The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

I've noticed in recent years that younger generations than my own have become enamoured with more "old school" technology--the kind of thing I grew up with.  I've been reading a lot of articles, both in print and on television news broadcasts, about people my nephew's age who have started using flip-phones and landlines as a way of "disconnecting" from the online world.  Last summer, I even cited a New York Times article that described a recent interest in DVDs among younger people and why they might be superior to streaming. 

Look at the popularity of vinyl records over the last fifteen years.  This was a dead format at the turn of the century.  But younger generations seem to have embraced it, causing people my age to re-embrace it.  Even cassettes are trying to make a comeback.  Personally, I'm still waiting on the resurgence of 8-Tracks.  

From using cameras that require film, to knitting and crocheting, to making anything "artisanal," there's a fascination with doing things the old-fashioned way.  It takes time, effort, and not letting a computer or any kind of machine do all the work.  The more automated things become, the more "artistic" the old ways seem.  I know it sounds pretentious, but it's true.  I'll even be pretentious enough to say that there's an art to driving a car with a manual transmission.  Unfortunately, older methods of doing things only become artistic after newer, easier methods have become more popular.

I find this especially true in motion pictures.  I recently watched Wonder Woman 1984, which was largely panned by those who saw it.  (I have a theory that you can't truly appreciate the good films in a series--like Rocky or Dirty Harry--unless you can also appreciate the bad ones--like Rocky V or Sudden Impact.  But that's a "sermon" for another time.)  While I felt it ran long--it should have found a way to condense the exposition a bit--what was impressive about it was director Patty Jenkins's willingness to do as much of the action sequences practically and in-camera as possible.  This makes it look more realistic than just doing everything with CGI.  It's more time-intensive and costly, but the results, even in a "bad" movie, tend to speak for themselves.

This is not a new phenomenon.  From the beginning of motion picture history, improvements in technology are often met with disdain by those who recognize the artistry that was already being used before everyone else.  Take the 2011 movie The Artist.  It was a bold move to release a silent film in the twenty-first century--and in black and white to boot!  After all, sound had been around for almost 85 years at that point.  The film was about a silent film star who struggles to find his place in the new world of "talkies."  It was likely the first silent movie since... well, Mel Brooks's Silent Movie--which, strangely enough had one of the greatest lines of dialogue, uttered by, of all people, Marcel Marceau--in 1976.  Because of the artistic nature of doing things the way they had been done nearly a century earlier, The Artist went on to become only the second silent movie to win the Oscar for Best Picture.  (For those keeping track, 1927's Wings was the first.  It was also the first film to win that particular Oscar.)

But that "artistic" struggle actually happened.  The notion of sound in motion pictures changed everything.  In the century since, we can't imagine film without it.  It's created jobs to everyone from recording engineers to screenwriters who now have to write dialogue--hopefully good dialogue--for the characters.  But for many silent actors, it was a threat to their very livelihood--especially those who didn't have great voices.  (For more on this check out the classic 1952 musical Singin' in the Rain.)

It's probably safe to say that no one took this existential threat more seriously than Charlie Chaplin.  This week's film was his first film that he released after the advent of "talkies."  Although it is silent, it does have a pre-recorded score.  The film centers on his "Little Tramp" character falling in love with a blind flower girl who mistakes him for being wealthy.  Chaplin spent three years and a then-unheard sum of $1.5 million dollars to make this movie.  Of particular note was the scene in which the flower girl (played by Virginia Cherrill) thinks Chaplin's Tramp is someone he's not.  Chaplin shot the scene 342 times over several months because he could not figure out how to convey to the audience in a silent movie how the case of mistaken identity actually happened.

