Tag: family

2021 In Film

Every year, I take the month of January to catch up on as many of the films I missed throughout the year as I can. This post/list/sleep aid is the result of my annual maniacal start to the new year. And yeah, I realize it’s nearly February but the academy has only begun their own voting process. So shhhhhhhhhhhhut it.

One of the final films on my list to see was Spielberg’s remake of “West Side Story.” This one always seemed like a bad idea. Why remake something widely regarded as a stone cold classic? Now, specifically for me, West Side Story holds a special place in my heart. This was a family film for me growing up. Both my parents were fans and showed the film to my brother and I beginning when we were still pretty young. For my mother to be a fan was no surprise. She liked cool things like Martin Scorsese and David Lynch.

Quick side note: My mother really was my introduction to two of my all-time favorite directors in the two aforementioned gentlemen. As a small kid, I was really into Star Wars. I also loved to read and so my mother figured I’d like Dune. That was my introduction to David Lynch. I didn’t just watch movies, I would also read the boxes in the rental store and study the opening credits. Dune was based on a book and so I immediately had respect for it, lol. It was directed by David Lynch and I knew that was super important because it was the final name listed. Okay, Dune rocked this little kid’s socks and Lynch was on the radar.

I was still too young to really dive into Lynch though, lmao. I remember my parents renting Blue Velvet and me trying to sneak into the hallway to catch some of it because I was most definitely not allowed to watch that one yet myself. Next up was Twin Peaks and I remember my mom being really into the show and though I didn’t understand a lot of what was going on, it was Lynch and the guy from both Dune and Blue Velvet and so I watched some of it too. Those who know me know that in the years since, Lynch has established himself as my all-timer and Twin Peaks rivaled perhaps only by LOST as my favorite piece of visual entertainment ever.

But I digress.

We were discussing 2021 in film and I just whisked us away to the 1980s for two separate tangents. Back to tangent number one. The real kicker was that my father loved West Side Story. “But dad, it’s a musical.” My father was always your prototypical country boy tough guy. He was happiest watching Robert Redford trudge through the snow for three straight hours. He loved Chuck Norris and shit like that.

And…a musical?

Yep.

So West Side Story was the rare treat where the entire family could bond over something we all pretty much equally enjoyed. My skepticism of the remake remained for a long time. Yeah, I know it’s Spielberg and he’s responsible for my favorite film of all-time. Hell, He’s responsible for probably two of my top three films of all-time. Double hell, he’s probably got a half dozen films in my top twenty five. What the hell was I worried about?

Spielberg hasn’t seemed like himself in a long time. A loooooong time. In recent years, it’s felt like he’s either lost the rhythm or the joy. Well, even if it was only for one film, he regained it all back because the West Side Story remake is an absolute triumph.

This triggered another thought: Man, I haven’t seen “The Outsiders” in a long time. And I’m happy to report that in recent years, Coppola has revisited his film and added scenes back in — scenes deemed unnecessary to the runtime when originally released. Adding these scenes back in allows the story to focus on what was always most important: the relationships between these damaged and sensitive boys. It helps show the macho antics as armor and the giant rumble near the end of the film as the useless exercise in toxic masculinity that it always was. If you haven’t seen the film before, or haven’t seen it in a long time, first read the book. Always read the book. But then go ahead and check out “The Complete Novel” version of the film. I think you’ll be glad you did. (The courtroom scene is still hilariously terrible though)

And now, several million words into this manifesto, we have the films of 2021. First off, 2021 electrified me as a film lover way more than 2020 did. These twenty five films I liked quite a bit and there are fifteen more that I’ll add on at the end that I also really enjoyed. There are at least seven films on this list that I love enough to have already purchased on disc or plan to — maybe more. But enough is enough and it’s time for the list.

1. DRIVE MY CAR – This is the most recent film I’ve scene and caused me to completely rewrite everything about this list. (Full disclosure: I always anticipated this though) The moment I read about this film coming out of Cannes, I was in. The trailer was great and it was based on a short story by Haruki Murakami, one of my all-time favorite authors. Still, I was blown away by the humanized beauty of what I saw for three hours the other night. The film is full of moments where humans are human and that’s all. It’s simple and profound. It will make you smile and laugh and cry real, deep, emotional tears. A film about the highs and lows of life and how trying to subdue yourself into the middle road can lead you nowhere. Cigarettes hanging out of the sunroof. Those who’ve seen it know what that means.

2. C’MON C’MON – A film where Joaquin Phoenix plays a documentarian who is tasked with taking care of his young nephew for a few weeks. Until I finally saw Drive My Car, this was firmly at the top of my list. Joaquin Phoenix is everything anyone could ever want in an actor. His range, both intellectual and emotional, is fucking limitless. He is as good an actor as I have ever seen and this may be my favorite ever performance from him. Another film about human beings trying their best to be human beings. And another film that made me weep.

3. THE GREEN KNIGHT – Art. This film is like an interactive art exhibit come to life. Mesmerizing and deeply strange and perfectly told. Every single shot in this one feels like it could hang on the wall of a museum. Seriously dropped my jaw. Dev Patel is one of the most underrated actors working today and I hope he and David Lowery continue making art together.

