Acredito que os seguintes fatores são extremamente inflenciáveis: péssimas escolhas de filmes, atuações inominavelmente ruins, e o esteriótipo adquirido mesmo sendo ruim justamente no tipo de filme ao qual foi esteriotipado desde então.

E o The Ten deste mês é justamente sobre eles... Os famosos canastrões!

The Ten: Canastrões (Atores/Atrizes)

10º - Cassandra Peterson

Mais conhecida por sua personagem Elvira (sucesso na TV que ganhou uma versão cinematográfica nos anos 80), ela é uma atriz canastrona da qual eu gosto.

Porém, admito, ela é uma atriz ruim. A irônia por conta do fato dela atuar de uma forma que no final das contas faz com que o resultado final não seja tão desastroso quanto o previsto.

Recomendação para constatar a canastrice: Elvira - A Rainha das Trevas.

09º - Hugh Grant

Sinônimo de canastrice no meio cinematográfico, esta figura antipática ficou famosa por suas comédias românticas água-com-açucar.

Ele tam lá seus acertos (Um Lugar Chamado Nothing Hill, 4 Casamentos e Um Funeral, O Diário de Bridget Jones), mas no geral, é um péssimo ator.

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: Tudo Pela Fama e Letra e Música.

08º - Pat Morita

Antes que alguém fale: "Pow, mas ele interpretou o lendário Mestre Miyagi na cinesérie Karatê Kid.", e eu respondo: Realmente, esse personagem é lendário, porém, foi o único acerto dele.

Ele tem projetos imensamente ruins, que fazem até eu esquecer por um momento que ele deu vida ao sábio Mestre Myiagi.

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: King Cobra, 3 Ninjas.

07º - Silvester Stallone

Os clássicos Rocky, Falcão e Rambo poderiam livrá-lo da lista, mas a maioria devastadora de seus filmes são tão, mas tão ruins, que foi impossível ele não integrar este top 10.

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: Pare! Senão Mamãe Atira, Pequenos Espiões 3D.

06º - Lindsay Lohan

Se for para falar mal dela, vai demorar demais! Pois ela não tem um fime que preste (e criticar todos seria uma grande perca de tempo)! E saibam que ela só não ocupa o 1º lugar desta lista porque tem gente muito pior do que ela!

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: Herbie - Meu Fusca Turbinado, Eu Sei Que Me Matou.

05º - Paris Hilton

Arroz de festa, atriz, ex-presidiária, cantora e desocupada nas horas vagas, a jovem conseguiu o seu lugar neste top 10. O único filme pelo qual ela merece algum crédito positivo é A Casa de Cera.

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: 9 Vidas, The Hottie & the Nottie (considerado um dos piores filmes de todos os tempos).

04º - Pamela Anderson

Mesmo tendo ficado famosa por ter interpretado a voluptuosa salva-vidas no seriado de TV Baywatch e uma sexy agente de segurança em V.I.P. (outro seriado de TV) não tem jeito... A loira é canastra demais.

Recomendação para constatar a canastrice: A Justiceira.

03º - Dolph Laundering

Único filme razoável: O Justiceiro, e SÓ!

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: Qualquer outro filme que ele tenha feito.

02º - Charles Bronson

Saldo de filmes bons: ZERO!

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: Qualquer filme que ele tenha feito (porque até então, nunca assisti nenhum filme dele que eu pudesse ao menos dizer que tenha sido razoável).

01º - Chuck Norris

Canastrão com todas as letras e adjetivos que vierem junto.

Aliás, será que algum fã dele (se é que exite algum que seja 100% consiciente das suas faculdades mentais) saberia informar quem foi o infeliz que disse que essa figura poderia atuar (mesmo que restritamente a filmes envovlendo artes marciais)?

Recomendações para constatar a canastrice: Qualquer filme que ele tenha feito.

Infelizmente apenas 10 deles podem compôr a lista, mas saibam, a lista é muito, mas muito longa!

Até a próxima! Um abraço.

Apparently Henry Fonda was reluctant to play the cold blooded Frank and Sergio Leone flew to New York and convinced him: “Picture this: the camera shows a gunman from the waist down pulling his gun and shooting a running child. The camera pans up to the gunman’s face and…it’s Henry Fonda.” — wikipedia

Once Upon a Time in the West is a masterpiece. A visual spectacle which is taken to unforeseen heights by the music of Ennio Morricone and the stellar ensemble cast of Charles Bronson, Claudia Cardinale, Jason Robards and Gabriele Ferzetti.

After making his Dollar Trilogy Leone came to USA and was looking for producers for his gangster epic ‘Once Upon a Time in America’. The studios having seen what he did with the western genre wanted him first to make another western. Despite believing he has told whatever he has to tell or show in the Dollar Trilogy never wanted to make another. He decided to make a movie and pay homage to all the great Westerns made in USA, High Noon, 3:10 to Yuma, The Searchers, The Magnificent Seven, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Shane and a lot more.

The movie starts with a breathtaking and extended 8 minute wait by three men for Harmonica. A Sergio Leone trademark is the delay of the imminent violence. Where as a Sam Peckinpah will show some gruesome violence and shoot outs, Leone will prolong the inevitable and create a tense atmosphere, which makes it really nervous for the viewer and then finish the shootout in a second. Tarantino has so well picked this technique of a master. It’s not the violence but the slow build up that is riveting.

So the three men wait and wait and wait some more and we are sucked into a world of dusters, landscapes, wide angle shots, extreme close-ups, gruff and unclean / unshaven men and their quirky behaviours. The opening shot creates an anxiety in the viewer about why the three people are waiting so quietly and suddenly when a train arrives they forget about everything and get ready for the job at hand. The sounds of the windmill, leaking water and the buzz of a fly brilliantly heighten the anxiety. You know something’s gotta give and the prolonged wait is followed by a brief shootout where in Harmonica shoots down the three men we learn that he was expecting someone named Frank instead of the three men of his.

Then we see the heartbreaking but brilliantly picturised killing of an entire family at ‘Sweetwater’ when the family was waiting for someone named Jill whom McBain, the father of the family, had married a month ago. The build up to the carnage is sensational with brilliant use of background sounds of chirping birds. The carnage that follows is brutal to say the least.

Essentially the movie is about the ownership of a tract of land owned by McBain through which a rail line is supposed to pass but various characters have their own agenda and seamlessly their stories merge with the main plot.

Harmonica is looking for revenge and wants to settle an old score with Frank, old school. There is the crippled rail tycoon Morton (Gabriele Ferzetti) who wants to own that piece of land and Jill who wants to stay at ‘Sweetwater’ as the rightful owner.

Boy what a movie. Frame for frame, shot for shot it is IMHO the greatest western ever made. The wide angle shots and extreme close-ups have always been a part of Leone’s repertoire but here they increase the effect manifold. The climactic duel between Frank and Harmonica is a moment to treasure. They circle and circle and circle some more. A flashback is shown. The music just rips you apart and then we see the extreme close-ups of Bronson and Fonda. Through their eyes we foresee the inevitable. Old, withered and wrinkled skin; those unmistakable blue eyes of Frank and the vengeful eyes of Harmonica – pure cinematic LSD. And then the inevitable gunshot which seals the fate of Frank and Harmonica has his revenge.

But then on second thoughts, is the movie about Harmonica’s revenge or Jill getting her town back or Frank coming to his impending doom or is it about the end of the outlaw culture, the wild gunmen (“An ancient race” as Harmonica tells Frank) and beginning of the railroad - dawn of a new civilisation or how water and the struggle for it will played an important role in years to come (Jill giving water to the workers).

The cast was born to play the characters they played. Claudia Cardinale as Jill, the ex-whore, who will do anything to save her skin, Henry Fonda as the remorseless Frank, Jason Robards as the good natured Cheyenne and the gruffy but mysterious good guy Harmonica played by Charles Bronson (he is never named in the movie and its only Cheyenne who calls him Harmonica in a possible dedication to Eastwood’s character in his Man with the no name movies.

Another character which I haven’t mentioned earlier and is more important than anyone in the movie is the epic score by Ennio Morricone, a Leone regular. While Morricone’s music has always been great and always used brilliantly by Leone, in this movie it’s at another zone. An essential part of the story here where all major characters have a signature theme, the music is the leitmotif throughout the entire movie.

A best in the genre and certainly Leone’s very best.

