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It’s been a year to remember! Click the link below to view The Sheet’s annual Year in Review issue, and we’ll see ya next year!

2011 YIR

DRIVE
By: James Sallis
Mariner Books, 176 pages

For many of us, fall is the best time of year, when town gets quiet, locals take their vacations and you have one more chance before the crazy winter season to sit down with a great book.

For my fall “trashic” selection, I suggest “Drive,” a hardboiled noir with a modern twist by author James Sallis.

Like George R. R. Martin’s “Game of Thrones” (my summer’s Trashics pick), “Drive” is a piece of genre fiction that manages to do more with its genre than most. In this case, “Drive” belongs firmly to the Raymond Chandler tradition of sharp and poetic detective novels, although this protagonist isn’t a fedora-wearing tough-guy P.I., but a young stunt driver who moonlights as a heist getaway man.

Like any good noir, the drama kicks into gear when Driver, as the protagonist is simply known, finds himself double-crossed on a job, and has to track down the ones who double-crossed him in order to save his own life. The book has a lot of other things you’d expect from a noir: a beautiful but possibly treacherous broad, a sweet wife whose husband has a habit of getting into trouble, a secretly soft-hearted gangster. But through a combination of elliptical narrative and spare, lyrical prose, Sallis manages to turn the story into something that feels almost profound: a meditation on chance, and how apparently simple decisions can change the course of one’s life. Take this opening passage:

“Much later, as he sat with his back against an inside wall of a Motel 6 just north of Phoenix, watching the pool of blood lap toward him, Driver would wonder whether he had made a terrible mistake. Later still, of course, there’d be no doubt. But for now Driver is, as they say, in the moment. And the moment includes this blood lapping toward him, the pressure of dawn’s late light at the windows and door, traffic sounds from the interstate nearby, the sound of someone weeping in the next room….”

Sallis continues in this fashion, with rhythmic lines that lull you like the backseat of a car cruising down a dark and lonely road.”

Now I’ve always been a sucker for noir, and this one doesn’t disappoint. But I was actually turned onto “Drive” by a friend who’d seen the recent film adaptation (with Ryan Gosling, Carey Mulligan, Bryan Cranston, Albert Brooks, Christina Hendricks and Ron Perlman), and said it was every bit as stylish and even philosophical as the source material.

Like “Game of Thrones,” this slice of genre fiction offers something more to the non-genre reader: beautiful prose, if nothing else, and a dream-like narrative that reflects on chance and fate. But for anyone who enjoys a good book, “Drive” is a compulsive read that keeps you guessing until the end, unsure whether Driver has a chance in hell of surviving his increasingly violent vendetta.

Look for “Drive” at your favorite local bookstore – The Booky Joint in Mammoth or Spellbinder Books in Bishop

I can’t take it anymore. I have held off in the hope things would get better, but it is killing me.

“American Idol” is just atrocious. I’ve loved Idol in the past, but not this year.

First, no Simon Cowell. Like him or hate him, he was brutally honest. Instead, the producers have stacked the judge’s table with people who will shower even the worst talent with praise just to make the show look good and keep from hurting the feelings of these screeching banshees.

Randy Jackson, God bless him, tried to blow some of them up, but Steven “Claymation-face” Tyler and J Lo are all about blowing sunshine and hugs up everyone’s sorry ass. J Lo is as silly as Paula Abdul was and she only took this show to revive her own Code Blue career, not make someone else’s. And J Lo was recently voted the most beautiful woman alive? Now, that is just silly.

Note: The Sheet editorial staff disagrees with Hartley on this point.

Meanwhile, all that Aerosmith-ing in the ‘70s has finally caught up with Tyler. That brain dead pedophile is only there to chase around the 15- and 16-year old chicks.

And is Randy married or gay? Seriously! Whoever dresses him should be taken out back and flogged. It’s like he’s trying to relive his youth. Hey, Randy … dude, on the way to the stage, there’s this thing called a MIRROR! You should use it and avoid embarrassing yourself every night. Stop dressing like Boyz II Men. You’re over 40. Come on, now.

And these kids who keep making the cut, they are not ready. They sound and perform badly. And the judges keep pumping them up. Pitiful.