4. WEST SIDE STORY – My favorite Spielberg film since…I don’t even know? Munich (seriously underrated Spielberg) or Minority Report? Nah, it’s better than those. Saving Private Ryan? Nah, I think I prefer this to that one as well. Schindler’s List? Okay, maybe there’s the line. Still, that was nearly thirty years ago but also marks the moment where I feel like Spielberg became a bit more serious and eventually his worked suffered as the message began to smother the joy of the work. For me, he recaptured nearly all of the joy and cleverness from his 70s and 80s output with West Side Story. It’s only sad to me that it released during a pandemic where a ton of new eyes have yet to find it.

5. THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH – The best adaptation of this work I have ever seen. Another jaw dropper. Minblowingly beautiful for every single second of it’s runtime. Joel Coen laid waste to anyone even thinking of adapting Shakespeare. Someone asked me: How was Denzel? And I was like: The fuck? I just told you to see this at all costs, that it’s a masterpiece and Denzel fucking Washington is playing Macbeth. How do you think he was?

Okay, I wasn’t quite that mean about it but for real? It’s Denzel and yes he crushes it. CRUSHES it. Also, Corey Hawkins delivers what should be a star making performance in this as Macduff.

6. LICORICE PIZZA – Paul Thomas Anderson has yet to make I film I haven’t dug. I feel like he’s one of those filmmakers whom I occupy the same mental wavelength with. Licorice Pizza is no different. There’s been a ton written about this film already and I disagree with a lot of it. I can see where the criticisms are coming from but I personally feel like the film was aiming at something totally different. I’m not going to get into it all here — maybe later, around late March perhaps? But this was maybe the funniest film of the year. Cooper Hoffman. This was his first film? Alana Haim. This was her first film? Jesus Christ these two had insane chemistry together and total command over every scene. And there’s Bradley Cooper who gave this year’s most hilariously over the top performance. Every single second of Cooper in this is a riot. He damn near steals the entire film in about four scenes. Another future purchase for me.

7. THE POWER OF THE DOG – The first third of this film, I thought Campion had seriously miscast the role of Phil Burbank with Benedict Cumberbatch. Whoops. Jane Campion deserves to win every directing award handed out for her work on this film. I’m glad to see she was nominated by the DGA already. “The Power Of The Dog” unfolds like a really great, challenging book (which it was based on). Campion sets each scene with precision and every actor in the film each give subtle yet profound performances. This one surprised me.

8. NIGHTMARE ALLEY – Bradley Cooper again! I’m a huge fan of Guillermo Del Toro. He’s on that list of: show me nothing just tell me where to be and I’ll see it. Nightmare Alley is like a rotten onion of a movie where each layer gets peeled back to reveal a little bit more of the worst of mankind. It’s marvelous and the most gorgeous movie of the year. Also my favorite film score of the year. Also easily the best final scene of any film this year. Fucking haunting.

9. THE FRENCH DISPATCH – I love Wes Anderson. And this was maybe the most Wes Anderson film Wes Anderson has ever made. It’s almost like he could sense someone was about to make a “Wes Anderson type” film and said to himself: well, allow me to set the bar a little higher. Loved it. Give me more. I hope Bill Murray lives forever.

10. PIG – The surprise of the year for me. I’m a huge fan of Nicolas Cage. He never stops and more importantly he’s never stopped giving a damn about his work. He is always “all-in.” If you’re a filmmaker and just hired Nicolas Cage, you’re getting 100% of him. I have an immense amount of respect for Cage exactly because this is his outlook. He’s amazing. And “Pig” ended up being a completely different film than I thought it would be, albeit a much better film. It completely subverts genre conventions and plays with the dead carcass of those old thoughts. Plus, this is the best Nicolas Cage performance in DECADES. Hey Academy voters, nominate him you cowards!

11. RAGING FIRE – Donnie yen. Nicolas Tse. Abandoned church fight with a sledge hammer. You’re welcome.

12. DELIVER US FROM EVIL – Operatic violence only the way the eastern hemisphere can deliver these days.

13. BOILING POINT – Single camera shot drama about the owner/chef of a restaurant on a busy night. Stephen Graham is one helluva actor.

14. THE HAND OF GOD – From the director of “The Italian Beauty.” More unbelievable Italian artistry on display by Sorrentino. Another one that snuck up on me.

15. THE HARDER THEY FALL – Jonathan Majors is poised to be a HUGE star. Great dialog. Great cast. Cool as fuck. Great time. Plus: Delroy Lindo!

16. DUNE – Yes I talked about the Lynch version earlier. I realize that wasn’t a great adaptation of the novel. This one is. Epic filmmaking from Denis Villeneuve.

17. VAL – I love Val Kilmer and I miss him being in movies. This was a true treat from one of my all-time favorite actors.

18. Roadrunner – I cried the day Bourdain died and I’m getting emotional typing these words now. I cannot understate how much of an inspiration Bourdain has always been for me. I miss him so much every single day.

19. GODZILLA VS KONG – Big dumb fun with just enough heart. A script that knows to just get out of the way and also that Kong should be a part of the emotional core of the film. What do you want me to say? I love Kong.

20. LAST NIGHT IN SOHO – A weird one for me. Super fun, messy movie. I dug it a lot but still probably my least favorite Edgar Wright film. I’m not dissing it because I’ve liked all of his work and he’s another filmmaker where my only question is: what’s next and where do I need to be?

