carose59: reviews (only independent source of information)
The movie starts with a woman receiving a manuscript from her ex-husband. He has written a novel and wants her to read it. She does and finds it compelling—she can't seem to stop reading it.

(If this were the beginning of a Stephen King book, that would be literally true and interesting things would follow. This isn't a Stephen King book.)

As she reads, we see the story of the novel. A father, mother, and teenage daughter are driving in the desert. Another drive does something rude, the daughter gives them the finger, and the other driver forces them off the road. This seems like a hobby of the other car's occupants, three young men who deliberately frighten the family before abducting the two women. One of the young men is left with the father. He drives him elsewhere in the desert and leaves him.

The police investigate. The two women were raped and murdered. One of the young men was killed in an attempt to capture him. The other two are apprehended.

The sheriff, who doesn't seem to have a lot else to do, lets the father assist in the investigation and questioning, and when the DA declines to prosecute, tells him that he has terminal cancer. The father doesn't seem to understand this, but eventually he works out that the sheriff would like to kill the two young men, with the father's help. This doesn't work out terribly well. The two young men end up dead and so does the father . . . I think. He was shot, anyway, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out who shot him. I don't know where the sheriff went. I don't think he shot anyone.

Intercut with this dreary story we have the story of the woman and man. They started off very happy, but apparently the woman became just like her materialistic mother and was dissatisfied with him and his failing writing career. So she had an abortion and didn't tell him about it, but he saw her in a car with another man. Then they split up. She marries the other man who has about as much depth as a model in a glossy magazine ad, and spends all his time being important. She is not happy with him, either.

At the end they've made arrangements to meet at a restaurant. He stands her up, either because he's still in love with her and is afraid of the depths of his feelings or to show her what it's like when your wife has an abortion behind your back and leaves you. I hope it's the first, because that's got the be the lamest poetic justice I ever heard of.

A lot of people seem to love this movie because of how beautifully it's shot. It makes me think of something Pauline Kael said, I believe about Cruising. It's like a rat in a Lucite box.
carose59: movies (the real tinsel)
First off, I enjoyed it. It was formulaic, and the Alien formula is: one spunky heroine plus one questionable artificial person plus one HHGeiger alien. Shake well and pour over outer space.

The first two movies had personable actors and memorable characters. The next two at least had Sigourney Weaver. (I found the third movie abysmal to the point that it nearly tainted my fondness for the first two; the fourth was something of a curiosity, and Weaver's character was interesting. I value interesting highly.)

I fell asleep during Prometheus. That's not as meaningful when I say it; I used to fall asleep during movies a lot. I fell asleep during Gone Girl and I loved it. The difference is, I simply didn't care that I fell asleep during Prometheus; it seemed like a better use of my time. It was as though they thought, "What made 2001 a classic? Oh, I know, it was the boring stuff! Let's put in a lot of boring stuff, that'll give this movie what it needs to catch fire!"

(Catching fire wouldn't have been a bad idea, especially if it was sitting on the shelf next to Alien3.)

Covenant seems to be more along the lines of a reboot. Did you like the first two movies? Do you get annoyed when movies you liked are remade? If the answers to these questions are yes and no (in that order), you should like Covenant.

A ship full of colonists follow an SOS signal to the planet we saw in Prometheus. The movie has two! artificial persons of questionable trustworthiness, a spunky heroine, and a crew they want us to like so much, they had three! married couples in the mix. (One way to get the audience to like a character is having other characters like them. We have no vested interest in these people—which is one thing, but they're also replacing character we cared about, which is much harder. Having married couples—loving, happily married couples—makes us like them more, and ups the ante when one of them dies.)

If you saw Prometheus, David the artificial person is back and batshit crazy. The other artificial person is named Walter and I'm not going to tell you whether you can trust him or not. Both are played by Michael Fassbinder, and played well. And I very much enjoyed the meditations on creations and creating. I suspect we'll be hearing more of this.

The other characters are likable, though I could have lived without the captain feeling persecuted for being "a man of faith," especially since we saw no evidence this was true. It made him look paranoid—which might have been interesting if it had gone someplace.

Covenant started off slow, but I don't mind a slow burn. Action-wise, there was nothing we haven't seen before, but I didn't mind that, either; I think the movies are better when they aren't trying to be arty or smarter or whatever they were trying for with movies three and four. They can keep doing this every couple of years and I'll keep going.