The best singer, Pia, already got eliminated. Guess the fans decided to stick it to the judges for saving that hillbilly with the beard the week before. Well, they sure got them good. Now we’re left with:

1. Haley Reinhart. Every year there is a blonde that the little boys and girls, and perverted old dudes such as Tyler, love. They vote them through, even when they are terrible. “Haley, welcome to Hollywood!” She should have never been allowed to leave home to go to the audition! The fact that the judges compared her to Janis Joplin was laughable. Tyler did a lot of drugs, but he was around when Janis was hot and ought to know better.

2. James Durbin. Come on now. Nice story with the Tourettes and all, but really. I am sick of listening to him screech and scream and then hearing the judges act like the punk invented heavy metal. He is not Rob Halford. Okay? Enough!

3. Casey Abrams. I actually kind of like him. I hope he finds a niche, just not on this show. Does anyone remember Taylor Hicks? Casey has more talent. Unfortunately he looks like a hillbilly. Gotta clean that up, Casey. No one wants to buy an album from a gnome.

4. Jacob Lusk. He’s got a great voice. Unfortunately, he makes so many runs up and down the scales he always sounds as though he’s gargling instead of actually singing. How do you add so many runs in the word “the” that it becomes 9 syllables long? Give it a rest! He’s also really arrogant. Last week he said that if he was in the bottom 3 at the end of the night it would be because America needs to look in the mirror, not because he might’ve sucked. Newsflash: last show, he was in the bottom 3. If he gets voted off, it’ll be in part because people just don’t like him. Jacob, you need to shut up.

5. Lauren Alaina. Another kid who’s not ready. Every time she’s on the mic, she looks confused and scared to bloody death. So, the pretty blonde gets the pretty white blonde girl vote, and black males under 18 because she’s packing some booty. But that still doesn’t change much … she’s confused and scared and NOT READY.

6. Stefano Langone. He flat sounds like Elmo. He is not good. And he also looks dazed and confused. Next.

7. Paul McDonald. Every year at this point in the show, there are at least a couple of contestants that for the life of me I can’t figure out how they are still there. Paul is one. They talk about the tone of his voice. Oh, he has a tone … it sounds like a garbage disposal with a spoon in it. And he twirls around and dancing like a character on one of those bad animated Christmas specials. Then there’s that beard! Here’s some advice, dumbass: trim the beard or quit using OxiClean on your teeth. It looks terrible. If you bought an album from this guy, chances are you also went to Bernie Madoff for investment advice. What a joke!

Note: He just started dating some girl from the Twilight series, probably in an attempt to shore up a few more votes.

8. Scotty McCreery. Are they seriously trying to make this guy a star? First thing to tell him: stand up straight and straighten your neck. I am tired of looking at that crooked scarecrow. Is his head too heavy for his pencil neck? Damn. And get him some singing lessons. He can hit the low notes, but that’s all, and you can see him working pretty damn hard to do that. I love country music, but I hate this bumpkin. If the producers want a true country star to make it so badly, they should have kept John Wayne Schulz. Now that boy could sing! Scotty, man that dude has a neck problem. It’s a pain in the neck for me just to watch!

BIRDWATCHER: THE LIFE OF ROGER TORY PETERSON
By: Elizabeth Rosenthal, 2010
Lyons Press, 448 pp.

I love birds, but — full disclosure — I’m not a birdwatcher. What I know about ornithology you could fit in a birdfeeder. I do know, however, that in the world of birdwatching, or “birding” as it’s more commonly known, two persons qualify as the undisputed founding fathers.

One is obvious: John James Audubon (1785-1851), the French-American naturalist, ornithologist, hunter and painter, who catalogued, described and depicted North American bird species in a manner far superior to anything that had been done before.

The second has to be Roger Tory Peterson, whose amazing life and work is the subject of “Birdwatcher,” Elizabeth Rosenthal’s very detailed and yet very personal biography.

Her second book, Rosenthal’s riveting, revelatory read about the father of modern American birding, should be considered essential reading not only by birding devotees, many of whom probably have some Peterson books in their collection, but also by anyone who just loves to read about fascinating historical figures.

Peterson, as did Audubon in his day, revolutionized birding, inventing the modern bird guide. