Queue Tips: Herbie Verstenck

There are many things I would have done differently with "The Beaver", directed by Jodie Foster, who should probably just stick to acting.  Firstly, instead of calling him Walter Black, I would have named Mel Gibson's character as Herbie Verstenck.  Also, I wouldn't have picked the director of ambitious projects like "The Passion of the Christ" and "Apocalypto" for fear of being undermined.  However, Forster seems to really like him, based on how she talks about him in the audio commentary.

Secondly, the film starts with Walter being deeply depressed.  He's got a great job and a family, but he's not happy.  So why should I care if the guy is sad?  And why should the filmmakers bother explaining that minor detail?  I don't see any reason why I should root for the character at all, and I don't feel sorry for him.  I was glad when he gets kicked out by his wife Meredith, played by Foster.

There were so many missed opportunities with the introduction of the Beaver.  When Walter finds him in the dumpster, he's just laying there in plain sight.  And then Walter just picks it up.  Why?  I guess, just because.  And he does so right after throwing away some of his belongings, which apparently, had been important enough that they were the things he chose to take when his wife kicked him out.

When the Beaver starts talking, Foster makes sure the audience knows right away that it is Walter moving its mouth and providing the voice.  I think it would have been better to have some ambiguity at first, especially when the film begins with narration by the Beaver's voice.  They could have tried a quirky approach with the puppet seemingly coming to life before revealing that it's Walter controlling it.  Better yet, since this happens after a television falls on his head after a failed suicide attempt, just have Walter conversing with himself in different voices, and then cut to a wider shot where you see him animating the puppet.

When Meredith comes home to find Walter with their young son Henry, they could have showed the audience how great a father Walter could be as the two of them play with and talk to the Beaver.  As his wife, Meredith may be concerned that Walter has returned, but we see her being happy for their son.  And then it becomes apparent her husband is using the Beaver for more than just play, which confirms to her that he really is nuts.

Ditto for when their teenage son Porter comes home.

As for Porter, he gets approached by the popular, beautiful and smart Norah to write her graduation speech for her.  Now, she is a 4.0 student, yet she can't muster enough effort come up with something on her own.  Gee, I wonder if the two of them will end up together in the end.  Maybe she only wanted an excuse to get to know him.  Even then, it still seems ludicrous that she wouldn't come up with something else to say to him other than the fact that he's just really good at it.

It would have been more interesting if she had just been so busy with so many other things that she just didn't want to bother with the speech.  Maybe she didn't seek him out and hand him a note to rendezvous, but instead casually asked him if he would be interested.  And maybe he bugs her because he needs to get to know her to ghost write properly.  Instead, it's just like, "Hey, write my paper."  "Okay.  But I need to get to know you."  "Okay.  Come to my house and I'll reveal all my family secrets even though that probably won't be pertinent to a graduation speech that will be delivered in front of everybody at the high school."  "Okay."

And then one day Walter comes to work with a talking beaver puppet.  And everybody there is dumbfounded, confused.  Even though it is a freaking toy company.  And Walter is the boss.  So the boss of a toy company comes in with a talking beaver puppet, and the underlings are judgemental instead of curious, interested, amused.

Walter hands out cards to everyone explaining why he talks to his beaver.  So the guy who has just tried to kill himself apparently cares enough about other people's opinion that the types up index cards to explain his behavior.

So much about this film seems to rely on the simple premise of a guy talking to his beaver.  There's not much else apart from that.  The Beaver itself doesn't exactly have a lot of personality either.  It speaks in cockney, for some reason.  But accent alone is not character.

Beavers are mammals who surround themselves in water for safety.  They constantly build and rebuild their homes.  They seem to always be working.  They are monogamous.  "Beaver" is also slang for vagina, as I'm sure you already know.  A vagina is a pussy, which is a derogatory term for a coward. 
For a story about a man struggling with his homelife and his career, the filmmakers failed to make a lot of these connections.

