Admittedly, being blown away shouldn’t be the measure of movies. Lots of great movies don’t blow people away.

But I still think the best do. Personally, I think the best movies are the ones you feel in your gut. I’m not interested in analysis, commentary, and socio-critical context; I don’t really give a flying flip what any particular movie says about society, for the most part. What I care about are movies that fulfill what I believe should be the primary objective of any story: to entertain.

Education is great. Information is awesome. Awareness is admirable, and enlightenment valuable.

But I still believe those things come after entertainment. I was not entertained by There Will Be Blood, nor No Country for Old Man; I thought both interminably slow and, worst of all, boring. Sure, some pretty images. Sure, a weird haircut. But pretty images and weird haircuts do not a movie make.

All of which I mention so you know how I approach this list and the movies therein. I was only looking for movies that hold up, again and again, viewing after viewing, and still entertain, and I’m listing in order, last to first.

10. Zoolander

Funny story about Zoolander: it came out very, very shortly after September 11th, 2001 (the 28th, to be exact), and I remember, at the time, I read it digitally removed the Twin Towers from any shot they had been in (Wikipedia notes the very first footage of 9/11 interrupted a Zoolander commercial, but I can’t find confirmation). Regardless. I had been in general looking forward to the flick, but after reading that, I couldn’t bring myself to go to the theaters to see it (I couldn’t bring myself to do a whole lot of a whole lot right then, to be candid).

I first saw it several years later, when I watched it with my brother. We rewound the scene with Derek, Hansel, and Matilda four or five times, laughing each time. It is that rare absolutely dumb comedy that is really, really smart about being totally stupid, and I don’t think there’s a single note that is off; it just nails it. I think that’s a lot more difficult than it sounds; many satires, parodies, and comedies in general go a little too far, try a little too hard, to get the laugh. But Zoolander revels in its absurdity and, maybe more importantly, shows respect for its subject matter (which is difficult to do when you’re talking about male modeling).

But really, it’s just the most completely hysterical movie I saw last decade, and I still laugh at it to this day.

9. Ironman

Holy Hell did I want to love Ironman, and holy Hell did I. Starts with not just a bang but a brilliant character set up; the entire first act is an exercise in concision, precision, and execution. Also: has Robert Downey Jr. ever been more absolutely on than he is here? This was the punctuation on what was already a pretty stellar comeback; as soon as he put on the suit, he made Ironman worth every second of screentime.

And it really is crazy how good this movie is. Every performance is perfectly executed, as is the story itself. So well, in fact, it doesn’t matter that the main plot device is an arc reactor MacGuffin; what really drives the story is Tony Stark’s redemption, and it truly is a genius bit of filmmaking for that. Few movies, in fact, manage to depict a hero’s journey in a single flick. Lucas took three (or six, depending), and the Wachowski’s unfortunately padded an extra two where the first would have sufficed, but here we have one guy, one man whose sort of lost his moral compass and his way, discovering his own capacity for goodness.

With rocket thrusters. For the win.

8. High Fidelity

People lament John Cusack’s recent career because of his earlier work, but I am convinced that, if it weren’t for this movie and Grosse Pointe Blank, Cusack would remain in our collective consciousness “That dude who held up the Peter Gabriel boombox that one time.” While Grosse Pointe Blank is a character study disguised as an action flick (and very well, at that. Lots of stuff goes boom), High Fidelity is a character study of being a guy. And Cusack nails it, note for note, without hesitation. His Rob Gordon is endlessly vulnerable and absolutely stronger for it (really, the very definition of masculinity); the scene in which he enumerates the five reasons he loves Laura is completely devastating. And he’s surrounded by great performances; the only actor in this movie who was any better in any other flick is Tim Robbins, and, well, he was Andy DuFresne, which is akin to cheating at Scrabble, really. It is, quite simply, one of the greatest romantic comedies ever set to celluloid, because it celebrates what romance means in real life; here there is no Harry meeting Sally, no “You had me at hello.” Here there’s only fucking up and trying to do your best, anyway.

7. Moulin Rouge

I don’t know if I went into this movie thinking I would like it; to be honest, the movie surprised me entirely, which may be part of the reason it’s on the list. It really is a love-it or hate-it sort of flick, but that’s fine, because I fall on the former side of the line there. I remember going to see it in the theater with friends, and I just thought the first few sequences were totally weird. I wasn’t sure about it. For quite a while.

Right up until Ewan MacGregor turned and sang “Your Song.” Right there, the movie took off for me. I fell for it like Satine fell for Christian.

Of course, this might be because I identify with the whole hopelessly romantic, tragically impoverished writer thing.

Or it could be the vibrance and the spirit of the thing. “El Tango de Roxanne” may be one of my favorite sequences in any movie, but I think the movie hits every note it meant to, and it’s one of the few examples of a director being able to sustain a very specific, highly stylized vision; most of the time, a movie falls apart because such imagery comes at the expense of the story, but not here. Here everything serves the romance and the tragedy, and it’s a case study in eye-on-the-ball.

6. Taken

I think this is the most recent movie on this list. It’s also one of the best. It’s the sort of simple that keeps a lot of people from realizing precisely how good it actually is, which is: very. It’s so tight and coiled, and it rests squarely on the shoulders of Liam Neeson, who carries it off with intensity like I honestly can’t recall having seen before.