When it comes to westerns, few rival the span and spectacle of Sergio Leone’s epic spaghetti western Once Upon a Time in the West. Originally released in Italy in 1968 and released in the United States a year later, the movie wasn’t an immediate hit with the critics but has since found legendary status. It is also the first portion of a rather loose trilogy, the other two being A Fistful of Dynamite from 1971 and Once Upon a Time in America from 1984.

Once Upon a Time in the West is a masterpiece brimming with tremendous depth, character development, and dark humour. Leone’s creation was originally designed as a way to work with Henry Fonda, an actor who Leone had admired for a long time. After creating his epic masterpiece The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, Sergio wanted to quit doing westerns. However, the studios would only offer him film opportunities within that genre. When the chance to work with Fonda came up in a western format, Leone jumped at the chance. But he was going to do things his way and show the audience a side of Fonda never before seen.

Fonda stars as Frank, a brutal gang leader who guns down a whole family without flinching. He frames a bandit, Cheyenne (Jason Robards), for the killing and moves on. Harmonica (Charles Bronson) is on the trail of Frank, hoping to gain vengeance for the killing of Harmonica’s older brother. These three characters all swirl around Jill (Claudia Cardinale), who holds the key to important land on which her deceased husband, killed by Frank, was intending to build a small town to capitalize on the well water and the passing steam train.

Once Upon a Time in the West is the quintessential tale of land development and corruption in the early formative days of the American West. The story, put together by then-film critics Dario Argento and Bernardo Bertolucci, would use elements from typical westerns of the time. Argento and Bertolucci studied The Searchers, High Noon, and other classic westerns to get the flow of the story down pat. Mickey Knox, an American ex-pat, came along to write the dialogue for the film and editor Sergio Donati helped file down the runtime. Leone’s films were notorious for their immense length and needed to be cut down for a general box office release. This never pleased the director, of course.

Stylistically, Leone captured this film in a different style than some of his other westerns. The pacing is not upbeat or lively. Instead, Once Upon a Time in the West is a rather sombre tale with constantly changing characters. Cheyenne, Harmonica, and Frank often change their views and become increasingly hard to define by the normal western stereotypes, creating a complexity to the film. The character of Jill is especially challenging, as she is prepared to do just about anything to save her own skin.

It is this style that helps Once Upon a Time in the West become one of the all-time great westerns. Its slow and deliberate gait help increase the suddenness of the violence and the calamity of its more chaotic moments. The gunfights are sudden, brief, and violent. This approach gives a real sense of danger to the characters, demonstrating that a moment is all that is needed to change the entire course of events in the story. The rituals preceding the violence are given far more time here to develop, as Leone’s interest lies not with the gunfight but with the prelude to it and the aftermath.

Once Upon a Time in the West is one of the best westerns I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. The characters are bold and have tremendous depth. The cinematography is excellent and often quirky and surprising, giving way to some compelling shots. The music from Ennio Morricone is tremendous, as always, and builds on the film’s almost-mythic qualities. Fonda, Robards, Bronson, and the beautiful Claudia Cardinale are all fantastic in their roles, too, especially Fonda, whose turn as a terrifying villain serves to highlight a wonderful career. Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West has all the ingredients of a masterpiece.

10/10

Trailer:

Charles Bronson with a gun.

...because sometimes you just need a little Charles Bronson.

Charles Bronson killing LOTS of people!

Death Wish 3 comes smack in the middle of Charles Bronson's urban vigilante action pentad, precisely at the moment when any sense of reality attempted by the first two movies in the series is totally abandoned. 1974's Death Wish depicted comfortably liberal architect Paul Kersey's (Bronson) gradual and often guilt-ridden evolution to vigilante urban avenger after his wife and daughter are attacked by muggers (led by the unlikely Jeff Goldblum of all people). By the time we get to Death Wish 3, any sort of character development is thrown aside in favor of Bronson becoming an indestructible action hero who travels from city to city looking for street criminal scumbos to blast apart in a variety of cinematically entertaining ways.

This time, Bronson fights a gang of urban thugs who look like a cross between wanna-be breakdancers and rejects from the casting call for The Road Warrior. There's really no point in describing the plot in great detail, since it makes little sense and doesn't really need to. The story kicks off with cockroach-crushin' police chief Shriker (the great Ed Lauter) locking Charlie up after IDing him as the legendary vigilante Paul Kersey & leaving him to the mercy of the perps du jour in the violent psycho bin. This gives Bronson the opportunity to get into some bone-crushin' fights with the crazies, culminating in him horsecollaring a big scary dude who looks like Curly Howard on steroids and ramming his bowling ball-sized fat bald head through the bars of the cell. Ouchie!

After this, Bronson makes an enemy of the main villain of the film, coincidentally the leader of the gang who offed his old friend, and Shriker sets him loose upon the gang's turf to clean things up while his cops look the other way. From then on, the film is basically violent eye candy with villainous street nasties' scumbaggery exhibited and then said scumbags positioned for Charlie's target practice, culminating with a face to face showdown between Bronson, Shriker & the lead baddie, where Chuck gets to blow him away with a handy mail-order rocket launcher that must have been the one thing Wile E. Coyote forgot to order from the Acme warehouse before Bronson snapped it up. The main villain Fraker is played by Gavin O'Herlihy, who you may or may not recognize as Richie Cunningham's long-lost and eventually forgotten older brother Chuck. See what happens when you don't have Howard Cunningham's fatherly wisdom or the coolness of the Fonz to look after you? You become a reverse-mohawked street thug complete with Rothko-esque war-paint (that is if Rothko is a nickname for one of the "slow kids" in a First Grade finger painting class), and your destiny is to be in Charles Bronson's crosshairs. If only it had happened to Chachi.

But I digress.

As much as I don't place Death Wish 3 into the same league with Road House in terms of sheer shit-as-entertainment value, it has a lot to offer.

We have Bronson killing people with assorted guns, but also with bizarre boobie-traps that embed teeth and shred feet. We have gun-wielding old folks inspired by Bronson shooting back and catching on fire. We have Martin Balsam taking out his old World War 2 machine gun and going after the muggers, only to fall down the stairs (you'd think he would have learned to avoid stairs back in Psycho.) We have Bronson shooting purse snatchers in the back and getting applause from people at their windows, in sort of a reverse-bizarro-universe tribute to Kitty Genovese.

We have a God-awful music score by Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin that sounds like a cross between John Carpenter's keyboard-on-the-cheap music for Halloween and porn synth slowed down and played backwards.

We have a nonsensical romantic subplot where too-hot-to-be-a-public-defender Deborah Raffin spots Charlie as a possible murderer in lockup and thinks "Gee, there's a guy old enough to be my father accused of murder who won't tell me anything about his past!" so she takes a taxi up to terror town to randomly look for him & ask him out on a date. She finds him, they have dinner, she confesses her disgust at her job and they bed down for some Chuck lovin' before Mohawk McMayhem gets back at Bronson later that night by bonking her on the head and rolling her and her car in neutral down a hill into traffic, knowing full well that in a movie like this, a 20 mile per hour fender bender will assuredly become the equivalent of Dresden when it blows up real good into a flaming inferno of efficient cinematic girlfriend disposal.

We have Fraker, pre-Bronson-battle, getting on the phone and saying "I need more reinforcements" before we smash cut to a biker battalion riding into town whirling chains into people's heads and throwing grenades through shop windows that, like Deborah Raffin, also blow up real good. Think about this for a moment - who the hell is he calling? Rent a riot? Bikers 'r' us? Leftover extras from the set of The Born Losers next door on the lot? And did he put it on account or promise to pay them in cash afterwards?

We have the repeated unsubtle motif of gun-as-wang from director Michael Winner, whether it's the series of bizarre angles and quick cuts during Shriker's interrogation of Kersey when one shot places a trophy handgun where it appears to come out of Shriker's fly, or later on when Bronson repeatedly fires his machine gun at crotch level into a veritable supermarket of disposable mugger meat.

Ah, Michael Winner! He used to be a half-decent director, and made earlier films with Bronson such as Chato's Land or The Mechanic that are far, far superior to this one. And he was also capable of astounding levels of shititude with material like The Sentinel, where hottie model Cristina Raines needs to leave her fashion model fastlane life and guard the gates of hell in order to save her soul. If you've ever wanted to see Burgess Meredith play the demonic ghost of a child molester who can summon up armies of intestine eating deformed midget goblins at will, then this is definitely the movie for you! After all, if he had done that for Rocky, Clubber Lang would have never had a chance! He's a wreckin' machine!

