The Fault In Our Stars ©2014 Twentieth Century Fox
Based on the 2012 novel by John Green
Genre: teen romance, mortality; young adult
MPAA Rating: PG-13
Screenplay: Scott Neustadter, Michael H. Weber
Director: Josh Boone
Running Time: two hours
Producers: Wyck Godrey p.g.a, Marty Bowen p.g.a
Exec. Producers: Michele Imperato Stabile, Isaac Klausner
Director of Photography: Ben Richardson
Film Editor: Rob Sullivan
Music: Mike Mogis, Nathaniel Wolcott
Stars: Shailene Woodley, Ansel Elgort, Laura Dern (Frannie, H.’s mother), Sam Trammell (Michael, H.’s father), Nat Wolff, Wilem Dafoe, Mike Birbiglia (Patrick, group head), and Lotte Verbeek

The producers would like to thank the Anne Franke House, the Pittsburg University Medical Center (UPMC), and the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center

The Diary of a Young Girl, is courtesy, Random House: Original Material; controlled by The Anne Franke Fonds


Hazel Grace (Woodley), a 16-year-old college student with metastasized cancer, is reluctant to attend cancer support group.  But there, she befriends Augustus Waters (Elgort), a boy two years her senior.  He attempts to bring her out of her terminal illness mentality, while Isaac (Wolff) deals with his breakup with a girlfriend that echoed but failed to promise the “Always,” to Always love each other.  (Aah, kids.)

Hazel still wants to know what happened to the characters for An Imperial Affliction, her favorite book and a work terminated mid-sentence, so Gus tries and manages to contact its author, Peter Van Houten (Dafoe), through his assistant, Lidewij (Verbeek).

Not take her illness well, Hazel considers herself a “grenade”—someone who can ‘only hurt the ones around her’ if she were to open and build relationship(s), but Gus convinces her otherwise.  As result, he shows her a new world, a new love, enough that she eventually cries at his eulogy rehearsal—one he attends.


Neustadter and Weber manage to bring the story to the screen almost word-for-word.  Unfortunately, the screenplay’s rendering (directing), for “accessibility,” made much of the film cute and unconvincing, and unintentionally funny in one scene.  There were critical moments left soft and safe, as opposed to real and consequential.  An episode of House is more convincing than the cancer elements in this film.  And while the screenplay left alone most of the plot and dialogue (the as-is dialogue was in need of improvement), everything else lacked boldness; nothing else stood out.

As far as the acting goes, the whole film, taken from the novel in first-person POV, in its entirety rested on Woodley (who cried rather well).  And for some of the film, Isaac (Wolff) stood out where others probably should have.  Elgort’s acting was one of the worst parts of the film; he brought to life a theatrical reading of lines, fun but understated but unreal.  He appeared, perhaps, cocky when he should’ve appeared something of an ordinary teen.

For time compression (and safety), Van Houten’s scenes were reduced in count and time, and the story toward the end was altered significantly: instead of Hazel searching for a piece of paper that Gus had written, Van Houten gave it directly to her; there was no scene where Lidewij ran out on Van Houten; there was no time for clarification on Van Houten’s part as to why he wrote and failed to finish An Imperial Affliction; reasoning was thrown out somewhere.  And, needless to say, Dafoe wasn’t the fat slob of a drunk described in the book, just a drunk that didn’t even appear drunk in the movie!

Fortunately, the critical “some infinities are larger than other infinities” message was left in, as well as the “virgins with one leg” diagrams, and Van Houten in the side mirror taking a swig from his alcoholic’s canteen, as Hazel drove away.

What I got out of the novel was bittersweet; what I got out of the film was easy—too easy to watch.  While it sufficiently captured the plot, it had nothing else to offer.  Worse, it put too much focus on its often-simplified characters, and as result removed much of the book’s implicit atmosphere; we didn’t even get to see out of the window of the plane!

Everything was pronounced; there was no time to explore.  So many opportunities to make a better movie were overlooked and lost.  There may be a fan base, but I am certainly not a fan of this straight-forward but lackluster adaptation.  Without being too harsh, this movie failed to surpass expectations.  Grade: B+

Review: Fifty Shades Darker

Fifty Shades Darker (2011)

Author: E L James
Genre: erotic romance/adult fantasy
Reviewer Age Rating: 16+ (adult language, sexual content)
Printing: 2012.04 paperback, Vintage Books first edition; 532 pages


Daunted by the singular tastes and dark secrets of the beautiful, tormented young entrepreneur Christian Grey, Anastasia Steele has broken off their relationship to start a new career with a Seattle publishing house.

But desire for Christian still dominates her every waking thought, and when he proposes a new arrangement, Ana cannot resist.  The rekindle their searing sensual affair, and Ana learns more about the harrowing past of her damaged, driven, and demanding Fifty Shades.

While Christian wrestles with his inner demons, Ana must confront the anger and envy of the women who came before her, and make the most important decision of her life.

Word of MouthAnother #1 New York Times Bestseller.

I got into the second book because:
1. I am an idiot.
2. I am an idiot.
3. There is something special about the story…it isn’t mere S&M+fluff.

As with the first, the tears don’t flow until later… including my own.  Yes, I teared up.


Darker kicks off with a nightmarish prologue—if only it was constructed better.

The story continues only a few days later from where the previous and first book left us.  Ana is feeling the pain in her chest, and eating less, yes even less than before.  (You’d think she’d be dead by now.)  There is no sweetness, there is no Kate, there is only the example of a common workplace with SIP (publishing).

Ana’s boss, Jack, is a load of infractions—the sexual harassment kind, and Ana doesn’t see it.  She is distracted and… well, there’s that gaping hole again.  That is until Christian reenters the the story line, and things uncomfortably move forward.  Slowly but surely, they are back together, and taking bolder risks.


And pardon the pun.  Yes there are oft-luxurious, steamy, sensual encounters.  But the dynamic has shifted with Grey.  Ana’s departure had forced him to reconsider everything.  No doubt, Steele’s friends would make him jealous, and his friends Ana.  There’s a lot of frowning and scolding.  And some “Very Angry Fifty.”

The S&M is dropped for the most part, replaced with big turns of events (say, plot devices) that force the “couple” even closer together.  More is revealed about Grey’s past, and he is exasperated as ever.  One of his ex-submissives, dirty and well, in need of psychiatric help…has a gun.

