My Blog

This has got to mean something...

C-K — Mon, 31 Jul 2006 21:26:04 GMT

I was coming home, listening to the endless horror show coming out of the Middle East on the radio. As I was driving down my street, I spotted a bird in the middle of the street. It was a baby Mourning Dove. I grabbed a box from a trash pile and took it to the local bird sanctuary known as the Raptor Trust. I have no idea how the dove came to be in the middle of the street, since there were no trees overhanging the road. Meaning, it obviously didn't just fall out of a nest. There's a big hawk in the neighborhood- maybe it grabbed the dove from its nest and dropped it out. I'm hoping it would do so out of pity- which of course is alien to a natural predator. Hawks and doves- on this day of all days. I'm just glad I was there to rescue the poor baby. Most people barreling around in their minivans would pay it no mind. In fact, I had to steer two oncoming cars out of its path. The good news was the bird was healthy and unhurt. I'm hoping that is an omen.

Fibromyalgia Blues

C-K — Tue, 25 Jul 2006 21:24:41 GMT

When I was a kid, I started getting these really horrible pains in my legs. The pain seemed to center in my knees. I went to the doctor for it and he said it was simply growing pains. The pain came back in earnest when I began working in an art department in New York. I spent my days hunched over a drawing board and my nights weeping at the excruciating pain in my lower back and legs. I saw a chiropractor for several years, whom I came to be very good friends with. But the benefit I received from her wasn't from the adjustments, but from the TENS machine- a device that sends timed electrical charges to stimulate the production of endorphins, the body's natural pain reliever. Well, things continued on for a while, with me spending a lot of time suffering. I tried different approaches- Advil, epsom salts baths, heat pads- nothing made much difference. So three years ago, I developed a cold and was prescribed Vicodin cough syrup. I noticed something interesting- the cough syrup releived my back pain. I went for an MRI and for X Rays, saw an orthopedic surgeon and a pain management specialist. I did have some problems with my discs in my lower back, so I went for a course of steroid epidaurals. The side effects from them far outweighed the benefits. I was put on another drug called Elavil that gave me some frightening bouts of tachycardia. After a while the pain management doctor realized the discs were not the culprit- it was the soft tissue in my muscles. He diagnosed me with Myofascial Pain Syndrome, a chronic inflammation of said tissue. Things went along in that fashion, with me exercising and taking various medications- Vicodin and Percocet for pain, Valium and Flexeril for spasm. Recently I was sent to a specialist, who then informed me that in addition to the MPS, I have textbook Fibromyalgia. I was kind of taken aback by this. Fibro is more commonly diagnosed in women, not in big, strapping guys like myself. But my sister has had Fibro since she was in high school, so it's obviously genetic. She manages it with a non-narcotic opioid called Ultram. She also does Pilates and seems to do OK. I am somewhat jealously irked by this, because I am allergic to Ultram and can't take it. My specialist says that Fibro patients can manage their symptoms with up to 8 tabs of Ultram a day. I'm stuck with its druggy cousins, which lose their novelty value- and their effectiveness- after you've been on them a few years. This very hot and humid summer is killing me. This disease kind of comes and goes, but lately it's been off the charts. Sometimes it feels like my torso is being wrung out like a dishrag. I have a TENS machine, but that is only effective for localized spasm. When the pain sets in all over (like it is today) the device is useless. The course of this disease is strange- I can walk 5 miles a night and feel great, but standing in place for 20 minutes cooking or cleaning causes me extreme muscle fatigue and pain. I think living in the tropical rainforest known as New Jersey probably is not the best idea for a Fibro sufferer. I haven't been able to convince any doctor et, but I believe that my allergy to mold aggravates the Fibro. Anyhow, I'm seeing my doctor on Friday to talk about a new treatment. There is a drug for people with Parkinson's called Mirapex which some have been calling the cure for Fibromyalgia. I'm aware there are some side effects from the drug, but that's the story with most medications. But in my situation, when even a high dose of Vicodin or Percocet is ineffective for this pain, you have to take some risks. Living with chronic pain is a curse, and my hopes are that this new treatment will lift it. It's hard to explain to people what it is like living with chronic pain and how it colors your entire outlook on life, especially when there is no obvious injury to the body. I hope that no one ever has an object lesson in it. And the spasm- the constant pressure and contraction of certain muscle groups- is even worse than the pain.