There is, as always, something to be said for eschewing subtlety.

5. Casino Royale

Two words: Sean who?

That’s what Casino Royale managed. People forget how vital Ian Fleming’s Bond novels were; just because they include spies and espionage doesn’t mean they can’t be great books, and they are. In the past, Bond was played as, well, Bond; unflappable, ineffable, always tuxed, so cool and relaxed the only thing shaken about him was his martini. I would say he became a caricature, but he did not; he was always played as one. Of course no one expected more than one dimension to him; that’s not what those sorts of movies were about. They’re about guns and blowing stuff up.

Except: no. Don’t call it a re-invention; it’s nothing short of a recreation. This is Bond for the new millennium, and he’s unlike he ever was–human. He’s also the sort of agent who gets the job done even though he never lets us forget that this is actually work. This isn’t just swilling martinis and champagne and bedding beautiful women. This is legitimate work, and he had to do a lot of work to get there.

But please, let’s not discuss Quantum of Solace.

4. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Hey, look, it’s Robert Downey Junior again! Seriously, the only other actor who had close to as good a decade as Downey had was Clooney; these guys are unstoppable. Here Downey came back to bat as narrator in Shane Black’s glorious neo-tribute to old-school noir, Johnny Gossamer, and the seedy, glitzy underbelly of Los Angeles, California. Holy Hell is it a great movie, with great performances all over the place. Downey aces his, certainly, but so does Val Kilmer as Gay Perry; it’s a good thing Downey’s Lockhart never turns his back on the guy, because Perry would have stolen this flick faster than you could say Jack Robinson (and I’ll bet you can say that pretty fast. Faster than punk-rock Steven Seagal over there).

If that sentence makes no sense, it’s because you haven’t seen it. You should. Shane Black’s single most terrific movie, though I can’t tell how much that says given his filmography includes all the Lethal Weapons (not just the first, but also the fourth), The Last Boy Scout, and The Long Kiss Goodnight (actually, that last is quite good, and perhaps a sign of the noir to come). Then again, this is a guy who wrote the entire Lethal Weapon series, which has probably grossed more than a billion dollars over the years in combined sales, so it’s not like he ever has to work again. What makes this particular flick special, though, is that it’s to action movies what Moulin Rouge is to drama/romance; it’s got this great, crisp zeal to it, a highly stylized and highly polished finish to the story that totally makes it pop. Like, crazy pop; I can think of few other movies in which a seedy underbelly looks quite so neon or glitzy, but then again, maybe that’s the whole point of underbellies; the neon’s there to distract you from the gun about to be pulled.

This movie isn’t ever far from pulling a gun. Or cracking a joke. It’s an extraordinarily crackling tension, sizzling like a livewire.

3. Ocean’s Eleven

Hey, another reinvention–this time one that began a franchise–that made us forget the original, or at least wish we could. Sinatra played the original Ocean and basically invited the Rat Pack to ostensibly make a movie about guys covertly spraying stuff on doorknobs (I wish I were making that up), but really what happened was somebody turned on a camera and watched a bunch of well-dressed guys get drunk in Las Vegas. The movie is just about as coherent as they eventually become, which is to say not even a little bit.

Fast forward a bit, to Steven Soderbergh, still flying high off Erin Brockovich and Traffic, two films that might have gotten recognition in statuette form but, let’s be honest, weren’t exactly Out of Sight. Or even The Limey.

So what’s a director do to have some fun again?

How about hire the best lookin’ set of actors this side of pretty much ever, dress ‘em up in suits and tuxes, fly ‘em all to Vegas, and turn the cameras on? No, wait: that’s how you get the original. What you do, if you’re smart, is find a seriously spectacular screenwriter–in this case, Ted Griffin, who was never as good before and hasn’t been since, but hey, what a helluva fluke–and actually write a great movie. The dialogue is faster and more furious than anything Vin Diesel ever drove, and the structure is a perfect balance of heist tight and Vegas loose.

Definitely one of the decade’s best, though the fact that it’s basically a bunch of pretty-boy actors who steal some shit in Vegas disqualifies it from, like, a little award guy or whatever. Which is why it has to content itself with a couple of not nearly as good sequels (Dear Mr. Soderbergh: you’re going backward. You should be cutting characters, not adding them. No offense to them, but Gould and Reiner go first, and then the Mormon twins, until finally you get down to Ocean’s Five, with Danny, Rusty, Linus, Basher, and Roman trying to pull an old-fashioned, low-tech con on either the biggest or smallest house possible. Contact me for a script if you’d like. I’d be happy to help) and several bajillion dollars more than the guys ever managed to steal in the first place (fun fact: domestic take alone for the first time was quite a bit more than the guys boosted from Benedict’s vault).

2. Amelie

In French, it’s something like “The Fabulous Adventures of Amelie Poulin of Montmartre,” but whatever you call it, it’s one of the most whimsical and charming movies ever, nevermind the past decade, perhaps the most literally fantastic. Talking pictures, moving lamps, wayward gnomes . . . and yet the characters stand out, for all their imperfect beauty and wonderful flaws. Here again, an extraordinarily visual director–because Christ this may just be the best looking movie ever–keeps his camera on the story he means to tell, and here again, that’s the difference between truly great movie and weird foreign arthouse flick. Note for note, it’s absolutely perfect, although, like Moulin Rouge, it’s one you’ll either love or hate, depending on how you feel about Jeunet’s style and Audrey Tattou’s big eyes and mischievous grin.

