Addict Recommends: (Film) A Dream of Kings (1969)

The primary criticism against this film is that Anthony Quinn essentially reprises his performance in Zorba the Greek. And to some extent, I can see where the two roles overlap somewhat. This observation, however, does not detract in the least from the significance of this film, especially from the point of view of this blog. On the contrary, any similarity between the two characters only lends heft and validity to the importance of A Dream of Kings, a movie which is largely overlooked.

Quinn portrays Matsoukas, a larger than life fellow determined to suck the marrow out of his existence. He spends all his nights carousing, getting drunk and gambling in the backroom betting parlors and card rooms of Chicago. He sleeps in late and seems to work in his job as an abstract personal “counselor” (basically he gives sage advice) about five minutes a day. Although a heavy gambler who suffers severe and sometimes terrible swings in fortune, he is a strict man of honor who revels in his great losses with the same appreciation as he does his wins. He is beloved by his cohorts – who feed off his energy – but despised by his wife Caliope (portrayed by Irene Papas, also of Zorba fame) who resents his freedom, his exuberance and most of all his ethics and ability to abide an elevated, if complicated, code of existence. She probably also resents his philandering, which of course he executes with gusto and panache.

Matsoukas is the father of three children: two sweet, healthy girls and a boy who is terribly ill and is diagnosed with mere months to live. Our protagonist, however, refuses to accept the word of doctors and science, knowing in his heart that if his son could only breathe the clean air of Greece and walk Mount Olympus, the strength of his warrior ancestors would enter his body and cleanse him of all sickness. In the tradition of great characters in narratives like these, (Axel Freed of course comes to mind) Matsoukas believes that the power of his will is strong enough to overcome any obstacle, regardless of the odds against.

Unsurprisingly, Matsoukas lacks the funds to travel to his homeland and cure his son. And so he stakes it all – his marriage, his friendships and his honor – on a desperate scheme to make the dream a reality. It is a grand story and a solution straight out of ancient mythology, set in the small and gritty life of an outstanding yet ordinary man.

Addict Recommends: (Film) Mississippi Grind (2015)

         Although there are no genres of film I enjoy as much as movies about gambling and addiction, the ones about road trips come pretty damn close. (Some of my favorites include Lolita, Easy Rider and The Blues Brothers.) So you can imagine my glee when I came across Mississippi Grind, a movie which combined the elements of gambling, drinking, womanizing and the epic American road trip in one compelling package. 

         The story centers on two characters: Gerry and Curtis. Gerry is a down on his luck real estate broker, played perfectly by the King of the down and outers Ben Mendelsohn. (Whose work in season one of “Bloodline” sets the standard for portrayals of the dirt-bag functioning addict.) Gerry runs into Curtis – played by Ryan Reynolds in a role with real depth – in a casino in Iowa one night. Gerry is almost immediately drawn to Curtis, and the two end up getting drunk at a local bar. The next day, they win a bundle at the dog track, only to lose it back quickly. While getting drunk yet again, Curtis explains to Gerry that “Machu Picchu” time is fast approaching. This is his slang for time to hit the road and get lost. The two become so inebriated that they are thrown out of the bar while trying to play pool for a thousand dollars a game. Outside, Gerry is stabbed by a mugger who incorrectly believes he possesses a wad of cash. 

          After being threatened by his female bookie Sam, to whom he owes a tidy sum, Gerry realizes that Curtis is right and it really is time to hit the bricks. They plan a road trip south through the cities and towns of the Mississippi. They will gamble their way ultimately to New Orleans, where a high stakes poker game awaits. Curtis stakes his newfound friend, who pads his bankroll by stealing the office petty cash. In a scene which is both touching and heart breaking, Gerry fills his cat's bowl to the brim with cheap dry food. It is one of those scenes that makes us wonder when in the world he will come back. It also reminds us of the age old truism in fiction, that Chekhov’s gun must always be eventually fired. The cat, as is good and proper, also returns in this narrative. 