So this is not the same story as before; there are some big consequences.  But, unfortunately, the nature and detail of how the story is told is yet again somewhat weaker than how I’m describing with these reviews.  (Don’t set your expectations too high.)

Bored to Tears…or Tease

The beginning of the story with Fifty Shades of Grey started out okay, fairly detailed.  This second part starts off lacking.  With the purpose of moving the story forward, some things get overlooked.  We are instead given an earful of things that are…how do I say it?—Less romantic.  Nevertheless, Ana calls many of these things romantic anyway.

Yes, the process of sailing a boat—a handful of terms familiar to people with experience on the seas (a marina chapter), but fun for Ana, with a touch of…sex.  Of course.  Everywhere they go, sex.  The “Red Room of Pain” makes its brief return, but most of the “sensual affair” is teased out of the two.

But still, even on that end—the events are never “too strong,” even the lewd behavior.  The examples are too mature (adult) to mention here, but I can mention that Ana is once, yet again, put in a position…without panties.

Intensity“USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.” (p.351)

We find again, it is as if Grey has the ability to make undergarments combust into thin air.
“He gives me his devastating, lopsided, 150 percent panty-busting smile.” (p.347)
“… they disintegrate in his hands.” (p.271)

E L James doles out her sense of humor with lines like those, but maybe in better taste with the second book.  This time are there aren’t a ridiculous count of Oh mys and Holy cows, etc.  Thankfully.

“You are a pervert.”

“I know.”  He raises his eyebrows and his grin broadens.

“My pervert,” I whisper.

“Yes, yours.”

Nevertheless the story arc becomes more stimulating toward the end.

Oh, no you don’t, Grey.  I want you.” (p.389)
It would’ve been funnier if left just the first four words.


And…once again, the sentence construction, like the first book, could be considered on the High School level.  It can make it hard to call these books a series of novels.  And like the first, there are a few typos overlooked in the editing process.  Hmm . . . too mature to read over?  Missing punctuation on page 153.

You can tell it’s not written by an American when the expression “kinky fuckery” is used as if ordinary to the U.S. citizen.  And “Laters, baby.”  Ugh…

Explaining the obvious to the audience is unappealing.  Ana explains the word “repeat”?
“I choose a song haphazardly and press ‘repeat’ so it will play over and over again.  I need some music to think by.” (p.359)

And the blending of train of thought in the writing process, as if the characters were part of the same brain, with the same vocabulary…  (It’s James’ brain, of course.)

I shake my head at him.  “Whatever happened to delayed gratification?”

“I got over it, and I’m now a firm advocate of instant gratification.  Carpe diem, Ana,” he whispers.

Yeah…with this book you can expect anyone in the story to say “Carpe Diem.”  (Not that more than a few characters do.)  But really, “Laters” is the common word…


The first part was close with tools (S&M), the second closer to actual romance toward the end, with a touch of sincerity.  It actually got intense in the heartfelt sense, enough so that I would call anyone who reads Darker heartless if he/she felt nothing by it.

More of the sex is abbreviated with this book, though there is…still a lot of non-abbreviated sex, even “sexcapades,” even when it might not be necessary to the story.  But some actual hearts and flowers come into play, and Ana makes a chocolate cake for Christian’s birthday.

There is more than one episode where Christian Grey, the “control-freak,” is at the mercy of the elements around him, not just Ana.

“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head.

“Christian . . .”

“No,” he breaths, his eyes wide with panic …

So parts of it are moving, maybe more so than the first book.  But it’s still a fantasy with all the convenient circumstances leading up.  Fortunately, the ending—and what makes the third book possible—was written out of scope, creatively adding more of a crime narrative.  A plot device, of course, but something different for a change.


Some of it’s good and some of it makes you go, “oh, come on.”  Some of it’s tear-jerking and some it is [expletive]-jerking.

This time, toward the end, I actually wanted to get through it.  It is kind of special.  Still fiction, though.  The story so far with all of its events and constant sex spans at most three weeks time. Friction fiction.  Two weeks of perfect weather in Seattle?  Almost unheard of.  Grade: C+

Review: Gone Girl

Gone Girl (2012)

Author: Gillian Flynn (former writer and critic for Entertainment Weekly)
Genre: fiction—mystery and detective… literal insanity in marriage
Reviewer Age Rating: 15+ (strong language, some sexual content)
Printing: 2012 hardcover, first edition; 419 pages (includes blank pages)

Flynn would like to dedicate the novel…
To Brett: light of my life, senior; and, Flynn: light of my life, junior



On a warm summer morning in North Carthage, Missouri, it is Nick and Amy (Elliot) Dunn’s fifth wedding anniversary.  Presents are being wrapped and reservations are being made when Nick’s clever and beautiful wife disappears from their rented McMansion on the Mississippi River.

Husband-of-the-Year Nick isn’t doing himself any favors with cringe-worthy daydreams about the slope and shape of his wife’s head, but passages from Amy’s diary reveal the alpha-girl perfectionist could have put anyone dangerously on edge.  Under mounting pressure from the police and the media—as well as Amy’s fiercely doting parents—the town golden boy parades an endless series of lies, deceits, and inappropriate behavior.  Nick is oddly evasive, and he’s definitely bitter—but is he really a killer?

Word of MouthPraise.  #1 New York Times Bestseller, for good reason.

“[F]avorite novel of 2012.  Brilliant.” —Kate Atkinson

“[O]ne of the best and most frightening portraits of psychopathy I’ve ever read.” —Tana French

“[A]mazing.  Read the book and you’ll discover … just how much freight (and fright) that last adjective can bear.” —Scott Smith

“A devastating portrait of a marriage and a timely, cautionary tale about an age in which everyone’s dreams seem to be imploding.” —Laura Lippman

Gone Girl is like Scenes from a Marriage remade by Alfred Htichcock … It’s a love story wrapped in a mystery …” —Adam Ross

Gone Girl manages to be so many stellar things all at once … as well as beautifully plotted an fiercely well written.” —Kate Christensen

Gone Girl reminds me of Patricia Highsmith at the top of her game … [Here, Flynn has] placed herself at the top of the short list …” —Karin Slaughter

“Considering how compulsively I kept coming back for more, I am seriously thinking of going back to page one and doing it all again.” —Arthur Phillips

Yes, addictive.
That’s one accurate word to describe this novel.  I couldn’t put it down!  Answers, answers!…  It deserves that other silly word given—in its extended blurb: unputdownable.