But I digress.

Looks like Winner has rediscovered his British sense of humor, in this piece about how he's no longer a big fat slob. Bon appetit!

Action and idiotic violence aside, my only reason for knocking Death Wish 3 down a few notches from Everest-level heights of anti-genius remains its lack of moronic dialogue, an element that my earlier choices of bad films to love have in abundance. Except for the deeply moving moment where one of the thug army mourning one of their fallen comrades lets loose with "They shot the Giggler, man!" there really isn't much else to chew on here. But I'd still recommend this one for anyone in the mood for good old mindless violence, despite a depressing "we need to show some tits" rape scene - where the victim is Marina Sirtis, otherwise known as Counsellor Troi - No dialogue from her throughout the film, by the way, since she probably hadn't lost her British accent and is supposed to be playing Puerto Rican from what I can tell - in any case, it spoils the surreal quality of the rest of the film's violence and undermines our ability to kick back and mindlessly enjoy the entire thing as a comic book-gone-wild depiction of New York as if David Dinkins were mayor-for-life.

Stupid beyond belief! Thumbs up!

Fiona was sat at the computer in her dressing gown, and I was just starting to watch WOMAN IN A DRESSING GOWN.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's The Fiona Watson Story."

Five minutes later she made me turn it off. I can't say I blame her. Though very interesting cinematically, it's also a hard film to be in the room with. Made in 1957, it's an early precursor for the British New Wave films of the '60s, detailing ordinary-ish working class life. What makes it peculiarly stressful is director J. Lee Thompson's approach to mise-en-scene, and the grating, desperate performance of Yvonne Mitchell.

She grins a lot, furiously, and the air of frantic make-believe in her every action exhausts our patience and sympathy in moments, and it seems like a really fake, bad performance and maybe is but my god it's exhausting and that somehow seems just right. The strenuous effervescence seems to mask soul-rending despair right from the off.

The film earned Godard's disapproval for its constant camera movement, but Thompson seems to be influenced by Max Ophüls or something. His camera not only darts about with the characters (Mitchell's housewife is flighty and disorganised, always beginning tasks and forgetting to finish them -- the camera style suits her) but constantly frames them through foreground detritus, trapping them in a cramped domestic prison. And through it all the radio blares, adding a further layer of audio-clutter. It's true, when Thompson films from inside cupboards and oven grills he may be getting carried away, but the overall effect is impressively claustrophobic, oppressive -- and dynamic.

Thompson had a weird career. He managed to carve out a niche in the UK making hard-edged dramas like this one, and YIELD TO THE NIGHT (Diana Dors gets death) and ICE COLD IN ALEX (desert warfare with an alcoholic hero), before decamping for Hollywood just when British cinema was rising to his level. TIGER BAY, the last film of his British period, is an extremely tense drama that made a star out of the young Hayley Mills. Her jangling, uncontrolled energy is breathtaking.

In the US, JLT won the admiration of Gregory Peck after taking over THE GUNS OF NAVARONE from Alexander Mackendrick, whom the producers had fired. Following this with CAPE FEAR, he made the kind of brutal, powerful and nasty thriller he'd been aspiring to in his British work, but after that everything seems to go wrong. The tail-end of his career is nothing but a string of substandard Charles Bronson movies. Thompson had become the poor man's Michael Winner, and you can't get poorer than that. Like the once-great Richard Fleischer, he could have enhanced his reputation immeasurably by quitting ten, fifteen, twenty years earlier.

(Theory: the qualities that make a good director also make someone who does not know when to quit.)

WIADG is maybe a little TOO dramatically shot. It's not that there aren't ideas underlying Thompson's decisions, it's just that maybe the style is overpowering and a touch hyperbolic. But that's Thomson for you. YIELD TO THE NIGHT also achieves most of its best effects by shouting at the viewer, leaving just a few quiet, gentle spots to achieve their impact by contrasting with the overall sound and fury.

We breath a sigh of relief as Quayle escapes his home and heads out into the clean lines of the modern housing estate. From the outside, the Le Corbusier-influenced neo-brutalist "machines for living in" look positively soothing compared to the scrapheap our Dressing Gown Woman has made of the interior. Then Quayle arrives at his girlfriend's house (he's pretended to be going to work), a pleasant, old-fashioned house, and things get even more comforting and relaxed -- though Thompson still edits with severity and pace, jumping straight down the line into close shots as if covering an argument rather than an embrace. There IS an underlying tension to the scene as written, and this strategy foregrounds it emphatically.

This may be the most stressful opening five minutes I can recall sitting through. There's tons of "Sid Furie Shots" -- those peaking-through-the-shelves shots beloved of the director of THE IPCRESS FILE. They're gimmicky but they serve a purpose, making us feel trapped along with the characters, hemmed in and hampered.

This film is a great discovery for me because it's an early instance of the social realist approach that came to the fore in the early '60s films of Tony Richardson, Karel Reisz, Lindsay Anderson, and which echoed the late '50s Angry Young Man vibe of British theatre. I have a script project which requires a fusing of this aesthetic with the new movement in British horror of the late '50s, inaugurated by Hammer's CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN. (I know that seems an odd thing to do, but that's the way I am.) WOMAN IN A DRESSING GOWN fits the bill to perfection, not only because its gutsy, kinetic attack is a closer match for Hammer than most of the later Woodfall Films of Richardson et al, but because it's made the same year as CURSE OF F, and both films feature future sitcom star Melvyn Hayes -- in one film he's the delivery boy, in the other he's the young Peter Cushing.

The man's a living legend -- I should write him a part.

Xavier University is a private, Jesuit, co-educational university in the United States located in Cincinnati, Ohio. Today, Xavier University is one of 28 member institutions of the Association of Jesuit Colleges and Universities. It educates over 4,000 undergraduate and 2,500 graduate students annually. Xavier is primarily an undergraduate, liberal arts institution. Graduate programs include education, counseling, English, theology, psychology, and business. Xavier's large part-time MBA program is a nationally ranked, AACSB accredited program.

Xavier presents an interesting dichotomy to me. Are they, as most would imagine, a mid-major along with their Atlantic 10 conference brethren, a mid-major? Not according to Forbes magazine, who ranked the the Musketeers as the most valuable mid-major school, and #20 most valuable college basketball program in the nation, due in large part to their lucrative seat licensing deal.

Xavier is no stranger to big time basketball. They are in their third consecutive NCAA tournament, bailing out in the second round last year and the first round the year before. But 2004 saw the Muskies make a mythical run to the Elite Eight, and this is the seventh overall appearance in the NCAAs for Xavier in the 2000 decade.

Bob Huggins is quite familiar with Xavier, the program if not the current incarnation, from his days at Cincinnati where the Bearcats and Muskies are bitter cross-town rivals. And Xavier coach Sean Miller is familiar with WVU as a bitter arch-rival from his playing days at the University of Pittsburgh. Oddly enough, Xavier joined the Atlantic Ten in 1995, just after WVU along with Rutgers left the A-10 to join the Big East.

Despite relative closeness geographically, WVU and Xavier met on the hardwood only one previous time, a 1979 meeting at the WVU Coliseum. Gale Catlett's Mountaineer team led by Lowes Moore and Greg Nance downed Xavier, 82-65.

On to the current Xavier team. These Musketeers have a very balanced offensive attack, with six players averaging above 9.8 points per game. The leading scorer is 6'9" forward Josh Duncan. Duncan can attack the rim or beat you from the perimeter as he is a 41.8% shooter from behind the arc on 122 attempts this season. Duncan also hits on about 58% of his two-point attempts. Even higher on the effective field goal percentage charts is 6'7" sophomore Derrick Brown at 60.2% on the season. Brown is much more of an inside player as he has attempted about 30 treys this year. He scored a career-high 19 points and pulled down 11 boards in the first round victory over Georgia.