The film went on to be one of Chaplin's most financially successful films despite the lack of sound or dialogue.  To this day it's regarded by many as his masterpiece.  Chaplin--who eventually went on to use sound in his films--often said this was his favourite of all his movies.  As with his other films, he not only starred in it, he also produced, wrote, directed, and even performed his own stunts.  A work of art if ever there was one, from 1931, please enjoy City Lights.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

For those paying attention, this is my first proper "sermon" in almost two months.  To recap--I had my hip replaced... again.  Overall, I'm feeling good.  Still a little stiff, but good.  I return to work Monday morning.  I'm still using a cane when I go out, but only as a precaution.  I thought I knew what to expect, having been through the procedure on the other side twenty years ago.  And, by and large, I was right, but a lot has changed in twenty years--most notably my age.  For starters, I didn't spend any time in the hospital.  That's right--the whole thing was an outpatient procedure, of which I'm still suspect.  Of course, there was a catch to this.  I didn't spend a night or two in the hospital, but I did get prescribed eleven (ELEVEN!!!!) different medications that had to be taken at different times and in different dosages throughout my recovery.  And that's in addition to the three that I already take daily that had nothing to do with my surgery.

(A public thanks to my Aunt Gayle who not only put up with--I mean, put me up--for a month, but also acted as my pharmacist, chauffeur, and general caregiver.  I also want to thank my housemates and dear friends, Jon and Ellie, for taking care of the place while I was gone and pushing me harder than I tended to push myself in the recovery.  Finally, I need to thank my other dear friend Tara for driving me to Goshen for Record Store Day... in the rain... before the butt crack of dawn... to stand in line for two hours!  More on this in upcoming weeks.)

The best thing was that, unlike the last time, I didn't have to wait two weeks to have my staples taken out before I could take a real shower.  This time, I just had a bandage covering my (what I think is an excessively long) incision on the side of my ass.  After one week, I removed it and threw it away.  In the meantime, I could do just about anything with it, including showering, as long as I didn't soak or swim--not that I was going to do either of those things a week after surgery anyway.

The one thing that caught me off guard it that there was virtually no physical therapy.  I don't know why this caught me off guard.  When I think back twenty years, I don't recall having any then.  The closest I got was a series of exercises that I had to do three times a day.  That part didn't change.  I still had the exercises.  I'm still doing them.  The one thing that has changed is my age.  I turned 52 during my little sojourn, but my brain still seemed convinced that I was 31, which caused a few strained muscles and setbacks.  It only became a problem when it prevented me from doing the "straight leg lifts," which, out of all the exercises I have, is the worst.

To help with these exercises, it shouldn't be any surprise that I put together a playlist.  With the exception of Edwin Starr's "Twenty-Five Miles" (a song that really makes me want to get up and walk... even dance), all of the other songs came from the same source--the perfect inspiration to physically improve oneself.

In 1976, Bill Conti wrote one of the most inspiring scores to one of the most inspiring films of all time.  The film is generally considered to be the first to feature a "workout montage," which I felt like I was in every time I did my exercises.  Conti made such an impression, he went on to score four of the films five sequels over the next 30 years.  Featuring such classic pieces as the Oscar-nominated "Gonna Fly Now" and "Going the Distance," which always seems to push me to do just that, please enjoy the soundtrack to the Best Picture Oscar winner Rocky.  This album also features the doo-wop number "Take You Back" by Valentine, featuring Sylvester Stallone's brother Frank.  It's still one of my favourite scores.  After hearing it for the first time, I was finally able to forgive Bill Conti for what he did to For Your Eyes Only.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please, as always, remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, 'n' rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week! (One From the Vault!)

I wrote and posted what follows on Facebook on 18 November, 2019.  It was one of my earliest "Album of the Week" sermons.  Last week was Record Store Day--my favourite holiday.  The store I visited, in addition to all the exclusive releases, had a sale on all their used titles.  I found this particular title in the bin and felt compelled to buy it.  It was one my mother had--which is a long story and, in hindsight, kind of surprising.  She gave me her copy more than 25 years ago and it currently hangs framed on my bedroom wall.  Seeing it again brought back a lot of memories from my teenage years and prompted me to revisit what I wrote then.

 

 

As a teenager who, at the time, was not exactly enamored with the popular music of the time, I was constantly raiding my parents' record collection looking for new stuff to listen to.