Amy has disappeared.  Nick is soon suspect.  The public can and will turn on him at any moment, and the plot unravels even more uncomfortably.

The characters express themselves in a manner raw—the full thought process, at first the way they would in public if you were to give them a stiff drink.  But someone is deceitful to the bone—someone’s taking advantage of everyone around him/her.

Nick Flynn (born Lance) immediately comes off as a “lying dick” in a sort of paranoia—the clock reads exactly 6 a.m., “6-0-0 the clock said—in my face, the first thing I saw,” as if…; the sun shines in, through the window, as if…  Nick is also a bit obsessed with Amy, as the book begins:

When I think of my wife, I always think of her head.  …  The very first time I saw her, it was the back of the head … and there was something lovely about it, the angles of it.  Like a shiny, hard corn kernel or a riverbed fossil.  She had what the Victorians would call a finely shaped head.  You could imagine the skull quite easily.

I’d know her head anywhere.

And what’s inside it.

…Oh, big mistake on his part, with that last sentence…

Even at the press conference, it’s as if Amy’s eyes—from even the cutout of her head—are following him around.  But there’s a clear and innocent reason for this.

As the plot moves on, at least Nick admits his lies, while Amy’s diary (carefully interspersed in the timeline) admits to no whoppers whatsoever.  Could she be that pure?  It slowly becomes clear what is going on, and what had happened at the house.

And then the carpet is completely yanked from underneath the reader’s feet.

Someone so close is a complete and utter psychopath.  (I won’t tell you who it is, so I don’t spoil the surprise.)


The book comes in three parts, each of them a shock.  It takes the whole first two parts to finally get to the real killer—who it is, and how dangerous he/she is.  I may have been able to figure out each big twist before it arrives, but the book is so well written that I did not stop reading.  (Honest; I missed sleep.)

It’s all cute and everything that Amy puts on a Treasure Hunt every year, every anniversary, in her marriage with Nick.  And it’s also painful, not just because she’s a genius, eventually stumping Nick—a college grad like her, but in how it’s twisted and used against him when she’s pissed.

Oh, it’s creepy—the book.  You don’t quite know what the characters are capable of until you keep reading.  The book will keep you guessing on a number things.

To make things even more complicated, Nick—the professor, as his career was ended by the digital age—has been cheating on his wife with one of his college students for a year.

Add the fact that everyone in the immediate family really loves each other—at least in his/her own way, for as long as possible—and you see the brilliance in this novel.  Gillian Flynn manages to capture a darkness that exists in bad relationships, and take it to a whole new level.

Nick, and Margo (or “Go”), his sister, may be close, but the psycho he doesn’t know—and doesn’t reveal when he does—knows him better.  Too well.

Do I really know (my spouse, sibling, relative, etc.)?  How did we get here?  The book serves as a warning when it comes to meeting, befriending and marrying people.
And that cheaters don’t win.

What are you thinking, Amy?  The question I’ve asked most often … if not out loud, if not to the person who could answer.  I suppose these questions stormcloud over every marriage: What are you thinking?  How are you feeling?  Who are you?  What have we done to each other?  What will we do?

It’s a tragic tale in a way, how the life of the family is snuffed out—the full potential—by the actual psycho in the room.  The person you are sleeping with may very well kill you…  Take that fear and run with it.  (And that’s what Gillian Flynn did, in detail.)

Dishonesty Literally Kills Relationships

Nick loses himself and gets fat, and Amy refuses to be genuine.  So the marriage falls apart.  And the blame and hatred and resentment whenever consequence arrives…things become predictably worse—but not predictable in how, with this novel.

The psychopath (I won’t identify) never gets it, attributing all slips of control to a lack of power.  He/she remains a disbeliever of unconditional love, as expressed explicitly in the book.

There’s that psychological aspect to the novel, however expressed a little too eagerly—or explicitly without asking, in my view.  Real life doesn’t reveal it’s underbelly in spoken language; it usually has to be researched and interviewed, as Flynn should know.

“Jumping the gun” there is part of what I didn’t like about the book.  Flynn is a journalist who worked for EW, not a full-blown psychologist.  She tried, but sometimes it’s a little weak.  (For her sake, the psychology isn’t perfect in most fiction novels anyway.)

But Kudos to her for illustrating the nature of the “dick” (of a character, deliberate or not): having either too little or too much control.


The first part (Boy Loses Girl) is brilliant and well-detailed.  So much work was put into it—beyond expectations.  Almost/perhaps flawless.  But the second part and third kind of drift, as if someone got tired or the writer or editor thought the reader would get tired.  These parts—a little inconsistent with the first—fairly easily reveal the fact that the novel is work of fiction, with tastes and dialogue coming from a limited number of people.

There’s kind of a revelation there: in order to write the perfect work of fiction you very well have to think like a psychopath, fooling everyone, for the entire piece of work.  Much like…ooh, I must not spoil it.

Maybe it was decided in the editing process to abbreviate the third part—don’t want to stress out the reader, with such an addictive novel.  There are numerous single-page chapters (expressed in days “gone” or “returned”; no chapter numbers).

So I can’t quite call Gone Girl a masterpiece, as some have.  (It’s not War and Peace.)  But it is one of the best crime novels ever written.  I’ll give Flynn that.  Grade: A

(Likely Award-Winning) 2014 Film Adaptation

Claudia Puig (USA Today) gave the movie four out of four stars, claiming the theatrical version—only somewhat different from the novel—better than the book.  According to Puig, director David Fincher took the film adaptation to an even higher level.

Ben Affleck does a superb job as Nick, as well as Rosamund Pike as Amy; Carrie Coon plays Margo, and Tyler Perry plays the lawyer—no longer the flashy white expensive attorney that gets off the worst-looking characters you can think of in publicized trials.

Puig, I think, made an error in her review: “Key players include … Nick’s sister (Carrie Coon) and a phalanx of scandal-hungry reporters.”  Phalanx here means ‘fingers’; in other words “a fingers of reporters”?  Should be “the phalanx of…”  Just sayin’.

