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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Those friends of the decanter who have some passing familiarity with antiquity and the arts will quickly recognize this sculpture as the Augustus of Prima Porta, a likely posthumous and somewhat artificially-hulkified tribute to the first, and arguably greatest, of the Roman Emperors. The piece is one of the two or three most recognizable bits of sculpture to come down to us from classickal civilization. (In fact, I had a framed poster of it on my walls all through high school and college.)
Recently, it came to ol’ Robbo’s attention that a “street artist” calling himself “Gaia” has incorporated an image of this statue into a big mural that adorns one end of some new Mediterranean restaurant in Dee Cee called Pinea. (You can go here to check the thing out. I won’t try to repaste it here because of copyright, and besides, I’m sure the restaurant people wouldn’t mind the clicks. For those of you who don’t make the jump, suffice to say ol’ Octavian is depicted in vibrant colors with a string of citrus slices around his neck and various items of Italian cuisine in the background. Childish, but ultimately harmless, and at least it ties in with the place.)
Ol’ Robbo only happens to have learned about this work because of a monthly glossy called “Modern Luxury DC” that shows up, quite un-asked for, in the Port Swiller mailbox. This mag purports to be the arbiter hipsterium of Your Nation’s Capital, carrying a variety of articles about coo-el new art exhibits, designer clothing, fashionable watering holes, “edgy” architecture, and up-and-coming Bright Young Things and Politicos. (To give but one example of the latter, the latest issue featured an article on Mother’s Day with a photo of the current First Lady and her children. The headline reads “Queen Mother”. Note to Modern Luxury DC: Yeah, about that? No.)
Anyhoo, each issue of said mag goes straight to the basket in the downstairs loo, where Robbo flips through it just to keep up with exactly how awful things are out there in HipsterLand, until he is thoroughly disgusted and tosses it. Perusing the latest, I came across an “On the Scene” item about the unveiling of “Gaia’s” new mural at a private cocktail party (which see the link above). And what did “Modern Luxury DC” have to say about this piece of art? “The new mural features a 14.5 foot tall Roman soldier.”
A “Roman soldier”, eh? As I say above, the Prima Porta is a famous icon depicting one of the greatest figures of classickal history. And all this hipster-doofus rag can come up with to describe it is “a Roman soldier“?
Cor lumme, stone the crows.
This got me wondering how they would treat some other giants of the cultural and politickal history on which their Neo-Tinsel Age is built:
Perhaps I over-react, but is there nobody, nobody in the chain from artist to writer to editor who could do any better than “a Roman soldier”?
It’s bad enough that these people don’t know what they’re talking about, but I fear that they also just don’t care, which is much, much worse.
No, per my post below, I have not been absent through the agency of the good folks of CPS. Rayther, ol’ Robbo’s beloved Nats are on a West Coast road trip this week and, as most of the games start well beyond my bedtime, I have been catching up on my Netflix queue.
Interestingly, I seem to have come across a 30’s/40’s nostalgia patch this week. (One of my little indulgences is to load lots of DVD’s into the queue in one go and then to enjoy the surprise when they show up weeks or months later. And don’t start in about streaming – the DVD library is much bigger, and unlike some people, I’m not a slave to instant gratification.) So far, I’ve been through It Happened One Night, His Girl Friday and Holiday. I believe the next couple to appear in the Port Swiller mailbox will be Talk of the Town and You Can’t Take It With You. Without checking, I’m pretty sure Only Angels Have Wings is not far behind in the queue.
In those six films, you’ve got Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, Kate Hepburn, Rita Heyworth, several doses of Cary Grant, a triple shot of Jean Arthur and some Ji-Ji-Jimmy Stewart, to say nothing of supporting casts too numerous and excellent to single out.
Outstanding films, full of witty dialogue, complicated emotions, action, drama and the like, and all done without any scenes involving nekkedness, CGI effects or gratuitous violence. Hollywood drives culture but it also reflects it: You simply couldn’t make movies like these nowadays. (My children, by the bye, are simply astonished that I have no interest in superhero-based movies whatsoever.)
Interestingly (at least to me), several of these films started out as stage plays and keep that feel. Indeed, I don’t actually recall whether I’ve seen the film version of “You Can’t Take It With You” before, but I do recall seeing a stage version of it years ago that I thought very silly but very funny.
