Movie Review: Mad Max Fury Road

As a child, I only saw Mad Max on late night television. Usually Beyond Thunderdome. Two men enter. One man leaves. That was it. 

So I was without much of an opinion about another installment. Rebooting movie franchises is all the rage. Not even a new trend. Gary Coleman's baseball epic Disney TV movie was a remake of a 1950s movie starring Anne Bancroft. So it's a tried and true Hollywood tradition. 

Of course Mel Gibson is hardly Anne Bancroft and Tom Hardy is certainly no Gary Coleman. 

When I first heard of Mad Max Fury Road, I assumed that it would be a Redbox or a Netflix watch for me. I'm glad I didn't make that mistake. 

Some movies need the theater screen. The pounding sound. The surrounding crowd of teenagers in dates, parents on a night out and that one kid who was inexplicably brought to an R rated film at 10 on a Friday night. Most of that you can't truly recreate in a living room. Some movies demand the overall sensory experience. 

As the credits rolled on Mad Max Fury Road, my body was shaking and I realized that I wasn't sure how long I Id been holding my breath. It's sensory overload. It's epic. It's grand. And so much of it isn't CGI. It was amazing stunts and ridiculous staging and so much action. 

It's an action movie. It isn't about social commentary. Those in the Internet who are trying to make it something about feminism or more are missing the point. It's meant to shock your senses. If there is a social meaning you add to that. So be it. 

Just as the characters are trying to survive a barren harsh sensory explosion of a reality, the harsh daily, or in this case nearly constant presence of death. max and Furiousa et al are just trying to make it through a seemingly impossible life. The sensory, emotional and artistic overload that the audience experiences is but a tiny slice of that post apocalyptical pie. 

Go see Mad Max Fury Road to be overloaded, to challenge your sense. If you find a larger theme, great. But don't go for the politics or the "internet rage". Go because it is the most pure version of an action/chase movie in years. Love it for what it is.

See it in the theater. Maybe don't sit the in front row - unless you really want to see how long you can hold your breath. 

ICE vs ICL

Overall today was a great day.

I awoke on time. Got my kids up and ready, attended a networking event with my father. Yes, he talks almost as much in a networking event as a movie. Stopped by work. Saw some favorite coworkers, then met my father for a delicious lunch on a patio and got some sun. Literally burned. I stopped by a favorite spot to say hi to some friends and then, some guy had the audacity to interrupt my whole day.

Five feet away. A man had a seizure or an episode or a stroke. It scared the bleeping life out of me.

I hate to be helpless. Luckily another patron knew CPR and the employees of the Tap performed admirably in getting help quickly as possible and dealing with the situation with calm and professionalism.

Inside my head, I was freaking out.

I don't know CPR. I should. I have taken classes. But at the moment, as I watched that man's eye glaze over. Watched his partner hold him and desperately try to make contact with him again. I freaked. I had nothing. As a big brother it was enlightening how much I wished my little brother was in my place.

My little brother, little in only age as he is taller and in exceptional shape, is a firefighter. Trained to help people in crisis. To help people who seemingly are having a seizure in the middle of the bar.

If I could have wished anyone to walk through that door it wouldn't have been Batman. It would have been my brother.

The staff moved quickly. Other patrons, with better training and peace of mind, helped the gentleman to the floor and were ready to administer CPR if needed. Paramedics were already on their way.

My brother works in Rochester. So he wasn't the paramedic or firefighter that came through the door. But as those employed by St Paul did, the main was already seemingly stabilizing. The quick thinking of the staff and the other patrons laid him down and worked to get him to breath again.

I did a fine job of looking on and holding down the stool I was on from floating away.

When I was 14, I participated in the 3 on 3 tourney in the parking lot of the Mall of America. It had a fancy name, maybe Gus Mackey, but I will never remember it. What I will remember to the day I die, is the feeling of the stranger who was walking next to me and suddenly had an episode or heart attack. Out of instinct, he grabbed my arm. His grip was tighter than I had ever felt and he pulled me to the ground with him. My friends and parents helped me get us both to a bench and he handed me a bottle of pills. I simply stared at the bottle. Doubt paralyzing me. Fortunately, there was a certified nurse near by who read the label and administered the right dose. Paramedics came and took the man away, stable and seemingly ok. I never knew his name. Afterwards, I was not very focused on basketball. We lost.

Those memories came flooding back as I watched the gentlemen be helped by the other patrons. I had nothing to do. Nothing to offer. Life was truly in the balance to my right and I had nothing to offer as help. It was exceptionally sobering.

The paramedics got the man stabilized and on his way. His wife/partner stayed behind for a minute to answer some questions. One thing I overheard was;

"Who should we contact in the case of emergency?"

ICE.

Many of use have the contact in our phone. The person to call first.

