50 Best Films of the '00 Decade

Of the 50 best films of the last 10 years, I’ve seen exactly one!
by Charlie Leck

I get out to about 5 or 6 films (movies) a year. I watch another 5 or 6 each year on TV (we’ve got the movie package from DTV). That amounts to about 10 to 12 movies each year and about 100 to 120 over a ten year period. So, I was interested the other day, when the AV Club released its list of the 50 best movies of the 00 Decade. I carefully perused the list to see just how many of them I had seen.

Gulp. One! Of the 50 best movies of the decade, I had seen exactly one – the one they listed at the 43rd best, Brokeback Mountain. Not a very good record of film selections for me, is it?

Well, Brokeback Mountain was a powerful and startling film. I can’t say that I enjoyed it, but I was pleased that I saw it. Another couple, who we totally enjoy, had invited us to go to dinner and the film with them. I remember having some wonderful Mongolian Lamb and spectacular rice at dinner. We slipped and slid across an icy parking lot to the theatre and slid into our seats, wondering what to expect. Keith Ledger was extraordinary in a very difficult role. I tried to look at it as just a difficult, tense and passionate love affair. It was, however, more shattering and troubling than that. I don’t know why I was so surprised that we were able to have a comfortable and meaningful conversation about the film and its subject matter as we were leaving the theater. What a shame Ledger had to die so young, with so much possibility out in front of him.


Now for the others on the list, there was only one that I had even tried to see or listed as a “want to see” film over that 10 year period. That was No Country for Old Men, listed as the 4th best cinema of the decade. It’s a movie that I’ll be sure to see over the next few months. Why do I know so little about the other highly regarded films? Do I just pay too little attention? Do I need a film counselor to help me choose my movies? None of the other top ten movies on the list even appeal to me.

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
2. 25th Hour (2002)
3. There Will Be Blood (2007)
4. No Country for Old Men (2007)
5. Memento (2000)
6. Spirited Away (2001)
7. Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003)
8. Capturing the Friedmans (2003)
9. The New World (2005)
10. Children of Men (2006)

I need counsel. Since I know nothing about 9 of these 10, tell me which I should really make an effort to see. I feel kind of stupid this morning!

My Apologies!

I can only make excuses for a missplaced blog. I'm sorry!

by Charlie Leck

Today's (Sunday, 13 December 2009) blog was duly completed this morning very early and put in line for publication on Ad Astra; however, the blog service is acting jittery these days and actually published it under Thursday, 10 December 2009. So, if you care to read today's blog, WE ARE THE CHANGE WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR, scroll down to Thursday and there it will be.

I'm very sorry. I've complained to the blog administrator but no one knows what's happening. I've posted over 500 blogs now, so I guess I should expect some minor errors.

Hopefully, tomorrow's blog will be posted where it belongs -- on top!

WE ARE THE CHANGE WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR

What kind of pressures must President Obama be under? Guys like LBJ and Ronny Reagan could handle it. It appears Obama cannot!
by Charlie Leck

When progressives went out looking for a Presidential candidate to run in the 2008 national elections, they had, in the end, three choices who seemed competitive enough to give the Republicans a run for it – Hillary Clinton, John Edwards and Barack Obama. How and why did they (we) come down on the side of Barack Obama? I’m as progressive (liberal) as they come, so let me use myself as an example of just want happened – as, perhaps, what went wrong. Or, in other words, how did we end up with such an indecisive leader? What happened to change? Where did the audacity of hope go to? What happened to the utter belief in “yes we can” and the other catchy, inspiring slogans of the Obama campaign? What was I looking for? Let me lay out the answers in brief form and then I’ll try to explain why I and others thought Obama was our hope.

1. End the war in Iraq as soon as possible if not immediately!
   
2. Clean up the mess in Afghanistan and refocus us on the original goal of capturing Osama bin Laden, which would mean working out border arrangements with Pakistan.
   
3. Reform the U.S. health care system and make universal health care available and affordable to every single citizen of the nation.
   
