Mel Gibson Article

http://www.la2day.com/talk/mel_gibson_you_magnificent_mess

Mel Gibson, you magnificent mess. I have loved you from my baby days. You have inspired me and I have learned a lot from you. This article is about Gibson’s new and (for me) exciting up coming release “The Beaver”.

Gibson plays a depressed dad that finds solace in a beaver hand puppet (voiced by Michel Cain). If you lost me at hand puppet (or Gibson) put this one in your pipe, the film is directed by Jodie Foster (yeah you heard me, Nell). Watch the trailer, you’ll see why I am stoked. So I want to get into more about the film but I think this article will start best if I give you a short background of my life of mediocrity. It starts in some hospital in Chicago with my mom screaming in pain and my bloody little body shooting out of her like a cannon ball, thrust into the world with no rhyme or reason.  A beautiful scene between a mother and her child meeting for the first time, a scene however, being more at home in a horror film than a hallmark commercial (in my opinion). I don’t remember it, but there are some pictures my pappy took that would freak out Hannibal Lecter.

My baby days are obviously a blur. I think I remember dancing in my crib once, to Bruce Springsteen, but I can’t be sure that happened. As a toddler though I began this strange obsession with film. You know that Edward Hooper painting of the young kid sitting two inches from his television, enveloped in the world of the fiction he’s seeing, the blue light glowing like God illuminating his face? That was I.

 

 

I watched movies in a way that was odd, not like most kids that I knew. The first was Marry Poppin’s. When Ms. Poppin’s would fly away clenching her umbrella at the end of the film I would start to cry. The only way my mom could dry my tears was to pop the VHS in again and play the film over from the beginning. (What’s a VHS? I know I forgot about them too). I call it now the “watch and repeat days”. It was a way of viewing that sort of never left me. Up until my mid-twenties, I watched movies in this way. Film ends and I pop it in again. It’s a botched way of viewing, I know, but it made me happy. Living in Hollywood and pursing a career in film I feel that this was a very effective way to learn. I wasn’t just watching movies, I was learning them. The catch is that it left me with a deformed sense of what is “real” and “fiction”. A maddening thought which torments me day in and day out. So years after Poppins, I discover Lethal Weapon One. Holy Sh*# that was a good movie! Mel Gibson and Danny Glover running around town catching criminals, (Gary Busey that crazy chaos of a man) getting leg choked by Rigg’s until he passes out, you had me at hello!

 

 

The Gibson obsession starts, I needed to see it all, from “Mad Max” to “Forever Young” to even “Gallipoli”. I remember making myself sit though “Summer City” a film he did in 1977 that was more boring than Spiderman 3 (at least that had Kirsten Dunst to look at). I was struck, I envied him, I loved him, I even acted like him everywhere I went. This is sad and pathetic, I probably shouldn’t be putting it out there, but I used to practice his mannerisms in the mirror. That wide faced laugh, the semi squint he does when his acting chops turn “real”. I wanted to be him, not on film, but in life, a true hero figure for a growing boy. Then the boy grows up, Mr. Gibson gets sauced, takes his drunken thoughts and verbalizes them to the public, my heartbreaks. As if I had been dumped by my best friend. Lied to, it’s like being in a great relationship, purely loving someone and then finding out that they eat their boogers and hate minorities. The same disappointment came from finding out that Frank Sinatra was a wife beater. My childhood hero turns out to be a drunk aniti-semite, the man I wanted to be shows his colors.

 

So Gibson, whatever negative things I have to say about him, (there are a lot) his work always seems to redeem him in some way. Defected for sure but the guy makes films that he wants to make, not always films that people want to see. Perhaps that’s honorable in a way, Apocalypto, Braveheart - great films. Even The Passion of The Christ, well made, and made by Gibson with no remorse, and little worry of what the world will think of him.

 

So the question is posed. Can you love the art despite the man who created it or must you love the man to love the skill? Watching Bobby Fisher playing chess so effortlessly must have been like being witnessing the painting of the Sistine Chapel. Fisher will grow up to be an anti social racist, who publicly said that the towers falling in New York was a good thing. “This is all wonderful news. It is time to finish off the US once and for all,” he was quoted to say. Must we now forget his brilliance in his field? I think some people can be so amazing and stunning in moments of their lives but are just simply bad at living. I don’t know the answers to these questions but I would love to hear how you, the reader, feels.

 

The beaver, two-time Academy Award winner Jodie Foster directs and co-stars with Mel Gibson. From the look of the trailer the film is a dramatic narrative about a man in mayhem. Gibson plays Walter Black a successful toy executive that falls into a fit of depression. Until he finds a toy Beaver that promises to change his life. Quirky, witty, touching, peculiar, all the elements a film needs.

