three a.m.

Just finished watching Gus Van Sant’s Last Days — which kind of sucks, by the way — and have been thinking about Kurt Cobain.  I always thought it was pretty lame that he shot himself in the head.  I guess it would have been worse if he’d OD’d (cliche), and he’s certainly better off dead than playing the super bowl half-time show, but still — I never really got that tortured artist thing, where guys who have enough money and fame to do anything in the world (they don’t have to keep making shitty music or anything else) whine about their pain.  Somebody set me straight if I’m out of line here, but don’t you think people like that –who are in a position to make a difference — have some sort of responsibility to the world — not like live up to their potential responsbility, but like give something back responsibility; feed the hungry, clothe the children, fight for justice and peace.  Something.  Maybe that’s the pressure that gets to them, but more likely it’s the booze and the drugs. 

Anyways, I like the part where he wanders around his castle wearing a dress and carrying a shotgun (spoilers ahead). Maybe if I had a big estate like that, I’d go a little nuts.  The movie is pretty boring, though what really bothered me was that it was unnecessarily fragmented, full of long shots of bushes and windows with stuff happening behind them that you can barely see, along with that annoying trick where you see a scene two or three times from different perspectives, so you never know how much time is supposed to have passed.  Then after he finally does the deed, the rockstar’s naked ghost rises from his corpse and climbs and invisible ladder and fades out at the top of the screen (stairway to heaven, anyone?).  Like something from "How to Make Art Movies for Dummies."  Probably I’m a bit critical because I was a Nirvana fan and I’ve liked most of Van Sant’s stuff — even Elephant. 

Finally saw Brokeback Mountain the other night and was pleased to find it as good as everyone seems to think it is.  Yeah, I’ll throw in my vote for Heath Ledger for the Oscar, and maybe even a Best Picture, though I’ll admit I squirmed a bit during the man-love scene.  And let’s face it — that scene was kind of forced anyways.  Perhaps there’s no such thing as a graceful cowboy hookup.

Speaking of starving artists — this whole graduation thing looms larger every day.  How’s the world out there?

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