A parent. A lover. A significant other. A spouse.

Yes. As a single person this is supposed to be awkward for me.

But it isn't. I know who I want them to call in an emergency, my parents, my ex-wife, in a few years my son and daughter. That wasn't what struck me.

It was the moment after. As I left the bar. I was fine. The gentleman was seemingly fine. I didn't need to call my ICE.

I needed to call my ICL.

In. Case. of . Life.

I needed to call the person who I can tell anything. The person who will always listen. The person I can share the minutia of life with. Big or small. Life or death. The one person who has to know about your day, the one person who you can't not tell.

I don't need another ICE in my life. I have some really excellent ones, and if my brother ever decides to move back to the cities, he must be prepared to the paramedic/firefighter equivalent to Batman in my world. (I'll get him a cool signal light)

What I do need is that In. Case. of. Life. person. The one person I can't help but tell things. The one person who listens and is always there. Maybe that's a myth. Maybe it's a version of religion. Maybe I just need to wait for the right house elf to give a sock too. But that person is out there.

It warmed my heart, through fear to see the love and compassion of the woman with the man who had a seizure or stroke or just a really bad day. I value that type of love. That type of ICE moment.

I have some great In. Case. of. Emergency. people.

I want that one In. Case. of. Life. person.

Picking up the old addiction...

In college I was a theater major. Yes I loved movies, TV, some theater and I had delusions of stardom and becoming a creator of amazing works. But it also came easy, it was fun. It didn't feel like "homework". Plus occassionally, I got to kiss a pretty girl. Not a bad gig. 

Between 16 and 26 I was part of 55 different productions. Musicials, drama, comedy, vaudevillian bible stories even a movie or two. I always felt better when I had a creative outlet. 

Life happened. And priorities changed. From spring of 2007 to Monday May 11. I didn't go to a single audition. I hadn't even been tempted more than a few times. The stress, reality and responsibilities of life seemed to make that old connection seem dim and distant. 

Then my daughter decided to try out acting. She went to some camps. Was in a club at school. And she's been auditioning for some shows this year and hadnt yet made it in one. She really had her heart set on being in a show this summer. 

So I told her we would find one to do. And I would audition with her in hopes we could both get a chorus role. May 11th we attended an audition. Because we wanted to audition together we went at the prescribed "family" audition time slot. 

Imagine if you will, a scene from Modern Family or SNL. A stage, filled with 6 little girls under 10 and one out of shape 34 year old dad, being led through  energetic choreography by a young man in excellent shape who probably dances every day of the week...

Needless to say, those little girls kicked my butt. 

We ran it over and over and by the end I was gasping for air and doubled over in laughter. My daughter was too. She did a fine job dancing. I mostly did a lot of flailing. 

We completed the dance audition and went to sing our audition songs and improv a scene. Again. 6 little girls and one old guy. One of these things was not like the others. But we had fun and I was so proud of both my daughter and just letting her see that part of me. 

Letting that part of me out might have been opening the Pandora's Box of my psyche. Confidence I hadn't felt in a long time came rushing back. Parts of my brain slowly began to awake from 8 years of slumber. Blocking. Playing off a partner in a scene. Giving and taking the energy that is created with imagination. It felt so good. 

That sweet succulent taste of addiction. 

Then I got the email about callbacks. 

It was a surprise but it wasn't. Community theater is always looking for more men. Especially ones who can maybe hold a tune or look like a human in the background of a scene. 

It was a reminder. It's been a long time. My last role was Seymore in Little Shop. The young, leading man protagonist. 

This time I was called back to read for "Grandpa" 

Yep. 

Ego not as boosted as it was but not as deflated as I expected. I went to the callback. We sang and read sides from the script. I played with accents and gestures and facial expressions. 3 hours flew by. Surrounded by people all trying new things, nervous in some ways, reading and trying to gauge the "competition" It was one of the best nights I've had in a long while. 

I left engaged. Fulfilled. Energized. I hadn't just opened the box. I tore it in two. No going back now. 

For 8 years I hid a part of myself. A part of myself that I really enjoy. It was necessary in some ways. Self punishment in others. It happened. It was. 

After the call back, I then had to wait. Wait on a call or a cast list or an email. Wait. Wait. Wait. 

I've been waiting a lot lately. Trying to take things as they come. React. Not force the issue. Not chase. It's not my normal motif. 

Tuesday night I got the call. I was cast. My daughter was in the chorus. Her joy was enthralling. She jumped up into my arms and I spun her around as she giggled. So happy to be in a "real show". 

If I could bottle that joy, I could change the world. 

So the box is gone. This part of me is coming back. My daughter has the bug now too. 

So come see us both in July. 

PS. I didn't get cast as Grandpa. I got the villain. A goofy, angry, unhinged Baron. Part El Guapo, part Don Carnage, part Boris and Natasha. I can't wait. 

