CAN I HAVE A WORD?

ONLY YOU

2011-10-10T21:35:00.000-07:00

I wrote and directed my first short film, ONLY YOU, a little over a year ago with the help and generosity of several awesomely talented people. All issues I have with the film aside, I'm pretty proud of what we were able to accomplish. Here's the link to the film on YouTube, if you're interested in checking it out (be sure to click the HD option).

JOLI A PARIS

2011-08-29T13:00:00.001-07:00

A MOVEABLE FEAST

2011-08-26T14:23:00.000-07:00

When I had finished the book I knew that no matter what Scott did, nor how he behaved, I must know it was like a sickness and be of any help I could to him and try to be a good friend. He had many good, good friends, more than anyone I knew. But I enlisted as one more, whether I could be of any use to him or not. If he could write a book as fine as "The Great Gatsby" I was sure that he could write an even better one. I did not know Zelda yet, and so I did not know the terrible odds that were against him. But we were to find them out soon enough.

THE MOVIE PLAYLIST

2011-08-11T14:18:00.000-07:00

I've been watching a ton of romantic comedies lately... all in the name of "research."

Here's a quick list of stuff I've been (re)watching in recent weeks:

His Girl Friday (Dir: H. Hawks)
Monkey Business (Dir: H. Hawks)
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Dir: H. Hawks)
The Apartment (Dir: B. Wilder)
Kiss Me, Stupid (Dir: B. Wilder)
Send Me No Flowers (Dir: N. Jewison)
Pillow Talk (Dir: M. Gordon)
Harold and Maude (Dir: H. Ashby)
Annie Hall (Dir. Woody Allen)
Manhattan (Dir. Woody Allen)
Melinda and Melinda (Dir: Woody Allen)
Ceremony (Dir: M. Winkler)
Night on Earth (Dir: J. Jarmusch)
Notting Hill (Dir: R. Michell)
Love, Actually (Dir: R. Curtis)
Four Weddings and a Funeral (Dir: M. Newell)
The Romantics (Dir: G. Niederhoffer)
Chasing Amy (Dir: K. Smith)
Punch-Drunk Love (Dir: P.T. Anderson)

MORE WRITING MUSIC

2011-08-07T14:19:00.000-07:00

A couple other songs on the current soundtrack...

SAVE THE DATE

2011-08-06T00:31:00.000-07:00

These songs have been on constant rotation lately as I work on my latest project. I'll give you three guesses as to what I'm writing based on these videos.

PROLOGUE

2011-06-21T14:42:00.001-07:00

What he loved most about San Francisco was that it had neither the magnitude of Manhattan nor the glamour of Los Angeles. Having spent significant parts of his life in all three, there was something about The City that consistently enchanted his head – and more so his heart – with aches of romantic longing.

Manhattan was the favored older brother; who went to Harvard, became a stockbroker and got rich. Los Angeles; the popular, pretty little sister that ran away from home to become an actress. This made San Francisco the perennially-ignored middle child, always content to let her siblings steal her proverbial shine. This is, he concluded, why San Franciscans loved The City so obsessively. Perhaps obnoxiously. They all at some point in their lives, he imagined, carried the pang of neglect around their shoulders like a satchel full of two-leaf clovers.

But more than that, San Francisco was, to him, an elusive lover, reluctant to reveal her secrets to just anybody. Sure she had her obvious charms, the public smile she showed the world. But to truly know her, you had to live with her. You had to earn each and every little part of herself she chose to share with you. And while even he admitted how over-bearing and infuriating she could be, he realized the moment she got under his skin… the moment he began to not just tolerate, but cherish, her quirky mannerisms and eclectic tastes… the moment he realized he had fallen for her… was the same moment he knew he would never love any other place quite the same way.

LAST TRAIN HOME

2011-03-07T12:24:00.000-08:00

Last Train Home - (dir. Lixin Fan)

I’m typically not a very avid documentary watcher. Even though I’ve seen many fantastic docs over the years (Hoop Dreams immediately comes to mind), it usually takes immense fascination in the subject or the involvement of a filmmaker I already like to get me interested in seeing one. 

I’d been meaning to see Lixin Fan’s doc Last Train Home, about migrant workers in China, since I began reading good reviews about it at last year’s SF Asian Film Fest. 

Long story short, it's the most gorgeously shot, yet heartbreakingly sad doc I’ve seen in a long, long time. And had I seen this when it came out last year, it would’ve easily placed in my top five films of 2010; it’s that rewarding of an hour and a half. Between Last Train Home and Exit Through the Gift Shop (which I’ve also seen recently and thoroughly enjoyed), perhaps I’m a bigger fan of docs than I realize. 

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

FIRST FILMS

2011-02-11T12:07:00.000-08:00

A filmmaker buddy and I were commiserating the other day about the often demoralizing feeling of watching really really really good debut films. Filmmaking, in general, is a tough endeavor no matter how many times you’ve done it. But the process of translating a fully developed story on paper into a visually assured and realized feature film for the first time is, I think, probably more daunting than I can imagine; which is why it boggles my mind when I see a first time filmmaker pull it off spectacularly. 

Some of my favorite debut features include...

Mean Streets - Scorsese is a filmmaking deity, but it’s weird to see how little of his trademark aesthetic is visible in his first film. But the one thing this movie has in common with the rest of his filmmography is the raw or visceral reaction it provokes. At least for me. 

Hard Eight - Others disagree with me on this one but I have a soft spot for Paul Thomas Anderson’s first film. 

Night of the Hunter - Charles Laughton made only one film. And it’s a freaking masterpiece.  I was floored the first time I saw it on the big screen and it makes me sad because I don’t know that I’d ever have the vision to do what he did with his sole directorial effort.

Breathless -  I’m often puzzled by Godard, but his debut film is my second favorite film from the French New Wave. 

Some debut features that I like, but don’t necessarily love, include...

Following - Chris Nolan’s first film is undeniably Nolan. It’s actually a really impressive debut, especially when you consider how long it took him to get it made. 

Barking Dogs Never Bite - Bong Joon Ho’s first film definitely has some of the weirdly wonderful tics that make his films so difficult to categorize. 

Bottle Rocket - Clearly made before Wes Anderson discovered corduroy, his first film is super charming and likable. 

Blood Simple - Creepy, dark and weirdly funny in some spots. The Coen Brother’s first might actually belong in the first grouping.

Not all of my favorite filmmakers struck gold their first time out. Some that I just can’t muster up any enthusiasm for (despite the fact that I’d watch anything they came out with now) include...

What’s Up Tiger Lily? - From everything I’ve read, Woody Allen hates his first film even more than I do. 

As Tears Go By - I love Wong Kar Wai to death... so I often pretend his directorial career began with Days of Being Wild and not this.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

FRAME OF THE DAY

2011-02-01T11:14:00.000-08:00

So here we go.

FRAME OF THE DAY

2011-01-27T13:25:00.000-08:00

That tears it.

TEN FILMS FROM 2010

2010-12-17T15:17:00.000-08:00

I haven’t seen as many movies this year as I would’ve liked, but of those I did see, the following were my ten favorite:

Mother
A Prophet
Tokyo Sonata
Winter’s Bone
Kick Ass
Shutter Island
A Serious Man
Social Network
Au Revoir Taipei
Inception

How’s that for variety?

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

FIVE THOUGHTS

2010-12-03T14:59:00.000-08:00

1.    I saw this post on one of my favorite blogs highlighting 25 iconic dance sequences from cinema history earlier today. It made me happy. Any list that can combine Woody Allen, Wong Kar Wai, Gene Kelly and still somehow include the phenomenal ending to ‘Before Sunset’ is alright in my book. Which reminds me that ‘Love And Other Drugs’ is exactly the kind of shallow Hollywood crap that bums me out as a film-goer.

The Playlist's 25 Iconic Cinematic Dance Sequences

By the way, here's one of my personal favorites, not on the list...

2.    My buddy, Arvin, wrote a funny post on his blog about one of my personal obsessions: films set in San Francisco. I couldn’t agree with him more that “So I Married An Axe Murderer” is underrated – but I may never forgive him for leaving off such classics as “Pacific Heights” (starring Michael Keaton at his creepiest), “The Joy Luck Club” (or as I call it, the brand that launched a million interracial marriages) and “The Wedding Planner.” That he doesn’t even have a special, honorable mention category highlighting any one of the several Reese Witherspoon romcoms or Ashley Judd thrillers shot in my favorite city is a disgrace.  

Filming People Is Easy - Bay Area Films

    Was I the only one who felt – upon hearing all the buzz about an earth-shattering NASA discovery regarding extra-terrestrial life earlier this week - like he was left with scientific blue balls after the actual NASA announcement? Then again, I’m the guy who watches “Ancient Aliens” on The History Channel.

    My Golden State are terrible. Frustrating to watch and terrible. I was able to ignore it during the Giants’ miracle World Series run but I can’t anymore. Not when we lose to the likes of Memphis and Phoenix (two teams we HAVE to be able to beat). Ugh.

    Even though you've probably already seen this elsewhere, I felt like posting this. Just because I laughed. Repeatedly.

MEGAN & RAY

2010-11-18T10:34:00.000-08:00

My buddy Ray was my first professional mentor as I came out of college and entered the corporate rank and file. After we went our separate ways professionally, our relationship evolved to a place where the fact that we were former work associates came secondary to the simple matter that he was now one of my closest friends. Indeed, Ray was a witness (and sometimes participant) during many of the defining moments of my 20s -- always available to offer calm wisdom and cool insight when wisdom and insight were in short personal supply. The dude has been a source of inspiration to me for years. 

He and his then-fiancee/now-wife Megan capped off an eventful two years (2/3 of which was spent traversing the globe like a couple of Amazing Racers... you can see the highlights of their adventures at TALES FROM 30B) by getting married in an awesome ceremony by the shores of Lake Tahoe last August. Of course, I had my Flip camera handy. So of course, I made a wedding video. I hope this serves as a nice little memento of a really wonderful day for Ray and Megan -- despite the embarrassing, champagne-addled camerawork on display.

Congratulations, again guys!

Megan & Ray from Ken Cheng on Vimeo.
August 22, 2010 - Lake Tahoe, CA

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

SAN FRANCISCO PRIDE

2010-11-03T20:49:00.000-07:00

A full two days later, I remain utterly awestruck by the notion that the San Francisco Giants, a team I’ve followed, to varying degrees of intensity and - um - lunacy, for the better part of twenty three years, a team whose meager successes and (quite literally) earth-shattering failures over the years have absolutely wrecked me, can finally call themselves World Champions. Look I am fully aware how preposterous it seems for a grown adult to so passionately concern himself with the ups and downs of multi-millionaire strangers playing a kid’s game for a living, especially when so many other things in the world could use as much if not more attention. But the things that matter to us are, ultimately, merely representative of what truly matter to us. And what matters to me about the San Francisco Giants winning the World Series is what my love affair with this team represents. My memories. Many memories. Awesome memories. 

Memories of my Mom. 

Though the narrative of baseball is one typically shared by fathers and sons, my earliest memories of Giants fandom - the memories that ingrained within me my love of this team - will always be those shared with my Mom, as understated a Giants fanatic as there is. Whether it was her constant listening of Giants radio broadcasts - the voices of Lon Simmons, Jon Miller, Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow were as much a part of the soundtrack of my adolescence as New Order and Boyz II Men - or our spontaneous, scalper-assisted trips to first Candlestick and then the baseball temple (perhaps my favorite location in the city) that will forever be known in my heart as Pac Bell Park, the Giants were always around to be an easy topic of conversation between us when easy topics of conversation were otherwise difficult to find. 

My Mom’s love of the Giants elevated my then simple affection for baseball - seeded by hours of backyard games of pitcher/catcher and shortstop drills with my brothers - into full-on, unrequited devotion for this team. Her team. I called my Mom overseas a minute or two after Brian Wilson recorded the final, Championship-winning, strikeout and nearly broke into full-on waterworks when I heard her voice begin to crack from joyful excitement. Her team had just won the World Series.

Memories of falling in love. 

In my early twenties, my affection for Giants baseball (not to mention Warriors basketball and Niners football) coalesced with a gradual realization that I was unequivocally, unambiguously and unmistakably in love with the city of San Francisco. It’s not an uncommon sentiment among those who have had the good fortune to live within the seven by seven. Indeed, the romance of experiencing life in “The City,” with its hills and fog and nightlife and people, is largely what makes the city so romantic in the first place. And that’s the beautiful bond shared by San Franciscans, both native and transplanted: a nostalgic, sometimes-irrational and often-annoying-to-others fondness for their city. An unwavering pride in the letters “S” and “F.” That’s what I’ve been most moved by over the last several weeks watching my Giants roll through Atlanta, Philadelphia and finally Texas. 

And because I now have to experience all of this vicariously... witnessing the love-fest from afar... the feelings of pride and joy and, yes, longing become all the more potent. The yearning to be there, to live it first hand, aching. So when I see 43,000 people proudly wearing the letters “SF” in our stadium, singing along to a sappy song about San Francisco with a bug-nuts Steve Perry, I feel absolutely zero need to justify my overwhelming desire to sing with them. Because I know the goosebumps I get watching the shaky camera phone footage on YouTube a day later are the same goosebumps they must’ve felt being there. And because I know the sheer act of singing along is just as much an expression of undying attachment to our city as it is to the baseball team that represents it. And just won a World freaking Championship for it. For our city.

God, I love San Francisco.

Ken Cheng

San Francisco-in-my-heart

ONLY YOU (Trailer)

2010-10-26T11:14:00.000-07:00

So some of you may remember that earlier this year, I made a short film called “Only You.” Updates on it have been light over the last few months because, frankly, finishing it took longer than I could have ever expected. My respect for the post-production process has been totally re-affirmed, if not bolstered.

That said; the film is done! Finally!

I’m looking into options right now so I can screen it properly (i.e. on a big screen) for family and friends in the coming weeks so stay tuned for information on that. In the meantime, we’ve cut a trailer for the film that you can see (in HD) here:

In other news, MY GIANTS ARE IN THE WORLD SERIES!

I can’t really articulate the exact levels of stress, tension and jubilation I’ve experienced over the last several weeks (hell, months!) watching them play (though my Twitter feed can probably give you a decent idea). Anyone that knows me knows how irrationally invested I am in the highs and lows of Bay Area professional sports teams. But the Giants strike an especially severe emotional chord with me - as some of you may remember my explaining their place in my Bad Day Hall Of Fame. I’m not even going to try to describe how nervous I am for Games 1 and 2 in San Francisco this week other than to say it is very likely I’ll either be balled up in the fetal position in a dark corner of my apartment by week’s end, or just flat out comatose. My Giants will decide which.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

JANINE & RAY: THE BIG SHOW

2010-10-11T13:15:00.000-07:00

It's hard to describe the feeling of seeing one of your siblings get married; to revel with family and friends you don't normally get to see (or in one case, meet) except in cases such as this. 

I had such a great time, it gave me yet another reason to be thankful I grew up with three brothers. 

Thanks to everyone who attended and helped make my brother and (now) sister's big day such a fantastic show. Here's the final video to help you remember that day.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

JANINE & RAY: THE REHEARSAL DINNER

2010-10-07T11:48:00.000-07:00

Site redesign! 

I know, I know. I've been horrendous with updates over the last few months. Apparently, the only thing that can get me to post these days is a wedding video...

.... umm....

So yeah, here's a new wedding video! A couple of weeks ago, my eldest brother, Ray, married his fiancee, Janine, in Sonoma. Ray is the first of my brothers to get married and so, as anyone who knows my family can imagine, there was a ton of wine involved. And reunions. And good times. This is the first of two videos I put together to commemorate that lovely weekend.

Congratulations Ray and Janine! Hope you guys like it.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

JENNY & ANDY

2010-07-26T11:26:00.000-07:00

In mid-May, I had the good fortune of attending the wedding of two very cool and lovely people; the now Mr. and Mrs. Andy and Jennifer Park in Palo Alto, CA. Since I happened to have my handy Flip camera with me that weekend, I managed to shoot some footage of the proceedings - starting with the rehearsal the day before the festivities up until the big day itself.

In any case, I put together a quick little video for Jenny and Andy and it's now here for your schmaltzy viewing pleasure.

Jenny + Andy: Thanks again for having me there on your big day. I hope you guys enjoy this little trip back through memory lane.

Jenny & Andy A Wedding To Remember from Ken Cheng on Vimeo.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ALFRED + MARK'S BDAY BONANZA

2010-06-17T11:16:00.001-07:00

I was commissioned to make a trailer for my idiot friends' joint birthday party coming up in about a month. Here it is... all irony absolutely intended.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ONLY YOU - OUR POSTER

2010-06-10T16:22:00.000-07:00

Pretty short update today; but wanted to post a first look at the poster for our short film "ONLY YOU." I think it's a pretty great representation of our film and captures a lot of the mood, emotion and subtleties that we were trying to express with the film.

Thanks again to Brandon Schaefer for the wonderful design and Joy Dai, whose photography served as the basis for the poster.

Would love to hear what you guys think!

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 219: AN UPDATE ON STUFF

2010-05-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

As regular visitors of the blog can attest: I’ve been super neglectful of updates the last couple months. Without delving into 500 words worth of excuses, let me simply say that other priorities have surpassed blog writing in daily mindshare. But with that said, I thought I’d take a moment or two to update you guys on a few things that have been going on lately:

‘Only You’ -

Some of you guys have asked me what the latest is on the short film. Well, our editor Carlos and I have been going back and forth cutting the film for the past month and a half in order to get it ready for film festival submissions. Guess what? The first submission deadline arrives this week. Needless to say, we’re cranking to get a good rough cut done in time. I think we’re almost there. It’s been exciting to experience the filmmaking process again -- and I really hope we get into some great festivals so we can share the film with others. I’m pretty proud of the work we’ve all done on this short and hopefully, you guys will enjoy it too when you see it.

A parting note...

In the meantime, the amazing graphic designer Brandon Schaefer (whose website you can check out HERE) has agreed to help us by designing our poster. I’m pretty thrilled about this as I’m a big fan of Brandon’s work (I first saw his stuff when it was featured on GQ Magazine’s website). If you like vintage/retro style artwork, do yourself a favor and check out Brandon’s stuff; his alternate movie posters in particular are great. This one's among my favorites...

"Le Samourai"

Design by Brandon Schaefer

Hyphen Magazine Article -

I never know when/where blog readers and Facebook friends converge so for those of you who’ve already seen me post this link before, apologies. I made my hotly anticipated return to journalism a few weeks ago with a profile I wrote for Hyphen Magazine about a buddy of mine named Arvin Chen. Arvin is a filmmaker based out of Taiwan who premiered his feature directorial debut “Au Revoir Taipei” at the Berlin Film Festival to glowing reviews.

Arvin Chen on the set of "Au Revoir Taipei"

photo courtesy of Arvin Chen

If you haven’t seen the film, you can check out the trailer below before giving the profile a read. Hopefully it’ll give you some insight into the personality of a pretty talented guy.

Moved in -

You might remember from a few posts ago that I was moving into a new apartment. Well, that happened earlier this month. I’m now officially a loft-dweller; having moved into a really nice, open, but sectioned-off, space in Little Tokyo. The ceilings are high, the walls are scarce and the floor is wooden. What else can I ask for? Oh, that’s right... an awesome roommate. Good thing I’ve got that too. So far, I’ve continued my long tradition of keeping my home relatively minimalist in interior design and decor (which is really just an expression of my utter laziness and frugality), but I have a feeling that might change this go around. Already there are five tiny potted plants (basil, oregano, rosemary and two others I don’t know) sitting on the porch window just hoping to grow to life. This, my friends, is what you call good times.

The basil's in the lead...

So that’s what’s been going on with me. Well that and the, you know, whole screenwriting thing. I’ve been pushing hard on two projects in particular and I’m trying to write faster than I’ve ever written before. I suppose that’s what actually having someone waiting for you to finish does to your writing process. But it’s a good thing. There are other potentially cool things coming down the pike so I may have more updates coming soon. But until then, thanks for reading and stopping by. I’m pretty sure I’m going back to a more regular update schedule shortly. But as they say: “promises, promises.”

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 218: AN AWARDS SHOW DIARY

2010-05-11T11:59:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me as I was sitting inside the Aratani Theater last week, waiting for my name to be called, that I was one of only a handful of men in attendance not wearing a blazer or tie. Some were decked out in full-on, tailored suits. Others were working the California professional look: a suit with no tie. The women there were equally studded out - all cocktail dresses and heels. Me? I had on a blue tshirt, a checkered button down over it and the usual Chucks to go with my khaki pants. See I had just gotten out of the shower fifteen minutes before hastily racing over to the theater (two blocks away from my apartment), so I hadn’t really put much thought into what I was going to wear. This would also explain why my product-less head appeared similar to that of a baby chicken. Now normally, my extra casual appearance wouldn’t be strange or noteworthy. But as I happened to be one of maybe forty people sitting in that theater as invited nominees for the LA Asian Pacific Film Festival’s Jury Awards presentation, I felt a slight twinge of guilt for not being more suitably dressed. Good thing I kept a running diary of the night so you all could experience the event with me.

5:15PM - I’m technically 15 minutes late, but since this is an Asian-themed event, I end up arriving 15 minutes early.

5:20PM - Being that I don’t know anyone here, I pick a table full of strangers in which to sit and introduce myself before devouring a plate of hand-picked buffet foods. It turns out I’m sitting at the same table as one of the judges for the category for which I was nominated: best short film script. Also sitting next to me is one of my two fellow finalists. Both seem exceedingly pleasant.

5:22PM - I scan the crowd in between mouthfuls of tuna tartar and notice there are some creative-looking people in the house. One guy is dressed like Jean Luc Goddard. Another has one of those outfits on you only see in LA; with a fedora, sunglasses, v-neck tshirt, blazer and - for reasons unknown to me since it’s 80 degrees out - a scarf around his neck. I’m feeling like more and more of a scrub by the minute and I haven’t even found out whether I’ve won or lost yet.

5:30PM - Finally, someone I know arrives and sits at my table. Karin - an actress friend - greets me with a hug before asking me why my head looks “fuzzy.” I thank her for her comment and ask how her day has been as well before informing her that my $8 barber took a little more off than I had asked.

5:45PM - The judge at my table asks me which script I wrote, followed by my telling him the title. He doesn’t seem to remember it right off the bat. I give him some general descriptions of the script - the main character, the setting. “Oh yeah... yeah I remember it now, “ he says. “It was good! It was the one where the woman follows the bus, right?” I nod my head “yes” even though there is actually no bus involved in my script. “He got the gist,” I figured. No need to over correct him.

5:46PM - I take it as a bad sign for my chances of winning that the judge has zero-to-little recollection of my script.

5:55PM - Karin and I discuss a script I wrote a year or so ago that she read. It turns out she really had an issue with a particular piece of monologue I wrote for one of the supplementary characters. Funnily enough, I add, I had an issue with the entire script.

6:00PM - As I work on my third plate of california rolls and tuna tartar, one of the heads of Visual Communications - the organization behind the festival and awards - goes up to the podium to inform us that we’re running a little behind and that the awards will begin shortly. The program said awards would be presented at 5:30. I love Asian time.

6:10PM - The head of the organization calls up two of the judges for my category. Turns out ours is going to be the first award presented. My tablemate heads up to the podium to join his fellow judge - the actress who played Daniel-san’s Okinawan girlfriend in “The Karate Kid II.” I immediately become excited by the notion of accepting an award from one of my original movie crushes. Though she must be in her mid-to-late forties by now, she still looks extremely attractive.

