We saw “Lincoln” Sunday night, which wasn’t my first choice, until it was. I’d much rather see “Argo,” but OK, we’re all going, this is Important History, it’ll win Oscars, and I will ignore that voice in the back of my head that says, Steven Spieeeeeelberg, BEWARE BEWARE BEWARE, sucked it up and went.
And I’m 78 percent glad I did, which is saying something. More learned film critics than I can fill your ear with words upon words about this, that and the other thing, so let’s do this with bullet points:
* I have this little Steven Spielberg problem. We just don’t get along, and I’ve stopped worrying about it. I liked “Munich,” however, which was written by Tony Kushner. “Lincoln” was written by Tony Kushner, too. The 78 percent figure cited above is almost entirely due to him. But also because…
* Loved the cinematography and production design, the latter of which very deftly offered up a White House that’s sort of a dump in a smoky, cold, manure-smelling city. The former suggested dim corners and half-moon faces lit by candles and gaslights. (That this had the added benefit of hiding the prosthetic seams on Daniel Day-Lewis’ face had to be a big plus.)
* Daniel Day-Lewis. Whoa. I could watch him spin yarns, offer aphorisms, and tell his wife to hold the spending on the flub-dubs all day.
* Loved the character actors who filled the House of Representatives. Hey, it’s the guy from “A Serious Man!” And Gale from “Breaking Bad!” Is that…whazzisname, the “500 Days of Summer” guy, AND Boyd Crowder from “Justified!”
* A few things I hated. They included the John Williams score tapping you on the shoulder, saying “Pay attention to this scene, because it’s important.” Hated that expository dialogue, although I did my best to forget it, and mostly did, but come on, Tony: Why did Sally Field get all the clunky speeches?
* James Spader! You’ve put on weight, but you’re still my man.
Alan liked it, but Kate was bored out of her tree.
So. Here are some camels:
The big one in the foreground is a male, and he’s in rut. The slobber all over his face is a byproduct of his constant tooth-grinding. His spiky head hair is greasy from a scent gland on the back of his noggin. Every so often he would stretch his neck back and rub it on his hump to spread his sexy around. I was told that when he’s really getting his freak on, he squats, pees on his tail and then swings it around like a priest with an aspergillum. The female never got any closer because that male wasn’t going to allow his woman to get near another warm-blooded animal.
Men. Gotta love ’em. They know what they want, and they’re not afraid to slobber, exude oil, spray pee and grunt to get it.
Which seems about the only way to transition to this: Happy hump day. I’m out.