That's Typing Tuesday #21: The Monkey's Return, Hitchcock's Win, John Lennon's Bag ... And Other Short Subjects

Katie-Bar-The-Door and I are back in town, and with half-a-dozen blog-a-thons now in my rearview mirror, I'll be getting back to my regular blogging schedule shortly with a series of reviews of the films of 1918, starting with D.W. Griffith's little-seen World War I movie, Hearts of the World.

I'll also be going back and responding to comments you left last week, so don't despair—the Monkey still loves you.

Speaking of love, while Katie and I were on the road, we caught the Cirque du Soleil's performance of Love at the Mirage in Las Vegas. Being a fan of both the Beatles—I probably know more about them than I do about the movies—and the Cirque du Soleil, I was pretty pumped to see the show. My review is the same as Katie's: best soundtrack ever, worst Cirque du Soleil, if by Cirque du Soleil, you think of acrobats, jugglers, trapeze artists, contortionists, death-defying stunts and Zen-like beauty—basically, Ed Sullivan on acid, for those of you who are old enough to understand the reference.



Not that I would discourage a Beatles fan from seeing the show.

But at one point, the performers covered the audience with white canvas, a nod, I assumed, to John and Yoko's penchant for making public pronouncements in the late 1960s from the inside of a laundry bag. Lennon's explanation had something to do with the notion that if you couldn't judge a person based on superficial qualities such as looks, race or gender, you'd wind up focusing on their words, which for an artist is a synonym for substance.

And it occurred to me as we were inside this bag at the Cirque du Soleil that through the internet, we have achieved something like Lennon's ideal, the freedom to speak our minds anonymously. Because I doubt our parents actually named any of us Monkey or Muleboy or Thingy or Plain Chicken. Of course, the result is, ironically, a mixed bag—with anonymity comes freedom, but also a lack of accountability, magnifying both what is best and worst about us as human beings.

But you already knew that.

What you may not have known is that while we were out of town, Alfred Hitchcock narrowly defeated Akira Kurosawa for the title of greatest director of all time. At least on this blog. Congratulations, Hitch. I'm sure this makes up for the sting of never winning an Oscar.

And speaking of Hitchcock, Monty over at All Good Things has been hosting a best Hitchcock film tournament. The finals for the 1950s (minus North By Northwest) Bracket is set—Rear Window versus The Man Who Knew Too Much. You can click here to vote.

I imagine the 1959-to-the-end-of-Hitchcock's-career Bracket will start this weekend. You got to figure, what, North By Northwest versus Psycho for the chance to join the final four in that one, right?