6:11PM - It turns out I didn’t have to wait very long as mine is the first name called up to the podium. Too bad they’re announcing recipients in reverse order and my award was for first runner up. My affection towards the woman who shall always be known to me as “Kumiko” turns to scorn faster than a Laker fan jumping on the bandwagon.

6:12PM - I make my way up to the podium to receive my award with a big smile on my face. It’s possible this smile is utterly manufactured at the moment. I thank the judges and crack a joke with them about my excitement over 1st runner up status; or as I like to call it: “2nd loser.” Either they do not hear the joke or they do not find it particularly funny. I can’t really tell because their faces register about as much delight over it as a traffic accident witness. I turn to the crowd, smile and quickly showcase the 20lb prize bag I’ve just won. I have no idea what could possibly be in this bag but I’m guessing it isn’t women’s toiletry products and a bunch of random office supplies.

6:13PM - I was wrong. I sit down, open the bag and find that women’s toiletry products and random office supplies are exactly what await me in my prize bag. It is right about this time that I wonder to myself whether anyone would find it rude if I quietly made my way out of the theater like the sorest loser in the history of defeat.

6:15PM - “I’m such a dick,” I think to myself before deciding I’m going to stop being a lousy ingrate , sit in this theater and watch and applaud everyone accept their awards like a proud and civil member of the Asian American entertainment community. Good times.

Thanks to Visual Communications and MAPID for the first runner up award! Honestly, I make the joke but I really am grateful just to be nominated. Looking forward to winning the award - along with a few others - next year.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 217: NOMAD

2010-04-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

Next week, I’ll be moving into my third apartment in just over 27 months. This probably seems, to most, wholly unremarkable. After all, you might say, people move all the time. My soon to be ex-roommate, for example, will be moving into this 9th apartment in 9 years. Now giant, flesh-eating, robot, dinosaurs tromping down the 405, you could counter, would be remarkable. And, well yes... this would be true: people do move all the time and large mechanized reptiles would be pretty awesome. But give me a chance here. See, moving is one of those life events that double as contextual milestones in our life’s narratives, especially during the “in your 20s” chapters. And the older we get, the less frequently this specific sort of chapter break occurs. Unless, of course, you happen to still be a nascent artiste in which case, this could be a benchmark that recurs over many more years or decades to come.

I suppose that’s how I’m framing this upcoming move at the moment. Before I got to LA, I lived in the same apartment in San Francisco for over 5 years. Before that, I lived in my family home for close to 12. Point is, I didn’t move a lot in my earlier days; which is, I think, why the semi-nomadic transience that has marked my LA experience thus far still feels foreign to me.

Close friends of similar age have, in the last couple years, gotten married, had kids and bought homes. Each of these are, by most standards, fairly momentous and expected landmarks on the journey to adulthood; landmarks that seem - at least for now - fairly distant on my own personal roadmap. Well, at least two of the three that is. Seeing the years flash by me and knowing I’m not yet in a position to do what I may have once thought I’d do (i.e. be married by 31, living in my own house by 32 and tossing a football with my son by 35) has caused me to question my commitment to this dream on more than a handful of occasions.

“How long can I keep floating? From moving from one rented apartment to another?” I’ve asked myself. The answer to these questions, I realize, are as murky as a leasing manager’s security deposit return policy. Because I have no idea what the next four months has in store, much less the next four years. Such is the risk when you remove the ceiling that often comes with stability and predictability; a possibility of greater highs to balance the ever real possibility of disastrous lows. Nomad indeed. On the bright side, moving around will definitely make it more difficult for those giant, flesh-eating, robot killers to find me.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 216: ANTICIPATION & SURPRISES

2010-04-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

There are times when even inevitable moments - those that are expected and can be planned for - seem somehow surprising. Affecting. I suppose it’s a matter of anticipation; or more accurately how much anticipation you bring with you into such instances. The funny thing is that we all know intellectually that this kind of expectancy is merely the melodramatic byproduct of nostalgia mixed with a totally unfounded overconfidence in your own clairvoyance. And yet we stubbornly, perhaps instinctually, choose to forget this; over and over and over again. This is, I suppose, what makes the surprise in these aforementioned occasions that much more pleasurable to absorb. Because the thing that ends up catching you off guard? The thing that quietly astounds you by virtue of the fact that it’s happening before your eyes? It’s rarely the thing you were dreading, fearing and predicting to begin with.

For three years, I carried this strange apprehension with me over what seemed to be a near certainty; a likely to be awkward, face to face, reunion with a past I’ve both over romanticized and under appreciated. Heck, anyone that has read this blog with any sort of regularity knows what I’m talking about. And while the last couple years (and the life I’ve managed to find for myself in that time) did much to reduce that apprehension to little more than an infrequent afterthought; it would be dishonest to say that I didn’t feel a bothersome trepidation the minute that reunion was finally given a time, place and date to think about in advance.

But then it occurred to me: the tension that had colored my last year in San Francisco and served as such potent creative inspiration during my first year in LA had evolved. I realized my angst now materialized less from how I might react - how I might feel - when the time finally arrived and more from how the person who has come to embody all that I cherish in my life might react and feel. The fear that once caused me such distress (namely that a sudden wave of unresolved feelings might somehow wash over me at the moment of truth like some illogically maudlin tsunami) had, at some point, transformed into anxiety that SHE might think that such a thing was even possible. I worried that the wrong reaction on my part to an encounter with a past I’ve told her so much about might inadvertently cause her to question my true feelings for her; a reasonable and valid concern were it not absolutely and unequivocally impossible.

The moment arrived five days ago.

And when we finally came upon the climax of this drama I’d been acting out in my imagination for three years? When the girl whose brief but important impact on my earlier life waved to me from across the patio, prompting us to awkwardly make our way towards each other to say hello? Well, she was definitely with him. But I was not with Mark. There was no pretense that a handshake would have ever sufficed for such an occasion and we greeted each other with the hug the moment deserved. And you know what? She did look fantastic. She did still have the same knockout smile she’s always had. But I didn’t mumble anything incoherent. Nor did that smile cause me to nervously bite my lip as it first did four years ago. Whatever nerve-induced discomfort either of us felt at the onset seemed to quickly vanish as the four of us - she and him, her and I - conversed and caught up pleasantly like normal humans as opposed to the movie characters I might’ve once imagined. And at the end of the night, I did walk away grateful - both to her and to fate - for the way things turned out three years ago. Because I would gladly relive the hurt that once compelled me to write a letter left unsent in order to have the life I now live with a woman whose warmth, sincerity and class never fails to surprise me despite the utter predictability of each. Maybe this is why of the many images I’ll remember of the night, the one that seemed most reasonable - if not supremely weird - was the one I could neither dread, fear or predict to begin with: the sight of these two wonderful women dancing, frolicking and celebrating the wedding of good friends, in the company of good friends... with each other.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 215: WRAPPED

2010-03-17T16:43:00.000-07:00

We began photography on ONLY YOU last Friday afternoon. Now this did not seem particularly strange to me until I heard Willis - our film’s co-Producer and 1st AD - announce at the tender hour of 4:30 Monday morning - that we had - at even longer last than any of the cast, crew and assorted vagrants idling by our Little Tokyo set could possibly imagine - arrived at our final shot of the production. It was right about this time, or perhaps a few seconds after, that I realized I was now - as my good friend put it - “all in.” Once this final shot was in the can, there’d be no going back. I would - for better or worse - officially be a filmmaker. What kind of filmmaker? Well...

Here’s the thing about following a dream: the longer it remains a destination on the horizon, the safer it feels. It’s similar to shooting three hundred free throws and dribbling the basketball for an hour everyday in the hopes of one day playing in the NBA. It’s terrific pratice... but the stakes are relatively low. Until you step foot on the court and play a real game against live competition, you have no way of knowing how good or bad you actually are; whether the practice time you’ve invested has meant anything more than wish fulfillment. This is, I think, why many people never fully chase after the dreams they’ve carried with them throughout their lifetimes. It’s too scary. Not the actual process, mind you, though that is certainly frightening by itself. I don’t think it’s a fear of the instability or sacrifice that chasing dreams often demand that dissuades people. I think it’s the fear of discovering that maybe, you just aren’t good enough to do what you wish you can do.

That was the thought running through my mind as I hollered “CUT” one final time. That and complete and utter relief that we managed to get our final shot in before the sun came out. Then it dawned on me. I want this. I've always tried to not capitulate out of fear; to convince myself that I WANT the pressure of taking the last shot or of getting in front of a crowded room to speak... of being the one to go first. I've done it enough times now that I even feel I've become rather good at it. And filmmaking is just another circumstance in which I have to step up. Only with this, no convincing is necessary.

As I told my good friend who happened to be with me during most of the shoot the other day, I have no clue whether this film we’ve just made is going to be great, terrible or simply and depressingly mediocre. Obviously, I’m hoping it’s neither of the latter two options, but ultimately, it’ll be up to the people who watch it to determine whether or not the film - and my transformation into an actual filmmaker - was successful. I had a fantastic time shooting the film and was so amazed that so many wonderful and talented people put in the time, effort and hours to help make my crazy little ideas into actual cinema. To say I felt blessed would have been an understatement. But we're not done. We’ve still got quite a lot of post-production tasks ahead of us... from editing, to color-timing, to sound mixing. We’re at half-time right now and there’s no way I’m not going to finish the game... stat line be damned. I’m all in. Time to get back to work.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 214: OUTLOOK, BUZZ AND GEEKINESS

2010-02-17T11:16:00.000-08:00

Every time I see a headline about a social media company or application in the news, I can’t help but feel a slight tingle run up my spine. Regular readers already know I’m a bit of a geek when it comes to digital media and other such forms of online entertainment -- as it remains my unequivocal belief that any technology that helps global interconnectivity by bridging social and cultural gaps can’t be all bad. This morning, I read that Microsoft has released a beta version of its Outlook Social Connect featuring direct integration of LinkedIn, MySpace and Facebook into one’s MS Office and Outlook programs. This comes, of course, a few weeks after Google made its social media app Buzz all public like. Now some might be concerned that the greatest time sucks in the history of work inefficiency have all seemingly been joined together like some unholy Transformer. But me? I couldn’t be more thrilled.

In fact, it begs the question why Microsoft chose to focus on a MySpace integration when Twitter would have been much more relevant to our times. Of course, I am biased towards Twitter considering both my marketing and journalism backgrounds, but I suppose I should just be happy a company with as wide a reach as Microsoft has finally seen the value in consolidating the many social media networks its end users employ on a daily basis into one of its core products. I abandoned Outlook as a defacto program - despite its still formidable ubiquity - when I felt it slipping further and further into technological obscurity. Now? Perhaps I need to reassess its usefulness.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to keep an eye on Google Buzz if only to see whether it can make a dent into Twitter’s growing choke hold on real-time news distribution by leveraging its mass Gmail userbase. Already it’s a got a great thing going for it in its ability to siphon and repackage one’s Twitter output - even if the delay sort of defeats the tweet’s real time immediacy. I’m sure Google is working on a way - with or without Twitter’s help - to reduce that drag time and it’ll be interesting to see just how Twitter responds to the allmighty G’s intrusion into its 140-character limited domain. Whatever happens, you can color me intrigued. Now, off to download the new Outlook plugin!

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 4/SCENE 212: TAIPEI 101

2010-02-04T09:50:00.000-08:00

The sight of Taipei’s buildings - compressed upon one another and held together by cables and wires like so many stacked Bekins boxes, bejeweled in equal proportions by cold fluorescent neon and characters from a 5,000 year old language - would have likely seemed more startling to me had I not already formed such a precise picture of the city from the fragmented jigsaw pieces of 20-year old memories and scenes from assorted art films. Sitting in the taxi’s front passenger seat as we drove into the city on a playfully damp Thursday night, my head felt as if it were connected to a particularly promiscuous swivel, my eyes repeatedly panning left to right, right to left, up and down in order to take in the sight of this city I’ve come to fancy - quite irrationally - through the wholly vicarious avenues of cinema and second hand stories.

My weird affinity with this city that, until tonight, I hadn’t stepped foot in since I was a slightly buck toothed, blue blazer sporting rug rat has less to do, I think, with tangible peculiarities than romantic imaginings. Sure I have people of Taiwanese origin firmly integrated into my life’s narrative and yes, my favorite movie of the past ten years was a sprawling, multi-generational epic about a Taiwanese family; but surely those can’t be the only reasons right?

Looking out of the corner window of this thoroughly modern hotel room - marble floors, a medium density pillow top mattress and in-room wifi access being, afterall, the key indicators of modernity in accomodation ammenities - with the sight of the Taipei 101 skyscraper towering well past my viewpoint over the city’s lesser giants, office lights aglow, cabs and mopeds navigating around one another in clusters like so many magnetic balls, it suddenly hits me like a 7-10 split. I realize just what it is about Taipei that makes me feel so welcome... so at home. It is, at the risk of sounding indiscriminate, what I adore so much about and makes me feel equally at home in Hong Kong, Manhattan and San Francisco. City life. That which does not cease at midnight. The overwhelming, undeniable and ever-constant presence of the one thing I find most inspiring: possibility. Only now, instead of watching it on a movie screen or hearing about it from friends and loved ones, it is before me. Now, I stand at its very center; the cross section of what I know and what I’ve yet to learn.

Ken Cheng

Taipei, Taiwan

ACT 4/SCENE 211: SUPERHUMAN

2010-01-31T15:39:00.000-08:00

The act of travelling with friends internationally requires a certain amount of collective hubris greater than the sum arrogance of its parts; a strong-willed determination among all party members to stretch beyond lengths unreached in the coarse banality of the everyday. It is the kind of assured belief in a group’s shared superhumanity - and a sense that we are impervious here (where ever “here” happens to be) to that which would shackle our prowess among the Kryptonite-laced skyscrapers of there, our home cities - that provides a group with the vague purpose needed to accomplish untold heights of turpitude, heights limited only by the individual olbigations and moral anchors we willingly travel with like so many pieces of carry-on luggage.

How else but with the kind of empowering - perhaps delusional - mental fortitude would five friends, for example, withstand 16 hours of cross-oceanic flight bookended by hours of assorted airport dillydallying and MRT commutes in order to partake in revelry powered by good friendship, social interaction and numerous glasses of blended caramel rocket-fuel flavored Johnnie and Cokes over what would amount to a dizzying, 14-hour layover in one of the most restlessly dynamic cities on the surface of this earth? For surely if there was a city designed to overwhelm the senses of sight and sound; to test the limits of one’s celebratory stamina with its infinite array of neon-colored appeals of consumption and urban spread, it would be Hong Kong.

This would, of course, be followed by an inevitable hobbling of exhausted bodies and battered brain cells back to Hong Kong International in order to catch an early morning flight to Singapore -- where another long night that would certainly appeal to Bacchus himself, surely awaited. And that was merely the first 40 hours. And in cases such as this, as I said, hubris is not a bad thing. For without it, the sheer scale of flying between four international destinations and enjoying ungodly merriment within a 40-hour window might seem downright herculean. With it? Aided by rays from a yellow sun, the mutantagenic effects of the “X” gene and the radioactive after effects of an arachnid bite? The task seems not only doable, but dare I say easy.

Ken Cheng

Clarke Quay, Singapore

ACT 4/SCENE 210: A LETTER TO READERS

2010-01-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

Dear Reader,

Happy new year! I’d like to, first and foremost, thank you for devoting a minute or two of your Internet itinerary to stop by today and read, peruse or even mock my blog. In a world of infinite destinations, I am glad to have as many (or as few) readers as I do. Your viewership is not taken for granted, believe me.

I have to say that writing and maintaining this blog - as indulgent and self-edifying as it is - often feels like a weekly exercise at mumbling into the wind. This is why the instances in which I draw a tangible response - be it a comment from a friend or an e-mail from a complete stranger - seem so supremely satisfying; even when the responses (like THESE) are left with the intention of telling me what an idiot I am. That said: I’m trying to figure out what the over-arching purpose and theme of Can I Have A Word? will be in 2010. We’re only two weeks in and already, events and circumstance seem to be swirling around me at a break-neck pace. All good things, I should point out vaguely. At least for now.

One of the things I CAN talk about is our upcoming short film! Along with a terrific young cinematographer, incredibly energetic young producer and knockout of an associate producer, we’ve officially kickstarted pre-production on the first short film I’ll have written and directed since college. Our project - currently titled “ONLY YOU” - is a quiet little story about broken hearts, new roommates and the way those things often intertwine in ways we don’t expect. And there’ll be music! Maybe even dancing? You’ll have to wait and see.

I’d like to keep you guys posted on our progress and whatnot, so I’m thinking of starting a production blog where you’ll be able to get updates, see photos and other fun behind-the-scenes stuff. Question for you guys though: would your rather see these items here at Can I Have A Word? or on a blog dedicated solely to the project? I’m inclined to do the latter but don’t know whether it’d even be worth it from your - the viewer’s - standpoint. Feel free to let me know what you think... suggestions are welcome.

I’ll have more updates in the weeks ahead but it suffices to say that I am excited, antsy, nervous, terrified and resolute all at once about what’s ahead. But make no mistake, what’s ahead should be equally excited, antsy, nervous and terrified about me as well. Whatever happens, I hope you guys will come back to read all about the excitement, nervousness, terror and resolution to come. Or even mock it... if only for a minute or two.

Sincerely,

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE

2010-01-08T13:42:00.000-08:00

As much as anything that was important to me - my family, my friends, my love life - movies absolutely influenced my growth as a person, heck as a human being, this past decade. I have always loved the escapism and visual grandeur of films, but it wasn’t until early 2000 - and my first film production class - that I began articulating my love of film’s inherent literacy. I was a kid possessed. All of a sudden, a whole new appreciation and perspective on the medium, especially for those with singularly expressive voices within its history, began to grow within me. My love of Allen, Bergman, Kurosawa, Wells, Ozu and Wilder would evolve to include names like Anderson, Lee, Nolan, Wong and so many, many others. It wasn’t so much that I was relying on these visionary artists to determine how to feel and what to think, but it was from them that I was learning how to express those thoughts and feelings already inside me.

In trying to figure out my five favorite films of the decade, it occurred to me that certain themes would invariably repeat themselves among the titles under consideration. Under closer scrutiny, it makes perfect sense because they are themes I think and write about repeatedly.

The role our family plays in shaping our lives is an inherently abundant subject matter and one of great importance to me. Especially in these times when family dysfunction so often lead to irreparable fractures and resentments, I find films that touch on the delicacies of family dynamics to be ceaselessly compelling. But how do we even get to the notion of family building in the first place? By two people figuring out what love truly means to them and each other. The selflessness intrinsic to that decision is something I will always romanticize and cherish. But first we must look within ourselves. I think this is why the way we self-examine; our levels of self-awareness and what we do with the information we glean about our virtues and failings have always been pretty fascinating to me. Perhaps it’s simply because they reflect my notion that the best path to self-improvement is the path least obstructed by self-delusions; that our lives unfold less as a result of blind chance or cosmic whimsy than through the choices we make and the will we impose. And when our choices don’t pan out? We are often at the mercy of our memories, nostalgia... and thoughts of what might’ve been had we chosen differently.

In any case, I think you’ll agree that my five favorite films of the decade each have something pretty unique and profound to say about just these very themes. Here they are...

5. MEMENTO (2000) - That someone could unleash even one film so complex and compelling is pretty amazing. That he could go on and make four more films in the same decade, perhaps of varying excellence but all of which display a strong artistic and intellectual vigor, is downright astounding. But it all leads back to “Memento,” arguably Chris Nolan’s best and most viscerally satisfying film.

Look this is on enough “Best Of” lists that I won’t bother trying to explain the plot or narrative construct of the film. If you haven’t seen it already, you’re missing out on one of the most original and intellectually exciting films American cinema has to offer. If you have seen it already, well, then you probably know why it’s on this list.

It’d be difficult to believe that any movie lover could deny Chris Nolan’s importance to the past decade of cinema. And I would be utterly hostile to anyone dismissing him as just a “studio director” lacking auteur cred. Adaptations from previous source material or not, the guy has had a hand in writing every single film he’s made and it’s become increasingly clear just how much every aspect of his films are direct expressions of his voice, vision and world view. What more could you want from an auteur?

The beauty of “Memento,” to me, is that it doesn’t rely on a cheap plot twist or reveal to hook the viewer in and keep him coming back for more. In this film, as is the case for other examples like “The Usual Suspects” that have done the same, the reveal is less about plot and all about character. The reason “Memento” continues to satisfy is that it calls upon us to continually re-evaluate how we feel about our “hero” Leonard Shelby (in , I think, the second or third best male performance of the decade) and his motivations for continuing on his perhaps-not-so-righteous quest for vengeance. And you know why we keep re-evaluating him? Because we want to help him re-evaluate himself... help him find meaning for what his life’s become. Over and over again.

4. THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS (2001) - Sometimes, a filmmaker can show you a world so unique and so ostensibly unlike your own that you are leveled the minute you realize just how much of your life you actually see in it. Such was the case for me when I saw this film. I don’t know if Wes Anderson will ever make a film as good as this again. I hope he does because I think his talent is so obvious yet startling that it would be a shame if he didn’t. But I happen to be one of the people that think his shtick is getting old. I’m sorry, call me a snob, but I don’t care about seeing talking puppet foxes in corduroy blazers making pithy observations about the world. I’d much rather see him tackle more real, more human (literally and figuratively) stories about the way we relate to each other. And why does everyone seem to forget that Wes Anderson’s best movies have all been co-written by Owen Wilson? Why doesn’t he get enough credit for Anderson’s success? What? It’s because he made “You, Me and Dupree” and “Drillbit Taylor?” Okay, got it.

Anderson’s outsiders always seem quirkily detached in their introspection. But of all his films, “Tenenbaums” is the one that most made me care about his selfish, delusional and sometimes-infuriating characters. When I first saw it, I couldn’t help but relate to the plight of Chas (played so well by Ben Stiller) - the neglected and spurned middle child. I guess this says a ton about how I view my place in my own family. And it is because of this that I find the moment near the end, when Chas despondently confides to his father that “I’ve had a rough year, Dad” and Royal soothes him by saying “I know you have, Chassie” so so so gloriously satisfying. I don’t need happy endings to make me feel better about the world, but in this film? That simple exchange and the sequence that follows it absolutely qualifies, no matter how tempered the outcome.

And that prologue... that opening ten minute scene (even the inspired credit sequence) with Alec Baldwin’s narration? Wow. I already called it one of my three favorite opening sequences in any movie, but just having re-watched it again; it is a straight up, I don’t want to hear otherwise, cinematic marvel.

3. IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (2000) / 2046 (2004) - I feel like if you’re an Asian-American filmmaker, it’s become almost obnoxiously cliche to go on about how much you love Wong Kar Wai’s films. So you say something like “I think Hou Hsiao Hsien’s films are way better!” or “Tsai Ming Liang’s voice and artistic expression is much more unique and understated.” Comparing Wong to two other filmmakers who are from different countries just because they happen to all be ethnically Chinese, as opposed to comparing him to someone like, say, Gus Van Sant, reeks of narrow-viewed sniveling. Wait, what? You never compared him to Hou or Tsai? Hmmmm... okay, well that was awkward.