There’s a rare quality to certain movies–you can see it in Zodiac from the last list, and you can see it in a few movies here, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and Moulin Rouge to be sure, but even Ocean’s Eleven to a lesser extent–in which a mood is achieved as well as a story told. Style itself becomes part of it, a sort of visual language, and I can’t say it any better than these movies create, for a few hours, their own world in which we are but passive observers watching the action unfold. There is nothing in these movies besides these movies, nothing extraneous, and every single note proves that something can serve the story without actually furthering it.

I’m not sure that makes complete sense or that I’m explaining it well. All I know is that when I watch Amelie, I know for a fact that I’m taking part, however vicariously, in a French world that doesn’t exist outside the mind of Jeunet, and there are few greater feelings that giving yourself over to that. I still think that’s what a great movie does.

1. V for Vendetta

I didn’t think I was going to like this movie; by and large, I don’t like Alan Moore. Never have.

But holy Hell did I love V for Vendetta. I was intrigued by the first few minutes and preparing for a decent-at-best action flick with some cool visuals once in a while–

And then V entered stage left, and I was gone. I am not sure there has ever been a single entrance of any character into any story that more firmly establishes its tone and the character’s importance to it.

Here was a movie about the government and terrorism at a time when the former was skirting the line toward the latter, especially when discussing the actual definition of terrorism–that is, the systematic use of terror as a means of coercion. Honestly, I’m sure there were other governments who used color coding and pronouncements about duct tape tp corral their citizens, but I was only ever part of this one, and the parallels were both eerie and prescient, given that the comic-book source material of the script was published during the 80s. Because of that origin, the story takes place in some sort of near-future of a slightly-alternate history, but even in that there is some power: we always think that these sorts of things will happen tomorrow. That we can prevent them. That the man with the guns won’t come for us.

Right up until they do.

Here is an alternate-history’s near future in which even owning a Qu’ran is a criminal offense–but I’m not sure that is so difficult to believe. People always seem to want prayer in school so long as it’s their prayer to their God.

And here is a movie that makes you sympathize with a man so destroyed by his government, so absolutely shattered as to have lost his entire identity, that the only thing he can think to do is blow it up and start over again. So devastated by what was done to him and what he then became and so infuriated by the injustice he sees all around him–because, of course, right now your government is doing things you think only other governments do–that the only way he believes he can return it to the hands of its people is to force its people to build something entirely new in its place.

But, and here’s what’s most important, it was about all those things sort of besides the point, because it kept its focus so squarely on that man and the mask, on his origins and motivations. Many writers believe that the way to make grand points or send grandiose messages is to telegraph those points. This is why The Dark Knight fails, ultimately, because Nolan forgot to concentrate on the man in the mask (and the make-up) as opposed to what those men stood for; the last fifteen minutes of The Dark Knight are, at best, a sophomore philosophy students half-thought-out ruminations on the natures of good and evil telegraphed to an audience who already knows all that. V for Vendetta made its point by allowing its audience to do so for it.

Which may be why it was, in general, ignored. I mean, okay, let’s be honest, it’s mostly an action flick based on a comic book with a screenplay written by the guys who did The Matrix and directed by The Matrix‘s assistant director, so it’s not exactly like it had a pedigree, or anything. Nominations or recognition for its strengths would be more surprising than anything else; did anyone expect the Wachowski’s might be nominated for a screenplay award, or McTiegue for director (meanwhile, Borat was, in fact, nominated that year for a screenplay award. Bollocks). That it premiered at an Ain’t It Cool News Buttnumbathon (basically a day or weekend full of movies you will sit on your ass so long it will fall asleep only a short while before you do) may have altered its eligibility; in 2006, it would have been up against Crash, Brokeback Mountain, et al., whereas 2007 was the year of The Departed. Whatever: I’m not sure I’ve seen any actor deliver a better performance than Hugo Weaving, who wore a mask through the entire film and still shone, and I think the only place I’ve seen Portman better was on her Saturday Night Live rap.

I know, too, one can argue this movie does, in fact, have a socio-critical context I claimed to eschew, but I don’t mind that, because first and most of all it’s a well written movie directed spectacularly and featuring great performances to tell a jaw-dropping story. And it was, for my money, the best movie of the decade (and very close to my favorite).

So:

What’d I miss?

Rolling Stone named There Will Be Blood as its number-one movie of the first decade of the millennium, which I think disqualifies the rest of the list (which, in addition, ends with the mind-numbingly endless Lord of the Rings trilogy, or, as I like to refer to it, “That Fucking Day I’ll Never Get Back”). It’s filled with the usual suspects, No Country for Old Men and A History of Violence and Mulholland Drive; lots of, you know, arty sort of movies people always mistake the boringness of for things like subtlety and craft.

Gag me with a spork.

This past decade was pretty awesome for movies, though you wouldn’t know it from most top ten lists. There was a lot of stuff blowing up in ways we’d never seen shit blown up before. There was a whole lot of being really, really ridiculously good looking (spoiler spot!). We didn’t just believe a man could fly; we believed a man could build a suit that would enable him to fly.