Xavier is most known by the casual fan for their guard play, and especially the diminuitive point guard Drew Lavender, listed at 5'7". Lavender is averaging 11.0 points and 4.4 assists this season and is a strong defender despite his small size. Lavender has faced big guards before, so I'm sure WVU's Darris Nichols, Joe Mazzulla or Alex Ruoff will not have as huge advantage as one would think in that matchup. Lavender is also a threat to knock down the outside shot at any time, with a season three-point percentage of 40.4

The other household name at guard for Xavier is Stanley Burrell, the 6'3" senior and defensive specialist. Burrell averages 9.8 points per contest. Two other guards are among leading scorers for Xavier, C.J. Anderson (6'6", Sr, 10.7 PPG) and B.J. Raymond (6'6", Jr, 10.1 PPG).

Just when you thought Texas had cornered the market on guards with initialized first names, along come C.J. and B.J. for the Muskies. Anderson is more of a forward type who does not shoot from the outside, while Raymond is statistically even more deadly from outside than Burrell, Lavender or Duncan.

Coach Miller is not afraid to go deep into the bench and has three more players who have played in each game this season: Jason Love (6'9", So.), Dante Jackson (6'5", Fr.) and Adrion Graves (6'9", Jr.) So you can say this team doesn't have tremendous height, but it does have long, athletic guys and lots of them. They may not be seven-footers, but Brown, Anderson and Love each average over 5 boards a game.

Looking over Ken Pomeroy's scouting report, another thing that stands out is Xavier's 32.5 free throw rate, 11th best in the country. WVU has struggled with teams that get to the line a lot (i.e. UConn in the regular season) and with Xavier's quick and athletic lineup it is imperative for the Mountaineers to avoid foul trouble. Not only can the Muskies get to the line, they shoot a 14th-best 75.5% when they get on the line.

Jason Love rates as the #2 player in the nation in offensive rebounding rate, which is another bug-a-boo for the Mountaineers. Will WVU throw some zone looks at the Muskies? I expect they should to try to negate the quickness and offensive rebounding prowess. However they will have to use those man-to-man principles because of Xavier's outside shooting.

The more I look into Xavier and read and look at the numbers, the better they looked. They have looked good not great all season to me. I felt after Sunday's games that WVU had a very winnable game on its hands. But the more I dig up, the closer this game looks to me. Xavier looks like a team that can exploit WVU's weaknesses, and doesn't have the weaknesses that WVU exploits in other teams. You can't expect a free ride in the NCAA tournament or the Sweet Sixteen, but I'm starting to believe this will be a very much more challenging game for WVU than I first imagined.

Oh, by the way. Xavier has Charles Bronson on their team. As if there wasn't enough to worry about already.

The Mountaineers and Musketeers will tip off from Phoenix at 7:10 p.m. Eastern Time on Thursday. This is the first game of the session so that tip time is solid.

I woke up this morning feeling, that I have been stuck in a time warp. People would ask me how old I am and I would respond 25, after a brief pause (time for my response to settle) It is usually followed up with Wait, I am 29 years old.  It is had to believe it myself that I am almost 30.

Turning 30 doesn’t quite stand up to my by 30 vision of a super-successful, mega-rich, highly admired, jet-setting, goal reaching business woman/entrepreneur living in an ultra glamorous New York City apartment, driving a black Mercedes Benz with hot pink interior, a portfolio of stocks, and bonds, a nice nest egg stashed away and an entourage of attractive men at my beckoning call.  At the very least, I pictured myself as a semi-successful, financially secure professional with a condo, long-term relationship, and maintaining a busy yet satisfying social life. 

I am completely embarrassed and feeling like my life is behind schedule.  I am in the in between stage of life, between jobs, boyfriends, and apartments.  I have, throughout life been a little late.  I was late to hit puberty, late to get a “date” to prom, late to appreciate and value my true self, late to get a myspace page (and use it), and a little late to arrive at things.  I guess that would make me a late bloomer.  It is time for me to play catch up. 

Jay-Z said that the 30's are the new 20's.  In either Case, as George Elliot said "It is never to late to be what you might have been".  "Right now you are one choice away from a new beginning” said Oprah Winfrey "one that leads you toward becoming the fullest human being you can”. It is time for me to play catch up. 

Here are a few late bloomers:

Charles Darwin

Mother Theresa

Rodney Dangerfield

Harry S. Truman

Colonel Sanders (KFC)

Walt Whitman

Sheryl Crow

Raymond Chandler

Charles Bronson

     AND.....

Me the Jazzed Up Diva

Wy - wiecznie młodzi co być pragniecie,
Do was się dziś zwracam z tymi to słowami,
Bowiem jak i wy nie zamierzam teraz, ni nigdy,
Oddać się w ręce smutnej, czarnej pani.

Niechaj gra muzyka nielicząca czynów,
I potrzeby z nich się rozliczania,
Grzmoty niech walą dalej po niebiosach,
Ja śmiertelności zarzucam skrępowania!

W pogoni za blaskiem tych soczystych barw,
I ucieczce przed dręczeniem hałasami,
Swą głowę na karku zachowam nieuciętą,
Uchylę się znów przed jej kosy machami.

Zabawiać się będę w domowych mesjaszy,
Palić na stosie świętych--bluźnierców,
Uskoczę przed ciosem znów szermierką,
Zyskując respekt wśród ludożerców.

Jej wstrętny odór przykryję perfumą
I drogim alkoholem mej satysfakcji,
Bo ja tam nie chcę wiedzieć co jest po śmierci -
Nicość, stan nieba, piekła, reinkarnacji...

Będą się starać mnie przetłumaczyć,
Że to zakłóca porządku naturę,
Zmuszać i prosić, wręcz demonstrować,
Ja jak już rzekłem - nie wydam swą skórę

Nie oddam życia nikomu, błagajcie więc śmiało,
A już w szczególe tym co za lepszych się mają -
I choć mnie będą zabijać, nie umrę ani razu.

If I had to get fat, I mean, if I HAD to get fat, I'd try to be just like John Candy. His resume has more ridiculously funny movies on it than anyone's. Summer Rental, Splash, Uncle Buck, Planes Trains and Automobiles. Plus, name one other fat guy in history who could pull off a mustache. They all ended up looking like Dom Delouise.

_____________________________________________________________________

38. Charles Bronson

Take a good, long, look at that video above. Make it full screen and really watch it. There were only two people in every Bronson movie. Bronson, and victim. Most guys wouldn't dare touch a crotch... even in a fight. Charles Bronson was too busy kicking ass to be homophobic. Which is good, because the title of Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Clause sounds kind of gay. Not that I would tell him. He'd be like, "oh really? What about Deathwish? Does that sound gay too?" And I'd be like, "I warned you!" Then he'd do this to me.

_____________________________________________________________________

37. Howard Stern

There's really nothing cool about Howard Stern other than the women he pulls in. The only thing is he pulls in more women than most of us do air. He shows up on Leno with lesbians. He has strippers at his rallies. Female callers dial in to jerk off over the phone to him. Howard Stern gets more pussy than a tampon so welcome to the list.

_____________________________________________________________________

36. Jack Nicholson

This one is iffy. I go back and forth with him because one moment you're like, "Lakers' floor tickets." Very cool. But then, the Bucket List. But here's what you have to take into consideration: every time an actor wins the Oscar, they take a second out of the proudest moment of their life to pay their respect to Jack. And he's always sitting front and center at the coolest seat in the house. All right, I gotta stop contemplating this one before I remember the movie Wolf.

_____________________________________________________________________

35. General Zod

So this is the planet Houston? If Superman II were a documentary and not a fictional movie, it would have played out quite differently. The president would indeed kneel before Zod as he did in the movie. But then, all Americans would have to make a pilgrimage to the nation's capitol and wait in line outside the White House. One by one, President Zod would see us. And after pledging allegiance to him, we would KNEEL! KNEEL BEFORE ZOD. I'd be proud to, General.

BTW, I love the way the short-order cook decides to turn off the television just as the president of the US relinquishes control of the entire planet.

This post originally appeared on my personal site but since I have been called upon to lead Vaulting Sky I take up the challenge of facing ridicule and exposing myself to bodily harm on this, our feature blog. Alone and shivering I creep forth, compelled by some dark force to step out and proclaim that the films listed at the end of this post are the greatest westerns ever made.

What prompted this seedy daring? Our need for lists and cataloging, foolish ego and the plain old fact that if one has a blog it might as well be an interesting and occasionally hilarious read. Without this what is the point of blogging? The very fact that we are here in the blogging universe says to the world, “Hey, look at me. I may not be pretty but, darn it, I exist!