 

One morning before school, I was flipping through the records when I picked out one that I had seen many times but had never actually played. The cover was a black and white photograph of a man standing in the rain under an umbrella outside the Ripley's Believe It Or Not! Museum, presumably in New York. With a big smile on his face, he was placing another, presumably broken, umbrella in a trash bin. In the lower right corner, in red stenciled letters were the words, "includes the exciting jazz version of WALK ON THE WILD SIDE." I thought to myself, "Jazz? I like jazz. I remember hearing Benny Goodman some years back. That was pretty good."

 

Boy, was I ever about to have my mind blown. I put the record on the turntable and dropped the needle on the opening track (the aforementioned "Walk on the Wild Side" written by Elmer Bernstein and Mack David for the film of the same name released that year). The first thing I heard was what sounded like jingle bells. I immediately began to wonder if one of my parents had put the wrong album in the sleeve. Then this wonderful bass riff started followed a few bars later by reed instruments, then horns, and before long an entire big band led by the great Oliver Nelson began swinging like nobody's business. And we wouldn't even get to Jimmy Smith's Hammond organ solo for nearly two and a half minutes.

 

I found out later that this album was the first that Smith recorded for Verve records in 1962 and the first with a big band. Up to that point, he was known for primarily small trio and quartet work for Blue Note Records. In fact the second side of the record is just Smith with a trio (featuring guitarist Quentin Warren and drummer Donald Bailey), which gives that side a much bluesier feel, most notably on the track "Beggar for the Blues."

 

While this album is never seen on a list of the greatest albums of all time--or even Jimmy Smith's greatest albums, for that matter--this was the album that made me fall in love with jazz. In the nearly 30 years since I first played that album, I've discovered all kinds of great jazz works from the likes of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk, Lee Morgan, Dave Brubeck, and Art Blakey (among others). But this album is still my favourite of that genre.

 

From 1962, please enjoy "The Unpredictable Jimmy Smith," as he's credited on the album cover, with his Verve debut, Bashin'.

 

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please, as always, remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

 

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill 

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week! (One From the Vault!)

I wrote and posted this to Facebook on 30 March of 2024, partially to commemorate Easter weekend which is coming up again.  Bring on the pickled eggs and beets!

 

I've never made any secret of the fact that, in spite of my "Reverend Will the Thrill" moniker, my sense of spirituality is hardly what one would call "orthodox."  I don't regularly attend church services, I don't necessarily identify myself with any religious labels (aside from maybe "lapsed Mennonite," "Methonite," or "Dudeist Priest," although I don't use them with any kind of regularity), and I do tend to look at organized religion as a whole with an extraordinarily sarcastic and irreverent attitude.  How sarcastic and irreverent, you may ask?  Let me put it this way:  I was once stopped at a stoplight and I saw a bumper sticker on the car in front of me that read ,"Try Jesus."  I gave it some serious thought, but then I realized that the Romans beat me to it.  And while no offense was intended in that statement, I'm sure that someone reading this probably took offense to it--especially this weekend.  On the flip side, I'm sure that even more people reading it found it funny.  And I'm pretty sure that a number of people reading it laughed and then wondered if they should.

And this is part of my problem--so many people take their religion so seriously that they get offended if someone else has a different viewpoint--or even a sense of humour.  It's as if laughing at it is a hell-worthy trespass (to borrow a line from this week's film)--which really sucks because I can't control what I find funny.  And I find a lot of humour in people who get offended easily--especially over something as intangible as religion or spirituality.

As I've said in the past, I find a deep sense of spirituality in popular culture, specifically movies and music.  This really started for me as a junior in high school.  My English teacher asked us to give a report on the last movie we had watched.  Not surprisingly in any way, shape, or form (especially in 1990), the last film I had watched was the 1980 hit The Blues Brothers.  In my report, I went into this whole line of BS about all the religious symbolism I detected in the film and how spiritual I felt the film was.  Initially I did this partly because I didn't know what to say ("I really liked this film" isn't exactly much of a report), and partly to tweak my English teacher whom I strongly suspected thought she was really teaching Sunday School.  And while I doubt that Dan Aykroyd had any of that in mind when he wrote the film, as time progressed, I actually started to believe my own line of BS.  To this day, I still consider it one of the most spiritually uplifting movies I've ever seen.