Which was totally rad.

So I started to think about a top-ten list. I started to make up a top-ten list, in fact. And then it got long, when I realized how many absolutely awesome movies had been made in the last decade, and how many were going to go ignored. So I’m going with two top-ten movies of the past decade list: the absolute top ten, and then the top ten movies that didn’t make the top-ten list itself. I figured I’d start with the latter, all of which you can call number eleven.

In no particular order:

–Adaptation–

Nicolas Cage plays both screenwriter Charlie Kaufman and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman’s fictional twin brother Donald in this utterly surreal send-up of adapting a book (The Orchid Thief) into a movie, the entertainment industry, and meta-fictional takes on screenwriting and story structure. And if that sentence didn’t just blow your mind, the movie, which is hysterical in places and just totally odd in others but mostly (mostly!) works, totally will. If you’re into that sort of thing, which is why it’s number elven.

–Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind–

Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet start to court each other after meeting just a little while after having their memories of breaking up with each other erased from their minds. Another Charlie Kaufman flick (this one directed stunningly by Michel Gondry), and another that warps and wraps around itself. Totally brilliant, and one of the best and most poignant portrayals of a fucked-up relationship in cinematic memory. Woody Allen spent his entire career trying to be this smart (and never actually managed it. What? Yeah, I’ll say it).

–Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix–

Let’s be honest, here: the first two were perfectly adequate, but Columbus never quite fully captured the actual spirit of the books (which is a shame, because the series is bookended by two spectacular installments). Cuaron’s Azkaban was the first that went balls-out, but it might have gone quite too hard, and it also left out a good deal of book material that really might have brought it together. Goblet is mostly famous for being an early apperance of Edward Cullen, and it’s quite good, with some real emotion there, but the Tri-Wizard tournament bogs it down, for the most part.

But finally, finally we have Phoenix. Which starts with Dementors draining Dudley and just continues to get better. Yates, who’d previous only done television work, for the most part, brought to it not just a new spirit, which allowed a better, more mundane sense of the wizarding world, but also a new vision; even the transitions, with the shouting newspapers, are among the best in the entire series. Add to that that the young actors are maturing and getting better at their craft (Radcliffe, in particular, continues to improve as an actor. Which is rather a relief; one problem with Goblet was that he wasn’t quite up to the role, yet. That changed in Phoenix). Excellent performances, excellent execution, excellent all around: the scene of the young wizards expectoing their patronae is among the greatest I’ve seen, perfectly capturing both the glee and the wonder inherent in such a moment. Brilliant.

–The Bourne Identity

Like here, in The Bourne Identity. Was there a better start to a spectacular franchise all decade (there were several, in fact, but they make the top ten). Damon delivers a paradox of a restrained action performance; his Bourne can kill anything that moves and knows it, and his entire performance, beginning to end, is a study in concision, precision, and kinetic energy. Flat-out phenomenal.

–The Incredibles–

Pixar. All that needs to be said, really; as a brand, they are quite simply unstoppable, and may well be the single name that most guarantees a quality movie. Even their missteps (I’m looking at you, Wall-E. I don’t care what everyone else said) are cinematic gold. But The Incredibles was SuperPixar; “Pixar does superheroes” is the sort of conceptual, developmental pitch you know made some studio head somewhere ruin his pants. Or hers. The entire movie is worth it for the “100-yard Dash” sequence alone, but more than anything, it is about being extraordinary in a mediocre world. About not holding back. And about being incredible. Awesome.

–Thank You For Smoking–

I may be biased here; I use Thank You for Smoking to teach my composition courses when I can. It’s smart and funny and deliriously, spectacularly well written. It’s a great movie on crack, and Aaron Eckhardt delivers quite possibly the best movie of his career (if you don’t count The Core ftw! [That's totally a joke]). Satire hasn’t been this good in a while.

–Good Night, and Good Luck.–

Speaking of smoking (there are so many cigarettes in this movie it’s like a two-hour commercial for Pall Mall. Well. Kent, anyway). In 2006, George Clooney got the wrong Oscar when he won for Supporting Actor in the Syriana in a year when the MPAAS knew that, for some ungodly reason, Brokeback Mountain and Crash were getting all the critical attention. Shame, too, because Good Night, and Good Luck. is far superior to either (which admittedly isn’t saying much, but most of all is a terrifically crafted movie about integrity, journalism, and the Constitution disguised as an Edward R. Murrow biopic. Perhaps the MPAAS knew it was too overtly political, as well as too timely and appropriate, and so it busied itself patting its own collective back for “racial awareness” everyone says Crash is about (it’s not. It’s just a bad movie disguised as a message). I don’t know, but what I do know is that Good Night, and Good Luck. is flat out terrific, subtle and superbly acted and insanely well written.