Then there is the fact of the Western. It is an invented art form and perhaps, along with jazz, the only art forms to be almost wholly formed on American soil.

The Old West as it comes down to us in the movie art form called “The Western,” is mostly myth. We all know or have caught hints that Wyatt Earp was considerably less than his self-generating reviews which were ripe for the pickings for an America hungry for heroes (When isn't America hungry for heroes?), and the horrors of the Native American ordeal in this country are now widely known fact.

Yet Hollywood found a way to express itself most powerfully by taking the dime-store myths of quick-draw, gun-slingers and Indian Fighting he-men and blowing them up into epic heroes while burying beneath the vast landscapes and sun-blasted exteriors the fears, the desperate hopes, and the yearning for role models that might teach us how to be good people in a world gone gray from compromise.

A man could walk alone in a movie western and declare the hard truths of black and white though, beneath this gritty, rock hard exterior lay a man wrestling with fears and doubts just like the rest of us.

And no movie star did this better than the much maligned, much hated, much under-rated John Wayne an actor whom, in his element, was as great an artist as Cary Grant, Fred Astaire, Marlon Brando, James Cagney, Burt Lancaster, Anthony Hopkins, Kirk Douglas, Robert De Niro, Jack Nicholson, Humphrey Bogart, Robert Mitchum, Al Pacino, and Robert Ryan.

In Wayne we have an actor that carried the whole world in his eyes and much of that world contained all the hurt and pain that would subdue any thousand men, let alone one, lone hero. But more on Wayne, later.

You will note the presence of Eastwood, Bronson and Scott, but neither Cooper, Flynn nor Ladd made the list. Their Westerns are certainly interesting but they lack that complete package that would put them on such a list as this. Script, direction, and acting must all combine to make a memorable western and while I do enjoy “Shane,” “They Died With Their Boots On,” and “High Noon,” they are not works of art, or those works that repay careful attention and grow richer upon repeat visits.

An aesthetic statement?

Yes.

A shabby one?

Yes.

Scary?

I scare myself!

Thus, without further ado here are, in my throttled, beaten down, kicked and cudgeled opinion, the greatest westerns ever made (and below the list an attempt at commentary on each of the films):

1. "The Searchers"

2. "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly"

3. "Ride the High Country / "The Wild Bunch"

4. "Red River"

5. "My Darling Clementine"

6. "Once Upon a Time in the West"

7. "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance"

8. "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon"

9. "Rio Bravo"

10. "Stagecoach"

Hang on, a commentary, for what its worth, follows:

1. "The Searchers"

(Ford Dir., Wayne, Hunter, Miles)

Stop. I know the rage. I know the blows. I understand the frustration. But stop.

There is one thing we have to understand. There will never be an answer for John Wayne the creature, the man, the symbol, the poster boy, the devotee, the siren, the patriot, the loon, the lunk-head, the icon. There can only be a serious appraisal of John Wayne's movies by serious people. Wayne was said to be a bore, a racist, a misogynist, a goon, a coward, and a draft dodger. It is known that he escaped service from not one but two "patriotic" wars. (I understand the need to fight WWII but WWI?) At any rate, this small aside simply shows us the baggage that already attends to the Duke even before we might consider Wayne as Donposa has, rightly in my opinion, called him: one of the very greatest artists that America has ever produced.

Wait I have just taken a huge guzzle of Trader Joe's excellent Harris Tawny Port the better to ward of the cudgeling I suspect is my due for having uttered, for some, such profound nonsense. No, I am not drinking straight from the bottle. Besides the bottle is not even in a brown bag which, as we all know, is the only proper way to bottle-guzzle. And I am not "snifting" from a big fat jar passing as a glass. You John Wayne haters will stop at nothing. Nothing!

Further:

I am not a member of the John Birch Society nor have I ever aspired to be.

And, finally, no I am not some vile, backseat goon screaming out "Bomb, bomb, bomb, / bomb, bomb Iran."

I am a mere fan, perhaps soon to be an ex-fan but I warn you: the authorities have been alerted. If anything happens to me this blog will go dark--so there.

With such a safety net in place I can now, loudly, er, make that quietly but with some measure of conviction, proclaim that the greatest Western ever made is John Ford's "The Searchers." Wait. Ok it was the alarms but my security cameras only picked up a strange looking man in a hoodie rifling through my neighbor's Infinity Q45. I will say this about that: "I'm glad it's not me!"

Back. "The Searchers." It is terrifying. No, not because John Wayne enters the frame, (Stop it haters!), but because it starts in mystery and ends in mystery and you cannot imagine an end for any of the main characters. What has gone on before the movie's legendary final shot is mostly horror and the anticipation of horror. Even attempts at humor are bathed in a glow that breeds horror around the next bend. It is a movie of massacres and crushed young love and thwarted hearts that burn with rage at memories too painful to dwell on and too precious to totally still.

"The Searchers" is searing in the vile racism breathed by its main character, Wayne's Ethan Edwards, the unreconstructed Confederate (Yes, a Johnny Reb!). But "The Searchers," on the other hand, is unapologetic also about its stern condemnation of this same man's hate, his sometimes boorish behavior and his eventual "turning."

"The Searchers" is lurid in its great action scenes in that they are played out with hatred as their real base.

Wayne's character is one of only three film roles where Wayne disappeared and a towering figure of world class art emerged, hideous warts and all. The other two film roles were: Tom Dunston in "Red River," and Captain Nelson Brittles in "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon." Here are characters that rival Cagney's Cody Jarrett and George M. Cohan; Bogart's Fred C. Dobbs and Commander Phillip Francis Queeg; Brando's Don Corleone; Al Pacino's Michael Corleone; Russell Crowe's Captain Jack Aubrey and John Nash; Denzel Washington's Trip and Malcolm X; Robert De Niro's Travis Bickle, Johnny Boy, Jake LaMotta, Jimmy Conway, and young Don Corleone. In short Ethan is allowed to be himself without any interference from the "star" playing him.

"The Searchers" is screaming. It is a shout heard across endless deserts and lonely mountain-ringed plains. Ford's eye misses nothing and the vast, glorious landscapes that he captures become, in themselves, characters and players in this greatest of American epics.

You know the plot. Some adore it; others scowl when they speak of it.

Mystery, unrequited lust, love never achieved, a life consigned to wandering, massive defeats, the greatest scene of impending doom ever captured on the screen. Desperate battles, Revenge--strangled. Burning passions. Seemingly unquenchable hatreds. Towering crescendo. Mystery again.

Max Steiner's score is one of the greatest ever produced by Hollywood and Stan Jones' title song, sung by the venerable Sons of the Pioneers (Roy Rogers' old group), enters the memory and the heart like it is brain matter and heart tissue.

There are a few films that might equal "The Searchers" as the greatest film ever made but none, however, surpass it.

2. "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly"

No one begrudges “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” its towering status as one of the greatest movies of all time. Indeed it may be the second most outrageous “great” film ever made. If, to stray for a moment, “Chimes at Midnight,” where Orson Wells attempts to cram pieces of the two Henry IV plays, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Richard II, and Henry V into a tidy epic with a showpiece battle scene thrown in for good measure for a total package that runs just under two hours (The result: A stupendous triumph!), is the most bold and positively insanely outrageous of the great movies, then TGTBTU, with its epic Civil War backdrop and its characters lust for gold, is right up there in its class.

TGTBTU is a Western that takes to the extreme the possibilities inherent in the genre. It is a film of lean, angular poses and sharp colors. Its dialogue is often terse and pointed so that lines ricochet around the memory for quite awhile before becoming spent. Eli Wallach’s Tuco is given some room to run gloriously around like a firecracker forever lit without igniting, but the film draws its strength from the iconic poses of Clint Eastwood’s Blondie and Lee Van Cleef’s Angel Eyes. They bookend Tuco’s nervous energy with their tall, rail thin frames. They are all about looks and poses and they both possess a serene languor that while quietly breathing menace it is yet a menace with verve and a real sense of style.

A quibble might break forth about which of the two Sergio Leone masterpieces might hold sway if put into a locked room with a bottle of Gran Patron on the table between them. I believe “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” would emerge from the room, bloodied but victorious.