Fun fact--in 2010, when The Blues Brothers was celebrating its thirtieth anniversary, the Catholic Church endorsed the film as being appropriate for all Catholics, in spite of its R rating.  I figure when the Catholic Church essentially agrees with something I had said twenty years earlier, either I'm a visionary who's way ahead of my time, or it may just be a sign of the apocalypse.  Too bad they weren't as open to this week's film.

Unlike The Blues Brothers, I feel that this film is designed, perhaps unintentionally, to make the viewer challenge their own beliefs and ask why we believe the things we believe.  Since its initial release twenty-five years ago, I've often revisited this film because it not only restores my sense of faith in... something, but it's also highly entertaining, both because of its substance as well as the controversy that surrounded it.

When it was released in 1999, Catholic organizations protested.  There were even a couple of death threats against the writer/director.  The irony is that the writer/director, Kevin Smith, identified (and I assume still does) as a practicing Catholic.  He even thanked God in the closing credits as well as his infant daughter, "for giving me the opportunity to raise my own little Catholic."  Apparently, since no one at the time recognized him, he even joined the protests, which just shows how much of a sense of humour he has about it.  My personal favourite story involved William Donohue of the Catholic League.  He railed against the film for months without actually seeing it.  When he approached the filmmakers about setting up a special screening so he could "speak about it intelligently," Smith said "So what has he been doing for the past six months?"

If you're not familiar with the plot, fallen angels Loki and Bartleby (played by Matt Damon and Ben Affleck) are clued into a loophole in Catholic dogma that would allow them to re-enter Heaven.  The problem with this plan is that it would prove God wrong and since God is supposed to be infallible, proving him/her/whatever/whomever wrong would destroy the entire universe.  A seraphim named Metatron, who acts as the voice of God (played by the late, great Alan Rickman), charges an abortion clinic worker named Bethany (Linda Fiorentino) with a "holy crusade" to stop the angels from carrying out their plan.  Along the way, she receives guidance and assistance from two "prophets" (Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith in their recurring roles of Jay and Silent Bob), the thirteenth apostle Rufus (Chris Rock), and a muse named Serendipity (Salma Hayek).  The cast also includes Jason Lee as the demon Azrael and--in what is perhaps the most inspired casting choice in the history of cinema--Geoge Carlin (who, in real life, was an atheist) as a Catholic Cardinal.

Possibly in anticipation of controversy from his own tribe, Smith put a disclaimer at the beginning of the movie stating that it is a "work of comedic fantasy, not to be taken seriously."  And, for the most part, I don't.  But there's a lot in this film I find quite moving, especially as someone who doesn't identify with any "traditional" sense of religion or faith, Catholic or otherwise.  Aside from Rufus's ruminations on the difference between beliefs and ideas, I really responded to something Serendipity tells Bethany with regards to faith and who has the right answers.  She said, "It's not about who's right or wrong.  No denomination's nailed it yet because they're all too self-righteous to realize that it doesn't matter what you have faith in--just that you have faith.  Your hearts are in the right place, but your brains gotta wake up."  Sometimes, I wish we could all be that enlightened.

So this Easter weekend, as a reaffirmation of faith and good ideas, I recommend the movie Dogma.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week! (One From the Vault!)

 Hi there!  I'm still recovering from my recent surgery.  Rather stiff today--some of those exercises are painful!  Since it's been a couple of weeks, I thought I'd share something I stumbled upon that I originally posted exclusively to Facebook on 1 April, 2023.  The concept still fascinates me to this day--and I still have the same paranoia I express at the end of the "sermon".  Sadly, in that time, Brad has retired his blog.  Please enjoy, nonetheless.

 

"Footloose.  Pet goose.  Picked a fight with a moose.  Cheese.  Stiff breeze.  Look out there are ten bees!"