21. THE SUICIDE SQUAD – James Gunn cracks me the fuck up. He just does. I’m laughing right now thinking about the animation of how King Shark runs. It’s fucking hilarious. I laughed so hard, like three minutes in that I missed the next five minutes. Plus, it’s now spawned the Peacemaker show and that one is pure chaotic joy.

22. CANDYMAN – I like this one. Very pretty to look at. Felt like a cool idea for a legacy sequel.

23. COPSHOP – The attitude on display makes up for anything else this film might lack. Carnahan can be hit or miss for me but this was a definite hit. A good, old fashioned, 70s throwback of a stupid action flick. It’s good.

24. OLD HENRY – Another western? Hell yeah, another good one. I will beat the drum of Stephen Dorff until I die. He fucking rules and he’s a great villain here. Another good, old fashioned film.

25. WEREWOLVES WITHIN – Sam Richardson is one of the funniest people on the planet. He’s currently killing it on After Party for AppleTV+. Formerly killing it on Veep and Detroiters and anything else he’s been in. This is a cool, silly, sarcastic as shit, funny movie.

That’s the top twenty five. And now for fifteen more I enjoyed (in alphabetical order so you know I went to school and shit).

Antlers, Belfast, Don’t Look Up, No Sudden Move, No Time To Die, North Hollywood, Shang-Chi, Small Engine Repair, The Beta Test, The Card Counter, The Guilty, The Last Duel, The Matrix Resurrections, The Super Bob Einstein Movie, Vacation Friends.

I’m tired now. I’ve wasted enough of your time. I’m gonna go do something else now. Next week…I don’t know…I’ll figure something out. Until then, love each other.

Shapes And Colors

When I was a baby, I stared at everything with wide-eyed wonder. Of course I don’t actually remember this but I’ve been told it over and over again, until the story implants itself as memory. The same can probably be said of my first actual “memory” of this world: me sitting on my dad’s lap and watching ET, completely mesmerized. I was only two years old at the time, could I actually remember this? Does it even matter anymore? The story has been with me so long, no matter whether it’s actual memory or not, at some point becomes irrelevant.

My father would always whisper to me, right in my ear, as I stared out at all the beautiful shapes and dazzling colors: what’s that? So much so, that when I was old enough to begin talking, it was a constant barrage of questions about the state of everything around me.

I’m still like that to this day and it’s still incredibly difficult to get me to shut up once I get going. I’ve learned a lot about myself since I made the move from New York to Texas. For one, There’s a rage inside me which fuels me in my daily endeavors, both creative and otherwise. I think I’ve been angry and frustrated at the world and at myself for not being better at handling the world on a daily basis. Writing has always been an outlet, allowing me perspective and time to see things in black and white. But the world isn’t black and white, is it? And it’s reductive to try and force your problems and issues into a singular camp. You’re not dealing with anything, rather, you’re compartmentalizing. When writing wasn’t enough, I’d just sulk and act bitchy with everyone and anyone around me. I’d project my own shit onto them. And then I’d retreat into myself.

My pets have always been the driving force for good in my life. They know. They always know. And they’re always willing to crawl through the storm for me. My pitbull knows that plopping her metric ton head into my lap can burn away nearly all the negativity in a room. She’s magic.

What I’ve learned to do over the course of 2021 is recognize when darkness is descending on me and deal with it head on. Ask myself questions and actually answer them. It’s like a flashlight with the power out — a beacon guiding you home. It’s daily work but it’s good work and it’s worth it.

I stepped away in June of 2021 because I was lost. I didn’t know what to do about anything. Earlier in the year, my wife of eighteen years began having an affair. To call the revelation devastating is an understatement. But what are you going to do? Give up? Quit life? And yeah, I thought about it but what’s even the point of that? You have to be willing to dig deeper and arrive at an absolute truth. Sit there in the depths of the bottom and look around before you look up. My marriage had gotten lazy and communication dried up. We spent ten years in bliss and then her accident changed our relationship — except we never acknowledged that. We carried on for another seven before moving to Texas and Covid hit — changing everything once again. The next year saw us both fall into unacknowledged, un-discussed, and un-dealt with depressions. We reacted differently. I shuttered in and she acted out.

It was easy at first for me to just blame her and be angry and bitter and hurt. She stepped out. But it’s not black and white. And once I looked around there in the depths, I saw my own failures and it was oddly comforting. It was okay because I was still here. Yes, life was going to be different. We separated. She moved out and began a new life with this person. It hurt but it was also okay. Things happen. Human beings are messy and life is hard. Mistakes are just that and sometimes mistakes aren’t even totally mistakes. They happen and then turn into flashlights themselves, showing us a new path. We’ve looked around and now the beam is shining up.

So I got a new job — one I’ve wanted for a long time. A rep for a paint company. I’ve been in the industry now for over twenty seven years so it was about damn time I really put the knowledge and experience to proper use. I crushed the interviews and began with a fervor. Turns out, this job is the EXACT job my entire skill set has been designed for. I’m paid to talk to people and teach them things. It’s a match made in heaven. Hell, I’ve learned about the four main types of people you encounter: talker, supporter, controller, doer. You guessed it, I’m a talker. And talk I must. And talk I do. Everyday. All day. I’ve met tons of awesome people at the five stores I’m responsible for and every day is just a little bit different. I love it and I’m happy again.