The key is its entertainment value. TGTBTU repays countless viewings. One never tires of its mysteries. Its use of its hero Blondie is subtle and assured. Blondie may be a jackal but he is a jackal with a heart, not of gold, mind you, but a with a heart nevertheless. It is Blondie who sees Tuco’s humiliation at his priestly brother's hands and wisely keeps this to himself; it is Blondie who has sympathy for the Union Captain forced into senseless battles for worthless objectives; and it is Blondie who covers the dying Confederate teen with a warm coat, offers him a smoke, and stays with him until he perishes.

But Blondie is not, by any means, soft and emotional. He is a thug and as greedy and as opportunistic as either Tuco or Angel Eyes. And from this stand Eastwood and Leone never yield (although there are rumors that Leone kept wanting to change the script on the set but Eastwood, wisely, refused) for a moment. Thus it is after the Confederate youth dies that Blondie coolly takes the same cigar that the youth sucked on and lights a canon that is calmly aimed at the fleeing Tuco!

“Once Upon a Time in the West,” is certainly Charles Bronson’s greatest film and he is as iconic as Eastwood in some ways. But Eastwood looks as if his whole persona was built for leans and poses. Bronson has a scrambler’s look–he’s Blondie in Tuco’s body and clothes. OUATITW is a tad more moving. I don’t know what it is but I get teary-eyed when Bronson looks at Claudia Cardinale and says: “Now I gotta go,” and he leaves with both of them knowing they will never see each other again.

Henry Fonda’s villain is sublime in OUATITW. It is a late triumph for the old time mega-star and he brings to the role of the wicked Frank the same conviction that he brought to his very best heroic films. He is relaxed, funny and wholly, and unapologetically, murderous.

But OUATITW falls off with the Cheyenne story line that features Jason Robards. Here the movie sags a bit and though Robards is his usual excellent self he isn’t given much to do. The witty lines, the cool poses, the sense of frame owning is denied his character. Is this a case of one star and story line too many? Perhaps.

Even Morricone’s superb soundtrack seems to meander with Cheyenne’s character and that is something unheard of on a Morricone score.

Finally, the OUATITW story of how the West was settled and the epic glory of the first Western railroads is a wonderful one but Leone makes much more use of the Civil War backdrop in TGTBTU. The throwaway scenes are downright jaw dropping. There is, for example, the magnificent scene where the retreating Rebs flow through town as canon shots boom all around them. Meanwhile the real action is the hunt for Blondie by Tuco and his men going on upstairs in a hotel. And what can one say about the great shot of Union soldiers shooting a deserter as Blondie and Angel Eyes ride into town looking for the buried gold that everyone wants. As the war swirls around them, Blondie, Tuco and Angel Eyes are reside in their own parallel universe

Enough! In the end taste will out and if someone prefers “Once Upon a Time in America” over “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” they are, in the end, on as equally a solid piece of ground as I believe I am.

Finally, there is the late, great Leone, the fabulous Italian filmmaker, the master of framing and a visual poet on par with Vidor, Mann and Scorsese. In his hands the Western was both poetry and music. Landscapes, characters, ideas all flow by, now in tumultuous riot, now in quiet concert and with Morricone’s head spinning scores accompanying his vision, Leone pulled off that rare thing that only great artists are able to pull off: he created two works that triumph both as crackling entertainment and as profound art.

3. "Ride the High Country / "The Wild Bunch" (tie)

(Peckinpah Dir., Scott. McCrea [Country]; Holden, Ryan, Borgnine, Johnson, Oates, O'Brien [Bunch]:

Two towers from Peckinpah.

Both made in the 60's. "Ride the High Country" could stand here alone and be fine. Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea two of the old stars of Hollywood had moved on late in life when they were called upon by Sam Peckinpah to have one more last chance to star in a Western. It turns out that these mighty veterans knew the worth of the project they were getting into. McCrea is an old, epic lawman fallen on hard times who picks himself up and takes a dangerous job transporting gold from a mine to a bank. This job restores McCrea's pride and confidence and we begin to a late flowering in the old, veteran lawman whose moral code has now been revived. Along the way he partners with his old buddy Scott who was also a lawman veteran but a one who has gone further to seed. Indeed Scott plans to rob his buddy and take the gold!

There may be no more moving Western, save one, than this. Scott and McCrea have never been more towering and Peckinpah's relaxed storytelling and beautiful landscapes capture eloquently the poetry of shifting emotional landscapes. The dialogue is to die for and the movie is full of electrifying set pieces. Yes, it rocks!

By the way, there is only one other great Western ending in the movies that tops the one that ends this masterpiece. Once you watch "Ride the High Country" you will see that I do not speak falsely.

"The Wild Bunch" is the adventure of a gang of thieves whose days of glory are, as William Holden's gang leader Pike says "closing fast." Now, on the surface, the Bunch are mere murderous, thieving louts. They are ruthless. William Holden, Ernest Borgnine (yes, Mchale himself!), Warren Oates and Ben Johnson, play the core gang members. Sam Peckinpah, the director, sets up the gang's M.O. early when the Bunch bursts into a bank at the start of the film and Holden tells his gang of the innocents gathered there:

"If they move--kill 'em!"

On the surface this is not a bunch to take to heart. But Peckinpah keeps our attention on the Gang and as we learn that it functions like a family of outsiders taking their whacks against authority, they not onoy grow upon us but become, yes, endearing! Never lovable they are, nevertheless, men we come to admire for their own sense of right and wrong.

Of course they are also hunted. There is a relentless pursuit of this aging outlaw gang let by ex-Pike partner Robert Ryan's Deke who clearly has not heard of the "stop snitching" campaign now currently littering our urban streets. Ryan's Deke is a broken hood who just wants to lie down and rest. His only chance to escape prison for good is in corralling his old partner and as the weary bounty-hunter/betrayer Ryan is at his very best!

Holden the gang leader? Yes, the mighty Bill! The same William Holden of Billy Wilder's excellent triumphs "Sunset Boulevard," and "Stalag 17." The same William Holden of "Born Yesterday." The same William Holden of "Sabrina." The same William Holden of "Bridge on the River Kwai." Yes, that glorious William Holden.

And he is truly magnificent as one of those heroes who could care less about the outside world and the people in it, but grows towering and inspiring as the leader of his own little universe in which the gang revolves.

Along with Holden and Ryan, Peckinpah also stars. The now celebrated slow motion scenes of mayhem that Peckinpah submitted his audiences to were not properly appreciated in 1969 when the film came out. They are now. And the final walk to the Armageddon shootout must be seen, (I know this is a truly tiresome cliche but here it is gainfully employed), to be believed.

"Ride the High Country" and "The Wild Bunch" could, on their own, top any Greatest Westerns list. Sadly, they cannot here. They are towers. They are at the very highest heights of world cinema and modern art but, incredible as it may seem, two other works must, to this lone blogger at least, be ranked ahead of them.

It is a terrible case to make and I understand this full well. But I shall try to do just that over the coming few days. And I shall tremble all the way knowing that the only supports upon which I might rely are my own judgment and my own daring--shaky as both are.

4. "Red River"

(Hawks Dir., Wayne, Clift, Dru, Brennan, Ireland):

Hawks at his greatest. "Red River"s was John Wayne's breakout film, the film that made Hollywood gasp. Wayne, when broken early, can be one of the very greatest of artists and Donposa is right to point this out. Here he has a tragedy early in life and it profoundly affects his desperation years later as he must move a sea of cattle to the North through Indian territory, drought areas, thieves, and bushwhackers, or else go broke and lose everything.

This is the film that really understood the possibilities of the epic "dark" Western. The real key to this film is how Wayne bitter and despairing one moment can be heroic and epic the next. His Tom Dunston is one of the very greatest characters in the movies.

5. "My Darling Clementine"

(Ford dir., Fonda. Mature, Brennan):

The best of the "OK Corral" epics with Henry Fonda as a wonderful, laid back Earp, Victor Mature as the sick but deadly Doc Holiday, and Walter Brennan as the nasty and murderous Pa Clanton. The scene where Fonda and Cathy Downs, as "Clementine," take their slow walk to the Sunday Dance as the bells clang and flags flap gently in the wind, is one of the greatest in all of the cinema. Girls? Don't worry. You'll see what I mean.The black and white photography is stupendous and Ford is totally on his game. Magnificent!One of the greatest lines in the cinema belongs to Brennan's Pa Clanton:"If you pull a gun--kill a man!"

