SIFF Review: I’m No Dummy

2009 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Un-rated
86 minutes
Montivagus Productions

3 stars

Ventriloquism is a strange art form. It’s part acting, part puppetry, part stand-up comedy. It’s vaudevillian in nature and therefore it feels old-fashioned. Yet contemporary ventriloquism is alive and well. The documentary “I’m No Dummy” explores the world of ventriloquism, both past and present, in an engaging enough way that you are sucked into the film, even if you are never sold on the act itself.

Now, I admit that I can be a bit of a Grumpy Guss. I hate magicians. If they were really magic that would be one thing, but the slight-of-hand doesn’t impress me. I’m not afraid of clowns, but I find them annoying and not the least bit funny. (Krusty the Clown is an exception. Do satires count?) Ventriloquism had always seemed to me akin to those professions. But I must confess that “I’m No Dummy” changed my mind. I’m not going to run right out to buy a doll and practice singing whilst drinking water, but there is definitely some art happening here and some of it is downright impressive.

“I’m No Dummy” begins by defining the subject and giving it some context. The filmmakers interview several working ventriloquists (and, of course, their dummies) and ask them to define “ventriloquism”. The answers range from the technical (“a monologue perceived as a dialogue”) to the existential (“different sides of a personality”). It’s clear they’ve all thought a lot about this. No one entered into this world lightly and they are in it for the long haul. In fact, all of them began their careers as children. One of them was an only child. One had polio and spent a lot of time in bed. One suffered from acute dyslexia and admits he took to it because he wasn’t good at much else. It’s a goldmine for rudimentary psychoanalysis.

And some of it is also pretty neat. I’m still not sold on the stand-up aspect. I like my stand-up a little more raw and/or political. But when they go into the history of it and show the early masters, it does get a little mind-blowing what some of these people can do. Senor Wences, one of the more famous “vents,” created his signature head-in-the-box “’salright – ‘salright” bit by accident when his figure’s head became detached from its body in transit. Paul Winchell performed an amazing act wherein he sang a duet with his gypsy dummy…that was playing the tambourine. He was doing the work of at least 3 men all by himself. He also hosted a children’s show and was extremely popular in his day. These days, his legend is overshadowed by Miley Cyrus.

Other early fellows profiled include Jimmy Nelson and Edgar Bergen. The filmmakers also interview and profile enthusiast W.S. Berger, who spent his life collecting ventriloquist memorabilia. He called himself a Ventriloquarian. Seemingly obscure or no, each of the hundreds of dummies in his collection once had a life in showbiz. One contemporary ventriloquist named Jeff Dunham pulls in 4000 people to one show. And some of them are teenagers.

The film concludes with theories about the future of ventriloquism. Some say it can be kept going through innovation and transcending the genre. Some say it’s a dying art. But one person suggests that art never dies. I guess that’s true because I’m off to go watch some old-timey entertainment on youtube.

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

NFT Radar: RIP TUBS

In its glory days, TUBS was spa. A spa enveloped in rumor. These rumors suggested everything from anonymous sex in the secluded hot tubs to a full on prostitution ring. I don’t know what, if any of it, was true. I suspect there were some sexual indiscretions in the tubs at one point or another but what hot tub hasn’t seen at least one happy ending? And anyway, the speculation was half the fun of Tubs. It was a great conversation piece with a cool exterior. And now it’s about to be torn down. In recent months, a group called the Free Sheep Foundation started to paint the outside. Not graffiti but actual art. Really good stuff. The city let them because they were tearing it down anyway. Last Sunday, they held an open house and the artists were there. You could also go inside. Sadly, I encountered no ghostly reach-arounds. Just tons of broke tile and dust. An old TV. More art. I know we have a lot of art spaces in Seattle already but it felt like a waste to just haul it away. On the other hand, the coolest things in this world are only temporary.


4750 Roosevelt Way NE 98105

X-posted from Not For Tourists.