And sure, the personal stuff is still there to deal with but we’re finalizing the divorce and it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. There’s no bitterness or anger. Why spend your time holding onto to this resentment — it’s pointless. So I don’t. I smile and think about the great run we had and I allow myself to be excited for the rest of my life. I’m forty-two, there’s a lot left. I’ve met someone new and she’s pretty much the coolest person I’ve met since I’ve been out here in Texas. She gets me and that’s a great head start.

So yeah, I’m back. The writing never really stopped but it did get too sad at one point and then fragmented but soon, the fragments began taking shape once again and the fire began building once again and here they just exploded into shapes and colors.

And I still find them beautiful and dazzling.

Next week, my favorite films of 2021. Until then, love each other.

Poem Or Essay? You Decide

I’m floating
among the debris
all my hopes and dreams surround me
weighed down by my failures and hang ups.

Haven’t been myself for a while
tried so hard to stop every tomorrow from becoming today
lost myself for too long
ignoring all who love me because why?

Because I couldn’t handle what was happening and I didn’t like who I was. And so I shuttered myself in, battened down the hatches, determined to retreat into the cellar. But the storm was already here. It was already inside and I was the one who let it in. At first, it tricked me but soon it was me who was the driving force. I was the storm and I was out searching for anything to destroy. The infection grew to the point where I lost the will to do anything about anything. A feeble acceptance of a faux fate. I couldn’t even recognize my own face in the mirror.

Joy became a four letter word
deception breeds obsession
or is it the other way around?
I wonder.

Words felt like an unending gun fight
punctuation piercing me like lead
and then the unthinkable happened
and I really didn’t know what to do.

I searched for answers but the quicksand caught hold. They tell you not to struggle but something told me to fight. Something told me this was it. All or nothing. Yet I spiraled. Then I prayed. I prayed to a God I’ve never believed in. I did this because I was all out of ideas on my own. All of a sudden I realized that I really want to be here. I really want tomorrow to be today. And so I tried. And then the day after, I tried again.

Failure isn’t to fear
the complex isn’t real
even though it feels like it is
hope always burns brighter.

A piano plays somewhere off in the distance
melancholy yet poignant
pain and joy are siblings
and families love no matter what.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself again. The face I see in the mirror is the face I’ve missed this whole time. And I know I’m still floating but my failures and hang ups are floating right there next to me with my hopes and dreams. There’s no longer an anchor because I’m buoyed by love. I know it won’t always be easy and I know that I’m not instantly all better but I’m trying and more importantly, I want to try. Everyday. All day. Each moment is one you never get back. Each moment matters.

Joy spreads
you can find it anywhere
if you know how to look
it doesn’t have to be hard.
Don’t fear the dark
but life needs balance
the equation is always different
but the math is actually very simple.

I choose to love with ferocity. Because the ones who love me back deserve my all. Every ounce. And I’ll gladly give it. Because there’s nothing more important. Every single day is a gift. Every single one is like Christmas morning. The joy is returning, even for the smaller things because when you zoom out, they’re all the same anyway. I am filled to the brim with love but I’ll somehow find a way to make room for more. I want more. I want to give more. I want the work. I want the struggle. I want the satisfaction. I want.

And I’ll shout, “I love you!”
to the ones who matter most
no more hiding from anything
even if a cloak seems inviting.

I was shown a path
bathed in warm light
which kept the darkness at bay
and allowed me to return home.

An American Immigrant Story Part 2

I chose not to bore all of you with the more minute details of our first trip to Ireland. It’s a personal thing and I picked a moment to describe because personal moments don’t always (actually almost never) translate to someone who was not there in the moment. We did return to Ireland a few years later with my brother and my wife’s sister. That too was a great experience, albeit different. For the second trip, we had a condo to ourselves for the week. This meant we had a hub to return to every day or night. It also meant we made trips to grocery stores during the second visit. For an American, grocery stores outside of our own country are always an interesting safari. It’s like stepping through a portal and entering a bizarro world. Everything is sort of there and sort of the same but there are tons of subtle differences which all add up to create a wholly unique daily experience.

But I’m not here to write about this.

I’ve lived in New York my entire life. Growing up in the Hudson Valley afforded me the comfort and space of suburban life while also being within and hour’s drive of the city. I loved being in the city and spent countless hours of countless days record shopping down there, either at Generation Records on Thompson, Kim’s Video (RIP) on St. Marks, or even Bleecker Bob’s (also RIP) on the rare occasion I wished to argue with him over how much money he wanted for Inside Out’s No Spiritual Surrender on blue vinyl (I eventually got that fucker, lol).

But I digress.

The point is, as a New Yorker, I spent nearly my entire life without even so much as laying eyes on the Statue of Liberty. Never even glimpsed it from an airplane seat taking off or returning. My very first sighting of it was in late 2017 when my wife pointed it out to me as we were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Okay,” I thought. “That’s something, I guess.” I still couldn’t really see it well.

