(Hey, that really was Rose McGowan. It so looked like her at first, and then I wasn't sure.)
On a more serious note, Mia Kirshner really was amazing. And while Madeleine was sort of a bizarro character--as was the entire Linscott family--I did think that Hilary Swank was really good. I mean, I don't know why she was Young Irish Katharine Hepburn, but if that's the row she had to hoe, she did it really well. And I ended up really liking Josh Hartnett--I can see why a lot of people might find him kind of lacking, but for some reason, he worked for me. (Of course, I haven't read the book, so he might have been categorically wrong for Bleichert, and I wouldn't know it.) Although I am still deeply confused by the part where Madeleine tells him about sleeping with the Dahlia and he laughs at her, and then all of a sudden he's like, "You stupid slut!" and flees the room. What? I mean, okay, "I wanted to see what it would be like with someone who looked like me" is kind of... interesting, but even after he realized she wasn't kidding, it didn't seem shun-worthy. Now, "My mother and my biological father killed some girl I slept with that he also wanted to 'date' and they kind of got off on the fact that she looked like me, except not really, but that's what everyone in the movie kept saying, anyway. Oh, Daddy, wasn't that silly?," that gets you a good shunning in my book.
And then Fiona Shaw showed up and the movie just went off the frickin' rails. I kind of hate the movie's "solution" to the crime, as it seems all wrong from a psychological perspective, but that was some virtuoso crazy right there. Snaps to you, Aunt Petunia.
(From the Crime Library article: "This was news noir at its best. To juice up the story, Examiner reporters resorted to an unethical ploy; they called her mother, Phoebe Short, and told her that her daughter had won a beauty contest. After prying as much personal information about Elizabeth from Mrs. Short as possible, they informed her that that her daughter was actually dead." Eeeek.)
All your unpleasant news in one quick burst: Man attacks wife, toddler in car. Kids missing after woman slain, fetus stolen. Rumors swirl over bin Laden's fate--that is, that he may have died of typhoid. That last one isn't unpleasant because I'm rooting for bin Laden or anything, I just want to clarify that. It's just... well. Anything war- or terrorism-related at this point, five years into this whole saga, is depressing to me.
Cosby: Let's give $8 each to build slavery museum. I felt kind of wary at first, like this was going to be kind of divisive (and let's be honest: "divisive" is often--not always, but often--a euphemism for "something that white people feel guilty about." Which is why, at the end of the day, I think he's right, he might have trouble getting donations), but he pulled me in at--
"The incentive is that they would join in with the rest of the United States of America in saying yes, as an American, I gave $8 to help build something that tells the story," he said in a teleconference with Wilder.
In a nation of some 300 million people, even a tepid response would surpass the $100 million goal, Cosby said.
He admitted this kind of campaign "generally fails badly."
"But I'm going to try again because I'm going to present this national slavery museum as a jewel that's missing in a crown."
More completely awesome jack o'lanterns. I so want to try my hand at this one next month.
This also made me smile.
The Evolution of [twentieth-century] Dance. Y'all, turn off the lights and close up the internet, it's time to go home. There will never be anything more awesome than this. Definitive proof that there is, in fact, at least one fearless, completely straight-faced, pasty white man who can dance.