(If you want real spoilers, contact me privately and I'll happily give them.)
carose59: drama of the theatrical kind (life with the dull bit cut out)
"You Built Your Own Canoe? Is That A Metaphor?"*

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First there was Jean Anouilh's Antigone, which I was assured by the people who talked about it afterward was a subtle-but-unmistakable attack on the the Vichy government.

I don't know how subtle it was, since the Nazis closed the play immediately. Maybe somebody told them. I certainly didn't get it.

Antigone, in case you've forgotten, is the story of Oedipus's daughter. After his death, his two sons were supposed to share the kingdom, ruling in alternating years. One of them refuses to relinquish the throne, the other takes up arms against him, battles ensue, and both are killed. Actually, they kill each other.

Creon, their uncle/half-brother, assumes the throne and randomly chooses one of them to be the hero and the other to be the villain. The hero is honored. The villain is refused burial, which in ancient Greece meant his spirit would wander the earth forever.

Antigone, who is engaged to Creon's son, Haemon, sneaks out one night to bury her brother. She's caught, has a debate with Creon that lasts most of the play, and is eventually sealed up alive in a cave. Creon finds out that Haemon had hidden in the cave, that Antigone had promptly hanged herself, and that Haemon then stabbed himself. On hearing this, Eurydice (Haemon's mother) finishes her knitting and goes to her room to cut her throat.

Other things happen, of course. There are things with guards and with Antigone's sister, Ismene. But the bulk of the play is the debate between Creon, who is trying to keep order in his country, and Antigone, who . . . I honestly do not know.

I read Sophocles's Antigone when I was in high school and I understand it. It's the same plot. The difference is basically that in Anouilh's play, nobody really thinks it matters whether or not a person is buried. It's just a ceremonial thing. Antigone admits she doesn't believe it matters to her brother, that it will not affect his afterlife. It seems to come down to, she doesn't want to be happy in an ordinary life and she doesn't want to be told what to do.

I don't like to be told what to do either, but I like the idea of being walled up in a cave even less.

I remember when I read Sophocles's play thinking Antigone was an idiot for immediately hanging herself, thinking that maybe Creon would relent. In Anouilh's version I don't even think that because Antigone doesn't seem to want to live. It's as though being walled up in a cave gave her permission to commit suicide. It makes me wonder what lost cause she would have found for herself if she hadn't had a dead pariah for a brother. My sympathy is with Creon, who doesn't want to punish her at all and only does so because she won't cut it out. He's trying to keep order in a country that's been going to hell ever since Oedipus killed his father. He's just trying to clean up the mess he's been left with and Antigone's making things worse by flouting his authority.

And I have no idea what this has to do with Nazis or fascism. I mean, I know fascists love order, but trying to maintain order is hardly enough to make you a fascist. So I don't know.

Tomorrow: Death of a Salesman.

*Cary Agos

Movie review

Thursday, 24 March 2016 01:52 pm
carose59: reviews (only independent source of information)
I woke up this morning thinking about Heaven Can Wait.

Now, this gets a little confusing. There are two movies called Heaven Can Wait, one made in 1943 and one made in 1978, and the one made in 1978 is a sequel—but not to the 1948 movie. It's a sequel to a movie called Here Comes Mr. Jordan, made in 1941.

I remember the first commercial I saw for Heaven Can Wait. I was outraged, because I love the 1943 movie of that title and saw no reason for anyone to remake it. (From what I can tell, nobody else has seen any reason for remaking it either. You should see it, it has Don Ameche and Gene Tierney and it's a very happy little movie.)

When I found out it wasn't a remake—well, it was, but not of what I thought it was, and I didn't find out it really was a remake for some time because there was no internet to tell me—I decided to see it. It looked promising.

And, boy, did it deliver.

Heaven Can Wait is an amazing movie. The only other comedy I can think of that's so densely packed is What's Up, Doc? but you can't compare the two. It's not apples and oranges, it's butterflies and cheetahs—they're beautiful, graceful, and entirely different animals. What's Up, Doc? is a fruitcake, with every funny thing imaginable poured into it. Heaven Can Wait is the heaviest of cream whipped to the lightest of peaks.