“Holiday” was written specifically for Kate Hepburn, first on stage and then on screen. Only she, I think, could pull off the character of Linda Seton in a way that makes her look sympathetic: I saw a stage version of the play a few years ago in which the actress playing the roll made her look like a psychotic bully.
Well, I don’t really have a wrap-up paragraph for this post, but if you’ve been wondering what ol’ Robbo has been up to, this is it.
UPDATE: Oh, speaking of what passes for modern cinema, I see a kerfluffle is brewing over the “Mad Max” reboot. It would seem that Max is only a secondary character in this one and the main story concerns some post-apocalypse über-feminist rising up from slavery and sticking it to the Man. Frankly, I hope it bombs, largely because hijacking a brand seems to me cheating. (You wouldn’t go see a movie like “My Dinner With Captain James T. Kirk” now, would you?) Plus, as a rule, I despise reboots. Write your own damn story!
UPDATE DEUX: Sat down to watch “You Can’t Take It With You” this evening only to discover that the disk was cracked. Heigh, ho. I took this as a sign and instead sat out on the porch watching the night draw in. I win, I think.
Nonetheless, the comment to this post of the lovely and talented Diane reminded me of a funny Hitchcock story. I’m no real aficionado of teh Hitch, although I greatly appreciate his work in a casual way, if that makes any sense. Probably my favorite of his movies is North By Northwest because of a) Cary Grant, b) Eva Marie Saint and c) a terrific musickal theme.
Anyhoo, the memory dredged up by Diane’s comment was that of my first viewing of Rear Window, which was during my first year of college. The People’s Glorious Soviet of Middletown had a dedicated cinema, but it also ran Friday night movies in the big science center amphitheater in which I spent two years languishing fruitlessly in pre-med before chucking it. The advantage of the latter venue was that you could bring in food and drink, so my friends and I would scoop up a couple bottles of rot-gut and a stack of plastic cups and make an evening of it.
***SPOILER ALERT*** – If what I have to say about the movie is going to harsh your heretofore-preserved innocence, read no further!
I got the impression as I settled in that I was not the only one there who hadn’t seen “Rear Window” before. During the early part of the story’s set up, there was a good deal of quiet chatter and laughter amongst the audience. Gradually, however, as the plot built, such chatter started to ebb, eventually drying up completely. By the time we were into the meat of the thing, the audience was riveted, eventually reaching a collective agony of uncertainty you could cut with a knife.
And then, I will never forget it: At the climactic point when Raymond Burr, after seeing Grace flapping her finger behind her back, looks up directly into the camera, spots Ji-Ji-Jimmy spying on him, and swells perceptibly, the entire audience let out a completely spontaneous and utterly genuine gasp. And when the camera cuts to Ji-Ji-Jimmy hastily trying to back himself into the shadows, we all felt exactly the same way.
Woosh! There’s a good deal of teh hokey in this particular film, but as far as the actual suspense goes, that, my friends, is how you do it.
Ol’ Robbo’s eye was caught today by this article concerning the latest museum being run up on the National Mall.
I commute past this site every day and, frankly, my opinion has been that it started out as a bad idea and has only gotten worse. Started out bad because it’s right on the edge of that part of the Mall right around the Washington Monument and at least partially blocks the view, gotten worse because the design of the new building itself is (is IMHO) butt-ugly.
I leave it to you friends of the decanter to decide whether all this is just a product of modern artistic sensibilities (or lack thereof) or else a deliberate poke in the eye.
For all of Ol’ Robbo’s interest in historickal matters, I readily admit that I have been woefully remiss about tracking the last year and a half or so of the sesquicentennial of the Civil War. My apologies. However, I certainly am not going to allow the 150th anniversary of the surrender of Lee to Grant at Appomattox Court House to go by without some mention here.
Chiefly, I like to think that the surrender showed the best of both men. Grant’s relentless pursuit finally won him the complete victory he deserved, and yet with his enemy completely at his mercy he was more than generous and humane in his conquest. Lee, recognizing check-mate, conceded like a true gentleman. One wonders what would have happened had Lee been able to make it to Danville or Lynchburg, resupply and slip away down the rail line to join up with Joe Johnson somewhere in North Carolina. Of course, Grant and Sherman eventually would have caught and crushed their combined force, but it would have meant more time and more blood and one wonders how much patience the North would have had with such an additional price.
