Yi

Something needs to be said about Charlyne Yi. I’m not sure what, exactly, but something. For starters, any categorical analysis proves a bit tricky. Is she an actress? Sort of. She’s appeared in movies to varying limited degrees; she was on House. Is she a comedian? In her own way, sure. Is she a musician? She plays before crowds, but has no official albums. Truth be told, she’s all of these things, and with a flagrantly off-kilter style. Description? Eh, at best, "ethnic", though her up-bringing and manner is wholly American. 

Short, dorkish, vaguely asexual and genuinely (as in, no faking) awkward during interviews, on the red carpet or whenever unscripted in front of the camera. Awkward yet equally fearless. Any glimpse of Yi in the media and right away you’ll sense the impulse of an artist–-a constant performer, a beatnik, a dilettante, a suburban garage band-style bohemian of the Millennial Generation (Y, maybe? I can never get 'em straight) that has attained some legitimate success in show business while still maintaining a low key, grassroots career as a both modern day minstrel and Youtube exhibitionist.

I'm weird.

You!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On her Youtube page Yi has done a number of skits, music videos, unplugged-shorts, stop-motion animation and poetry readings. Search her up on Conan doing one of the more clever knock-knock jokes ever attempted, and spy the movie Paper Heart, if you get the chance. Yi is the kind of girl I would marry ...as the setup for some wacky scheme involving an obscure tax write-off or interstate fruit trafficking, or as the result of a drunken night in Vegas. Cue comedic hijinks and possible awkward sex scene.    

Spirit animal

Rare achievement

Catch Me If You Can (2002)

 

 

A story loosely based on the young adult life of Frank Abagnale Jr., a kid turned conman circa 1960s, and the FBI agent, Carl Hanratty, who tracked him down.

Except, it isn’t much of a story in the plot-oriented sense; more like a series of episodic exploits that at-once detail the talents of con artistry while arcing the main character and the pains that motivate him. And yet Catch Me If You Can is never really all that significant or dramatic. It isn’t much of a suspense thriller or brooding, psychoanalytical crime-drama. No American-Greek tragedy here. This isn’t Scorsese or Coppola or De Palma or Leone. But then, the movie never tries to be any of those things either. With Spielberg at the helm, it’s all a dreamy game of smiles and charm. But it’s also a very emotional journey, as young Frank constantly struggles to escape the cold reality of a broken family by forging a new reality of his own, gliding from one check-cashed enchantment to the next, moving through different professions and lifestyles, reaping the sugary exteriors but without conscious aim.

The money and luxury is wish fulfilling for a while, but life on the lam soon proves to be a hollow existence. Frank just wants to be with people who will embrace him. He seeks household warmth, or at least a friend. Again, there’s no real unified story structure to support this, only a kind of carrousel narrative that jumps timeframes and takes audiences through different vignettes of Frank’s ever-changing adventure. There’s also Carl Hanratty, who counterpoints said venture as the lowly bank fraud agent for the FBI, playing cat to Frank’s mouse. He, too, is isolated, defined by his clerical pursuit. It’s a familiar 'cop and crook' dynamic.

Paranoid, angst-ridden characters that do a lot of shouting have since become a staple for Leonardo DiCaprio, and also a source of criticism for those who dismiss him as a one note actor. His performance as Abagnale Jr. shows a different angle. Here, DiCaprio is a sweet natured wonder boy possessing a real knack for comic reactions. His ability to portray Frank with open honesty, even when knee-deep in fabrication, exhibits both charisma and vulnerability that sheds the self-absorbed camera mugging of today’s method acting in favor of something more innocently Capraesque. Screen time shared with Christopher Walken sees the two -- a father and son relationship -- beaming for one another’s attention on different levels; Walken coolly conveys Abagnale Sr. as a once-master of the game whose waning ability to cheat the world with is 'Yankee pinstripe' philosophy reveals but a sad and feeble man.

 

In contrast is a turn from Martin Sheen as a southern drawl district attorney with a soft spot for romance that passes through Frank’s life fleetingly as a source of paternal affection. You’ll also spot the familiar feminine faces of Amy Adams, Jennifer Garner, Elizabeth Banks and Ellen Pompeo, each given roles (some brief, some not) with dazzling personality before hitting their own stardom. That leaves Tom Hanks as the odd man out, so to speak. Hanks does everything in sturdy, reliable fashion, servicing the character of Hanratty with his effortless low-key mannerisms; if nothing else, delivering what is arguably the greatest performance ever while eating an éclair. He chases Frank doggedly, with procedural paperwork instead of uncanny brilliance, only to then engage the conman with a fronted indifference that hides genuine curiosity. Their interaction changes over the course of the film into a lax mutual understanding.

