society’s. Billy has his own little successes like having a song he wrote be played at the local club, but he is so overcome by the dampers on his life that this seemingly important moment has no effect on him. By the end of this film, I felt like someone had took all my character traits and made a film to mock me with them.

The first time I watched this, I was drained by the ending. I was hoping to see the perfect ending play out as well as what I’d like to happen in my life and then it all slipped away. The second time I watched it, it was even worse because I knew it was coming, and I was really hoping that somehow it would change. The ending involves the most frustrating yet entertaining part of the movie, Liz played by a really attractive Julie Christie. She’s a girl that Billy had a fling or something with sometime before the setting of the movie, she represents what Billy wishes he could be. At her first appearance in the movie, Billy remarks to a friend that “She’s crazy. She’s does anything she’s feels”. We then see her walking carefree past a bunch of shops and then encountering Danny Boon at a store opening ceremony. When she finally meets up with Billy, he’s at the end of his rope. She convinces him to go with her to London where they could live free and pretty much do whatever they wanted. Billy could visit with Danny Boon and try to sell him some jokes. It would be the perfect scenario. He meets up with her at the train station and they board the train. At the last moment, he tells her he wants to grab some milk to bring on the train and we see him agonizing over whether he should go or not. We hear the train leave and when he aimlessly walks after the leaving train we see that his bag is waiting for him on the side of the tracks. He goes home and imagines himself in Ambrosia again. It makes sense, but still fills me with a combination of anger, confusion, and most of all despair. Billy just didn’t have the courage to go after the dreams he constantly pined for, instead choosing to retreat to his boring, yet comfortable home. I would be on that train in a heartbeat with 1960’s Julie Christie.

There’s something about dreaming that keeps you both hopeful and exasperated. Some days I’m lucky enough to wake up early enough to fall lightly back asleep in a way that makes my dreams more lucid and real. The act of day dreaming is constant for me, which is why I can relate so much to characters like Billy. Even when I first started doing improv 2 and a half years ago, I would describe it as just lying and believing your lies. I’m always hoping that the next day will bring along wonderful surprises, but until then I’m stuck with dreaming. This film is at once entertaining, interesting, and sad, but I’m happy it exists since despite being made in another country almost fifty years ago, it’s a pretty accurate reflection of who I am.

I’m an anglophile. I hope to move to England by the time I’m thirty, doing what, I don’t know. I’m looking forward to eating fish & chips seven days a week. But for now I’m content in assuming anything British is better than anything American. That covers television, music, literature, comic books, wrestling, and most especially, actors. I could just point to the cast of the upcoming “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy”, or even (god forbid) the Harry Potter movies, but for this episode of “I write for thirty minutes and this is what comes out”, I’m talking about James Mason and Richard Burton.

Both are actors who fall in the Kirk Douglas category, possibly to an even greater degree. From Mason, I’ve seen only “North By Northwest” and from Burton I’ve seen an amazing four films, “Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf”, “Becket”, “The Spy Who Came In From The Cold”, and “Where Eagles Dare”, all fantastic. But both of them have nestled their way into my pop culture consciousness from the reputation each formed throughout the years and the references made to them in modern day entertainment.

I know the first time I saw James Mason was in “North By Northwest” in my high school film class and I was automatically taken with him (Cary Grant too), but the one major event which made me a Mason fan was the episode of “Mr. Show” with the H.R. Pufenstuf parody, Druggachussets.

I got into “Mr. Show” after seeing an episode late night on Comedy Central sometime around 2004-2005. It was the sketch, “The Bob Lamotta Story” with Bob Odenkirk and Jill Tally portraying mentally retarded parents who leave their son “some beer and frozen peas” for dinner. I’d seen David Cross and Brian Posehn among others on various other things before so I was very intrigued about the show. I went out and bought the complete series on a whim (Actually, what I always forget is that during the first half of the 2000’s, I was a huge Jack Black fan, so him appearing in a few episodes might have had something to do with my interest), and it turned out to be a great decision because the show is awesome. After watching every episode numerous times, I decided to try out the commentaries and it turned out they were possibly funnier than the actual episode which led me to buying the book about the show which was also great. Long story short, through watching, listening, and reading Mr. Show’s output, I found out that during the Druggachussets sketch, Paul F. Tompkins used a James Mason impersonation to voice the Mayor O.D. McCrack, who’s sole line is “As Mayor of the Altered State of Druggachussets, I declare this pizza to be awesome!!”. Loved the voice, began loving the actor.