–Batman Begins–

Finally, someone (Christopher Nolan and David Goyer) understood the Batman story well enough to actually tell the damned thing. This wasn’t a comic-book movie; it was a movie based on a famous hero whose most effective stories, up until then, had been told in the pages of comic books, and there’s a huge difference there. Batman is rooted in social injustice, guilt, and the sort of deep-seeded misery that used to carry the great film noirs, but Batman Begins told that story, about those things, and made it fun and exciting, rooting it in a character we cared about, sympathized with, and, most importantly, liked. West was too corny, Keaton too detached, Kilmer too odd, Clooney too playboy; in Christian Bale, the story found a hero we could hope to be. Bale’s performance is a master-class in acting, too, with notes of both humor and deep anger; Bale’s Wayne is a guy you want to have drinks with (because you know he’ll pay, or maybe even buy you the bar) but you know never to fuck with (as we see proven in the terrifically overrated The Dark Knight). When you make a movie in which Michael Caine and Liam Neeson are not the actors who deliver the best performances in it, you know you’ve got gold, and here you do. It’s seems paradoxical to call a movie with so much blowing up (not to mention a man in a bat suit) subtle, but Nolan is a master of direction; it’s rather amazing that, as strong as Nolan’s other movies were (Memento and The Prestige were both excellent), this here is the one that demonstrated him as a great director. That he wasn’t at least nominated for this movie demonstrates just how out of touch with quality the MPAAS actually is.

–Snatch or Sherlock Holmes–

or

Because if Sherlock Holmes doesn’t demonstrate itself as one terrific flick, Snatch certainly was, from Statham’s smirking Turkish right on down to Brad Pitt (wtf? ftw!) performance as a completely incomprehensible gypsy (wtf again!) who specializes in bare-knuckle boxing, and if your head didn’t spin at that idea, well, this movie will spin it for you. Benico Del Toro plays a four-fingered courier with a gambling problem who loses a diamond that serves as the Macguffin pretty much every character in the movie is after whether they realize it or not (and the genius is that only a couple of them do). Utterly quotable–

“Protection from what? Ze Germans?”

and

“It was at a funny angle.”
“It was behind you!”–

this flick is hyperkinetic as a kid with A.D.D. on a sugar high.

“All. Bets. Are. Off.”

Unless, of course, Sherlock Holmes is better. And I kind of hope it is. Because if this decade was nothing else whatsoever, it was Robert Downey, Jr.’s, comeback as probably the best actor of this generation. Marlon who? Laurence British whosajammer?

–Zodiac–

As is evidenced here; that Zodiac (not to mention: Fincher!) was ignored by the Oscars demonstrates . . . oh, you get the picture about the Oscars. Here’s a movie mainly starring Jake Gyllenhaal who makes you completely forget Donnie Darko and Brokeback Mountain as he investigates the San Francisco serial murder known as the Zodiac killer. Here’s the thing, though: the Zodiac case was never, ever solved. We have no idea whodunit. And neither does Jake. Nor Mark Ruffalo, who’s also in it, nor even Robert Downey, Jr. (who probably should know simply on account of how awesome he obviously is). I think that’s why this movie works so well, structure-wise; it’s a bit messy, for lack of a better word, and it seems to lack real plot points, or the beats that turn a story/screenplay/movie so it can be easily divided into acts. Not so much here, but I think it works because the case is messy; nobody knows who killed all those people, and the killer, so far as anyone actually knows, could, in fact, actually be out there somewhere. Which makes this extraordinarily creepy, and is Fincher’s version of The Departed; finally he stopped trying to direct a damn vision and managed to put a great story on film without a bunch of special effects and crazy imagery (I mean, I liked Fight Club as much as the next guy, don’t get me wrong, but subtle it was not).

***

So those are my number eleven. I’ve got the top-ten list filled out for the most part (in fact, I had to bump The Departed completely off the list to get room for Harry Potter, which got bumped off the top ten).

Post that bit after I format it. Any guesses? I think you already know two of them.

The first was a new pair of headphones. Several years ago, after hearing very positive things about them, I invested in a pair of Grado SR80s. Grado is known among audiophiles as having totally premium cans of the sort that can often run into the thousands of dollars for a single pair of their most high-end product. The SR80s are not; they’re just a step above entry level, but I loved them. They sounded so good. Listening to my music really was different when I used them, as opposed the the earbuds I had been using.

And then they broke. They served well for several years, but the wire frayed and the right-side can sputtered, and I could have fixed them, probably, but it might have cost nearly as much as new cans, anyway. Besides the fact that I had bought a pair of Sennheiser earbuds to use with my iPod, and they were sufficient even if they weren’t quite as spectacular.

I’ve been wanting a pair of headphones since then, though, and so I bought a pair last week. I did some quite extensive shopping around, and noticed some spectacular deals around Christmas, including one particular pair of earbuds that normally retail for $500 but had been discounted by 50%. I admit I almost took that plunge, but I had already decided I wanted real cans again. Big, open, circumnaural cans to go over my head. I mean, mind you, I’m no more an audiophile than I might be an oenophile, but I like my music nearly as much as I like my wine (I prefer the term “lush”), and after having owned those Grados . . . I missed them. They had sounded so good. One thing about them, though, is that Grados are kind of retro in terms of design and really aren’t the most comfortable headphones in the world.

Given that I like my Sennheiser earbuds, I thought I’d give their headphones a shot. They have several series, but I stumbled upon their HD595 model. Nice design. Velvet ear cushions. Good, dynamic driving for all types of music. I consistently read people remark on their versatility. And their price was just about at the most I was willing to spend.

They came today. And ZOMG. Seriously.

Usually, higher-end cans need what audiophiles call “burn-in time.” Apparently, whatever in the cans works needs a while to equalize, or something. Most times, you hear that you want to play some music through them for, like, 24 hours straight before you really listen to them, as they reach some balance in their sound. I’ve heard some people open the package, hook them up, and then put them in a drawer for a week.