Old Dog, New Tricks

I grew up in Richmond, Virginia. When I lived there, it was a pretty poor excuse for a major city. Sure, there was all that history, the beautiful old buildings, the James river and the greenery. There was soul food and plenty of places to get pancakes. But if you wanted ethnic food, your choices were Olive Garden or Chi-Chis. The vegetarian option most places was vegetable sides and rolls. If you wanted to see a major band that wasn’t Christian or Country, you usually had to drive to D.C. There were, in fact, 4 country radio stations but no modern rock station. Every other car on the road sported a gun rack, a rebel flag, or both. There was a pretty cool small punk rock scene and that was definitely where I spent my free time. But other than that, it was pretty difficult to locate any culture at all.

I lived in Richmond (well…OK…the suburbs thereof) for 11 years. When I graduated from high school, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I went to college as far away as I possibly could and still live in the continental U.S. I visited several times a year until I graduated and never really noticed any progress. So once I started living my adult life, I hardly ever had reason to go back. I took my friend Faye as my date to my dad’s wedding in 2002. Our hotel was downtown. When the wedding wrapped up at 11, we weren’t ready for bed so we hit the town. It was a Friday. But the town was empty. We went into a bar where a man was playing acoustic guitar. We were the only people in there besides him and the bartender. We ordered drinks and sat down in the back. We clapped in between songs and then regretted it because he started talking to us. From stage. After every song. Eventually, he asked us for requests. We finished our drinks and left. We wandered around for a bit longer before deciding to see what was on pay per view back in the hotel.

When my friend Frank chose to move there, I thought he was nuts. He insisted it was a cool place. Frank is a pretty hip guy, but I had a hard time believing him.

This past weekend, my dad retired from his company after working there for 22 years. They loved him and threw him a big party. He’s been working, in some capacity, since he was 14 years old. He raised 2 kids, and then, when he finally shuffled them out of the house, he re-married and got 2 more kids. My husband and I went to celebrate his well-deserved break. It was held at the Art Museum. The food was amazing. There were speeches and lots of leaky eyes. There was a D.J., dancing (mostly done by my dad and step mom) and an open bar (mostly utilized by yours truly). It was a terrific party.


My step mother leads the charge on The Electric Slide

But that my dad had touched this many people, that they admired and respected him so much and were sad to see him go, that they could throw such a terrific party in his honor, were not the surprising things. What surprised me, was that Richmond is no longer a lame place to live.


My old man gives a speech…makes everyone cry.

It’s actually really cool there now. REALLY cool. On Friday before the party, B and I wandered around. We had sweet tea and sweet potato fries at Gutenbergs, a cafe with several vegetarian and vegan options. We did the Canal Walk. We checked out the Poe Museum (inside the oldest standing house in Richmond, est. 1737). We had lunch with my dad and aunt at Millie’s Diner, another menu full of vegetarian options. I took pictures of an old train, old buildings and lots of murals. That stuff was all there when I lived there, of course. The preservation of old buildings has long been my favorite thing about the city. They really have a respect for history there. I wish Seattle would take a queue from them sometimes.

On Saturday, we hung with Frank. He took us to yet another cafe full of vegetarian options. Then he rattled off, like, FIVE things going on that day that sounded cool. Unfortunately, they were all outdoors and the weather had other plans for us. It hardly ever rains in RVA but when it does, it pours. And pour it did. We decided to go to the store and get some BBQ ingredients in the hopes that it would let up. If it didn’t, we could still BBQ and eat inside. If it did, we could wander around or maybe hit one of the day’s outdoor events.

When we left the grocery store, it had stopped raining and the sun was out. We dropped off the groceries and went for a walk down Carey street. It was always the coolest street in Richmond, but it wasn’t always so diverse. In addition to the boutiques and movie theatre of old, there are now indie book stores, knick knack shops, gourmet ice cream (chai and mexi-chocolate flavors!) and a huge record store. We spent some time at Chop Suey, a hip bookstore complete with cat. Got some aforementioned ice cream and headed back to the house.


$2 movies at the historic Byrd theatre.

And then it rained again. So much so that we couldn’t make it the remaining 3 blocks without getting drenched. Fortunately, there was a bar right there and they didn’t mind that we had dripping ice cream cones. We had a beer and waited out the rain. Then we returned to Frank’s incredibly cool row house for some porchin’. God, I love porchin’. Our next house absolutely must have a porch on which we can place a couch or a swing. It’s imperative.


Porchin’ it.

