By Eric Eisenberg
BOSTON - If you are an average American, this is a situation you can relate to: it is a Friday night and during a search for evening entertainment, someone suggests a trip to the movie theater. The only problem is that after searching through newspapers and surfing the internet, many are still left dumbfounded as to what film to go see. Whether this situation occurs to you bi-annually or every weekend, it is a problem that many find themselves faced with and it can be truly frustrating.
Fortunately, there are measures that can be taken to, at the very least, simplify the situation without being forced to obsessively follow films or research endlessly about the people who make them (you can leave that to me). Rather, remembering a couple names, clicking a mouse and doing some light reading can go a long way in ensuring an entertaining evening.
Who is in it? More than anything else, films are sold by their cast. For every Steven Spielberg or Martin Scorsese there are hundreds of Brad Pitts or George Clooneys. It is because of this stressed importance that many films live or die at the hands of their lead actors. Did Seth Rogen make you piss your pants in “Knocked Up” or “Superbad”? Then go check out “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”. Did the relationship between Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio make you cry in “Titanic”? Then you might enjoy their reunion in next month’s “Revolutionary Road”. There are many scripts today that are written with specific actors in mind for the part. Use this to your advantage.
The one caveat is that fantastic directors sometimes get a hold of bad actors and manage to squeeze some talent out of them. While this is rare, as good directors who have power over casting generally prefer to work with good actors, every few years Quentin Tarantino will reach out to a struggling John Travolta to make “Pulp Fiction” and Adam Sandler will get the opportunity to shift gears with Paul Thomas Anderson in “Punch Drunk Love”. Fortunately, this can be nullified by the next step.
Who wrote it? The unsung heroes of the movie business are the screenwriters. Can’t figure out who they are? Squint your eyes and look at the bottom of the film’s poster. You’re looking for the person with the “written by” credit underneath the massive blowup of Angelina Jolie and the explosion in the background. An actor can be as convincing as they want to be and can truly embody a character, but that character and its dialogue originated somewhere else. Sometimes actors, specifically comedians such as Vince Vaughn, will ad-lib a great deal of dialogue and add their own spice to a script, but see point #1 to solve that riddle.
Writers will never get the same recognition as actors but if you can find one that you feel consistently produces quality material, it can reduce the magnitude of your migraine.
Read the reviews. I have found myself on many occasions skipping on an evening out with friends because of film reviews, and, each time, I am always given the same argument: “It is just one persons opinion. How do you know that you won’t like it anyway?”
Too many people feel this way about reviews and reviewers and I feel a sense of duty to lift them from the mud and hand them a bar of Dove. Yes, some reviewers will have opposing tastes or, in some cases, no taste at all (I’m looking at you Gene Shalit.) How do you fix this? FIND A DIFFERENT CRITIC! Almost every major publication in the country has a section where films from the upcoming weekend are reviewed. Have a problem with Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun Times? Give A.O. Scott of the New York Times a chance. Is Anthony Lane of the New Yorker depressing you? Try reading Emmanuel Levy’s website.
Reading a critics previous reviews can give you a sense of what they where their taste lies in relation to your own. Websites such as Rotten Tomatoes (rottentomatoes.com), which accumulates film reviews from around the web and from various publications, or the Internet Movie Database (imdb.com), which includes both professional and member reviews, can help anyone find their soul-critic.
In comparison to money, quality ranks tremendously low in the eyes of production companies. “That movie did really well in theaters, right? Let’s make a terrible sequel that ruins everything everybody loves about the original.” “People like playing video games? Get me the rights and the worst director you can find. I smell a $100 million opening weekend.” Because of this, many of the films that are produced today are simply there to make money and leave audiences dead inside (perhaps an exaggeration). Knowing how to pluck out which films are of a good quality and which ones should be avoided can infinitely improve the outlook of a Friday evening.
I conclude this article with one additional piece of advice: avoid Michael Bay films like Ebola-infected lepers. Happy watching!