--new and improved lyrics to an '80s classic that I was never really fond of to begin with

This week's sermon was inspired in part by a conversation I had with my friend Brad Pickens to whom I've referred in past ramblings.  Brad is an Episcopalian minister in Michigan.  We've known each other for at least (wow!) 35 years.  Like me, he also writes a weekly missive (that can be read at thepriceofacorns.com--this is his busy season at his day job, so he hasn't written anything in a few weeks).  Back in January, he wrote about mondegreens, the technical term for misheard song lyrics.  For years, he had been quite taken with a lyric from a popular song that got a lot of radio play when we were younger and he had to take afternoon naps.  After, apparently only recently, discovering what the song was (the 1983 classic "Islands in the Stream" by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton), he realized that one line of the song was not what he understood it to be as a child, hearing it on the radio when he was supposed to be napping.  Brad had what I thought was a profound observation.  He wrote, "Here's the thing.  I'm a lot happier with my version of my naptimesong and it's the one I'm going to keep with its strange places and mystic inhabitants.  Islands only exist in relational stuckness to one another.  Better to have even a passing connection through worlds where you see the stranger and recognize yourself in their strangeness.  That's how blank spots become the middle of everything once we learn to recognize shared humanity wherever we go.  And besides that, it was about the same time that I found a record that had songs by Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, Willie Horton, and Dolly on her own and there's no need to go back to Kenny after that."   I'll post the link to his thoughts in the comments section if you would like more insight than I can provide here.

Many years ago, sportscasting legend Bob Costas had a late night talk show called "Later" on NBC that aired after Carson and Letterman (just to give you some idea about how long ago this was).  Unlike his lead-ins, he typically only featured one guest per episode which, if nothing else, made for a more in-depth interview.  It was actually a very good program and it was nice to know that Costas could intelligently carry on a conversation about something other than sports.  One night, he interviewed Paul McCartney.  Sir Paul told him about the first time the Beatles met Bob Dylan.  They were backstage rehearsing.  During a run-through of "I Want to Hold Your Hand," Dylan was surprised by the line "It's such a feeling that, my love/I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hiiiiide!"  He apparently said to them, "Oh, man, I thought that was 'I get high, I get high, I get high.'"  Some time later, Costas was interviewing John Mellencamp and related that story to him.  Mellencamp said, "Well that's what I always thought it was."  Guess what?  That's what I always thought it was too!

I have always been fascinated by mondegreens.  I actually have a book of them titled Scuze Me While Kiss This Guy (there are a couple of sequels as well, the only one of which I remember is He's Got the Whole World in His Pants).  For thirty years, I thought Hall & Oates sang "Private eyes know what to do."  When the song was originally released, this made perfect sense to my then seven-year-old brain.  Every private detective I saw from Jim Rockford to Thomas Magnum, and later Remington Steele seemed to know what to do.  In the early 2010s, the cast of the television series "Psych" (which was about a private detective who pretends to be psychic but just has a photographic memory and an obsession with '80s pop culture, particularly John Hughes films), advertised their upcoming season by recreating the video to "Private Eyes."  It was only then I discovered, much to my surprise, that "Private eyes ARE WATCHING YOU," which is considerably creepier than my version when I stop to think about it.  What's weird is that on the off-chance I hear the song today and catch myself singing along, I still sing it incorrectly, more out of muscle memory than an aversion to the correct lyrics.  Perhaps, like Brad, I'm a lot happier with my version.  Perhaps I may just stick with it.

I'm also going to throw this philosophical quandary out there:  is it actually a mondegreen if it's a homophone?  Phonetically speaking it is still being sung correctly, even if the person singing it has a completely incorrect interpretation of the lyrics in their head.  For example, in the cowboy classic "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" (specifically Gene Autry's recording), it took me a moment or three to realize that he sang "I'm a roamin' cowboy."  When I first heard it, I thought he said "I'm a Roman cowboy."  I immediately had a vision of Julius Caesar on horseback with spurs on his sandals, a six-shooter in a holster tied around his toga, and a laurel wreath around the crown of a ten-gallon hat... perhaps even twirling a lasso.  I still want to see someone carve this out of marble.  Of course this also begs the question, how do you say "Whoopy-ti-yi-yay" in Latin?

