SilverJacket

The Shocking Identity of Supreme Leader Snoke

After watching Star Wars: The Force Awakens last month with my brother-in-law, I suggested that there was nothing hugely surprising, at least not on the level of “I am your father.” And I wondered aloud what could have been revealed (or might be revealed in Episode VIII) to shock me. Of course there are rumors that Luke is Rey’s father, or that Jar Jar Binks is Rey’s father, but that’s a lot of father business and we’ve been there.

So, I suggested, what if Supreme Leader Snoke is actually Kylo Ren, from the future? They’re both bad guys sensitive to the force, they both do or will suffer scarring on their faces, and you never see them in the same room together, as Kylo talks to Snoke’s hologram. How do they converse, you ask? I suggest something along the lines of the Doctor Who episode “Blink,” in which Sally converses with a DVD recording of The Doctor. The Doctor makes this possible by obtaining a transcript of the conversation written by an observer and taking it into the past to make the recording before Sally encounters the DVD. (This form of interaction might require several trips, à la Edge of Tomorrow.)

Sure, time travel isn’t really a Star Wars thing, but consider that the next episode will be written and directed by Rian Johnson, the writer and director of Looper, a film about a man tasked with killing a version of himself sent from the future. And the following episode will be written by Johnson and directed by Colin Trevorrow, the director of Safety Not Guaranteed, a movie about the use of a time machine. Instead of “I am your father,” it’s “ 'Sup bigguy. You don’t age well.” 

New York is Fun. You Should Come.

I'm not really one to get starstruck. I'm of the "they're just human; do they have anything interesting to say to me" variety. But there's still something enervating about close encounters with celebs in the wild, like watching a comic book character (say, Mystique) come to life and shake your hand. I think there's some evolutionary psychology behind that.

Two nights ago I went to a book party hosted by a dealer of rare tomes. Not typically a breeding ground for action figures, but follow along. At one point I introduced myself to a woman with funky glasses who looked interesting to talk to. Her eccentricity didn't end with her accessories, which I soon noticed also included analogs of raver beaded bracelets clogging up her  sleeves—they had little trinkets on them, at least one of which was a unicorn. She noted that she bought the same designer glasses for her husband, but in green, and kept talking to me, and the woman I'd been talking with earlier, about Montauk, noting that she had never worked a summer in her life. When she asked where we went in the summers (though thankfully without using summer as a verb) we were like, uh, we live in the city. We work. At this point I thought I had her pegged. A wealthy artist or designer. Then she drops it like it's hot and reveals she's a retired school teacher. Recalculate.

She goes on to ask how long my chat buddy and I have known each other. Since about 8pm we say. She does not believe us, noting our casualness. We're casual people, we say. For the next 30 minutes Jessica and I try to convince her that we are not married. I think she still believes we're pranksters.

At this point I'm thinking I would love for her to be my crazy old aunt, so I could have lunch with her once a month. And then the full reveal. Jerry O'Connell (Stand By Me, Jerry Maguire), who'd been standing by me, introduces himself and thanks us, as if in apology, for talking to his mom. Jessica thinks this is weird, as she does not know who he is. I think that is weird.

Then his fiancée introduces herself. I'll give you a hint. Her first name starts with "Rebecca," and her last name starts with "Romijn" (but does NOT end in "-Stamos," mind you.) Celeb introductions always seem weird to me. It's slightly tempting to play dumb and respond with, "I'm sorry, what's your name again?" just to see if it elicits any kind of interesting microexpression before they dutifully repeat themselves. (An actual tantrum would be hilarious.)

I think when I'm a household name I will crib a line from a Fabolous [sic] jam: "Hello, my name is/ Fuck that, I'm famous." You know, just as a psychology experiment.

Culture Clash

I think Holly and I might have been the only Annie Hall / DJ Steve Aoki pair in New York this year.

Little Buttery Sunshine

At a movie theater on Saturday night my sister suggested that I ingest the Olivio Buttery Spray on the counter, sans popcorn. In the course of my response I realized--with frustration--that one cannot pantomime such an act while simultaneously mimicking the "chh chh" sound that the act's requisite dispenser would make. Foiled!

Is that observation worth a blog post? Eh, fuck it.

BTW, the movie was Little Miss Sunshine, which I saw with the fam, appropriately. In my recollection, it's the only movie that has ever made me cry the normal way and then cry from laughter--like, actual tears on cheeks. Good times. (As you know, I'm a big fan of entertainment that elicits bodily functions.)

Brokeback Wordplay

Recently I noticed that Brokeback Mountain had spawned a new snowclone: when people want to say that X is gay, they might refer to "Brokeback X." So I emailed Mark Liberman, a linguist over at Language Log, about it, to see what he had to say. And I sent him the first three relevant examples I found, which he initially hesitated to post, deeming them offensive. (What could be offensive about a Broadway show in which Mohammed and his followers pray by forming daisy chains?)

Anyway, here's his post, with larger commentary on the zeitgeist, and a note on the "competitive high-stakes field of lingua-blogging."