After BBQ we headed out to an event that was, thankfully, indoors: the Found! Magazine show at Gallery 5. The founders of Found! were there, reading their favorite found notes, letters and receipts and singing songs inspired by said found words. It was a pretty incredible show. (And guess what! They’re coming to Seattle this summer!).


Indoor BBQ.


Found! Magazine show.

After that, we returned to Frank’s place to shoot pool, listen to music and chat with him and his awesome girlfriend, who had returned home from work at the liquor store. She had some terrific stories about said job. We also dug into my earlier impulse buy of a Carvel’s ice cream cake. Sadly, there was no Cookiepuss, (OR Fudgy, the Whale), but it was delicious nonetheless.

All day long I marveled about how much fun I was having. I mean, when I lived there, I had fun sometimes, but it wasn’t easy. This was effortless fun. Throughout the day, I saw fliers everywhere for things I wanted to do if only I was staying longer. Cure cover bands, 80’s and electro dance nights, readings and art shows. It was like Georgetown had been transplanted to the South. I suppose it had to happen sometime. A city can’t live in the past forever. Cheap rent attracts poor, creative types, some of whom are vegan and many of whom sport sleeve tats. I’m really happy that it happened to RVA. It’s no longer the stagnant, backwards place I grew up in. It’s even somewhere I could see myself living again (if I could get past the unbearable summer heat and mosquitoes).

Perhaps the biggest sign of change (after their blue state showing in the 2008 election) is that, in December, they are banning smoking in public places. It won’t be like in Seattle. You’ll still be able to smoke right in front of doors. Furthermore, “private clubs” will still allow smoking so a lot of bars will probably turn private, using the Utah model of $1-5/year membership fees. I bet elementary school children don’t even go to Philip Morris for field trips anymore.


It’s toasted!

Yes, Virginia is now a blue state with smoking bans and vegan restaurants. Things are looking up for America. And I’m so happy that RVA is doing their part. I was filled with pride this past weekend. Pride for my (current) dad and my (former) home state.

Film Threat Review: The Country Teacher

2008
Un-rated
113 minutes

Three and a half stars

Loneliness is terrible. And sometimes it makes an otherwise good person do terrible things. That is the theme of “The Country Teacher” (“Venkovsky ucitel”). Bohdan Slama’s film centers on Peter, a homosexual science teacher who takes a job in the Czech countryside to escape the darkness of his life in the big city. Unfortunately for him and a mother and son he befriends, the darkness comes along.

“The Country Teacher,” which screened at this year’s Philadelphia Film Festival/Cinefest, is an interesting film on a provocative subject. It’s difficult to love a film about molestation but there are a lot of things to like about this one. For starters, life in the Czech countryside is beautifully captured on 35mm film. When Peter befriends a lady farmer and helps her with her chores, the audience is given real insight into what it’s like for these rural folks day to day. They love their land, they love to drink beer and dance, and occasionally, they have to hand-deliver calves by yanking them out of the mother cow by hand.

I also appreciate the way Slama handles Peter’s homosexuality. He makes sure to show, early on, that Peter has not been subject to external oppression for his sexuality. When he comes out to his mother (his father already knows), her response is simply “you shouldn’t be alone.” She only wants him to be happy. When his ex boyfriend (with amazing Judd Nelson hair and dark glasses) comes to town, he serves to represent Prague and its progressiveness. Any torment Peter feels is entirely self-inflicted. So when he develops an extremely unhealthy attachment to the teenage son of his farmer friend, we know they aren’t saying, “Gay people are pervs.” Just that “Peter has problems.”

Where “The Country Teacher” seems to fail is in its conviction. For a very long time, it’s not clear whether or not the boy in question is bi-curious himself. With his indie haircut and tight t-shirts, the boy certainly has that “Gus Van Sant extra” look to him. At one point he tells his girlfriend that he’s not sure they “fit together.” And how many times have you gone on sunset boat rides with your tutors? Not that, if he turned out to be gay, it would make Peter’s actions acceptable. But it would definitely change things.

I’m also not sure how I feel about the ending. I will try to keep things spoiler-free, but if you plan to see this film, you should be warned: loneliness is terrible. And sometimes it makes an otherwise sensible person do nonsensical things.