          Their journey takes them to St. Louis, Memphis, Little Rock, Tunica and of course the Big Easy. Along the way they encounter hookers, gamblers, tough guys and losers. They frequent back room card games, bet horses at the racetrack and live out of seedy hotel rooms. Money is won and lost. Expectations are disappointed, fulfilled and exceeded in a full and glorious display of the capacity of human nature. What more could you ask for?       

          Directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck – a rare film making duo – were inspired to make this movie by their experiences on riverboat casinos in Iowa. But their command of the language of the gambling narrative is masterful and complete. They even have a scene where they feature, in an interesting if taciturn role, writer/director James Toback, who wrote the original screenplay for the greatest gambling movie of all time: The Gambler (1974), featuring James Caan, Paul Sorvino and Lauren Hutton. (See my recommendation for this legendary film in these archives.)

          The directors avoid employing the now tired, moralizing, cliché ending. Instead, we are granted closure both unexpected and (perhaps) unrealistic, but which somehow works perfectly. Ultimately however, the film proves in conclusion what we already knew at the beginning: that gambling isn’t strictly about winning or losing, plusses and minuses. It is about the highs and lows of the experience. It is about the knowledge that there is never “enough.” And more than anything, this movie stands for the proposition that at the very end of it all, to the chagrin of addicts of everywhere, the best we can ever hope for is to break even. 

Condo Conversion, Chapter 4

         I hadn’t been laid in ten months.  And as is the case when you haven’t been laid in a really long time, I got to thinking about the last girl I had been with, Allison McRooney.  I was walking around Rohnert Park, trying to get a sense of my surroundings.  It was very flat, with wide boulevards that could accommodate far more cars than were in fact using them.  Having moved from crowded San Francisco, I liked that.  There is a surplus of space in Rohnert Park. 

          But the dominant impression is that it is flat.  Flat like we were taught people believed the world to be before Columbus, even though they didn’t.  Flat like a football field.  I walked over to the Safeway, then back around to the Raleys, then over to the Albertsons: three supermarkets and dozens of retailers and restaurants in one gigantic superplex.  Residents of this archetype of urban sprawl called it “downtown.”

          An angry old man rolled by in his electric wheelchair muttering something to himself.  On the back of the chair, on a flexible pole about three feet high, there was a little orange flag waving in the wind.  I recognized him from the day before: he was one of my new neighbors.  A moment later, a young handicapped woman rolled by in her electric wheelchair going the opposite direction.  Two young skateboarders cruised by me, hopping their boards nimbly over the curb.  A pattern was emerging.  Rohnert Park was a place built for rolling through.  This explained the endless number of shopping carts that littered every corner of the town.  Maybe I should get a little chair for myself, I reflected.  It might help me fit in.

           The thought of Allison’s gigantic breasts continued to haunt my mind as I aimlessly trolled the aisles of Longs Drugs.  And her ass; God it was huge.  When she was on all fours it was like looking at two Virginia hams sitting side by side: a glorious vision, it used to make me hungry with lust, all that magnificent, surprisingly taut, perfectly proportioned flesh.  

            She used methamphetamines.  She must have been the biggest girl in the world who used as much meth as she did.  Who knows how much bigger she would have been if she didn’t?  But her habit was one of maintenance and not absolute excess.  She was able to hold down a good job as an investment banker and appear to the rest of the world as if she were relatively normal.  She took two big hits in the morning before heading off to work, would rush home for a half-hour lunch of two more, and would be home at about eight o’clock after a few drinks with her coworkers and smoke a few more hits before getting three hours sleep.  On weekends she would catch up on her slumber, staying in bed until long after noon.  It was amazing, really, how she balanced her entire life around that little glass pipe.  

            I was mainly into coke at the time, but would indulge with her now and again to try to attain some spiritual connection.  People on speed can only relate to other people on speed, and I wanted desperately for her to relate to me.  There were times that she told me she loved me.  Once she even wrote a poem for me, proclaiming her love as infinite.  But I knew that it could never be true, even when I didn’t.  She needed an asshole to push her around, let her know she wasn’t worth shit, and I was basically a nice guy who wanted to tell her she was precious.  It was doomed from the start.  Still, it stung like a motherfucker when she left.  I have only been in love twice in my life.  She was one of them.