6. "Once Upon a Time in the West"

(Dir. Sergio Leone; Starring Charles Bronson, Claudia Cardinale, Henry Fonda, and Jason Robards).

This dark Leone masterpiece is languorous in its pacing and not for all tastes. But it never fails to move if you stay with it. Bronson has never been better and Fonda is absolutely lights out/bonkers as, guess what, one of the greatest movie villains ever! Bronson, a man not given to many words, rides into town to settle a score from long ago. Cardinale arrives from Italy as a mail order bride only to find her “husband” killed by the evil Fonda and his gang. Robards is an outlaw who gets pinned with the murder of Cardinale’s husband. Everything comes together in the end and everything, surprise, works gloriously. The great Ennio Morricone’s soundtrack is almost as towering as his kick-in-the door triumph of a score for “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.”

This is a towering work that, in a fair world, might even be considered a top five film. Alas in such a world where great Westerns used to be the norm and not the exception, "Once Upon a Time in the West" must be content with this: a second tier berth in a first rate list.

Cruel world!

7. "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance"

(Dir: John Ford; Starring John Wayne, James Stewart, Vera Miles, and Lee Marvin).

Late, glorious Ford. Wayne, the Old West, and Stewart, the New West, vie for Miles’s hand. Hovering over everything is Marvin’s superb Valance, a first rate thug to-end-all-thugs. Wayne, however, towers over all and reigns supreme not only as a hero, but as a desperate man who suddenly finds that the world has passed him by. Ford, now indoors, no longer has the majestic sweep of the land that so graced his other Westerns but, for all of that, he has crafted a most intense and highly rewarding drama.

This is a great film if for no other reason than the fact that John Ford with his wild interiors was already pointing to his final masterpiece "Seven Women."

8. "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon"

(Dir: John Ford; Starring: John Wayne, Joanne Dru, John Agar, Ben Johnson).

The greatest of all cavalry movies. Wayne is an old and grizzled veteran who must lead his men on one last dangerous patrol through hostile Indian territory. Ford brings his “A”-eye to the glorious landscape and Wayne is typically fine. Dru and Agar are the young lovers. The depiction of post-Civil War Cavalry life is fascinating with rifted brevet officers, once commanding hundreds of Civil War volunteer troops, now reduced in rank to Sergeants and Corporals. One ex-Confederate General has even joined up the new, smaller, U.S. Army as a private! Great fun.

9. "Rio Bravo"

(Dir: Howard Hawks; starring John Wayne, Angie Dickinson, Dean Martin and Walter Brennan).

The best of the late Hawks/Wayne Western combine which would yield box office hit after box office hit. Wayne, a drunken Martin, and a grizzled Brennan hold a killer for trial against various attempts to free him. A youthful Dickinson is Wayne’s love interest and she is glorious! She is the Helen of whom Marlowe wrote:

“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?”

Marlowe, The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus

10. "Stagecoach"

(Dir: John Ford; starring John Wayne).

Ford’s first iconic Western with Wayne making his first real impression as a star. A stagecoach, filled with colorful passengers, finds itself under Indian attack. Thrilling but only a hint of what was to come with the Ford/Wayne combo).

]]> http://darrengarnick.wordpress.com/?p=133 Thu, 05 Jun 2008 01:02:42 +0000 cultureschlock http://darrengarnick.wordpress.com/?p=133

Nothing like watching the kiddies smack each other in the face with a 3-foot-long "soft" rope and then listen to the classic "Raiders of the Lost Ark" theme as a reward. Would be even more fantastic if the whip handle also played other John Williams-composed hits.

The whip itself is soft -- silky smooth like a feather. But if swung around like a lasso, with the handle as a weight, you recreate the subway vigilante scene in Charles Bronson's "Death Wish."

A couple of rolls of quarters hunkered down in a sock does wonders for thug deterrence.

But kids would never misuse a whip, would they? Especially with Hasbro's cigarette-style product warning (guaranteed to be ignored). I'm betting this warning just gives the more rowdy kids ideas -- broadens their sadistic role-playing horizons.

But the danger factor really isn't the reason why the Indiana Jones Electronic Sound FX Whip earns my vote for Most Demented Toy of 2008 -- with even seven months to go to the holidays. The reason is that a whip is one of the sickest weapons available. In real life, its purpose is to inflict as much suffering as possible. And the user has to enjoy -- or least tolerate the torture.

With a nuclear weapon, you press a button and hit a target far away. Ditto for pulling the trigger on a gun. A whip only has three possible violent contexts:

1. To abuse animals.
2. To torture slaves or prisoners.
3. To enhance sado-masochistic sex.

Do yourself a favor: If your kid wants to pretend to be Indiana Jones, go out and buy him some old fashioned toy guns. At the risk of sounding like a Republican, six year olds and S & M just don't mix.

Read more exclusive insights on the Most Demented Toy of the Year in my latest "Culture Schlock" column.

UPDATE: BURGER KING ALSO HAS A KIDS' WHIP!

Oh, it's true. My son Ari and I walked in to grab a Frozen Coke, quite frankly the only thing worth ordering there, and there it was -- a poster advertising the "Indiana Jones Hip Whip" with the purchase of a BK Kids Meal

"The whole idea of a toy whip is crazy," I told Ari, who fortunately shows no desire to own one (although he does gravitate toward all sorts of gumball machine crap).

"It's even crazier when the toy doesn't even do anything!" my son chimed in.

Exactly.

What is the point of this hard plastic mini-whip, besides wasting petroleum?

If I were to buy him a Burger King Kids Meal, and that will happen only if we are stranded at a highway rest stop and haven't had food in 48 hours, I would much prefer that he play with the Indiana Jones Invisible Ink Journal.

Realizing I likely am in the minority when it comes to appreciating Indiana Jones merchandise, if you are a fan of this stuff, I highly recommend you read the musings of Eve and Dave, curators of the entertaining "Geeks of Doom" Web site.

1. Lee Smith - P - Cubs - 23 - 29 years old

1987 stats: 4-10/3.12/1.37 with 36 saves

Awards - All Star (2nd appearance)

Player Notes - by 1987 Lee had already established himself as one of baseball's best stoppers, this would be his last season in Chicago.  The card is cool, because he still looks real young.

Fun Fact - He graduated from Castor High School

2. Larry Anderson - P - Astros - 503 - 34 years old

1987 Stats  - 9-5/3.45/1.34 with 5 saves

Awards - None

Player Notes - He is one of the most underrated middlemen in baseball.  Consistently had an ERA in the sub 3.5 area for most of his career, but never turned in a decent closer performance.

Fun Fact - In high school Larry was voted the State MVP in baseball.

3. Harry Spilman - 1B - Giants - 64 - 32 years old

1987 Stats  - 0.267/1/14 in 90 at bats

Awards - None

Player Notes - This is another one of those airbrush cards, a bit better than most, but the fact it's a close up but the back of his jersey is blurry is weird, better than most jobs though since I almost missed it.

Fun Fact -  Harry and his wife ar eparents of 2 children.

4. Ricky Horton - P - Cardinals - 542 - 27 years old

1987 Stats  - 8-3/3.82/1.35 in 67 appearances

Awards - None

Player Notes - Ricky was one of those forgettable guys, another generic middle reliever.  Nothing spectacular but got the job done.

Fun Fact - None

5. Ray Fontenot - P - Twins - 124 - 29 years old - RETIRED

1987 Stats  - None, retired.

Awards - None

Player Notes - This is one of the worst air brushing jobs of all time on cards.  First off look under the right side of his cap, his head disappears, next, his jersey looks like a cartoon robe.  I am not even sure the background was real.  It just looked like they took someone else's picture, lifted his head and put Ray's head in it's place.

Fun Fact -  He is a few hours shy of receiving his MBA from McNeese St.

6. Ken Oberkfell - 3B/2B - Braves - 627 - 31 years old

1987 Stats  - 0.280/3/48

Awards - None

Player Notes - This would be his last season in Atlanta, where, Terry Pendleton would take his job for the second time (Cardinals being the other time).

Fun Fact - Ken is a fan of the St. Louis Blues (NHL).

7. Robby Thompson - 2B - Giants - 658 - 25 years old

1987 Stats  - 0.262/10/44/16

Awards - None

Player Notes - This covers the 2B aspect of my Topps All-Star Rookie team.  He was never a great player, but he did enough to keep coming back year after year.

