Pondering the Toronto International Film Festival

I'm spoiled for choice, yet find as I check o'er
The offerings at TIFF this year that, while
I'm gasping lots and saying "ooh!" the store
Of what I must see there is small. I smile.
Once Winterbottom's next* would be the first
Upon my list, but I know it will be
An offering that I can catch, at worst
Within a few short months on DVD,
If not in theaters in old Cheyenne.
That's true of most; film fests are diff'rent now.
We've many options in this age; I can
But choose based on what will be coolest big,
Or what I want to see with Paul, you dig?
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*Sonneteer's note: I still may have to make for that film while there. The combination of Winterbottom, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon is damned nearly irresistible Kate-Bait.

In Which I Have A Strange Experience At The Movies

The power of suggestion's mighty strong --

Or else no film would ever work on us,

To say naught of how well we're strung along

When such a meta-movie comes. A plus:

There's lots of ways to watch this one, I'd say.

INCEPTION as an allegory, or

A comment on how easily we may

Be led to think our ideas our own, for

Such things are viral, subtle. Just whose dream

Do we think that we're watching? I, for one,

Found that I had my own within (a theme

To which it drew attention was no fun

For me; I know that grief): a phantom friend

Sat with me, held my hand until the end.

In Which I Lament Something That Is Lacking In Summer 2010

July's begun, a time when many seek
Surcease from scorching in the cool and dark
Of friendly local cinemas. I weep,
Though, as I once again survey the stark
And hopeless offerings for these great screens
This season's bringing. This year, there's not one,
I care to see at all. Some say this means
I'm just too picky; no, I have some fun
At stupid 'splodey blockbusters, as long
As they have ought to recommend them save
A bloated budget. Is it just so wrong
To want a story with what goobers crave
(A lot of CGI, they guess). I rue
This year. I think I'll stick to Doctor Who.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Shamelessly Shill For My Friends (And Wish A Belated Happy Birthday)

He's full of it, and newly twenty-one,
Brent Weichsel, and he's ready to unleash
Filmmaking fury on us ere he's done.
His birthday yesterday, today's release
Of Sigler's newest book seems poised to stretch
His celebrations further. Have a look:
Brent's entry in Scott's contest ought to fetch
Him much attention. As for this new book,
I'm psyched as hell to get it. Want it NOW!
Meanwhile, wish Brent belated birthday love.
I'm sure he's quite hung over, bleary eyed,
And wond'ring what that yellow thing above
Him thinks it must avenge on him. Don't hide,
Dear Brent; it's just the sun. Now seize the day,
And may more viewings soon be on their way!

In Which I Finally Visit Pandora And Don't Even Get A Lousy Tee Shirt

Predictability's beside the point

When such as Avatar graces the screen.

The outsider whom they'll come to annoint

Their leader, yawn. But story's not the scene

In films like this. The world is pretty, yes --

Not pretty 'nough to induce suicide

Because I can't live there, though I can guess

How some might feel that way. One's pulled inside

A lovely world, low-gravity and lush,

And luminescent when the day grows dark.

With sexy kittehs gyrating -- I blush.

Three hours of cut scenes, though, is not a lark.

At some point I did want to take control

And play the game that hides within its soul.

R.I.P., Dan O'Bannon

For Alien and Dark Star we give thanks,

And Total Recall, Life Force, too and for

Some bits of Heavy Metal's filmic pranks --

The corvette-flying astronaut and more --

I'm also grateful. Dan O'Bannon wrote

And worked on crazy stuff during his days

Among us. Some we saw and some, we note

Were never realized -- perhaps, though, praise

Instead of scorn is due, for while I dig

That Jodorowsky dude, and quite a lot

I'm not sure Dune was for them -- much too big

And sprawling. Just think what they would have wrought

Upon it? No. But Screamers? Um, hell yes,

Would be my answer. Yours too, I would guess.

Sonnet Dare: Concerning M. Night Shamalamadoodad And His Role In All Our Lives

M. Night Shamalamadoodad is now
That film director's name, thanks to Nicole,
In my book evermore. And as to how
This happened? I can't say I know the whole
Sad story, but that's quite all right on a
Sad Saturday at work, stuck without light
(Outvoted on the dimmer switch, then, yay,
A flicker in the tubes meant an outright
Shut off!). Now as I sit here in the dark
I wonder what my "twist" ending will be.
One task light's shorted out; perhaps a spark
From the one left will bring my woes to three?
Or suddenly I'll find out that my chest
Is bioluminescent? T'would be best.

In Which I Shamelessly Plug An Adventure In Criticism, or #FilmsWithBrent: The Sonnet

It started when Brent put Blade Runner on

(Conceptually it seems so long ago,

Can it have been just short weeks have gone?).

I said I'd watch it too, caught up fast, and lo!

Though Brent's in Pennsylvania and I'm not

We dug the film together and we shared

Our exhaltations in our tweets, thought

This should be a reg'lar thing. Now, don't be scared;

This isn't MST3K redux.

We're working with the films we love the most,

And unlike there, we've endless room for you.

At 10 P.M. on Wednesday nights, our host

And I don our best film geek hats. This round

It's Fight Club. Could it e'er get more profound?

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Tsk A Slightly Neglected Friend About A Friend She May Be Neglecting

Oh Erin dear, if you are reading this,

You need to call your dear Gerry Kissell.

He's got some plans I'm sure you'd hate to miss,

And I would like to know of them as well.

I friended him on Facebook on a whim,

As I've been thinking of the things he does

Of which you've told me often. To meet him

I'd like to do someday for real. It was

His birthday also, on this very day!

So take that step and call Blade Runner Boy.

That's all for now I really have to say,

Except I miss you and I wish you joy.

Your busy summer season's starting soon.

And I won't get to Togie till mid-June.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Share My Awe At A Student Filmmaker

The other day, while I was geeking out

On Herschel/Planck's launch, and on Atlantis'

Fine work on Hubble, also did I shout

My love of Henry Purcell and of bits

Of choral, churchy music that he wrote.

Conflated in my mind at once were these.

I said so, then I casually did float

The notion that a mash of them would please.

Brent Weichsel, budding auteur, took the dare,

And tossed off this as quick as kiss-my-hand.

You might well profit from his other fare.

His latest, Battle Not is soon to land

Upon his site and elsewhere. I am sure

His name and work won't too long be obscure.

Though I Did Agree About The Lives Of Others

I gave up on the Oscars in disgust
Before I was a freshman in high school,
When Amadeus swept them; so unjust
To snub Brazil because Mozart was cool
That year. And then things went on to get worse:
The Mission next lost out to that Platoon,
And on the Oscars I called down my curse.
That's just best picture. History is strewn
With many other blunders and mistakes
These voters made. I could go on and on.
The Usual Suspects ignored? The flakes!
And Fargo? Or Memento? How I yawn;
I bore myself each year with these my rants.
Does Dark Knight this year even stand a chance?

Don't Call Us Vultures, We Just Know Opportunity When It Goes Splat in Front of Us

My friends and I seek to be in the biz.
Of filmmaking, at least on a small scale.
We have a script. What's holding us up is
The camera. We're waiting for a sale.
How fortunate the stars have so aligned
As to have brought about untimely death
(Or bankruptcy) to a chain store you'll find
'Most everywhere the shopping crowds draw breath.
So now my co-producer braves the horde,
While I, at work, do research by remote
On what he finds, at downtimes when I'm bored.
But he's the man; I'm glad to get a vote.
And from the ash of Circuit City's store
Comes Heroes Only Studios, maybe more!