Silence can be Deafening.

I've been working a lot with my therapist and reading a couple books about trying to be more present. Not always so trapped inside my head. Often my mind is like a run away train. Constantly running usually many disconnected thoughts leading my mind to memories or trivia or obsessive over analysis. It's exhausting and it makes me less present and I really hate missing out on things because I'm too trapped in my head.

Usually I multitask. Well, I call it multitasking but it's basically just sensory overload. Computer with a dozen windows open and two games, phone nearby, tablet for various searches, Netflix playing in the background. So much buzz that my mind can't ramble and wander and analyze and obsess.

I'm pulled in a thousand places at once and not really truly paying attention to any of them.  But it overloads the brain at least.

Lately I have considered that by overloading my brain during the day, I might be making my night terrors/dreams/subconscious worse. Not that I have any science to back up that idea. But the narrative works and as I am me, if there's a good narrative, logic and science be damned.

Tomorrow is a long day. 10 hours. Early morning convincing the kids that Tae Kwon Do is totally worth the early wake up call. Followed by work. So I thought maybe tonight I would try to just relax. Be present. Not overload my brain. Perhaps tonight my dreams wouldn't be so bad.

The dreams part is too be determined. But I have discovered one thing but only having one browser open and my phone nearby. So other sounds. No Netflix. No wagging war on Civilization 3 between reading articles. No trips out to the living room to complete another silent Skyrim or Rock Band quest. Just me trying to be present. Still. Relaxed.

Oh my god is it terrifyingly loud. The lack of white noise. The lack of constant variable stimulation. It's just so quiet and that lack of sound seems so overwhelming. I medicate with media and alcohol and over stimulation. This is like going cold sober. Even with the blog and the phone to ween me.

I can't remember the last time I didn't have at least 3 sources of distraction outside my brain. It's not a common occurrence. The irony (and I can't just Google the definition of irony on my tablet because it's not active, so who knows if it's really irony) is that the silence does seem to help me focus. Be present. But. I'm only focusing on the fact that there is no sound and wondering what is happening in the world or the fake world or the pretend world.

All I have right now...is me. And this blank blog. It's a bit terrifying and silly. But one thing is clear.

All this terrifying lack of stimulation is a great cure for writers block.

Hearing and Fearing

It's amazing what you can fear when you stop to hear
The sounds and subtext that can slip past the normal ear
Creaks and shudders up and down the house
Scratches and shuffles that convince you there's a mouse
Moans and whispers that betray your house as home.

But when you stare too long into the a mirror 
Things that aren't, tend to magically appear.
Apparitions and visions become all too concrete
Fears, Terrors and Horrors lay at your feet.
Tales enough to fill each and every tome.

Beautiful, smart, independent Women and why I love them even though they leave.

I have always fallen for beautiful, smart, independent, talented women. I love them. They are great. Passion. Fire. Self confidence. Natural beauty they allow me to remind them of. Intelligence they show me by accident at times. Independence that proves they are whole and worthy of partnership.

Ironically. The one thing I've really learned about beautiful, smart, independent, talented women is that eventually they realize they are beautiful, smart, talented and fully ready to independent from me.

Honestly, it probably has more to do with my perceptions and expectations. Can I really be surprised that no woman wants to be my Princess  Leia, Lois Lane, Detective Beckett and Taboo (from the Backlash comic, only I remember) all rolled into one? No. That's a bit unreasonable.

But I do love them. Lord do I. And I have tried to learn from them. Because more than anything, I want my daughter to be a beautiful, smart independent, talented woman who eventually no longer needs me around.

I am a flawed man. As a child I readily accepted the images shown to me. I loved old James Bond films. I assumed that a wife's role involved keeping her husband happy. I watched Leave it to Beaver and Father knows Best on Nick at Night and Full House and Remington Steele and Knight Rider on broadcast. I learned things a certain way.

I have grown. Mostly from my interaction with those beautiful, smart, independent, talented women form my past. I understand how the words that I use and the attitudes I have can affect others. Sadly this is not something I was well aware of before.

It changes when you have a daughter. Suddenly. You are not just a father. You are responsible for portraying the image of a male that will factor into your daughter's perception of how she should be treated. It's possibly one of the most terrifying realizations I have ever had.

But parenthood is about learning and growing and adapting. No one gets it right at first. Or so I assume. It's about learning and changing. So much of life is about changing. I didn't know that.

I have come to have a very hard time accepting certain words within the English language when it comes to referring to people or individuals of the female sex. It's been there in some ways since I was a child. (My son getting detention for pushing the kid who knocked down the girl named Mary in his Catholic preschool is still a favorite). But to be honest most of my youthful reaction was based in some Western cowboy or James Bond mythology. The thought I was to stand up or protect women.