So when, in late 2019, friends were in town from New Mexico and my wife called me to come join everyone to ferry over to the statue, I jumped at the chance. Long story short, it’s a marvel and one that hits you in the heart when you’re there in Lady Liberty’s shadow. She’s unwavering and resolute with her eyes always forward and the time with her is special if you allow it all in. The kicker is, our trip that day was only getting started. Our friends also wanted to see Ellis Island and who were we to stop them? A quick boat ride later and we were disembarking onto Ellis Island and I suddenly found myself overwhelmed. Something dawned on me that I’d never allowed to fully set in until this specific moment in my life. My great grandparents, people dead before I was born, walked this same ground hoping for the kind of life that I’ve been afforded to live. They came to this country in the early 20th century, a long boat ride from Ireland, across the frigid and choppy Atlantic Ocean and arrived at this very spot. It’s a lot to take in.

We entered into the main hall with displays of what life looked like for early immigrants and you’re invited to grab a small phone-like device to aid you on the rest of your trip. Throughout the grounds there are stations where you dial the indicated number and are given a small lesson on a certain aspect of the entire immigration procedure. It’s a wonderfully in-depth and immersive experience. After securing our devices, we walked up the stairs into the main reception room and this folks, smashed me to bits. I dialed the indicated number and sat down on one of the benches in the hall. Through the device, I learned that many of these benches (including the one I was sitting on) are original benches — the very same used by the immigrants waiting to hopefully be approved entry into our country. This meant that for all I knew, I could’ve been sitting in the very same spot as either my great grandfather or great grandmother. Words cannot express what this does to a person. There’s an innate connection from family member to family member and it spans eternity. It never goes away — it can’t.

I sat there, unable to move, for nearly twenty minutes. Of course the tears came because how could they not? I’m a boy who grew to be a man. My family came from Ireland and settled in New York. I was raised by a mother and father who were raised by their respective mothers and fathers who were raised by their respective mothers and fathers. It doesn’t end. So when I think about my mother and father close to me, teaching me something new and then I think about my grandfather teaching me how to skip rocks and my grandmother sneaking me snacks whenever I wanted or allowing me to watch horror movies at a young age and then I think about what their parents taught and showed to them and then I find myself in Ireland where my family began. I think about the soil and the water lapping at the stones of a natural rock Jetty. I think of the toil of a farm, working that lush earth. I can no longer smell the gorgeous scent of peat smoke without getting emotional. All of this swirls inside of me at all times and then I find myself at Ellis Island, where my great grandparents’ names are on that fucking ledger and I’m sitting on the very bench where they sat huddled and hopeful and it’s all the most beautiful goddamn thing in the world.

The connections are real and unbreakable. It doesn’t just mean something, it means everything.

About half of this country needs a lesson in humility and empathy.

Why?

Because it fucking matters.

An American Immigrant Story Part 1

I’m Irish — damn near fully Irish to boot. It has always been my family’s defining characteristic. This doesn’t make us unique because I believe many Irish-American families present themselves this same way. We still have relatives (distant cousins) who work as fishermen in Tralee and our family farm is still in existence in a small central town named Blacklion, which resides right on the border with the north. One of my aunts was excited to announce that our family’s farm also has castle ruins on the property. This sounds incredible until you’ve actually been to Ireland and quickly realize that there are castle ruins everywhere. Still, our roots run deep in the rolling green hills and rich soil of the land which helps produce the best dairy you have ever experienced.

But none of this is really the point.

The point is that most of our familial histories, when viewed from our Americanized lens, fail to properly tell our stories. It’s akin to flying over Niagara Falls in a plane and assuming you’ve had the true experience. We need to go back to where our bloodlines first took shape and sometimes do nothing but just exist in the place of our ancestors in order to even begin to appreciate what gets passed down to us. Something happens to us here in America, in this country of bounty and entitlement, our collective sense of purpose and being get warped. We struggle to see the truth in the world and instead focus on self-serving arguments in an attempt to keep our fragile desires propped up. We love to equivocate but at what cost? When we do this, we lose a piece of our own worth in the process. So blinded by self righteous anger and affronted by opposing views, we lose sight of what’s most important…community. Instead of lifting each other up, we pull down and force others into a pit of our own creation.

I’m forty-one years old and until February of 2020, I’d lived my entire life in New York. It’s etched into my soul for as long as I live. In May of 2004, my wife and I took our first trip to Ireland. Upon arrival, it sprinkled rain for about ten minutes after getting into our rental car and that was the last of the rain we’d see all week. We had a hotel room booked in Dublin for the final two nights of our stay but the rest of the week was solely up to us. We flew across an ocean with a few small suitcases and a map — nothing else. The goal for day one was to see if we could make it to Killarney by night. The plane landed, we got our rental car, opened the map and set out. Our first stop was in Cashel to grab a bite and a pint and then visit Saint Patrick’s Rock (rock of Cashel). I was immediately struck by phantoms of my past. There’s an energy at play in Ireland which is hard to describe — an overwhelming sense of spirit. From here we made our way across the southern portion of the island and into Cork and then further into Blarney to visit the famous castle grounds. We arrived in Killarney as night began to fall — exactly on schedule. Our entire plan consisted of finding a bed and breakfast with a room available. This little detail ended up being the stroke of genius we truly needed. The Irish are warm and inviting if not just a tad acerbic at times. This isn’t anything I can’t handle because I grew up in a large New York Irish family — sarcasm is second nature. These people are my people and there’s an immediate and innate acceptance and approval between us. Check in isn’t a simple: here’s a key, good night. No, these lodgings are somebody’s home. They want to show it off and invite you into their life, even if just for a night. I’ll cherish these memories and the people who helped create them for the rest of my time.