Oh, speaking of which, I saw a number of posters on Facebook and elsewhere calling this day the “end of the war”. Not true. Lee only surrendered the Army of Northern Virginia. Joe Johnson didn’t surrender to Sherman in North Carolina until a couple weeks later. The last official battle of the war, at Palmito Ranch near Brownsville, Texas, wasn’t fought until May 12. Various units of the Confederate Army of the Trans-Mississippi didn’t surrender until late June, at which time the northern naval blockade of southern ports was finally lifted. President Johnson didn’t declare the complete official end of the “insurrection” until August, 1866.
So I reckon I’ve actually got another year and a half or so of being able to use the word “sesquicentennial” about the Civil War.
Anyhoo, what I really wanted to talk about was this: Ol’ Robbo began taking daily lunchtime walks last fall because his doc kept yelling at him about his lack of exercise. Generally, I have been doing a loop on the National Mall from about the height of the Air & Space Museum west to 14th Street (just short of the Washington Monument). Coupled with the distance from my office to the Mall, it’s two miles and change – a nice little circuit if walked briskly enough.
Well, that section of the Mall is now being dug up as part of a general refurbishing of pipes and drainage and things and is really not that pleasant a jaunt anymore. So last week, I turned the other way and started a loop from 7th Street east down to the Grant Memorial.
Almost twenty-five years of lurking around Your Nation’s Capital and I’d never even seen said memorial before. Perhaps this was just as well, because having spent the last ten or fifteen years reading and rereading Grant’s Memoirs and Bruce Catton’s definitive studies of the man’s campaigns, I was all the more delighted with Henry Shrady’s statue of the man. (All images from here on down stolen from Wiki.)
You can get it somewhat from this pic, that sense of Grant’s solid, stolid, unflappable calm, coupled with his near self-depricating modesty and reserve. The slouched hat, the lowered chin and the raised collar and cape make him look almost like a turtle snugging down in its shell. Even from a long way up the Mall, if you know anything about the man, you look at that statue and say, “Yup, that’s Sam Grant all right.”
This is a wintery depiction, what with the bundling up and the wind at his back, so it makes me think of both the Battle of Fort Donelson and the relief of Chattanooga. The former was Grant’s first really serious taste of big time battle. The latter was a brilliant (but largely unsung) piece of tactical and logistical generalship which, I would argue, rivaled anything done by Bobby Lee. In these fights, as in all his others, Grant’s key to success was the same as that popular expression flying about the innertoobs these days: He kept calm and he carried on.
By the way, some people like to dismiss Grant by arguing that he had the North’s huge advantage in manpower and material at his back, so of course he was going to win. Yeah, ask George McClellan how that worked out for him.
As you can tell, I am an enormous admirer of Grant, not just for his prowess in battle, but also for his character as a whole. In addition to the books I mention above, another good one is H.W. Brands’ The Man Who Saved The Union: Ulysses Grant In War And Peace. If you read Grant himself and Catton, you probably can skip the first part of this book because it’s just a condensed version of them. The second part, though, is an informative study of Grant’s presidency and his efforts to impose Reconstruction on the South. Grant is maligned for the corruption that characterized his administration but this is really unfair. He did his best to fight it, but he simply wasn’t a politician. As for Reconstruction, considering the bad blood and teh forces (cough, Southern Democrats, cough) fighting against it, he really did about as good a job as one could hope for.
Oh, back to the Memorial. As I say, I love the statue of Grant. I also love the contrasting, highly dramatic statues of the cavalry charge and the artillery team that flank it. However, I think I don’t especially care for the overall effect. The flanking groups are done on a smaller scale. Also, I think they’re spaced too far apart from Grant’s statue. The overall effect is to make the thing too wide and, in my opinion, disjointed, the whole idea of Grant’s calm above the chaos being lost a bit through distillation.
Of course, what the heck do I know about sculpture. Also, most days when I walk by, I’m busy trying to navigate shoals of high school tourons, so perhaps this causes me to become a tad jaundiced.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers! A toast, if you please, to the memory of actor James Best, whose death at the age of 88 was announced today. Requiescat in pace.
