I've got two strikes of bias against me reading this book. The first is that I pretty solidly come down on one side of the politics that divided Germany, and the second from the fact that I read it from a point in history that knows that the Berlin Wall is ultimately doomed to come down. So when Schneider's narrator debates the relative merits and shortcomings of either side, I see him shortchanging "my" side, and when Schneider's narrator treats the division of Germany as a permanent situation, I have to stifle a knowing giggle. While I doubt Schneider foresaw the fate of the Wall, I do think that he expected either side to approach his work from the same type of bias as I, if not necessarily from the same direction. Knowing that each side would feel victimized in this concise account of two Germanys, Schneider deftly and frequently reminds the reader of their own bias which refocuses attention on the paradoxically completely similar, yet wholly dissimilar societies.

As the narrator collects stories of various wall jumpers, he explores differences between the two halves of Germany. A simple news account will flare into an argument with a friend formerly from East Germany about how the two states drive the reporting. A demonstration becomes fodder to explore the machinations of the elites. Reflecting on a relationship he had with another former East German reveals the deep rifts that have developed between the two German societies as a result of the political division. And a final trip into East Germany to visit that branch of the family that resides there shows how easily he could've been either. "You're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view" has rarely been more clearly demonstrated than here.

There are a couple of quotes that I want to take from this book

• "...the state was powerless before the tiled stove." (pg. 41)
• "I only know that we will fail in our attempt to cure the madness of one state by referring to the madness of the other." (pg. 126)

The first is a powerful reminder that, as sweeping as the political winds may be, the people continue to live as they mostly have. The second crystallizes what may be Schneider's thesis and is a truth that should remain in mind when talking about American politics. To often, people try to justify A's behavior by using B's behavior and vice versa, but the truth is that neither justifies the other, both behaviors are corrupting.

What delicate tongues must lift such intricate prose to lofty heights that such skilled performers remain so earthbound.

Despite generally solid performances from the cast, especially Kingsley, Twelfth Night: Or What You Will never soars to the majesty of Branagh's Shakespearean works, the penetrating insight of Kurosawa's adaptations, or the accessibility of the 1999 A Midsummer Night's Dream. Far too often, the cinematography is televisionesque, the adaptation oddly paced, and lines are recited, rather than delivered naturally. This adaptation would be quite serviceable as a supplemental resource for the play, but I doubt it attracts new fans to the work.

One can hardly fault the director for adhering closely to the original, but I feel as if Malvolio's sub-plot resolution might be better served by departing from the source. As a comedy, it leaves off on a decidedly down note, not unlike the pre-release ending of Dodgeball, where Vince Vaughn's team loses. In college, I saw a production where Malvolio ends the play singing "Blue Moon" and inviting an audience member to join him giving his sub-plot apt and upbeat closure. Nunn needn't have gone that far, but Malvolio's bitter exit depresses an otherwise enjoyable ending.

There's a series of PSA's that I frequently hear that address the very real issue of racism. In one, a co-worker denigrates an African-American who got a promotion. Another has a landlord assuring an elderly woman that he didn't let an African-American rent an apartment next-door. The final has a woman confusing another waiter for her own because both waiters are Hispanic. After a few months of listening to these disgusting examples of human hatred, I started turning them off as soon as I hear the first lines of any of them. I realize that, as a Caucasian, I am mostly spared these displays of prejudice, but I can't bear to so much as listen to them. The base jealousy, bigotry, and ignorance these PSA's display is so offensive, I don't want to pollute my mind by so much as hearing them. I consider myself truly fortunate that I don't have to encounter such racism in my day to day life, and it saddens me to think that these are not just gross caricatures.

Crash gives these caricatures new life on screen, and does so in such a insultingly overwrought manner that makes it hard for me to accept as realistic. I understand and grieve for those that have had to face such bigotry in life, but as a mid-west white man who has fortuantely little experience with real racism, the examples in Crash are cliched and unbelievable. Of course the white woman who clutches her husband's arm is responding to her racism. Of course the shopkeeper thinks the Hispanic locksmith is part of a scheme. I'm only surprised they left watermelon on the screenwriter's shelf of cliches. Then the believablity isn't helped when a woman, who looks for all the world to be African-American and is played by a half-African actress, yells at the cop that he's just stopping her and her African-American husband because they're a mixed couple. The sheer audacity of the racism lessens throughout the film, but the memory of the "racism is bad, m'kay" vignettes leaves a bitter taste.

Had Crash not tried so hard to be an "issue" film, and just told a story of interconnected lives, it would've been quite enjoyable, even with Brendan Fraser's Encino Man-esque presence. I am much more interested in Cheadle's film about the "sense of touch," than I am in Haggis's anti-racism screed.

This is my first Weezer album since The Blue Album and in many ways, it demonstrates why I feel uncomfortable writing these impressions about music. Simply put, my musical knowledge is dwarfed by my film/book knowledge. Which should give you an idea just how tiny my musical knowledge is.

In short, I like Make Believe, I'm just not sure how to express it. Make Believe loses some of the They Might Be Giants/Barenaked Ladies-esque whimsy of The Blue Album and replaces it with a lusher, more approachable sound that shows more of the Green Day influences the band claims. Meanwhile the lyrics retain an easy-to-identify-with geekiness. Coincidentally, the day after first listening to it, I saw a As Seen On TV commercial with a for-kids-by-kids cover of "Beverly Hills." Picturing a ten year old sing, "My automobile is a piece of crap" just strikes me as odd.