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved
History by Perspective
By Eric Eisenberg
EDINBURGH, Scotland – For the first 11 weeks of my 12-week stay in London, every Friday and Saturday was spent doing something different. Almost all activities were fueled by alcohol and ended in the same fashion, with drunken stumbling, vomiting and eventual loss of consciousness. But each outing had its own individual charm, aided by new locations and new British people to talk to. Sunday evenings, though, were the same, and were a constant reminder of what I was missing.
Up until the last week, I sat in my flat’s shared kitchen and overheard conversations about creepy hostels in Barcelona, disappointments in Dublin and over-sexed Italians in Rome from other students. My bank account dwindling, not helped by the egregious exchange rate, I could only be part of the audience. It was my first time out of North America and I was realizing that despite its 7.5 million inhabitants, London was a blip.
This was how I ended up on a Friday night train to Edinburgh to celebrate the Fringe Festival.
Arriving in Edinburgh station at 1 a.m. with a 20 pound backpack, I walked along Prince’s Street, the main drive in the city, trying to find my hotel, which, a map told me was a mile away from the station. I took the time to both look at the late-night activity on the streets and stare up at the castle on the hill.
With very few lampposts, much of the city’s light comes from spotlights around the various monuments that line the street, and, though dim, the view is stunning. Halfway down the street, the Sir Walter Scott Memorial stands towering over the street, lit from within and creating an orange glow that escapes through the statue’s various arches and its steeple. Sorting through my photographs later, I found 10 different angles of the statue just from that night.
I arrived at my hotel after about half-an-hour of walking and the Scotsman behind the desk greeted me. My eyebrows quickly shifted and my head turned. Anyone who ever tells you that they speak English in Scotland has never heard a Scotsman talk. With syllables running together like a train crash and words escaping their lips at full sprint, the idea of full comprehension after even two repetitions is remote. What should have been a five minute check-in ended up as a 10-minute conversation where every other sentence was a lilted, “what?” At the point of exhaustion, I fell asleep as soon as I entered the room, not even bothering to unpack.
Waking up at 8 a.m. the next morning, I knew that I had to get as much done as possible in my only full 24-hour day. Taking out a small guidebook I had purchased back in London, I decided that the section of the city known as Old Town, including beautiful Edinburgh castle, the famous Royal Mile and St. Giles’ Cathedral.
Despite getting what I thought was an early start, the Royal Mile was jammed by the time I arrived. Vendors on both sides of the street made huge signs advertising their discounted prices for tartan wool scarves and kilts in various colors. Hundreds gathered in semi-circles around jugglers, gymnasts, singers and living-statues. While the Edinburgh Fringe has always been looked down upon, especially in comparison to the more legitimate Edinburgh International Festival, there have been few places where I have felt so much concentrated energy.
Walking between the large stone buildings on the cobblestone streets of the Mile and peeking in on the various performances, I felt a few drops from above land on my arms. Knowing what was coming, I rushed to an archway where at least 20 people already stood. The region is notorious for its rain, but as the clouds broke, even the archway was unable to keep me, or anyone else, dry. My polo shirt soaked through and my jeans considerably darker, I couldn’t help but smile and look around for a similar reaction. But nobody was fazed. Fringe Festival performers continued their shows in the streets, most spectators waiting out the weather. Slowly, I realized that the only people under the archway were tourists like me. Five minutes later, the rain stopped and it was as if nothing happened.
The sun beginning to set, I began to feel my stomach. Trying to skip meals as to save money for tourism, I knew I was going to be unable to go the full night without eating. Just as I had done in London when searching for cheap food, I began to search for local pubs. Finding a place called “The Spotted Dick” (named for a type of pudding, not a venereal disease), I sat down, ordered a glass of scotch, and searched the menu. But tradition outweighed my light wallet as I stumbled on a curious listing: haggis and black pudding. A notorious dish, haggis is made from sheep intestines and oatmeal, while black pudding is congealed blood in a sausage casing. Naturally, I was compelled to order it. Served with a side of coleslaw, both “meats” were round in shape and colored brown and black respectively. First taking a bite of the pudding, but fork slid through it easily. Its soft, spongy texture and mild taste, in addition to my overwhelming hunger, allowed for it to be eaten quickly, and before long, only the haggis remained. Very similar, if not softer and more like the oatmeal it contained, it was equally unique as the pudding, and, ultimately, I found that both were surprisingly enjoyable and satisfying.