And though I haven’t seen 99 percent of his output, I’m still entranced by the movies and roles he had. Lolita, based on one of the best books of the twentieth century. Directed by Stanley Kubrick. Peter Sellers has a supporting role in it. Haven’t seen it yet. The Verdict, directed by Sidney Lumet, starring Paul Newman, haven’t seen it yet. The Boys From Brazil, about Nazi clones with Gregory Peck & Laurence Olivier (and by Ira Levin, also writer of Rosemary’s Baby & The Stepford Wives), haven’t seen it. Salem’s Lot, have the book on my shelf, haven’t read it, haven’t seen it. A Star Is Born, where James Mason walks into the sea committing suicide. Watched that clip on youtube, but haven’t seen the movie. There’s something very haunting about that death to me though. Just walking into the sea and having the willpower to let the waves overtake you. And Brutus in Julius Caesar with Marlon Brando & John Giulgud. I saw parts of it, but I was always a Cassius man myself.

James Mason’s voice is the definitive actor’s voice for me. I can’t imagine him being James Mason and working as a builder, or a butcher, or even a lawyer. James Mason’s voice just is. Even more so than Alan Rickman or Jeremy Irons or Laurence Olivier. He also was Sam Neill’s mentor when he was an up and coming actor which makes sense since they kind of look like father and son. I guess I just like knowing there’s an actor out there who’s work I can admire without even watching it. At least then, I don’t have to worry about being disappointed.

Richard Burton falls into the same boat for me. I think the first time I was even aware of him was when Robin Williams’ John Keating does an impression of Burton doing Shakespeare in a kind of derogatory way (Note to self, write about your love of Dead Poets Society in the near future). Then for a while I thought there was one Richard Burton who explored for England in the 19th century, and then reappeared as an actor 50 years later. Then while reading about film history as a youngster I read that Elizabeth Taylor was married eight times, including twice to Richard Burton which sounded pretty damn scandalous to me. Plus they had been involved with one of the costliest flops of all time, Cleopatra.

It wasn’t until watching “Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf” (The title of which for the years before I knew who Virgina Woolf was, confused me) in 12th grade Shakespeare class that my eyes were opened. Here was a Welshman playing the hapless George perfectly. And then I went on a play buying spree in college, where I’d buy ones that I either knew were made into movies or starred actors I liked. That led me to pick up “Becket” while in England the summer of 2006 mainly because I knew Peter O’Toole and Burton starred in the film which I later saw. “Where Eagles Dare” was noted by Quentin Tarantino as being one of the best war-films ever, Clint Eastwood and Richard Burton leading a strike force against a Nazi Castle high in the Bavarian Mountains. And it was great. And “The Spy Who Came In From The Cold” (another title which confused me when I was younger), a spy film a little slow for my taste (I prefer The Good Shepherd), but another notch on the interesting films pantheon of Richard Burton.

And there’s tons more I’d like to see. “Look Back In Anger”, the first of the “Angry Young Man” dramas that came out of England in the 50’s and 60’s starred Burton and paved the way for possibly my favorite movie of all time “Billy Liar”. And he was the original King Arthur in Broadway’s “Camelot”. Like Mason, his voice is definitively actorly. There’s a certain authority surrounding my view of Burton and despite the fact I haven’t seen a ton of his work, he’ll always stand out as being one of the best in my opinion.

These two actors are just two who fall into my “need to see more of” category, but in a way that makes them better in my eyes. Without having actually seen their films, my mind can imagine their greatness without finding out that they possibly can’t meet my expectations. They are part of a class of actor which is rarely found anymore, able on both the screen and stage, with a commanding presence that made them larger than life. When acting could be compared to a sport, these were perennial all-stars. 