I probably heard of A Canticle for Leibowitz first from a 1999 Slashdot review. At the time I hadn't read the book, so I didn't join in the discussion, but I did make a note of it for future reference. The premise so enthralled me that I knew that I wanted to read it, but for whatever reason, I was never able to find it in a bookstore until last year. Now, having read it, while I understand why it is so widely regarded, I'm glad I have it out of the way.

Canticle is clearly a product of it's times. Not so much in the topic of nuclear war, but in it's structure and tone. Originally written as three short stories covering various periods of time, the book has a fairly disjointed feel. Each section requires the reader to get a grasp on the new characters and political situations of the period, which tends to minimize the preceding section. But for a throwaway line or two, Brother Francis's hardships have no impact on the later sections. Thon Taddeo's efforts to decipher the Memorabilia are scarcely even remembered in the last section. The general reverence for the church (i.e. the liberal sprinkling of Latin, although usually translated after the usage, and the extreme opposition to euthanasia) contributes to a tone that exudes mid-20th century conservative America. In particular, the opposition to euthanasia stood out as like blind devotion to the church rather than as a natural outgrowth of the developed characters. This, however, may be to some over-sensitivity on my part given recent personal events.

One thing that I do have to wonder about is, early in my reading, I accidentally creased the front cover. Now, I'm no obsessive compulsive, but I do try to keep my stuff in good condition, and this was the first thing in a long time that I had damaged. Perhaps I need to reevaluate my "I'm no obsessive compulsive" claim, because this really bothered me for the rest of the book. To the point of diminishing my enjoyment of the book to a small degree. Yes, I'm weird.

From any other band, How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb would be career highlight. For U2, it feels more like a continuation of All That You Can't Leave Behind, which is hardly any sort of criticism beyond "more of the same." Rather than the musical experimentation of follow-ups like October or The Unforgettable Fire, Bomb seems to track Zooropa in terms of stylistic progression.

While I'm currently a bit burned out on All's songs, it's style, as it appears on Bomb, is still quite enjoyable, and it'll certainly see significant playtime in my CD player. Of course, what U2 album hasn't?

The MacGuffin in Pulp Fiction is vital. Or rather, that it is a MacGuffin is better for the movie as a whole than if it were revealed. Ronin's MacGuffin, on the other hand, is merely a plot device. As the primary plot driver, leaving it closed cheats the audience of the payoff they paid two hours to see. And it is just one of many enigmatic decisions that conspire to hold the movie back. Frankly, Mamet's lucky to not have his name on it. Set direction leans toward theatric, the plot is needlessly convoluted and just barely on the good side of logical (the fact that a spoiler site such as moviepooper.com misses the double meaning of the title is symptomatic of that), the unnecessary explanation of "ronin" at the beginning of the film, and, I can't believe I'm actually complaining about the font, the font used for the superimposed text is incongruous with the setting.

And yet, there is no denying that what Ronin does well, it does very well. The car chase scene are among the best in film, imparting the sense of speed and danger while remaining convincingly realistic. It's just a shame that Frankenheimer's genius with action scenes is matched by his yeoman-like work when the speed is dialed down.

Like the later Favreau-Vaughn collaboration, Made, Swingers is full of those realistic, gut-check moments of pure awkwardness that make you wince. But whereas in Made, the awkward moments carried such heavy consequences for the characters that one questioned if the characters were up to the task, in Swingers, the price of awkwardness is just not getting laid that night. Since the stakes are so much lighter, the humor of the situation is more apparent and enjoyable. The in-jokes and various homage are a special reward.

For all that is good about the movie, however, there is one glaring shortcoming. The cinematography is, at best, serviceable, and is often noticeably weak, including such basic errors as losing focus and violating the 180° rule. Considering the production budget, this is understandable, but doesn't make such errors less distracting. It's a credit to Favreau's script and all of the actors' performances that the film still shines past that.

A wonderful adaptation of Macbeth, and while some of the motivations strike me initially as off, that is more a case of my unfamiliarity with Japanese culture than any sort of failing on Kurosawa's or the actors' parts. Even though it was filmed nearly fifty years ago, the cinematography has a definitively modern flair, with wipes and a very fluid camera. And yet, the Noh stylings grounds the film with historicality. This mix of modern and history helps draw modern audiences into the film.

Some commentators rank Asaji as "more evil" than Lady Macbeth, while Washizu as being more sympathetic than his analogue. That's really only true when comparing the characters in relation to one another, Asaji is much more ruthless than Washizu, whereas Macbeth and his Lady are roughly similar in what they'll do to accomplish their goals. Washizu's reluctance to kill his lord is considerably easier for Asaji to overcome than Macbeth's, and Washizu's arrogance before his fall is considerably greater. Watching Asaji manipulate Washizu is a guilty pleasure. For a truly sympathetic Macbeth, Scotland, PA's Joe McBeth is a better example.

This melding of Gladiator and Braveheart successfully aspires to those films' action driven gravitas, but it certainly doesn't come close to matching them. Additionally, it falls far short of matching the intellectual kinship their characters build with the audience. There is not a single time that it appears that Clive Owen means it when he speaks of "freedom."

Add in some odd inconsistencies, like eight archers filling the air with hundreds of arrows, the incredible accuracy of bows, a love story that lacks realism, or that Arthur was not king (at least, until the end of the movie, which makes the initial cut, which had Arthur die at the end, inscrutable), and combine those with phoned-in acting jobs and trite movie cliches and you're left with a movie where you root for the heroes to win the battle, but you could care less if they win the war.