THE INTERNET WAY BACK MACHINE

C-K — Sun, 31 Jul 2005 19:35:55 GMT

I'm of the opinion that the Internet is the best thing to ever be invented. I think Time will bear this opinion out. One of the most exciting things about the Internet is that nothing ever dies, Everything is Immortal. Whatever it is- animal, vegetable or mineral, you'll find it on the Internet. I'm a Cancer (or Moonchild, as I prefer) and part of the Cancerian profile is a tendency to live in the past. I'm also a person who lives for music- I've been that way since I was very young. I had an old radio, one of those old plastic boxes with a big dial that used to be in my father's workshop (he left when I was 3 and that was one of my inheritances). To prove how great the Internet is, I just did a quick Google image search, and in less than a couple seconds I found a jpeg of the very same type of radio. I played that radio day and night, in fact I'd have it on while I slept. And the early-to-mid 70's were the time to listen to Top 40 radio all night and all day. And now, I can simply choose from any number of Internet radio stations playing an amazing selection of 70's Pop, and even better- early 70's Rock. radioio.com has a great 70's station that plays tons and tons of obscure and underground 70's Rock, along with a selection of better-known acts. Early 70's Hard Rock was amazing stuff and was very close in spirit to late 70's Punk. Radioio will mix Roxy Music with the Frost with T Rex with Simply Saucer with Steely Dan and tons and tons of others. There'll be bits I don't like- outside of the Allman Bros., I hate Southern Rock and mellow Soft Rock doesn't do much for me- but with Itunes its easy enough to switch to something else until the next set. But it reminds me of how dangerous and alluring Rock and Roll seemed to me when I was a kid, and it turns out my early opinion was right- there was some truly amazing Rock and Roll from that era that no one ever heard.

CAFFIENE NATION

C-K — Tue, 26 Jul 2005 01:41:26 GMT

Well, I tried to go without caffeine today- what a horrible mistake. I took a couple Ginseng tablets- what a piss-poor substitute. I'm starting to think that caffeine is just one of the facts of my life and I'm going to have to learn to manage my addiction. That means not drinking a gallon of soda or iced tea every day. I had some iced tea earlier and I may as well have had water. Caffiene management is a delicate art, and if you don't jump start your motor early on, its hard to do so later in the day. I have a habit of going overboard with the stuff- maybe I need to switch to Red Bull, since the taurine isn't as nerve-wracking as caffiene on its own. All I know is that today is shot. Part of it is the fact that the heat and the astronomical pollen levels play havoc on my constitution. Allergies are fatigue inducers, and living in the verdant hills of New Jersey is like going to a pollen convention every day. So, all things in moderation as the saying goes. But I wish I didn't need the damn stuff so bad. At least I'm not one of those people who drinks 8 cups of coffee a day. I'd hate to be their stomach linings.

ARE WE STILL DREAMING?

C-K — Mon, 25 Jul 2005 16:37:16 GMT

No one I talk to seems terribly thrilled with movies or pop culture in general anymore. It's a cliche to comment on how the first thing people talk about is a movies grosses-like we're all studio execs now- but does anyone really keep anything coming out of Hollywood close to their hearts anymore? Think of the Nostalgia industry that ran for years on films like Gone With the Wind, Casablanca, and Wizard of Oz. The last thing like that is Star Wars and the last Hollywood film(s) that seemed to strike a major chord were the Lord of the Rings films. I have a heavy Indy bias, simply because I like films made by people whose first order of business is making films. But no one makes any money -or at least Hollywood money- in Indy films, so we have the devolution of an artist like Christopher Nolan who went from making a great independent film (Memento) to a very good studio film (Insomnia, based on a Swedish indy) to a good popcorn flick (Batman Begins). There's a steady walk downhill there, and I think it's because the relelntless rush of short-term gain is stealing our dreams from us. There is a crushing financial pressure on any artist, never mind someone working in an expensive medium like film. I saw that film those guys in Texas made on DV for $7,000, but they had access to a big tech facility and you know what else? It's not that good a film. Certainly not the kind of dreamy reverie a Todd Solondz might throw at you. I think all the stimulants we are noshing on - everything from Starbucks to Meth- are fucking with our REM cycles and our brain waves, as is the steady parade of terrible news that the incompetent turds running the government are leaving in their wake. We're all too damn awake, 24 hours a day and I don't see a solution. Well, that's wrong, I do- it's going to take people turning off the Media, skipping that extra latte, spending more time reading than watching. Reality TV (sic) is the apotheosis of American voyeurism and laziness. Documentaries are reality, Survivor, American Idol and the Apprentice are simply vehicles for hopeless narcissists to dominate our waking minds.