4. Protect women’s right to choose and all women’s rights in particular.
   
5. Make sexual preference choices a constitutional guaranty.
   
6. End tax protection for the rich and make the national taxation system more fair.
   
7. Make government and the actions of government more open (“transparent”).

What happened? If you read the newspapers regularly and follow the news in any depth, you know the answer to that question. If I had to do it all over again, I would have thrown my support and my monetary contributions behind Hillary Clinton. Hind-sight, as we know, is powerful.

Barack Obama has failed on all 7 of the above priorities that I held when I cast my vote. I was mesmerized by Obama and his promises. I loved the way he looked and the way he talked. His wife was (is) spectacular and so were (are) his children. And, his promise of change seemed more than sincere – it seemed absolute and resolute. In fact, he has turned out to be not so tough. He caves easily. Unlike Lyndon Baines Johnson and Ronald Reagan, he is not willing to bring Congresspersons to heel – to jaw-bone them and threaten their political survival.

We were bedazzled by Obama's eloquent turn of phrase and his magnificent strength in public speaking. We translated that strength into strength of character and will. We were over-powered by his style and gracefulness. His humor seemed something we needed after so many years that lacked humor in the White House.

Instead, we sent to the White House an amateur who does not have the savvy it takes to pound, push, pull and pry legislation through bodies like the U.S. Senate and House of Representatives. Hillary Clinton had seen, for eight years, how that process worked. I can't, of course, say that she would have gotten us closer to the goals we all have for the nation, but I think she would have stood a better chance.

As a result, the war in Iraq continues to be a tangled mess; the President has committed us to a long-term continuation of our entanglements in Afghanistan; and he has compromised away any chance at universal health care; and he has ignored a woman’s right to choose; and had abandoned those who do not choose to be heterosexuals; and ignored tax reform; and actually made tax reform an utter joke; and, finally, has made government less transparent than it was under George W. Bush (and none of us believed that was possible).

These are, indeed, serious condemnations for a Sunday morning. The seven points could be taken one by one and laid out in a way that would show the President’s failures during these first 10 months of his Presidency. I’m not going to do that here. I’ll deal with them one by one in the coming weeks.

Tiger Woods? Duh!

Golf will survive Tiger Woods! That’s not the problem!
by Charlie Leck

When Tiger Woods walked up the 18th fairway at Augusta National Golf Club in April of 1997, he was a phenomenon such as golf had never seen – a phenomenon such as American sports had never seen. He was the son of a black man and he was about to win the white man’s most treasured trophy in golf. The scene was in eastern Georgia – almost on the South Carolina border. This was one of the most famous golf clubs – Augusta National – and golf courses in the world. It was also staunchly all white. This area is one of the most racially divided in the land.

The black servants at Augusta slipped out of the clubhouse to look over toward the 18th green to see if they could catch a glimpse of the black golfer who was playing the last hole with an astonishing 12 shot lead.

It was a historic moment in golf! NO! NO! It was a historic moment in sports.

As a young man, I remember Jackie Robinson, in Ebbets Field, tearing around first base and heading toward second with a very unlikely double in mind. Robinson slid wildy toward the base and the second baseman lowered his glove, with the ball settled in it, in a hopeful attempt to tag Jackie’s foot before it reached the “bag.”

“Safe,” the umpire cried out! Because of the hushed silence, the entire stilled stadium heard the verdict.

“Oh, my god!”

I was listening on the radio with my Grandpa Svejda. He didn’t care that Jackie Robinson was a black man. He only cared that he was a Brooklyn Dodger and he had just turned a routine single into a double. For Grandpa, Jackie Robinson was more weaponry to use against the hated Giants.

In a blink, the stadium went from dead quiet to bedlam, as screams of joy erupted from every corner of the grandstands. Jackie was on his feet, standing in the middle of the bag, doffing his cap and flashing the brightest, most beautiful smile that anyone had ever seen. As the first black man in Major League Baseball, he was rewriting the record books. Be sure you understand, many a black man had deserved to play in the league before Jackie Robinson. There had just been a loathsome barrier that kept them out. Jackie brought the barrier crashing down.

