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I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
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An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
If it's called Daily Blah, how come you don't ... hey, wait, you're writing every day!
See? Told you I'd try harder.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
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Daily Blah for... Sunday, March 21, 2004
I Am Worried About Elvis Mitchell
The New York Times' movie critic is usually a paragon of wisdom about what gives films heart and soul, and yet he gives "Eternal Sunshine" an unusually harsh going-over akin to mugging its main characters in a back alley. He poo-poos the idea of our hero walking alone on Valentine's Day as a "self-consciously poignant conceit," praises Dr. Mierzewak -- the bad guy, people -- as "the only functioning grown-up in the picture," and faults Kaufman for not providing a "social context" for characters accepting Mierzewak's memory erasure program. Which is a little like slamming C.S. Lewis for sending children off into Narnia without providing a "social context" for why they would want to walk into a wardrobe in the first place.
Of course many of us would want to erase our most painful memories if we could; it's in our nature, and it's in the nature of science fiction to provide solutions to our problems that have unintended consequences. Indeed, being careful what you wish for is the message of the Pope poem from which the film's title is taken. The brief shot of a woman in Mierzewak's waiting room, sobbing inconsolably with a box of parephenalia from a deceased dog, should be "social context" enough. But Mitchell, it seems, finds even the idea of removing one's memories of love too painful to contemplate. Perhaps that's why he calls it "the film equivalent of a Philip K Dick Hallmark card." Methinks the critic doth protest too much.
Here's the most telling line at the end of his review: "What becomes of the broken-hearted, after the conversation has dimmed, is that they get over it." This is an "adult realization," he insists with all the converted zeal of a man who claims to have gotten over a painful break-up. But it sounds like Mitchell is actually having a hard time finding closure. Why else would he name so many REM songs? Do yourself a favor, Elvis: put "Losing My Religion" on constant repeat, have a good cry, and try seeing this movie again in softer focus.
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