I mentioned in a previous entry that I thought “Amelie” might be the defining female character of the decade and that only one other female character from a film could possibly match or exceed her. Guess what? It’s Maggie Cheung’s “Su Li-Zhen.” Seriously, if you can think of anyone else, I’d love to hear it right before I tell you why you’re wrong. Never has a woman scorned seemed so graceful, elegant and intoxicating as Maggie Cheung in “Mood.” And remember how I said that my favorite male characters or performances this decade belonged to Daniel Day Lewis’ “Daniel Plainview,” Guy Pearce’s “Leonard Shelby” and one more? Yup, you guessed it: Tony Leung as “Chow Mo-Wan.”

Now you might be wondering why I have the far-less praised, maybe even derided, “2046” on the same level as the Criterion-approved “Mood.” Well, it’s because for me, the two films are such logical extensions - and counterpoints - of one another, that it’d be like separating yin and yang. Because of “Mood” I absolutely believe that Chow would obsess over Li-Zhen throughout the duration of “2046,” even though he’s got the equally beautiful Gong Li and the so-hot-it’s-ridiculous Zhang Zhiyi pining after him. And If Tony Leung wasn’t already on your short list of greatest working actors in the world, watch how differently he portrays “Chow Mo-Wan” in these two films - and yet still gets you to care about him - and I’m pretty sure you’ll end up changing your mind.

Now... Wong is a supreme stylist. We all know that. Heck, Sophia Coppola and Tom Ford both made movies this decade that basically cribbed Wong’s entire aesthetic. And we all know that his cinematographer of choice - the weirdly wonderful (check out one of his interviews on YouTube sometime) Chris Doyle - is a flat out artist. But why doesn’t the so-underrated-it-hurts Mark Lee Ping-Bin EVER get any of the credit for how gorgeous these movies are? Look online... websites can’t even be bothered to form a consensus on how to spell his name! This is a guy that shot as much as HALF of “Mood” and “2046” as well as Hou Hsiao Hsien’s most amazing-looking films and some of Wen Jiang’s. Seriously, can we get the guy some love?

In any case, these two are movies I can virtually guarantee I will watch at least twice a year... maybe for the rest of my life.

2. 25TH HOUR (2002) - I’ve written about this film in a previous entry. But upon re-reading it, I realize how inadequately I articulated just how much this movie means to me. When I was trying to figure out this list, I knew without thinking that Spike Lee’s masterpiece would be in the top five. And then when I was trying to figure out the top five, it was basically a coin flip as to whether it’d end up at #1 or #2. No lie. I’d be fine switching the order of this film and the one you’re about to see at #1 and feel not an ounce of regret, I love this film so much.

I feel like some people in the movie going world don’t give this film its just due because of some personal animosity towards Spike Lee. What a waste. Watch this film today, see how prescient it was in its depiction of not just New York, but of Americans in general, and tell me Spike Lee and David Benioff weren’t looking into some crystal ball when they made this movie nine years ago. A tale of personal accountability neglected too long in favor of material gains and the way it manifests itself in figurative and literal masochism is seriously on some next-level stuff.

Monty Brogan is fucked. He knows it. His father, girlfriend and friends know it. Heck, everyone in New York seems to know it. But again, we return to the choices we make. He’s already facing severe consequences for the decisions he’s made in the past... what will he decide of his future? That ending... so lovely, so ethereal, so emotionally narrated by the wonderful Brian Cox... it’s a dream. Too perfect to ever come true. And that is the poetry of that climax because we WANT it to come true. This guy who, by all normal or human measures, is an absolute scumbag convinces us to want a better life for him. It’s weird and a testament to Lee’s direction, Benioff’s writing and Edward Norton’s acting (which if you were keeping count, ranks as my #4 best male performance).

The rest of the team is equally fabulous... Phil Hoffman as Jacob and the underrated Barry Pepper as Frank, especially. But I also want to shout out Rodrigo Prieto, the DP on this film, as well as “Amores Perros,” “Brokeback Mountain,” “Lust, Caution” and “Wonder Boys.” The guy has shot three films in my top 50 and two more in my “Almost List.” Might he be a finalist in my DP of the decade award? I don’t know... because that’s too tough a call to make and I already told you I’m indecisive at picking favorites. But certainly he should be recognized for the beauty and overall quality of his photography and lighting set ups.

I really believe “25th Hour” is going to go down as one of the true and lasting works of American cinema one day. In a way, it’s really satisfying to see it on so many “Best of Decade” lists even though the film got mixed reviews at best upon its release. On the other, I’m a little sad to see the film I’ve championed as a favorite since I saw it in the theaters and then immediately bought on DVD, a film that always seemed to surprise people asking me about my favorite films, finally gain the widespread recognition I’ve always thought it deserves. Heck, even Roger Ebert recently wrote a “The Great Movies” retrospective essay about it. I enjoyed it being underappreciated. But then again, I can be a dick... just like Monty.

1. Yi Yi (2000) - I have to say it was a struggle deciding whether to place this or “25th Hour” at the #1 position. Ultimately, I had to ask myself which film mattered to me more... which film reflected my fundamental beliefs and morality and thoughts on such an important subject matter most closely. I guess that at the end of the day, we resort to what we’ve been taught; simple truths, that which springs from our foundation, to make our choices in life. I’m pretty sure that’s what Edward Yang was saying with “Yi Yi” and it’s the reason I chose this film as my favorite of the decade.

I wrote last summer about my original experience with this movie... how much the children of the Jian family reminded me of myself at different points in my life. I know it’s a pretty self-absorbed way of assessing a movie’s quality, but again, that’s the point. Ultimately, we have to go back to our essential feelings. I firmly believe that we build our repertoire of critical and analytical tools from the foundation we establish as children and young adults. No other movie I could think of hit me on so many levels both viscerally and intellectually. This film is so assured in its base, its foundation, its beliefs about the evolution of life, the manner in which we see half truths, the role of family in our uncertain lives that I cannot help but be swayed. Every single time I see it.

But what I wasn’t prepared for - revisiting the film so many years later - was how much my perspective had changed and how accurately still the film seemed to mirror that change. Wu Nien Jien’s “NJ” may not be showy and dramatic and definitive of any grandiose themes in this cinematic decade, but I don’t think you can show me a character that was more resolutely humane in his approach to life, his family, his business and the question of how his life might or might not have been different in the arms of another woman, the first love of his life. He is distant and loving, vulnerable and steadfast, diminutive and authoritative, understated and thundering all at the same time.

Family is all we have sometimes and it is how we treat the members of our families that inform how we treat everyone else in our lives, if not the world at large. We SHOULD love each other. We SHOULD sacrifice for each other. We should, like little Yang Yang, help each other see everyday truths others cannot. And we should realize, like NJ, that at the end of the day, thoughts of what might’ve been just aren’t as important as the realization of what is... real, tangible, right in front of us. Life, in other words.

Look, I love many movies and many movies inspire and influence me in countless ways. But when it comes down to it, “Yi Yi” is my favorite film of the decade because if forced to choose from all the films on this list and of all the films not on this list, THIS is the film I most aspire to make and live up to one day. Whether or not that speaks to my upbringing is, I suppose, a moot point. It’s who I am. It’s in my foundation. And I am thankful for that.

The Top 20
#10-6
#15-11
#20-16

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE (ALMOST LIST)

2010-01-07T12:29:00.000-08:00

The tricky thing about putting together these “favorite” lists is that I will inevitably come across a title that - for whatever reason - totally slipped my mind and cause me to want to edit my previous entries to include it post-mortem. It’s a pretty good reflection, I think, of my natural tendency towards indecisiveness when it comes to picking favorites. Which is why I’m glad I’m doing this... because it forces me to choose; forces me to battle the equivocating elements of my personality towards a resolute goal. And yet still, I can’t help but want to mention the films that AREN’T on the list as if you either care or couldn’t wait to see what came close. Don’t you just love the self-indulgent nature of reading free content?

Any of the following titles could’ve been in my favorite 50 and it wouldn’t have made too much of a difference to me. Really, why they didn't make it can be reduced to one or more of three reasons: a) I haven’t seen the film enough times b) I really enjoyed a majority of the movie but was too turned off by an ending or section of the movie to make it truly beloved or c) I loved the filmmaking involved but was left wanting slightly by the story or subject matter to the point I don’t see myself re-watching it over and over. That’s it. Pretty basic.

So without further adieu, here they are in alphabetical order with the letter code established above to explain why they’re not on the main list. Okay, you know me too well... I’m also including actual notes for a few of the titles.

All the Real Girls (a, c) - Beautiful movie. Can't stand Zooey Deschanel in it.
Amores Perros (a, c) - Wanted to put an Innaritu movie on the list.
Behind the Sun (a)
Brick (b) - Clever movie. Perhaps too much so. Really like Rian Johnson.
Black Book (a, b)
Brotherhood of the Wolf (a, b)
Cache (c) - Provocative. I'll watch this again, but not soon.
Cassandra’s Dream (b) - Underrated Woody film. Colin Farrell plays unhinged very well.
Catch Me If You Can (b)
Collateral (b)
Curse of the Golden Flower (b, c)
Friday Night Lights (b) - 2nd best sports film of the decade.
Gladiator (b) - Quotable, beautiful, lacking.
Gone Baby Gone (a, c) - Surprisingly well done. Leaves you angry afterwards.
Half Nelson (b, c)
Inside Man (b)
Inglorious Basterds (a)
Old Boy (c) - Awesomely innovative movie
Redbelt (b)
Requiem For A Dream (c) - Arronofsky is excellent, as is this movie.
Signs (b)
Still Life (c) - Really, really beautiful. Jia ZhangKe is amazing.
Thank You For Smoking (b) - My favorite Jason Reitman film.
The Bourne Ultimatum (b)
The Darjeeling Limited (b) - It's going to get old soon, Wes.
The Departed (b) - Cannot stress how much the ending ruined it for me.
The Host (a)
The Lord of the Rings (c) - I guess.
The New World (b)
The Wrestler (c) - I used to love pro-wrestling. Not anymore.
Three Times (b) - So beautiful. Wish it was Two Times.
Traffic (c)
Up (b)
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (a) - Really nothing I don't like about this movie.
Wall-E (c) - Slowly changing my mind about animated films.
What Time Is It There (a) - Tsai Ming Liang films are heartbreaking.
Wonder Boys (a) - Michael Chabon.

Tomorrow, the last five of my favorite films of the decade. To be continued...

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE - TOP 10

2010-01-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

Before I go into the first half of my Favorite Ten, I should explain something first. I make no claims that any of the movies on this list are the "best" anything. For the most part, I have no quantitative way of explaining why some movies made it and why others didn't. This is simply a list of favorites... meaning the number one deciding factor for each film's inclusion was my personal reaction to it. There are many films not on this list I found worthy or exceptional for one reason or another. All's I'm really saying is that these are the 50 films I guarantee I will watch again - either once or ten more times - in the decade ahead. This is why, I think, I made such a point of repeating that most of the films on the list are not placed in specific order. But obviously the top ten are presented this way for a reason. And seriously, don't gripe that there are actually seven films in the list below. It's my list, my blog and I'll put as many "ties" in as I want. Actually, on second thought: go ahead and gripe. It'll be fun to read. I have another essay in store that will attempt to put this list into greater personal context... I'm sure you can't wait for that baby. But for now, here are numbers 10 through 6, again in somewhat of a thematic order...

10. Infernal Affairs II (2003) / Triad Election (2006) - I’ve always loved gangster films. Even though I realize most are over-romanticized to the level of implausibility, I find them to be unendingly compelling as moral fables. That said, I thought the two best gangster films I saw this decade came from Hong Kong; one from a directorial duo intent on bringing the stylish thriller aspect back to the genre and the other, from one of my favorite directors working anywhere in the world today.

It’d be easy to make the comparison between Alan Mak and Andrew Lau’s prequel to “Infernal Affairs” and “The Godfather II.” I’m sure that film was the model by which Mak and Lau based their film’s foundation; much more sprawling, complex and thematically rich than its predecessor. But the thing the duo does here that I think warrants immense praise is: they fashion an entirely new perspective on the world they’ve already created by completely expanding their canvas; thereby crafting a standalone film that really needs no anchoring from its antecedent. They even cast two different (and lesser) actors to play the two lead characters from the first film! Whereas “The Godfather II” was a logical evolution, basing its foundational sturdiness on the continuity established by the first film, “Infernal Affairs II” has no such advantage. The first film felt claustrophobic and confined; perfect for the story. The sequel looks and feels as if it is being played out on a much larger stage, with wide master shots in various exterior locations and the expansion of every single returning character’s backstory. And sure, the supporting actors in this film are the same (and excellent), but even their storylines are so elaborated beyond the breadth of the first film that anyone could watch this - without contextual help from the first - and walk away thoroughly and utterly satisfied.

Johnnie To is the man. Simple as that. I’m not sure I can think of another filmmaker working today - perhaps Chris Nolan - that can milk as much tension from silence and expertly-paced scenes quite like him. His gangster films are a departure from the previous decade’s treatment on the genre because in his films, the violence is either implied (and unseen), or used so sparingly, the impact of actually seeing it is usually extra shocking and abrupt. And effective. Like “Infernal Affairs II," “Triad Election” is also a sequel to an already excellent film with one of the best endings from the genre. But what I like better about “Triad Election” than its precursor is its ability to, once again, expand on the moral themes of the first film. We come to see just how fucked the life of a gangster truly is; how the choice to hoard wealth and power on one side leads to a life trapped in an unending personal hell from which there is no escape on the other side. And the soundtrack's main theme? The absolute shit. I really wanted to put more of To’s films on my favorite 50 because he is one of my top five directors of the decade, but I’m totally consoled with “Triad Election,” my favorite of all his films, locking in a spot in my Top 10.

9. Man On Fire (2004) - I’m convinced there will be a Criterion Edition of this movie one day. Look, I know many people either hate this film or feel complete apathy toward it. Some will dismiss it as a less interesting visual knock off of my #7 film. I’m just not one of them. I realize the film is hyper-stylized to the point of being conceptually drug-addled. I also realize that the notion of one guy tromping around Mexico City killing cops and politicians in a flurry of gunfire and explosions streches the suspension of disbelief just a tiny bit. But you know what? I totally buy it. I am in. Tony Scott may very well be a complete lunatic whose films rely on the visual stimulation of hand-cranked cameras and stylish subtitles to disguise the lack of substance in them, but in this film? A tale of furious wrath unleashed in the name of a kidnapped child? It works. At least for me. And the reason? Denzel Washington, Dakota Fanning and Chris Walken. Look, the script by Brian Helgeland is flat out, stone cold awesome. You can’t write a line like “Creasy’s art is death. He’s about to paint his masterpiece.” or “Forgiveness is between them and God. It’s my job to arrange the meeting.” and not hook me. And Dakota Fanning is so wonderfully charming and believable in the first half of this film that I absolutely believe Denzel would turn Mexico City into Beirut in order to exact vengeance on her behalf. Call me unsophisticated if you like, but chances are I won’t be paying attention because I’ll be busy watching this movie for the 50th time.

8. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005) - I don’t really understand why this movie wasn’t a bigger hit. It’s funny. It’s a thriller. It’s a mystery movie. It’s neo-noir at it’s most bleakly comedic. What happened here? I mean sure it re-launched Robert Downey Jr.’s career and deservedly so. But what about Val Kilmer as Gay Perry? How did he not immediately start doing more mainstream comedies after this film?! He’s utterly fantastic in this movie. And Michelle Monaghan - whom I have a slightly larger than minor crush on - straddles the line between adorable and sexy like few other can manage here. Was it too weird and offbeat for mainstream audiences? Was the conclusion not happy enough? Too pessimistic to catch on?

I have somewhere between 50 and 100 hundred questions about this film so perhaps I should focus on the things I already know. Modern day Los Angeles has rarely looked this cool on film. From a guy who deems it necessary to make fun of LA’s lack of aesthetic virtue on a regular basis, I think this film (along with “Collateral” and “(500) Days of Summer”) did one of the best jobs of the decade portraying LA as a real, living, breathing city. Not a sprawling stretch of towns separated by one freeway after another, but a city. I may be biased because I've met the cinematographer and he was a super cool dude who ended up sending me a photo he took of me and the woman, but hey, such are my reasons. And there are writers out there who can give you the context of Shane Black’s, the film’s writer/director, return to Hollywood with this film better than I can. And it’s all pretty fascinating stuff. But I’m not going to do it. I’ll only say that I think Black scored the equivalent of an NBA triple double with this movie... only he did so after being drafted #1 overall by the Knicks and blowing out his knee for a couple years before eventually being traded to the Memphis Grizzlies.

7. City Of God (2002) - Fernando Mereilles - and the less credited Katia Lund - took the cinematic world by storm with this movie in the early half of the decade. But many critics have cooled on it in the intervening years; with some citing its inability to hold up over time. I suppose I can understand why someone might find it difficult to go back to this film over and over again like the most beloved of movies require you to do effortlessly. How dark this movie is... how depressing and infuriating. And perhaps after eight years of commercial copycats and imitators (*cough “Slumdog Millionaire” *cough), audiences have tired of the cinematic flourishes the directors unleashed. To be honest, I don’t feel as strongly about this film today as I did six years ago when I first saw it either.

But I still remember that initial impact. I’m still moved by Rocket’s childhood and attempt to escape the gang life around him. And I’m still wowed by the innovative and original way the film unfolds thanks to the creativity of its makers. I’m often annoyed by film critics who are quick to dismiss their original perceptions of a film, years after the fact. I understand why they do it... after all I’d be the first to say that re-watchability is a key factor in any movie’s candidacy for “classic” or “favorite” status. But I think it’s important to weigh how we feel about a movie the first time we see it as well. It’s the reason I defend “E.T.” or “Jurassic Park” so many years later and why I’ll more than likely be doing the same with “Avatar” five years from now. “City of God” requires no such defense... because whatever it might’ve lost in freshness (which I’d quantify unscientifically at no more than 8%), it makes up for in vitality of story, uniqueness of setting and ingenuity of perspective; which is a long way of saying I think it’s the “Mean Streets” of the decade.

6. Y Tu Mama Tambien / Millennium Mambo (2001) - Two of the best films to showcase disaffected youth as a metaphor for the uncertainty of the coming decade came, interestingly enough, from Mexico and Taiwan in 2001. Both Alfonso Cuaron and Hou Hsiao Hsien’s films are, in essence, coming of age stories; one in the form of a buddy road film through the Mexican countryside, the other in the form of an Ozu-esque urban drama set in Taipei. They both feature frustratingly immature characters... kids whose obnoxious selfishness would set the tone for a decade of technology-enabled, “I am the universe,” hipster, self-absorbption to come. Hello kettle, I'm pot.

And yet, it is entirely easy to empathize with the plight of these dickhead kids... on the cusp of adulthood, struggling to figure out themselves and their contextual place in a rapidly changing world. Their uncertainty about their future expressed a collective cultural hesitancy about the future at large. At least that was my feeling. I saw “Y Tu Mama” at the age of 23 and “Mambo” maybe a couple years later. While I won’t go so far as to claim that the two films perfectly reflected my own doubts at the time, they did speak loudly to the apprehensive aspects of my personality grappling with insecurity about my life’s direction.

Then there’s the filmmaking. Beautifully sun-washed, New Wave-styled handheld work from Cuaron, Halogen-saturated colors and precisely composed long takes from Hou. I’ve already written about how much I adore the opening shot of “Mambo” so I won’t go over it again here, but the long take handheld (really, no pun intended here) scene from “Y Tu Mama” where Tenoch comes into Luisa’s hotel room looking for shampoo? Yikes. Oh and by the way, I’m pretty sure this is obvious but Maribel Verdu and Shu Qi turned in two of the hottest-in-completely-different-ways performances from actresses this decade in these two films. Holy smokes.

Up next, the "Almost" List and a bunch of other reasons why movies were hugely important to me this past decade. Feel the excitement!

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE (15-11)

2010-01-05T11:44:00.000-08:00

Numbers 15 through 11 on my favorite 50 are grouped with sort of a thematic unity in mind. Honestly, I would have no problem listing any of these next five films in the Top 10 but think they work better when presented together. Here they are...

15. No Country For Old Men (2007) - For years, I didn’t realize just how much I’d come to admire the Coen Brothers. Perhaps it’s because their films - weirdly original, zanily insightful and representative of a specifically bleak, middle-American viewpoint - never inspired the kind of crazy adoration I feel for other writer/directors. And yet, I’ve seen nearly their entire filmmography. In fact, “Miller’s Crossing” and “The Hudsucker Proxy” are among my absolute favorite films. Now? I no longer have any reservations that a Coen Brothers release is must-see, in-the-theater, viewing. The ensemble cast is terrific across the board in “No Country” and while I sometimes find it difficult to rate adaptations on the same level as purely “original” films, there is no denying this stands at or near the very top of the Coen Brothers’ resume. This is a meditative, modern fable about the devolution of morality complete with an awesomely big, bad wolf in the form of Javier Bardem's Anton Chigurh. And by the way, I don’t care what anybody says; I love the ending of this movie. Friendo.

14. Zodiac (2007) - It is completely astonishing to me that David Fincher could direct both “Se7en” - one of the most stylized crime films of all time - and “Zodiac,” a film with basically the same premise but a very dissimilar aesthetic execution. I suppose most would call this - rightly - a testament to Fincher’s maturation as a filmmaker and a case of a director finally subjugating his trademark style and allowing the story to dictate the aesthetic, etc. etc. But that seems like a boring explanation, doesn’t it? I suppose I’m less curious about why the films are so different from the filmmaker’s perspective (which seems obvious) than why I seem to like both films pretty equally. One is kinetically paced, the other deliberate. One features a highly constructed but anonymous production design, the other a super faithful recreation of a specific time and place in history. One features a deliberately altered and processed cinematographical style designed to create a sense of distance with the viewer, the other employs high definition digital photography intended to have the exact opposite effect. Whatever. This movie is spectacular.

13. The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford (2007) - Why don’t more people hail this staggeringly mesmerizing film as a landmark in the Western genre? I don’t even particularly like Westerns that much - at least relative to other genres - and I thought this movie was phenomenal. Is it because this movie came out in the same year in which two substantial and worthy movies - one of which was another highly-lauded western (“There Will Be Blood”) - battled so firecely for end-of-year award honors? That this was only Andrew Dominik’s second film seems to make me want to hate him with every fiber of my being. But I don’t because he hired Roger Deakins to shoot the hell out of the film stock, got yet another, classic, bug nuts performance out of Brad Pitt and somehow managed to juice a shockingly affecting one from Casey Affleck. And what about the supporting actors in this movie? Sam Shepard, Paul Schneider, Sam Rockwell and Jeremy Renner are all fantastic. Heck, even Zooey Deschanel is good in her limited screen time here. There seem to be about fifty different things you could praise about this movie and yet I never hear anyone talk about it. Strange. Maybe I just need to get out of my apartment more.

12. Brokeback Mountain (2005) - What can I really say about this film that hasn’t already been said by hundreds of other film critics, social acitivists and bloggers? I know, I’ll just use this space to talk about how much I love Ang Lee! Think about the movies this man has made... the genres he’s covered and the environments he’s depicted in his films. Is there another director working today that has so successfully played in so many different sandboxes? My favorite Ang Lee film remains “Eat, Drink, Man, Woman” - a family dramedy - and yet I have three of his films on this list that could theoretically be classified as: “Martial Arts Romance Fable,” “Mid-century War Espionage Romance Thriller” and “60s American Western Gay Romance.” The weirdly cool thing is: whatever differences these three films have in terms of environment, scale, tone and theme; each seem highly personal and expressive of a distinctly coherent and auteuristic perspective. I’m often befuddled by Ang Lee; his choices in projects, the range of creative talent he works with... and I think this is, perhaps, why I admire him so much as a filmmaker. I feel like he can do anything.