I live alone and I like it. Barring a romantic entanglement or a very good friend offering me an open room, I’ll be on my own for the foreseeable future. The privacy afforded me by my studio apartment far outweighs any benefit of having roommates. With a roommate, I tend to get annoyed by many things, but hold them in until they are unleashed in a huge explosion of anger and stupidity that makes me end up looking like the bad one. My last roommates were senior year of college at Eastern Connecticut State University and they sucked.

The year before, as a junior, I was able to room with one of my best friends and two others who were all super clean. I was the messiest of all four of us and even I would rate about a seven on the cleanliness scale I just made up. But by senior year, two graduated and one decided to live off campus at his family’s nearby home, so I was stuck with three new roommates all randomly chosen from the school’s housing lottery.

I felt like Philip Banks when Will Smith showed up at his Bel Air home. But these Will Smiths weren’t hip, funny, and good at rap, but loud, obnoxious, messy, inconsiderate assholes. One of them (who I’ll call Sloth because I can’t remember his actual name and he looked like the freak from the Goonies), was a six-four walking piece of shit who never attended class unless playing “Gears of War” all day in your pajamas while stuffing Cheetos Paws into your mouth is some sort of elective. Sloth decided to stay at school during spring break rather than drive the thirty miles back home to visit his friends and families for a week (although considering his parents probably kept him locked up in the basement with only Baby Ruth’s to eat, maybe you can’t blame him). When I got back a week later, I found the toilet had developed a golden sheen stemming from the thin layer of dry urine that now coated it. Sloth denied having anything to do with the now disgusting bathroom, despite being the only one around for a whole week.

Sloth is also the only person I’ve ever had to call 911 for. As I was getting ready to leave for “Oklahoma” rehearsal, Sloth started to moan and bang on my door, yelling that he was blind. Opening my door, it was obvious he could see me, but because I’m a caring individual I asked him what was wrong. Apparently he had just woken up from a mid-afternoon nap and was afraid his eyes weren’t working properly. I asked him what he had done the night before. He replied “Drinking”. I suggested that perhaps he was hung over or dehydrated, but he wasn’t having any of that. It was hard to get any real information from Sloth because he was literally acting like a five year old who wasn’t allowed to start kindergarten yet because he hadn’t learned enough words.

Eventually he begged me to call 911, so I did. My heart was racing; Was my roommate dying? Sloth was kind enough to loudly moan “I’m blind” in the background while the operator listened to me try to explain the situation. Fifteen minutes or so later, the EMT’s showed up and tried to get Sloth to go with them to the hospital, but all of a sudden he was all better. The EMT’s begged him to at least come down to get checked out, but Sloth insisted he was fine. I started to leave for my rehearsal after they departed, but Sloth stopped me and exclaimed that the pain was back and that I needed to drive him to the hospital. By this point I was past being sympathetic and refused since I wasn’t about to spend hours missing my rehearsal to stay with him at the hospital a half mile away. We compromised and I agreed to follow him in my car while he drove there, “just in case he passed out while driving”. When I returned from my rehearsal later that night, he was goofing around with the other roommates like nothing happened. Apparently he got a diagnosis of dehydration and a glass of water fixed him right up.

Another roommate was Saul, a guy I sorta knew already because while he wasn’t an actor, he was Puerto Rican so he was cast as a Puerto Rican in a play the year before since there were no Puerto Ricans in the theatre department. I figured he was a good guy, but soon problems started. He was loud and didn’t seem to understand how thin the walls were. I regularly had to knock on his door to ask him to stop singing Alicia Keys’ “No One”. He also regularly had people over late at night while I was either doing work or trying to sleep. It was one thing to have to ask for some common courtesy once or twice, but this was a constant thing. I also bought cable and kept a box in my room to watch television. I allowed my roommates to siphon off the cable to their own TV’s as long as we split the bill equally. It was never more than sixty bucks a month which between the four of us mean that fifteen bucks would be the most it would cost. For the first few months it was fine. But by the beginning of second semester, each of them owed about 2-3 months rent. I don’t like confrontations so I’d politely remind them that money was owed, but it got to the point where I started to get all passive aggressive about it and began leaving reminder notes under their room doors.