Readers of this blog, however, are probably well aware of my admittedly limited patience. Knowing me, does putting them in a drawer sound like something I’d be able to do?

Of course not. Come on, a brief tour of my music collection.

I plugged them straightaway into my laptop and fired up iTunes (audiophiles would cringe, here, at my “source,” because there should be tube amps and vinyl and lossless encoding). The first song I played was Adam Richman’s “Everything That You Need,” which is just one dude with a deep-ish voice and a guitar. But I noticed, listening to it on these cans, there might just be two, because it seemed like there were more notes than I’d heard before. My next stop was to the Magnetic Fields’ i, and “I Don’t Believe You” and “I Don’t Really Love You Anymore,” both of which I’m going to call layered pop songs. Stephin Merritt knows how to produce a song every bit as much as he knows how to write one, and these cans . . . okay, so basically, there’s better detail, so you can hear individual instruments more clearly, but they also seem to give space and depth to the soundstage, and basically, what it all comes down to is that I feel like I’m in the frickin’ studio or on stage with these guys. And it’s not like each instrument sounds too clear and it gets jumbled one on the other; they come together like it’s organic. It’s really surprising.

I don’t quite remember those Grados sounding like this, although they did sound very good. Then again, it’s been a few years.

After hearing those few songs, I kind of took the challenge. I wanted to see if there was anything they couldn’t handle. Anything that sounded weak, or at least not so spectacular.

So I went to Luka Bloom’s “An Irishman in Chinatown” from Riverside, because Bloom can play the shit out of his acoustic guitar. Seriously. And damned if they didn’t keep up with every note. And plus, they made it sound, like, warmer, or something. Nearly tactile, which sounds weird to say, but it’s the only way I can describe it, and I totally forgot about the fiddle that plays while Bloom does his scat, and yeah. Nicely done.

Next stop: Lo Fidelity Allstar’s “Battle Flag” from How to Operate with a Blown Mind. Full-on electronica, quick basslines . . . yeah, they’re fine with this stuff. The opening percussion even sounds more clear. Tappy, like.

(this is why I’m not an audiophile. Because I used words like ‘tappy.’ But trust me, if you heard it, you’d be all, like, why, yes, that is tappy)

Next up: Linkin Park’s “Nobody’s Listening,” from Meteora, which might seem weird as a challenge goes, but first, it’s got a lot of bass, and second, it’s nu-metal with a flute. At least I think it’s a flute. It sure sounds like a flute. And I’ve got to say, I’m impressed. If there was a song that was going to highlight any weakness, I would have thought it’d be this one–bass is really clear without being overpowering. Which is actually even better than usual. And no it doesn’t just sound like a flute but also like I’m sitting next to the flautist.

Lili Haydn’s “Daddy” from Lili. Lili is one of my favorite musicians. Somebody called her the “Jimi Hendrix of the violin,” but I think she’s better than that, mainly because she seems way more dedicated to her craft and also survived her twenties. And the song? Starts with soft violin playing and Lili singing quietly, but before long it gets sort of violent, and it’s always reminded me of running frantically through a forest, perhaps trying to escape evil gypsies (Yeah, no idea). It’s a pretty dynamic song, but it sounds great.

You’ll notice I’m working backward alphabetically because I’m scrolling up from the Magnetic Fields, but it’s because I’m heading up toward Belinda Carlisle and “Heaven is a Place on Earth.” Because I like the song, but also because it’s so 80s-tastic and might even be a prime example of over-production. And here’s the first stumble; it crowds itself, and that organic feeling is not there. Of course, maybe it’s not actually there, because I probably like it more for nostalgia than because it’s a good song.

Still, that was the only song that didn’t sound spectacular on it. I threw everything at them I could. I thought “Here and Now” by Letters to Cleo might sound a little jumbled in a more 90s sort of way, but it was terrific. Beethoven? Kreutzer, which is both dynamic and intense, with lots of notes between a piano and a violin, sounded probably better than Beethoven himself ever managed to hear it, and the jazz? I went with Miles Davis’ “My Funny Valentine,” and it totally brought that “tactile” thing back; sounded like fucking velvet and smoke and gin. Awesome.

I have a feeling that particular exception is a result of their newness, because their sound does seem to be changing as they go. It’s already a little more warm and mellow than when I first stuck them on my head.

And they’re velvet. Or faux velvet which is a near enough approximation of actual velvet that the sides of my head can’t tell the difference, anyway? Which is great, because I have a feeling I’m going to be wearing them a lot. Which is cool.

I was, until I then read them, after which I felt decidedly less interested.

I admit I used to be into the Globes and the Oscars. I watched them every year during college. I generally recall very little about the winners; I remember the year Roberto Benigni stepped on Spielberg’s head as he made his way up to accept his acting award for Life is Beautiful, beating out the likes of Edward Norton (American History X), Tom Hanks (Saving Private Ryan), and Sir Ian McKellan (Gods and Monsters). He didn’t, unfortunately, beat Joseph Fiennes, who was basically the only person not nominated for Shakespeare in Love even though he was, in fact, Shakespeare in love. The only thing I remember about the Globes is the year Jack Nicholson gave part of his acceptance speech (As Good As It Gets, I think) out of his ass, a la Jim Carrey in Ace Ventura, Pet Detective.