11. The Lives of Others (2006) - It is rare that I see a movie for the first time and actually recognize that I am watching a future favorite unfold in progress. Such was my initial experience with Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s quietly dignified and compassionate story of Stasi Agent Wiesel - a sort of Harry Caul for the 21st century. That it is a sad morality tale about discovering one’s humanity amidst the evil forces of facism is obvious. What’s more interesting to me is the morality it seeks to espouse... the choices Wiesel willingly - and silently - makes once he’s discovered his humanity and the sacrifice they entail fully appeals to my own sense of right and wrong and speaks to what I love about film’s potential as a honorable medium. This is also the rare film that so engrosses me on a visceral and emotional level upon first viewing, I don’t notice the technical and aesthetic artistry presented in plain view. I can’t say much more about “The Lives of Others” beyond the fact that I absolutely love it.

I'm still debating whether or not I should publish my Top 10 in another forum - perhaps on the BlogCritics website - so if you don't see numbers 10 through 6 here in the next couple days, assume that's where I went. You know, for all 15 of you that actually care what my ten (or more) favorite movies of the decade were. In any case, to be continued...

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE (20-16)

2010-01-04T10:42:00.000-08:00

I'm really stretching this sucker out. I figured since the Top 20 are getting progressively verbose, I'd break them up into groups of five. You know, to save you the reading time. In any case, I warned you the rambling would only get worse from here, so here are numbers 20 through 16.

20. There Will Be Blood - Paul Thomas Anderson is one of those filmmakers who drives me absolutely crazy because it is so obviously clear that his abundant talents dwarf those of most other middling, hack directors of his generation working in Hollywood. The guy isn’t even 40 yet for crying out loud. And yet, I’ve never truly connected with any one of his five films on the emotional level required for me to genuinely love them. I saw “Hard Eight” - his first film - in college and was amazed that a 25 year old could make such a compelling and confidently executed film. “Boogie Nights” seems to be everyone’s favorite from his resume but, to be honest, that film - as stylistically amazing as it is - leaves me a little cold. “Magnolia” is my favorite of his films because I thought it did the best job combining aesthetically dazzling filmmaking with emotionally resonant storytelling. I’m not sure whether “There Will Be Blood” eclipses “Magnolia” for me yet, but I know everyt ime I happen to see it airing on cable, I can’t help but stay and watch it for a little while. Now it may be possible that this is simply due to Daniel Day Lewis’ decade-defining performance as Daniel Plainview... but, then I ask myself: “Who wrote his lines and directed him?”

19. The Prestige - I’ve already written about how much I love this movie (found here) and will - on some days - call it my favorite of Chris Nolan’s films. On some days.

18. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - It took me two girlfriends, four false starts and five years before finally seeing this Kaufman/Gondry gem from start to finish. Long story, but it was worth the wait. I’ve never seen a film so accurately express the pain and misery of a broken heart in such an artistically invigorating way. And while I tend to vacillate on whether the technical wizardry Gondry puts on display here is excessive or proper, there is no denying that it is so astonishingly well-suited to Kaufman’s sensibility. By the way, Charlie Kaufman is, for my money, the screenwriter of the decade. I won’t even bother arguing on this one. He makes me sick.

17. Amelie - If no other film this decade captured the suffering love’s end can produce like “Eternal Sunshine,” then no other film this decade captured the dizzyingly joyous whimsy of love’s beginning - while simultaneously creating an iconic cinematic character - quite like "Amelie." I don’t know one person - male or female - that didn’t immediately fall in love with Audrey Tautou after seeing this film, and rightfully so. But why don’t people talk about Jean-Pierre Jeunet more? Is this left-over animosity for "Alien: Resurrection?" I mean, look at his resume... “Delicatessen,” “City of Lost Children,” “Amelie” and “A Very Long Engagement” (which I think is underrated). I haven’t seen “Mic Macs” yet, but I know I will. I’m a bit puzzled by this omission of neglect. But back to Audrey Tautou... seriously, if Daniel Plainview is the defining male performance of the decade, is Amelie Poulain the corresponding female performance of the decade? And if not, then who? I have only two other candidates, respectively, that are worth arguing about (in my opinion), but we’ll save them for later.

16. Suzhou River - One of the coolest aspects of my cinephilic experience this past decade has been my rediscovery of mainland Chinese cinema. I really loved the films of the late 80s and 90s - especially those from Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige - but sort of lost track of the country’s next generation filmmakers until a couple years ago when I began getting serious about catching up again. Like their predecessors, this new class of Chinese auteurs have a thing for neo-realism, which I totally respect and appreciate, but do not love. This, I think, has less to do with aesthetics - since Jia Zhangke’s films (particularly “Still Life”) for example, while realist, are absolutely gorgeous - than subject matter. So I suppose it’s not a surprise, then, that my favorite film from China’s latest class of auteurs is this is stunningly designed, neo-realist take on noir from Lou Ye. This may be the first film I can remember that is shot entirely in the first person; a tired cliche in music videos and commercials but used to spectacular effect in this, a narrative feature. A mystery thriller feature at that. And the fact that it is partly a homage to “Vertigo,” one of my top ten favorite films? Pure icing.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE (30-21)

2010-01-03T10:56:00.000-08:00

Here are numbers 30 through 21 on my list of 50 favorite movies of the past decade. We're getting closer...

30. Spider-Man II - The perfect superhero movie... go get ‘em Tiger.

29. Undertow - A tense thriller and my favorite movie from one of America’s best young directors.

28. Old School - I’ve seen this movie at least 20 times and Vince Vaughn interrupting Luke Wilson’s speech cracks me up every time.

27. Thirst - Park Chan Wook and Song Kang Ho made something pretty incredible; a sexily moral and righteous film hidden inside a vampire story.

26. Anchorman - Of all the film characters I’ve quoted over the course of my life: Ron Burgundy may be as high on the list as Michael Corleone.

25. The Dark Knight - Why so serious? Because finally, a filmmaker decided to tackle the expansive and subtext-rich Batman mythos to spectacular effect.

24. Kill Bill Vol. 1+2 - Quentin Tarantino created one of the funnest, frenzied and exciting cinematic experiences with his revenge classic.

23. Before Sunset - As real as “what might have been” can be, I love Richard Linklater, Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy’s sequel more than its predecessor.

22. Children of Men - Yes, the ending was totally unsubtle, but it doesn’t undo the executon and visual mastery Cuaron shows us for nearly two hours beforehand.

21. Eastern Promises - The other Steven Knight-written film on my list, Eastern Promises features Viggo Mortensen at his most quietly menacing best.

Coming up next: the top 20. Fair warning though; from here on out, there are no more 140-character limitations on the reviews. They might be 5 words; they might be 500. I really don't know. Until then, to be continued...

Ken Cheng

San Francisco, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE (40-31)

2010-01-02T16:00:00.000-08:00

Here are numbers 40 through 31 of my favorite films of the decade. Again, these are not laid out in any specific order of preference...

40. Sugar - With possibly the best sports film of the decade, Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden have become must-see talents of the new American cinema.

39. District 9 - Neil Blomkamp delivered an accessibly substantive and angrily original piece of sci-fi with District 9, one of my favorite films of 2009.

38. Adventureland - Sweet, silly, real... Greg Mottola’s lovely paen to his 80s childhood was the most underrated film of 2009.

37. Match Point - Woody Allen reinvented “Crimes and Misdemeanors” for 21st century London and gave us one of the most awesomely cynical films of his career.

36. The Class - Lauren Cantet’s insightful and heartbreaking look at what it truly means to be a teacher in the 21st century won the 2008 Palme D’Or. 

35. The Visitor - Tom McCarthy’s little film about the way we open ourselves to strangers took me completely by surprise, in the best possible way.

34. Dirty Pretty Things - Steven Knight, Audrey Tautou and Chiwetel Ejiofor are among my favorite people from this past decade of movies.

33. Lust, Caution - Ang Lee has three movies in my top 50 and it is highly possible this gorgeously disheartening movie will end up higher in a couple years.

32. Unbreakable - A serious and deliberate take on the superhero; and a better all around movie than anything else in Shyamalan’s resume.

31. Munich - Steven Spielberg’s most mature and contemplative work, this movie floored me the first time I saw it.

To be continued...

Ken Cheng

San Francisco, CA

MY FAVORITE MOVIES OF THE DECADE (50-41)

2009-12-30T16:57:00.000-08:00

No frills, no exact or precisely-tuned rankings... just a list of my fifty favorite movies of the last ten years boiled down to a Twitter-esque 140 characters or less. I’m sure I’ll have more to say as I get closer to my top ten, but for now, here are numbers 50 through 41in no particular order:

50. Black Hawk Down - Ridley Scott’s take on the battle between a group of American special forces and a few hundred Somali gunmen is a highly rewatchable war film.

49. Road to Perdition - Sam Mendes’ best film - in my mind - by far; with terrific perofrmances and some of the most stunning photography in Conrad Hall’s career. 

48. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon - An epic piece of cinema from one of my favorite, most versatile and most underrated directors making movies anywhere today. 

47. Avatar (3D) - James Cameron’s CG and motioncapture adventure makes my Top 50 on the strength of the theater experience it has revitalized all by itself. 

46. Love Actually - A delightfully saccharine and warmly rewatchable piece of pop entertainment that showcases Richard Curtis’ talent for humane comedy.

45. Once - It's possible to catch cinematic lightning in a bottle and John Carney, Glen Hansard and Market Irglova did it with this lo-fi love story.

44. Joint Security Area - The most compassionate film of Park Chan Wook’s impressive resume; I much prefer J.S.A. to any of the films in his famous vengeance trilogy.

43. Minority Report - Watch this movie again and tell me it’s not a masterwork of Spielbergian sci-fi with too many virtues to be overshadowed by the lame ending.

42. Infernal Affairs - A completely engaging, tense and terrifically-acted cops and gangsters thriller that doubles as a study in directorial execution.

41. In Bruges - Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson and Ralph Fiennes are thoroughly fantastic in this meditative and off-beat black comedy by Martin McDonagh. 

To be continued...

Ken Cheng

San Francisco, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 209: THREE THINGS I LIKE TODAY

2009-12-22T12:11:00.000-08:00

1) Avatar 3D

At this point, there are dozens upon dozens of reviews for “Avatar” floating around the internet, written by far more respected film critics than yours truly. In fact, chances are you’ve already decided whether or not you’re going to spend the money to see the movie. If not, however, let me offer a couple reasons for you to do just that.

As you can probably surmise, I am a devout believer in what I call the pure cinema experience. This is, quite simply, the act of seeing a movie for the first time in the manner intended by the filmmakers; namely on a large screen in a communal theater environment. But with the ever increasing number of ways to enjoy movies - on a TV, on a laptop, via DVD, via streaming sevice, et al. - fewer and fewer films warrant, much less demand, that pure theater experience. I’d go so far as to argue that the optimal viewing environment for many films these days - “Paranormal Activity” being one that comes quickly to mind - is at home, in the living room, on the couch with the lights off.

Avatar is simply not one of them.

If only so you can see it in the startlingly immersive 3D (or “Real D”) presentation that James Cameron intended, “Avatar” has to be seen on a giant screen to be believed. While nearly everything about the movie’s story is predictable and rote - I tweeted this morning that I definitely did not like the movie better when it was called “The Last Samurai” or “Dances With Wolves” - absolutely nothing about the way it’s presented is. The CG is next level realistic, the motion-capture is nearly 100% seamless and the level of detail of nearly every frame in plain view is a true and utterly mind-bogglingly artistic achievement.

Do yourself a favor and see “Avatar” in 3D IMAX.

2) Dunkin Donuts Coffee

I am a Peets Coffee man. Ask anyone that’s ever spent a morning with me and they will tell you what Peets Coffee means to my well-being. Nevermind that after years and years of drinking the stuff black at a two cup a day clip, Peets Coffee occasionally produces a scarily rapid heart beat or feelings that my heart might explode out of my chest, Aliens-style. It is, quite simply, my favorite cup of coffee anywhere.

But Peets is expensive, man. At $13 per pound at the store or $10 per 12 ounces at the market, it’s not financially prudent of me to maintain a Peets habit while living on a budget. So I’ve had to make adjustments.

I think people on the East Coast swear by Dunkin Donuts coffee, in large part, because of how it tastes with a ton of cream and sugar. I get that... taking down a cup of sweetened Dunkins is like drinking melted coffee ice cream. But have you ever made it at home, freshly ground and brewed to your liking and drunk it black? Medium bodied... a hint of caramel... I liken it to drinking higher grade gas station coffee. Meaning it’s delicious. I bought a 12-oz bag of whole bean Dunkin at Target for $6. And I’m sipping a mug of it as I write this

3) Simmons and Klosterman

I’ve already written excessively about how much I admire both Bill Simmons and Chuck Klosterman, separately, as two of my favorite non-fiction/essay writers. So you can imagine how geeked up I get when the two of them actually team up - as they do once or twice a year - on Simmons’ ESPN podcast to exchange barbs, jokes and observations about all kinds of random and various topics. Wit, irony, insight galore.

Click here to listen: The B.S. Report w/ Chuck Klosterman

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 208: UNDER THE INFLUENCE

2009-12-14T11:27:00.001-08:00

'Still Life' dir. Jia Zhang Ke

I sometimes wonder whether my ability to retain and process information - visual cues, sentence structure, shot compositions - makes me more or less prone to originality. I wonder this because I realize how possible it is that my creative output - past, present and yet to be achieved - will someday feel somehow... derivative. I can’t help but be mesmerized by my influences. My lack of veritable life experience has dictated that my artistic vision be informed by the likes of writers and filmmakers moreso than original observation and perception of real pain or suffering. So instead of describing in exacting detail the misery of socio-economic inequities I’ve never experienced, I crib from the likes of Jia Zhang Ke. I am the exact opposite of the embedded war journalist. My artistic vocabulary is rooted in a strange amalgamation blending mainstream and arthouse film directors, screenwriters, novelists, sports columnists, movie critics, journalists, musicians, comic book writers, comic book artists, painters photographers, cinematographers, chefs, comedians, politicians, bloggers, and frequenters of Craigslist classifed ads to name a few.

I’m not saying this is necessarily a bad thing.

I suppose the solution here is to synthesize the various learnings gleaned from my influences into some radical new language only I can master, right? Blaze a trail of ingenuity, innovation and distinction! Find another way to tell a knock knock joke. Describe the woes of the Golden State Warrior fans more uniquely. Figure out how to tell a woman she is the divine counterpoint to a life spent doubting the existence of divinity. And determine how, in trying to chronicle the varying complexities of my life, I can create something that reflects the universal truths of all lives. This sounds like a worthwhile goal.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 207: JUDGING TIGER

2009-12-09T12:47:00.000-08:00

Update: An even dumber, more asinine column than the one I reference below has popped up online that suggests Tim Finchem (PGA Tour Commissioner) should suspend Tiger Woods from the PGA Tour. I'd love to link you to it just so you can read the epitome of utter stupidity in "print," but I just can't get myself to do it. It's in the NY Daily News though so if you're interested, you can go find it.  

I wrote a column a few weeks ago for the site BlogCritics.org about being judgmental. I’ll save you the five minutes of actually reading my 500 words (lazy bum) and summarize my thesis thusly: being judgmental isn’t always necessarily a bad thing. Needless to say, there were a few people who disagreed with me. See I’m of the mind that the middle ground between any pro and con debate will most often make the most sense. I suppose you can call me a moral relativist or a fence-rider, but I’m pretty sure “moral pluralist” would be the more apt descriptor. “What’s this got to do with Tiger?,” you might be asking yourself. Well the beauty of writing a blog with a limited readership is: you get to completely refute something you once wrote in a public forum without ANYONE ever knowing about it!

I am, of course, only partly kidding. I’m not writing this to invalidate my earlier stance which I still very much believe to be true. But I do believe a distinction should be noted. My previous column addressed a very micro-level hypothetical - namely one that would involve the judgement of a friend or trusted confidant. My assertion that only those who know they’re doing something wrong worry about being judged, I think, holds true in most instances. But with the Tiger debacle unleashing a new sordid and ridiculous twist seemingly every half hour - which then prompts another wave of talking head commentary thereby adding new layers to the term “unsolicited advice” - there’s an opportunity here to express an opposing view of my original thesis.

Rick Reilly’s too-ludicrous-to-be-taken-seriously “advice” for Tiger that appeared on SportsCenter - advice that has subsequently been offered in print via his column on ESPN.com - is a judgment, no doubt. So is Charles Pierce’s column that appeared last week on Esquire.com. Same with any number of articles, columns and sound bytes offering suggestions as to just what Tiger should do next and/or how he should handle the media scandal (is that redundant? probably) that has ensued. I’ve decided to ignore 98% of the stuff (and really, there’s no other way to describe it at this point) that appears  in the media as it pertains to this story simply due to the fact that, at this stage, there’s just no way to verify or corroborate any of it

I do, however, take issue with the Reilly pieces only because his advice is so patently horrendous in approach (“This is how Tiger can be a better human.”), tone (“Tiger has ruined lives.”) and, well, useful value (“Tiger should skip the Masters and U.S. Open.”) that I have to question ESPN’s decision to even air/print/publish any of it. I said in my original piece that judgment isn't always a bad thing? Well, in this particular case, it is downright awful. Not the actual act of offering it, mind you, but the content itself. I don’t fault Rick Reilly for doing what his bosses likely asked of him (write a commentary piece), but I have never read such inane, counter-productive and self-entitled proselytizing from a journalist trying to making a legitimate point. Reilly’s contention that Tiger “owes” the media and the public anything, his claim that Tiger’s moral choices have “ruined lives,” and his idea that Tiger should return part of his sponsorship earnings  would be akin to me stating that Reilly should forgo two weeks pay for writing a crummy article that has damaged the public consciousness because he owes the reading public intelligence in writing. There is no actual causality in my example and there is none to be found in his column.

But, I did make the willful choice to read that piece of crap knowing full well what is was likely going to say so it’s on me. I’ve even entertained the notion that Reilly might’ve been playing an elaborate prank or conducting an experiment on the media-frenzy devouring public with the sheer absurdity of his offerings. But somehow I doubt it. So in that case, the only logical question to ask of someone who’s read/viewed these pieces becomes: “Does this change your opinion of Tiger Woods?” For me, not even one tiny iota. I still think he’s the greatest golfer to walk the planet. Will it affect my willingness to watch Tiger tee it up on TV? Probably not. I’ll still be glued to the TV when he’s in contention on Sunday and I’ll still jubilantly text and call my brothers and Dad the next time he drops a 20-foot bird on 18 to win on Sunday.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 206: MOVIES I LOVE: MANHATTAN

2009-12-04T09:02:00.000-08:00

Note: This review was originally published on BlogCritics.org.

Part of the hold great cinema has over me has something to do with what I call a “reinterpretation factor.” Great movies encourage, nay demands, not only repeat viewings, but a constant reinterpretation - or re-evaluation - of the way you relate to it upon that second, third or seventh viewing. It happens much in the same way that awesome girlfriends can become astounding wives(1). Oh sure, there are fundamental reasons you like her... the obvious charms anyone can see. But to truly love her is to see what’s underneath that lovely, shape-accentuating dress(2). To appreciate her less conspicuous virtues, you have to live with her and constantly be able to reassign new meaning on date 150 to the qualities you liked about her on date one.

“Manhattan,” Woody Allen’s seminal, 1979 ode to New York City(3), has so many incredible elements in plain view that it would be easy to e-mail your five closest friends immediately after seeing it for the first time and go on about how you’ve just met your future wife and wax poetically about the concept of love at first sight(4). I mean, what do you see right off the bat? An exceptionally-written, gorgeously-shot and aptly-scored movie. So, yeah, I get it. But if you stick with her a couple years, you might be surprised to read what you originally wrote about her to those five friends after that first viewing. I know I was.

“Manhattan has some of the wryest, bitingly-real humor I’ve ever seen in a romantic comedy.” -- Me (after I first saw the movie

While there is nothing inherently false about my early assessment of the movie, it’s definitely a bit on the superficial side. I can admit it. Perhaps it’s because the progression of time brings added life experiences to one’s contextual perception, but I think I have at least fifty more things to say about the movie and how I relate to it now, several years and at least seven or eight viewings later.

Firstly, I know there’s some automatic discomfort built into the film’s premise of a 42-year-old man engaged in a sexual relationship with a 17-year-old girl. And yes, I recognize most of the characters in the movie - with the exception of the aforementioned 17-year-old(5) - are, on the surface, irredeemably selfish creeps. But aren’t we all, just a little? Sometimes? Any man over 30 that tells you he’s never found a girl under 18 attractive is lying to you, so let’s just call a spade what it is and accept that Isaac’s relationship with Tracy in the movie is not the worst crime in cinematic history

Examing the relationships in the movie - between Isaac and Tracy, Isaac and Mary, Isaac and Jill, Isaac and Yale, Yale and Mary, Yale and Emily - through the lens of repeat viewings continues to give me a greater understanding of what Woody Allen has really been trying to say all along(6). I can’t help but be torn by this deeply cynical take on love presented in such an idealistically beautiful package. How can a movie that features, in my mind, the greatest compliment ever uttered to a woman(7) end so sardonically with that same woman futilely advising our main character that “You gotta have a little faith in people” as he grins disbelievingly at her and us, the audience? It’s so perfect, I literally want to stop typing this and pop in the DVD so I can watch it for the 40th time.

When I first saw the movie, it seemed like comeuppance, of sorts, that Tracy would now make Isaac long for her as she did for him throughout the film. But there was always the notion, in the back of my mind, that eventually she would return from London the same sweet, love-sick girl she started the film as. This interpretation, in hindsight, was an obvious reflection of my own emotional idealism at the time. It’s only been with age, thought and continued re-evaluation that I now realize that the Tracy I’ve come to adore throughout the movie will never return. Just as I now realize that the sum effect of his relationship failures will always prevent Isaac from doing just what Tracy advised. And you know what? I still revere the movie, even if I don’t necessarily agree with its disstrust of love. In fact, I have such deep love for “Manhattan,” that I could likely go on for 5,000 more words about it. But you don’t have that kind of time and I don’t have the finger dexterity to keep typing. Perhaps in five years, I’ll write another essay on how great this movie is. Of course by then, I’ll probably have arrived at a whole new interpretation of it, you know, another 150 dates later.