Producer Steve Golin was involved with "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "Being John Malkovich".  I find that very interesting because I wonder what Michel Gondry or Spike Jonze could have done with this story, not that it was a great screenplay to begin with.  Apparently, Steve Carrell and Jim Carrey were considered for the role of Walter, but I don't know if that would have made a big difference if it had been either of them instead of Gibson.  According to Wikipedia:

The film's director Foster opined that the film did not do well with American audiences because it was a comedy-drama and “And very often Americans are not comfortable with (that).”

I would say that the film did not do well because it was intended to be a comedy-drama and Jodie Foster is not exactly comfortable with that, despite what she might think.  When I think of comedy, Jodie Foster is not the first name that comes to mind.  She mentions in the commentary that there was an earlier draft of the script which was of a funnier tone, but they cut out some parts of it.  Time and again, she keeps mentioning editing out some of the more comic elements.  It's amazing how one can lose focus.  They probably kept chipping away and chipping away at a screenplay they initially loved until it became what it is.

There are many who would hear the term "beaver" and immediately chuckle and laugh, but the film "The Beaver" is really not very funny.

I don't recommend putting this on your queue if you are looking for laughs.  Instead, watch "Unhappily Ever After", a sit-com about a nutty dad who lives with a talking bunny.  It's not available on Netflix (another reason to unsubscribe), but you can probably find episodes on YouTube.  Also, Nikki Cox is in it.

In conclusion, forget "The Beaver" and get some Cox.


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Commuter Illiterate: Premature evacuation.

I generally like it when passengers get off the train.  It leaves more space for the rest of the riders.  It is especially beneficial when the alighting patron happens to be seated.  It gives another person a chance to get off their feet.

What I don't like is when, halfway through to the next station, a passenger decides that it is now the proper time for them to arise.  So when you have a packed train car, the standing patrons end up with even less room because someone is too impatient to wait until the train actually arrives before standing up.  So you end up with uncomfortable people put in even more awkward position, and all the while there is an empty seat right in front of them.

Sometimes the passengers get to witness a funny little dance as one of the standees make their way to the empty seat as the other arises.  Or sometimes two will approach at the same time, and either one is too quick for the other, or one will yield realizing the other wanted it as well.  Sometimes no one will take it and after a moment, someone will look around to the left, then to the right, and if the coast is apparently clear, take the seat.

But why do people get up so quickly sometimes?  It could be paranoia, some kind of fear that the train doors will open and close before they can exit.  I've never actually seen that happen though.  And most instances of premature evacuation that I witness occur during rush hour, a time when most of the riders are daily commuters, so most of them must know that there should be enough time for you to get out.

The best guess as to the reason would really be impatience.  I see this at the end of the line, at 33rd Street in the morning or at Journal Square in the afternoon.  It's a pretty good assumption that everyone will be let out, yet by the time the train approaches the station, almost everybody is on their feet and crowding around the doors.

Impatience.  It's the same reason why people can't wait to let other people off before entering the car.  Then they go for a mad dash to the empty seats.  And then halfway to their stations, they just end up abandoning their seats anyway.


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Commuter Illiterate: Conduct yourself.

Not only does the PATH train have signal problems on the tracks sometimes, but even when they are running smoothly, there can still be communication issues.  What do I mean by this?  Well, the conductors making announcements can sometimes send mixed messages.

On one day, the train gets to a station and as the riders get on, the conductor will say, "There is another train right behind us."  Or, "There will be another train in five minutes."  In other words, stop trying to board the train.

But then on another day, the conductor will say, "Step all the way into the train."  In other words, keep pushing forward.  Keep packing them in.

In the first instance, a train comes to the station packed.  A passenger can wait for the next train.  But then that next train could be just as packed, and you just might hear the same message again.  Or the train doesn't actually get there in five minutes.

In the second scenario, a train comes to the station and the conductor basically insists that there is plenty of space.  He announces to the ones already on board to step in, and it encourages the ones outside to move in.  That's fine if there actually is room.  But on many occasions, it's already packed to capacity but more and more people keep coming because the conductor leads them to believe there is more space.

So when conductors make these announcements, how do they decide?  Unless they are walking from one end of the train to another, they don't know the situations in each car.  Are they following orders from a dispatcher?  Is there someone who's aware of the big picture?  Most likely not.