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

NFT Radar: Smarty Pants

Finding good Eggs Benedict is a difficult and risky endeavor. Moreso than with other breakfast dishes (pancakes, for instance), you need to be careful ordering sight unseen. But I love any excuse to visit Georgetown and brunch at Smarty Pants is one of the better ones. I’m sure glad I tried the Benie because now I know it’s one of the best in the city. The hollandaise is perfect and they will throw some Morningstar Farms veggie sausage on there for you if you don’t dig on swine. If you do enjoy consuming farm animals, they have you covered there too. The corned beef hash is made from scratch and the Huevos Panteros is a delicious, crispy take on the ranch-style dish. The hash browns are all grease and crunch and could use a little work, but their featured dishes are spot on. Weekend mimosa and bloody deals help you recover from the night before. Lunch or dinner boasts an equally impressive menu, including brats, cheesesteak, succulent pork and the B.E.L.T. (B.L.T. with hard boiled egg). Sub any meat with field roast. You’d be stupid pants not to like this place.


6017 Airport Way S 98108
206-762-4777
www.smartypants.com.

X-posted from Not For Tourists.

The Case of the Missing Garbage

My husband told me that he’d discovered something strange this morning. After putting out our garbage last night, he went to bring the bin to the curb this morning for our weekly pickup and noticed the bin was very light. He opened it. It was empty.

In Washington, or at least the Seattle area, our garbage situation is a little different. We have recycling bins for our plastic containers bottles, foil and paper. We have a yard waste bin for food scraps. All personal mail is shredded and put in the recycling bin. The items that go in our garbage are human waste, pet waste, plastic wrap and things like light bulbs and batteries. Certainly nothing exciting. Moreover, nothing that is in any way edible or would allow someone to steal our identities. In fact, they could learn very little about us from our garbage apart from the fact that I dye my hair and our cats poop…a lot.

So where did our garbage go?!!

Did someone take it? It seems like that is the only explanation. Raccoons would have left a huge mess. And they wouldn’t have gone after it anyway since it wouldn’t have smelled enticing. And if someone DID take it, WHY?!

We’ve had a bit of a silent feud brewing with our neighbors across the street. They have dogs. They let the dogs crap on our lawn. We put up a sign that has a picture of a dog crapping surrounded by a big “no” sign. The dogs still pooped there. Shortly after that, I started finding little plastic bags of dog crap in our garbage can. This annoyed me because our garbage men wouldn’t take them as is, so I’d have to put their little crap baggies into a normal garbage bag for pickup. So I started putting the glass recycling container on top of the garbage can to deter them from doing this. This morning, the glass container was not on top of the garbage can. My husband offered that maybe one of them went to put their dog crap in our can, felt guilty, and took our entire bag of garbage to their own can. That seems uncharacteristically considerate for someone who can’t walk across the street with a small bag of dog crap.

So I’m at a total loss here. Who or what could have taken our garbage and to what end? Moreover, is this something we should be concerned about? We were robbed last year and vandalized a month later. It’s not a dangerous neighborhood but crime does happen here. Is stealing garbage really a crime?

Please outline your theories in the comments.

Let it Bea

Death is always sad, of course. But every once in a while, we’ll lose an actor or actress who really leaves a void. That is how I feel about Bea Arthur. She didn’t die young, but she always seemed young. Even when she starred in a series about old ladies. The Golden Girls is one of the view sitcoms from my youth that I still find fresh and hilarious. Moreso now, in fact, because I get all the dirty jokes. It’s the original Sex and the City but without all that ugly consumerism and pathetic pining. I always assumed I was a Rose but wanted to be a Dorothy. (I recently took a Facebook quiz which revealed me to be a Sophia, which is OK too.) But Dorothy rocked because she was played by such a badass. Bea Arthur was a badass in everything she did. Even her cameo in the Star Wars Christmas Special, as the bar matron of the Mos Eisley Cantina who sings her customers out at the door at last call. Somehow she, above all others in that special, was able to maintain an air of dignity in the midst of such silliness.

I’ll sincerely miss you, Bea Arthur. I hope there’s a Golden Girls marathon in my future. Nay, in all our futures.

