Being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the present

I have finally surrendered to inexorable destiny and the luring blandishments of certain friends like Carlos. I signed up for Netflix. So far, I've been pleased. The first two DVD's on my list showed up within two days. Although I was a little surprised by the skimpy mailing package, they both worked flawlessly and showed no signs of damage.

The Constant Gardener is a stylish thriller, based on John Le Carre's book. It's brutally cynical about the machinations of governments and businesses, but has at its core a tragically romantic story of a man who failed to fully appreciate the woman he loved until it was too late. Now she's dead, with her apparent lover, and he's left to pick up the pieces. Some of those pieces don't quite fit together, though....

This is not a movie to watch while distracted with other activities. Fleeting but repeated images, unusual turns of phrase, and casual comments by minor characters are more important than they seem. Pay attention.

I was tremendously amused by the basic premise of Black Books, a situation-comedy from our friends across the pond. The first scene with Bernard Black, proprietor of the eponymous bookstore, had me laughing uncontrollably. You see, Black goes beyond ignoring his customers or resenting their placid, bovine browsing in his dusty, cluttered domain. He hates them. Really, really hates them.

Pompous customer: "Is this genuine leather?
BB : "It's genuine Dickens."

BB : [selling a book] "Enjoy. It's dreadful, but quite short."

Other than that, Black's customer-service skills seem to consist of using a megaphone and broom to chase them out the door when he feels like closing. There are times when I feel the same way at the library, although I'm more likely to use a mock bullwhip and quote the theme song from Rawhide.

Unfortunately for me, the bookstore is almost completely ignored in most of the episodes of the first season in favor of improbably surreal situations involving the three principal characters' personal eccentricities. Black is a misanthropic drunk; old freind and neighbor Fran is temperamental and sexually frustrated; shop clerk Manny is childlike and naive. All of them have a tendency to burst into violent physical flailing and shrieking whenever the scriptwriter thinks that would be funny or runs out of other ideas, and the suggestions of homoeroticism between the two male leads become a rather tiresome running joke. (On the other hand, it would explain Fran's frustration.)

That said, it was entertaining enough that I'll put the second season on my want list from Netflix.

If anyone's curious, I might post the current contents of that list on this blog, but be warned that you might find out things about me that you didn't want to know. (Death Race 2000, anybody?)