Constantine Continued

C-K — Mon, 25 Jul 2005 16:15:01 GMT

So, still stewing about Constantine (I saw it in the theatres, but forgot how much I disliked it in the interim) I looked up the writers on imdb.com. Now, for those of you who don't know - which is basically everyone on Earth- Hellblazer is a very literate comic written by a pack of Brits who aren't prone to shotgun battles and annoyingly glossy Hell scenes that look like the album cover of a Heavy Metal record you wouldn't dream of listening to. Constantine never seems to do anything except act like a right bastard and tell ghosts, demons and gods to piss off. Alan Moore wanted him to be like the smarmy occultists he met in London, not like Neo in crappier clothes. Hollywood hates Alan Moore and is hellbent on destroying his life's work, hence League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, From Hell and now Constantine. I'm not holding my breath for V for Vendetta to be a masterwork. So given the fact that Moore and the other Hellblazer writers are considered to be the best comics have to offer (which sounds to most normal people like the tallest midgets) who does Hollywood summon to walk in their footsteps? Why, the legendary Kevin Brodbin, of course, scrivener of such deathless classics like The Glimmer Man (starring that acting legend Steven Seagal) and Mindhunters, a film so bad it's been sitting on a shelf for over a year. Then to twist the knife, Frank Capello, who brought us such greats as Surburban Commando (starring the great Hulk Hogan) and American Yakuza. It appears to me at least that no one at Village Roadshow read the comics, or cared about them, cared about comics in general, or the Occult, or anything but creating a new vehicle for Keanu Reeves to continue being Neo, this time in a sort of spooky, Exorcisty vibe. And no, a sequel is not being planned. Surprise, surprise.

DEAD TRIBE, pt.2

C-K — Sat, 23 Jul 2005 17:38:16 GMT

Back on the Dead Tribe tip, I guess everyone is elsewhere, because most of the Tribes are dead as doornails and have been all year, which can't be blamed on the summer. But I'm brand new to all this sort of thing, and myplace may be cooler and more happening and I may end up over there anyway, but I want to see how this thing works. The problem with Tribe also is what I like to call Rob Brezsnyism. Rob Brezsny is a Bay Area astrogloger who is so tremendously full of utter horseshit, it can either entertaining or supremely irritating. I don't even pay attention to his horoscopes anymore, I simply read them to snicker at his silly rap (check out Rockie at LA Weekly for serious astrology- http://www.laweekly.com/rockie/). Brezsny is one of these very well-intentioned hippies who seem to champion this extreme ecumenism/multi-everythingist fantasy that is all well and good in theory, but utterly unworkable in real life. Kind of similiar to the stuff Moby goes around saying, in-between making records that aren't Play- that is records no one wants to hear. The thing is everyone has varied interests, but people tend to focus on these interests one at a time. It's nice to want to impress people with your wide range of hobbies or whatever, but people generally tend to specialize. Tribe seems to expect people to atomize themselves, and it becomes like a really boring and frantic conversation with a Jolt-addled kid who can't stay on topic. Since I am so oblivious to what passes for the Boho world these days, I'm totally oblivious to all this polyamory/bi or trisexual orgy scenesterism, and living in New Jersey, there really isn't a lot of that being talked about. I guess I've always had unrealistic expectations of Tribe, if I've had any at all. But to me the symptoms of its demise are emblematic of the intellectual and artisitic decline of American Bohemia to the point that if its just a "polyamorous" pickup scene, even a degenerate like Allen Ginsberg must be rolling in his grave. Clothes, drugs and fucking were not supposed to be the end-all be-all of Bohemian life- it was meant to be the Work.