Here is an example to illustrate how unaware the conductors could be.  One morning at Journal Square, which is the starting point of the route, the train pulls up and only the first three cars' doors open.  Those are boarded while the rest of us at the other cars are standing by the closed doors, waiting for them to open.  After a few minutes, all the doors close and the train prepares to pull out.

Collectively, we all go, "Huh?"  And then the conductor makes this announcement, "Please step back from the edge of the platform."  For our safety, of course.  Never mind the fact that you were the ones who put us in danger in the first place by never opening the doors and having the train move.

Nobody's perfect of course, but it's amazing that this conductor never put two and two together.  The train is departing, yet the station is still crowded, so much so that he is compelled to make an announcement.  The light bulb never went off over his head.

This is why I don't like these announcements.  When conductors insinuate that there is either enough room or not enough room, they probably mean well, but they are not speaking for themselves.  Riders will generally make room when there is space.  And riders will generally wait for the next one only if they feel like it, regardless of whether there's an announcement about another train being immediately behind.



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Queue Tips: Winning

When I first saw the internet ads for "Win Win", I thought it was another one of those teen movies because it shows Paul Giamatti and a teenage boy sitting by the bleachers.  So I expected it to be more like "Superbad" or "Sex Drive" or "Adventureland" or "Charlie Bartlett", and so on and so forth.  It actually turned out to be pretty different.

When I found out Thomas McCarthy was the director, I immediately put it on the queue.  The film shares some of the same themes from his previous movies, specifically about seemingly unlikely friendships.  However, "Win Win" has a lighter mood than "The Station Agent" or "The Visitor". 

There are some silly moments and some punch lines that the first two films didn't really have.  Overall, though, it has the same McCarthy feel, like a foreign film set in America.  Thomas employs the same cinematographer (Oliver Bokelberg) and editor (Tom McArdle).

I guess it's true what they say.  Don't judge a film by its poster.  Actually, wait.  Shouldn't you judge a film by the poster, and a book by its cover?  Aren't the outsides of these things designed to be representative of the content?  Don't they pay people for that?


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Memory Gland: Thirty years ago.

Thirty years ago, I turned two years old.  Now, I'm a father of a two-year-old.  That's just crazy.


The only memories I have from that time period can be triggered by the handful of pictures that I have from then.  Meanwhile, I have thousands of pictures of my kid now, as well as dozens of hours of video.  He watches himself on DVD sometimes and smiles heartily when he sees himself having fun.

We didn't have many pictures growing up.  I guess processing and developing film was costly.  In fact, it's possible we didn't even have a camera and that we only borrowed it on special occasions.  Perhaps our earliest family picture was taken at a photo studio when I was about two years old, according to the scribbled note on the back of the print.  There is also a solo of me picture of me wearing my best outfit.

It was probably my only outfit, actually.  There's another picture of me in it when apparently my aunt's family came to visit.  That must have been the reason why it was deemed a picture-taking occasion.  There was one of me, my two brothers and our cousin together.  And then there's another one of just me and her, being that we were about the same age.  She had on her beautiful white dress, and I had my polo shirt, a pair of pants with a cat stylishly stitched in front.  I had my one hand on the buttons of my shirt because I wasn't used to wearing them.

And shoes.  It was definitely a special occasion if I was wearing shoes.  I seldom wore them as a child.  I always wore slippers, sometimes even when our grade school teachers scolded us for not being properly dressed.  My son, meanwhile, is on his fifth pair already.  At least.  It could actually be around the seventh or tenth pair, actually.  Kids' feet grow so fast.

I probably ran around naked most of the time.  As a matter of fact, there is a picture of me without a shirt and another without pants.  As for my son, he changes clothes before bedtime and in the morning before daycare.  And then he changes clothes again if he get dirty or wet.

One of the memories that I recall from the picture with my cousin is that I was preoccupied with a couple of toy cars at the time.  My guess would be that my aunt and uncle brought it as a present.  They were plastic cars.  One was white and one was black.  I remember staring at the ground looking at them as we were standing in place.