It tells the story of Joe Pendleton, athlete (in this one he's a football player; in the original, a boxer) who looks to be only a few steps from the top when he's killed in an accident. Only here's the thing: his guardian angel* stepped in at the last moment and pulled his soul out of his body, to spare him the pain. But the angel made a mistake. Joe wasn't going to die in that accident. And before they can get him back into his body, it's cremated. Since it wasn't his time to go, a new body has to be found for him. Well, not a new one; one belonging to someone about to die. His spirit is installed in the body of eccentric multi-millionaire Leo Farnswoth, whose wife and secretary want him dead. Joe promptly falls in love with a woman protesting the way his proposed new factory will destroy her community. He also starts getting in shape to play in the Superbowl. Further complications ensue

It's the incredibly light touch combined with its deep humanity that gives this movie its magic. Joe spends a lot of the movie talking to angels whom nobody else can see—usually while hiding in a closet. Mid-movie, one of the servants is asked about the tray he's carrying; it's loaded with a teapot and two cups. He explains that it's Mr. Farnsworth cocoa. "But why two cups?" he's asked. The explanation is that the butler thought that since Mr. Farnsworth pretending to talk to someone, perhaps he'd like to pretend to have cocoa with them.

Towards the end of the movie, it's revealed that the servant has been having cocoa with Joe. Of course he has; he brought two cups, but he can't mention the imaginary friends Joe's been talking to, and Joe just assumes the other cup is for him. That is who Joe Pendleton is: a man who happily has cocoa with one one of his servants. Warren Beatty's Joe is so sweet and light, he's just this side of cotton candy.

I know, I'm making it sound like it'd put you into sugar shock, but believe me, that's not the case. The early scenes where Joe and Mr. Jordan casually watch potential body-donors die is some of the best black comedy I've ever seen

I have to admit, I don't care for the movie's ending—which I won't reveal. I have a fundamental disagreement with the writers' belief systems. But I've resigned myself, and the rest of the movie is so delightful, I could forgive far more.

And don't get me started on the music. I literally saw this movie twenty-two times in the theatre, very often just to listen to the music because I couldn't find the soundtrack album.

*I call him a guardian angel, but this movie's religiosity is on par with It's a Wonderful Life.
carose59: reviews (only independent source of information)
The week in movies

Last year I dumped Netflix because they don't have enough old movies. Amazon Prime is better for old movies, but our library system has them beat, and they're free. So when my membership was about to expire, I just let it.

I'm on a serious movie kick because when I dumped Netflix, I copied all the movies I'd rated to move the ratings to imdb. The ratings don't mean anything to me; what I like—and prefer imdb to Netflix for—is being able to keep a list of the movies I've seen in a place that's readily available and won't get stolen. (The last list I made was on my last laptop, and God knows where that is.) The reason I prefer imdb—besides not being able to access Netflix unless I subscribe—is that they have everything. Netflix quite reasonably only has what they have, or expect to have.

Anyway, transferring all these movies over has gotten me thinking about things. Like Shirley Temple movies. I've seen a lot of Shirley Temple movies—I might have seen all of them. I really don't remember, because I'm nearly fifty-seven years old, and I saw these movies when I was in grade school. So how do I rate movies I don't even remember? I know, I said the ratings don't mean anything to me. And they don't. If I could just input a list without ratings, that would be fine, but I can't. And if I'm going to do them, I want to do them right, I want consistency.

So I'm watching movies "again" to be sure I've really seen them. Here's what I watched this week

The Wheeler Dealers (1963) A sixties comedy with Lee Remick and James Garner. James Garner is a guy who buys and sells stuff—a wheeler dealer. Lee Remick is a (female!) stockbroker trying to hang onto her job in the face of being a woman doing a "man's" job. They meet, make some money, and fall in love. It was predictable and fun. I gave it seven out of ten stars. It would have gotten six, but Phil Harris was in it, and I like Phil Harris.

Pocket Money (1972) Lee Marvin and Paul Newman are the perfect informed idiot and uninformed idiot, trying to make some money buying cattle in Mexico. Paul Newman's character is utterly stupid and insanely likable. Lee Marvin's seems like he could maybe be dangerous if he had fifty more IQ points, and he's almost as much fun. Since it's a Paul Newman movie, Strother Martin was also in it. I gave it nine stars.