Best is, ah, best known for his portrayal of Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane in the teevee series The Dukes of Hazzard, but anyone who spends any time at all watching old westerns will also remember that back in the day he seemed to have had an awful lot of minor parts in them, always playing one of the bad guy’s henchmen or a member of the posse or a ranch hand. From what I know, Best never had much by way of dialogue, but he was a predictable part of the ensemble. Frankly, I admire workaday actors of that sort much more than I do the sooperstar snowflake types.
As a matter of fact, I never much bought Best as one of the baddies. He always came across as so…..nice. Which is why I think he worked so well as Sheriff Roscoe, who was bumbling and corrupted, but ultimately good-hearted.
And yes, I watched them Duke boys loyally in my misspent yoot. And no, I didn’t just watch so to see Daisy sporting cut-offs. (That was a mere bonus.) Got a problem with that? Remember: For all ol’ Robbo’s crankiness about matters of High Art, he also has an earthier side free of condescension and snobbery. After all, for all I am on about Bach and Handel, Mozart and Haydn, I also derive great pleasure singing along to Joe Diffie’s “Pickup Man”.
Eh. As Popeye says, I ams what I ams, and that’s what I ams.
Speaking of Sheriff Roscoe, a bit of Duke Boy trivia for you: John “Bo Duke” Schneider bought the house my parents built in the (then) exurbs of San Antonio. Not from them, but (I think) from the people who bought it from the ‘rents when the Old Gentleman retired and they moved away.
* Those who know will know.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Last evening while I was chatting with the Eldest Gel, she said apropos her new driving privileges, “Now that I’m seventeen, I can see any movie I want!”
“No you can’t,” I replied, “Legally you can see R-rated movies now, but just because something’s legal doesn’t mean it’s right and I don’t want you filling yourself up on a lot the trash that’s out there these days. It rots the soul. You know my standards: If I find out you’ve snuck off to something inappropriate, I’ll take your keys.”
She looked at me like Cortez’s men with a wild surmise for a few moments, and then went into her latest rant to the effect that she believes I’m really a vampire born in the 18th Century who refuses to conform to the modern world.
Well, it’s certainly a theory……
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Recently, ol’ Robbo has been making his way through the extra features of the Netflix copy of “Young Frankenstein“, one of my perpetual favorites. Among said extras are a set of outtakes, a feature that, should ol’ Robbo ever become Emperor of the World, would be mandatory for all movie distributions.
Anyhoo, while watching said outtakes, I was again reminded of one of Robbo’s Iron Rules: There is nothing, nothing, funnier than watching people trying not to laugh. I don’t know why, but there it is.
Now, I will go out on a limb here, reputation-wise, to support my assertion. One of Robbo’s guilty pleasures is the movie “Porky’s“. Not because of the T&A. Not because of the crudity. Instead, because the people who put this movie together get this Rule. I give you, as Exhibit A, the scene in the principal’s office (back-story probably not required):
There are several more such scenes, equally crude I’ll allow, but also as effective.
As I say, I don’t know why this sort of thing is teh funny. All I know is that, well, it is.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Well, I don’t know if this counts as an attack of bad luck or not, but it wasn’t until after ol’ Robbo got to his office this morning that he discovered he was supposed to have today off. D’oh! However, now that he’s back home at Port Swiller Manor, a few odds and ends for you:
♦ Idly flipping through an alumni magazine, I came across this opening paragraph: “When I was growing up and a student at [Skool], the word “disruptive” would have had negative connotations. Disruptive people were troublemakers: they acted in unruly and disorderly ways. Now its meaning in business and technology has taken a 360-degree turn. Being disruptive signifies creating innovations that improve the existing order, typically in unexpected ways.”
Growing up in Texas, I heard a lot of Aggie jokes. One of my favorites (well, among those suitable to a family-friendly blog) was about the two Aggies who get caught in a violent thunderstorm while flying a small plane to College Station. As the plane gets tossed about, one of the Aggies turns to the other and yells, “Let’s do a 360 and get the hell out of here!”
♦ Michael Strain has a note on Dee Cee bike lanes and the law of unintended consequences. All that he says is very true, but I still prefer having the damned cyclists off to one side instead of clogging up the travel lanes, which they do constantly and, IMHO, deliberately. Arrogant wankers, the lot of ’em.