MySpace...

c_otter — Sun, 24 Jul 2005 18:16:14 GMT

Funny, the reason I rejoined Tribe (the first time I joined I was totally lost) was because Warren Ellis said he was going to set up shop here. Then his board goes silent for months, then I mosey over and read this: "I reopened my tribe.net membership a few months back, so’s I could follow a few music tribes on there. I never remember to check it, and weeks go by between visits. It is absolutely fucking dead over there. I mean, everyone saw it just devolve last year into a Craigslist for the polyfucker/playa-crustie Bay Area community, but it feels like there’s tumbleweed blowing through there now. (I think it’s also a huge shame that each new iteration of tribe.net seems to have subtracted more of its original simplicity and elegance.) Is anyone still over there and doing anything? Is there anything worth reading on there now? " So I finally figure out how to make this stupid thing work and now everyone's over at MySpace. If tribe is dead, it may have to do with the fact that it's too generalized- there's no focus here. I relate to what the poster said about the polyamory crowd ( I think the original term- Swinger- had more zest). I mean I'm no prude, but I really gotta wonder about people who put 50 jpegs of themselves being anally fisted in their profiles. Peculiar way to introduce yourself to strangers, or maybe Im just too conservative. So where is everybody now? I swear, I'm so frigging slow...

To Here Knows When

C-K — Fri, 22 Jul 2005 23:21:16 GMT

I was just doing my increasingly strange work out. It started off being a standard karate routine, then began to incorporate calisthenics, then boxing, then my physical therapy episodes, then finally some spastic form of solo free-sparring that resembles some spastic form of post-modern dance. Oh yeah, plus some time on a Health Rider to strengthen my very problematic rhomboids. Anyhow I was playing the Tremelo EP by My Bloody Valentine, over and over. I tend distinguish between pieces of music and works of magic and Tremelo definitely falls into the latter, even though I never listen to the last song. For some reason the EP always conjures up images from my childhood- both real and imagined. "To Here Knows When", with its sampled feedback loop sounds like a jet engine. It reminds me of dreaming of flying (I never stepped foot on an airplane until I was 17) when I would hear jets taking off from Logan airport and flying over the children's ward at Quincy City Hospital, a place I found myself all too often. "To Here"'s coda is pure spiritual bliss, a sweeping tape loop that opens your mind up to eternity- if you let it. The coda on the album, sampling a Manic Street Preachers riff is hopelessly inferior. "Swallow" reminds me of the great AM radio pop I'd hear on the way to the beach in the late 60's before my parents spilt. It also reminds me of French and Brazilian pop, which I probably heard at the boho parties my parents dragged me to back then. "Honey Power" is a typical MBV rocker, but its coda trades the spiritual for the sensual. It's 90 seconds of looped strumming and breathlessy orgasmic oohing. Belinda Butcher was gangly and not super pretty, but if you ever saw her dancing in the "Soon" video, you wouldn't doubt her erotic powers for a millisecond. Strange choice of music for a workout, I know, but effective nonetheless.

Heroes

C-K — Thu, 21 Jul 2005 23:39:04 GMT

That Max Ernst show at the Met got me to thinking about great individuals who inspire me- heroes. I was thinking about who my heroes are and why. All of them are artists of some kind. Ernst is a hero because he was so incredibly prolific and trail-blazing. He brought the world of dreams and the world beyond dreams into the waking world. I could see him working for Pixar or LucasFilms if he were alive today. He was also incredibly brave- standing up to Fascism at a time when doing so was to risk your life. He barely escaped Europe with his life, only to be branded an enemy agent by dumbshit Hoover men when he got here. David Bowie is another hero of mine. Simply because he created an entirely new musical universe, a third set of possibilities. Most of the music I loved when I was a kid- Punk, Post-Punk, etc- came from Bowie in one way or another. I can't think of another individual who has made as much great and important popular music as Bowie. I can't think of another artist whose important work spans so many years. Brian Eno is a hero of mine, but he's lost a bit of his appeal for me for reasons I can't quite quantify. Maybe because he hasn't made a lot of great music in the past 20 years or so. He's also spent more time theorizing than I think an artist should. And the whole u2 thing- ugh. But still, his best work is truly great. I can't really say Joe Strummer is still my hero. He was a great shaman and an incredibly charismatic and magnetic figure, but nothing he did after the Clash was ever as important and meaningful as the Clash were. And as central as he was in the Clash, he was part of a collective whose sum outweighed its parts by many multiples. Joe was diminished without Mick and Bernie. Maybe the Clash as a collective are still heroic to me. I just watched the Essential Clash DVD because my son wanted to see it and it still blows me away. Being the way I am I see the Clash as straddling the time period from the 101'ers to BAD's No 10 Upping Street. So that's a solid decade there, good enough for any creative endeavor. Jack Kirby isn't really a hero of mine anymore. I still love his work, but he was a very strange cat who was trapped in his own little world. Comics, video games and Movies wouldn't be the same without him- he basically invented ultra-violence- but I'm not sure how important that is in the grand scheme of things.

