Justin Timberlake Wrecked My Piano. And Other Dream Mysteries.

My subconscious is angry that I have only done one big NYFF write up. Last night I tossed and turned -- 3 hours of sleep tops -- and had one of those persistent dreams which recycles stuff you've just experienced. Each time you fall back asleep you return to it and in its relentless disturbance, it becomes a nightmare even though it's not scary.

It took place in a huge empty house in which I'm throwing a party. At some point I was doing an elaborate photoshoot with two actresses. Please don't stop to ponder why they were Franka Potente (!) and Meg Ryan (???) or why they were then Juliette Lewis* and Sandra Bullock. (Was this a 1990s period piece?) Everyone was angry when they discovered the shoot was in black and white. At one point someone wore a Princess Valhalla Hawkwind costume. My dad was suddenly there smiling with approval that I knew famous actresses (This was the "you're dreaming!" moment -- or like that bit in Inception where all the subconcious projections turn to look at you -- whoever the forger was, he wasn't as prepared as Tom Hardy. My dad would never do this.) I went out for coffee since the party was running low.

Then I'm in the atrium and I see Justin Timberlake and Jesse Eisenberg lowering my rented grand piano down through the building and all is chaos. The piano strikes a railing and begins to break into pieces. They claim they were trying to help but they've ruined my life as the cost of a grand piano will bankrupt me.

Then there is no party, and the dream is a mystery about some crime which keeps changing and to which I am not privvy and the detectives (Mills & Somerset, natch) keep asking me if David Fincher did it. How self referential! They also tell me they're investigating "Joe" and Abbas Kiarostrami** and I keep telling them I know nothing but everyone is sure that I do.

We know you've seen them! They were at your party

Nothing makes any sense from moment to moment in the dream's third act. It's all fractured clues, 2 second scenes, filmmaker name-checks. The last image is a shot of dusty footprints leading nowhere. I don't know who did it or what they were supposed to have done but I'm pretty sure that bastard Justin Timberlake who wrecked my piano is guilty.

My dream was edited with a chainsaw. The chainsaw had ADD. I hope your night was more restful and the celebrity cameos less willfully destructive and angry. Feel free to share.

*regularly makes cameos in Nathaniel's REM life.
** I assure you this is a first time appearance.

Dakota Fanning is My Niece*

Last night I had to pick up my niece [uh... DAKOTA FANNING!] from a maximum security prison for drug possession. Inmates were eyeing her lecherously and wolf-whistling. I'm a lousy excuse for a bodyguard being of average height, bad back and zero muscle. So, nervous for her safety, I offered to hide her in my backpack. She transformed into an exact replica of a winnie the pooh stuffed animal (Such an actress!) and that's just where I hid her.

That didn't solve the problem of escaping the prison. There were no exit signs anywhere and seemingly infinite levels. I finally found an elevator made of plastic -- maybe this was the Sir Ian McKellen as Magneto wing? -- and began my escape.

And then I woke up.

Any celebs in your dreams last night?

*Not my real niece. Who would never be arrested for drug possession but IS blond and gorgeous like Dakota so the dream casting isn't terribly far off.
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Directors of the Decade: David Lynch

Robert here, continuing my series of the directors that shaped the past 10 years (Enjoy the first two installments on Scorsese and Bahrani) . The most important directors of the past 10 years aren’t always the most prolific, though this series will require a director to have released at least 2 films. Not to mention some of those featured here may be love ‘em or hate ‘em choices. Something tells me, this weeks entry is one such man: David Lynch.

Number of Films: Two.
Modern Masterpieces: I’m going to go ahead and suggest that both Mulholland Dr. and Inland Empire qualify.
Total Disasters: Though you may feel that both Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire fall here.
Better than you remember: And if you do think that, may I suggest you place them here.
Awards: Nominated for a Best Director Oscar for Mulholland Drive. Won Best Director in Cannes for that same film.
Box Office: Mulholland Drive grosses over 7 mil, easily topping Inland Empire. That’s what lesbians get you.
Critical Consensus: Mulholland Drive receives high praise (some suggesting it’s his best). Inland Empire confuses the bejesus out of people, gets mostly good notices.
Favorite Actor: Justin Theroux stars in both films and the remaining principle cast of Mulholland Drive returns for Inland Empire to do the voices in a rabbit sitcom (taken from his short film Rabbits).