 

Catch Me If You Can is as immersive of a period film as you’ll find anywhere, as its 1960s settings are replete with immaculate production/costume design. A palette of primaries, creamy pastels and Christmas ambience is radiated not through heavy saturation (as is the norm for making "colorful" movies) but with light artifacts. Spielberg and Kamiński have crafted a world where vibrant colors are filtered and slightly blown out through halos, light refraction and reflective surfaces, thus accentuating depth of field with dramatic shadows and filmic textures. It’s a stunning work of cinematography.  

Spielberg is at the top of his technical game. The visuals pour across the screen like liquid in the way moving actors are micro-blocked within single takes: watch closely as Hanratty and his men enter an Atlanta penthouse with snub-nosed pistols drawn, the close-up POV shifting from one revolver to the next, each with a playful sting from John Williams’ score. Spielberg’s camerawork zigzags from cinéma vérité handheld to low, Wellesian perspectives; with classic Curtiz push-ins and even a few carefully placed Dutch angles. The director is so visually nimble here that, at times, it practically becomes a dance, one that is announced from the get-go in jazzy fashion with the opening, animated title sequence.

 

Key details per shot informs certain scenes with specific character traits that can be charted over the course of the film, such as Frank’s tic for tearing off labels from condiments and champagne bottles or the way Hanratty fidgets with his gun holster and flashes backward credentials. Clever editing delivers match-cut segues, including a moment where Hanratty rebukes criticism with a 'Knock Knock' joke setup that is humorously robbed of its punch-line but nonetheless rhythmically answered in the following transitional shot as two Alka-Seltzers plop into a glass of water—Who’s there?

 Whole scenes that are internally funny are also juxtaposed as a means to illustrate characters and innuendos: Frank’s double-win hotel encounter with an exotic woman of the night (Garner) parallels Hanratty spending his evening alone in a Laundromat, plagued with a pink shirt gag. The movie is alive with such invention. One of its most dexterous set-pieces involves Frank’s clever evasion via misdirection at a Miami airport; a scene that dazzles the senses with visual exuberance as a party of beautiful, giggling flight stewardess prance their way down the terminal to the music of Sinatra, ending with a duped Hanratty turning to the skies above just in time to see Frank’s plane fly away.

 

There are some missed opportunities, I think. Spielberg can never fully pull himself away from the familial issues to explore the more capitalistic themes inherent in Frank’s monetary wizardry and manipulation of the social status. We’re privy to the process, well enough, along with a few evanescent moments of commentary, including a scene where young Frank, upon receiving his first checkbook, is told that he is now part of a "special club", but there was perhaps a greater subversive or satirical jab at the American dream (system) that was never really seized. Alas, Spielberg remains largely one tracked, but he does indeed follow it through to the fullest extent and with all cinematic prowess and influences accumulated over the course of his career.

On an adjacent note, this film continues from Saving Private Ryan to War Horse the director’s love for, and aspiration to, French cinema, seasoning his films with accents, locales, music or certain filmmaking motifs in the name of. Frank’s mother is played by French actress Nathalie Baye who appeared in a number of 1970s, post-French New Wave films under directors Pialat, Godard and Truffaut. A scene in the movie even takes place in the quaint town of Montrichard.

For anyone reading this, I highly recommend you watch or revisit Catch Me If You Can (preferably on Blu-ray release) before the month of December is up. It makes for a delectable piece of entertainment best viewed during Christmas time.

15 and Getting Straight

T-Rex Paddock Explained

For those who always pondered over the specifics of the set piece concerning its immediate geography:



click to enhance



Electronic Life

 

 

 

Back in 1983 the late Michael Crichton published a non-fiction book called 'Electronic Life: How to Think About Computers'. This was neither a cut 'n' dry home owner’s manual, of which were already bountiful at the time, nor a cutesy 'computer for dummies' type read featuring some illustrated caricature on the cover. It does incorporate aspects of both on a basic level but, in truth, the author aimed to provide readers with an altogether larger, more comprehensive understanding of the very idea of both a home computer and the possible future such commercial technology might bring, speaking from a cultural, social and anthropological perspective--yet, still managing to articulate these ideas in a common coinage easy enough for anyone to grasp. A fine balancing act. Of course, the catch here is that it was written 30 years ago; in terms of the evolution of computer technology, practically an eon.

 

And that, my friends, is what makes the book rather unique as an artifact shedding insight to a past age, one where the multi-media global network of today could, at the very most, only be imagined -- pipedreamed -- in rudimentary, micro-measurements. Indeed, so much of Crichton’s views expressed here are charmingly dated and naïve, but his broader philosophical bent is quite accurate, and there is perhaps even a wholesome-like core value system concerning Man and his interface with technology that one might take away from the book which has long since been cast into oblivion in favor of our current generation’s at once ultra-sophisticated savvy and dull acceptance of the digital world around us; our wisdom deficiency, if you will, on all things electronic life.

