Em For Movies - Hail, Caesar!



Ostensibly the tale of a day in the life of Eddie Mannix, a blunt, beleaguered Hollywood fixer, Hail, Caesar! is in fact a film about nothing at all. And it’s all the better for it. I recently endured a number of vignette-themed films where a vast and diverse cast is mashed together into one film with many small plots that are too self-contained for me to care about for any extended period of time. After that tortuous experience, all that I really needed in order to buy in to Joel and Ethan Cohen’s latest atmospheric comedy was the simple overture of a hero, and Josh Brolin provided that quite capably as Eddie Mannix.

It is an undeniably busy day for Mannix. Each new problem he encountered offered an opportunity for amusement and wry nostalgia. Whether he was navigating the disparate machinations of identical twin reporters, easing the transition of a spaghetti western star into highbrow mainstream, legitimizing an accidental pregnancy or paying ransom for the return of an actor who was kidnapped from the set of the studio’s latest greatest epic, Mannix tackled each ridiculous challenge with a comical level of serious competence. Then (of course) the Coen brothers threw in the metaphorical kitchen sink with a wholly unnecessary musical number that held me oddly torn between hilarity, confusion and awe.

When I consider it as a whole, I have to admit that the plot is silly and convoluted, but it is excuse enough to watch an assortment of talented people make the most out of odd situations in a lovingly recreated 1950s Hollywood. I would rate Hail, Caesar! a champagne cocktail. Fancy, frivolous but highly enjoyable, the drink is much like the Hollywood glamour that it highlights: so pointless and yet so fun.

Cheers,

Em

The Leather Pants - Date 10

Date 10: Jesse

Jesse messaged me one day and started an interesting conversation that I can no longer remember. He seemed cute in his profile, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, big smile, dad bod, stubble. Exactly what I like. We messaged for a while, then I decided we should text, and poor guy put up with me not answering and changing plans on him a couple of times. So even though I should not have gone out with him one day after giving Peter a list of rehab facilities in Calgary and dealing with his crazy drama, I didn't think that I should cancel on Jesse again. 

Monday night after work I pulled on my leather pants and went to the local pub to meet him. He had suggested we meet "in front" because it would be easier, so I waited outside in the cold. Misery. When he got there he said he meant inside the doors. He should have been clear. Strike 1. Just kidding, it wasn't that cold, but I was being a baby. So we went in and ordered drinks and started our conversation. 

Actual strike 1 was that the cute guy from the pictures was quite short (short enough for me to see he was balding (from above!) and not the stated 5'9''), quite chubby (especially for an "athletic body type" on his profile (mine says "average", which I think is apt)), and obviously just a very photogenic man. I'm starting to think that I'm not actually 5'9'' and that my doctor was just trying to get my confidence in check when she told me my height. She's like, "settle down, you're not all that". She also told me I was fat based on my BMI. Alas, I digress. I'm tall. He was short. 

It was fine, we had lots to talk about, he has a massive family, grew up in the same city as me, likes dogs, has an interesting job...He's a land man, which apparently is the person that sells the rights to oil companies to drill on the land, he talked about this at length, which was surprisingly interesting and I learned a lot. But then he decided to inform me about my field too. He knew what I do for a living. Though I guess he was right in some of his opinions, it was nothing I hadn't heard before and discussed at length with people who actually knew what they were talking about. 

Anyway, we had a couple drinks and I got a little bit drunk because I hadn't eaten very much. So we stayed long enough for me to be able to drive, he walked me to my car (which was nowhere near his car or the bar), hugged, and went our separate ways. He said "Let me know if you want to do this again." I said "K," and I haven't heard from him since. 

Poor guy probably didn't stand a chance after my traumatic weekend, but I also don't think he merited a second chance. 

Love Sack Murda