I've known since I read Brad's reflections that this was fodder for one of my own weekly rants and that I would be doing this sometime in the near future--I was kind of leaning toward some CCR because John Fogerty has never been the most coherent singer)--but a bizarre event happened this week.  Suddenly and quite inexplicably I got Dean Martin's hit "That's Amore" stuck in my head.  Looking back on it, I suppose it's not completely inexplicable--after all, I did watch Moonstruck a few days earlier which features the song over both the opening and closing credits.  But that's not the weird part.  The weird part is that, for some reason, my brain wanted to sing one word in the song incorrectly.  And I don't know why.  I've always known what the correct lyric is.  I've never misheard it before.  In fact, it played on the drive home from work a few weeks ago and when I was singing along, I sang it correctly.  Not only did my brain want to sing it wrong, but it also wanted to give it a northern Indiana twist which was, needless to say, highly amusing.  And now I'm worried that every time I hear it I'm going to inadvertently sing, "Scusami, but you see, back in old Nappanee, that's amore!"  Because, really, what's so romantic about Napoli (Naples), Italy, anyway?

So this week please enjoy the one and only Dean Martin with his first album for Capitol Records, 1953's Dean Martin Sings.

Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and don't go 'round tonight, it's bound to take your life, there's a bathroom on the right.

Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill 

(a.k.a. "The April Fool")

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Film of the Week!

When I was a kid, I remember a lot of discussions--and maybe this is still going on today--about whether excessive violence in movies causes people to commit violent acts.  I myself have never experienced that sort of thing.  Personally, I credit my parents with that.  As a child, if I saw an ad for a movie I wanted to see, and it was something Mom and Dad might be interested in as well, they would often go see it first to make sure it was appropriate for my sister and me to see as well.  They even screened E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial before taking us.  When it comes to parenting, how diligent is that?

Obviously, as I got older, this happened less.  Eventually, my tastes... matured.  A lot of this had to do with the fact that Dad introduced me to new and more mature films as I got older, specifically comedies and action films--many with R ratings.  

I never found that film violence inspires me to do anything.  I found it cathartic.  I still do.  When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, or even your year, and you're pissed off at the world, I find watching violent action films with lots of explosions and a high body count tends to calm me down.  It sounds a little weird, I know.  But you know what?  IT'S A MOVIE!!!!  It's not real.

And I realize that this pertains to me specifically.  Does violence in films inspire violence in real life?  I can't say for sure.  But I do suspect there might be a connection.  When I see stories on the news about police shootings and I hear about how the police would basically empty an entire magazine into someone because they thought he was about to draw a non-existent gun, I sometimes wonder if those officers watched one too many action films where the protagonists did that sort of thing on a regular basis.  Personally, that's why I always liked Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry--he carried a revolver.  He had only six shots so he had to make them count.  He couldn't just spray the area with a barrage of ammo.  Each shot had to be calculated.  He didn't want any collateral damage, he just wanted to take down the bad guy.  I actually think that made him more badass--certainly more so than the villains.

And don't get me wrong--every so often, I do enjoy watching a lot of ammo being spent in a short period of time.  It adds to the catharsis.  Having spent time at a target range my own self, I can say that it can even be fun.  But Dad was even more diligent about gun safety than he was about what movies I watched when I was young.  So I take a little time to, in Dirty Harry's words, "hit what I aim at."

But back to movies and not reality...

I've noticed an interesting trend in the last 20 or so years.  That of critically acclaimed, award winning, A-list actors appearing in shoot-'em-up action thrillers.  Probably the best example of this was the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU).  These were based on comic books and attracted the likes of William Hurt, Tommy Lee Jones, Hugo Weaving, Michelle Pfeiffer, Michael Douglas, Anthony Hopkins, and even Robert Freaking Redford.  And they were just playing supporting characters!  We won't even discuss the leads.

I was inspired to watch this week's film again recently and forgot how much fun it is.  In it, Bruce Willis plays Frank Moses, a retired black-ops CIA agent.  He now lives a life of extreme boredom.  The only thing he has to look forward to is receiving his government pension check, which he promptly rips up so he can call their service center and speak to/flirt with Sarah Ross (Mary-Louise Parker) and tell her that the check never arrived.  After a team of operatives shows up at his house intent on killing him, he goes on the run.  Through a series of mishaps, he winds up essentially kidnapping Sarah while he tries to assemble a team of his old comrades to figure out why someone wants him--and probably them--dead.

