Saturday roundup...

In this week's New Yorker, Anthony Lane misses the mark on "The Incredibles," only lukewarm about a movie that was thoroughly well-made, scrupulous about its comic logic, consistently inventive, and utterly enjoyable. Is it that he doesn't like computer animation, that it's not the "superheroes-trapped-in-reality" movie he would've made, or simply that he doesn't have a very whimsical mind? As usual, the critics at The New Yorker seem more interested in showing their fluency with language, rather than shedding much light on a subject. I find that EVERY time they critique something I myself know about, they're reliably superficial and show-offy; needlessly prim and conventional; occasionally they're even wrong. I won't go so far as to say that in this case--Lane did seem to like the movie--but there's a kind of weariness in his review that puzzled me; as if animation itself was boring, or old hat, or too easy. Whatever didn't connect, you can tell Lane's at sea, because there's nothing about the look of the movie--mid-century America, muscley and triumphal, mirroring the characters. Nor is the movie's secret weapon, the hilarious Coco Chanel-esque supersuit designer, worthy of a mention. Yet Lane takes the time to call out Brad Bird's homage to "The Apartment"--besides burnishing Lane's film-history cred, what does this tell me about the movie? Nothin'--and yes, I've seen "The Apartment," and like it, and like Billy Wilder. That's like dragging "City Lights" into your review of any movie with factory workers in it--not incorrect, but needlessly film-geeky and indulgent. Calling all editors! When Lane writes, "Only the baddie, the excitingly named Syndrome, disappoints; he’s nothing but a megalomaniac, when what we need here is minimanias—the fuzz and snag of ordinary feelings," one has to put the magazine down for fear of throwing it and injuring a cat. Syndrome's motivation isn't megalomania, it's revenge against a father-figure, payback for a youthful slight regardless of the costs to bystanders. Well, Mr. Lane, if it's good enough to motivate George W. Bush, it's good enough for "The Incredibles." Half as much wordplay and wit, please, and twice as much respect for a comedy which truly succeeds, and will wear well--probably, when all is said and done, better than "The Apartment," whose sexual milieu (the driver of its plot) was out-of-date less than ten years after its release... Meanwhile, back in depressing reality, Bob Harris has posted the best bit of election-fraud bloggery I've read so far (my own thoughts eminently included). Here's a snip, helpful for those of you trying to interpret the whirring of your own Spidey-sense, or explain it to disdainful relatives at Thanksgiving: "What jumped out," Bob writes, "at a lot of people on the night of the election was how the 'errors' in the exit polls consistently occured in the same direction. The thing about genuine errors, extremes, and anomalies in results... is that they're random. The chance that a flipped coin will land 'heads' four times in a row is only 1 in 16 -- but you're just as likely to see it land 'tails' four times in a row.  And if it's an honest coin, flipped fairly, over time, you will.  Very basic math will tell you exactly how likely a given outcome is. But even without the math, we have a sense of this in our daily lives.  If you were betting another guy a dollar a flip, and the coin came up tails ten times in a row (about a 1 in 1000 chance) common sense would tell you the coin was weighted.  And if somebody told you it wasn't -- that it was just an error or pure random chance, never mind, keep emptying your wallet -- you'd start to wonder about their motives. Common sense.  Not a conspiracy theory.  Just what you're seeing, right in front of you." Right on, Bob! And by the way, Barry Trotter and the Dead Horse is chunking along in the UK; US readers should order it via Amazon.co.uk (I've put a link on the bar to the left). Did I mention that baby needs a new pair of shoes?