Cracking Spines
it's a pun! get it?
Zombieland: A Brief Review
the smartest person i know who isn’t pretending to be an artist:
I’m not exactly sure how Jesse Eisenberg managed to find himself in two “somethingland” movies in a row, playing more or less exactly the same character in each. Fortunately, it’s a good character for him, though having seen him in only those two movies it may very well be the only character for him.
Zombieland follows many of the same basic zombie movie tropes, group of disparate survivors come together with the goal of finding a (supposedly) safe haven from the undead, there is conflict along the way, and everyone becomes close by the end (and maybe dies). Fortunately, despite the boilerplate plotting, the characters and scenarios are enough for a solid 90 minutes of just watching the wimpy Columbus (Eisenberg) and the completely unhinged Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson) clash personalities. There are also two girls in the movie but really who cares because they are mostly boring.
While it was not quite gory enough for my (admittedly bloodthirsty) tastes, Zombieland is still a lot of fun. There are places where it gets a bit gimmicky, and only half of the cast is particularly funny, but all told it is a solid entry in the burgeoning zombie comedy genre. Also keep an eye out for what is quite possibly the best A-list celebrity cameo that I have ever seen.
Alex couldn’t remember what, or maybe whom, he’d smashed into last night with his Taurus. Mist accumulated on the windshield and, when he turned on the wipers, the engine revved with the added burden, and the car’s stereo quit. It had been a rainy July and as Alex drove around Lake of the Isles toward Jonah’s apartment, he watched geese bathing in the water that had risen up from the lake and flooded the walking path. By the end of the day, Alex knew, the lake would rise up past the bike path and into the street for the first time all summer. There were two deep dents by the passenger-side wheel well and Alex didn’t really mind because the car’s ruin was a common problem – a problem that other people could understand and possibly fix. Alex wished all his problems were like this, like everyone else’s, having to do with college debt or divorced parents or broken DVD players, while the sources of his actual dilemmas were vague and unreasonable.
Alex imagined his sadness had a pleasant pot-belly and wore three-piece tweed suits and used a monacle – that is, he imagined his sadness was a miniature version of Theodore Roosevelt. They played Soul Murderers IV together, Alex holding the controller while his sadness watched next to him on the couch. At work they manned the expediter line, calling out orders and garnishing plates with minced, tasteless bits of basil. When Jenna came into the kitchen with her server tray and expectations, his sadness began wailing in a high, cricket-like pitch that no medication had yet been able to mute. At especially bad moments they drove together around the Minneapolis lakes, Alex noting the urban wildlife, his sadness in the passenger seat quietly berating him for being fat and un-ambitious and afraid of the dark. The lakes were great because the streets orbiting them were all one-way, so you could drive aimlessly and still feel like you had some direction, which was exactly what he’d been doing this morning until Jonah called.
Why Good Writing is Like Good Restaurant Service
As per assignment, I’ve been reading Jhumpa Lahiri all morning. She’s of a school I admire - restrained writers. I’m almost convinced that there’s not really such a thing as good writing, so much as unobtrusive writing — writing that doesn’t call attention to itself or to the author, but is simply words that tell a story.
In the last six weeks I’ve had a half-dozen interviews at restaurants, and been asked a half-dozen times what I think constitutes good service. The more I think about it - and I try to spend as little time thinking about it as possible - the more I believe it’s unobtrusiveness. The best servers are the ones you don’t notice, but who get you what you want when you want it.
And maybe it crosses over - the best writers are the ones whose voices you don’t notice, but who get you that metaphorical kick you want when you want it. Nabokov and Bellow stand in direct opposition, but I think Roth, Salinger, Munro, Moore, and Lahiri fit. ramble ramble ramble.