Review: This Is Where I Leave You

This Is Where I Leave You (2009)

Author: Jonathan Tropper
Genre: domestic fiction
Reviewer Age Rating: 15+ (adult language, some drug and sexual content)
Printing: 2014 paperback; 327 pages
Includes: the first three chapters of One Last Thing Before I Go

Tropper would like to dedicate the novel to…
Mom and Dad


The death of Judd Foxman’s father marks the first time that the entire Foxman clan has congregated in years.  There is, however, one conspicuous absence: Judd’s wife, Jen, whose affair with his radio-shock-jock boss has recently become painfully public.  Simultaneously mourning the demise of his father and his marriage, Judd joins his dysfunctional family as they reluctantly sit shiva—and spend seven days and nights under the same roof.  The week quickly spins out of control as longstanding grudges resurface, secrets are revealed, and old passions are reawakened.  Then Jen arrives with news of her own: she’s pregnant.  This Is Where I Leave You is a riotously funny, emotionally raw novel about love, marriage, divorce, family, and the ties that bind—whether we like it or not.

Word of Mouth

One of the Best Books of the Year.
Entertainment Weekly, Los Angeles Times, The Washington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, NPR Morning Edition, Library Journal

And may I go a step further—one of the best I’ve ever read.  It’s a smooth work of fiction, made easy to read for an adult, with humor.


It starts off bluntly, immediately, humorously telling you where this story is going: the family has a hard time expressing emotions.

“Dad’s dead,” Wendy says, offhandedly, like it’s happened before, like it happens every day.

And it was Dad’s (Mort’s) wish (supposedly) to bring the family—whose members can’t stand each other—together for that seven-day period known as shiva.  (Shiva/shibah, from the original hebrew literally means “seven.”)  An that’s seven days, nonconsecutive; the Jewish Sabbath came into play, and…marijuana.  Anything to help pass the time.

No one, including Judd himself, could remember just how many relatives and family friends there are, as it feels as if it could take forever—the process, the shaking of the hands, and the short, “crotch-level” chairs…

With the timeline narrowed in on that seven-plus-day period, the parts come in days, the episodes divvied often using literal times.  (From Wed., Chapter 4 begins: 12:15 p.m.)  And how short some chapters are, in short episodes.  Some of them only describe Judd’s dreams—either disconnected from the current plot, or concentrated on remembering the dog attack, or remembering his father—the point/purpose of this shiva.  Often enough, the elements in said dreams are explained later on.

Intimate Character Study

As result of all the concentration, you get an intimate look at the mind of a character—a male one, with all the vulnerabilities and internal struggles that apply.  Days have passed and Judd has yet to process everything that has happened already—and a one-two punch at that: prior to his father’s death, he had been cuckolded.  He would remain in a sort of shock and perpetual hatred of life for the better part of the timeline.

Oh, the unexpected adult situations that play out—at times coming at you when you least expect it.  (You know you have a great story when you can’t predict what’ll happen.)  Subject A: the nature of the scene where Judd discovers his wife, in the process of intercourse with another man, his boss, the “Man Up!” radio personality he works for, Wade Boulanger.

Wade is the sort of type that gets called an “asshole” the most.  He is thrusting when Judd enters with a birthday cheesecake for Jen.  It was supposed to be a surprise, and the surprise was on Judd.  So much so, he first thought he wasn’t even in the right house.  Not until he saw Jen’s face.  Judd has a discovery, a rush of thoughts—he snaps, and shoves the cake at Wade’s ass.  Worse, the still-lit candles set Wade’s balls on fire.

And that’s the material you can put in an R-rated movie, just barely.  The scene breaks that level.  Judd notes what her fingers were used for—besides the wedding band.  Yes, Jonathan Tropper wrote this scene, another with creative word usage.


So right there, only three chapters in, you could tell the book wasn’t going to hold back by much.


Unfortunately for Judd, the ‘nice’ aspects that came with his disconnect, from his wife, are all out of his “unconfident” control.  One to gain weight, out of shape, he was always…sort of unappealing to the eye.  He was lucky while it lasted—his relationship with Jen, starting all the way back from her “ironic cycling,” making her laugh.  And now, he looks over and fantasizes life stories with women he passes by.  Each one, heartbreak.

Cuckolded and deprived, bereft, post-pot, barely awake, Judd is taken advantage of by Alice, a former lover—now his brother’s wife.  She wants a child.

Then there’s the ice skating Penelope, the former beauty he befriended—certainly a tease; that is, until his marriage fell apart.  And…Penny is Wade’s sister.

Complications arise, but the novel doesn’t mature those complications any more effed up than how things had gotten already.  Even scenes that could have gotten worse are interrupted, such as the one where Cole, one of the children, made a ‘T’ in potty training.  He threw the small potty on the table, shattering the table, and the T-shaped dung comically landed onto one of the plates, resulting: an inedible entrée.


So…great pains were taken to maintain the humor.  Otherwise, the story would’ve been…well, a muddy funeral and a shiva, literally sitting for seven-plus days trying to meet and greet and hug strangers and hold things together with your psychobabbling mother who fails to find tact when she accidentally exposes her augmented breasts, your jock brothers and their wives, and a revelation or two—try not to go insane.

“The old guy just copped a feel,” Paul says, joining in.

Tropper tied each scenes with some kind of sweetness, acted or acknowledged.  No one consoled the crying Cole, so Judd held him in his arms…getting sticky.  “I make a T,” the sobbing kid said, in his toddler English.  (Or ‘immigrant English,’ as Judd put it.)  “That’s right, Cole,” Judd responded, looking at Paul’s plate.  “It is a T, and a nice one at that.”

Psychological Fiction

Part of the genre attributed to the novel is something called “psychological fiction”—part of the categorization, for the Library of Congress.  And, oh, the reviews that exist touting Topper’s work as an ‘insight into the male psyche.’  Men and their “lust and rage and sweetness”—The Washington Post.  A psychological comedy?  What?

There are quite the number of rough truths expressed in the book, told from Judd’s perspective.  And that includes the harsh reality that women want a man that make them laugh and a nine-incher, a private jet, etc., etc.

Someone always loses and sulks over his/her loss in a sporting play (one-on-one) between jocks, as depicted in one of the scenes—Paul against the youngest, Phillip.
(I have no personal experience to confirm this sulkiness to be a universal truth though.)

With a first-person POV, there are always dreams to fall back on whenever the real life (fictional) fails to bring out the accumulating emotions—the fears that one has, especially.  Judd continues to have a recurring theme of a false leg—eventually repaired by his father.  Dad?  It’s touching…but I don’t see how dreams could advance as they would in the movies—events and people carefully morphing in a very specific order.  Then again, Judd could have imagined all sorts of things leading up to said dreams… something that wasn’t quite written in the narrative.