Let’s talk about:
Dreams. I’ve long believed that the “it’s all a dream” gimmick isn’t necessarily cinematic suicide as long as you stick to one important rule… if your story is “all a dream” please don’t tell the audience. Just leave it be. Films mired in dream-logic have an unfortunate tendency to break down and explain everything to the audience almost as if they don’t trust the viewer to accept a world not based in logic-logic (I’m looking at you Vanilla Sky). Such films give up standing as art, or even entertainment in favor of being a puzzle, a riddle, a trick, the main point of which is solving the shallow mystery. It does a great disservice to the story and to the viewer.

Are David Lynch’s movies dreams? We don’t know precisely because he avoids any artificial third act reveal. Lynch’s movies may be dreams and they may be puzzles, but it’s clear that he doesn’t see them that way. He’s not interested in presenting the audience with a trick. Odd as it may seem, he’s interested in presenting them with a truth.

Lynch... and Beatles

Even if Lynch’s movies aren’t dreams, it’s obvious that the man himself is a believer in the genuine honesty of dream-logic. Dream-logic is unhindered by restrictions of consistency or reality. And since restrictions and hindrances only get in the way of truth, dream logic can more quickly lead the way to honesty. Though Lynch's goal isn’t intellectual honesty (even though most people spend their time watching a Lynch straining their brains) as much as it is emotional honesty. David Lynch doesn’t want you to think. David Lynch wants you to feel. Unlike most directors, he seems to believe that the medium of film has more in common with music than literature. He’s relived himself of the burden of clear narrative (so necessary for literature) and instead focused on the type of moods that few things other than a piece of music can give. When watching a David Lynch film, ignore the frustrations perplexing you and simply sit back, allowing it to envelop your being... like a dream.

All of this is worth noting, since Lynch’s two films this decade are among the most abstract in his filmography and his current career trajectory points inevitably in the same direction. After riding high in the 80’s (except for Dune which I contend has a charm all its own) and owning the cult TV market in the early 90’s, Lynch was at something of a crossroads heading into our current decade. Coming off an uneven Lost Highway (which now feels mostly like a warm up for his films of the aughts) and an uncharacteristic (though brilliant, if I may say) The Straight Story, Lynch probably wasn’t hoping for a soundly rejected TV pilot. But after a little re-tooling, Mulholland Drive became a phenom (scoring a Globe nomination for Best Motion Picture Drama) that was labeled by more than a few critics as his “masterpiece.” His follow up, Inland Empire, pitched as the story of “a woman in trouble” seemed like it would be more of the same. But it was anything but. Inland Empire is most likely not to be the last film made by Lynch, but it brings his career beautifully full circle. His most experimental (and terrifying) since Eraserhead, Inland Empire is rooted deeply in the subconscious, low-budget, unlike-anything-you’ve-seen-before territory of his first film, except with the added bonus of everything he’s learned in the thirty years between.

Heading into the future, Lynch seems content to play the American eccentric in a way that’s self-aware without being disingenuous. And he’s continually adding to the definition of who he is, extending his identity beyond cinema to include: coffee proprietor, transcendental meditation advocate, annual event host (in Fairfield, Iowa naturally), internet meme star, singer/songwriter/collaborator, and, of course, weatherman.
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Christopher Plummer's Last Station Stand

Just woke from a dream in which Christopher Plummer had been placed into a medically induced coma merely to "rest up" for his dual Oscar campaign (lead for Parnassus, supporting for The Last Station). Subconscious, you are so very weird.


Whenever I wake from a dream involving the health of a celebrity, I rush immediately to the news feeds to make sure the celebrity is okay, no matter how unbelievable the dream is. Hey, they feel real when your eyes first take in the light. Do you double check when you wake up?

For what it's worth, the top news items were three: the AFI fest's upcoming tribute, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus opened in the UK and the 79 year old thespian will be performing The Tempest at Stratford next year. The latter makes a neat coincidence: the same year we'll see him performing the classic "Prospero" role onstage his Station co-star Helen Mirren will be performing the same role, gender-flipped, for Julie Taymor's film version.