Boys' Night Out (1962) A sixties sex comedy. Four business men (James Garner, Tony Randall, Howard Duff, Howard Morris) rent an apartment for the purposes of extramarital hanky panky. They think they've also rented a girl (Kim Novak), but she's really doing a post graduate thesis on men's sex fantasies. What she finds out is that they're looking for a woman to do something their wives have stopped: being nice and paying attention to them. Except, of course, for James Garner, who isn't married. Fun, clever, genuinely witty, and with an ending you might not expect from this kind of movie. Both this and Wheeler Dealers were written by Ira Wallach, a man who clearly didn't believe women should be kept in the kitchen or the bedroom. I gave it nine stars.

The Invisible Man collection

The original The Invisible Man (1933) stars Claude Rains. What else could you possibly need to know? I gave it six stars because I know the story so well, there's just nothing intriguing about it, beyond Claude Raines. The next one, The Invisible Man Returns, (1940) and the final one, The Invisible Man's Revenge (1944), were nothing special, though The Invisible Man Returns does have Vincent Price, and therefore got six stars. The Invisible Man's Revenge got four.

But in between were The Invisible Woman (1940) and Invisible Agent (1942).

The Invisible Woman is a delightful comedy. How could it not be, with John Barrymore and Charles Ruggles as backup? The leads, Virginia Bruce and John Howard, are both charming. (John Howard is probably best not-remembered as Katharine Hepburn's not-good-enough-for-her fiance in The Philadelphia Story.) Nine stars.

Invisible Agent is nothing special—a WWII spy movie with Claude Raines's grandson using his formula to become invisible, and Axis forces trying to capture him/get the formula. But Peter Lorre is in it, and I love Peter Lorre. If you want to see the real genius of Peter Lorre, don't watch Casablanca or The Maltese Falcon. Watch one of the mediocre or lousy movies he made. He doesn't just shine in these movies, he sparkles, and since he's usually the only bright part of the movie, he's like a sparkler on a pitch black night. He's always the strangest person in the room, and usually seems to be talking to himself. (And it just occurred to me that Jeff Goldblum's manner in Transylvania 6-5000 is very similar to Lorre's. It's a terrible movie, except for the very beginning, which I think I need to watch again.)

And Everything Is Going Fine (2010) is a documentary about Spalding Gray. I like Spalding Gray very much, and I know I've seen one of his monologue movies, but for the life of me I cannot remember which one. I was also unaware that he had committed suicide. (I did know he was dead.) It's a very interesting and enjoyable movie. Nine stars.

Isn't It Shocking? (1973, TV movie) Oh, my God, I love this movie. Alan Alda is a small-town sheriff who has just been offered a job in a slightly larger town. But then the old people started having fatal heart attacks, and he gets suspicious. Lloyd Nolan plays a deputy, Louise Lasser is the strange secretary, plus you've got Will Geer and Ruth Gordon and Liam Neeson and Edmond O'Brien. But mostly what you have is Alan Alda being young and cute and witty. I hadn't seen it since probably whenever it was repeated after the first time it was shown, but I found it on youtube and really enjoyed it again. Ten stars!

The Return of Frank James (1940) Henry Fonda did not annoy me in this movie. That may sound like faint praise, but after the last two movies of his I watched, it was a real relief. It's an OK movie, nothing unexpected. Gene Tierney was playing awfully young—I was half-expecting her to wind up as Jackie Cooper's love interest. Six stars.
carose59: movies (the real tinsel)
I Also Brought Jimmy Belushi Back To Life For That Scene. He'd Been Killed Earlier. I Put A Bandage On His Head And Said, "You're Alive. Here Are Your Lines."*

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After my dissatisfaction with Welcome to Hard Times, finding that I actively hated his character in Sometimes a Great Notion was very unpleasant. I need to see him in a comedy. If I have to, I'll watch The Male Animal, undoubtedly my favorite of his films.

The thing is, in certain roles Henry Fonda has this hyper-annoying attitude. It's something I noticed in Wilford Brimley many years ago: a certain sanctimony that just makes me want to slap him—either of them. I think of it as, "Even when I'm wrong, I'm still righter than you."