I certainly find fault in the mentality of the “shock jock”—a mischaracterization, as if any or all of them are simply “assholes” that would, in the apologetic moment, finally admit to their “assholeness.”  Has Tropper ever met any of these guys?  Of course he doesn’t know the real Rush Limbaugh, a name dropped for the purpose of comedy.  In everything I know, the ‘Wade confession’ was pretty unreal, a realized account with a cost.

The nature of the gathering of many, many people, and the “I need distance” relationships of the immediate family make for quite the study, a “creative license” if you will to write in as many personalities as the author could come up with, the stronger of them written about more, since Judd the character would want to ignore the less interesting ones.


So there are some great things to say about the book, and also some not-so-great limitations, with Wade’s final scene as example.  The novel, in my opinion, tapers off into a relaxed dribble by the end, punctuated with, besides the passing of Mort, its title as a starter: This Is Where I Leave You.  (Judd leaves.  At least for a while.)

Besides the obvious fiction, the book is well-written.  It may descend into distraction from the reality for flow or entertainment (e.g., pop culture references on Philip’s side, not enough counter-balance), but it’s a pageturner—easy to read.  Grade: A-

2014 Film Adaptation

The Shawn Levy theatrical version, also penned by Tropper, unfortunately, severely alters the story in a weak and clichéd attempt to make the characters “more likable.”  It was given a ‘C’ by Entertainment Weekly’s Chris Nashawaty.  As the saying goes, “the book is better.”

Review: Fifty Shades of Grey

Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

Author: E L James (former TV executive)
Genre: erotic romance / adult fantasy
Reviewer Age Rating: 16+ (adult language, sexual content)


When literature student Anastasia Steele goes to interview young entrepreneur Chrisitan Grey, she encounters a man who is beautiful, brilliant, and intimidating.  The unworldly, innocent Ana is startled to realize she wants this man and, despite his enigmatic reserve, finds she is desperate to get close to him.  Unable to resist Ana’s quiet beauty, wit, and independent spirit, Grey admits he wants her, too—but on his own terms.

Shocked yet thrilled by Grey’s singular erotic tastes, Ana hesitates.  For all the trappings of success—his multinational businesses, his vast wealth, his loving family—Grey is a man tormented by demons and consumed by the need to control.  When the couple embarks on a daring, passionately physical affair, Ana discovers Christian Grey’s secrets and explores her own dark desires.

Word of Mouth

If this #1 New York Times Bestseller could be summed up in a word it would be: flawed.

I got into it but for three reasons:
1. I had nothing better / more entertaining to read.
2. I heard that it was poorly written.
3. I am hypersexual. It warms my cockles entertains me much at times.  (I laugh.)

So… Where do I begin?  Flawed.  Right.
It doesn’t meet up with expectations or even the second part of the blurb, entirely.
Still, it’s not horrible.


At first it rolls off the tongue with reasonably real characters, Anastasia Steele and Katherine Kavanagh, two characters just finishing college, students in their early twenties, the rabbit-pattern jammies, etc.  Ana is shy and reserved, with brown hair and a taste for Twinings English Breakfast tea; Kate is a strawberry-blonde reporter, always able to sense something and draw it out of people (the Kavanagh Inquisition).

Kate is sick, so Ana volunteers to do the interview.  So far, so good.

Already, we’re introduced to the characters in Ana’s head—herself, her subconscious, the goddess, all at odds—oh, the infighting, with an obvious sense of humor.

See?  Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty.  I flush at my foolish, wayward thoughts.” (p.26)

“I flush at the waywardness of my subconscious—she’s doing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being his.”  (p.67)

Then, in small but exaggerated varying degrees, Ana is feeling so many things for the first time…and that’s when the unreal elements start popping up.

Imperfectly Perfect

First, when self-proclaimed “mousey” Ana is subbing for Kate, interviewing Christian Grey, she is turned on—like others, at his beauty—like clockwork, never failing to flush, in all the sharp swings of facial expressions.  For days.  And then, it’s like Ana has been living under a rock for twenty-one years.

“I’m squirming with a needy, achy . . . discomfort.  I don’t understand this reaction.  Hmm . . . Desire.  This is desire.  This is what it feels like.” (p.68)

So, we somehow have an intelligent college student that’s unfamiliar with relatively basic emotions and concepts below her age group, despite her required reading level?  Reading what?  Tess of d’Ubervilles.

Finally, we find out that Grey is a Dominant.  So in summary, he’s a multi-billionaire, with the Audis and the helicopter(s), running an enterprise with impossibly giant buildings, an impossibly giant pocket book to spend on expensive toys, anything…  He has an eclectic taste and knowledge in never-fail music that includes Kings of Leon, and he’s well-endowed, maturely sexually experienced in BDSM (S&M)—all at age 27.

So from Ana’s perspective, missing the point, he’s just…imperfectly perfect.
To make matters even more unlikely, Kate falls for Elliot, Christian’s brother.

And who can miss the underdeveloped ‘Hispanic’ photographer friend named José, and his “Dios mío! Ana!”  Uttered several times.  Like a catchphrase.

No doubt, Ana will try to manage the “relationship,” trying to escape every now and then, even drinking Cosmos with her mother in Georgia at one point.  But in her cries of pain, falling in love with Christian, her earlier messages draw him back to her, every time.

Nevertheless, it’s a novel that it ties up its elements; every point and turn amounts to something that draws “the couple” closer, including a meeting of the parents…unfortunately without panties.  Ana is always mortified.

Inarticulate Thoughts“Ground, swallow me up now!” (p.18)

Oh, there are so many oh nos, oh mys, Holy craps, and Holy fucks—strewn all over.

In one relatively small paragraph alone (p.58), all of the italics, in order are as follows (not kidding): “Holy crap.” … “Oh no.” … “Hmm . . . tequila.

When Grey makes a food analogy on individual taste, Ana thinks:
We’re talking about cheese . . . Holy crap.” (p.103)

Oh, shit . . . how long is this going to last?” (p.60)  I see…514 pages.  That’s how long.

First person and clean, you can’t help but notice the immaturity in Ana’s accounting of events, in often short expressional sentences, like a text-based video game.  Everything Grey does is ‘hot,’ and everything he offers is ‘delicious’ or ‘divine,’ including his ‘impressive length’—“Oh, the fullness” (p.328).  Not every paragraph, but…you’ve no idea.