We woke to an amazing breakfast and set out once again for more adventure. Today we drove the famous Ring of Kerry. It’s a scenic drive with some of the most gorgeous vistas you could ever hope to lay eyes on. It was on this day when the moment of all moments struck me. The unassuming little town of Waterville loomed ahead and as I gazed out to our right, with the bay in my sights, inspiration struck. I asked my wife to pull over when she got the chance because I needed to get down to the water. Once parked, I hopped out and walked down to the water’s edge. There are several natural rock jetties reaching their way out into the sea and we were at low tide so I followed one of the jetties out as far as I could. There I stopped and took it all in. I breathed in the salty air, breeze pulling gently at my windbreaker. The rocks, the water, they both called to me — a welcome greeting. I crouched down and fumbled through some of the smaller stones, skipping the flatter ones out into the bay and I thought of my grandfather. He taught me how to skip stones on Greenwood Lake in New York. There’s a restaurant there on the water and we’d sometimes go there on Sundays after church. There, at the edge of the crushed rock parking lot, we’d stand with him behind me, showing me how to hold the stone properly and what angle to toss it for maximum skips across the water’s surface.

Time is a spiderweb.

I stood there at the edge of land, staring out into the vastness of the world and felt my ancestors behind me — their arms around me, urging me to never let go. I brushed my hands back and forth in the water and listened to the sound it made. I’ve never felt more connected to a place in my entire life. I wept and I don’t know exactly what moved me to tears but an overwhelming sense of…sense is perhaps what did it. Crouched down at the edge of the world in this little town named Waterville, I picked up one more stone and slid it into my pants’ pocket. I still have the stone — a small piece of home.

There’s much more to cover but I think I’ll leave the rest for next week. I could bore you with more details from our first trip to Ireland. It was an extraordinary trip from start to finish but nothing could ever compare to that moment in Waterville. That single moment shaped not only the rest of our trip but also my entire worldview for the years to come.

Next week, I’ll be back to continue this story with a trip to Ellis Island. Until then, love each other.

David Lynch Friday #7 – The Straight Story

“A brother’s a brother.”

I was twenty when The Straight Story hit theaters and I skipped it. Lynch was already a fascination of mine but in my arrogance I assumed it was nothing more than a Disney funded cash grab for an artist who struggled to get films made for so long. The Straight Story remained my lone Lynch blind spot throughout my life until very early in 2020 when I decided to watch it on Disney Plus. We were just beginning our Covid quarantine and the thought was, why the hell not?

I’m glad I did because my younger self needs reminders to pass back to my current self that not only did I not know everything, I knew very little — still do but at least I can acknowledge it these days. For the purpose of this project, I rewatched the film this week and managed to mine even more from it — a hallmark of great art.

The Straight Story tells the true story of Alvin Straight, and elderly man who makes a 370 mile journey on his riding lawnmower in order to visit his estranged and suddenly ill brother. That’s it and that’s all we need to know. The magic of the film is all in the relationships Alvin forms on his journey and how we come to better understand him as a human being.

When I was twenty and too busy ignoring this film, I did so because it seemed to not be aligned with anything else Lynch had ever done. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This is right in line with the themes of love and hope that Lynch has always enjoyed exploring. He’s not as weird and obtuse as he initially seems, he just sees the world for how it really is — weird and obtuse. Lynch loves small town America and the stories hidden within these towns. There is a real beauty to the run down and forgotten because these things were not always this way. They were once new and adored and everything has a story attached to it. The music and cinematography combine to implant this idea deep in our brains. The music is pure Americana and the cinematography moves at the speed of Alvin’s tractor — a brilliant touch. I just noticed this aspect of the film earlier this week. What this does is lend the film a feeling that we’re watching a slide show of a land we have long forgotten. Reminders are always helpful, especially with how wrapped up in our current state we are. The other aspect of small town America Lynch has always nailed is how the residents interact with each other. The stubbornness and bitchiness of elderly people who’ve known each other for decades is very funny and prevalent throughout the film — hell, they even acknowledge it.

Lynch really gets to the heart of the idea of family in this film as well. When Alvin’s daughter receives the phone call about his brother Lyle, the camera slowly pushes in on Alvin’s face and the moment he hears his brother’s name, filmmaking magic. Alvin then lies to his daughter about his doctor’s visit because he knows she will worry herself sick over him and this is another aspect of family: the little lies we tell to loved ones to make them feel better. Rosie asks Alvin what the doctor said and he replies, “He said I’m gonna live to be a hundred.” The smile it produces on his daughter’s face is worth the lie.

The film, as a whole, is a spectacular depiction of the trivial wedges we allow into our lives and how these wedges work deeper and deeper until the gap is larger than we ever thought possible. The film is also about the purity of the human spirit and (again) how love, unabashed love, can conquer the worst. In the end, it doesn’t matter because when you share a deep familial bond, no wedge can break it away in totality. I wish we all spent a little more time in the present and allowing ourselves to be reminded of these things. The film helps us along the way by opening and closing on a starry night sky. Lynch’s characters often look to the sky and I think it’s his way of reminding us that space unites us all. We are all small beings in the context of our universe and nothing out there cares about the minuscule things we moan and groan about. We are all common in the grand scheme.