So, this year’s Globes nominations.

I’ve seen precisely none of the movies nominated for drama, and only two nominated as comedies: Burn After Reading, which I wish somebody had burned after editing, and In Bruges, which actually ended up being one of my favorite films all year. Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson in the titular Bruges, which is a city in Europe, and it’s odd and weird and surreal and extraordinarily off-beat but never overly so, and plus written and directed by Martin McDonagh. McDonagh is a critically acclaimed playwright, but never once does it show through. Usually, I’ve tended to notice that movies written or directed by playwrights, or even based on plays, tend not to be able to disguise their roots (I’m looking at you, David Mamet. Especially House of Yes, which I thought less of as a movie than as someone just recorded the theatrical performance); In Bruges busts that wide open, and it’s actually rather terrific. Farrell gives the kind of performance that he should have become known for ages ago, rather than . . . well, what exactly was he known for, besides partying and Bullseye?

It is, ostensibly, a crime movie; Farrell and Gleeson play hitmen, but there’s actually very little in the way of actual crime in the movie. Its events occur after a particular job, so it’s more like they’re on vacation. I’ve heard some people expecting a Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels have been disappointed, which makes sense as it’s not at all like Barrels, but it’s certainly a great between-crimes movie on its own. It’s subtle and even moving while still managing to be pretty fucking cool.

Besides that single movie, however, the rest of the Globes’ movie nominations are less interesting. I’m interested in both Revolutionary Road and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but in neither case am I rushing out to see them, obviously. I’ve heard great things about Langella’s performance in Frost/Nixon, but the movie itself remains named after a guy interviewing a president during the 70s: meh.

Robert Downey, Jr., gets nominated for Tropic Thunder, which I shut off after twenty minutes because it was kinda dumb, but totally ignored for the totally rad Ironman, while Heath Ledger picks up his all-but-handed-already-to-him nomination for The Dark Knight. I mean, they basically filled the entire rest of the supporting actor category with also-rans; Tom Cruise for Tropic Thunder? Novelty at best, and no one’s yet ready to forgive Tom Cruise for the past few years, which is a damned shame because Valkyrie looks completely rad. Ralph Fiennes and Philip Seymour Hoffman get the other nods, and I don’t call them also-rans because they’re not both extremely terrific actors, but rather because everyone just seems to want to give Ledger a posthumous statue for a performance that was certainly good but by no means great, and which lacked all the subtlety, technicality, and craft he brought to, say, Brokeback Mountain and even 10 Things I Hate About You.

WALL-E gets its nomination for animated feature, of course. I keep hearing people fawn over it, but they often seem to have forgotten its second half, which: not very good. Some mention the physical comedy of it, which seems a bit of a stretch given that it’s a CGI movie starring a robot, but which I’ll go with because the first half of the movie, which is pretty much dialogue free, is rather excellent. Technically virtuoso, even. Pretty amazing. And is Fred Willard the only live-actor to have ever appeared in a Pixar movie? Because that’s pretty rad. Otherwise, I mean, I liked it, but I didn’t love it like I loved The Incredibles. Still, I know they set out to accomplish different things, and both managed to mostly achieve it. I guess I just can’t get past WALL-E‘s second half and the flaws that really come out there, whereas I thought The Incredibles was note-perfect. Also: I’m totally ready for Bolt. That looks awesome.

Television . . . confession: the sole reason I’ve owned a television during the past decade was to play my Playstation 2, last year. Besides that: not much in the way of need.

Still, I do manage to catch some great stuff; lately, I’ve been loving The Mentalist, and of course I can’t wait for Supernatural and House to return. Were it up to me, the cast and crew of House would sweep the whole category, while Supernatural would win the comedy category (which it’s not, exactly, but it is genre, which seems to be what “comedy” means in the context of the Globes). And besides, I mean, I’ve seen The Office, Entourage, and Californication, and House is way funnier than any of them.

Still, come Monday morning, I’m sure fewer people will be talking about who won what than about what zany thing Jack Nicholson did. He’s always good for something zany, isn’t he?

Because it’s awesome:

I mean, seriously! It’s Heidi Klum! Playing video games!

In her underwear.

(excuse me while I wipe my chin. There. Much better)

It is, apparently, one of a series of Guitar Hero commercials, all based on the iconic scene from Risky Business:

Which is also awesome. Watching it, one can see why he became the star he did, who was awesome right up until Mission: Impossible III, and who desperately needs not only a better role but also to cut loose a little. Anyone else see his interview with Barbara Walters recently? Since when is Tom Cruise restrained?

I have to admit, I’ve not understood the allure of Guitar Hero; seems like an awful lot of work to invest in mastery over buttons when one could actually master a real musical instrument one wouldn’t have to plug in to a console for it to work. I’ve been contemplating picking up a guitar this spring; it’s something I’ve always wanted to learn but never managed to.

All that said, though, I found a video of a drummer using a modded controller to master an insane song:

Totally rad.

But then again, looks like a dude who could probably actually play the real drums, too.