Right now I'm watching my favorite part of The Pirates of Penzance: With Catlike Tread. Kevin Kline and Rex Smith are so clearly having a blast leaping about, screaming in each others' faces, Russian cossack dancing, using their swords as jump ropes. (The thing that annoyed me the most about The Pirate Move—besides the fact that it was a comedic take-off of a comedy, which seems pointless to me—was that they sang With Catlike Tread in a whisper. It's meant to be sung at the top of your lungs; that's the joke. ["With cat-like tread, Upon our prey we steal; In silence dread, Our cautious way we feel. No sound at all! We never speak a word; A fly's foot-fall Would be distinctly heard—"]) It makes me insanely happy.

I also love The My Eyes Are Fully Open, which started its life in Ruddigore; or, The Witch's Curse but which fits here beautifully.

And, you know, Kevin Kline. He's so insanely alive, you just can't take your eyes off him, and those striking blue eyes—he was beautiful. Pat and I saw it in the theatre and spent half the movie whispering to each other, "Who is that guy?" We agreed that we hadn't seen him before because neither of us would have forgotten him. This happens to be true, we hadn't seen him before, he'd been on one soap neither of us watched, had a couple other TV appearances, and had been in Sophie's Choice, which I still haven't seen. (And don't plan to.)

The last time I watched Pirates, I read up on it some and I found out that Gilbert & Sullivan essentially invented modern comedy as we know it, but I need to do some more reading before I write anything more. I do remember years ago reading that one of them—I think it was Gilbert—was actually abducted by pirates as a small boy while playing at the seashore. But a quick search hasn't told me anything, and I'm not going to keep looking right now.

I'm a little movie-obsessed right now because I've been transferring all my Netflix ratings to imdb. It's not really about rating stuff, it's about having a list of as many of the movies I've seen all in one place where nobody can break in and steal it. I'm up to over three thousand, and I've got over two hundred more to add.

It's gotten complicated, though, in weird, existential way. There are plenty of movies I know I've seen—Shirley Temple movies, for example—but it's been nearly fifty years in some cases, and while I know I've seen them, I have no idea whether or not I liked them. And clearly my opinion as a seven year old is different than my opinion as a nearly-fifty-seven year old. So I'm going to watch a bunch of Shirley Temple movies. Also Andy Hardy movies (I've probably seen all of them, but who knows? I mean, I don't, and really, who else would? Pat, maybe, if she were here to tell me. She remembered stuff. But she wouldn't know what Shirley Temple movies I watched as a kid. (By the way, she loved The Pirates of Penzance and also The Pirate Movie.)

So I'm watching stuff. Hope & Crosby movies. Andy Hardy movies. Shirley Temple movies. Fred Astaire movies.

Not right now, you understand; I don't have any of them here. Right now I'm watching All the President's Men. (I watched my favorite Pirates scenes a couple of times and moved on while writing this.)

William Goldman wrote one version of the screenplay, and he's credited with it, but I can't remember if this is really his version or what. I know there were complications, and other versions—I think Nora Ephron wrote one (she used to be married to Carl Bernstein)—and Goldman wasn't happy about it. (Man, I love his books about writing, about Hollywood. Really, you should read them. His style is so conversational and accessible and entertaining, he could write about paint drying and it would be a page-turner.) I can find him in the movie, I can hear him.

*Penny Marshall
carose59: movies (the real tinsel)
"You Threaten A Man In A South Bronx Social Club, You Come Back Inside And Reach For Your Pocket, You're Supposed To Get Shot."*

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I re-watched Sea of Grass the other day. If you've never seen it, it's an unhappy Spencer Tracy & Katharine Hepburn movie. If you've seen Giant, you've seen Sea of Grass. The biggest difference is, it's a fight between cattlemen and settlers, and it always makes The Cowman and the Farmer Should Be Friends start playing in my head, which is annoying. My friend Christy described it as, "white men fighting over what to do with the land they stole," and that's it exactly.

I actively dislike Spencer Tracy in it, and wish Katharine Hepburn had left him for Melvyn Douglas. He's oh-so-high-minded in his assertion that his way of living on the land is the best. This land, he says, can't sustain farming.

He's not wrong; it can't. It also can't sustain cattle indefinitely. If he was truly serious about using the land for the purpose it was intended, he'd be raising buffalo. But he's only serious about getting his own way. And Robert Walker ends up dead and nobody's happy.