This all builds up to the final scene and the big payoff of Alvin arriving at his brother Lyle’s house. What a final scene it is. Sparse dialog and a river of history sit between these two men. They have been as close as two people could be and as far away as two people could be. They are two old men with anger that long ago turned to regret hovering between them. Near wordlessly, they once again accept and bask in each other’s love. I love this film and it has grown to mean a lot to me for reasons that are my own. It also stands as one of Lynch’s greatest works and I cannot wait to watch it again.

Next week, Mulholland Drive. Until then, love each other.

Class Action Park – A Documentary Of How I Grew Up

It’s a good thing that I keep notes on everything I decide to write about otherwise I wouldn’t remember my thoughts on, The King Of Staten Island. Yes, I’m pushing that film one more week. I fully intended to write about it for this post but a special little something came my way via HBOMax. That special little something was a documentary called, Class Action Park. Why do I consider it a special little something? Because it was one of my favorite places to go during my formative years.

I urge everyone who has the new HBO service to check this doc out in order to fully grasp how insane this “amusement” park was. There has never been anything quite like it in its wake. I’m going to go less into the doc and more into my vault of memories in order to paint this picture. This may end up being a little more abstract because memory can be fickle but paint this picture I will try to do.

Action Park was nestled in a mountain in the town of Vernon, just on the New Jersey side of the border with New York. It’s New York sister town is Warwick, the town nearly my entire family grew up in. Hell, when I was four years old, I lived maybe two miles from Action Park, right on the same road (route 94). I grew up hearing countless stories about this maniac’s paradise. We drove by it on our way to Space Farms (another maniac’s paradise full of literal shit throwing monkeys, grizzlies on death’s door, animals missing feet, a snake pit, and a lodge full of taxidermy which is an odd touch for a zoo). A few of my aunts and uncles and their friends all worked at Action Park and they told us the craziest stories, trying to scare us. It didn’t scare me — it made me want to go even more. Not a summer went by without the rumor of another death. We didn’t know what to believe so we chose to believe it all.

The older I got, the more I badgered my parents into taking us. To this day, my mother claims she never took us — I think this is her way of trying to hide her shame in allowing us access to this playground for psychos. I have specific memories of my parents emphatically saying, “NO” to the wave pool. I also remember my father walking me up the hill to the wave pool and showing me the literal hundreds of people in the pool at once. He’d say, “look at all these animals, they have no regard for hygiene or safety, someone is about to die.” Eventually, I won out and we went to the wave pool. I was made to stay in the shallow end while my father and one of my uncles went into the deeper end to test things out. They came back two minutes later, paler and out of breath, saying, “it’s a death trap, seriously, someone is gonna die today.” And that was the end of the wave pool. In all honesty, I only went in that wave pool maybe one more time when I got older and it was truly a miserable experience. The water was unnaturally warm and full of chemicals to offset shit we probably don’t want to even think about entering that pool. There were always too many people in the pool and the water was, how do I put this, less than translucent. Thus ended my infatuation with the wave pool but not the park.

Once I was a teenager, my love for the park blossomed. Now I was big enough to go on all the rides. In truth, there were never any rules and I could have probably done whatever I wanted as a little kid but my parents, for some reason, did not want me to die. I was now old enough to go alone with my friends and we went all the time. “Mom, Brian’s here, we’re going over to his house.” Off to Action Park. “Mom, Ryan is here, we’re going to his house.” Off to Action Park. “Mom, Matt’s here, Jimmy and Scotty are here, Howard’s here, we’re going to the mall, the fair, the skatepark, etc.” Off to Action Park. Hell, the last two years it was known as Action Park, in the mid 90s, I had a fucking season pass. That bad boy set you back twenty bucks…for the entire summer. In fact, one of the last times I was ever at Action Park was in August of 1996. There were a lot of us that day because it was the local date for The Warped Tour. I watched many of my friends pony up serious money for Warped Tour tickets and I got to go for free. See, Action Park didn’t bother to close that day and since I had a season pass, I was allowed entry. There was no discernible way to tell the difference between where the festival was and the rest of the park. Maybe there was but I was never stopped and freely moved between cooling off on water rides and going back to the festival. What a day.
The park was split in half by route 94 which cut through the town of Warwick and continued on into New Jersey. The doc dramatizes how the park was split in half by a major highway and this isn’t entirely true. Route 94 is still only a two-lane road — a fast two lane road but not exactly a major highway. Still, it was a bit dangerous. If you couldn’t get a parking spot in the lot next to the park entrance, you had to park in an adjacent lot and then walk along route 94 until you got into Action Park. It was like a thrill ride before getting to the thrill rides. I even heard stories from my uncles about racing the go-karts on route 94 at night. The karts were only supposed to go about 20mph but there were ways to override the governors and get those karts at speeds over 50mph. I know for a fact that this happened routinely and it was hilarious to hear the documentary confirm this for everyone else. There were also speed boats but the rumors about the water being infested with snakes are 100% accurate and thus I never even attempted those boats. Also, I remember having to be at least 21 to ride the boats, which I never was that old while Action Park was open. There were also bumper boats but the “pond” they were in was nothing but pure gasoline and oil. The smell could overpower you just from walking past the spot. Then, there were the battle tanks. These were fun. They cost extra money but we always paid. You could ride around in a little fenced in arena, inside of a miniature tank, shooting tennis balls from your cannon at the other tanks. If you hit the target, the tank was incapacitated for a short time. The arena itself was littered with cannons on the fence where non-participants could pop in some quarters and shoot tennis balls at the tanks too. This was all outrageous fun. I specifically remember how proficient my younger brother was at the tanks. Now, the real fun began when a tank would require service. When this happened, an Action Park employee had to enter the arena and fix the tank. If you watched closely, you’d notice the tank area would have a lot of people hanging around. Once an employee entered the arena, everyone would race to an outer cannon, pop in some quarters, and proceed to pelt the attendant with tennis balls. What a bunch of assholes we were.