Saul and the others were also disgustingly dirty. If I was a 7, they were all -3’s. I didn’t spend that much time in the dorm, and when I did I spent it all in my own room. In my absence, the dorm was a fucking pigsty. Eventually we failed a room inspection by the floor’s R.A. and we were required to clean everything. Knowing that I’d have more fun hitting myself in the head with a 2x4 than ask the three of them to do their fair share, I volunteered to take the bathroom myself, if they got the rest.

Frustrated and annoyed about my situation, I spent the better part of an hour going through a whole paper towel roll to clean the urine and mystery stains off the bathroom floor. Tired, and looking for more cleaning products, I noticed some sponges on the kitchen sink and grabbed one to wipe down the bathroom. When I was done, it was pristine. Unthinking, I dropped the sponge back on the sink on my way out.

A few weeks later, Saul was suffering from a cold and requested me for a room meeting. Thinking he was going to pay me for the cable bill, I was happy to acquiesce. Instead Saul explained that he noticed the sponge he used to clean his dishes smelled decidedly of urine and that now he had a sore throat. I did everything I could not to laugh out loud, and I immediately apologized for my absent-mindedness. I felt extremely guilty about my unhygienic actions, but it was hard to feel totally sorry after living a personal version of Satre’s “No Exit” the past six months. I let slip a crack about how it considering how horrible he left the bathroom, it was probably his own pee on the sponge. He got angry. I said “Now we’re equal since you all owe me 60 bucks for cable anyway.” Then shit hit the fan.

Saul explained how the three of them had quietly decided not to pay me anymore months earlier because they thought I was cheating them. Apparently, they assumed I was getting HBO and a bunch of pay channels which hiked up the monthly bill cost and were only available on my TV since I had the box. I tried to explain how that wasn’t true and it wasn’t up to them to decide that they’d just get free cable for four months in a row, but it was like talking to a stupid wall. I lost it and picked up the common room’s chair and tossed it about two feet since it was large and unwieldy. I dragged them to my room and showed them that the only thing I had that they didn’t was a basic remote control, but they were having none of it. Full of rage I tore their connectors out of my cable box and declared that I was taking it back and that no one would enjoy the sweet nectar of television.

Luckily, there were only a few more weeks left of the school year by this point and everyone was focused on exams, other than Sloth who continued to play “Gears of War” and eat Cheetos 24/7. The only other interaction I had with them was when I moved my stuff out at the end of the year while they sat watching me like Hitchcock’s “The Birds”. Pee sponge aside (I fully admit I was in the wrong there), I regret never just calling them out on their incredible bullshit, but I always assumed things would just work themselves out. I haven’t had an opportunity for a long-term roommate in the years since, but like a survivor of a plane crash would regret getting in the air again, I’m hoping I won’t have to share a living space anytime soon.

This is a story about nothing.

Before I was old enough to drive, walking to someplace like Burger King or Wendy’s with my buddies was a common activity. After I got my license, there was no restaurant too far to eat at, but the small amount of exercise involved in getting there vanished. I did try to go for a walk around my neighborhood a few times a week, but it was never regular. That’s why the night my friend Mike and I walked for four hours to nowhere, getting lost, is so bizarre.

I can’t even remember why we started walking. Like the song “The Way” we just got up and left my house sometime in the late afternoon. I think we stopped at a gas station first and picked up some soda and maybe a snack or something and then we were off. We were obviously bored and not interested in hitting up Taco Bell yet again so we set off on the way towards “Mohegan Sun”, the casino a few miles away from my house.

We walked past the golf course and skating rink and after 20-30 minutes or so, we were already farther than I’d ever been on foot from my house. Our adventurous spirit began to sink in and we mutually agreed to just walk and see where we ended up. I’m going to have to be very loose with the details on this story, because although I can remember the general happenings, I can’t remember what year this was (although I’m pretty sure it was after high school). Turning away from the road to “Mohegan Sun”, we headed up into a residential neighborhood with the road spiraling upwards. Getting to the top, we reached a dead end street, but being on foot we were able to circumvent the blockade of the row of bushes at the end and continue on.

We found ourselves in another neighborhood, one that couldn’t have been more than ten minutes from my house, but was strange and unfamiliar to me. It was probably the most “picket fence” neighborhood I’d ever seen in Norwich. The houses were set up higher than the street and looking up, we could see a group of high school kids having a party or barbecue. This is when I started to get weirded out. I couldn’t recognize any of the kids and as far as I could tell, Mike and I had entered some alternate dimension where this neighborhood existed. I’m pretty sure Mike knew exactly where we were, but that didn’t stop me from speculating about how me may have fallen into a portal like “Sliders”.

We reached a bridge overlooking the highway and proceeded to chuck our leftover soda cans off of it. We ran as fast as we could into the woods and hid for a few minutes in case anyone saw us committing this illegal and dangerous act. Mike thought he may have seen his mother’s car driving down the highway as we threw the soda off it, and was anxiously waiting to see if he had been caught. We eventually got up and started hiking through the woods to see what we could find. I remember hitting the edge of the woods and winding up on the side of a highway, which again I didn’t recognize.

It started to get dark and we now found ourselves in another residential neighborhood, having walked for about two hours at this point. It was getting harder to see and I started to feel pangs of homesickness. It’s a very unnerving feeling not knowing exactly where you are, especially as night began. I’m not sure if we had cell phones at this point. I’m sure we each had them, but I don’t remember using them at all. It’s possible my parents called and asked what we were up to and I just said hanging out, but I honestly can’t remember.

We eventually realized we had walked so far we couldn’t figure out how to get home so we flagged down a passing pick up truck and asked him to get us back to a main street. Hopping in and lying down on the back of the truck as he sped us away, I was in awe of the stars flying by quickly above my head. Despite nothing really happening, the night had been incredibly surreal, but was not yet over. The coolest thing about this was I’d explored the unknown with my best friend for a few hours and was able to share this experience.

The driver stopped at New London Turnpike and let us off. Mike realized we were right down the street from the St. Bernard School which I had been to before to see my sister in some dance recitals, but couldn’t place the location in my mind. We were in Montville, about 5 miles away from our starting location, and even counting the mile or whatever the driver took as at the end, it was a pretty impressive distance we covered just strolling around. Now, I think I remember using a payphone to call my mom to pick us up, but I guess it’s possible we used a cell phone.

As you can see, there was nothing much that happened during this 4-5 hour endeavor, but it was the journey itself that made that night memorable. I’ve never really camped, and this was the closest I’d been to just randomly exploring. I’m sure Mike will remember details I’ve forgotten and probably correct me on random stuff as well, but my lasting impression of the night is just a sense of accomplishment of having a strange, good time without spending any money and getting some exercise as well. Makes me wish I’d kept a journal back then to remember exactly how I felt and not just the aura I’ve remembered from it.

Because I’ve been in a state where in order to leave you need to drive four hours for the past two years, I’ve forgotten how often I used to just explore Connecticut alone. Especially during the year I took off between Drexel University and Eastern Connecticut State University and the one after I graduated and was still living at home, I used to just drive around if I got bored. For about six months or so in 2004 I delivered papers before dawn, driving all around old Norwichtown and although it was ridiculous having to stay up so late, there was an air of peacefulness surrounding the quiet atmosphere I was able to experience alone. Later on, I’d drive down the highway for twenty exits or so and then get off at a random town, pull up to a lake and read a book by myself. When I substitute taught in 2008/2009, sometimes I’d leave at the end of the school day and head to Mohegan Park and listen to some music or a radio show. There was an innate sense of freedom and discovery in all of these situations which was best exemplified in the walk Mike and I had. I do miss being able to get on a highway without worrying about gridlocked traffic, but sometime soon I’ll probably head up north for a day or two and explore the redwoods and wine country. There’s so much in this world I need to see and I only hope that I’m able to before I die.

The first time I became aware of Kirk Douglas was from the clip of “20,000 Leagues Under The Sea” shown on “The Best Of Disney: 50 Years Of Magic” taped off the TV in 1991. He’s dressed up in a sailor’s outfit singing “A Whale Of A Tale” to an audience of other seamen. Or it might have been from a clip of “The Very Best Of The Ed Sullivan Show”, also taped off TV in 1991, where Frank Gorshin (TV’s The Riddler) does an impression of Douglas, clenching his jaw and yelling “I have to get my teeth fixed”. I had no idea what he was referencing at the age of 6, and I still don’t, but today, Kirk Douglas IS the star of the 1950’s.