I didn't have a lot of toys.  I always had playmates because I had dozens of cousins.  Literally.  On both sides.  Not only was the Philippines a Roman Catholic country, where abortion is illegal and condoms are sinful, it also was agrarian, which means more offspring meant more workers for the farm.  But I digress. 

The point is, I grew up around a large family.  We lived in a surrounded compound where I could wander from our house all the way at the back of the property, past my uncle's house and to my grandmother's house in the front.  Relatives were everywhere.

My wife's family is in Hawaii and mine is in the Philippines.  It's pretty much just the three of us in our one bedroom apartment.  My son doesn't see other kids outside of daycare.  He doesn't like encountering kids in the playground because he doesn't know them.  He will either stare or yell at them, and I have to remind him to be nice. 

I don't have any videos of me from when I was very young.  The first time I was videotaped was when I was about ten years old.  My mom had been living in America and a friend of hers from our town came back on vacation.  As a favor, she attended a party at our house and took some video of us to take back to my mom.

On the other hand, my son just yesterday was watching our home videos of himself.  I mentioned his joy when sees himself having fun.  Likewise, he gets concerned when he sees himself upset. 

My wife thinks I'm sadistic when I videotape him crying, but I like to chronicle different moments.  And it's only for a few seconds.  And it's not like I just let him keep crying.  I'm not evil.  Right?

Anyways, one moment we watched was during bedtime, and he didn't want to go to sleep, so he started whining and crying.  And I told him to use his words, but he kept crying anyway.  As my son watched this, he said, "He crying.  He want Dennis Bird."  (We named it that because it was an angry bird given by a friend named Dennis).

I thought it was interesting.  Here is my two year old son watching himself and explaining his behavior to his dad.  At the time he was so upset that he couldn't use his words.  And now he is able to look back on it and help us understand him.

Thirty years from now, he might have a kid of his own and they might watch be watching that same video.  That would make me a grandpa.  Now that's really crazy.

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Memory Gland: How I met her mother.

My wife was born in Hawaii.  And while it might seem like paradise to the rest of us, for those who grew up there, it can be quite confining.  There's not a lot of places to go when you're in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

So when it was time for her to go to college, she chose to be as far away from the islands as possible.  She wanted to go to New York, and after considering finances, her family decided that New Jersey was close enough.  She was on her first year and I was on my last when we met.  You may not believe in fate -- and I may not either -- but it was a pretty good coincidence for our paths to cross.  When you consider how many years it took me to finally be a senior -- what with my excellent work ethic and study habits -- it's even more remarkable.  Or I should say, re-karma-ble.  (Okay that was lame.)

I think I had already mentioned how I first met Gail Forcewind (fake name, of course) in a previous post, so I'll skip that part of it.  This is about how I met her mother, who until our encounter never knew of my existence.  That was because she had forbidden her only daughter from dating.  Gail was instead instructed to focus solely on her studies.  But how ever do you expect her from concentrating on anything else after seeing such a handsome devil like me?

We had been dating a few months when her mother visited a friend in Chicago.  She told Gail she was forwarding a package to the Newark airport and that Gail would have to pick it up there.  That seemed strange to me.  I never heard of picking something up at baggage claim without a passenger travelling with it.  Being the obedient daughter, she believed her mother and told me not to worry.

I was shooting my film project when she went to the airport.  She was supposed to meet me at school afterwards to help out.  While we were setting up one of the shots, I received a text from Gail.  Suprise!  Her mom was there to visit her!

When they got to the room she was renting, she discretely hid my pants and other things.  Then she explained that she was needed at the school to help out with a project.  Her mom was understandably upset about that.  I guess she figured Gail would drop everything out of her excitement.

She was in a state of shock when she arrived at the set.  I insisted that she be honest with her mom, but she was hesitant.  So then we devised a plan.

They went to Apollo's Restaurant for lunch the next day, and I happened to be living across the street from it.  She texted me when they got there, and I went in.  I was looking at the buffet selection when I saw them.  Then it kind of went like this:

"Oh, hey, Gail!  Isn't it funny to see you here?"

"Hey, David.  Why don't you sit down and eat with us?"