That was all on one side of the park. You could then walk across the pedestrian bridge to get the rest of the mayhem. They suckered you in at first with a cool little mini-golf course that was unfortunately always somehow flooded out in spots. From there, you’d walk ahead and see perhaps the most famous of Action Park rides, the Cannonball Loop. I wish I had a cool story about this ride but I’m not convinced it was ever open. That was always the rumor, that the ride was sometimes open. Every single time I was ever at the park, that ride was shut down. The documentary does a great job of highlighting how insane the “engineering” of that ride was. The most hilarious aspect of that ride, and in many of the rides, was how shallow the water was that you shot out into. They were essentially the depth of parking lot puddles.

Right to the left of the Cannonball Loop were the Bungee jumping towers and an absolutely diabolical ride called the Slingshot. I never bungee jumped because that seemed like a bridge too far but I did pay the five dollar fee to do the slingshot…once. I have never been so terrified in my life. It’s a two person ride where you sit inside a sphere which has two giant bungee cords attached to it. The other end of these cords are attached to twin poles that must be a hundred feet tall. Three, two, one and boom! You are shot straight at the sun. You are positive that you have made that fatal mistake and are about to meet your ancestors. You can’t walk or think straight for about twenty minutes after exiting the ride. I spent the rest of that day trying to trick my friends into doing it themselves but alas they were all smarter than I.

The rest of the park opened up into the mountain. There were two cliff dives that ended in water always occupied by other swimmers. I can’t tell you how many times I watched someone cliff dive on top of someone else. The attendants at the dives gave you some “rules” but nobody listened to them and there were no repercussions for not listening. What I remember most is the people who were hesitant at the edge and the verbal abuse they were subjected to by other guests until succumbing to peer pressure. There was also a Tarzan swing and the doc explains just how cold that water was but you can never understand just how cold unless you did that swing yourself. It was shocking. It’s also the first time I saw nudity in real time. I’m not proud of what I’m about to tell you but there were spots to stand at Action Park where you were guaranteed to see naked girls. The Tarzan swing claimed bikini tops. Geronimo Falls was another. I never did the tallest ones, I did the slightly smaller one right next to it and felt like my suit split my asshole in half, that was enough for me. Still, Geronimo Falls was a place where bikini tops were also claimed and we knew it. The last spot was Surf Hill which was like a gigantic set of slip ‘n slides right next to each other. There was no way to really separate the lanes and countless times we’d skip over and crash into each other. It was painful but somehow still exceedingly fun. Also, it ate up bikini tops. There was also a ride called Aqua Skoot. This ride had you sit on a plastic board and fly down a set of assembly line rollers. I’m not making this up. I watched a guy instantly fall forward and bounce, face first, down all of the rollers, going full scorpion and ending up in the “pool” at the bottom. I also got chased by bees every single time. This was something the doc pointed out as a regular occurrence. There was also a small arena with a giant fan that allowed you to “sky dive.” I got kicked off this ride after convincing the attendant to allow my friend Jimmy and myself on at the same time. We then engaged in the worst kung fu fight you’ve ever seen, the fan shut off, and we were asked to seek fun elsewhere. Lastly, there were a few rapids rides which are still, to this day, my favorite rapids rides ever. On the two man tubes, you could get your tube going absurdly fast and banking incredibly high on the sides. My friend Howard and I could routinely launch our tube over the side of the ride, marooning ourselves before bombing back into the ride. The craziest aspect of the rapids rides was how each one deposited everyone into the same pool. It turned into bumper tubes and a lot of testosterone led to many a fracas. The quickest way out, since you had to carry your tube back up to the top, was to launch off your own, run across other tubes, and steal someone else’s tube and off you went.

I don’t know, I loved this documentary and in particular, the way it made me remember all the time I spent at Action Park. More than that, it made me remember the insane and special childhood I had. I’m in my 40s now and having grown up in the 80s and 90s, kids today will never understand how unique a badge of honor that is. It’s not that our parents didn’t love and care for us, it’s that they trusted us to not kill our selves and they trusted the world around us. Growing up in Warwick (technically I grew up in Middletown but Warwick was where my family resided and where we spent a major portion of our time) I remember me and my brother and our cousins arriving at our grandparents’ house and being set loose on our own in the woods. This helped us develop a more intrepid spirit that I think has served us well into adulthood. Action Park represented that idea to its fullest. It let us go wild, get hurt, learn lessons and try again. We made it out alive and I’m not sure how but I am thankful for all of it. We were kings.

Next week, I (sort of) promise we’ll discuss The King Of Staten Island. Until then, love each other.