Even after just a day in Edinburgh, I feel I can safely say that no American can have a true sense of history, if they leave the country. Edinburgh Castle was built in the 11th century. The Royal Mile has stones that are older than the United States. The expansion of the city was being designed 10 years before America declared its independence. Outside my hotel window, fireworks went off, celebrating the beginning of the military tattoo. I had had spent a full day sightseeing, rain-dodging, scotch-drinking, and haggis-eating, and I still had the second half of the city to see the next day.
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved
EDINBURGH, Scotland – For the first 11 weeks of my 12-week stay in London, every Friday and Saturday was spent doing something different. Almost all activities were fueled by alcohol and ended in the same fashion, with drunken stumbling, vomiting and eventual loss of consciousness. But each outing had its own individual charm, aided by new locations and new British people to talk to. Sunday evenings, though, were the same, and were a constant reminder of what I was missing.
Up until the last week, I sat in my flat’s shared kitchen and overheard conversations about creepy hostels in Barcelona, disappointments in Dublin and over-sexed Italians in Rome from other students. My bank account dwindling, not helped by the egregious exchange rate, I could only be part of the audience. It was my first time out of North America and I was realizing that despite its 7.5 million inhabitants, London was a blip.
This was how I ended up on a Friday night train to Edinburgh to celebrate the Fringe Festival.
Arriving in Edinburgh station at 1 a.m. with a 20 pound backpack, I walked along Prince’s Street, the main drive in the city, trying to find my hotel, which, a map told me was a mile away from the station. I took the time to both look at the late-night activity on the streets and stare up at the castle on the hill.
With very few lampposts, much of the city’s light comes from spotlights around the various monuments that line the street, and, though dim, the view is stunning. Halfway down the street, the Sir Walter Scott Memorial stands towering over the street, lit from within and creating an orange glow that escapes through the statue’s various arches and its steeple. Sorting through my photographs later, I found 10 different angles of the statue just from that night.
I arrived at my hotel after about half-an-hour of walking and the Scotsman behind the desk greeted me. My eyebrows quickly shifted and my head turned. Anyone who ever tells you that they speak English in Scotland has never heard a Scotsman talk. With syllables running together like a train crash and words escaping their lips at full sprint, the idea of full comprehension after even two repetitions is remote. What should have been a five minute check-in ended up as a 10-minute conversation where every other sentence was a lilted, “what?” At the point of exhaustion, I fell asleep as soon as I entered the room, not even bothering to unpack.
Waking up at 8 a.m. the next morning, I knew that I had to get as much done as possible in my only full 24-hour day. Taking out a small guidebook I had purchased back in London, I decided that the section of the city known as Old Town, including beautiful Edinburgh castle, the famous Royal Mile and St. Giles’ Cathedral.
Despite getting what I thought was an early start, the Royal Mile was jammed by the time I arrived. Vendors on both sides of the street made huge signs advertising their discounted prices for tartan wool scarves and kilts in various colors. Hundreds gathered in semi-circles around jugglers, gymnasts, singers and living-statues. While the Edinburgh Fringe has always been looked down upon, especially in comparison to the more legitimate Edinburgh International Festival, there have been few places where I have felt so much concentrated energy.
