"Lost" Not Even Pretending To Hide Metaphors Anymore
Still, a solid episode. Always good to spend time with Henry Ben:
I'm a twentysomething white male with ambitions to be a professional film critic and generally spend my days getting paid to watch movies and write about it. A compulsive reader and stubborn cineaste, I take an often contrary stance to my more fundamentalist peers and upbringing by celebrating the pursuit of the good, and the Good, in life, love, art and film. If you watched enough episodes of certain TV shows — for starters, "The Hungry and the Hunted," "The Cut Man Cometh," "The Body," "The Zeppo," "Waiting in the Wings," "Out of Gas," "April Is the Cruelest Month," "20 Hours in America," "Colonial Day," "An Echolls Family Christmas," "Look Who's Stalking," "The Garage Door," "Charlie Gets Crippled," "Wind Sprints," and "Corner Boys" — you would understand me completely, and you'd also realize that much of my worldview and philosophical insights are heavily influenced by fictional works/programs, and many of the good things I've said in my life are just a regurgitation of someone else's imaginings, or at any rate a heartfelt attempt to interpret them. I guess I was made to be a film critic.
Still, a solid episode. Always good to spend time with Henry Ben:
Some solid moments in this week's two-part episode, but even so, I think the show is nearing the end of its creative life. And that's okay.
This show is as much an endurance test for the viewers as the contestants. Every step of the process is simultaneously made to feel like the biggest moment in the season and just another step on the road to the real drama. It's everywhere and nowhere. I'm looking forward to May.
"American Idol," Week Eight: Top 10 Guys Perform
I know it feels like this blog is turning into a giant repository for "Lost" and "American Idol" recaps, but I swear, things will change soon. I'll be at South by Southwest, and have some other pieces kicking around. But for now, well, I'm up to my eyes in TV recaps. I hope you like them, and choose to stick around:
This week sees the beginning of "American Idol" proper, with live performance shows and elimination episodes. It's late February; the season runs into May. I have no idea how I will make it.
"American Idol," Week Seven: Top 12 Girls Perform
Kind of. Anyway, a fun episode.

A solid episode. Always good to see the real Locke tooling around again:
"American Idol" is now wrapping up its Hollywood Week in typically slow fashion. By the end of this season, I'll be exhausted from all the fake-outs and postponed reveals.
I'm fascinated by the fact that The Beatles' albums were often released in dramatically chopped and repackaged ways to manufacture more content in the United States. I know that even today, albums can have slight changes between their U.K. and U.S. versions, but this seems like an extreme that hasn't been matched in years. The Beatles' U.S. records feel like history from an alternate universe, and I'm now hooked on collecting them.
It's hard to pick a favorite, but "is lady gaga a man" is right up there.
Questions? Comments? Complaints?
Drop 'em in the mailbag.
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"The critic is the only independent source of information. The rest is advertising."
— Pauline Kael
"Film lovers are sick people."
— Francois Truffaut
"I hope I strike a blow for chubby bald men everywhere. I hope they rise like an army."
— Paul Giamatti, quoted in the Los Angeles Times, 12/14/04
"Let others praise ancient times, I am glad I was born in these."
— Ovid
Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?
O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.
— Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe
Conservatives are not necessarily stupid, but most stupid people are conservatives.
— John Stuart Mill
We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget.
— G.K. Chesterton
We were, for the briefest of moments, something greater than the sum of our uncertain parts; we were youth itself, in all its painful glory and sharp joy.
— Me, Fall 2003
Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town.
— Ask the Dust, John Fante