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Journal of No. 118


February 9th, 2010

New Orleans on the screen @ 09:52 am


Yes, yes. They won the big game. I had fun shouting at the TV alongside friends at Smaugslair. Ate way too many wasabi peas and pumpkin seeds. Drank just enough beer, mezcal, and Agwa [though I still long for that trip to Peru and the chance for mate de coca].

In a strange confluence, Netflix brought the last disk of Boondocks & the documentary Trouble the Water, which describes the story of a carless couple in New Orleans during Katrina, much of it being amateur footage shot by Kim during the storm. One could wish she were a better cinematographer, but it's pretty as real as it gets. She and her husband and brother basically fend for themselves, save neighbors and strangers, and get the fuck out using their own initiative, ultimately driving a panel truck with 30 people in it out of the city. After the worst of the storm, they hook up with professional documentarians and cover the rest of the aftermath. By no means a perfect documentary, but still fascinating, especially to see the changes in their lives. Not to beat around the bush, but the husband is a high school dropout drug dealer. She's a wannabe rapper, ex-drug dealer. They become heroes. More than that, you get the sense that this catastrophe has made them better people.
I may have mentioned that the Goth Gardener has instituted a rule whereby she gets to punch me in the shoulder when sad things happen in a film I've made her watch. There are certainly a number of sad things about Katrina, but these heroes spared me from a severe beating, by heroically saving their cat. I was never happier to see a cat onscreen.
Oh, and I mention Boondocks in connection with Trouble the Water because at one point, she picks up her brother from prison (the prison system seems to have failed spectacularly). She asks him what the authorities did to prepare them for Katrina. He says they didn't tell them anything about the hurricane; he had no idea it was coming. "Didn't you see it on TV?" "Naw, we only watched BET." I fell off the couch, dying from an attack of black comedy. Wait, not black comedy, but black comedy. Wait, maybe it's both.
 
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From:gotham_bound
Date:February 9th, 2010 09:32 pm (UTC)

Fortitude-approved

(Link)
In the summer of 08 I was in New York and signed up to be a non-paid journalist for The Artists Forum. My article for the event I got sent to where they screened Trouble the Water and I met & interviewed Kim Roberts isn't up anymore. I posted it here.

What really struck me about what she said was her goal in making the film was to explain to the world that she and her friends and family were the "first responders" in the Ninth Ward. She wanted to make sure everyone understood that their people weren't sad little victims. I guess that message got across. }:>
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From:essentialsaltes
Date:February 9th, 2010 09:43 pm (UTC)

Re: Fortitude-approved

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I wish there were a little thing on Netflix that would remind me why I added a film to the queue. I'm willing to bet it was your review.
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From:gotham_bound
Date:February 9th, 2010 10:16 pm (UTC)

Re: Fortitude-approved

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Heh. I know what that's like. Though the last time I really wished I could remember why I had a show queued was because it was so terrible.
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From:zorker
Date:February 10th, 2010 01:56 am (UTC)

Re: Fortitude-approved

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Yeah, I feel the same way. I keep the queue pretty much constantly full, so with 500 films queued it's pretty easy to forget why I added them. Cort frequently asks why I added something, and I usually haven't the faintest idea.
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From:essentialsaltes
Date:February 10th, 2010 02:48 pm (UTC)

Re: Fortitude-approved

(Link)
It's best to just blame the other person in those cases.
From:aaronjv
Date:February 12th, 2010 11:23 am (UTC)
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I review and alter my Netflix queue often, and I group my movies into themes, so I only need to remember why I wanted to watch that collection of films.

I got into big trouble on the distinction between black comedy and blackcomedy for an article I wrote using those words but no emphasis. However, Crazy Lady was the publisher and editor in chief, and her insanity extruded to mean an attack on an article was an attack on her, so she put a contract on Bob Atlman's editor.

Journal of No. 118