The cast is as impressive as any Marvel movie--Karl Urban, Brian Cox, Oscar nominee John Malkovich, and Oscar winners Morgan Freeman, Helen Mirren, Richard Dreyfuss, and Ernest Borgnine.  Written by Jon and Erich Hoeber (based on the DC graphic novel series by Warren Ellis and Cully Hamner) and directed by Robert Schwentke, from 2010, please enjoy Red. 

As I stated in my Album of the Week "sermon," this will be my last film rant for about a month and a half.  I'll be having hip replacement surgery in about three weeks and will be out of action for a bit.

Until I return, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill

 

 

The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!

It's been a weird week for me, especially the last few days (more on that toward the end).  During those last few days, I've found myself being drawn to the Beatles for some reason--specifically Paul's post-Beatles work, specifically Wings.  For three, maybe even four straight days, I woke up with the song "No Words" rattling around my cranium.  And I don't know why.  It's not like I intentionally listened to the song, let alone the album on which it's featured (Band on the Run), anytime recently.  Perhaps it played randomly on my phone while I was at work and it seeped into my subconscious--obviously, if it did, I don't remember hearing it.

Consequently, I've been revisiting Sir Paul's music, including The Beatles.  I've always kind of felt bad for Paul, because I get the impression that many people think of him as someone who just wrote silly love songs--generally and literally.  But, frankly, I've always liked that about him.

 

I seriously thought about submitting Band on the Run this week.  It is probably Wings' most remembered album, likely their biggest hit, and includes some of my favourite deep cuts, most notably "Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Five."  However, I was remembering something I read in a book about rock snobbery.

My cousins Ari and Gates gave me a book for Christmas (2024) called I Hate New Music: The Classic Rock Manifesto by British expat journalist Dave Thompson.  Thompson is one of the ultimate rock snobs--even moreso than I like to think I am.  While I didn't agree with every assessment of his, I found it highly entertaining.  In the book, he posed the queston:  What is the most satisfying sound in rock 'n' roll?  Obviously, the response is subjective, but Thompson's choice kind of caught me off guard.  And it's not necessarily what I would have thought of as the most satisfying sound in rock, but I always felt that his choice was interesting because I think most rock snobs would just write it off.  (He also seemed to prefer it in 8-Track, although I've never listened to one, so I can't comment on that particular aspect.)  Overall, I've always felt that it was an underrated album and to read the words of an actual rock snob extolling its virtues and not just discounting it because it's Paul--who, admittedly can get kind of schmaltzy--was kind of reassuring.

This week's album was recorded mostly at Sea-Saint Studios in New Orleans.  McCartney brought new members Jimmy McCullough and Geoff Britton into the fold, however, Britton left after only a few months.  He only played on three tracks, so Paul recruited Joe English (who is actually American) to finish the album.  Legendary pianist Allen Toussaint even played on "Rock Show."  Featuring some of my favourite deep cuts including "Magneto and Titanium Man," "Medicine Jar," and "You Gave Me the Answer," please enjoy Wings with their 1975 release Venus and Mars.

(Sometime around 1990, I remember McCartney giving an interview--I think to MTV's Kurt Loder, but don't quote me on that.  He was asked about his early career goals and aspirations.  He talked about writing songs that he hoped would be covered by the likes of Frank Sinatra and said, "I was out to become the next Cole Porter."  After a beat, he added, "Still am, babe!"  I only bring this up because that ambition is evident in "You Gave Me the Answer," which might be my favourite song on this album.  See also:  "English Tea" on his 2005 album Chaos and Creation in the Backyard.)

This will be my last "Album of the Week" rant for about a month and a half.  If you've seen me at all in the last year, you know that I don't get around like I used to and should.  I've been walking with a cane since November.  I am scheduled to have hip replacement surgery (my second) in about three weeks.  I may post some earlier "From the Vault" rants in my absence, but at this point, I don't have the mental capacity to come up with anything new.  Wish me luck.

Until I return, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.

Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!

The Reverend Will the Thrill