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The other movie, I didn't finish: Welcome to Hard Times. Henry Fonda is mayor of a small town that is beset by a bad guy with a gun. Fonda is no good guy with a gun, though he does have a gun; he refuses to do anything because it would be dangerous and it's not his job. The bad guy rapes and kills one of the town prostitutes, and nearly kills the other (who Fonda seems to be in a relationship with, but not a close enough one to risk his life). Then he burns the town to the ground.

Elisha Cook Jr. is the only one who tries to stand up to the bad guy. Really, you know you're in trouble when Elisha Cook Jr. is the bravest man in town. And he only did it because the bad buy stole his horse. Of course he just walks towards him while the guy is sitting, watching. So Elisha Cook Jr. gets killed, and so does another man. Nobody had sense enough to sneak up on him or shoot him while he was busy; they just cower and try to talk other people into doing something, then let him leave once the town has been destroyed.

I kept thinking of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Jimmy Stewart would never have put up with this kind of shit. Even Vera Miles would have taken a shot this guy; John Wayne wouldn't have been needed. But Henry Fonda just kept saying it wasn't his job. I didn't care enough to find out what happened next. It wasn't my job.

(Years ago, it seemed like every time one station would show Cat Ballou, another station would show The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance the next day. But you can't watch The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance right after you've watched Cat Ballou because it's impossible to take Lee Marvin seriously. I always wondered if they did that deliberately.

*Davidson, Blossom
carose59: reviews (only independent source of information)
The Universe Is Made Up Of Stories, Not Atoms.*

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I loved Burn Notice from the first. I'm not sure I started with the pilot—I caught it in a marathon, and was immediately captivated by the humor. (It's always the humor.) Michael Weston was competent, uncomfortable with emotion, and had a hilarious, dry sense of humor. He was in love, but didn't know how to be; he had a friend, but didn't know how to have a friend; he had a mother he couldn't cope with at all. He knew how to work, and he was excellent at his job—only he didn't have a job anymore. He was a man who had gone from superspy to persona non grata in a matter of seconds. He had to get his life back!

(He actually says this many times throughout the show's seven year run.)

He's dumped in Miami, his hometown, with only the cash in his wallet, and bruises and contusions from a beating he got when he couldn't fulfill his last job. His ex, Fiona, is there, kind of hoping to watch him die, kind of hoping to get him back. Just in case he doesn't die, she's called his mother, because he needs to suffer some more.

Michael manages to get work with an old friend, Sam. Sam's ex-CIA, now living on the kindness of the women he sleeps with. He gets a car from his mother, even though it means actually having her in his life. He starts doing small jobs for people with problems too small for a big PI agency and too weird or shady for the police. And he keeps trying to find out how he got burned, why he got burned, how to get back to that thing he loved so much, that place where nothing and nobody touched him.

He finds out, but he can't get back.

But he forges a strong bond with Sam. He makes peace with his estranged brother. He learns how to love Fiona. He develops a relationship with his mother that doesn't include hiding when she calls him. He even makes a brand new friend.

They become a well-oiled machine, with mother Maddie stepping up in emergencies. For five years, in between trying to get Michael's old life back, they help people. They are Robin Hood and his merry men, and it's delightful.

That's the story I was watching, the one about the guy who was learning to have a different kind of life, even if he didn't know it.

But it's not the story Matt Nix was telling. He's the creator of Burn Notice, and I don't think the idea that Michael would see what he had and enjoy it ever occurred to him. He fixed Michael's life—really, everyone's life, because Fiona was happy, Sam was happy, Maddie was happy, Jesse (the new friend) was happy. Their lives were smaller, but productive, and they were a family.

And then Matt Nix blew it all up.

Which, you know, he's the creator. He can do that. I'm sure he thinks that the show had a happy ending because Michael and Fiona ended up together, but he tore the family apart. Things got so dark, I was hunting for spoilers, honestly afraid he was going to kill Sam. (If he had, I would have quit watching.)

I think Matt Nix is as blind as Michael Weston: neither of them could see what was right in front of them, the pleasure and satisfaction to be had from a small life lived well. And that's sad, because he took it away from all of us.

Still, you should watch the first five years of Burn Notice. You can go further if you want, but don't say I didn't warn you.

*Muriel Rukeyser

July 2017

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