Friday at the Movies
Wet, wet, wet. But a little warmer, which is nice, since the building hasn't turned the heat on. At least it turned the air-conditioning off.
Since nothing interesting was showing at the Storage Unit Theatre, I waded over to Third Avenue and saw Good Night, and Good Luck, a film which ought to shame audiences into overcoming their network news addiction, at least until television pulls itself out of the sewer that Edward R Murrow foresaw in 1958. George Clooney has made an extraordinary picture, compulsively watchable even though shot in black and white by cameras aimed for the most part at men in white shirts and ties, none of them really young, primarily in office settings. Minimalism actually heightens the drama. The serious, airless (and smoke-filled) atmosphere is ideal for capturing the personal and professional anxiety of newsmen working for a corporation in panicky times. David Strathairn, whose performance grows more remarkable with every scene, registers the menace of McCarthyism simply by staring at its potential victims. His Murrow, a taut man without a ready smile, almost obliterates my recollections of the man himself. There are great parts for Frank Langella, Ray Wise, Robert Downey, Jr, Patricia Clarkson, Jeff Daniels and for Mr Clooney, but none of them pull your attention away from Mr Strathairn for long. Hurry.
At Burger Heaven, right next door to the theatre. I took a booth next to a gent about my age who was crouching on his legs in the seat. There was a sock on one foot, but the other was, ew, bare and not very clean. The man was wrapping up one call and about to start another; I considered sitting elsewhere. But he kept his voice down. I learned even so that he's in the grief-counseling business. What a marvelous world we live in: you can turn the whole world into your office! I thought to myself that if and when the political scene brightens, I can devote my grumbliness to cell phone users, who seem to have no idea how rude cell phones can make them. Time and again, I have lost friends momentarily to spontaneous leaves of absence. Imagine what your companion would think if you picked up a book in the middle of dinner and began to read. Conducting cell phone conversations is no different. Cell phones are for emergencies only. Attend to the one you're with. And spare the world your professional arrangements.
Comments
I will, happily, have taken my last flight the moment cell phones work on airliners. It brings out the absolute worst in people. You're right: emergencies only. I may be the last person in Manhattan without one.
Posted by: PPOQ | October 15, 2005 11:11 AM
If we're down on cell phones, and they can be rude like any other communications device when used rudely, how are we on PDA's, notebooks and laptops? Most irritating to me is the phone, cell or otherwise, in the cashier's ear who carries on a conversation with someone else totally unrelated to the situation at hand with me of taking my money and making my change. Or even worse, the same approach but talking directly to the cashier in the next aisle, just jabbering away the both of them, now treating two customers like so much cattle or sheep to be fleeced. And, of course the pièce de résistance is when this activity is conducted in some language other than English. For these offenders when I know a good pejorative bon mot in their tongue I always manage to say it clearly after I've received my change and then stare at them blankly, as if I'd never spoken a word, daring them respond. It's not the phones, dear, that are rude, it's the users and many of them don't even need a phone to be rude, they've practiced for years, eh? Thank you for reminding why I want to see Good Night, and Good Luck.
Posted by: George | October 16, 2005 03:12 AM
Perhaps we see in this what long exposure to diverse grief can do.
Posted by: Kenneth B. Roberts | October 16, 2005 05:14 PM