As for the campaign, I imagine that the Doctor Parnassus half will be stillborn. The picture just wouldn't support that major of a nomination unless his career tributes take on an unusually robust life. I was really rooting for the picture and loved the opening scene or three... but it just doesn't cohere or showcase Plummer enough. So those hopes for an Oscar rest on The Last Station. I hope to see it tomorrow and I'm crossing my fingers that he's deserving. After 176 film and television roles, some of them quite acclaimed, it's way past time for a first nomination.
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My Apologies to Vera Farmiga

I dream of celebrity. I don't even know what day it is anymore. I was sick all weekend and sleeping erratically. When I woke up this morning (last night? yesterday afternoon?) I was convinced that I had just been interviewing Vera Farmiga. She looked exactly like Sarah Paulson.

Instead of asking Ms. Farmiga about the her new picture, the Oscar contender Up in the Air -- view trailer -- I kept asking her what I should have for lunch. Did she maybe have the pancake recipe that made Claudette Colbert wealthy in Imitation of Life? If so, could I borrow it? Vera/Sarah became very frustrated that I wasn't interested in her career (but I am. Even though I never write about it!)

"Order the damn BLT" she finally declared with exasperation.

I ignored her and ordered the tuna melt instead.

P.S. Fans of I Heart Huckabees will sadly note that I was not lucid dreaming and therefore could not work Shania Twain and Jude Law into the proceedings once the tuna sandwich came up.
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I Dream of Celebrity

In slumberland I was at an exclusive celebrity shindig directly following a mega budget photo shoot by David LaChapelle that I had starred in (Thank you id! Be silent superego). Details are fuzzy but I saw/spoke with Jackie Beat, Judy Davis, Tahmoh Penikett, Rufus Wainwright, Terence Stamp and Marisa Tomei. One can't imagine the filofax that would contain each and all of them but it surely belongs to an oneirologist.

I shared a table with Olivia Newton-John and Cyndi Lauper who both smiled at me simultaneously. For a split second I was 10 and unimaginably happy but then I became my jaded adult self again. I tried not to mention that the dream would have been better if Madonna had been seated between them. The last thing I remember was chatting up Reese Witherspoon. I told her that her drink looked like a candy cane and she laughed. Her civilian guest glared at me, angry to see her meal ticket's attention temporarily diverted.

I didn't want to wake up.

Who is the last celebrity to make an appearance in your dreams?
(Not the daydream variety. We'd be here all day!)

From Zanessa To Phillen: An Oscar Journey

JA from MNPP here, with a slightly (<-- understatement) random admission today. I had a dream last night (no, not that one) in which I was responsible for recasting the High School Musical series with recent Oscar winners now that it's graduating to the big screen. HSM original stars Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens...

... became Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Dame Helen Mirren. Decidedly less appealing to the tweens, sure, but ooh they'd bring the gold the Disney executives of my dream thirsted for.

Anyway, I don't know enough about the High School Musical series to continue any further on my own, so I am asking y'all - whom I'm assuming all have "Zanessa" posters hanging over your beds, natch - to continue. Who else should be in this bold pretend reimagining? And who should direct? I'm thinking Lars Von Trier, personally. And High School Musical as a title just won't work as Serious-minded. We'll need something more uplifting... more adult... more triumph-of-the-human-spirit-ish... The Songs of Our Education? Vocal Lessons? I, Music?

(this post has been brought to you by my addled brain hopped up on so much cold medicine that I can't see straight, much less type coherent thoughts)
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Oscars for my Birthday? How Kind

After a fitful night of sleep the previous evening, I woke up today glowing and refreshed. In fact, I overslept. If my dreaming had been lucid I would have overslept even more. In my dream all of my friends had gathered to take me on a picnic of sorts which happened to coincide with Oscar nomination morning. Which was also my birthday. Somehow late January and June 6th were occurring on the same day but I'm not going to turn down a birthday party... or Oscar nomination morning!

If friends and Oscars weren't enough, the dream got sweeter: Michelle Pfeiffer was holding a press conference at the park. This could only mean one thing. Tears welled up in my eyes (in the dream, remember! I'm not that much of a sentimentalist) as I realized La Pfeiffer has snagged herself a surprise Oscar nod.