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(1) Or, you know, the exact opposite.
(2) I swear, no pun intended here.
(3) Can we just all go ahead and agree that “Manhattan” is Woody’s greatest movie? I know, I know... everyone loves “Annie Hall” but “Manhattan” is the greater MOVIE in almost every way. Yes, “Annie Hall” is more innovative, takes greater risks and is, arguably, the funnier of the two. But that doesn’t necessarily translate into greatness does it? Or does it? Am I having this argument with myself? Okay, I’ll shut up now.
(4) Which is exactly what I did the first time I saw it. Seriously. I think I e-mailed at least a few people telling them they had to watch this wonderfully bittersweet romantic comedy.
(5) Many have criticized Mariel Hemmingway’s performance in this movie, but I will defend it to anyone willing to listen. Maybe she isn’t the greatest actress in the cast and maybe she wasn’t purposely aiming for simple and natural with Tracy. But if that’s the case, that’s the most fitting, most sweetly-perfect sample of bad acting being a good thing I’ve ever seen. Nobody can tell me otherwise.
(6) It’s ironic how UN-romantic this movie’s conclusion about the nature of relationships really is considering just about everyone - myself included - classifies it as a “romantic comedy.”
(7) Isaac’s comment to Tracy that she is “God’s answer to Job” during their Central Park carriage ride is, to me, the most romantic line ever uttered in a movie I’ve seen.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 205: THE THINGS THAT DON'T CHANGE

2009-12-01T11:02:00.000-08:00

I find myself ocassionaly in awe of the constancy with which certain aspects of life persist. Be it a friendship, a fantasy or a mere feeling; it is - I think - mostly comforting to know that not everything dissolves away in the perpetual rush of impending futurehood. We’re taught that change is a natural and required component of advancement; and I get that. But I wonder, then, what it must mean when, say, a relationship dynamic remains defiantly the same as you’ve always remembered it regardless of a change in your external circumstance. Does it simply illuminate an established pattern of behavior? A system of give-and-take both parties are comfortable with and unwilling to alter? Or is it, perhaps, simply indicative of the psychic hold people are capable of exerting over us.

Frankly, I’m not convinced it’s one or the other. But I am curious as to why we are often held at the emotional mercy of memories, events, individuals. I know the obvious answers; that specific things trigger specific responses like emotional pressure points. But are these points the same for different people? Can the figurative butterflies one person feels in the presence of a former lover, for instance, possibly be reflective of the same nostalgic trigger as the excitement with which his neighbor reacts to the sight of a red Ferrari? Different stimuli, same result in other words?

What does it mean when a memory replays in your mind on a consistent - if not necessarily constant - loop? What is the lesson there? Is there a lesson there? I’m hardly the first person to ask this question but I wonder if anyone else agrees with my admittedly temporary conclusion; that the importance of the matter rests not in the whys - why do I feel this way? why won’t this feeling go away? - but in the simple fact that despite the demands of evolution and progression, we are capable of holding on to certain friendships, certain fantasies and certain feelings at all.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 204: SOMETHING ABOUT MARY

2009-11-24T09:48:00.000-08:00

I drew up some concept sketches of the main character MARY from my aforementioned, 2nd place-losing script last night. The looks I envision her in - a sort of neo-noir, modernized retro homage to Grace Kelly, Lauren Bacall and Barbara Stanwyck - draw as much from my influences as the story itself. Unfortunately, I’m not much of a fashion designer so these costumes are merely impressions or templates at best. The one thing I know for sure though? She’s got to have big, concealing sunglasses. What do you guys think? Dangerous elegance or cold casual?

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 203: LAMENTATIONS OF A SORE LOSER BIRTHDAY BOY

2009-11-17T11:43:00.000-08:00

The thing I most enjoy about my birthday is the simple fact that it is during this week or two that the people I most enjoy spending time with make the most concerted effort to spend time with me. As was the case last weekend. Three of my close friends made the trip from San Francisco to participate - along with various members of my LA-based buddy list - in an experiment designed to prove that 30-plus year old livers could still withstand three straight nights of alcoholic haymakers. I should mention that this study in self-hatred included willingly subjecting myself to a vicious, Pacquiao-like, left hook to the dome in the form of an impromptu 15 hour trip to Vegas to conduct an investigation into the true limits of human stupidity.

Nonetheless, I am - and will, I’m sure, forever be - grateful to my friends for always coming up big on my behalf. Thanks to everyone - especially the most lovely little lady ever to be stamped with a “Made in Taiwan” sign - that took time out of their weekend schedules to remind me that while I may be short on fame, fortune, talent, looks, intelligence, athletic ability and critical adoration, I have the support and friendship of truly fantastic people in obnoxiously rich abundance.

Speaking of a lack of critical adoration...

I was notified, yesterday, that a script for a short film I wrote last summer narrowly missed out on winning a $5,000 grant. In other words, I came in second (second prize, by the way, is a nice, but much less production-friendly, $250). At the risk of sounding like a sore loser or - you know - a dick, I can’t help but recall the words of the immortal Tiger Woods when he so succinctly lamented that “second place sucks.” All second place really means is that I was the first loser. A harsh assessment, I realize, but my feelings nonetheless.

In fact I made the completely over-stated and mostly untrue comment to a friend last night that I’d rather have not placed at all than come in second. The comment, itself, is patently ridiculous but telling, I suppose, of my sometimes over-dismissive and competitive nature; my capacity for impetuous disregard. The irony here, of course, is that for all the internal grousing I’ve done in the last 24 hours, I actually don’t consider the script I wrote to be grand-prize worthy in the first place. I think I probably did immediately after writing and revising it; but such feelings are usually pretty ephemeral as - after re-reading it for the first time in a couple months yesterday - all I can see now are flaws... big, fat, glaring.

Ah well... as my Mom wisely told me yesterday, I should just be grateful. Perhaps I’d have reacted less snidely and been less ornery about all of this had I woken up the last few days with the ability to breathe through my nose. I’m hopped up on Vitamin C and Amoxicillin at the moment and it’s entirely possible I’m thinking at less than 100% rationality. This, of course, bears no evidence of causality to the above-mentioned attempt to drink my liver into oblivion. In any case, congratulations to Mr. Teddy Culver on winning the grand prize. I don’t know you and I haven’t read your script, but I’m sure it was terrific and well-deserving of first place. But I’ve got the better (and more recklessly foolhardy) friends, so there!

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 202: GODARD & THE NBA

2009-11-11T13:05:00.000-08:00

"The Film Critic" by Ruth Yu

There was this moment the other night while I was watching Jean Luc Godard’s “Masculin, Feminin” when it occurred to me that a drop of saliva had trickled down the corner of my mouth and I had somehow lost memory of the previous three minutes. At first, I wondered to myself whether it was the incline bench presses I had performed just before the movie that had induced this brief narcoleptic episode. Then I remembered I had experienced eerily similar bouts of hypnotic displacement the LAST time I watched “Masculin, Feminin” - not to mention “Pierrot Le Fou,” “Weekend,” and “Alphaville.” The realization that the sum of my Godardian viewing experiences resulted in a less than 100% awake rate naturally led me to question my own benighted cinematic palate. I pondered the consequences my reputation would endure if word of my repeated fits of lost time ever became known to the group of cineastes with whom I viewed the film. Five minutes of self-conscious panic later, I was reading a column on Chris Cohan’s disastrous tenure as the owner of the Golden State Warriors.

It was somewhere around the third paragraph of Tim Kawakami’s column that my mind began drifting back towards images of the lovely Catherine Duport and the ephiphany occurred. Godard was TRYING to put me to sleep. His whole filmmaking philosophy centered around shattering viewer expectations and expanding the vocabulary of filmmaking by using the tools of the cinema to twist the medium’s purpose into its mirror opposite. Is it so ludicrous, then, to believe that Monsieur Godard was purposefully trying to bore his audiences by presenting them with completely uninteresting, unformed characters posing and proselytizing their way through Paris in non-sensical and abstract narratives? This sudden awareness of Godard’s true intention washed over me like a hot shower. “He doesn’t want me to like his movies!” I suddenly felt completely and utterly vindicated in my years-old apathy for Godard’s filmography.

I wonder if my fellow film lovers realize this? I wonder if some of these hardcore cineastes going on and on about how great Godard’s films are realize their effusiveness only fuels this decades old prank he’s been playing on them. It’s as if their desire to become latter day devotees to the Cahiers du Cinema - and the subsequent tendency to over-intellectualize an inherently visceral medium in cinema - has led to a general amnesia regarding cinema’s first and most important metric of success: its ability to provoke an emotional reaction from the viewer. Man, I love it when my obsession with the NBA leads to greater cinematic understanding.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 201: THE LESSON OF STREET FIGHTER II

2009-11-06T11:26:00.000-08:00

There are two memories I remember with distinction from the summer of 1992(1). The first revolves around the unprecedented level of awkwardness surrounding my first day of high school (more on that another time). The second involves my inability to sleep the night before the release of the “Street Fighter II” video game for the Super Nintendo.(2) Now for those of you who’ve either forgotten or purposefully repressed your memories of the early 90s, let me remind you that Street Fighter II was THE arcade game of that generation. Every day after school, clusters of middle school kids could be found engaging in pick-up SFII competitions at one of the two locations with the game in my town(3), which always led me to question where in the world they were getting so many quarters. When word hit that everyone’s favorite game of animated bloodsport was making its way to home video game consoles for the first time, a collective adolescent insanity broke out. Luckily, my brothers and I were among the first to put our names on the waiting list. The night before release day felt as long and torturous as a stay at Abu Ghraib. The only thoughts running through my mind, it seemed, were the strategies I would use to defeat my brothers using my go-to character Chun-Li. The next day finally arrived and with it, our prized copy of a video game that would provoke at least a thousand hours of gaming and a dozen near fist fights that summer.(4)

Thinking about the level of unbridled excitement I felt that night and would subsequently continue to feel throughout that summer, it dawns upon me that the number of times I’ve anticipated anything so eagerly can probably be counted on two hands. Is that sad? Are adults - which I grudingly accept that I am now - even capable of being thrilled in that way anymore? Will I lose an entire night’s rest the night before my wedding day?

I suppose I’m just getting nostalgic again, which is weird because I’m somewhere between 30 and 58 times happier now than I was at the miserable age of 13. So perhaps the answer is that consistent or continual happiness puts a ceiling on the extreme adrenaline rushes those less frequent bursts of joy provoke? Am I okay with that? I used to think that nothing could match the power of the short-lived and highly-intense flame. But perhaps that was a wrong-headed sentiment all along. Perhaps the medium-to-high simmer will always be more powerful simply because of its longevity.(5)  I may not lose sleep and I may not be knocked out by a Guile-produced sonic boom, but I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.

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(1) For those of you slow with arithmetic, that’s 17 years ago; meaning a high school senior has lived his/her entire life in the time since that summer. I feel positively geriatric at the moment.
(2) People forget what an incredible upgrade the SuperNES was at the time over the original Nintendo. Of course, both seem prehistoric compared to today’s consoles. 

(3) That’d be the 7-11 in Charter Square and the Go Getters Pizza in Edgewater Plaza.
(4) My brothers and certain friends were notoriously sore losers. They considered my overuse of Chun-Li’s unstoppable jumping spike kick to be dirty pool.
(5) After all, doesn’t a braise always produce richer, tastier flavors than a flash fry?

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 200: SELF LOATHING IS THE OLD BLACK

2009-10-27T11:49:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been questioning the role self loathing plays in art creation. Okay, perhaps not so much self loathing as the continual recollection of those life expriences in which we inevitably came out on the miserable losing end in our ongoing series of roshambo matches with the cosmos. But it is fairly inarguable at this point, right? So why is it that we seem to produce greater quantities of artistic output when we’re glum and disconsolate? Why can’t we be as prolific when we’re merry and cheerful?

I suppose the short answer is that when we’re happy, we’re too busy living in the present, shopping at the Grove and enjoying the proverbial rainbows and ice cream of the world. When we’re getting drenched by the waves of our own melancholy, however, all we can do is replay the circumstances and thought processes (or lack thereof) that spurred us towards the water in the first place. At least that’s the initial reaction. Eventually, the survivialist instincts that once compelled us to abandon the dangers of the vast expanse and seek sweet shelter in caves and suburban tract houses kick in and we begin the long, often agonizing exercise of fighting our way back to self respectability. Isn’t that an infinitely more compelling topic of discussion? And yet still we as consumers and devourers of other people’s assorted depravities and daddy issues continue to gravitate towards the morose; as if we get some weird kick out of vicarious suffering. Don’t we all have enough of our problems to worry about?

I guess I’m asking myself this because I’m petrified I’m going to run out of stuff to write about soon. I’m not miserable. In fact, I’m quite stoked with my life, despite - you know - all the things I don’t have going for me currently. That’s either weird or delusional, I realize, but what can I say? This is me and it’s my blog so I’ll write whatever weird crap I feel like. Even if it is rainbows and ice cream. Do people watch movies about those things?

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 198: REVERSE ROOTING

2009-10-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

I’m not quite sure where I first heard the phrase “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” - it might’ve been a book written by some 12th century Chinese general or from the guy that used to deliver my Little Star pizza - but at no point have I been more a fan of this phrase than during this current MLB playoff season. In fact, sports may be the only facet of my life in which I actively believe in this principle.

As anyone who knows anything about sports already knows, the final four teams contending for a World Series berth are the Yankees, Angels, Dodgers and Phillies. Now, first off, let me just say that I am not a fan of any of these teams and thus have no real, rooting interest in their success.

But I sure am rooting for some failure.

It’s already well documented that I absolutely, unequivocally, unmistakably, undeniably and whole-heartedly hate the Dodgers. With a passion, by the way, that rivals my distaste for traffic, raw bitter melon and Michael Bay movies. But what some of you may not know is that I also happen to have a vigorously emphatic and vehemently intense hatred for the ludicrously-named Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. As I wrote a year ago, the Angels were responsible for the first-ever inductee into my “Bad Day Hall of Fame.” As such, my animosity towards the Angels - which I have carried with me since 2002 - remains vibrant and ever-lasting

I would enjoy nothing more than to see both the Dodgers and Angels get as close to the precipice of success as possible before self-destructing in an inextinguishable wildfire of failed promise. I’m thinking something like blowing a two run lead in the bottom of the 9th inning with two outs in Game 7 of the World Series. But to hope for such a result would equate to hoping for one or both teams to advance beyond the League Championship Series and, well, you’ll never catch me rooting for their success in any scenario, no matter how nominal. Hence, I’m perfectly content with an implosion striking both teams earlier.

Let me again make clear, I am NOT rooting for either the Yankees or Phillies. I am simply hoping, anticipating, wishing and hungering for the defeat and abject humiliation of both Dodger and Angel teams; which is why for the next week and a half, at least, the Yankees, Phillies and I are going to be the best of friends.

Ken Cheng

Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 197: DIGITAL MEDIA THOUGHTS

2009-10-08T11:23:00.000-07:00

I read an article today about a rumored transaction that would have Twitter striking data-mining deals with both Google and Microsoft; essentially providing both giants access to Twitter’s enormous real-time content output via what I can only assume would be the most enormous single source feed in the history of the internet (at least until Facebook does the same thing). Billions of tweets a day from Twitter’s over 50 million member user base, aggregated and delivered by the two largest search engines on the web.

This is not an inconsequential thing for two reasons: 1) Twitter has become a de-facto information delivery vehicle for millions of people worldwide (myself included) and 2) If true, Twitter’s about to come upon a huge financial windfall and prove there is real money to be made in digital media. Twitter has begun to exert a real stranglehold on the dissemination of news and information - beating out both traditional news outlets and online news services with their abilty to broadcast at a truly viral, minute-by-minute immediacy. Whether it was word of Iranian election results or the latest celebrity death, it’s been proven beyond a doubt now that there is a huge segment of the world’s population receiving and distributing information on Twitter FIRST. But Twitter would not have the far-reaching effects of immediacy if not for its most passionate 5% user base tweeting and retweeting to the high heavens. At the same time, I am amazed that an entertainment company has yet to follow suit. I mean, it can't be rocket science if Joe Francis can become a multi-millionaire doing basically the same thing with Girls Gone Wild, right?

It drives me crazy that entertainment companies continually find ways to antagonize the people that should be their most passionate 5%. Being that I’m a huge proponent of evangelist marketing, I am always confused by this attitude that traditional media and entertainment conglomerates have towards their audience’s use of technology; as if we are all leeches only looking to suck them dry of profit. Case in point: Warner Music Group. Right now, if you upload a video (or any UGC) soundtracked to a piece of WMG’s intellectual property onto, say, Youtube, you can damn well expect that YouTube will have your video audio-disabled within a week if not days. Why? Well, it’s not YouTube’s fault... they don’t want to deal with WMG breathing down their necks. It’s WMG’s short-sighted copyright policies that dictate who distributes their music and where. Way to go WMG... because it’s always a terrible idea to let the most passionate fans of your product spread the word about how awesome your product is for you for free.

Twitter, Facebook, Google... these companies get it. Even sites like Hulu and UStream show tremendous potential to alter the paradigm. They understand the value of the Long Tail and actively encourage their most passionate 5% to do their marketing for them. What little they give up in control they more than make up for in free marketing and additional product value. They allow their users to have a say in the direction of the product and that is almost always a good thing in this world of greater consumer choice and ever increasing immediacy. It is days like this that I really miss the excitement of the office.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 196: ON FIRST KISS METAPHORS

2009-10-06T15:56:00.000-07:00

I experienced my first kiss in the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years of middle school. It was a brief and mostly painless encounter that just barely qualified as an official “first kiss.” (1) Alright let’s just call a spade a spade and say it was not a good job by me. In fact, I’m fairly convinced that it was the combination of over eagerness and abject terror that resulted in my less than spectacular debut performance as a budding Don Juan of Foster City, California. But despite the awareness of my own faulty technique and the telling smile that I recall my first kiss partner (2) offering me afterward - a smile that, in hindsight, could be described as meek at best - I managed to persuade myself that I was in for an 8th grade year full of fervent and frequent trips to first base and beyond. Predictably, she and I would kiss only once more before the capricious winds of adolescent summer romance inevitably shifted in another direction. (3) Nevertheless, I remained steadfast in my hope for a prosperous year with the ladies of Bowditch Middle School. Consequently, I went 0-for-the-year and did not get to kiss a girl again until midway into my freshman year of high school. (4)

“What’s this got to do with anything?” you might be asking. Well, I sort of happen to find my first year and a half in LA to be somewhat analogous to the above-told story; down to the initial pre-act dread, the increase in both confidence and expectation produced by an early achievement and the eventual plateauing of both with the realization of harsher conditions than previously bargained for. (5) But just as my steady belief in my own kissability eventually won out in later years, so too, I believe, must my faith in my talents and abilities as a filmmaker; no matter how challenging or difficult the current environment or how tremulous my current positioning. I’ve got some things kicking right now ladies and gentlemen and I promise you, it would be a bad move to bet against me. (6)

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(1) I maintain that actual lip-locking must last in excess of four seconds to qualify as an official kiss. Quick pecks don’t count.
(2) Who shall absolutely remain unidentified for the purposes of this blog.
(3) She would move on from her two-week curiosity with the Chinese kid with the 24-hour cowlick and an affinity for doodling Spider-Man to a spiky-haired skateboarder that I may or may not have punched in the head later that year and continued to hate passionately into high-school until I inexplicably found myself unable to remember his name.
(4) My 2nd kiss was a decidedly less awkward experience but foretelling of the irony destined to become a recurring theme in my romantic future. And by that, I mean I wound up developing a fully requited crush-off with her best friend and eventual Miss 3rd Kiss.
(5) Contrary to outsider beliefs, the entertainment industry is not recession proof as those being fired left and right at studios, networks, agencies and production companies are only all too eager to explain.
(6) How’s that for a self-affirming statement of intent? Right?!? I swear typing that sentence made me feel like I just did 50 pushups.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 195: HELP ME DECIDE

2009-10-02T12:16:00.000-07:00

Every so often, I become entangled in these ridiculous, one-sided, debates that take up entirely too much time and thought for the amount of satisfaction I may or may not derive from settling them. Being the provacateur that I am, I thought I’d share them with you all, my rapidly-dwindling reading audience, to see if anyone can add any further insight that might sway my opinions one way or another.

Who was the worst under-30 actor at his peak?

There are some strong contenders in this category. I mean honestly, you could say Keanu Reeves and try to end the conversation but that would be an injustice to the likes of, say, Chris Klein. Now after considering one bad actor after another, my friends and I settled on two worthy finalists: Freddie Prinze Jr. and Hayden Christensen. It’s my contention that Hayden Christensen is clearly the more terrible actor of the two considering how many times he’s come off duller than an IKEA butter knife in big roles. I would argue that no other male actor under 30 has a more stunning resume of disappointing mediocrity than Christensen starting with his big break in the last two Star Wars prequels and culminating in a hard-to-beat triple play of terribleness with “Awake,” “Jumper” and “Virgin Territory.” I tried watching “Virgin Territory” on cable one night and felt like he was intentionally goading me to make fun of his horrnedous attempt at a 17th century Italian accent. Paired with equally terrible Mischa Barton, it was as if they were having a bad accent contest to see who could top Kevin Costner’s terrible British accent in “Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.” At least Freddie Prinze Jr. has shown some semblance of on-screen charisma in movies such as “She’s All That” and “I Know What You Did Last Summer” - though to call his range “limited” would be akin to calling peanut butter “brown.” Prinze also gets bonus self-awareness points for intentionally shifting the direction of his later career towards intentionally mediocre and/or non-challenging roles after realizing he could no longer fool audiences or casting directors; to which I say: the first step in resolving a problem is admitting the problem exists. Hayden Christensen, it seems, has yet to learn this; which would explain why his next role still hasn’t been decided according to IMDB. Have studio heads finally realized he can’t carry a lead role much less a lead role in a franchise? We’ll see.

What is the best opening scene in a movie?

Okay I’ll admit this was less a debate and more an example of why I can never pick a favorite anything. I have three contenders that you can watch via YouTube (below) and perhaps you can help me decide which should be my favorite.

Manhattan - I’ve written about this movie enough times that I probably don’t have to say anymore. But I positively adore Woody Allen’s opening homage to New York.

Millenium Mambo - One actress (the lovely Shu Qi), one perfectly matched music selection, one gorgeous long take. If the rest of this movie could’ve held up to its stunning opening scene, Hou Hsiao Hsien would be in my pantheon of favorite living directors. Unfortunately, it did not.

The Royal Tenenbaums - Wes Anderson is a polarizing filmmaker. Some people absolutely loathe his precious, overly-kitschy take on people and relationships. I’m not one of them and the opening scene from “Tenenbaums” is a big reason why.

So consider it and let me know what you think. You never know... Hayden Christensen’s career could be hanging in the balance! (Probably not, though)

P.S. I also love the opening of "Touch of Evil," but not as much as the three above.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 193: CHAPTER 12 - LAS VEGAS

2009-09-24T12:41:00.000-07:00

There was no other city that Luke found more instantly transformative than Las Vegas. Sure, New York was toughening, but in such a way that the worst experiences that make you stronger - like being bullied or losing your job - usually are; deliberate, painful and occasionally humiliating. And San Francisco, as unabashedly as he loved it, was a cream puff city; brimming with the same benevolence, understanding and noble intentions that have resulted in a generation of children referring to their parents by their first names. Las Vegas, on the other hand, imposes no forewritten identity upon its visitors. Like an encouraging therapist or a handle of tequila, all Las Vegas asks of you is that you reveal your true self while you’re there. Because it is a place in which ‘possible’ can become ‘probable’ in a matter of seconds, Las Vegas requires an open mind and the willingness to let your deepest desires and depravities manifest. Stepping into the vast and immoderately designed lobby of the Venetian Hotel and Casino on a predictably busy Friday night with his friends Jake and Damon, Luke was  imminently ready to do exactly as Las Vegas asked of him.