“The chicken caesar is delicious. … The wine is crisp, clean, and fruity.” (p.317)

“Cranberry and sparkling water.  Hmm . . . it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst.” (p.332)

“He tastes divine.” (p.348)

“Christian Grey has a sad side.” (p.124)
(Oh, yes, the copper-haired Grey had also learned to play the piano at a young age.)

These are her thoughts?  She’s supposed to be literate and independent, finishing college!

Not For Children…sort of“Shit.  I groan . . . how can I feel this there?” (p.114)

The novel may be “NC-17” in its sexual content—literarily intense (not too explicit), with Grey gingerly biting at nipples ’n’ such, sending sensations…down there.  But you still can’t help but laugh.  It’s so childish in its construction that it can seem as mature as a cartoon, the way things reset.  Without fail, both Steele and Grey can ‘get it up’ every time, any time…also collapsing almost every time.  There is no biological come-down, no chemical resistance, and all the climaxes are described in terms ‘shattering into a million pieces,’ earth-shattering, spirally, etc.  And somehow, Ana the virgin is already skilled.

It may carry a bit of intelligence, using numerous technical facts (researched), but entirely all consequence in the novel boils down to the pending emotional damage.  That’s oversimplified adult fantasy for ya’.  Less knowledge and wisdom on life, more chapters you can expect to find mainly trying to touch you…there.  And then Christian Grey collapses on top of you, and you pass out soundly.

Emotional Draw

It may have deliberate humor, with the emails (“SHOUTY CAPITALS”), but so much of the book is unintentionally funny—almost a comedy.  That is, until the joke gets old, and it can become a sort of agony attempting to read the rest of it through.

It is only by the end that you can finally feel for the immature characters.  Once the onion has unraveled, Ana is hugging Charlie Tango—the balloon modeled after Grey’s EC135 Eurocopter.  She “followed her heart”…after overthinking things, throughout the story.

And so, like any commercial trilogy, it leaves you hanging, needing, lusting, desiring the sequel, Fifty Shades Darker.  And maybe the third, Fifty Shades Freed.  (What a title.)  Come to think of it, there are a few typos in this 2012 Vintage Books edition, including “,.”

In all, it’s readable if you have the time and sense of humor to laugh at your own groans.  And then it’s back to why am I reading this, again?  It’s no doubt entertaining.  But I wouldn’t entertain the idea of reading it all over again, unless to a crowd looking for humor.  At least it made me laugh hard, and groan, and feel a little…something.  At least it helped improve my vocabulary, with words like profligate and foyer.  At least it reminds me that novels have a plot, with detail and structure.  And that people have emotions.

Yes, people have emotions.

“I think I feel a little faint. I take another sip of wine. Alcohol—this will make me brave.” (p.104)

Oh, I can’t wait for the non-funny R-rated theatrical version (obviously cutting down a lot).  And by “can’t wait,” I mean I will make no real effort to see it.
Next: This is Where I Leave You (finished reading), and Gone Girl (2012)

Because I Dream


So I decided to be a writer of sorts.   Very late in the game.

I write now in part because it makes me happier that I do.
And hopefully the reader would be too…when I get my better work out there.
And though I’m not a successful person, I can’t quite say I’m pretending.  (And so unsuccessful I’ve nary (never) the money to donate so Cristian can have his own computer.)

Where I fail to create in real life I may on the page.
Being unable to grow (’cause of my isolating environ) doesn’t stop me from writing about growing characters.
Being unable to have children (’cause no one lets me into their heart…and then some) doesn’t stop me from writing about a couple who have one.

Of course it’s very difficult making it realistic.  But I’ve always been an observer, picking up on things.  I can plot and spot errors.  (Documentaries help too.)

I actually don’t want to follow in the footsteps of other writers, making obvious fiction.  I read The Fault in Our Stars in June; boy is that—despite the technical realities—unreal.  Teenagers that sound like John Green.  (It’s still a good book, though—deserving of its high popularity, even now.)

I want to make something that the reader thinks is real so I can get them to feel something…to be involved and welcome, and to dream too.

Ultimately, I write because I dream.
The hope in my dreams is often so much stronger.
I am there, to a degree, more free.  And when it benefits, all the better.
I can aim for a wonderful perspective.
Too often it’s been a “dull, gray world,” loaded with denial, menial work and poorly executed ethics.

But our dreams always open opportunity.  They push ourselves to conquer our fears and…well, hope.  It helps us in writing our own story, whether or not we acquire the skill(s) to put it on the page.

I know one of my dreams helped me in school— er, summer school, that a story I wrote based entirely on a dream I had.  A hand sticking up in the middle of the floor.  (Yes, strange.)

So go ahead.  Jot your virtual experiences down.  You’ll find that they’ve aided you in some way.  After all they are inspired by actual events.  (And “inspired by actual events,” like the movies, inevitably makes them ‘fiction.’  The Quiet Ones is not a great movie.)

Love v. Fear

If I were limited to giving one piece of advice, it would be this:

Act on love, not fear.

Fear may work its way into the fabric of substance and identity.
But fear is always the slower, as it is spiritually lower.
It works as an indicator, to say, “something is wrong.”
But in action, fear misleads.

Giving in, fear turns to anger, hatred and despair.
Its stress causes damage.
Its distress causes things to fail.
But love lifts you up.

Love isn’t mere emotion; love is what bonds things in life.
Love is spiritual oneness.
Love is instantaneous when allowed to breathe free.
In action, love melts all the badness away.

Loving life responds with it.
Validating one’s existence, say, “you’re worth it.”
Without so much words.  With hugs, maybe.
While organisms need it, love itself asks nothing in return.

Love is trust.
Love takes you where you need to go.
While fear distorts, love always gives something on your behalf.
While fear machinates, love is immediately caring.

Love is the difference between a life fulfilled and a slow death.
Love isn’t always comfortable, but it is always warm.
Sometimes it amounts to a little death, a la petite mort.
On that note, it eventually leads to more love.

And more love, and more…
And when you feel it, you don’t want it to end.
While fear kills and can make you want to die…
Love makes you, me want to smile and cry.

Review: Man of Tai Chi

“You are nothing,” Donaka Mark says, to “Tiger” Chen.
“I am nothing,” responds Tiger, ready.

