Re: Change

"You can't avoid change no matter what.  Situations only upgrade or downgrade."
- Amir Said

Reign Over Me - Film Review

By Amir Said

After the last frame of this movie dissolved into the end credit sequence, my 11 year old son, Amir, turned to me and said: "Pop, that was four stars!  How many do you give it?"  My reply: "Hold on, we'll discuss it in the car..."

My son noticed that I was fixed on the elderly couple that had been sitting next to me, clearly enjoying this movie, (as I was).  Back in our car on the drive home, I gave the simple part of my answer, "yes, it's a four star movie, no question,"  I said to my son, then I rolled out some of the immediate observations that I withdrew from “Reign”; each of which rendered an amazing impact on me. 

As one of the earlier installments of what is sure to be later referred to as the 'Post 9/11 films', "Reign" delivers a refreshingly different look at a national mega tragedy.  Rather than focus on the anger, rage, revenge, heroics, politics, and/or religious propaganda that 9/11 provoked, "Reign" focuses on the interlocking grip of friendship, love, unbearable pain, and irreversible hurt, that an event 9/11's magnitude could only expose.

Fact is, Binder targets the tragic loss, not the tragic event.  And in doing so, he lends more meaning to an otherwise meaningless, unforgivable act.  This in turn makes 9/11 hover and resonate, while we dual with the task of remembering what we do not want to remember.

"Reign" is about the tragedies that hit and miss us.  The ones that are collective and the ones that are personal.  The ones that strike like whiplash, and the ones that we ourselves seemingly lay down the foundations for.  When tragedies hit, there are always multiple layers to navigate.  But For Fineman (Adam Sandler) [Fine Man, aka: everyday, upstanding, family, regular man], perhaps there will never be any reckoning of the "collective tragedy".  The base layer of his personal tragedy is so irregular, so unordinary, so abnormal that he's emotionally and physically "stuck", while the city and the small number of people who know him (the collective) have moved on from the base layer of their collective tragedy. 

If this was the only point that "Reign" focused on it would still be a four-star film.  But Binder goes further, he juxtaposes two tragedies.  Fineman's  major tragedy, the definite loss of his wife and life, leans heavy on Johnson (Don Cheadle).  But this weight serves as the kind of wake up call that Johnson has been searching for.  Indeed, because of his quest to help Fineman, he mentally commits to countering his own issues, namely his increasing detachment from his mundane life and the growing distance between he and his wife.  Johnson escapes his own near tragedy, by helping Fineman work through his. 

Regardless of the context, (here, in "Reign" it's the broad, very imposing tragedy of 9/11), the interlocking grip of friendship, love, unbearable pain, and irreversible hurt is an incredibly difficult force to decipher.  But through an incredibly on-beat story, underscored with a chilling touch of humanity, "Reign" eloquently does just that.