And, there had been many a black man before Tiger Woods who might have won The Masters golf championship had they been given the chance. The black caddies, dishwashers, cooks and maintenance men ,who crowded together to watch Tiger Woods walking on to the 18th green that day, knew about those “other” golfers who were just as famous as Tiger in their minds. There were tears in the eyes of more than one of those huddled spectators who had seeped out of the back, working rooms of the clubhouse. They were tears of happiness mingled with tears of sorrow for old Charlie Sifford and Ted Rhodes, who would have loved the opportunity that time and circumstance had given Tiger Woods.

Sure, Augusta National took in its first black member in 1991. The action was routinely regarded as a necessary action because the United States Golf Association was not going to recognize any golf tournaments played at golf clubs that were not integrated.

Tiger Woods was not only going to win this important, major championship on that day, but he was going to cram it down the throats of the all those other players who trailed so far behind.

I, personally, had never seen anything like it in golf and thought I never would again – until, a few years later, Woods went on to the win the U.S. Open Golf Championship, played at the Pebble Beach course on the Monterey Peninsula in California, by an even wider margin.

This was a man who established himself not only as the greatest superstar of golf, but as the brightest and most promising athlete in the nation. He commanded million dollar appearance fees all over the world and became the nation’s first “billion dollar sports star.”

Oh, how the mighty are fallen! [II Samuel 1:19]
Now the jokers are taking odds on whether Tiger's number of major championship victories will be greater or smaller than his number of mistresses. I should be the last person in the world to judge the moral character of Tiger Woods and I will be. I do know this, however: For me, the joy of watching him play at his game on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon in summer is seriously tarnished. His character is diminished and his image is clouded. He may be the greatest golfer to ever live, but there is something special about the place of Jack Nicklaus in golf’s history books that is now very, very secure. The reputation of Jack Nicklaus as golf’s greatest player and man will not be shaken. Watching Jack enjoy his senior years, with his wife, Barbara, as his constant companion, says something very special to me about the man – something I like very, very much.

Tiger may win some more events by a dozen shots or more, but he will likely never again capture the hearts of the world’s golfers the way he once did. And my days of utter wonder as I watched him play are over now. From now on, he’s just another guy and the roars that rolled up and down the fairways whenever he made an incredible shot will never again be quite the same or quite as loud.

Oh, Tiger, you broke the hearts of those of us who loved you! Now, fallen, you are just like the rest of us; that is, very, very ordinary.

Tiger's days as the ultimate pitchman may be over unless some kind of immediate image repair can be accomplished. Woods appears unready to come out of hiding soon. [See the NY Times article about Tiger's current pitchman status!]

Looking at Oneself

In these late years I am trying to do an accounting, an evaluation of myself and my life. Is that unusual?
by Charlie Leck

One friend read my blog about my Bohemian grandmother and understood. A number of other readers didn't get it.

"Charlie,

"Because I'm getting accustomed to your writing style, often I take the rhythm and depth of your words for granted... and, at first, I did that today... but you finally broke through the rocks in my head, and I started hearing what you were saying and what you were feeling... I think I understand the gifts you shared with grandma... what you gave to each other...

"Your ability to paint that kind of picture is special... you're not an ordinary writer... and certainly not an ordinary man...

"F"

Thanks, my friend. And forgive me if I continue to try to look deeply at myself from time to time.

Grandma Svejda

The name is pronounced shway’-da
by Charlie Leck

I liked the old girl. Maybe it’s because we were a lot alike.

She was extremely self-centered and demanded more than attention. She wanted to be taken care of, served, pampered and she was always at the front of every line. I can see my friend, Fred, and several of my family members, reading these first few sentences and nodding their heads.

"Yup," they say, "yup! Just like his grandmother!"