Man of Tai Chi

©2013 Universal Pictures, Village Roadshow Pictures, China Flim Co. Ltd.
Produced by Lenore Syvan and Daxing Zhang
Written by Michael G. Cooney
Director: Keanu Reeves
Action Director: Yuen Wo Ping
Director of Photography: Elliot Davis (Thirteen)
Editor: Derek Hui
Running Time: 105 minutes
Budget: est. $25 million U.S.
Rated “R” for violence
Stars: Tiger Chen Lin-Hu; Keanu Reeves (47 Ronin); Karen Mok; Yu Hai; Simon Yam; Ye Qing; and Iko Uwais as Gilang Sanjaya


In Keanu Reeves directorial debut, Tai Chi, a system of physical exercises utilized for meditation and self-defense, becomes a weapon of death when an underground kill-or-be-killed fight club emerges.  Tiger Chen, a student and public Wulin Cometition champ, is up to fight—not for personal gain, but in the effort to save Master Tang’s (Hai) historic temple that dates back some six hundred years or more.

By day, Donaka Mark (Reeves) runs a securities firm, Security System Alliance.  By night, he runs a pay-per-view death match.  And inspector Suen Jing Si (Mok) is on the case, against the wishes/orders of superintendent Wong (Yam).

Tiger is warned by his master not to blur the lines between power and control, but Tiger, corrupted by Donaka, holds on to the illusion.  He would come to find out that his life’s been under a microscope—hidden cameras everywhere.

Backstory Brief

The legendary Wo Ping worked his magic when stuntman Chen worked with Reeves for The Matrix (as Reeves’ trainer).  Years later, Chen came to Reeves on collaborating again, for this project.  Chen conveyed director Reeves as a man with a lot of homework, taking notes, to the total size of a large stack.

Over five years was spent in the making of this film, total.


Geared toward a more general audience, the plot is simple, and the dialogue is short.  Almost all of the Chinese text has adjacent, in-film English translations.

The action is well-performed, and the acting is convincing, especially with Chen.  For Reeves, Donaka Mark is his most serious role to date, as a stone-cold psychopath, to the point of maniacally grinning while being punched in the face.

Elliot Davis performed his specialty in capturing the emotions of the characters, the sweetness between Chen and his paralegal love interest named Qing-Sha (Ye Qing), the response when Chen came to see that his opponents would nevertheless die, as a black-masked man would enter to “finish the job” with a snap of the loser’s neck.

The martial arts genre is partly known these days for fantastical/legendary feats, making use of wire effects for great scenes commonplace.  But I found the two big Chi moments unreal—as if (and as with The Matrix) you’re able to push people across the room with Chi energy without contact.  (Of all of the footage I’ve seen on extraordinary uses of Chi, contact’s always made—even with the “One Inch Death Punch,” as demonstrated in Stan Lee’s Superhumans, converging a host of body energy to one fist.)

Overall, this film brings a nice display of Tai Chi, but fails to really add anything else.  It pales in comparison to The Grand Master, which brought a number of forms of painstaking martial arts to the screen, with an intent of historical accuracy.  It was easier for the two lead male characters in Man of Tai Chi, already having years of experience.

That isn’t to say this film was easy to make.  But script-wise, its supporting characters are cliché, its plot is too simple and wrapped up too easily.  Grade: B-

No More…?

Always easier said than done— “no more.”  “No more, will I live like this.”

Yeah, so I tried creating a Facebook page earlier in the month.  I created another email account, I liked the Supernatural page.  And then, the next day round, I couldn’t get back in.  No mobile number, no govt.-issued ID (basically, no life?  too bad.).  So… one like on Supernatural and that’s it.  So far, the account appears deactivated, so I’m not sure if the Like is even there now.

No more?

Yeah, so another part of the plasterboard ceiling came down.  The section right above me where I sleep.  The upside out of this: it didn’t come down on me, it landed nicely facing the door to the room, beside the bed.  The downside: I can’t sleep in that bed anymore.  The contaminated leak water is dripping on my pillow.  I must sleep in the other room, with a bed that hurts my back.

I mentioned the collapsing ceiling issue before in 2012.  And, stepping to take half of the plasterboard that collapsed outside, the floor before the front door went through; you can see the basement.  “How poor, there’s a hole in the floor!  —Watch your step!

I hope people get the trouble I’m in.  And I’m trying to tell this without fear.

This whole time… in a sort of captivity.  And oh, we’ll be moving to an apartment, my mother says, with her normalcy bias and the rotting house; I wonder what decade that’ll occur in.  Fear… Sorry.

Before things started all physically falling apart, for years I’ve been alone in this house.  To the detriment of my mental health—no friends, not even conversation.

If ever a time I needed someone to talk to… it would be all these years, and now.  Once I finished High School, there was nothing, no one.  Get it?

And I let Eric and another Eric down.  (Strange— similar first names.)  I rejected so much out of fear, and it literally kills me.  I ignored/forgotten people altogether… what should I have gotten but people ignoring/forgetting me in return? (I need to grow, but people seem to just let me down, and I guess I’ve taken it out on possible friends.)

Oh, you know it’s bad when the only live conversation I can get is Big Brother: After Dark.  This season isn’t bad, though; CBS/TVGN allowed Frankie to respond to a letter he got, last night—the death of his wonderful grandparent, with the same name.

The house I live in— this evil house… keeps me tethered.  Like a low-grade evil, affecting the inexperienced, the vulnerable (i.e., me).

I can’t change much, and I can’t grow without help.  I want to, I need to.  But even a no more stance… what’ll that do?

What’s in the cards?  Can you…insert cards that shouldn’t be there? Wait, that’s cheating.  …Wild cards?…


…But after all this, all my hell, there is still reason.
There is still and always reason to believe in optimism.  (But you still have to raise your standards!)

Short Takes—Fun and Not So Fun

Adult World (2013)

Written by Andy Cochran; directed by Scott Coffey (who also stars as the store owner); produced by Alex Goldstone, Joy Gorman and Justin Nappi
Stars: Emma Roberts (Celeste and Jesse Forever), John Cusack (Perks of Being a Wallflower), Evan Peters


Amy Anderson (Roberts), an aspiring poet with little life experience, having racked up a load of college loan costs, is basically kicked out of the house by her parents; forced to find a job, her journey is severely limited by the fact that her only significant skill is: writing.  Amy reluctantly lands a job at a Mom-and-Pop adult bookstore.