Fun Fact -  Robby graduated from Palm Beach Junior College, where he was voted to the 1982 All Star team.

8. Steve Boros - MGR - Padres - 143 - 50 years old - RETIRED from Coaching

1987 Record  - Didn't manage in 1987

Player Notes - Only managed for one season in San Diego (1986) where he guided the team to a 74-88 record, which was good for 4th place in the NL West.

9. Frank White - 2B - Royals - 692 - 36 years old

1987 Stats  - 0.245/17/78

Awards - None

Player Notes - The picture is funny, it looks like he is saying cheese while the picture was being snapped.  One of a few players from the 80s who stayed on their team for the entire career.  This team had another guy like that, George Brett.

Fun Fact - None

10. Charlie Leibrandt - P - Royals - 223 - 30 years old

1987 Stats  - 16-11/3.41/1.29

Awards - None

Player Notes - I liked him, he was one of my late round sleepers when I played rotisserie baseball back in the day.  He always managed to get you 10+ wins and 100 + Ks, a decent WHIP and ERA, plus he never got injured (at least earlier in his career).

Fun Fact - He and his wife have a daughter.

11. Dale Sveum - 3B - Brewers - 327 - 23 years old

1987 Stats  - 0.252/25/95

Awards - None

Player Notes - First off, he is John Olerud's cousin.  Second, was I the only one who thought this guy was going to be a stud after that 1987 season?  Not only did he never even come close to hitting 25 again, he only hit 69 in his 12 year career.

Fun Fact - He loves playing both tennis and golf.

12. Barry Jones - P - Pirates - 494 - 24 years old

1987 Stats  - 2-4/5.61/1.80

Awards - None

Player Notes - I like the picture because he is so intent on signing that program, like's it's going to be the best damn autograph he has ever signed or something.

Fun Fact -  He went to Indiana University.

13. Pedro Guerrero - OF - Dodgers - 360 - 31 years old

1987 Stats  - 0.338/27/89/9

Awards - 5th (and last ) All Star appearance and 15th in MVP voting

Player Notes - This would be his last good year of his career.  He had a very roller coaster like career.  There were seasons he hit 30 homers and some he hit 5.  If he wouldn't have been more consistent, he might have been remembered as a better player.

Fun Fact -  He led the entire Dominican Republic with 0.438 average in Legion Ball as a teenager in the early 70's.

14. Dave Stieb - P - Blue Jays - 90 - 29 years old

1987 Stats  - 13-9/4.09/1.36

Awards - None

Player Notes - Dave was an amazing pitcher, especially when he played the Yankees because he always killed us.  In his first 12 big league years, only once did he fail to win at least 11 games, great underrated player.

Fun Fact - Dave is an owner of an extensive guitar collection, even more cool now that I know that.

15. Benny DiStefano - OF/1B - Pirates - 651 - 25 years old

1987 Stats  - was in the minors

Awards - none

Player Notes - He spent the entire 1987 season in the minors.  Not really a huge loss for the Pirates, since he was mainly a backup and not a well used one either.

Fun Fact -  Benny likes to go dancing in his off time.

16. Tippy Martinez - P - Orioles - 728 - 37 years old

1987 Stats  - Did not play (semi retired)

Awards - None

Player Notes - Tippy missed the 1987 because he was semi-retired, but came back in 1988 with the Blue Jays.  In a separate note, he later changed his name to Charles Bronson and took up a career as an actor.

Fun Fact - None

17. Mark Clear - P - Brewers - 640 - 31 years old

1987 Stats  - 8-5/4.48/1.60

Awards - None

Player Notes - Mark was one of those middle relievers that just hung around the league a long time and wasn't particularly good  (and he wasn't even a lefty).  I think he had the goods on someone to be allowed to play in the bigs as long as he did.

Fun Fact - He and his wife have a daughter and a son.

The non - double streak continues, and the set is growing like a weed.  This box continues to be one of the best I've ever bought.  Overall I'm going to give this one a 2.0 star rating, just because it was kind of boring to review.  No real studs, and just a few funny pictures.  But overall (other than Lee Smith that is), there weren't too many dominating guys from this pack.  Until tomorrow . . .

There was a time I envied Hungary a bit of a lot:

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Jethro Tull, my band #1 to take to an inhabited tropical island (or wherever my pension is going to take me) gave out a song "Budapest". Before the ultimate tearing the Iron Curtain off and away, and today, too, to a certain extent, the national pride of Poland had longed for any honourable mentions in Western production. So that we'd know the civilised world knows we're not a Russian colony with no history or ambitions.

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We would idolise people feeding our starving egos – like Marino Marini, a medium-popular Italian songster with a one-timer in heavily-accented Polish (but damn, the song is so sentimentally kitsch it's beautiful):

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Or like Classix Nouveaux. (They'll never never come out of my mobile). The problem with bands like CN was they would requite the love Poles felt for them -- but were not recognised too worldly.

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And Poles would probably remind an English or German foreigner some internationally famous tunes may be of Polish origin.

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Or that Polish Roman Polański directed a movie about Polish Władysław Szpilman playing Polish Fryderyk Szopen. If music should not be enough:

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Or that Gazebo would sing "I like Chopin" [but did he mean Chopin vodka?].

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Or that Midnight Oil sing about Kościuszko, though Aussies misspell and mispronounce him and often think he's just a mount.

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Or we would speak of Charles Bronson, who was Polish (oh really?), and a harmonica virtuoso.

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Or we would be happy Maidens want us to play pray with them:

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Or that they visit our airports.

That they visit our cities.

That they play our football.

That they see our people.

That they attend our weddings.

So that they could say "Na zdrowie":

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Or that U2 made a Solidarnosc-inspired song (for which Poles would pay back waving their shirts the other time).

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Or Kim Wilde? Long before she was covered in Cambodia by Apoptygma Berzerk, Polish "affectionate people" had covered her with flowers and kisses and kisses and improvised dancing, live, probably to thank her she came to us capable of saying "Cześć" or "Dziękuję":

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Hey, we even liked strangers when their admiration came through imitation. For example: Vox, the first Polish boys-will-be-boys-band, singing about aloha-sunny-banana way of life when it was grey and communist outside. The song has been kicking arse, amen. And it still kicks, even if in a Czech remake meant for a TV commercial.

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Our hearts soar when someone such as Eddie Vedder speaks Polish (even if it's read, and it's B16 Polish more than Polish Polish).

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Yes, our depression could be low.

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So, what more?

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This premiere-league metal musician took Danzig for his alias. (And Danzig is German for Gdańsk. Hurrah!)

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And then there's Christopher Poland. (What a nice surname!)

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Any common denominator? Considering Chris got himself into metal albums, and that I found heavy bands like these Danes, it seems the natural way you would musically relate to Poland would be loud and clearly hard.

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Type O Negative is a first class metal band, and its core-man is Peter Steele, born Ratajczyk. Just when one could boast his Polish surname, one would learn Peter sings about faeces, or women that cheat on him, that he posed for Playgirl, that he was clinically treated for depression, or that he converted from atheism to Catholicism. Let's be confused: is it good PR, or not?

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There are exports, too (to boost up our pride aware of them admiring our guys).

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Vader – the best (selling) thing in music from Poland (*).
I still recall the thrill of the time I saw the first Polish words on MTV, a Polish ballet dancer, a Polish power plant, lots of first class loudness in their video. On the other hand, Vader is not a Polish name, the band IS good (while goodness is international) and singing in English. [And how! Uttering loud lines "We await the silent empire" and "We do believe in silence" is clear irony and wit, and they will discuss stuff like for-snobs-only Pynchonisms, with unprecedented speed (try to say "You'd better never antagonize the horn" in 0.8 second).]

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(*) Since that etude thing Chopin wrote. Yes, that borrowing from a prelude by Birkin. The lending to Beyond The Sea. Yes, the song in American...Or's it English?...French?...Or Corsican French?...Or French-English on Japanese tv? -- It's all one, anyway.
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Anyway. Jethro Tull went on with "Budapest" for 10 minutes long and more. This could hurt the national pride of a non-Hungarian. Despite the fact Poles and Hungarians have been considered "brethren". (We don't speak our brother's language, we don't see one another too often, we hardly shared borders. Yes, warm feelings are feasible.)

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