“I will never, ever, ever, ever not enjoy walking in here,” Damon giddily offered as they sauntered through the Venetian’s expansive casino floor. Like most hotels on the Las Vegas strip, the Venetian demands that arriving visitors pass through the heart of its impressive gaming operation on their way to the guest rooms. It is the architectural equivalent of making someone drink a shot before they can order a drink at a bar; exorbitant, uncalled for and thoroughly effective. Jake gaped at the plethora of shimmery cocktail dresses and half-unbuttoned dress shirts surrounding the blackjack and roulette tables and felt a familiar tingle crawl up his spine. “I’ve got a good feeling about tonight, boys,” Jake opined to nobody in particular. “We start the evening with some pre-drinks upstairs, spend a couple hours at the tables, then head to the club, meet some chicks and let Vegas handle it from there.”

The casual confidence Jake imbues in his strategically-conceived master plan has less to do with actual strategy than proven experience. Because,as is the case with any group of young, single men with the wherewithal to enjoy the dual blessings of youth and disposable income with which they’ve been granted, Luke, Damon and Jake came to Vegas to get laid. The difference, however, between them and every other group of popped-collar meatheads roaming the smoke-filled casino floors of Las Vegas rested in their subtlety.

Where Vegas’ lack of uniform social protocol enables many to push the unspoken boundaries of culturally-acceptable exaggeration inherent to the mating process, Luke, Damon and Jake willfully assumed the opposite approach.  Theirs was a philosophy centered on the notion that small, harmless, does of judiciously-stated half truths were far more effective, if not pivotal, cogs in the machinations of sexual attraction than the outright lies often bandied about like so many strip club business cards in this town. As Damon liked to explain: women have the effects of concealer and push up bras to their advantage while men simply have the unquantifiable power of the overstatement.

Whatever the case, it dawned upon both Damon and Jake that the success of their collective goal that weekend would command all of their modest, individual talents. For Luke, they estimated, was only operating at 60% capacity; his full potential to pull off a“get” suppressed by the still broken heart leaking equal measures of self-pity and self-loathing throughout his capillary system. It was a challenge Damon and Jake accepted without hesitation, however, because they knew had circumstances been interchanged; had either of them been the victim of the kind of misery Luke was currently suffering - the kind only a loved one’s callous indifference can inflict - well, Luke would be the first to organize a recuperative trip to Vegas on their behalf. And so the three made their way past the casino floor and up the Venetian elevator, ready and willing to enjoy three days and two nights of whatever hijinks they could engender. This was, after all, Las Vegas; where possible could - at any moment and without warning - become probable.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 191: SURE, I'LL READ YOUR F*CKING SCRIPT

2009-09-11T11:36:00.000-07:00

A screenwriter named Josh Olson(1) sent the writing and entertainment industry-centered blogosphere into a ‘North and South’ style tizzy yesterday when he published an essay in The Village Voice titled “I Will Not Read Your F*cking Script.”(2) In it, Olson spends nearly 2,000 words explaining to you - the presumably aspiring, unestablished screenwriter - why asking him to read your screenplay at a party is a dick move and makes you an utter asshole. Writers, filmmakers and industry folks far and wide have commented or responded to Olson’s article - with a seemingly equal distribution of folks agreeing and disagreeing with his exasperation and overstatements. Nobody I’ve read, however, disagrees with his central premise.

You see, asking an established *anything* in this business to read an unsolicited script can be a really uncomfortable and hugely awkward exercise.(3) Admittedly, I’ve done it on numerous occassions. BUT, I can say with almost 83% certainty that in 90% of these occassions, the people I’ve asked have (A) actually offered to read my work first or (B) already read a previous piece of material and generously offered to read subsequent projects.(4) And it helps that I’m good with criticism.(5) I know a lot of people receive constructive criticism about as well as an insult to their grandmother’s virtue, but I have never been one of them. Had the young man Olson references in his piece been more humble receiving his feedback, I probably wouldn’t be writing this reaction piece today.

The truth is: for an unestablished writer, this process is absolutely essential because it is typically the catalyst for the rewrite. As Malcolm Gladwell reaffirms in his latest book “Outliers,” nobody makes it anywhere without some help and establishing that network of individuals willing to help you build a career in an industry predicated on relationships is just as key as actual writing ability. I’ve been EXTREMELY fortunate to have a circle of super smart, super generous individuals who consistently read and offer notes on projects after I’ve written them.(6) Of course, it also helps - you know, if you have any sense of decorum - to send them a thank you gift or buy them a drink of some sort afteward.

And though Olson’s article is funny and - I think - 80% on point, the anger apparent in his words sort of dismisses a crucial truth: that new writers are the blood infusions that carry this industry. Though to be clear: he is likely not exaggerating when he describes the piles of 100-120 page scripts sitting unread on his nightstand. In fact, he probably left out the five other piles sitting on his office desk. Believe me, I’ve seen development executives’ offices and apartments literally covered in scripts they’ve had to read. So if you’re going to ask someone to read something you’ve written - it should go without saying that you’d better do so tactfully and you’d better be willing to give him/her 200% of your patience in return. Don’t expect them to read it on your timetable. (7) Be prepared to wait for their feedback as if it were Guns N’ Roses “Chinese Democracy” album.(8)

This is why I’ve always been willing to read anything handed to me from friends or acquaintances looking for honest feedback. And I’ll make the pledge today that when the day comes that I am too busy to read a friend’s script, I will still take it anyway. You know, if Josh Olson doesn’t take it first.

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(1) His resume is highlighted by the awesome Cronenberg film A History of Violence which is - I think - only marginally better than his vastly underrated earlier work Infested: Invasion of the Killer Bugs.
(2) I suggest reading the article before reading my comments on it. Trust me, it is worth the ten minutes it will take to read if solely for its entertainment value.
(3) I compare it to asking someone you really like - but who doesn’t like you equally in return - why they don’t like you as much as you like them. 
(4) Trust me - I racked my brain for a solid 5 minutes trying to remember every instance in which I’ve sent someone a copy of my script to make sure this statement was true before committing it to print. 
(5) No, honestly I am!
(6) It is no exaggeration to say that the revisions I make based on their notes typically improve my scripts by a minimum of 30% per draft. 
(7) I finally had a lunch meeting this week with a guy I’ve been trading e-mails with for a year! And you know what? He asked me to send him something to read. That’s how long it takes sometimes.
(8) Has that album come out yet? How about Dr. Dre’s “Detox” album?

ACT 3/SCENE 190: THREE THINGS I LIKE TODAY

2009-09-09T13:18:00.000-07:00

I’m introducing yet another new column series titled “Three Things I Like Today.” As the title quite accurately suggests, I will be using this column to share brief thoughts on what will likely be three completely unrelated subjects. In fact, it is entirely probable that the only thing my topics will end up having in common moving forward is that I found them interesting enough to spend a few sentences praising them on that given day. It is an equally good bet – considering my often transitory sense of taste - that my affection for whatever it is I end up writing about will last no longer than the titular 24 hours, so please take these capsule “reviews” with a teaspoon of salt. As with every other on-going column I’ve introduced on this blog, I have no idea when and/or how often I will be writing it; suffices to say -whenever the urge to revisit it occurs to me.

And with that brief introduction, let’s begin:

(1) Umami Burger
(850 S La Brea Ave. Los Angeles, CA - www.umamiburger.com)

Umami Burger is one of my new favorite Los Angeles eateries - despite the fact that (A) I’ve only eaten there once and (B) the experience was influenced (positively) by a fluke bit of luck (namely: our waiter mistakenly bringing us an un-ordered burger and then offering it to us for free).  We tried their Truffle Burger (delicious), Pork Belly Burger (winsome) and the eponymous Umami Burger (adequate), along with side orders of their triple-cooked steak fries (forgettable) and malt liquor tempura onion rings (killer).  The long and short of it is: the food – though modestly portioned – makes the place worthy of a second and third visit so long as you know that its richness and absolute lack of regard for caloric frugality will have you feeling the rumblings of a minor cardiac event immediately thereafter.

(2) Popcorn Fiction
(www.popcornfiction.com)

As a writer, it is almost always inspiring – and only occasionally depressing – to read the work of your more established (read: more successful) brethren. I have been hooked on screenwriter Derek Haas’ website Popcorn Fiction – which features fun, pulpy, short stories from proven industry screenwriters - since its debut about two months ago. It proves the adage true that a real writer loves to write – for surely there is no great incentive beyond a creative one for these established pros to concoct weird little yarns (my favorite of which, so far, has been Scott Frank’s “The Flying Kreisslers”) for the web-searching world to read.  (Of course, as soon as I wrote the previous sentence, I remembered that Mr. Haas just sold the rights to his own short story “Shake” to Jerry Bruckheimer Productions for an undisclosed 7-figure sum. God, I love the Internet.)

(3)  “Love Song” (Death Cab For Cuties cover)

I have a general rule of thumb for song covers and it goes something like this: “if the cover is of a song I already enjoyed in its original incarnation, then the artist/band covering it better be one that I also happen to enjoy separately.” Well, my rule of thumb is adequately satisfied by Ben Gibbard & Co. with their pleasantly, non earth-shattering rendition of my favorite Cure song. There is a fealty on display here in Gibbard’s vocals and musicianship. He suppresses the naturally buoyant tones of his voice to mimic Robert Smith’s dripping emotiveness - as if he were reinterpreting Smith’s declarative lyrics of love and loyalty and pledging them not to some indifferent lover (like, say, Zooey Deschanel) as Smith did, but to the song itself.

Bonus free download here: Death Cab for Cuties - Love Song.mp3

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 189: THE LETTER - A RETROSPECTIVE

2009-09-03T11:37:00.000-07:00

Over a year and a half ago, I hastily decided to publish a letter that I had written while mirred in a life-questioning slump of epic proportions(1); under the influence of what can only be described as the most effective (and entirely legal) social lubricant known to man: red wine. At the time, I had worked out some really faulty logic(2) with which I convinced myself that publishing this letter - a letter I had no intention of ever actually sending to its intended recipient -  on my then wildly un-read blog(3) would be symbolic, somehow, of the larger thematic changes I was attempting to command over the subtext of my life. Was the letter cloyingly sentimental? Of course. Did I regret publishing it just .84 seconds after the fact? You bet. Do I still regret publishing it a year and a half later? Well...

See the thing is, prior to unleashing that piece of overly maudlin babble upon the worldwide web, I suffered from an acute case of what can only be described as writer’s stage fright(4). Releasing my work into the ether for public consumption was, at the time, an anxiety-ridden act - at best - and sort of terrifying - at worst. But in retrospect, publishing it was the smartest piece of preventitive strategy I could have employed. It’s like if Michael Bay had made ‘Pearl Harbor’ his first movie.(5) Where else can you go from there but up?

A strange thing happened though, since that letter’s publication. I grew up.(6) I read that letter now and the memories of regret that my words once provoked are nowhere to be found. They’ve been replaced, instead, only by regret over my sentence structure and the general lack of thematic cohesiveness and narrative drive apparent in my writing. Weird how the progress of life can dramatically alter your perspective on once deeply personal matters.

All proclamations of maturity and dettachment aside, it is still oddly refreshing to read that letter, however infrequently. It reminds me to avoid getting stuck in the bog of cynicism and maintain an attitude of positivity and forward momentum. The letter - especially its final paragraph, which I still insist is one of the three or four best paragraphs I’ve ever written on any subject - has assumed a new life as a motivating force, if you will. And not just for me. If the letter’s page views(7) weren’t enough indication, then the random comments, e-mails and compliments I’ve received from friends and strangers, alike, should tell me that it still serves a purpose. Whether it’s one of inspiration, entertainment or just pure comedy isn’t as important as the simple fact that the words still have meaning at all. And honestly? As a writer, that’s a pretty cool feeling.

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(1) The life question at hand was: Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life quitting my job and moving to LA?
(2) Which I am wont to do on occassion.
(3) Now it is only “un-read” as opposed to the “wildly un-read” status it had once occupied.
(4) Writer’s stage fright never really goes away... I think it just gets easier to deal with. 
(5) Really you could use “Armaggeddon” or “Transformers 2” here and still maintain the metaphor’s effectiveness.
(6) Yes, I absolutely realize this statement is coming from a guy that still enjoys playing flip cup. 
(7) As indicated by the ranking to the right, this thing is still the most widely-read entry in the history of my blog. Go figure.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 186: GRATITUDE

2009-08-19T17:12:00.000-07:00

If I was the type to wonder what the hell I ever did to deserve the modest blessings that seem to inundate my life, I imagine the task would leave me with little time or imagination to do much else.

I would constantly ask myself why I was given a wonderful and loving family that, despite years of hardship, difficulties and pain, managed to somehow remain as solid a foundation as I could ever wish for. I would ponder what I must have achieved in some previous life to earn the incredible combination of loyalty, inspiration and support that I receive from my best friends in this one. And I would wonder if it was merely the most convincing of illusions that the most wonderful woman in Los Angeles repeatedly chooses to spend her time watching movies with me.

I would spend hours upon hours contemplating and deliberating the whys, instead of simply being grateful - every single day - for the whats. You know, if I was the type to wonder. Thank goodness I'm not.

Ken Cheng
San Francisco, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 185: FRIDAY THOUGHTS

2009-08-14T13:51:00.000-07:00

There’ve been a couple subjects popping up on the web that I’ve been meaning to comment on. Bear with me...

(1) Is there an organizaton with less PR acumen than PETA? I understand they mean well - after all who wants to see animals treated like... well... animals - but their tactics are horrendous. Whoever decided the “overbearing sibling who bludgeons and berates everyone with good intentions” strategy was the best way to win hearts and minds ought to be fired. Just a thought PETA, but I think mounting casualties in Iraq, the genocide in Darfur or stirring up aid for homeless people might be a more important use of your time and energy than making a public fuss over Michael “Don’t call me Mike” Vick. And stop hurling paint at people wearing fur. A-holes.

(2) I know this has been said (more articulately) elsewhere but I’m pretty sure the notion that Americans live in a “post-racial” society because we elected a Black man president has now been thoroughly refuted by the likes of Orly Taitz, Michelle Bachmann, Glenn Beck and the increasingly looney legion of followers they like to provoke. Without sounding indignant - because to do so only fuels the hellfire scorching their backsides - it seems telling that so much thinly veiled malice, the subtext of which is plainly obvious, could be aimed so squarely at the American President in the name of patriotism. It’s like an atheist questioning where God was born in the name of religion. I’d much rather these people just come right out and say they don’t want a Black man to be President rather than have to put up with the charade that their attacks are only made for the good of the nation. And you know what, CNN, MSNBC and FOX? You aren’t doing anybody any favors giving these folks so much air time. Jerks.

(3) And with that, I thought I’d point your attention to some web stuff that I DO like to amuse you into the weekend:

Check out this interview young Mr. Damon Weaver conducted with our supposedly Kenyan-born President. Awesome stuff. Though I have to question Damon’s journalistic integrity for not asking the President to provide proof of his birth certificate’s authenticity.
(Credit goes to the hilarious Mr. Aziz Ansari for pointing out this link first.)

Dr. Ken Jeong has been absolutely murdering every guest/cameo appearance he’s had in movies lately, from ‘Knocked Up’ and ‘Role Models’ to his surreal turn in ‘The Hangover.’ Fortunately for comedy lovers everywhere, he’s been cast as a regular on a new show my friend Heather has been developing for NBC called “Community.” Check out this clip. It’s hilarious (and a nice follow up thought to my Long Duk Dong entry from last week).

Malcolm Gladwell wrote a killer article in The New Yorker a week ago deconstructing Southern liberalism, law and politics through the lens of Harper Lee’s “To Kill A Mockingbird.” Absolutely fantastic stuff that’ll make you question every positive thought you ever had from reading “Mockingbird” in high school. A must read.

HERE

And with that, I'm off to try to be productive. In the words of the immortal P. Diddy... "LET'S GOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 184: FANDOM CONTINUED

2009-08-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

With the San Francisco Giants already down 0-2 in a pivotal, division rivialry series against the Dodgers, I thought it would be a good time to get to the bottom of a weird shift that’s been taking place in my sports viewing over recent months. A couple months ago, I wrote a piece describing what sports fandom means to me. Debatable or not, I stand by my assertion that true fandom is not a strictly one-way, positive-leaning pracitice(1). In other words, while true fans should always prioritize their team’s success above all else(2), it is nearly as important for fans to consistently root for their rival teams’ failure. What I didn’t get into, however, was how true fans should perceive their teams while rooting for their success.

I bring this up because having lived in Los Angeles for nearly two years now, I’ve been forced to rely on alternative methods to get my fix of the Bay Area sports action I was so used to back home. My primary options have been online “gamecasts” - the services you can find on any sports or league-sponsored website that objectively relay the happenings of a given in-progress game, only several minutes delayed. I still read Bay Area sports columnists regularly, but really, I can only watch my teams live when they’re playing the LA teams and I’m forced to watch the local broadcasts(3). Which is strange, because now, instead of the “gamer” Kruk and Kuip initially comforted me into believeing Aaron Rowand was, I simply see him for what he is: a mediocre centerfielder who plays solid defense but can’t hit (4). The man-crush I had developed on Stephen Jackson’s crazy brand of play from hearing Fitz and Barnett praise him to the high heavens? Mostly gone. Replaced, today, by a constant fear of poorly-timed three point attempts.

I suppose I’ve never had a more objective view of the teams I follow and the athletes of which they’re comprised. I no longer have the warm consolations of Jon Miller to talk me out of my fear that Travis Ishikawa will never be more than a servicable first baseman destined to peak at a .268 average. Greg Papa isn’t around anymore to instill some measure of hope that just maybe the Warriors’ front office has a shred of competency left in it. As you can imagine, this is mightily distressing to a guy like me - whose in-game emotional state rises and falls faster than Jonthan Sanchez’s fantasy value. Is it better to be completely objective about your teams? To create the emotional distance that prevents illogically unrequited attachments? Perhaps. I probably wouldn’t have been as devastated by Game 6 if I had been living in New York in 2002. And I definitely would not have been so distraught by the Warriors’ inability to hit clutch free throws during the Utah series in the 07 playoffs. But then again, I’d probably be a Dodger or Laker fan by now if that’d been the case; and you know what? Those are reasons enough to have made all the pain worthwhile.

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(1) There is a yin and yang quality to fandom, as there is to all facets of life; especially during the trading deadline.

(2) Especially some indifferently agnostic notion that championships should be decided by “the two best teams.” What does that even mean anyway?

(3) Only I do this with the TV on mute to avoid the non-sensical and thoroughly unentertaining babble of LA broadcasters. That’s right I’m looking at you Joel Meyers, Mike Smith and Stu Lantz. Don’t even get me started on Vin Scully.

(4) Or more accurately, “can’t hit in impact moments.” I still like the guy though.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 183: LONG LIVE LONG DUK DONG

2009-08-07T11:28:00.000-07:00

We live in a society in which one of the most enduring, mainstream portrayals of Asian (and by proxy, Asian American) men is that of the immortal Long Duk Dong, from the movie ‘Sixteen Candles.’ With the ostensibly Korean name(1) and mismatchingly confused Japanese accent, LDD (as I will refer to him from here on out) stands alongside Bruce Lee, Charlie Chan and - oh I don’t know - Mr. Fuji as the defining Asian faces of my early, media-soaked childhood(2). Contextually, “Herrro, hot stufff” and “autooomobeeee?” were as quote-worthy to me as “You have offended my family... and you have offended the Shaoline Temple.” Now, I realize LDD - with his impish, spastic behavior or meek and easily-dominated demeanor - was, perhaps, not the most flattering or dignified depiction of the Asian man in America. I’m sure many Asian kids growing up in the 80s had to deal with the ramifications of being identified with LDD’s above-mentioned deficiencies. But what John Hughes (who wrote him) and Gedde Watanabe (who played him) did in creating LDD was - I think - offer us a really human character among the sea of cartoon villains and kung fu masters.

‘The Donger’ is more figurative a character, more potent a metaphor (of the vascillations of teenage alientation and self-discovery that John Hughes so often depicted) than any other character in the film. Who was more of an outsider in the movie than him?(3) Bruce Lee - the character - was a demigod; the personification of human ferocity and physical perfection whose only true weakness was his unchecked fury(4). Mr. Fuji was simply a cartoon - effective as it may have been - amassed from decades of conniving, yellow peril, mastermind cliches(5). Dong, on the other hand, was just a proverbial fish-out-of-water foreign exchange student feeling his way through a new world with, often, comedic results. In other words, he was all of us going into high school for the first time. Haven’t we all felt the fear of unfamiliarity and the cathartic joy of letting loose for the first time? Granted, we don’t all find our release in the arms of 7ft, pony-tailed Amazons, but to each their own bowl of rice. The truth is: there are more of us like LDD - foreigners in a new enviornment - in high school than there are like Jake Ryan.

I write this entry not as an attempt to revise history or to offer some contrarian argument - to the now decades worth of scorn Long Duk Dong has taken from Asian Americans - simply for the sake of being contrary. I’ve always enjoyed the LDD character; truly since my initial viewing of ‘Sixteen Candles’ with my older brothers all those years ago. Every viewing since has only solidified these feelings; my affection for the character growing with every laugh. This ability to create flawed, but identifiable and human, characters that looked like “us” and tapped “our” zeitgeist was, I think, John Hughes’ gift and what he is being properly memorialized for today. My little brother - five years my junior - grew up absolutely loving Kevin McCallister in ‘Home Alone,’ but for me and my older brothers, Long Duk Dong will always be the ultimate John Hughes character.

PS - A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY to one of my aforementioned older brothers, Chef Jeremy Cheng. Last year, I posted one of his delicious recipes in honor of his birthday... why not make it an annual tradition?(6)

------------------

(1) Was Long Duk Dong supposed to be Korean? It’s been a while since I’ve seen “Sixteen Candles,” but has the mystery of LDD’s ethnic origin ever been put to rest?

(2) Though to be fair, Mr. Fuji was a visual knock-off of Odd Job from ‘Goldfinger.’

(3) Sorry, I refuse to accept Anthony Michael Hall’s and John Cusack’s ‘Geek’ characters as valid answers to this question.

(4) Which I would argue is less of a weakness and more of an awesome.

(5) As was Charlie Chan, but in the reverse. Mr. Fuji was conniving, Charlie Chan was deductive. Mr. Fuji was deceptive, Charlie Chan was sage-like. And etc.

(6) Bonus Recipe:

JAMBALAYA RISOTTO
INGREDIENTS:
1 pkg  risotto rice – carnaroli or Arborio
1 large can chicken stock or water
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
½ pound butter
6 cloves garlic minced
1 each white or yellow onion, small dice
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 cups white wine
½ cup red pepper diced
½  cup celery, diced
½ pound andouille sausage, cut into 1”x ½”  disks
½ pound boneless chicken thighs, cut into 1” x 1” chunks
12 each large whole shrimp, peeled and deveined – heads and shells reserved
sriracha chile paste or Tabasco to taste
salt and pepper to taste
2 stalks green onion, finely sliced

In a large pot, bring chicken stock and shrimp shells and heads to a low boil. In a large pan, heat oil and brown sausage on medium heat, remove from pot but save the oil. Season chicken chunks with salt and pepper then brown in the ‘andouille oil” until cooked through. Save the oil.

Add ¼ pound (1 stick) of butter to the oil then cook the onions on low heat until translucent. Season the onion with 1 teaspoon of salt. Add the garlic and continue to cook for 1 minute being careful not to burn. Add the rice and stir to coat each grain of rice with the oil and butter. Cook the rice on medium heat stirring frequently until the rice starts to brown. Add the bell pepper and celery and stir into the rice mixture. Add the tomato paste and stir into the rice, cook for 2 minutes until the mixture begins to brown – Stir Frequently. Add the wine and continue to stir until most of the liquid has evaporated. 

