Took a break from the research and watched the commentary on Way of the Gun last night. Gun fights like chess matches + original plot points - occasionally turgid dialogue = pretty good movie.
Commentary highlight: "That's bad directing," says the writer/director. Then, after a pause: "And bad writing."
My other diversion: creating the wedding reception music mix, an increasingly complex enterprise. Working to alienate as few people as possible, while inspring as much full-tilt boogie as possible. And so the questions:
"Late Beatles?" No, fool. Early Beatles.
"Bowie?" No mollyfogging Bowie.
"Will even one ska song jar the dance floor psyche irreparably?" Likely.
"What is the non-obvious equivalent of Young MC's Bust A Move? Is it Coolio? Are we ready to dust off Coolio, or does he need another year of retirement?" I don't think anybody knows.
"Can we do Def Leppard and Guns N' Roses? Or could you pull off a major coup by dodging both and playing something by Ratt?" No, too clever. Far too clever.
"Country?" Tough one. Needless to say, the devil is not going down to Georgia. And no one is line dancing. And given that this is not the occasion to cry into one's can of beer, what does that leave?
"Do we want an ironic gangsta rap track? How ironic can one get with the family audience, and if we do employ irony, will we provoke awkwardness when half the dancers are dancing earnestly to Whitney Houston, and half are dancing ironically?" From there the whole endeavour dissolves into anarchy.
The possibilities are endless, while the margin between mediocrities is thin as a reed. In the end, the only certain things are those I've always relied on: Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal and Fine Young Cannibals' Good Thing. The rest is just flailing in the dark.