Why I Hate Saturn

C-K — Sat, 16 Jul 2005 15:29:07 GMT

Well, it's July 16th the end of Saturn's transit through Cancer. And not a moment too soon. For me, the hellish nightmare that a Saturn transit can wreak on a poor, sensitive Cancerian started on 9/11/01. I woke up that morning thinking it was going to be just another wonderful 2001 day for me, since it had been such a banner year so far. Everything fell apart to shit. Then Saturn came along in June 2003, but for me it felt like it started in December 2002. That's when all the miserable effects Saturn is infamous for first manifested themselves in my life. Screw all this "learn through adversity" happy talk- hasn't anyone read the ancient myths? Saturn devouring his children? Goya- hello? (see above, for non-Art students) I don't know what good any of this has done me, since I'm exactly back where I started from before 9/11 and before Saturn's transit. Except my best friend is dead (Jan 2002), Joe Strummer is dead (Xmas 2002) my beloved Mr Bones is dead (Xmas 2004), my bank account is empty and the creditors are hounding me. But I'm pissed off as hell and vindictive and truly ready to ratfuck anyone who crosses me. Maybe that's Saturn's "blessing". I did find out that at least three people who I thought were my friends punked out when I was at my lowest and needed a hand up, but I'm so damn forgiving once someone is in the Inner Circle that I'll probably welcome them back, with bells on. A lot of people don't believe in Astrology- that's fine. Sometimes I wish Astrology didn't believe in me. (oh look, here comes a Mercury retrograde!) just remember the old adage- millionaires don't believe in Astrology- billionaires do. As do penniless debtors, but enough about me... But since I'm at heart a devout and obedient Methodist choir boy, I'll give Saturn his props. Thanks for...I'll figure out later what to thank Saturn for.

It's not TV, it's HBO

C-K — Wed, 06 Jul 2005 04:32:18 GMT

I've been watching more TV than usual lately. Mostly HBO, most Curb Your Enthusiasm and Entourage. All the nastiness of Seinfeld seems to have sprung from Friday's alum Larry David and Curb is an homage to the most cringe-inducing moments of life, all compressed into wince-worthy half-hour snacks. David plays himself as a total asshole, which is the dead giveaway that he actually is a nice guy. or not. David certainly looks the part of a hateful and dyspeptic curmudgeon, but there is an innate gentleness to him that redeems his misadventures and misanthropy. The guest stars are usually the kind of TV has-beens you wouldn't watch for a millisecond in their own shows- Richard Lewis, Jason Alexander- but who fit nicely into the miserablist proceedings perfectly. Both Curb and Entourage give you a nice ringside seat to Hollywood insiderism, albeit a prettified version of such. Both feature real celebs acting atrociously. This week's Entourage features Bob Saget playing himself as a substance-ridden whoremonger. The funniest part of the joke was that no one knew who he was. Saget is a hold-over from the nauseating family sitcoms of the 80's, a genre that is taking far too long in being annihilated for my liking. Saget was also the host of the sadistic America's Funniest Home Videos, Funniest meaning cruelest and most barbaric. So I guess I'm inclined to buy his act as maybe being close to reality. Both shows he is known for were abominations and the absolute nadir of Western Culture. Then again, he did create and direct BASEketball, so there is something to be said for that. I'm not a South Park groupie though. The show is intermittently funny, but often ham-fisted and queasily obvious. And Team America is a piece of shit, I don't care what anyone says. I think I laughed-mildly- about three times before I turned it off. Anyway, back to Entourage- the show is mainly about an up and coming movie star, his hapless manager, his miserable agent, his parasitic older brother and pathetic childhood friend. Only the manager is likeable, but he's so stupid and self-defeating it gets on your nerves. But dislikeability is one of the cornerstones of comedy. Look at WC Fields or Jack Benny. And since fame is the ultimate aphrodisiac we follow the entourage screwing their way through Hollywood, a sight which is probably less painful for younger viewers than old losers like myself.