I’ve only seen two of his movies and I had seen none until a year or so ago. First, “Ace In The Hole”, the utterly depressing 1951 Billy Wilder film about a newsman who turns a man trapped in a collapsed mine into the story of the century, but at the cost of delaying help and costing the man his life. It’s one of those films made sixty years ago that comments on a problem that has only gotten worse; same with “Network”. Douglas is a force in this movie, not a likable bone in his body, an original anti-hero, who still pulls your attention despite how realistically callous he is. I saw it during a run of Billy Wilder films I made myself finally watch and it blew my mind how great Douglas was in his prime.

For 25 years of my life, he was just a name to me; his complete ouvre was part of a barren wasteland of films I hadn’t seen. And they all sounded interesting, hell they still sound interesting. Playing Van Gogh in “Lust For Life”, going toe to toe with Robert Mitchum in “Out Of The Past”, yelling “I Am Spartacus” in “Spartacus”, he appeals to me. Most of those fifties actors do. Each performance is different and fantastic in its own way, but there is still a huge amount of star power there. Today, we’ll see DiCaprio give one fantastic, realistic performance after another, but he (to me at least) comes across as an actor. Most of them do, today. Douglas and guys like John Wayne had an aura about them that transcended every part they did. Some might find that distracting, but to me it just enhances the legend of who they were. They have a calling card of personality quirks and are given free reign to apply them to every part they do. No method, no extravagant weight gain or weight loss, they played themselves as different characters instead of the characters as themselves. And I admire them for that.

The other Douglas film I’ve seen is “Paths Of Glory”, his first Kubrick film, and according to David Simon, the inspiration for “The Wire”. Again, another devastating fifties film about the faults of man that are still being felt today. He’s the opposite of his character from “Ace In The Hole”, a wonderful military man who cares for his soldiers, but just like the other film, he loses in the end. There’s an intensity Douglas brought to the two roles I’ve seen him in that almost seem more realistic to me in spite of the air of theatricality surrounding them. There’s a scene of Matt Damon in the trailer (and presumably the movie) of Contagion where he finds out his wife is dead and he (very realistically) conveys a combination of disbelief, shock, anger, and sadness. It’s incredibly well done, but it’s off-putting to me. As a wannabe actor, the admiration of his technique takes me out of the moment. I understand that might be an incredibly bizarre thing to say, but that’s just me. I watch Douglas convey the same emotions and instead of thinking “Jeez, his acting is 10000x better than I could ever be”, I think “Man, Kirk Douglas has incredible screen presence”.

Apparently, the two movies of his I’ve seen are the two top ranked at IMDB, so at least I started at the top, but I have to make myself see them all someday. When I did “True West” as my senior project in college, my character had a monologue about “Lonely Are The Brave”, an underrated (possibly, I haven’t seen it) modern western that was Douglas’ personal favorite of all his movies. I should have watched it for the performance, but I’m lazy and didn’t. Douglas did seven movies with Burt Lancaster who is another quintessential fifties star who’s films I’ve seen none of, although the book “Elmer Gantry” sits unread on my book shelf. 

The feeling I get from films I haven’t seen mean almost as much to me as the ones I have. Great ones at least. And it’s actually incredibly hard for me to watch older films despite loving ninety percent of those I do, because it depresses me. That’s a Hollywood that I’ll never experience, they are time capsules of my perfect world. I am not enamored with the current Hollywood, despite living there (perhaps because I live there), and that which you do not have is always more enticing than that which you do.

I’ll probably pop back in with another rambling write up on my feelings on another actor I haven’t seen enough of in a day or two. I’m thinking Richard Burton or James Mason, two Brits who like Douglas, I became enamored with through others’ impressions of. And I realized writing this up that many of my opinions of things are based on things as slight as seeing Douglas in a clip from “20,000 Leagues” when I was six and although that means my opinions might be uninformed, I like them because they are my opinions.