The book is loosely written in the form of a glossary via both PC terminology and more general topics about the computer revolution as perceived at the time. Some random excerpts:

Anatomy, Computer

Faced with an unfamiliar computer, experienced programmers do an interesting thing. They do nothing. They stand and look at the machine. After a moment, they make some simple observation like "Hmmm, it’s got a hard disk drive," or "I see it’s got a built-in printer."

What they’re doing is checking out the anatomy of the machine--finding where things are. This is a logical first step before trying to operate the machine. Beginners skip this step. Either they throw up their hands in horror and announce that computers are beyond them or they plop down at the keyboard and say, "Okay, what do I do?"

What you do first is nothing. Whether you’re in a store or a home or an office, first step back and look. Take your time.

...Don’t worry about any extra equipment. Notice it exist and ignore it.

Art, Computer

Radically different art would literally be invisible. I’ve often been amused to think that domestic dogs practice an art form, right under our noses. After all, a dog walking down a street behaves just like a person in an art gallery, going from picture to picture, alert and interested. There’s a whole world of fascination for dogs that we can’t participate in, because we have no comparable sense of smell.

Less fancifully, Edmund Carter tells how seventeenth century sailors enjoyed inviting aborigines aboard their ships and firing off cannons unexpectedly to scare them. But when the cannons were fired, the Indians didn’t even blink. They had no reaction at all. The loud sound meant nothing to them.

What is truly new does not create shock-–it creates nothing. If we are shocked by art, we are shocked because our expectations are not met. And that means we already have expectations based on previous experience.

If one imagines artificial intelligence programs as an art form, then many objections to them disappear (and perhaps funding). We don't complain that the Sistine Chapel ceiling is not also The Last Supper. The very idea is absurd. Art is inherently limited; we appreciate it for what it is, not for what it isn't.

Design

The earliest designs of any new object reflect older images. The first Pulsar digital watches looked like TV sets; the first home computers looked like typewriters mating with TV sets.

External computer design is still dominated by engineers, and there are a lot of ugly clunkers around. But there’s no excuse for making a machine that looks like a toilet on the space shuttle--and less excuse for buying one. I’m constantly surprised that people who wouldn’t put an ugly stereo on a side shelf will place one of the junky boxes right the corner of their desk, as if they had no choice.

Apple, Atari, IBM, DEC, Espon, Xerox, and Olivetti make pleasant looking computers, although they’re all basically white or gray (I don’t know why computers don’t come in colors; eventually they will).

Programing

A set of instructions to make the computer do something. But that’s not a very useful way to think of a program, since instructions purely to the machine for its own use are often brief.

The bulk of many programs is devoted to helping people put data into the machine and get processed information back out again. One’s satisfaction with a program strongly reflects these areas of input and output.

People don’t understand this. When they look at a long program, they fail to recognize how much of it is directly geared to them. Don’t throw up your hands: this stuff matters to you. And it’s always the least computery part of the program.

For example, a BASIC program might begin with:

10 HOME

20 VTAB 3: HTAB 5

30 PRINT "WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"; : INPUT N$

40 PRINT N$

50 PRINT "IS YOUR NAME CORRECT? (Y/N)"; : INPUT A$

60 IF A$ = "N"THEN GOTO 20

70 PRINT "NICE TALKING WITH YOU,": N$ ; "."

[Now, this means in English]

10 Clear the screen.

20 Tab down 3 lines, and horizontally five spaces.

30 Print "What is your name?" and stay on the same line. Wait for something to be typed in from the keyboard. Call whatever is input N$.

40 Print this N$ back out again, whatever it is.

50 Print "Is your name correct? (Y/N)." This prompts the user to answer Y or N. Get the answer, and call it A$.

60 If the Answer is N for no, then you’ll need to start over again, so go back to line 20.

70 If the answer is not N, then the name must be okay, so print "Nice talking with you," and stay on the same line. Print the name N$, stay on the same line, and print a period (.).

Scientific Model

Human beings continuingly create models of reality. These models are always simplified and approximate, although we tend to forget that. Models are integral to our language and our tools. If we say a friend is angry, we ignore the fact that our friend is much more than just the emotion of anger. If we measure with a yardstick, we ignore the fact that the yardstick is inexact.

Because we use models consistently, and because models are built into our language, we tend to substitute models -- simplified constructs of reality -- for reality itself. In minor ways, we’ve all had the experience of seeing our models collapse, as when the furniture doesn’t fit in a room because our measurements were inexact, or when our angry friend tells a joke to his supposed enemy. At those times, we are sharply reminded that reality is more complex than our modeled version of it.

Testing

Programs, like scientific theories, can never be proved right--they can only be found wrong. The fact that a program works a thousand times does not guarantee that a bug won’t show up the next time.

Experienced programmers say, "There’s always one more bug."

Test a new program until you’re cross-eyed with exhaustion. And regard every running of a satisfactory program as one further test. There’s no way around this perpetual testing and caution.

It's the nature of the beast.

Untitled



Aye-rah-nee