Here’s Jamie Kennedy (who, coincidentally, produced the documentary):

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITBfwhp8XMY]

Jimmy Carr does it extraordinarily well. Here’s one:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=woKSSwxnFmM]

And here’s another:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_8oaimyDpo]

But it’s not just comedians. Here’s Kevin Smith:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ou2mVnElp6c]

And even Bill Clinton pwning some idiot “9/11 truth conspiracy theorist”:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdtTccXcThE]

I mean, seriously. Some people are just douchebags.

Thing is, Heckler turns out to only ostensibly be about heckling; over the course of interviewing Jamie Kennedy, Carrot Top, and Bill Maher (among many others), it slowly became a rumination about criticism. In doing so, it raised some terrific points about critics and their relation to, for lack of a better word, “art,” and especially about the way the Internet has changed things. It featured appearances by writers from CHUD.com and Giant magazine and questioned the idea of random dudes commenting about cinema. Kathy Griffin made an analogy between Internet commenters and hecklers, which I thought was apt, except for one crucial difference:

At a comedy show, the comedian gets to be face to face, even if across a room, with the person.

On the other hand, the Internet allows a degree of cowardice when someone like Shecky Gangrene or, as is most often the case, Anonymous wants to crap on somebody. I swear, I’d often heard quotes attributed to Anonymous before, but the Internet exponentially increased Anonymous’ body of work, which is mostly restricted to little more than saliva-spattered vitriol. I’ve rarely seen Anonymous actually be supportive; usually Anonymous uses the old “I’m sorry, but I’ve just got to be honest with you” to make personal attacks and mostly horrifying comments they’d never make in real life to someone’s face.

And while I’ve never gotten altogether much attention from Anonymous because I’m just a mostly unknown writer still making his way in his work, any attention from Anonymous can feel like too much. Most of the negativity I’ve encountered has come from Anonymous (who most often really, really doesn’t like me). Anonymous most often believes that the ends justify whatever means it is necessary to use, and frequently makes the case that anyone who has earned any degree of spotlight whatsoever must grin and bear it because it comes with the territory and one must develop thick skin.

To which I say: bullshit.

Bill Maher and Dr. Drew (ftw) address it best in the documentary by making two points: first, honesty does not excuse douchebaggery (that’s Dr. Drew), and second, as Maher notes, entertainers can’t develop thick skin. We need some degree of sensitivity because that’s our role in the culture we need to be part of.

Which I think is an awesome point.

The documentary is well worth checking out. Here’s the trailer:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvZNSLFO72k]

I think my favorite part was the segment dedicated to director Uwe Boll, who challenged his critics to boxing matches and summarily beat the shit out of them. It’s absolutely hysterical to watch as the movie switches back and forth from idiot bloggers making asinine comments like “No, I’ve never watched one of his movies, but I’ve heard their awful” to selfsame bloggers falling to the canvas, culminating in a shot of a twenty-ish blogger lying on the curb, post-fight, wearing a tank top with Sharpie-written “Hi, Mom!” on its back while puking into the gutter.

So yah, got to look me up some of those.

Dude’s won a bunch of genre-type awards: a Stoker for best first novel and a Shamus. And two of his books have apparently come with soundtracks, which is totally awesome (note to self: what is the soundtrack for my writing?).

Connolly recently posted a great blog on the old argument concerning ‘genre’ fiction versus ‘literary’ fiction. It’s well worth reading just to enjoy the pretension of some writers. I mean, holy shit, you think it’s a joke some writers think the way he portrays, and then you meet those writers who not only think that way but even speak that way, and you know for a fact those are the same damned annoying writers who appropriate agent/editor panels at writing conferences to ask deeply personal questions about their deeply personal pet projects and who believe the publishing world is totally against them because it’s a covert and Cabalistic cadre of secret societies and secreter handshakes one can only break into if one compromises one’s ‘artistic integrity.’

He makes a lot of points I agree a lot with, but the money one comes toward the end:

I believe that art and craft are not mutually exclusive. One works at one’s craft, and one hopes that, along the way, art may possibly emerge. Even if it does not, one can still take pride in the fact that one has done one’s best.

Because, seriously, totally

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7Gjg-m8Tz8]

“Boy oh boy I gotta noisy head.”

I think one of the reasons I felt the catharsis I mentioned was that we’ve gotten beyond the noise and chatter. No more political ads, no more proposition whatever, no more signs on people’s lawns. Used to be that it was difficult to separate the static from the noise; seems like now there’s too much noise, and it’s more difficult to separate the stupid from the real.

Or something like that.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65I0HNvTDH4]

That’s called Barack and Roll.

In tribute to Tennant with dedication to Tate,
In recognition of the BBC and the departure of Doctor Ten:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxB1gB6K-2A]

With apologies for the bastardization/bardolization. But seriously, there are few things in the world better than either Doctor Who or Shakespeare, and the combination of the two?

Rad.

I’m sad to hear Tennant is leaving (after a critically acclaimed turn as Hamlet for the Royal Shakespeare Company, mind), if only because he’s the only doctor I’ve ever known. That’s a deliberate choice, too, because he’s the sort of character I want to be. I love the tenth doctor for his childlike glee, for his unflappability, for his grin and his humour. He is one of my all time favorite characters in any medium. Up there with House and the brothers Winchester, not to mention Tristran Thorn, Richard Mayhew, and Fat Charlie.

(characters from, respectively, House, M.D., Supernatural, Stardust, Neverwhere, and Anansi Boys)