I had another vivid dream. I was playing golf at a country club (Ha-Ha, fat chance). At one point the rest of our foursome couldn't locate me. I was in the clubhouse, talking movies, trying to remember the title of one of the better vampires movies that have been made the past decade or so. Martin Scorsese was there and I suggested he be asked. Suddenly I realized what was what and hurried to the tee, where a backup of angry golfers had occurred. As I picked up my driver someone in the next group made a snide remark. I took offense and called the person out. We dropped our golf gloves and faced each other. It turned out to be a woman with flowing gray hair. "Let's re-think this," I said. We stood down, and I looked to the heavens and cried out: "Why did they have to be talking movies!" The interpretation? Going by Freud's belief that dreams are wish fulfillment, I suppose the part of me that misses golf, which I haven't played in two-and-a-half years, was speaking out.
I'm not sure the dream was triggered in any way by the film I watched last night courtesy of Netflix,
Croupier (1998). It stars Clive Owen as he was coming up on the middle of what has become a very successful career. He plays a frustrated writer, the son of a degenerate gambler living thousands of miles away in South Africa. He has experience working in a casino, and it leads to a job in London, and an idea for a book. He is not a gambler and takes his job seriously. When a beautiful older woman sits at his table, things begin to change, with checkered results. There is a sense of authenticity, a lot of smoking, drinking and nudity, and the characters are all interesting. I found a bit of the story line confusing, but that may attributable to the lack of close captioning. I have trouble deciphering American actors these days, let alone British accents. The film runs only 94 minutes, and it features an awesome twist that had me laughing. Kudos to screenwriter Paul Mayersberg, whose other notable works are
The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976) and
Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (1983), each starring David Bowie.
Croupier was directed by Mike Judge, who wrote and directed
Get Carter (1971), the original starring Michael Caine, not the remake with Sylvester Stallone, Judge's most notable work. 15,000+ users at IMDb have rated
Croupier, forging to a consensus of 7.2 of ten, which is right on the money in my opinion. It's geared more toward those who appreciate a character study. It is not an action, or even a heist movie, at least not in the traditional sense. It's something different, which is usually good.
So Johnny Manziel has been involved in yet another incident in which police were summoned. His girlfriend is not talking. Maybe the best thing for this kid, before it's too late, would be to spend a few months in jail.
I made three stops with the car today, and none of them required any snow shoveling. I found spots immediately, a minor miracle that led to the first good session of the floating book shop in a fortnight. I've been saying hello to Gina, a middle aged woman who must have been quite a beauty when she was young, for a few years. She's even bought a few books but never one of mine, Today she bit on
Rising Star. She took it to her little nook near the Chase drive-thru and, while reading, sipped at a cup of coffee and smoked a couple of cigarettes. Later, she approached raving about the book, thrilled one of the characters is named Gina. That chased the frustration of the past two weeks. A while later Natasha, whom I hadn't seen in months, showed and bought five hardcovers, four thrillers and one romance. I love that she insists on reading in English. My thanks, ladies, and to all the other kind folks who made purchases. The crates were a lot lighter on the way back to the car.
Vic's Short Works: http://tinyurl.com/jy55pzc
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
