Monsters in the wall. Kinda.

The wall buzzed.

Now, as those of you who have spent any time with me in the morning are all too sadly familiar, I am…not at my best when I first awake, or am awakened by something else. Incoherent or pretty out of it are kindly ways to put it; deranged is another.

And, by an odd coincidence, I'd just started writing two different short pieces about something in the walls. (What that something is, I'm not entirely sure in one case. Possibly a chocolate demon. Possibly not.) So I had monsters in the walls on the brain.

And now the wall was buzzing and thumping at me.

Naturally, I assumed it was either a monster or an atomic bomb. The unlikelihood of an atomic bomb hiding out in the walls of a Florida apartment, quite forgetting about the size issue, was completely lost on me. No, what I was trying to figure out – I wish I were making it up – was how I could defuse the bomb, and, if a monster had made the bomb, what the chances were of the monster setting off the bomb accidentally or otherwise.

Meanwhile, the Little One leapt into the bed to stare fixedly at the wall. Oh no, I thought, he's going to get blown up by the bomb. So I scooped him up and brought him to the living room (which, come to think of it, would not have been particularly far away from a bomb) where we both flopped back to sleep.

When I woke up the second time it took me awhile to figure out where I was, but after Brazil was eliminated (I don't know where that came from) I gradually figured it out, and then remembered the bomb and the monster. Talk about one annoying nightmare, I thought, and then headed back into the bedroom to sleep a bit further.

The wall still buzzed.

This time, I was less inclined to go with the bomb idea – while not discounting the monster – and more inclined to go with the downstairs neighbors must have been up to something but how, precisely, were they sleeping through this? I started to investigate. No bombs. No monsters. But a definite something buzzing rhythmically against the wall.

…..a large floor fan in my brother's room, fallen against the wall, but still churning and vibrating on.

Monsters come in many guises.

Wall Street

Oh. My. God. Guys.

I have just seen the most marvelous thing: the trailer for Unstoppable, a literal – literal – train wreck of a film. It was spawned, clearly, in a meeting filled with Hollywood executives, that I can only imagine went something like this:

Dude one: Ok. So. Next flick. Disaster flick?

Dude two: Volcano?

Dude one: Been done.

Dude two: Earthquake. Plane crash! WITH ALIENS!

Dude one: Been done.

Dude three: I have it – a runaway train!

Dude one: Well –

Dude three: With TOXIC CHEMICALS!

Dude one:….I'm listening.

Dude four: Yes! And, see, they have to STOP THE TRAIN, otherwise an ENTIRE BUSLOAD OF CUTE CHILDREN WILL DIE!

Dude two: And NO ONE CAN STOP THE TRAIN!

Dude three: Except for A YOUNG BLUE COLLAR TRAIN DUDE JUST TRYING TO PROVE HIMSELF ON THE JOB TO CRUSTY OLD GUYS NEARING RETIREMENT.

Dude one:….Still listening.

Dude five: …..with DENZEL WASHINGTON!

Dude one: Well. I'm sold.

I can't remember when I last saw a trailer with so much snark potential. It is, truly, a work of beauty: starting with the clichéd dialogue of the New White Guy Who Must Prove Himself on the Train, the Wise Black Dude who will help him out (oh, Denzel...), before moving on to the Adorably Cute Kids on the bus who know Just What To Do At Railway Crossings, the Runaway Train, and topping it off, the toxic chemicals MOVING TOWARDS THE TRAIN (or already on the train and moving towards the Adorably Cute Kids, whichever; once the toxic chemicals were mentioned I lost it.)

Also, Rosario Dawson. I assume she will be showing lots of skin at some point, because it's that sort of film.

I laughed myself into tachycardia.

The movie apparently comes out November 12, which is, to say the least, an inconvenient time for me, but, at some point in November, assuming this film does not disappear after opening night, which does seem likely, I will make some attempt to be there, netbook in hand.

But, oh right. I also saw a movie, after the trailer. About that...

Wall Street, the actual review

What's changed:

1. Product endorsements. Up. Way up. Particularly, and oddly, cheap product endorsements (except for the extended commercials for Lightspeed software which I suppose was inevitable.) Cheap product endorsements Cheap product endorsements have gone up. Way up. (Although I admit to considerable amusement at the sight of young wealthy Wall Street traders clutching at Dunkin Donuts coffee instead of one of those elaborate Manhattan coffee drinks. And where, in a movie that seemed to be crying out for it, was Starbucks?)

2. Cell phones.

3. Martin Sheen. Not in the movie, much to the film's detriment. (I know, I know, the film had no place to squeeze in his character, but the gravitas he provided is badly missed.)

3. Charlie Sheen. Clearly older.

4. Computer graphics. Slicker. More annoying.

5. Daryl Hanna. Wisely avoiding this film.

What hasn't:

1. Art. Still awful. Available to be destroyed in moments of anger!

2. Apartments: Still improbably large with improbable views. (On the bright side, this put all of our complaints about Neal's improbable apartment in White Collar into perspective.)

3. Downsized apartments: Also still improbably large, if without views. But seriously.
4. Male domination. This film doesn't just fail the Bechtel test; it stomps all over it. The women here have even less to say and suffer more public humiliation than the ones in the first film did. In one scene, the film even takes joy in having a man outflank and outdo a female counterpart, visibly irritating her and attempting to humiliate her; her later victory occurs offscreen. This is ongoing. The men, not the women, move the film along. Exactly one woman with a speaking part – a Chinese investor – appears to have any real power in this male dominated world – and even she works for a male boss.

I suppose that might be a real reflection of the way Wall Street works – a scene with a bunch of very, very white bankers, including a grand total of two women – I counted – one of whom never speaks, deciding the fate of Wall Street firms makes its own point, but having the most powerful woman in the film be from China was a bit disconcerting.

More detailed comments below (( Spoilery for both Wall Street movies and for Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors )