Work(ing Title)

Beginning tomorrow and running through the end of this month, Jonny Knoxville and the Jackass crew will be available online to entertain and gross out for the grand price of zero dollars (which could mean you’re theoretically being paid half a Euro to watch it). After the initial ad-supported run at Jackassworld, the film will be available for purchase online for the truly passionate fan of absurdity. Thank you Silverlight!

(Tim Sneath)

Last night I arrived at Cinerama to enjoy one of my favourite films, and probably the longest film I’ve ever seen in the theater: Lawrence of Arabia. The overture boomed through the soundsystem a few minutes late at twenty minutes past, but the power of the score put me in the perfect mood before I could open my mouth to comment. The lights were extinguished from above our heads and the curtains pulled back to reveal the first glorious shot of David Lean’s masterpiece.

The opening sequence of Lawrence prepping his Brough Superior for an ill-fated afternoon ride is certainly what hooked me into the film on my first viewing years ago. The first act of the film is so beautifully paced, I hardly shifted in my seat for the first hour. And speaking of beauty, David Lean’s work was absolutely stunning on a proper screen. Cinerama is one of the few places that can properly screen the 70mm print of the film, and it made the DVD I’ve watched so many dozen times feel like a worn out beta.

The story is one I’m intimately familiar with, but somehow seeing the film as it was intended opened up a flood of new details for me. There were shots that I simply don’t ever remember seeing, which will have me re-watching my copy this weekend with a weather eye. Right around the time my butt began complaining about the state of things in my theater seat, the most glorious thing happened.

The music came up along with the lights and the curtains drew closed. This part of the experience has always escaped me watching from my couch. There was a proper fifteen minute break, which provided ample time to visit the restroom and get my bloodflow sorted out. As I climbed the stairs to my seat the music fired up again, issuing the classiest of reminders. The final act of the film was as compelling as the first, and I stepped out into a rainy Seattle evening confident that I will make it my business to be back to Cinerama for every future showing.

In the final sequence of A New Hope, Luke, Han, and Chewbacca all recieve medals from Princess Leia. Han’s shirt collar is buttoned up, though he is otherwise wearing his exact same set of clothes. Fuck formal wear.

On Friday afternoon I went to the gym to go run. First off, by ‘run’ I of course mean moon-run, courtesy of my local neighborhood elliptical trainer (impact is for fattie losers). Now then, the prequel here is that I got into the gym once last week while I was back in town and decided that instead of lifting heavy things I’d run. While I only ran for 30 minutes, it was the most effortless activity I could remember.

Friday proved that wasn’t some sort of fluke, as I ran 13 miles in two hours. after that long I has compelled to stop not by any pain in my joints, nor exhaustion of my muscles or lungs. No friends, my nipples were in such searing pain I had to stop (fuck you very much Charles Darwin–couldn’t have discovered something with a quicker pace could you?).

Saturday morning rolls around and after beginning the process of sluffing old and unwanted clothes, I hit the space-bricks again. This time I wanted to take it slightly easier in order to preempt any injury, and so ten miles was had in 80 minutes. The rest of the day was spent with laundry, and then a Han Solo Film Festival evening (Empire and Serenity). Oh and there was a bit of self surgery that night to deal with a blister that made a cameo appearance on my foot.

Yesterday I watched Back to The Future* with my late breakfast, did something (?), and then had a late lunch before heading back to the gym. This was a deliberate test mind you, and the results were as I suspected. My stomach cried foul before I would’ve otherwised stopped, but my more aggressive pace did let me rock out eight miles in 45 minutes.

Starting this morning the goal is to run 15 miles every day for a week. On Rini’s suggestion I’m going to break it in half, which will allow for some better muscle recovery, plus I can lift heavy things in the evening session. If I can keep up that kind of pace, I should be able to donate more clothing than I thought!

*Every time Marty goes changes time, he ends up slamming the DeLorean into something to stop. First it’s the Mr. Peabody’s barn (which according to the speedo he hits at around 40mph), and then he hits the movie theater upon returning to the glorious 80’s.

Are the benefits of a paintless, stainless steel car really that great? How can he keep slamming into buildings at near freeway speeds and then just drive away? How did I not notice this during any of the previous 497 viewings?

There are so many things to appreciate about The Big Chill, which I’m watching tonight on Julie’s recommendation. The cast is impeccable, the soundtrack is untouchable, and the carefree substance abuse is enlightened. I’m really impressed by the gravity of the story despite its effortless attitude, and the status of Larry Kasdan as a cinematic master has never been more deserved.

Swept back blond hair, fixing a weathered Targa in a corduroy blazer and aviator shades, only to unwind in the embrace of narcotics?! I basically want to be William Hurt.