Memory is Treachery

This week The New Yorker, the creme of the fact-checking crop, perpetuates the common misdiagnosis of Memento's protagonist. According to movie critic David Denby, an otherwise careful judge of character and plot, Leonard "suffers from short-term memory loss." Um, no.

As any cognitive neuropsychologist worth his salt--or any attentive adult, or, come to think of it, your average inattentive six-year-old--can tell, Leonard's short-term memory works just fine. How else would he carry on a conversation? What he suffers from is an inability to transfer things from short-term memory to long-term memory. A few minutes after a conversation is over, he forgets it.

Now, maybe I'm a stickler for details. After all, I did spend two years in a lab that studied learning and memory. And the professor I worked for, Anthony Wagner (now at Stanford), was interviewed on NPR about Memento. And he collaborated with Sue Corkin, known for her studies with the most famous anterograde amnesia sufferer in the annals of science, patient HM. (Leonard in Memento has anterograde amnesia.)

But, really, is it all that complicated? The concept of short-term memory? Remembering things for a short amount of time, as Leonard so capably demonstrates over and over throughout the entirety of the film? The real question is: How did this Memento misdiagnosis meme begin? It's easy to hear "short-term memory loss" and repeat it without stopping to think about it (as nearly every movie critic has done), but who was the first person to say, yeah, that's what it is! Leonard has no short-term memory!

Sure, "short-term memory loss" is easier on the ear than "anterograde amnesia," but you know what's even easier? "Amnesia." And, it's--get this--accurate. If you're into that sort of thing.

Full Circle

Monday night I was on the phone with my friend Jamie. At the end of the conversation he told me to brush my teeth. I instinctively quoted Pee-wee's Big Adventure (the movie I have, due to youthful indiscretion, seen more than any other movie ever) by singing "brush brush brush, brush brush brush." Jamie told me that the way I said it I sounded like I was brushing my teeth. I said, "Like an onomatopoeia, but different. Wait, there's a word for this, and I read about this word THIS VERY DAY." Fucking incredible. Here is what I read. The word is phonestheme and it describes a type of sound-meaning association.

To top it off, Jamie, under the moniker Jonny 5, has an album called Onomatopoeia!

To top it off EVEN MORE, I googled the "brush brush brush" quote and immediately found a blog comment on this page. The VERY NEXT comment (also quoting Pee-wee) goes:

I often say to people who are whispering behind my back "Is this something you can share with the rest of us, Amazing Larry?"

What's the significance? My conversation with Jamie BEGAN WITH A DISCUSSION OF THE YING YANG TWINS' WHISPER SONG. What is the world coming to? [Now checking outside for locusts.]

When Bored in Idaho...

Apparently The Man does have a sense of humor. Or the midwest is as boring as I recall from my youth. Last week Idaho Legislature adopted a bill whose only goal was "commending Jared and Jerusha Hess and the City of Preston for the production of the movie 'Napoleon Dynamite.'"

I kid you not. I would list some funny excerpts from the bill here but there are just too flippin' many. It starts out pretty dry, but WHOO BOY it gets rolling. As I read it, I became more and more suspicious of a joke, especially when I got to:

WHEREAS, any members of the House of Representatives or the Senate of the Legislature of the State of Idaho who choose to vote "Nay" on this concurrent resolution are "FREAKIN' IDIOTS!" and run the risk of having the "Worst Day of Their Lives!" [ed: like anyone can even know that...]

But the URL is hard to fake, and the Idaho Statesman made brief mention of it on April 6, so it's the real deal. Read it for yourself.

Yes! I love technology!

The Plot Unravels

This week David Edelstein, film critic for Slate, collaborated with his readers to build a list of the top 20 most-idiotic-twist endings to movies. The survey is relatively comprehensive, but includes one glaring omission: the terrible twist in Sphere.

At the end of Sphere, the three surviving protagonists collectively decide to forget—all together on the count of three! (is that even possible?)—all of the unusual events leading up to that point in the movie. And WHAMO! By some alien-endowed mind-manifesting metaphysical stunt, all those events cease having happened! History is erased and the entire movie is nullified. You've just watched an account of something that never happened, even in the fictional universe of the movie. Glad I invested my time.

Oh, and if only it were that clear-cut. The moviemakers make no move to illustrate how the characters will explain their missing comrades.  Or the gigantic glowing sphere that comes rocketing out of the ocean in full view of hundreds of Navy cadets.

Maybe if I concentrate and count to three I can forget the whole flick.

Adendum:

Assisted Consent

So there's a movie out called "Assisted Living." (I have not seen it.) It's about a guy who takes care of old people at a nursing home. He smokes lots of pot and plays tricks on the residents. The tricks all appear funny and endearing, but a controversy has arisen over the film. See, it was filmed with real residents in real nursing homes, and many of the characters are made to look like fools. They DID sign consent forms, which were vetted by younger people at the facilities. But still, many caregivers don't think the old people were qualified to give informed consent. Here's the thing: the protesters are basically saying: The movie makes these people look senile. Why? Because they signed the forms. Why? Because they are senile. Pop quiz: Is this irony, paradox, circular reasoning, or none of the above?