Upon seeing one of her favorite writers, “Rat” Billings (Cusack) at a book signing, Amy eventually follows him, with the help of “Rubia” (Armando Riesco), to his house.  Obsessed and persistent, Rat gives in, in a way, accepting her as his protégé (but really, as his maid).  Things come unglued as Amy takes herself too seriously.

The actors pull it off well.  It’s not as iconic as Perks…Wallflower, and it doesn’t do much as far as bringing original ideas to the table, but the execution is great.  Besides having a plot that doesn’t call for much, there’s nothing unappealing about this film in my mind.  “Amy” may be full of herself, but Emma Robberts makes her so damn cute!  You can’t help but like her.  (At least I did.)  Grade: B

Authors Anonymous (2014)

Written by David Congalton; directed by Ellie Kanner; produced by Kanner (EKZ) and Hal Schwartz; Cuoco and co-star Bennet also served as executive producers
Stars: Chris Klein (American Pie), Kaley Cuoco (Big Bang Theory), Teri Polo (Meet the Parents), Dylan Walsh (Nip/Tuck), Tricia Helfer, Jonathan Bennet and the late Dennis Farina (Law & Order)


A.A. is a comedy in the form of pseudo-documentary that starts with an unpublished writing support group, hosted by a married couple.  Hannah Rinaldi (Cuoco), a girl that had never read much or written, is accepted into the group.  Henry (Klein) has a crush on her.

Meanwhile, optician Alan Mooney (Walsh) appears to only put ideas into a memo recorder; his wife (“Colette”/Polo), an “aspiring writer,” can’t write.  Sigrid (Helfer), a German immigrant working at a hardware store, supports the delusional Tom Clancy wanna-be (and possible future husband) John K. Butzin (Farina) to the point of lying.

Bruised egos over substance, the group fails to take the news well when Hannah suddenly gets published and beyond.  Unrequited love, betrayal and resentment, drama and separation ensues.  It ends with a new angle on what the “documentary” is about.

It starts off strong and real, but the plot unwinds in a scripted-comedic fashion; some of its elements, as the movie advances, are detailed or portrayed unconvincingly.  The film was obviously low-budget (an indie released in theaters April 18) and could’ve used more improv and less acting.  Grade: C+

Some Girl(s) (2013)

Screenplay by Neil LaBute; directed by Daisy von Scherler Mayer.
Stars: Adam Brody, Jennifer Morrison (House), Emily Watson, Zoe Kazan (Ruby Sparks), Kristen Bell (Veronica Mars).


A writer (Brody), published in a magazine for his realistic relationship stories, has actually been basing his stories on experience.  Now engaged to a young med student, he decides to ‘patch things up’ with his former relationships.

Multiple stops, second-hand smoke (“Tyler”/Mia Maestro) and a slap to the face (“Sam”/Morrison), as “Man” advances with each location, more is revealed about the guy, that there’s more than what meets the eye.

Groan.  It’s acted well, and it comes off interesting, but I could tell it was written by one person, and a male at that, writing all the female dialogue.  The British wife (“Lindsay”), whose acquaintance with “Man” was an affair, despite Watson’s accent had much the same written dialogue as the American women, plus a “bloody.”

It’s contrived like a stage play because it’s based on LaBute’s 2005 play, with Reggie (Kazan in this film adaptation) having a final say with a kiss (that is a woman kiss).  Please.  Grade: B-

Red 2 (2013)

Written by Jon and Erich Hoeber; directed by Dean Parisot; produced by Lorenzo di Bonaventura.
Stars: Bruce Willis (Die Hard), John Malkovich (one of three producers, Perks…Wallflower), Mary-Louise Parker (Weeds), Helen Miren (Hitchcock), Anthony Hopkins (Silence of the Lambs), Catherine Zeta-Jones, Byung-hun Lee and Neal McDonough (Justified).


A hit is ordered on Frank & friends are set up and made out to be Nightshade participants, domestic terrorists.  They must fight for their lives, and…well, save the world.

Marvin Boggs (Malkovich) claims he, Frank Moses (Willis) and girlfriend Sarah Ross (Parker) are targets, and attempts to fake his own death.  Jack Horton (McDonough) interrogates Frank anyway.  So after being set up, the three, with targets on their backs, walk right into the setup, seek “The Frog” (David Thewlis), team up with their assassin and eventually break out the mad scientist (Hopkins, Jolygood!) behind the infamous and undetectable thermonuclear Red Mercury bomb.

Twists and turns, shots and explosions, jokes and gags, this “family friendly” sequel (PG-13) packs an f-bomb with its Red bomb, versus the R-rated original film adaptation inspired by the Red comic book by Warren Ellis and Cully Hamner.

116 minutes in running time, some of the not-so-high-quality movie moments could’ve been cut, especially the “Karma’s a bitch” line.  (Seriously?)  Some of the gags are unquestionably funny (e.g., Frank yelling at Marvin, “Stop cutting wires!”; Sarah running, shooting up a ceiling with a big smile on her face).  But the film is written mostly for its action, and its actors are tired.  There are so many stunts in the film that, in the credits, not only were the stunts separated by location, but the largest block of names is HUGE.

It’s fun to watch if you’ve the time to spare.  Grade: B

3 Days to Kill (2014)

Written by Luc Besson and Adi Hasak; directed by McG (Supernatural); produced by Besson and Hasak, Ryan Kavanaugh, Marc Libert and Virginie Silla.
Stars: Kevin Costner (The Upside of Anger), Hailee Steinfeld (True Grit), Connie Neelson (Gladiator) and Amber Heard.


A CIA agent (Costner) is informed that he has brain cancer, spreading to his lungs.  The agency dismisses him, but a woman (Heard) keeps him active as an assassin.  With the little time he has left to spend with family, he accepts a kill order.  His reward: a drug that could cure or delay his cancer, so he could spend Christmas with his wife and daughter.

The film is detailed like a ludicrous comic book.  Why is it that a young, attractive woman hired this guy to do her dirty work?  Why a French albino as one of the lead villains?  And a Philanxifor-like drug to cure or abate the ex-agent’s cancer?  Magical.  An ear-splitting explosion, gun shots, an undeveloped backstory, a car chase… …Zzzzz.  You know it’s not very good when you start to ask: why was this made?  Grade: C