You Do It To Yourself, You Do

And that’s why it really hurts…

I had a perfectly good recommendation from a friend for a hairdresser. I went to her recommendation last time and was happy with the results. But that recommendation has very limited hours (weekends and evenings) and takes over two hours for a cut. I needed something in a hurry this time. So I went to Rudy’s. I brought a picture for the rest of my hair and had the very simple description of “Bettie Page bangs” for the apparently problematic fringe portion of my head. This girl had a picture of Bettie Page on decorating her station so I thought she knew what I was talking about. I relaxed when she cut the rest of my hair just perfectly. Then she dried my hair and told me to close my eyes because she was about to start on my bangs.

I think that “bangs” should be an entire semester long class in beauty school because no one seems to know how the fuck to cut them. Every new hairdresser seems to think my bangs need more bangs and they cut them without asking. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t have my bangs died a different color than the rest of my hair. Do they really think I’ll be totally cool with walking out of the place with black stripes in my purple bangs? It’s obviously a look I worked hard to achieve.

Even if I was OK with the extra bangs, I would not be OK with how she gave them to me. The new bangs aren’t in an even part. It’s all willy nilly. So now I’m going to have to invest in some barrettes and hair pins while I grow this shit out. I shouldn’t have to be doing this again. I know it’s my fault for waiting too long to go to inconvenient but sure-thing hairdresser. But do I really deserve this?:

I don’t even know what to do with this. Even after I pin back the extra bangs the remaining bangs are still pointy and weird. Normally I wouldn’t worry about it this much. It’ll grow back and be fine. But this is pretty fucked up. I could have done a better job myself…when I was 5. Is it really alright to send your client away looking like this?:

Dear Baxter,
Let this be a reminder to you, you masochistic moron. No more short cuts. Go to the lady who knows what she’s doing. ALWAYS. Even if you have to wait an extra long time or block out a big part of your Saturday. Otherwise it’s Barbie hair massacre for you. And you’ll still have to pay for it.
Love,
Me

NFT Radar: Chaco Canyon

Many have praised it and I’ve only been once so I’m guessing Chaco Canyon is pretty hit or miss. For me, it was a huge miss. This is the sort of experience that makes meat and potatoes folks run for the hills. Me, I love organic food. But, while they succeed at stocking organic, local ingredients, they fail epically in the culinary department. The BBQ Seitan sandwich ($10.95) lived up to expectations only in that it was hot. Devoid of BBQ sweetness, it’s surprising that something so spicy could be so bland. It also became a soggy mess on the 10-minute walk home. The carrot cake ($5.95) was an affront to desserts. While it resembled one of my all-time favorites from a visual standpoint, the first bite was a shocking disappointment. I couldn’t identify the white topping, but it wasn’t frosting. The “cake” was bitter, mealy and raisin-free. The whimsical buttercream carrot on top, in this case an actual carrot, was the only edible part. To add insult to injury, this place ain’t cheap. Sure, there’s the quinoa “recession bowl” ($3.95). Quinoa is very tasty and chock full of protein but I shudder to think what they’ve done to it.


4757 12th Ave NE 98105
206-522-6966
www.chacocanyon.com

X-posted from Not For Tourists.

NFT Radar: Skyway Park Bowl & Casino

Bowling, Casino games, karaoke and Asian Fusion cuisine? Could such a place really exist (and possibly fill the void left by Sunset Bowl)? The answer is yes! The downside for central Seattleites is that South Seattle is difficult to reach without wheels. But if you can convince a friend to D.D. (sodas and coffee are free for that standup guy/gal!), it’s a terrific place to spend the evening. There’s so much to do, it’s almost overwhelming. The karaoke book is staggeringly thorough. The regulars bring astounding performances and they will always fit in newbies. The food in the bistro hits the spot. If your cravings are more local, they also have Fast Food Alley for your pizza and nacho needs, as well as a pie of the day. I enjoyed a divine slice of peach. And man, are the staff nice! If it’s not your night at the Pai Gow tables, the dealers seem genuinely sad for you. The parking lot may get a little sketchy after dark but the giant doormen are more than happy to walk you out. I wish you were a bit closer, S.P.B., but I love you all the same.


11819 Renton Ave S 98178
206-772-1220
www.skywayparkbowl.com

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