♦ It would seem that I’m a real man. Good to know. Which reminds me: When I went in for my physical last week and was chatting with my doc, I mentioned that all the gels are teenagers now. She immediately said, “Wow, do you need a man cave!” So the next time Mrs. Robbo gives me any grief about hiding out here, I’ve got my “Doctor’s orders” defense nicely teed up.
♦ Because it’s gotten to be a thing here, two more Star Trek:TOS episodes –
“Miri” – An adult-killing plague caused by scientists trying to prevent aging. First use of the Alt-Earth scheme, although the crew seems surprisingly unsurprised to find an exact duplicate of early 60’s Earth at the other end of the Galaxy. Also the first use of the gang of feral kids and their special words (“grups and onlies”) theme. And I believe the first instance of Bones saying something snide about Spock’s green blood. The title character was played by Kim Darby, who was also Mattie Ross in the John Wayne version of “True Grit” where she was, unfortunately, rayther a weak link with her gosh-darn perkiness. (Hailee Stenfield, OTOH, gets Mattie absolutely bang right in the remake, a movie I would love if the Coen brothers hadn’t felt compelled to muck about with the plot.)
“Dagger of the Mind” – Supposedly enlightened warden of a penal colony turns out to be a maniac playing God with his prisoners’ minds. James Gregory, the warden, will always be Inspector Luger to me, no matter what movie or show he’s in. And Marianna Hill, as a member of the Enterprise’s medical staff, is quite the cupcake. (Which see.)
I’m finding these shows to be pretty well-written, each setting up a discrete dilemma and then deftly solving it, although the assumptions and values displayed therein seem almost archaic 50 years on and are proving to be a stark and sobering reminder of how far we’ve slid into the pit as a culture.
♦ Oh, speaking of which, I suppose tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Feh.
♦ Finally, I’m having entirely too much fun being enigmatic about whether or not eldest gel gets a car for her upcoming 17th birthday. MWAAAA-HAHAHA!!!!!
Whelp, that’s it for the moment. Here’s hoping it’s going to be warmer this weekend wherever you are than it will be here!
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Let me start this post by assuring you again that ol’ Robbo is not a geek!
Having said that, on a whim a few weeks back I tossed Star Trek: TOS into the ol’ Netflix queue. The first of them showed up in the Port Swiller mailbox this afternoon.
Ol’ Robbo’s first encounter with ST:TOS was in elementary school in the mid 70’s, where he watched it in reruns on weekday afternoons in the school cafeteria while waiting of the bus to show up. Suffice to say, he was enamored of the whole space-exploration genre in general and of the adventures of Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise in particular. Hey, you can’t blame a kid for dreaming of the stars.
I watched the series again in high school, when it ran on a late night weekend scify program on one of our local broadcast stations, (obviously, I didn’t date much back then.) and enjoyed it again, with much the same reaction.
Anyhoo, this is the first time I’m going through the series as anything approaching an adult. And the new perspective, well, interests me.
As to “The Man Trap”: I had not before realized that this was the very first episode. Back in the day, the salt monster scared the willies out of me. Now? Well, I rayther see her way of thinking. If I had suction claws, I’d be all over the local supply, too. Indeed, I like the cut of her jib and would subscribe to her newsletter.
As to “Charlie X”: Jesus. Mary. Joseph. My own dealings with a dumbass, headstrong 17 y.o. (but I repeat myself) have been bad enough. Were she equipped with cosmic powers? Yeek! As Count Floyd would say, “Really scary, huh kids?”
So there’s that. More observations as the series progresses.
Oh, I should mention also that the Netflix DVD’s are of the cleaned-up series, not the original broadcast. Frankly, I think this is cheating. Not quite akin to the whole Han Shot First thing, but of the same nature.
My post below touching on the Star Trek movie I happened to have chosen to watch the evening I unexpectedly met Mrs. Robbo generated a fair bit of “wow, how did you dodge that bullet” commentary with respect to my choice, so I thought I would follow up with a completely gratuitous post summarizing my opinion of the franchise as a whole.
