No matter the scope, all tragedy is personal. While we  may empathize with others, we experience suffering individually. Two “new” movies attempt to universalize responses to tragedy with  divergent story-telling approaches : one succeeds masterfully, the other has been nominated for Best Picture.

I have not read Jonathan Safran Foer‘s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and yet I am certain I’d like the book more than the movie. At least, I hope I would. On screen, the effort to reduce the entirety of 9/11′s impact to one young survivor’s endurance of its aftermath is precious, contrived and, ultimately, trivializing. Proposing that Oskar Schell, a 9-year-old square who fits somewhere comfortably on the autism spectrum between a young Matthew Reinhart and a younger Rain Man — or, in other words, bright and awkward but not scary weird  — illustrate a city’s struggle to make sense of the non-sensical is a cinematic misstep. The character, despite Thomas Horn’s game performance, is not reasonably accessible; yes, he evokes sympathy but cannot induce us to transpose our comprehensions of the infamous day. I don’t care how caring or dynamic a dad Thomas Schell (Tom Hanks) appears to be, his son’s mourning does not cleanly correlate with the general public’s loss. Grief is not a parlor game and resolution does not necessarily equal catharsis. EXTREMELY LOUD AND INCREDIBLY CLOSE is hobbled by the hubris of its creator/s, as it is readily apparent that the author and the filmmaker wish for this Schell game to produce one winner to stand-in for the rest of us. Instead, this over-produced, sentimental hustle leaves one feeling more like the sidewalk sucker taken in by three-card monte. Even the tears are illegitimate.

Conversely, MARGARET, long-shelved yet expertly crafted by Kenneth Lonergan, doesn’t fall for the age-old scam or the long con. Instead, the stage-schooled writer-director has sculpted a unique tale with a familiar lead teen, Lisa Cohen (Anna Paquin), who fancies herself one-of-a-kind because her suffering is her own and of her own doing, not some emotional blowback of a landmark tragedy beyond her reach, her control.  

Finally! Today Gary Oldman received his first Academy Award nomination, for his subdued star turn in TINKER, TAILOR, SOLDIER, SPY Despite many great performances in the past, he has now received a nod for one which is easily his least showy role, a soft-spoken re-imagining of George Smiley, the beloved operative originally assayed by the late, great Sir Alec Guiness in the BBC mini-series of the same title. (Curiously, two of Mr. Oldman’s competitors in the Best Actor category, George Clooney and Brad Pitt, have also been recognized for their more under-stated work, too.)

What do YOU think?

I was fortunate to host Mr. Oldman just a couple of months ago for a very special edition of The High Bar — the only episode not to be shot at an actual bar! Even without the proper backdrop or the liquid courage on tap, our talk of trust and loyalty seemed to intoxicate the actor without any of the nasty side-effects.

I do hope we may welcome Mr. Oldman back when he has more time to visit and we have a bottle to share.

When uttered by mayors and developers, “urban planning” often has all the integrity of a Kardashian wedding vow. I do. We do. Uh-huh. Yes, some cities get it right. Portland, Oregon seems to have a plan and New York City’s conceptual approach is only getting better. In Gary Hustwit‘s URBANIZED, a few of the more successful urban plans are celebrated along with their proponents, such as Enrique Penalosa (the former mayor of Bogota) and Alejandro Aravena (of Elemental). The latter has made great strides with ingenious lower-income housing which allows residents to assist in designing their own spaces. The former can trumpet his oversight of initial construction of the Colombian city’s mass transit system (TransMilenio) and the reconceptualizing of road usage, prioritizing pedestrian and pedal traffic. The documentary also explores the challenges facing urban planners including environmentalists, politicians, corporate titans and wannabe McMansion-owners. If you didn’t already know or suspect, there are many conflicting views about how best to serve and preserve urban communities which are stunningly exemplified by a climactic(?) battle in Stuttgart over the future of a high-speed train line and the jeopardized existence of a landmark terminal and its neighboring trees. Frighteningly and inspirationally, the German fall looks a lot like the Arab Spring. Of course, the subjects who come off best (and best-dressed!) during this building crisis of conscience — or, conscious crisis of building — are, of course, the architects. These richly bespectacled gents can crow loudly and proudly about their prominent erections, withdrawing prematurely before concerning themselves with their partners’ satisfaction.

Norman Foster appears in URBANIZED and is also the star of the recent hagio-documentary, HOW MUCH DOES YOUR BUILDING WEIGH, MR. FOSTER?  Written and narrated by Deyan Sudjic — apparently, a critic in name only — the voice-over is so sycophantical I swore I was listening to James Lipton laud the early work of Chris Kattan. The film is a comely bit of archi-porn. And, like most porn…  

Sorry, Kindle. Sorry, iBooks. Sorry, Nook. Your systems may be great, in theory, for storing and traveling with texts, but I remain devoted to the tangible pleasures of holding books, leafing through them and returning to my favorites as mood and magic prompt me. When visiting friends and neighbors, I am quick to examine their shelves to determine the breadth of their interests, the depths of their passions. “There is nothing quite like a real book,” is the conclusive statement of this absolutely charming animated tribute to published works and I couldn’t agree more. I just pray we don’t lose these treasures as collateral damage of the digital revolution. There is legitimate cause for such concern: major music labels are abandoning cds and Panavision and Arriflex have announced they will no longer manufacture moving film cameras. Bookstores are disappearing faster than executives willing to assume accountability at British Petroleum. So, please, support your local, independent booksellers. Without them, worlds of knowledge and imagination may someday be lost to unpredictable power outages and unmanageable magnetic surges with no regard to the simple, solitary ecstasy one can derive from hefting an unknown book, weighing all of its possibilities and promise, and committing to it as reader and new-found friend.

What do YOU think?

Bonus: Here’s a link to another great animated short for bibliophiles, To Die By Your Side, a collaboration pairing filmmaker Spike Jonze and handbag designer Olympia Le-Tan. Be forewarned that the piece is not exactly family-friendly, so unless you care to have some ‘splainin’ to do, you may wish to keep the skeleton-on-skeleton action to yourself.

(Thanks to Thinking Caveman for sharing this YouTube link.)

Follow Joe Cocker’s sage advice. Leave it on. Please. I love hats. Bonnets. Fedoras. Sombreros. You name it. If it sits on a head, I’m a fan. I believe that everyone looks ten times better in a hat, witness Jake Gyllenhaal to the right. Sadly, I am the exception that proves the rule: me. My noggin is just too large. As my friend(?), Kevin Rexroat has explained to me, “Warren, your head is shaped like the box a head would come in.” But even that spot-on gibe can’t bring me down today, January 15th, which, as you all probably know, is National Hat Day. To celebrate, I urge you to provide a picture or link of your favorite hats from the movies or off-screen. There will be no prizes awarded, just the shared joy of well-covered celebrity craniums. Later, I’ll determine if you have altered my top pick, Number One with a Bucket, if you will. (I’ll reveal my selection this Wednesday, January 18th.)