War of the Worlds and Batman Begins

C-K — Tue, 05 Jul 2005 22:14:09 GMT

Of course War of the Worlds is about 9/11. I've a friend who was stuck in the middle of that mayhem, and he swore to it. The Jersey setting is a gimme- no one thinks about 9/11 happening in London, nevermind Victorian London. But the film is so good, you forget 9/11. The very term is in the midst of being exploited to death by the present Administration, and it's been rendered essentially meaningless outside of its value to rouse the easily rouseable to rah-rah for more military adventures they or their loved ones will never fight. Spielberg takes it a step forward, or actually backward, and tries to explain to jaded and entitled Americans what the experience was for Europeans in the war. Our army can be bee-stung by jihadists all the live-long day, but it's hard to imagine some hostile force piercing the nuclear umbrella. Unless, of course, we aren't sold out by homegrown quislings who have cut a fantastic deal with themselves with the Chinese. Hey, business is business, right? Tom Cruise's desperate sexual psychodrama in the tabs doesn't leach from the page to the stage. The guy's a pro and he pulls off the role of a selfish prick saved only by mass genocide quite nicely. Being from Jersey, I felt the pangs of fear quite intensely and the bucket of soda I was sipping from chipped in with some fine palpitations. Spielberg may be a nice man and a prince among Hollywood thieves, but the guy can certainly dream up some horrific imagery. The set-ablaze commuter train speeding by the desperate refugees near the ferry slip is one image I'll never forget. The direction and cinematography is hyper-real- you are in the midst of the action the entire time with now comforting distance. The effects are astonishing and seamless. I was a bit disappointed by the garden-variety monstrous aliens (that looked like refugess from the insipid Signs) but the sequence where you see them is so intense and suspenseful it's hard to complain. Tim Robbins proves yet again he may be America's new actor laureate now that DeNiro is wasting time on execrable rubbish like Meet the Fockers. So how do I describe War to someone who hasn't seen it? Just imagine finding yourself in the midst of your worst nightmare (actually, it reminds me a lot of MY worst nightmares). The ordinary world we know is suddenly blown apart to shit by beings we never even see. There is no emotion to the wholesale slaughter, it's simply 'we are here now and it's time for you all -even your flora- to die'. The Administration may have hoped that the film would bring to mind those old-time 9/11 emotions, but in light of the godawful fiasco in Babylon, I think more people will think of how disastrous and inhuman wars of occupation can be. Batman Begins is the other big blockbuster in the multiplexes. It seems to want to do to its predecessors what the aliens in WOTW do to Earth. From the opening scenes, there's not a fedora or Packard to be found anywhere, never mind a Kevlar nipple or codpiece. This is not the dorky Goth Batman of Tim Burton or the Broadway meets Christopher St. Batman of Joel Schumacher. This is Batman made for and by people who don't know Batman from their childhoods. Except for Katie Holmes and a couple others the entire cast is from the British Isles or the Commonwealth. Ironic that a bunch of tea-sippers can rescue the Batman franchise from the Schumacherian depths. The first half of the film is slow, dingy and depressing. And that's a good thing. It's like a Martian deathray sweeping away the homoerotic juvenalia of Batman and Robin as well as the smug, smirky, star-struck Warner millieu that gave rise to such an abomination. Although I'm sure plenty of slash writers will detect some sort of sexual tension between Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne and Liam Neeson's Ducard/Ra's Al Ghul, all you get is pain, mud, cold and hate from Christopher Nolan's helm-hand. Speaking of subtexts, I didn't hate Katie Holmes nearly as much as the critics did, but she seems to be taking the brunt from Tom Cruise's Scientology clown-show. The action is fantastic- lightyears ahead of the frustratingly inert earlier Batfilms. It's unbelievably long for this kind of movie and very dark and mean. Nolan and co-writer David Goyer draw upon a number of comics for the story, including Frank Miller's Elektra stories for the ninja training sequences. The main plot- where Ra's Al Ghul passes judgement on Gotham and is going to use the water system to poison them comes straight from a great Batman Annual from 1982. Sadly missing is Ra's daughter Talia, and the fantastic romance sub-plot she brought to the comics. That would have been far more interesting than Katie Holmes, but perhaps too hard to shoehorn into the story. If you like movies that are mean, dark, violent and full of vindictive energy, you'll love Batman Begins.