Mind you, I am NOT a “Trekkie”. Yes, along with many others of my age, in my misspent yoot I spent a lot of weekday afternoons watching and loving reruns of the original series. Yes, certain words and phrases from the series have made it into the Robbo lexicon. Yes, I built a model or two of the Enterprise. (For what it’s worth, I also had models of the Galactica, a Colonial Viper, an X-Wing and a TIE-Fighter. I also built 1/48 scale models of most of the Allied fighters and bombers of WWII and hung them from my bedroom ceiling.) Yes, I was excited that the teevee series made it on to the big screen. And yes, I know all about the Kobayashi Maru test.
But that’s it. Totes serially. I never owned a costume. I never sought an autograph. I never went to a convention. I have never owned a “Star Fleet Academy” rear-window decal. I never sought to learn how to speak Klingon. And I never, ever, believed that the United Federation of Planets was any kind of political model for the real world.
I’m normal. NORMAL, I tell you!
Which is all to say that the following rankings are both completely subjective and probably shallow and ill-informed as well. I don’t care.
Anyhoo, here we go:
The Original Series Movies
1st – Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. A no-brainer, amirite? A perfectly balanced film bringing out all the TOS tropes while also encapsulating the glories of space travel (the scene where the Enterprise leaves space dock always chokes me up) and setting up a classic submarine chess match between Kirk and Khan. I like this film so much that I don’t even snicker at Scotty’s rendition of “Amazing Grace” on the pipes toward the end. Without looking it up, I believe that even the late Prog New Yorker film critic Pauline Kael described it as “wonderful, dumb fun”.
2nd (tie) – Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home and Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. Two very different films with two very different sets of strengths and weaknesses which balance each other out in my mind. ST4-TVH has a lot of anti-Reagan platitudes and hippy-dippy nature cant, but it holds up in terms of the chemistry among the main characters. ST6-TUC would have been a much better film, but it spends too much time in dry, tedious Sherlock Holmes-like questing for clues surrounding its central mystery. (I say nothing of the fact that its main theme musick was a complete rip-off of “Mars, the Bringer of War” from Gustov Holst’s The Planets.)
4th (tie) – Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. Two films that, in my mind at least, shared the same fatal flaw in that both were so arch about themselves and the Universe they portrayed as to cross the border into camp. The plot of STIII-SFS was reasonably sound and could have been done quite well, but was squandered in its execution – the whole disabling of the Excelsior, for example. STV-TFF, on the other hand, while also carrying a not-unreasonable plot, was just….well, bad all around.
6th – Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Yep, sucked. By golly, unless you weren’t there yourself, you don’t know the disappointment felt by a 14 y.o. boy of my previous Trek experience when this dog of a film hit the big screen, Bald Babe notwithstanding. Personally, I blame Jimmy Carter.
The Next Generation Movies
Before getting to the films, I will say that I hated the first season or two of ST:TNG on teevee because it bent all over itself to show how politically correct it was: Psychiatric counselor (in homespun body suit) on the bridge; Model U.N. -type captain; nary a shot fired in anger; constant apologies for Mankind’s perceived past transgressions against Mother Universe. However, after a while, the show seemed to calm down and turn its attention to teh stars out there instead of gazing at its own navel. (Well, okay, there was a good bit of the multiple personalities of Data and the, ah, doings of Riker on the holideck, but you know what I mean.)
Anyhoo, I never cared as much about any of the TNG films as I did of teh TOS ones, probably because I never totally accepted the TNG premise. Nonetheless, here we go:
1st – Star Trek TNG: First Contact. I always thought the Borg, the ultimate sci-fi manifestation of Collective Progressivism, was the single greatest idea to come out of the minds of the TNG writers, however ironically. I also liked the film’s easy treatment of the personalities and relationships that had evolved among the TNG Enterprise’s crew over the prior teevee seasons. Instead of having to prove themselves, the characters seemed to be having fun.
2nd – Star Trek TNG: Generations. Weeeeell, it was okay, and I suppose a reasonably good hand-over, although I always laugh at the scene in which Kirk is cooking an omelet and directing Picard to fetch him various spices. What bothers me is TMW – Too Much Whoopie. (I could never stand her Guinan character.)
3rd (tie) – Star Trek TNG: Insurrection and Star Trek TNG: Nemesis. Whelp, I admit I don’t recall much of either film. One had to do with a planet of Enlightened Vegan, Free-Range Baby-boom Volvo Drivers. The other had to do with some kind of Evil Picard Clone doing Bad Things. Frankly, it was all pretty dull.