Something like that.  I kind of don't remember exactly how it went.  I was kind of nervous.  Now that I think back on it, it was pretty transparent.

She introduced us, and I offered to take her around.  Her mom wanted to buy some gifts, so I drove them to Garden State Mall later that afternoon.  We went walking in New York together.

After a couple of days, Gail told me her mom referred to me as her boyfriend.  She denied it and acted innocent, and her mom said, "What do you think I am, stupid?"  But then she was pretty cool about it.  She only insisted that her daughter finish college and get a good job.

So then after that, we started holding hands in front of her and even kissing when we would part.  I graduated and found a job the next year.  A few years later so did Gail.  And soon after, we were married.

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Memory Gland: Twenty years ago.

I came to America in August, 1991.  I attended a Catholic School in Queens called St. Gregory the Great.  I was in sixth grade and barely spoke to anyone.

I knew how to speak English but I was just too shy to actually converse with anyone.  Everyone in my school was white.  No one was mean to me or anything but I just couldn't get myself to actually talk.

On the first day, the principal introduced me to the class.  She explained that I was new to the country and everything, and when I sat at my desk in the back, this kid turned around, smiled at me and shook my hand.  His name was Kevin Sweeney.  Later on in the day, he walked with me to the school store and helped me purchase a tie for my uniform.  He asked if I knew how to tie one, and I said no so we decided on getting a clip-on.  (Actually, it may have been one of those kind of pre-tied ties that you just tighten.  I'm not sure how to describe it.)

My mom and I moved out of my aunt's house in December of that year to move to New Jersey.  I didn't keep in touch with anyone.  I didn't even think about it.  I've always appreciated Kevin's friendliness, and sometimes I wonder how he and my former classmates are doing.  His is the only name I fully remember.  And I think that's because there was a baseball player named Sweeney at the time, and I remember thinking that that must be a common surname in America.  I guess it really must be common because when I did an internet search for Kevin Sweeney a while ago, there turned out to be quite a few of them.  My best guess about my classmate is that he is the one who is a priest or pastor now.

Anyways, that's not what I wanted to write about.  I meant to reflect on my first Columbus Day.  Well, not actually Columbus Day, but the Friday before it.

Most of my time at St. Gregory's was pretty lonely.  The kids there were friendly enough, but mostly I was too damn shy to do anything about it.  The girls were all into "Beverly Hills 90210", which I didn't really care about, and the boys were all into football, which I didn't understand.

There was this one girl Katie who I think liked me.  But whenever we exchanged words, the other kids would kind of tease us about it.  I remember showing her my drawings and making a sign for her that said "Katie's Room".  Anyways, even if she did actually like me, I was unaware of it.

But anyways, back to my point.  During lunchtime that Friday, and for a few days before that as well, some of the boys approached me.  They wanted to learn bad words in my language.  And I taught them some, and it was kind of funny.  It was nice that I wasn't sitting bored and alone for a change.  (The only thing that I realize now is that I was teaching them words in my dialect, and if they talked to most Filipinos about it, they probably wouldn't understand.)

Anyways, near the end of the day, I guess with the holiday coming up or something, I remember we were just talking in the classroom, and I kept teaching bad words to my classmates.  I remember speaking in my dialect, and it just felt good and comfortable to just be talking again.  And I just got carried away and kept talking in my language.

I said stuff like, "I can just keep talking and call you names and insult you, and you wouldn't understand."  And I just kept cursing everybody in my dialect.  And nobody really said anything to me.  I felt superior.

The kids who rode the school bus were allowed to leave a few minutes early, and I kept on going as I walked down the steps to line up.  And I just kept going as we stood in the hall waiting for the bus to come.  Then this girl in front of me suddenly snapped.  "Would you shut the fuck up already?!  We have enough problems here."  And then I stopped.  And then I didn't really say much for the next couple of months that I was there.

Her name was Erin, and I wish I could remember her last name.  I wonder if she even remembers that moment.  I definitely remember it fondly.  And I'm not now or was ever offended by it.  I was being annoying, and I needed it.  It was my fresh off the boat moment, I guess.

Anyway, that's my Columbus Day memory.

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