Walking between the large stone buildings on the cobblestone streets of the Mile and peeking in on the various performances, I felt a few drops from above land on my arms. Knowing what was coming, I rushed to an archway where at least 20 people already stood. The region is notorious for its rain, but as the clouds broke, even the archway was unable to keep me, or anyone else, dry. My polo shirt soaked through and my jeans considerably darker, I couldn’t help but smile and look around for a similar reaction. But nobody was fazed. Fringe Festival performers continued their shows in the streets, most spectators waiting out the weather. Slowly, I realized that the only people under the archway were tourists like me. Five minutes later, the rain stopped and it was as if nothing happened.
The sun beginning to set, I began to feel my stomach. Trying to skip meals as to save money for tourism, I knew I was going to be unable to go the full night without eating. Just as I had done in London when searching for cheap food, I began to search for local pubs. Finding a place called “The Spotted Dick” (named for a type of pudding, not a venereal disease), I sat down, ordered a glass of scotch, and searched the menu. But tradition outweighed my light wallet as I stumbled on a curious listing: haggis and black pudding. A notorious dish, haggis is made from sheep intestines and oatmeal, while black pudding is congealed blood in a sausage casing. Naturally, I was compelled to order it. Served with a side of coleslaw, both “meats” were round in shape and colored brown and black respectively. First taking a bite of the pudding, but fork slid through it easily. Its soft, spongy texture and mild taste, in addition to my overwhelming hunger, allowed for it to be eaten quickly, and before long, only the haggis remained. Very similar, if not softer and more like the oatmeal it contained, it was equally unique as the pudding, and, ultimately, I found that both were surprisingly enjoyable and satisfying.
Even after just a day in Edinburgh, I feel I can safely say that no American can have a true sense of history, if they leave the country. Edinburgh Castle was built in the 11th century. The Royal Mile has stones that are older than the United States. The expansion of the city was being designed 10 years before America declared its independence. Outside my hotel window, fireworks went off, celebrating the beginning of the military tattoo. I had had spent a full day sightseeing, rain-dodging, scotch-drinking, and haggis-eating, and I still had the second half of the city to see the next day.
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved
Hitting High and Low
By Eric Eisenberg
BOSTON – The current economic crisis has brought personal financial concerns to the forefront of every American’s mind. At the Copley Place shopping center on Thursday, however, hundreds of shoppers walked the hallways, conversation rising above the soft, background music and couples stopping to look into the various display cases.
But inside stores like Gucci, Emporio Armani and Coach few shoppers were pulling clothes off the rack, entering the dressing rooms or at the counter purchasing items.
The economic crisis appears to have hit these high-end shoppers, just like every other sector, potentially more so because they have more to lose.
“I think it’s going to affect everybody,” said Rae Sforza, 47, a sales assistant at Barneys New York from Somerville. “It’s going to affect areas of the economy that we all rely on.”
Since last week, when the Dow Jones plunged more than 500 points and some of the nation’s largest Wall Street firms, including Merrill Lynch, Lehman Brothers, and American Insurance Group (AIG), faced collapse, the country has been threatened with what has been called by some economists the most severe financial crisis since the Great Depression of the 1930s.
Luxury item retailers of the Copley Place shopping center are among the group threatened to be hit the hardest, as upper-middle class shoppers protect themselves by reducing spending on high-priced items they don’t necessarily need.
“I’ve cut back a little bit, not a great deal,” said Ellen Wilcox, 66, a financial advisor from Orlando, Fla., holding a bag from Williams-Sonoma on her way into Barneys New York. “What I am not spending money on is the luxury items, and I’ve noticed that stores are pretty empty on the upscale side,” she said, pointing to the various stores around the mall.
The extraordinary collapse in real estate values and the enormous losses sustained in investment and retirement portfolios has had a stunning impact on the financial security of the nation’s working and middle class. Nor has this is not been lost on upper income shoppers at Copley Place, including those who have experienced other economic downturns over the last half-century.
“It is constantly on my mind,” said Pamela Linton, 62, an independent business consultant from Boston, while exiting Neiman Marcus, bag in hand. “I lived through the 1970s, and the early 1990s were tough, but they were nothing like today.”