Ironically. In my life it has often been women who have stood up and protected me.

In third grade I tried to stand up to a bully. He routinely would ignore my attempts and pick me up or shove my face into the water fountain or give me a horrible wedgie. No matter how many times I ran or tried to give him the patented Adam triple shake-a-fake. He would come at me every day.

Until a friend of mine told him to stop. She was a year younger than us both but her voice had more authority in it than any other. He stopped. I saved the triple shake-a-fake for another day. (She is still a close friend to this day, so don't let it be unknown that I have a bad-ass bodyguard if needed)

It is a silly but vibrant example. 24 years later, I still remember the moment. I was destined for a swirly or worse if not for her words. That is who I want my daughter to be. The one who stands up.

She is. Her love for the Leverage series may have led her to be a bit more of a Sophie Deveraux than I planned but I'll take it.

But there are still words that men use that I have started to not be ok with. "Chick" "Bitch" and if I ran into any 1930's gangsters, I'm sure that "Dame" and "Broad" would raise my ire as well.

Tonight I sat at the bar. I young man was talking about his dislike for certain TV series and their female protagonists being sitcom leading ladies. He used words I found objectionable. I decided to say something.

If not for the beautiful, smart, independent and talented woman I have loved, I might not have had the guts to point out that certain words have connotations that I didn't truly believe this young man mean to portray.

We talked. It was mildly heated at times, and in the end we came to the conclusion that his dislike for these certain individuals was more about this general dislike of actors and actresses he knew as sketch performers, taking a sketch type idea to a long form medium and how that rarely seems to create a cohesive product. Which I can see as a type of concern of and criticism.

He turned out to be a very intelligent young man and as we talked he did a good job of challenging certain idioms and notions that I have as a hopeful writer. In all he was a pleasure to talk to and I value the opportunity to discuss with him and learn from each other.

I only had the opportunity because of the beautiful, smart, independent and talented women that I have loved. As I heard certain words come from another mouth. I knew that the women I have loved would never stand for those words to continue. I couldn't help but question, ask, challenge and learn.

Thank you. Beautiful, smart, talented women who have eventually chosen to be independent from me. I have learned from you and will learn from you. And it makes not only a better father, but a better Man.

Spring Breeze and Trying new things.

Spring is supposed to be the time when new things start. New life flows from the earth. Grass turns green, flowers bloom, the sun returns from its 5 months hiatus. People fall in love. Summer brings summer love, vacations, rediscovering the great outdoors.That's the narrative that society has accepted.

But it's never felt that way to me. Maybe it was all those years of school. Perhaps it was growing up in a household of academics and marrying and divorcing an academic. It's probably something to do with learned behavior and expectations. It might be that my favorite baseball team has seemingly had it's season over before summer for the past 5 years.

Spring was the end of school. The end of an era. That grade was over. Friends wouldn't be seen every day. The order and structure of the year would dissipate. Spring was bittersweet. So longed for but it signaled the end. Summer vacation was like a weird beast that only came around for a little while and changed the entire world.

Fall was when the new year began. New teachers. New friends. New challenges. Growing older, stronger and bigger. Becoming the next step. Fresh clothes. Fresh books. Fresh trapper keepers or binders. It was exciting. It was the birth of something new.

All my life spring has felt like an ending. Events in my life have followed suit. It usually begins in March. It feels like most funerals I have attended, a thankfully small amount, have been in March. Most of my romantic interpersonal relationships have ended between March and June. And there's that baseball team thing too.

After 34 years, it's easy for my pessimistic nature to carve things in stone. Assuming that this the world and it is flat and we really don't need to talk any more about it.

But the world isn't flat and spring doesn't have to be an ending. Luckily and somewhat embarrassing lately I have tried to work on changing my actions. Doing the same thing expecting a different result is the definition of insanity after all. So I need to do different things. New things. Things that make me grow.

Sometimes it doesn't work out so well. Gathering many of the spare sticks in the yard and breaking them down for the fire pit led to a lovely allergic pollen congestion.

Sometimes it does. Last night, as the sun was just setting, I picked up my daughter from dance. Which I have done almost every Thursday since September. We usually head straight home and get our evening started. Instead I had the impulse to take them down to Minnehaha Falls in the dying light and walk around for just 20 minutes. It was perfect. Today instead of video games and netflix before work, I tried a very light workout and spending 20 minutes outside in the sun. Soaking up the vitamin D. Trying something new.

I am sore and I'm sure I may regret the lack of sunscreen tomorrow. But it felt good to try something new. To sit in the sun in silence and listen to the birds and breeze. To breathe and try and slow the run away train of thought that constantly runs my mind and my heart. Hopefully this spring will be seen as just another day, another moment. Not the end of something but the beginning.