 

 

Originally slated for release in 2010, and then on March 28 of this year, "The Beaver" will now open on May 6 in limited release before expanding. Controversies with Gibson risked the film having a straight to DVD release after it leaked that he said to his girlfriend, "You're an embarrassment to me. You look like a f***ing bitch in heat, and if you get raped by a pack of n***ers, it will be your fault."

(This quote was pulled from radaronline.com, I take no responsibility for it’s validation)

 

Good luck Mr. Gibson. I again will take the high road with you and be the first in line to see the film. Do me a favor though; stop talking. Keep acting, directing and making films. However you feel about people who are different than you, I don’t want to hear it.

 

Last thought, when you watch the trailer, pay attention to the song that scores it. If any of you read my articles, the song comes from my 3rdfavorite record of 2010. Frightened Rabbit’s “The Winter of Mixed Drinks”.  “Swim until you can’t see Land”,  another reason why this trailer sucked me in.

 

Article by: Brett J. Rosenberg

Hollywood

You wake up and suddenly your back in your home town. The sky smells familiar and your recognize the sound of your neighbor ed's rusty lawnmower trimming the already trim grass.

the last 30 years of wheeling and dealing. The alcohol, the nightclubs, the 101 the PCH, the hills, the drugs, the stars, the billboards, rodeo, Venice, the smog, sunset, La. it had all been a dream. None of it, not one single failure or succession had been real, 30 years conjured up in your mind, manifested by you.

and here you are back at home base, no scars, no damage. just ed and his mower.

I offer this sineraio to all of those in hollywood that came in search of fame. i sit back and wonder, how many of the 9 million dreamers would jump at the possiblity to get their normal life back. becuase make no mistake about it, to live in LA is to not live a noraml life.

Leaving Day

the weather is nicer now and the suns location in the sky brightens the air to manners of pink and white

the geese play tag as 2 white dogs from across the pond talk to each other in heated bites

divided

the pink sky in quarters as airplanes leave clouds of thread

these

are

the

happenings

of a yard by yard porch that

hosts the unspoken matinee of a leaving day

suddenly i think of all the other porches in the world and the magnificent similarities of flying planes

the magnificent similarities of 2 white dogs from across the pond

i think of the magnificent similarities

of a pink sky

above a yard by yard porch

planted gently

on an outside theater

of a leaving day

Work and live and die

Izzy is a maid. If added together, the number of changed pillowcases in her life would round somewhere in the 10,000’s.

Izzy doesn’t exactly like her job but she does like that she has a job.

Izzy is originally from Mexico, in her later years she moved to Sonora. Izzy was lucky enough to befriend a quite wealthy housewife and in 1993 was given a job cleaning the house of a Mexican Noble. Izzy, being familiar with folding clothes and doing laundry, settled in quite quickly.

While she has her health (and a job) still, Izzy seems to feel unfinished.

Izzy folds laundry, though she does not like to, she has gotten quite good at it.

Tomas T. works for the government. You know that government gig that everyone wants? Tom T. has it. “Work for the government,” everyone says, “you’ll get taken care of.”  And taken care of, he is.

With a nice 401k, medical, dental, and time off that schoolteachers would be jealous of, Tomas T. has really made a life for himself.

Tomas T. empties tollbooth change on Highway 90, between Willow an 42^nd.

His shift starts at 9:15 pm and will usually end at 6 am the following morning. The night shift suits Tomas T. just fine, “work load is nominal, and gives me time to think”. When Thomas was 19 he deiced that he would make a living as a drummer for a rock band. While he practiced everyday, the trauma of auditions got the best of him. But even still Thomas can’t order Chinese food with out jamming away, chop sticks in hand.

He says that if you listen just right there’s even music in the clanking of tollbooth change. The loneliness of Thomas T.’s job became comfortable decades ago. Although he is not married, Thomas does quite well by himself.

Thomas T. collects quarters on Highway 90, while some nights the music plays softer than others, he has gotten quite good at it.

Vanessa Long is a model. At 28 she was rated number 1 of the top 5 “nicest bottoms” buy People Magazine. Vanessa is on billboards that wrap round buildings larger than Olympic pools. She can’t walk down the street without being asked for an autograph or a picture snapped with “the greatest behind in the world.”

 Vanessa Long decided at 13 that she would be a model. She would practice posing using shoplifted disposable cameras supplied by her grade school boyfriend. If you’d add up the number of camera flashes that Vanessa’s eyes have seen, I’d image you could see the glow from Jupiter. Her life resembles one that you would see on TV, but she wonders if she has ever been in love. Vanessa posses for cameras, though some pictures develop brighter than others, she has gotten quite good at it.

Brett Rosenberg is a bartender. He works at a nightclub in Chicago. Open till 4am and just feet away from the El Train Brett has grown at ease dealing with drunk people. The money is good for now but still it all seems meaningless. At 8 years old, after seeing Bruce Willis jump off a burning building with nothing but a fire-hose tied to his waste, Brett decided that he wanted to be an action star. Later his grandma would introduce him to William Shakespeare, and in college he would land a part as Sebastian in Twelfth Night. Wednesday night is dollar drink night, Brett works as a DJ. This gives him the chance to meet a vast brand of unusual people. If you walk down Belmont and Sheffield on any given night, you wont find a single soul who doesn’t know who Brett is. At the Bar he is a hero, but what he doesn’t let on is that nights off are spent empty in his one bedroom apartment. Brett lives unaccompanied and often fears the thought of his own mind. He wants to be an actor, but for now he tends bar. This life is not his, but he lives it just the same. Brett pours drink on Belmont and Sheffield, though he does not like to, he has gotten quite good at it.

A classy addiction.

Born in the Midwest, moved to the west.

Bewildered more than a pastor on Halloween.

The first 5 months I live in la I wrapped my brain around beauty that would take a life time to soak in.

I made a bundle in Chicago and figured if I did that great there I should have no problem here in the city of guardian angels.

So I moved.

With my stock in hand. Moved to the ocean to find the life that I always imagined for myself. And I found it. Warm everyday. Business and deals and life changing decisions, decided by college dropouts that displayed a niche.

Business men and women, some, but most just icons. Just simple people that told themselves that what they “do”, they do it right. Witty stoners with quick one liners that get themselves cast in multi million dollar projects to simply act as they did in college.

Wheelers and dealers that fell into cash or inherited it from their family’s….No disrespect from this end, I want to be you.

It’s a classy town….LA.

Some times in bad ways and sometimes in very admirable ways.

And me. Brett, sitting here in a studio apartment in West Hollywood, spending that bundle on simple things like laundry detergent and rent.

Fired, rehired, fired again. Tending, serving, standing up for what’s right and succumbing often to what’s wrong.

My first 5 months in LA I lived a comfortable life. Living half heartily on money made from home.

I pressed.

I did.

I got a job tending. I got fired for protecting the rights of a stranger.

I stand by my actions.

And living here at 1538 N. Vista.

I found solace these months on the rooftop of my complex. I’ll say what I will about los angeles. But the beauty in a star filled night on the roof top of the Alexico Building Complex cannot be denied. This is where I spent my nights. Listening to Tom Waits and Van Morrison, drinking bourbon alone and watching the stars.

The buildings here are so manicured. There is a feel behind them, a thought. If you are not the best here than you are nothing, and you can feel that in the architecture. Straight lines. Balcony’s with perfect views of perfect pictures.

But I recognize so suddenly in my stay, a blemish.

The building across from me is picturesque.  Id say like a Rockwell painting but I don’t think that covers it.

You can see the consideration  that went into building this condo. The rooftops mimicking a structure from the roman coliseum. The balcony’s of each building shaped flawlessly to accompany a porch deck table, or a Webber grill. You can see the care.

My eyes for 5 months get fixed on a splotch of red paint. The building is lined with a zigzag design, a red stripe that I suppose is in place to complement the exquisiteness. Very calculated, flawless as a human eye can see. But what I cant stop starring at is this huge splotch of red paint. It cant be missed. It looks like some disgruntle painstman got fed up. I imagine after weeks of lining the complex he quit and threw a bucket of paint on the wall.

For 5 moths I stared at this blotch. And for 5 moths it has yet to be retouched.

I think its wonderful. Its my touch stone, I don’t know why.

I’ve begun my “normal life” no drinking, no smoking, no bad thoughts. Precision. Precision is my life now. But still I cant help but to go to my roof top and stare at the beautiful mess that a person in pain invented.

The mountains, the sun set, the ocean, the grove, the malls, the “business”, the casting directors, the directors, the girlfriends, the good friends….none of it….somehow none of it brings me as much comfort as this splotch of red paint.

  

Try not to panic, it will all be over very soon.

Everyday I wake up I question every breath I take.

"Why?" The pseudo intellects’ wearing trendy nit caps say at Urth Café.

I wait in line to buy my 11 dollar beat juice.

"What does it all mean...."

Oh shit here we go again. I guess I’ll listen in and get this guys take on it.

Nothing. Nothing concrete he comes up with. Shocking, as usual, like a fat kid on a diet, I am left unfulfilled.

Who am I kidding though? Why would I expect to get answers from some schmuck at a cafe.

I’m tiered of these questions, I’m tired of asking them and I am tired of hearing them asked. What does it all mean? Why are we hear? Why did my daddy drink to much.... what does it all mean!!!!

Nothing pal. Nothing.

We are not as important as we think we are, that is the tragic truth of it. 

Being human begins trying so desperately to coexist on this mortal coil all we can do is try as hard as we might to be selfless.

The most gallant act.

Leave the world a better place than you came to it. Make a baby. Do all you can to earn up as many vale of tears as you can. Make sure your baby doesn’t grow up a little delinquent that throws puppies off buildings. 

Maybe that’s all there is to it. My dad did it. I’m glad he did.