Jukebox First Draft

Jukebox
By Amir Said   The jukebox had been removed.  In it’s place sat two wooden bar stools.  They were perfect for viewing the pool table action, but it had been decided that no one should sit in them.  There was no caucus on the matter, it was simply understood that those two stools were off limits. Even when the place gradually begin to return to its normal numbers, it didn’t seem odd to anyone that two pool-side seats remained empty.     As months doubled-up, and years stretched on, O’Tools had become legendary within the world of high stakes pool games. Lucky 9, Jack Tuna, Nick the Chip, Baby Face Melvin, Perry Morton, all of the top money players in the city had made there way to O’Tools.  On any given night, a guy like me could snatch two, maybe three grand in some of the side games. The allure of the big take brought out every pool shark, every flip & stick pool jockey in town.  Weekends were always a sight. Them college boys would come into the bar area, get liquored up and then stumble back into the pool room. Looking to impress their dates, they would get in on the pool action, but they lost their shirts every time. Sometimes, they lost their dates, too.   Dusty, the owner of O’Tools, had put down his stick long ago. He hadn’t played since that thing with the jukebox. His mind was on turning around the joint. I don’t think that he ever had the intention to hold major money games in the spot.  The place had built up a good rep for straight pool, no hassle. Plus, the cops didn’t throw no static. So Dusty allowed things to go on the way they were. Truth is, he really couldn’t have changed things even if he wanted to. There was too much cash on those tables in the back room; too much cash to let anybody let change happen. Nawgh, Dusty didn’t rock the boat. He took his 10% house cut, and went about the business of operating his bar…   Two years after that jukebox incident, this guy comes into O’Tools. His name was Victor—everybody called him “Vic the Kid.” He couldn’t’ve been no more than 13, 14 years old. He was lanky, not tall or nothing, just skinny. He wouldn't exactly scare you if you crossed him in the alley. He had real tight eyes, too. Always looked like he was taking everything in real deep, you know… Anyway, Vic would’ve been kicked out and never seen again, had it not been for Jackie Nines stepping in. As it goes, Frank Otto, who could only be described as the most inconsistent, unlucky bastard to ever play a pool game in O’Tools, was locked in one of his famous “break even” games…   Frank Otto was a pretty good pool player, he just had the misfortune of perpetually breaking even.  No matter how many games he played, no matter who he played, Frank Otto never did better than break even.  So we’re all in the pool room.  Jackie Nines is back there placing side bets on all the tables.  While this is going on, Vic the Kid comes in.  Don’t know what he said to the waitress, (I think her name was Ginger, or it might have been Dottie), I don’t know… Anyway, a couple of guys move up on ‘em, you know to “escort” him out of O’Tools.  Nobody wanted a repeat of the jukebox thing, and nobody wanted a spade in the place, either.  They grab Vic the Kid up and start to pull him out of the pool room.   “Hey, hey, hey, what’s all that for? Easy on the kid,” Jackie Nines says.   They called him Jackie Nines on account he was a classy dresser.  He was always dressed to the nines, this guy. Jackie was a connected, too. He was cool with everybody: the Italians, the Jews on Delancey, the brothuhs up in Harlem. He even had friends in out in Brooklyn. Jackie did, uh, what-a-you-call-it, “freelance”. He was a "freelancer". Yeah, he did a lot of "freelancing". So needless to say, when he spoke on something, it was pretty much law in O’Tools. You know, in fact, come to think about it, I remember Jackie Nines telling Poor Mike not to sit on the stools. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t know if he meant just for Poor Mike Donavan not to sit there or even for just that night. All's-I-know-is after that, no one sat in those stools…   “Say, kid, what are you doing here?” Jackie Nines says to him.   “I’m just looking for some work, Mr. But I didn’t want any trouble,” Vic says back to him.   “Nobody wants trouble, kid. But it has a way of showing up, anyway. Here!” Jackie Nines goes into his pocket, pulls out some cash, tells Vic to take it and go get something to eat. Vic takes the money, thanks Jackie, then walks out of the pool room.   Moment later, you hear Frank Otto mucking it up. This hard luck case finally breaks past even for five sour bucks.   “I can’t believe it,” Jackie Nines says out loud, “this unlucky bastard goes past even… Patty!” he calls out, summoning his side-man, Patrick, (everybody called him "Patty Guns", on account when he punched a guy, his hands shot out like a bullet from a gun). Well, Jackie Nines tells Patty to go get that kid… Then he points to Frank Otto.   “You,” he says, pointing to Frank Otto, “get over hear, I wanna see you do that shit again.”     Five minutes later, Frank Otto’s going head up against the great Perry Morton. A couple of shots in, Patty returns with the kid.    “Hey, kid, what’s your name?” Jackie Nines says to him.    “Victor,” the kid replies, looking scared as shit    “Victor… All right, 'Vic the Kid', this is what I want you to do for me. I want you to stay here and watch this bum play pool. If that guy right there beats that fat fucker over there, you got a job." Vic nodded his head in agreement. “O.K., come on, let’s sit down.”   Jackie Nines goes over to the two stools, he sits down in the left stool, Vic the Kid follows him and climbs into the one on the right. Nobody says a word, they pool game just keeps goin'.

The Magnificent Dream vs. The Recognizable Goal

By Amir Said

Before you maneuver, you have to think it, not dream it.  In America,  "dreams" are always lofty.  There is no interpretation, or story-telling association with dreams.  On the contrary, in America, dreams are held up as the cause and means of success.  This is interesting because the American concept of dreams is in stark contrast with other cultures around the globe.

In other cultures, (read everywhere except here), dreams are associated with interpretation, story-telling, and the like.  However, in America, the concept of dreams have been socialized to serve as a goal!  That's right, a "goal", not a story, not an interpretation of an event or thought, but a goal. What's worse, the American dream/goal duality is never flushed out or broken down into the clear components that are associated with a goal.  The notion of hard work, effective planning and preparation are never celebrated alongside the essence of the American Dream.  Sure, in media snap-shot pieces, you may hear the run-down "rags-to-riches" story.  But make no mistake: what's being sold is the mighty, shining dream realized, NOT, the daily grit and discipline of securing one goal after another.

By reshaping the concept of a dream, and fashioning it as a defacto meaning of a goal, many in America are taught to dream rather than do.  Here, dreams are something that you have. Ironically, at the same time, it is considered to be something that one can achieve.  But it is never itself considered to be a goal.  So it stands that in America, there is a widespread premium on having a dream.  And that my friends is where the problem lies.

Having a dream, a passive act indeed, feeds nothing to the hunger of a goal.  A goal is something you think about, something you plan, something  you do.  Moreover, a goal consistently displays the fortunes and consequences of either achieving or failing to achieve it.  Whereas a dream is a mirage, a sham palace of pseudo opportunity.  This is the reason why loads of people allow themselves to be culled by a magnificent dream rather than think and do the necessary for reaching a recognizable goal.