Add the chicken stock 1 cup at a time stirring until the liquid has been absorbed before adding more stick. Repeat this process until the rice is almost cooked through. 

When the rice is almost finished cooking, add the shrimp and stir carefully, be careful not to break up the shrimp. When the rice and shrimp are fully cooked, add the chicken and sausage and stir into the risotto. Shut off the heat and stir in the remaining ¼ pound of butter. Adjust consistency of the rice with more stock if necessary, check seasoning and add salt or chili paste if desired. Plate into serving bowl and garnish with chopped green onion.

Ken Cheng 
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 182: PORTRAITS

2009-08-05T10:29:00.001-07:00

Some of my favorite photos of some of my favorite people...

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 181: WEDNESDAY THOUGHTS

2009-07-29T12:29:00.001-07:00

A few thoughts on a Wednesday afternoon...

Thanks to everyone that emailed or commented with compliments about the baby Kennedy video. I didn’t realize it would draw so much attention when I posted it but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised considering how much attention Alfred and Judy have probably drawn their entire lives. It’s only natural that their new daughter would do the same. Although - as I mentioned to someone last night - I realized too late that I had inadvertently titled it similarly to a failed comedy show from earlier this decade. The lesson as always... I’m just not very bright. In any case, I'm glad some of you enjoyed it.

I’ve been working to finish a script for a short film competition the last two weeks. The competition - whose deadline is this Friday - awards a grant of $5,000 to the winning script. It’s tough to tell a complete story in 10 pages or less, but I’ve found the process - and the initial feedback I’ve received from friends - extremely educational. I’m not a very concise writer. It’s one of my most glaring technical flaws. So as I put the final polishes on my script, I’m encouraged that I’ve managed to narrow my thematic focus and write a self-contained story that I’m (mostly) satisfied with. I think I’m going to shoot this short film someday, regardless of whether or not I win the grant; but keep your fingers crossed for me anyway.

At the same time that I’ve been working on the above-mentioned short, I’ve begun writing two other projects as well: a new feature-length screenplay and a speech I’m set to deliver in about three weeks. That’s right, somebody thought it’d be a good idea to put me in front of a microphone before what will likely be over 200 well-dressed people. Again. I always laugh at my friends’ perception that I’m somehow comfortable or even good with oration and public speaking because I have no idea where it comes from. It adds an almost stifling (and probably self-inflicted) pressure to write a really killer letter that feels both organically funny and sincerely heartfelt. And that’s before you even get to the nerves of the actual delivery (though I suppose that’s what Grey Goose was designed for). But I think I’m up to the task. I always claim that pressure makes me perform better so hopefully this will bear true in three weeks. There’s no way I’d settle for mediocre for this occasion, it just means too much to me.

Lastly: a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Janine! I hope you have a wonderful day celebrating your *ahem* 25th birthday.

Now, back to work...

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 179: BABY TIME - AN EXTENDED LIVE BLOG

2009-07-22T12:44:00.000-07:00

9:42PM -
Kennedy Helga Chang... welcome to the world little girl.

8:50PM -
Puuuuuuush! Puuuuuuush! What the hell is that?!? Hang on, I need to go faint in the hallway.

4:48PM -
I'm sitting here in this rather homey hospital room with A and J and apparently, 10cm of dilation is the high-water mark (no pun intended) for a pregnant lady to start the actual delivery process. She's currently at just over 7cm as of this writing. And the reality looms ever closer. For some reason, I hear Bach's Cello Suite 1 - Prelude scoring this particular period of waiting. Why? Probably because I'm weird.

12:48PM -
One of my best friends’ wife went into labor earlier this morning and suddenly (or not so suddenly) it’s become absolutely crystal clear that we (and by “we” I am self-absorbedly including myself and the rest of my core group of friends - of which this is baby number one - by extension) are now in what is officially and euphemistically referred to as “the next stage” of our adult lives.

Now this is odd since it could be argued that we (there I go again) entered that “next phase” when they all started getting engaged and/or hitched. But that really hasn’t been the case considering their marriages haven’t - at least from an outside perspective - been all too dissimilar from the period in which they were simply in committed dating relationships. But the arrival of a baby? A living, breathing human for which you are now solely and utterly responsible? Well that changes the ball game.

No longer do obligations lie with a lone spouse; a partner to whom boys’ nights out and one hour sojourns to the gym are completely logical and occasionally acceptable. From this point onward the person commanding your time will be - in my friend’s case - a tiny girl whose only desires will be sleep, food and the constant presence of her parents. Parents. Think about that word for a moment. Let it sink in. Most of us have spent the entirety of our lives as non-members of that club. How supremely jarring must it be to suddenly have something so significant in common with your own mother and father?

I’m sure most people would take the news of a close friend’s rapidly approaching fatherhood with a greater sense of cool; but as it is probably plainly obvious by now, I am not cool by any stretch of the imagination. Excited? Yes. Thrilled for my two friends? Definitely. But cool? About being so close to adulthood by proxy? No... no I am not.

More to come as the story develops...

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 178: 3 MORE FAVORITE PHOTOS

2009-07-17T14:56:00.001-07:00

I took this photo at a wedding Ruth and I attended a few months ago. I'm not exactly sure why this sticks with me so much, but I'm fairly certain it has something to do with the way her back looks. Or perhaps it's the cocktail she holds still while she dances. Whatever the reason, it's one of my favorite photos of her.

I took this photo of the guys while we were walking through the street markets in the Mongkok section of Hong Kong. I thought it looked fairly cinematic -- but it could just be me.

This photo was taken in the Lower East Side of New York City a couple years ago. Between the rain, the colorful fruit stand to the left and the way Jenny and Toby huddle underneath the umbrella -- I definitely saw something cinematic in this shot. In fact it sort of reminds me of Isaac and Mary running for cover from the rain in 'Manhattan.' Right. It definitely must just be me.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 177: 3 FAVORITE PHOTOS

2009-07-16T13:29:00.000-07:00

I keep a folder on my laptop titled 'Favorite Photos' that contain - you guessed it - specific photos I happen to love and/or find inspiring. They each feature important people in my life. Go figure. Here are a few:

A photo of my Dad, his brother and some friends from the early 60s. I absolutely adore this photo for the sole reason that it reminds me that I am truly my father's son.

This photo of us was taken by renown cinematographer Michael Barrett ("Kiss Kiss Bang Bang" and "Bobby") in Little Tokyo. A terrific guy.

I took this photo of Jackie, Marisa, Erica and Nicole on Brian and Jackie's wedding day. The contrast of their elegant dresses against the casual setting and paper plates full of food reminded me of a photo I might've seen in Vanity Fair of a couple of 50s actresses on set.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

Details for Alfred's Birthday / My Housewarming

2009-07-10T11:36:00.000-07:00

Friends: We’re one day away. Now from some of the replies I’ve received, I can tell there is a lot of love out there for Alfred. Husbandly, brotherly, straddling heterosexually. I ask you: what better way to show him than by getting him obliterated tomorrow night?

I’ll share a secret: for every shot you buy Alfred during the crawl, one dead celebrity will get his/her wings. In fact, I call dibs and will dedicate my first drunken moonwalk tomorrow to Michael Jackson. Aren’t you sad you didn’t call it first?

Also, for those of you who plan to show up early at Casa De Arneson/Cheng for the quasi-housewarming-that’s-really-just-an-excuse-to-play-beer-pong, please note that economic conditions dictate I serve only a nutrionally damaging snacks, beer and a mixed adult beverage of my own concoction. Don’t worry, it’ll be good!

So get ready. Post a Facebook status update. Use your 140 Twitter characters. Tell the world how excited you are. As an extra special treat: my roommate Matt Arneson has promised not to shave so as to better exhibit his rugged 5 o’clock shadow. And this is asking for a lot - but if we’re all really lucky, word on the street is that Alfred is going to wear a tight fitting t-shirt.

Details below.... see you guys soon.

PS- Alfred's actual birthday is today, so happy birthday buddy.

The Crawl:
Library Bar (Hope St between 6th and Wilshire - across from the Standard Hotel)
Seven Grand (7th St between Grand and Olive)
Golden Gopher (Who cares? We’re not going to make it here anyway)

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 176: LIVE BLOGGING MJ'S MEMORIAL

2009-07-07T10:53:00.000-07:00

05PM: You know what? I thought this during the election but it's confirmed now with the coverage of the memorial: Wolf Blitzer sucks. Be a real newsman, Wolf! Good lord. You'd never hear Edward R. Murrow reporting with such ridiculously over the top statements. You're making me want to switch back to Fox "We're the Best" News.

50PM: Any chance at all the networks will just let that memorial be what it was and not over analyze it with 50 talking heads afterward? There IS other news taking place right now, right? Yeah okay, didn't think so.

23PM: Not to diminish the less famous, but 'We Are The World' is just NOT the same without Ray Charles, Bruce Springsteen, Cyndi Lauper and Bob Dylan. Or Huey Lewis warbling into the microphone. He was like the pitcher actually having to bat during an All-Star game.

06PM: Not sure if this qualifies as "Ironic" or "Absurd" - but Bill O'Reilly posed the question "Why are Black Americans so interested in MJ's death despite the fact that he chose a white face and white kids" ... to not just one, but TWO platinum blonde women. Again, FOX News is the BEST!

39AM: Once again crossing the 'hugely inappropriate' line: Brooke Shields looks INCREDIBLE on stage at MJ's memorial. I mean truly foxy. Am I going to hell for noticing this?

30AM: "There was nothng strange about (MJ)"- Rev. Al Sharpton. I'd really like to make a joke here, but I'm worried it'd be hugely inappropriate. Perhaps I'd have found it less funny had Rev. Sharpton not looked like Tom Hanks from "The DaVinci Code."

15AM: Really? Kobe Bryant? It's funny, even though he's just delivering a eulogy with Magic, Kobe still doesn't look very happy that he has to share the stage.

59: Uh oh, I think LA's all time record for "The Most People Wearing Sunglasses In-Doors" is about to go down today. Man, MJ's still breaking records, even from the afterlife.

45AM: Has Trey Lorenz sung ANY other song in public besides his "I'll Be There" duet with Mariah in the last 15 years? How about ever? I say "No" because he's been singing that song since I was in 7th grade.

38AM: MJ Memorial News Watch continued: A Fox News Channel analyst just commented on Hollywood "creating" a stir over MJ's death as if the 750,000 people outside Staples were filled in via CGI. Man, FOX News is the BEST!

25AM: Anderson Cooper just totally interrupted his colleague and contradicted his MJ hyperbole. And they say Anerson's not a real newsman. IN YOUR FACE, CRITICS!

15AM: Sway just compared covering MJ's memorial to President Obama's inauguration on MTV News. Yeaaah, let's ease up on the gas a little, huh champ?

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ALFRED'S BIRTHDAY + MY HOUSEWARMING PARTY

2009-06-30T12:30:00.000-07:00

There are many things in this world that I enjoy: Giants baseball, clam linguine, and Swedish art films, for example. Pretty high on that list, though, - just ahead of Scrabble but definitely behind HBO OnDemand - is the annual celebration known as Alfred Chang’s birthday party. Alfred’s birthday is always fascinating because, let’s face it, Alfred himself is fascinating. His skills are so sharp they've been used to cut firewood... barehanded; his talents too numerous that Siberian mathematicians still haven’t been able to create a formula to count them; and his skinny jeans so well-fitted, the Audrey Hepburn estate once considered suing him for copyright infringement.

With that, I always feel a special sense of pride participating in his birthday festivities. This year, Alfred decided to call me up to the bigs and asked me to host the 32nd edition of everyone’s favorite non-Christmas, non-Halloween, and non-President’s Day holiday that you don’t get a day off work for. I will not let him down! Being that he and his lovely wife Judy are mere weeks away from delivering us our soon-to-be favorite niece, we’ve decided on something a little more tame than last year’s festivities that, quite honestly, I’m still a little hung over from. Here are the details so far:

When: Saturday, July 11
Where: Downtown Bar Crawl - TBD (Open to suggestions)
Start Time: 10PM

Also, I will be hosting a pre-party at my downtown apartment at 8 that will double as my 5-month late housewarming party. Though liquor will be served, just know that I am 32% less willing to spill beer in this place than I was at the house of mirrors. Chalk it up to advancing age and receding alcohol tolerance.

Alfred would love to have all of you (even the ones of you that don't know him) come out and join him for his birthday so don’t give him a complex and come out for a drink! He’s already got a hang up about those lazy Siberian mathematicians not trying hard enough.

Thanks!

PS. I will be sending out a reminder e-mail next week, but please reply directly to me if you can make it out.

ACT 3/SCENE 175: THRILLERS, BILLIE JEANS AND SMOOTH CRIMINALS

2009-06-26T10:16:00.001-07:00

Look, I don’t care how predictable it is or how unread this piece might go amid the deluge of Michael Jackson tributes currently flooding the internet; I want to offer a few quick thoughts on the impact Michael Jackson had on me growing up. Anyone to this day that’s ever seen me on a dance floor when the DJ inevitably plays “Billie Jean” knows just how much I absolutely adored 80s-to-mid-90s era MJ. I suppose it’s strangely paradoxical then that I’ve come to abhor our culture’s deification of celebrities and our tendency to over-canonize them after they pass. Because of that, I’m not going to expound on metaphorical meanings or comment on what his career and undeniably weird life says about culture and society.

The “Thriller” album was my first real experience “listening” to and appreciating music. I was five or six years old and my parents owned copies of the record in both album and casette form. I recall the abject terror I would feel each time I heard Vincent Price’s voice and laugh echo throughout our house or car. Seriously, terrified. That album, though, and the videos produced from it, marked the begining of my love affair with his music and dancing. I wanted to learn how to air walk, pop, lock and wave like him. And I did. I’m freaking 30 years old and I STILL bust out my now rather feeble impression of his signature moves every time a dance floor and accompanying MJ song make themselves available.

Look I am, by nature, a nostalgic fellow. I cherish certain memories and hold onto them out of the steadfast belief that everything once important to me should always - in varying degrees - remain so. So as I watch the plethora of MJ videos currently running in marathon form on TV, I cannot help but revel in the feelings of childish glee every single one of them provokes. As morose as it may sound, Michael Jackson - at least the version of the entertainer I followed for so long - has been gone for years already anyway so I have no problem cherry picking what I choose to remember. Here then are my five favorite Michael Jackson videos...

BILLIE JEAN - My favorite of all his songs. Hands down. I recently got a chance to work with the Cinematographer who shot this video. Needless to say, I was thrilled (no pun intended). I own a red bow tie because of this video.

SMOOTH CRIMINAL - In my opinion, this is the most impressively choreographed and cinematic video in his entire filmography (if not music video history in general). The white suit, retro-20s gangster production design and the famous standing forward lean... amazing.

BAD - This video was directed by Martin freaking Scorsese for crying out loud. Can any other musician claim music videos directed by the likes of Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, Spike Lee, John Landis, John Singleton and David Fincher? The pop lockers in this video alone make it worth watching over and over. Ridiculous.

KEEP IT IN THE CLOSET - I’m going to ignore the obvious pun of the title and call this the sexiest - and maybe most underrated - video he ever did. Featuring Herb Ritts’ black and white photography and Naomi Campbell in that little white dress, at the absolute apex of her smoking hotness, this may have been the last of his videos that I would love.

And finally...

MAN IN THE MIRROR - I don’t care what anyone says or how you might possibly ridicule me... I love this song. I listen to the lyrics and the earnestness with which he delivers them and I swear to God it can still get me choked up if I’m not being careful. Is it manipulative and treacly? Sure, but who cares? I dare you to watch the video and not understand what I mean.

And honorable mention goes to...

WHO IS IT - One of those album songs that never quite broke out as a #1 hit but nevertheless stands as one of his better songs. Check out the video - a badass clip if I've ever seen one - directed by the aforementioned David Fincher.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 174: POSSIBILITIES

2009-06-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

Every so often, I am given reminders - some friendly, some not - that I am no longer in my 20s. As if I needed them. What’s the big deal, one might ask? What’s really the difference between being, say 29, and 30? The answer, of course, is nothing. And if I were just referring to that slimmest of margins, then - well - you probably wouldn’t be reading a blog entry about it. No, when I say “20s” what I really mean is the more flexibly defined sub category known as the “mid 20s” - which for most is limited to ages 24-26, but for me, stubbornly stretched out to age 28. The answer to the original question, then, becomes much more palpable. And it is, simply, perception. Not just the way others may or may not perceive you, but the way you perceive yourself.

Granted, my cultural upbringing probably comes into play here, but I’ve always regarded one’s 20s as the definitive time of possibility and the 30s, the time in which a person makes those possibilites reality. Only, that isn’t really the case for me, is it? See, what’s weird is that despite every remidner that I’m not in my 20s, every warning sign that I’m about to become the proverbial “old guy at the club” (of which, easily strained hammies and the inability to recover from hangovers are the most persistent), all I see ahead of me are possibilities. Some seem easily graspable, others vaguely nebulous; but I constantly feel as if a brand new life (or perhaps lifestyle), one I cannot entirely picture yet, looms indeterminately in the offing.

Several years ago, I had this notion that I’d be spending my 30th year making definitive plans for the future. I was, for all intents and purposes, watching the movie of my life unfold out of focus. I knew what was happening - and what would happen - from scene to scene, only without the details. Today? I have no idea what movie I’m watching anymore. I have not read the script beforehand nor can I forsee what revelation, twist or turn is coming next. The accuracy of predictabilty I’ve developed from every other movie I’ve ever seen seems mostly useless. And then I realize: these are always the BEST movies to watch. True, I may be the helpless audience member, completely and utterly at the mercy of the filmmaker. But it helps to remember that I AM the filmmaker. And as long as that remains true, I can make sure the possibilities of my mid-20s can keep stretching past 28 and reach all the way into my 30s.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 173: LA DRIVING

2009-06-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while since I was last annoyed enough to write a merciless harangue against the city and county of Los Angeles. Perhaps it’s reflective of my growing maturity, but I doubt it. More likely, it is the result of my slowly-growing, hypnosis-produced acceptance of the many absurdities that pass as normal life in Southern California. But as I was sitting in my car, half awake, this morning; utterly trapped in a 10-mile stretch of non-sensical bumper to bumper traffic, I could not help but curse the what must be inanimate fossils doubling as LA’s city planning commission. Anybody that’s ever been stuck on the single lane exchange from the 110N to the I-5N must surely agree with my assessment that it’s time to inject some new blood into LA’s urban planning department.

But alas, I don’t know nearly enough about a) urban planning or b) LA’s government infrastructure to make any meaningful suggestions beyond infuriated rambling. I just know that there must be a better way to filter traffic in and out of the freeways of LA. Do I have any brilliant, engineering-minded readers out there that can make a suggestion on how to alleviate some of the traffic clogging up central LA’s roadways? I’m happy to write a letter to city hall on your behalf and I promise I’ll only take half of the credit for your idea.

To only blame LA’s city planners, of course, lets the actual drivers of LA - cluelessly negating the benefits of 5-lane freeways - off the hook. And you all know me well enough by now to know I’m not going to do that since nary an opportunity goes by that I don’t relish mocking the citizens of LA. But trying to pick only one thing over which to ridicule LA’s automotively-challenged is about as easy as finding one specific needle mark on Amy Winehouse’s forearm. I”ll only add that it doesn’t help the LA driver’s already putrid reputation as the worst driver in the United States that so many of his or her fellow traffic-stop targets foolishly insist on adorning their cars with those ludicrous LA Laker flags. Those Laker fans, boy... they sure know how to publicize their fandom AFTER their team has won a championship; adding all new layers to the word “bandwagon.”

But I digress. I am now one with LA - which probably explains why I got my first-ever ticket last week for not seeing a “no left turn” sign at a major Santa Monica intersection. Silly me, I assumed it was okay to make a left turn onto a street with a freeway entrance in the middle of the night with no on-coming traffic coming my way. The lesson, of course, is that I’m an idiot.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 172: MOVIES I LOVE: HE GOT GAME

2009-06-16T14:53:00.000-07:00

Certain movies can - for me - be like drunk relatives or deadbeat friends. Immensely flawed and yet strangely lovable all at once. And of all the movies to which this general description applies, Spike Lee’s “He Got Game” may be right at the very top of my list. No movie I can think of makes a stronger case for repeat viewings despite its many obvious faults than Spike Lee’s ode to basketball. Perhaps its because the movie connects so strongly with my love of hoops that I am willing to forgive the many missteps the movie makes in its nearly 2 1/2 hour running time.

And let’s face it: there are several. Sections of cringe-inducing dialog, hammy performances by a few of the supporting actors (of which the gratuitously immortal cameo by the two porn stars in the middle of the movie takes the cake) and a weirdly abstract and out of character ending undermine what should be one of the two or three best films ever made by one of America’s most underrated auteurs. I am less condemnatory about the Milla Jovovich hooker character than other critics - only because I think she makes contextual sense in the character progression of Denzel Washington’s Jake Shuttlesworth - but even then, I feel like too much screen time is devoted to their subplot to the detriment of the movie’s central relationships. Intellectually, I recognize that these flaws are too much to overcome for “He Got Game” to be considered truly great. And yet...

Has there ever been another fictional movie that nails the essence and meaning of basketball on such a personal level? Don’t say “Hoosiers” and definitely don’t say “Blue Chips” because neither can match “He Got Game” in authenticity or in capturing basketball’s metaphorical relationship to the American dream. “Hoop Dreams” is the only movie that can top “He Got Game” in either of these respects and that’s only because it’s got the advantage of being a documentary. Add to this fact that “He Got Game” also features a clearly energized Spike Lee working near the top of his technical form and the film becomes more and more difficult to ignore. Certain scenes and directorial choices Lee orchestrates in this movie - not to mention the gritty, over-saturated cinematography of Malik Sayeed - are just flat out stunning.

Ultimately, it is the scene towards the end featuring the inevitable showdown between Denzel Washington’s “Jake” and Ray Allen’s “Jesus” that make this movie worth rewatching (which I have at least a half dozen times now). The key to this scene is Lee’s decision not to choreograph the basketball - an achilles heel for just about every other sports movie ever made except “Tin Cup.” Instead, Lee lets Washington and Allen go at it - putting his camera at an unobtrusive remove - and the result is simply magical. I won’t spoil it here, only to say I can watch that climactic scene over and over again without getting tired of it and really, isn’t that how one should feel after seeing a movie, gratuitous porn star cameos and over-long hooker subplots aside?

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 171: WORKING OUTSIDE

2009-06-10T11:23:00.000-07:00

Writing is a process of continual stop and starts; an often rhythmless exercise that tests a writer’s patience as much as his/her technical skill. At least for me, it is. I’ve always struggled with maintaining forward momentum in writing, especially when there are no specific deadlines or milestones forcing me to remain disciplined. So being that I am no expert in the art of precision focus, it falls upon me to do whatever I can to put myself in a position to write uninterrupted. This, of course, is easier said than done - with countless distractions constantly vying for the opportunity to bag my rather promiscuous attention. Unfortunately, this is no truer than in my own apartment.