For what movie I don't know (though Dakota Fanning was with her suggesting that the dream was past tense and that I Am Sam was involved. But it felt more like What Lies Beneath). I wouldn't trade this dream for anything since I also spoke to her and she remembered me (presumably from another dream... but that one isn't fit to share). So there you go.

I hope your dreams last night were as goddess or trophy filled. Were they? Don't be shy.
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Tuesday Ten x Two: Music & Movies

10 things I'm listening to

• Alanis Morrissette's "Flavors of Entanglement"
• The Dresden Dolls
• <--- Jennifer Hudson's "Spotlight"
• people incessantly talking about The Dark Knight
  
• Gwen Stefani "Wind it Up" it wouldn't have had such staying power for me 'cept that I have a thing for "The Lonely Goatherd"
  
• Pandora
  
• Pink "I'm Not Dead" --this CD never never never gets old. It's so good.
• Coldplay
• Jay Brannan "Goddamned"
  
• Madonna "Give it 2 Me" -I hate the video. It has to be the laziest she's ever made. Borrow a little from "Hung Up". Pose a lot. 'It's a wrap'! Ugh. What's up with that?
  

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10 embarrassing confessions

• I had a Lindsay Lohan calendar. I looked at it all the time --->
  
• I look for signs of open mouth or tongue when I watch old movie kisses.
  
• I sometimes think that Hilary Swank is pretty.
• I wish Madonna would try acting again.
• I judge parenting skills in movie theaters constantly. Cut to: Late night The Dark Knight screening. Cute little 5 year old boy a row in front of me screams when he first sees Harvey Dent's disfigurement. His mom leans over and says "SHUT UP!" He whimpers quietly each subsequent time Two Face turns his zombie side to the camera. More "shut ups" follow. Nice parenting a**hole.
• I have never seen The Godfather Part II
• I don't always stay for all the credits when a movie ends.
  
• Once in a dream Uma Thurman told me I had to choose between herself and Juliette Lewis for sexy time. I hesitated and Uma was pissed. (She slept with me anyway)
  
• I still love Kirsten Dunst (this is going to be a problem again when How to Lose Friends and Alienate People starts stinking up the multiplex)
  
• As an Oscar obsessed teenager I once superstitiously decided that I would literally die once I finally got around to seeing Grand Hotel (1932). I have no idea how I came to this weird premonition but I kept passing it in the video store and started feeling guilty for not renting it. Maybe that's how. Whatever. I didn't die when I saw it a few years ago. I watched it again for the Best Picture series and now I am worried again. I'm not leaving the house today for fear of freak accidents! What's up with that?

Please share embarrassing confessions in the comments so I don't feel so desperately alone. "I am alone... I am *utterly* alone." Either that or tell us what you're boppin' around to on your iPod.
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Run, Glenn, Run

True story. I woke up very early this morning on account of a nightmare. In the dream I had to save Glenn of Stale Popcorn from a serial killer living in my apartment building. So Glenn, you owe me!

Um ... you're still alive, right?

whew good. OK, if you see anyone who looks like this


RUN!

Yes, Glenn...you must run away.

Even if they look like this

I Dream of Kiki

So, last night I dreamt that I was friends with Kirsten Dunst. (Don't laugh, Kiki, that's so unkind) Not just that I met her -- that we were friends! She was reclined on a sofa of some sort, really sprawled out in a casual dress with her hair down, long and relaxed. She's in the middle of the lobby of a movie theater when I walk in.

Kirsten: (all casual / delighted) Hi, Nat. ohmygod. How've you been?

Nathaniel: (instantly confused. How does this movie star know me? And why don't I remember that she does? but externally all cool and casual) Hey, Kiki. I'm good.

Small talk ensues. She starts talking about the last time we were out together and giggling about some inside joke / previous exchange. I pretend to know what she's talking about. Not only am I apparently friends with Kirsten Dunst (in my dreams), I'm also above remembering that I am or at least indifferent to it. In this dream I'm kind of a jerk. (?)

She tells me to ignore the line forming beside us to get into the theater.

Kristen: Oh, that's just my family. Mom, it's OK I know him.

She grabs my arm. I am curiously not thinking about Jake Gyllenhaal as we head into the movie theater.

What's the last dream you had about a movie star?
Spill it in the comments or be haunted by insomnia tonight.