My grandma's demands wore on people. My brothers and sister didn’t try to hide their dislike. My old man grew really tired of her routine also. Nevertheless, I liked her. Perhaps it was because it seemed unfair to watch the “piling on!” She needed someone on her side. She stood alone for lots of reasons. I wanted to stand with her.

Her name was Emma Svedja – a Bohemian name that’s pronounced like shway’-da. She was my mother’s mother. When my mother died at the young age of 49, my grandmother stood quite alone – except for her 5 grandchildren. Her husband had died 10 years earlier. She had lost her parents, of course, and also all her brothers and sisters and both of her own children. Her son Johnny, a New York City policeman, had died at a very young age (his mid-twenties). Johnny’s only child, a daughter, was born only a day or two before he died. She was eventually raised by her mother and a step-father.

Poor grandmother’s only family, at that point, was really an in-law family. She was dependent upon the fondnesses of a son-in-law and a daughter-in-law who parented her grandchildren. I was never pleased with the way she was treated. In fact, my family really just put up with her. She sensed that attitude and it carved great creases of sadness in her face

I’ve always been inclined toward the underdog. I loved dear, old grandma and I let her know. I was days away from my19th birthday when my mother died. Grandma was at our home in New Jersey on the day mother slipped away and drifted toward the stars. I remember her sitting on a hard, wooden chair in my father’s general store a few hours after “they” had taken mother’s body on its long, last journey. Her eyes were filled with the sad awareness that she had outlived them all -- every single member of her own family except for grandkids. They had all journeyed off and left her here. Her dearest friends were also gone away. The unfairness of it bit at me. If ever there was one who needed to be surrounded by family or caretakers, it was my grandmother. Her grief, sitting there alone, was different than mine or my father’s. Her misery was terrifying for her. She was so utterly alone.

In just a matter of weeks, I was off to the Midwest. It was an immense journey for a young man who had never ventured much beyond the eastern border of Pennsylvania. My grandmother got shuttled off to a nursing home. She was constantly on my mind. It was costly for me, but over the next half dozen years, while she lived on, I would venture back to New York City a couple times each year to visit her. In her final year she didn’t know me and barely knew I or anyone was there. Death had drawn close to her when I visited her the last time. Its blessing was only weeks away. Her loneliness and emptiness was nearly over.

When word came that she had cast off, I remember the relief and gratitude that swept over me. Now, among the stars, all memories would return in truthful detail and she could again be engulfed in the love of her husband, parents, children and eternal restfulness. The old girl deserved it.

What Should I Write About?

How I choose a subject about which to write!
by Charlie Leck

I have built up a rather regular, repeating group of readers over the last few years that I have been posting this blog. From looking at the statistics gathered by the tracking program I use, I estimate that the steady number of readers is about 5,000 habitual, frequent visitors. Sometimes my blog subjects confound many of these readers.

“How do you go from predicting and analyzing Barack Obama’s decision on troops for Afghanistan to writing about your Grandfather, or to giving digital photography tips?”

No reasonable, sensible answer to that question is on the tip of my tongue. I do not write a strictly political blog – nor a strictly personal one. I can only stutter out the explanation that I write. I am on a rocket-ship journey to the stars and there are an amazingly large number of items on my mind, begging me to put them down on paper.

I write in the morning. I write entries for my blog and I write other essays that get filed away to be redrafted someday. I simply write because I love to write.

“I enjoy your blogs about your inner-feelings and long-held memories. Do more of that!”

How nice! Yet, I cannot promise. Sometimes my rage about the stupidity of these animals called “people” is so great that I must write about such foolhardiness. The absurdity of people like Hannity, Limbaugh, Dobbs, Beck and O’Reilly stirs up my juices so violently that I have a difficult time not writing about their illogical and misinformed rants. Then there are times when I just force myself not to listen to them or read about them, just so I can work on essays about more mellow items.

In the end, I can't ever promise you what you will find on a given day when you come to visit my blog. Many of my readers come here precisely because of this! It’s like the great grab-bag of reading.

Simply, you get what you get!