Around Copley Place, many shoppers walked into stores, paused in consideration, and then left before the sales staff could get a word in. At any given time over the past several days, stores such as Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Tiffany & Co., or Mont Blanc would have no more than 10 customers examining the shelves. Sales staffs were left to talk amongst themselves because there were so few customers.
“I am not a crazy, crazy shopper, but I generally shop more than I have,” Linton said. “I only buy discretionary things to wear and I’ve been pulling things out of my closet and saying, ‘this can go another year.’”
While some shoppers and salespeople continue to worry, threatening to keep the luxury stores of Copley Place empty until a full economic recovery, others have faith that the federal government and the proposed $700-billion bailout will help the flagging market recover quickly.
“We’re never had anything akin to this, even in 1929 when the stock market had the great crash leading to the Great Depression,” said Wilcox, the financial advisor. “But, because I understand things a little more perhaps, what I do understand is that our federal government is not going to let that happen again.”
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved
BOSTON – The current economic crisis has brought personal financial concerns to the forefront of every American’s mind. At the Copley Place shopping center on Thursday, however, hundreds of shoppers walked the hallways, conversation rising above the soft, background music and couples stopping to look into the various display cases.
But inside stores like Gucci, Emporio Armani and Coach few shoppers were pulling clothes off the rack, entering the dressing rooms or at the counter purchasing items.
The economic crisis appears to have hit these high-end shoppers, just like every other sector, potentially more so because they have more to lose.
“I think it’s going to affect everybody,” said Rae Sforza, 47, a sales assistant at Barneys New York from Somerville. “It’s going to affect areas of the economy that we all rely on.”
Since last week, when the Dow Jones plunged more than 500 points and some of the nation’s largest Wall Street firms, including Merrill Lynch, Lehman Brothers, and American Insurance Group (AIG), faced collapse, the country has been threatened with what has been called by some economists the most severe financial crisis since the Great Depression of the 1930s.
Luxury item retailers of the Copley Place shopping center are among the group threatened to be hit the hardest, as upper-middle class shoppers protect themselves by reducing spending on high-priced items they don’t necessarily need.
“I’ve cut back a little bit, not a great deal,” said Ellen Wilcox, 66, a financial advisor from Orlando, Fla., holding a bag from Williams-Sonoma on her way into Barneys New York. “What I am not spending money on is the luxury items, and I’ve noticed that stores are pretty empty on the upscale side,” she said, pointing to the various stores around the mall.
The extraordinary collapse in real estate values and the enormous losses sustained in investment and retirement portfolios has had a stunning impact on the financial security of the nation’s working and middle class. Nor has this is not been lost on upper income shoppers at Copley Place, including those who have experienced other economic downturns over the last half-century.
“It is constantly on my mind,” said Pamela Linton, 62, an independent business consultant from Boston, while exiting Neiman Marcus, bag in hand. “I lived through the 1970s, and the early 1990s were tough, but they were nothing like today.”
Around Copley Place, many shoppers walked into stores, paused in consideration, and then left before the sales staff could get a word in. At any given time over the past several days, stores such as Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Tiffany & Co., or Mont Blanc would have no more than 10 customers examining the shelves. Sales staffs were left to talk amongst themselves because there were so few customers.
“I am not a crazy, crazy shopper, but I generally shop more than I have,” Linton said. “I only buy discretionary things to wear and I’ve been pulling things out of my closet and saying, ‘this can go another year.’”
While some shoppers and salespeople continue to worry, threatening to keep the luxury stores of Copley Place empty until a full economic recovery, others have faith that the federal government and the proposed $700-billion bailout will help the flagging market recover quickly.
“We’re never had anything akin to this, even in 1929 when the stock market had the great crash leading to the Great Depression,” said Wilcox, the financial advisor. “But, because I understand things a little more perhaps, what I do understand is that our federal government is not going to let that happen again.”
© Eric Eisenberg, All Rights Reserved
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