A few months ago, I moved into a brand new apartment in one of those modern complexes sprouting throughout downtown LA. This place - with its new appliances, granite countertops and easy gym/pool access - could run circles around my fist downtown LA apartment for comfort, amenities and modern accoutrements. But I am almost too comfortable here. While my routine is pretty much the same as it has always been (wake up, make coffee, read the news, bang away at the keyboard), the comfort level in which I execute my routine has gone up dramatically. The cold, hard tile of my old apartment has been replaced by (mostly) plush carpet. The constant gloominess of a living space deprived of natural sunlight is a thing of the past; wiped away by the mostly sunny view of the downtown LA skyline I can see from my bedroom and living room windows. And don’t get me started on the free year of HBO that came with our faster, cable broadband internet access.

With that, I’ve been trying to get out of the house more often during the week. Whether it is at a coffee shop or bookstore; I seem somehow more productive writing anywhere other than in my home. Perhaps it’s seeing other writers out and about, typing (or surfing) away that prompts me to zero in harder on my word processor. Whatever it is, I’ve got to get rolling. With three or four projects currently fighting for my very limited mind share, it’s time I crack the whip on myself and show my laptop what’s what. But first I need to find a table next to an electrical plug. 

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 170: ABRAHAM HALE LOVES BASEBALL

2009-06-04T12:42:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that he has spent more time outside of the United States than in it the last five years - an experience that has not coincidentally required him to utilize each of the seven languages in which he is fluent more than his native English - Abraham Hale refuses to be called an expat. Nevermind that Webster’s Dictionary defines an expatriate simply as someone living outside of his/her native country, a definition to which Hale presumably applies. Expats, he argues, willingly live abroad. Hale, on the other hand, will tell you he is no more an expat than the soldier living on a foreign base. Because where there is desire to live elsewhere in the heart and mind of the expatriate, there exists within the same recesses of Abraham Hale’s pathology only a yearning to come home. And since he cannot go home yet, as his superiors have made only too clear in recent days, he is determined to make every stop of his tour around the world feel like America. This is why Hale, in the midst of the torrential rain and howling winds currently battering Hong Kong, is positioned halfway out of an insecure window ledge, 25 floors above ground, trying to adjust the shabbily constructed satellite dish outside of his dingy Kowloon apartment window. It is, after all, baseball season.

As he struggles to find just the right tuning signal with which to watch his beloved San Francisco Giants, Hale recalls a particularly heated debate he once had about the virtues of American baseball versus European football with an Italian at a bar on the coast of Palermo. The Italian man argued, after several shots of limoncello, that baseball was more akin to a child’s game compared to the strategy and manly will required of football. Hale vehemently disagreed, citing the beauty of Baseball’s many subtle details - of which hit and runs and suicide squeezes were his favorite - as evidence of the American past time’s superiority. The Italian scoffed at this notion and continued belittling baseball; his anger only building with each provocative instance that Hale referred to the game as “soccer.” “The only real football,” Hale insistently goaded, “is played with helmets and outside linebackers.”

What the Italian didn’t know then, but would find out mere minutes later, was that Hale was simply instigating a confrontation to get the man out of the well-lit interior of the bar and into the dark and shadowy Palermo night. Of course, by the time the Italian - who also happened to be a renown mafioso - discovered this, Hale was in the process of firing three 9MM slugs into his chest and forehead. It was rare that Hale’s work ever required him to utilize his knowledge of a personal, non martial, passion such as baseball. He found it refreshing. And though the argument had not technically been settled yet prior to his abruptly ending the Italian’s sentient existence on Earth, Hale was fairly convinced that his argument had won out.

Twenty minutes of fiddling with the tuner has produced only a passable picture on Hale’s television set. This will do, he figures. As long as he can distinguish the black and orange of his Giants’ uniforms against the blue and white of their rival Dodgers, Hale is satisfied. After all, better this than having to spend the night with the tedium of the work he was sent to Hong Kong for in the first place - planning out a strategy for his next assignment. And if the game goes long into extra innings, he hears the Chinese arms dealer he’s set to terminate in a few days has a particularly strong interest in cricket.

Abraham Hale’s adventures will continue...

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 169: MOVIES I LOVE: YI YI

2009-06-01T11:01:00.000-07:00

An inherent quality to any truly great movie is, I think, its ability to impact a viewer multiple times over repeat viewings. That a movie can still, after so many years, provoke an emotional reaction, reveal previously unseen layers of complexity and impart new lessons are absolutely undeniable reasons that I adore cinema so unabashedly. I first saw “Yi Yi” (2001), by late Taiwanese auteur Edward Yang, earlier this decade, during or not long after I graduated from college. My film education was still in its nascency, but even back then there were certain thematic elements that I was drawn to; one obvious one being the foundation of family and the dynamics that ultimately affect an individual. “Yi Yi” - which follows the travails of the Jian family in modern-day Taiwan - moved me so much on a purely visceral level upon my initial viewing, that I basically ignored the technical artistry that Edward Yang was putting on display. Now having re-watched the film (twice) over the weekend, I am dumbfounded in sudden recognition that this may not only be the single most affecting and personally-relatable story about family I’ve ever seen, but also one of the most technically extraordinary as well.

The strangest thing about going so many years in between viewings of “Yi Yi” is the subtle shift in the way I now connect to it. When I first saw this film in my early 20s, I could not help but relate to the characters of Yang Yang - the precocious, curious and camera-obsessed 8 year old son - and Ting Ting - the Jian’s blossoming daughter. I could identify with their uniquely inquisitive natures and saw in them and their relationships with their family - strange as it sounds - younger versions of myself. Upon my most recent viewing, however, it is the character of NJ - the family’s quietly dignified patriarch - that I  now most admire and am engaged by. Especially in his scenes with the equally humble and respectable Mr. Ota - which are my favorite - NJ, played by writer/director Nien Jien Wu, is quietly devastating, expressing so many conflicted emotions of longing, regret and fortitude with but simple looks and hunched shoulders. Despite his inner tumult, NJ remains the family’s rock; a deeply moral and decent man who does the best he can as a father, husband and businessman.

I cannot help but also think about “Tokyo Story,” a similarly beautiful but ultimately different movie about family, when thinking about “Yi Yi” and I suspect it is a film Edward Yang thought about as well along the way. While “Tokyo Story” is slightly more cynical (some might say judgmental) in its look at the dissolution of the family in post-war Japan, “Yi Yi” is, at its heart, more of an empathetic ode. Yang is supremely compassionate in his depiction of the Jians, casting neither wicked nor suspicious eyes at them as individuals or as a family. He films scenes in mostly long, patiently observant takes and doesn’t once - that I can remember - attempt to expose or exploit his characters’ raw emotional states with invasive extreme close ups. Yang seemed to make all the right choices in making “Yi Yi” and it seems only just that he was awarded with the Best Director prize when the film premiered at Cannes in 2000.

It is one of those tragedies of the cinema that “Yi Yi” was the last feature film written and directed by Edward Yang before he passed away in 2007. But I’m not sure a filmmaker could leave the film world a more elegant, moving and considered masterpiece as his final piece of work. As I do with most movies that I love and have them available, I watched “Yi Yi” in its entirety with the director’s commentary audio on and was delighted by the lack of pretense and over analysis with which Edward Yang discusses his film with a film scholar. It reminded me of a conversation about Yang’s approach to filmmaking I once had with a friend who had the opportunity to apprentice under Yang in Taiwan. I may not know a lot about my future as a filmmaker, but I know that “Yi Yi” is the kind of film I’d like to make one day, if not in style then in emotional strength. This is the power a great movie - and a magnificent filmmaker like Edward Yang - has over me.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 168: FANDOM

2009-05-28T13:42:00.000-07:00

I’m often chided by certain friends over what they perceive to be my unrelentingly vicious hatred of Southern California sports teams, specifically the Dodgers, Lakers and Angels.(1) It seems beyond their comprehension that I could so vehemently dislike the aforementioned teams especially considering I live in LA. Why is it, they wonder, that during this year’s NBA playoffs(2), I am consistently rooting for the Denver Nuggets to clobber Kobe Bryant on every one of his obviously wild, ref-baiting drives to the hoop? Why did I cackle in glee when Manny Ramirez - one of the greatest pure hitters baseball has seen in the last three decades - got a 50-game suspension for a PED violation? Why do I consistently deride the legitimacy of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim(3) even though they are, for all intents and purposes, one of the best run teams in the sport? Well, duh. It’s because I’m a real sports fan.

Settle down with the jeers and allow me to expound...

Anybody that has spent even five minutes with me knows that I am, and always will be, a Bay Area sports nut. It’s just who I am and how I express my love of sports. Now some of my friends argue that true sports fandom is defined not by team affiliation, but by an appreciation of the inherent qualities of the sport itself; that at the end of the day, I should favor the purity of competition between the two best teams over an interest in my team’s participation (or not) in said competition. I disagree. Don’t get me wrong, I see their point and even agree with it to some extent. I watched yesterday’s UEFA Championship Match between Barcelona and Manchester United, for example, not because I had a rooting interest in either team, but because I wanted to watch sports played at its highest level. That’s all fine and good, but only when I don’t have a proverbial horse in the race. I would’ve tuned into that game a little differently if I had a Lionel Messi trading card in my wallet.

My reason for rooting against LA teams is simple.(4) They are the rivals of my favored teams. Part of what I despise most about Southern California “sports fans” is their casual, bandwagon approach to fandom.(5) It’s easy to root for the Lakers because they are consistently at or near the top of the mountain. There’s no real disappointment or letdown at stake for their fans when they play. It’s not so easy to remain a fan, however, when your team is mired in a state of managerial incompetency (as my Warriors have been for nearly 15 years).(6) Now some people will call it illogical or even masochistic to support a team that is clearly terrible. But the underlying lesson of sports, to me, has always been a little bit about faith. Faith that a championship season is just around the corner no matter how untalented you know your team to be and despite every piece of evidence telling you otherwise. That is why true sports fans tune in every single season with baited breath, hoping that “this is our year.” Because a true sports fan is an invested sports fan and any enemy of my enemy is, in turn, my friend.

This is why I’m hoping Carmelo Anthony and Chauncey Billups can somehow overcome the aggravating boneheadedness of George Karl, JR Smith and Kenyon Martin(7) and lead the Nuggets to wins in Games 6 and 7. This is why I’m hoping that the annual Dodgers collapse - wherein they find a way to spectacularly underperform despite their league-high payroll - is due any day now. Because if I can’t watch MY teams dismantle their enemies, then I’ll settle for seeing any other team get a shot at doing so. God sports are awesome.

-------------

(1) I’d mention the Kings too but let’s be real, nobody watches hockey.
(2) Which have been out of this world so far, by the way.
(3) Let’s face it: their ridiculously contrived name is reason enough to hate them.
(4) According to my friend, it’s because “Ken hates everything LA” which, I admit, is only partly true.
(5) As much as I hate to say it, even Dodger fans are more worthy of rival respect than Laker fans because it’s obvious that they are more spiritually connected to their team. Attendees at Laker games are just as likely to be there for a Justin Timberlake sighting than to see Kobe Bryant play his ass off.
(6) I keep hoping Chris Cohan will sell the Warriors to a real owner, but that’s probably just wishful thinking at this point.
(7) Let’s just say I’m not holding my breath on this one.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 167: NO SCRUBS

2009-05-26T12:00:00.000-07:00

“Ken, I have to be honest, we have a very specific mandate here and your writing doesn't quite fit right now though you clearly have talent. Anyway, just my 2 cents. I hope this doesn't offend you.”

“[Your characters are] too idyllic and simple.  Even throughout the external conflict (more clichés), we don't feel that enough is at stake.  Things seem too tidy and not lifelike, with a few exceptions. [This] doesn't have much conflict and just doesn't feel compelling enough to get made. Sorry to not have better news...”

"Hey Ken - sorry, but I'm not feeling this one. I don't quite get where the characters are coming from so when the story builds, the tension is lost for me because I'm not following their motivations. Maybe you could add a love interest? You write lovey dovey stuff well."

Just a smattering of responses I've gotten about stuff I've written going to back in the day. Inherent to any process in which one attempts to expand a simple idea(1) into a viable entity fit for mass(2) consumption is an initial round of criticism. It has to come at some point, so I’ve always been of the mind that it should arrive sooner rather than later. Now if you’re doing it correctly, this first round of feedback should be constructive(3) - at least theoretically - and come from folks whose opinions are either valuable or trustworthy, preferably both. With that said, it is absolutely pointless to solicit hypothetically useful feedback from respected sources if you’re going to cry about it like a baby afterward. I’ve talked to several artists of varying stripes whose thresholds for criticism fall anywhere between “abysmal” and “neverendingly low.” Each time I meet these people, I wonder to myself why they even bother showing people their work.(4)

For whatever reason, I’ve never been overly bothered by someone’s negative reaction to my stuff. Disappointed? Surely; especially because the feedback I usually receive in the early goings come from people I tend to think are more knowledgeable than me. But perhaps my ability to take criticism in stride has to do with the fact that I am constantly reminding myself that feedback is only given with the intention of improving my work and, thus, only as helpful as my willingness to apply it or not.

How, then, does one get over the initial sting of rejection implicit in criticism, however constructive? I guess by accepting the notion that opinion, however valuable, weighty or trusted, is just that. One person’s subjective thought. It is not - and should not be treated as - the defining value of the work you create. And plus, you did ask for it. After all, if the goal is improvement then criticism is merely a temporary wall that you eventually learn to scale on your way to achievement. So stop crying like a little baby.

-----

(1) A simple idea would be something like “a boy meets this girl in Hong Kong.” Unfortunately, that single sentence does not fill up 110 plus pages unless you add a few little somethings to it. 

(2) Let’s face it: most art works are commodities and if you’re thinking of making it, you’re thinking of showing it. 

(3) I’ve definitely heard “You suck!” before but never really knew what to do with it. I much prefer “You suck because...”

(4) The answer, I imagine, probably lies in between masochism and self aggrandizement. 

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 166: AN UNFORGETTABLE TRIP

2009-05-20T12:52:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been playing catch up ever since my two plus week trip to Asia - followed by a pit stop in San Francisco for a good friend's wedding and Bay 2 Breakers - came to an end. I'm using this time to re-energize and re-focus myself on a few things I've been wanting to work on, as well as a project inspired by this most unforgettable of experiences. In the days and weeks ahead, I'll be re-vamping this blog a little bit to reflect my newly inspired direction. Until then, I'm posting the last of my favorite photos taken during my mini-sojourn. Be back in a flash...

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA

ACT 3/SCENE 165: SAWATDEEKAAP

2009-05-15T10:45:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Ray Mina @ Talesfrom30b.com

Of the many greetings I’ve seen or been offered from people far and wide, I’d be hard pressed to recall one as simultaneously warm and elegantly respectful as Thailand’s “sawatdeekaa.”  With but hands pressed together like a prayer, lifted toward a bowed forehead, the greeting is uniquely inviting and appropriately reflective of Thailand’s Buddhist heritage. Unlike, say, the American handshake, whose emphasis on firmness encourages an almost competitive exchange of strength, or the French double cheek kiss that can often seem insincere in its effusiveness, the Thai greeting seems to strike a perfect balance between courteous and spiritual.

It’s one of the many facets of Thailand that - only a day arrived - strikes such a nostalgic chord. Riding in the cab from the airport into central Bangkok, I could not help but lament how similar the mix of sparkling new and crustily dilapidated buildings, roads, and nasty surfeit of traffic was to that of the Manila of my youth. In many ways, the view of Bangkok’s developing infrastructure brought back a part of my upbringing long since past and reinforced the almost guilty way with which I view my neglect of that past.

My reimmersion into Southeast Asian life is a welcome one. Of course, it’s hard not to feel welcome when people are quick to greet you with a warm smile and a gentle “sawatdeekaa.”

Ken Cheng
Bangkok, Thailand

ACT 3/SCENE 164: WHAT THE BRITS MUST FEEL

2009-05-13T14:32:00.000-07:00

There’s been a weird, almost contradictory dynamic at play since I arrived on the mother continent; a sense that while I am undoubtedly considered foreign in disposition, dress and demeanor, I am, nonetheless, quite at home. I look around and realize that while in this land, unfamiliar though I may be, I am no longer presumed a minority. With most of the city’s inhabitants sharing at least superficially common physical characteristics as me, I suppose this is natural. But believe me, this feeling is in no part trivial, though it may sound so to some.

I consider myself a fairly well adjusted individual at home; unplagued by the over awareness of my own ethnicity. I am American through and through. But it would be insincere to say that the uniquely cultural or aspirational elements I share with Americans of other ethnic backgrounds - a love of InNOut burgers, ESPN and “Arrested Development,” for example - are always going to be enough to overwhelm the more obvious, physical differences we have. I walk around Hong Kong feeling welcomed and, dare I say it, special. I know I admit this at the extreme risk of sounding bumptious or full of myself, but it’s true.

I imagine this must be what Brits feel like when they visit the United States. Let’s face it, we tend to give Brits a sort of free pass when we meet them back home don’t we? Their prim and proper mannerisms, the assumption - earned or not - of erudition because of the accent... it’s no wonder Hugh Grant was able to bounce back and save his career after his Hollywood hooker incident. That’s how it feels here in Hong Kong. Sure I may be overplaying my hand here, but if I were to take an informal survey of 100 Asian Americans who have visited Hong Kong and other cities in Asia, I would be shocked if I didn’t get a 90% agreement rate.

As I prepare to leave Hong Kong for Bangkok, Thailand, I can only imagine how magnified this feeling will become. I will say, however, that this experience has, so far, been everything I could’ve hoped for: immensely fun, enlightening and unmistakably inspiring. Thanks Hong Kong.

Ken Cheng
Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon, Hong Kong

ACT 3/SCENE 163: HONG KONG

2009-05-12T16:24:00.000-07:00

Hong Kong - and the Tsim Sha Tsui district where I’ve been staying in neighboring Kowloon, especially - seems a city intent on leaving an impression. Granted my travel experiences are limited, but I’d be hard pressed to recall another place that has felt so relentlessly alive. Perhaps this is due, in part, to the nature of my trip and the near maniacal devotion my friends and I have had to staying up late, but I’ve never walked out of a pub at 7 in the morning feeling like a quitter; wondering how the locals I’ve left behind, still enjoying their 22 ounce glasses of Hoegarden, manage to do it on a Monday morning.

My only meaningful exposure to Hong Kong previous to this trip has been through the cinema; with the likes of John Woo, Jackie Chan, Andrew Lau, Alan Mak and the revered Wong Kar Wai as my tour guides showing me their city. Each paint vivid portraits of a city enveloped in fluorescent light, marked by neon signs big and small projecting an unendingly luminous glow over the nighttime skyline. Beautiful as it is on the screen, however, the city’s incandescence is even more jarring in person. Perhaps this is what prompted a friend of mine to comment that he felt as if he were walking through a movie.

His comment seemed apt. There is indeed a velocity to the city that implies constant motion... from the many shopkeepers and late night food vendors feeding the masses at all hours of the night to the cadres of young drinkers determined to ignore the basic correlation between night and sleep. It is blurry in its speed, like a Monet or Degas painting come to life. One could get the idea that there is a certain show at play, but I doubt it. This is, instead, simply how life moves in Hong Kong. It is, as I remarked about New York City a few weeks ago, a place meant to exist at night; when its true, hyper kinetic face can reveal itself from the mask it wears in the day as a hub of international finance.

I can imagine it must be awfully easy to become disoriented here; to become isolated by the pace of life, congestion and sheer urban density at work in Hong Kong; the speed of interactions creating only bite-sized memories. But it’s funny how even the most fleeting moments - and let’s face it, five days certainly qualifies - can leave such a distinct impression. That is, I think, the power of Hong Kong. I suppose I’ll just have to confirm it the next time I’m around.

Ken Cheng
Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon, Hong Kong

ACT 3/SCENE 162: THOUGHTS FROM A PLANE

2009-05-11T08:03:00.000-07:00

AUTHORS NOTE: I haven't posted in a couple weeks because I've been traveling around Asia, hopscotching from one fun bar to the next. Okay, that's not entirely accurate. Point is: my internet access from one place to the next has been spotty at best. This doesn't mean I haven't been writing though. Quite the opposite. That last couple weeks have provided me more topics than I'm probably even capable of writing about. So what I'm going to do for the next week is save you the snooze of trying to read a monster mega post and retro-actively post the assorted thoughts I've been collecting throughout my trip in separate entries. Either way, I hope this helps give you a sense of just how amazing the last two weeks have been for me. Enjoy.

There’s a simple protocol at play when traveling with friends. Whether you’re merely getting away for a quick weekend jaunt to Vegas or you’re flying halfway across the world for a week and a half, the odds of a fun trip are exponentially higher if each person believes - and acts as if - it is the last trip they will ever take. This sounds easy enough, I suppose. But it becomes a little more difficult when taking into account different personalities, travel habits and the assorted minutiae involved with being around your friends for long stretches of time. That said, an open and compromising mind is, I think, vital to the experience.

A few rounds of shots at an airport bar to simultaneously commemorate the start of the trip and pass the waiting time of a delayed flight? Why not? What matters so much isn’t the fact that you’re going to be boarding a 13-hour flight with a mean tequila buzz, it’s that you’re going to be doing so with five, equally inebriated members of your personal best friends club. It is not about the silliness but the inherent camaraderie relived between friends no longer able to spend much time together as a collective unit.

Who knows what the next couple weeks hold in store; not me, that’s for sure. But isn’t that exactly what feels most wonderful about life? Getting to visit four countries over two weeks is a tremendous thing. This cannot be overstated. But for someone like me - whose emotions rise and fall from the effect of the people around him more than anything else - it is equally if not more poignant to do so with your closest friends standing (or passed out in the seat) right next to you.

Ken Cheng
Seat 48H, Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean

ACT 3/SCENE 161: THE FIRST DRAFT

2009-04-27T09:03:00.000-07:00

As with any work of creative inspiration, starting a screenplay is an expression of faith in oneself. Perhaps this is why actually completing one - lo, the very act of typing “The End” - always seems to produce, within me, these weirdly contradictory reactions of excited joy and abject terror. Because as satisfying as finishing anything you started from scratch may feel, it is also an absolutely nerve racking thing to know that the project that began in your noodle as a seedling of an idea is now a realized piece of work. Even if it’s simply a first draft, finishing makes it real. And when it’s real, it becomes entirely possible - perhaps even probable - that the sum of these 110 anxiety-driven pages into which you’ve invested so much of yourself actually equates to something closer to dirt than donuts on the yummy scale.

I finished the first - and by first I really mean 2nd - draft of my latest screenplay late last week. Some of you may remember me first mentioning this little doozy late last year as one of the many unfortunate casualties of the great hard drive crash of 2008. Back then, this thing existed merely as the combination of ten page outline, concept sketch and 35 pages of badly-written pulp nonsense. The complete destruction of my computer’s brain, you may remember, forced me to retool and start over. Now? Well, at least there’s a beginning, middle and end.

I guess this is a roundabout way of psyching myself up for what comes next. Because soon, this thing will no longer be the exclusive property of my rapidly deteriorating eyesight. Between the inevitable notes questioning my structural, narrative and character choices sure to come from my trusty squad of objective readers to the numerous rewrites that will eventually follow, it has to be said that finishing a first draft is just the first step. It’s a huge and extremely important step, but it is only the first. This script is going public soon and I have to be prepared for that. It’s what I signed up for so if it does come back ripped to shreds... if it does end up tasting more like fertilizer than Krispy Kreme... well, then I’ll figure it out and keep on going. Faith is a little crazy like that.

Ken Cheng
Los Angeles, CA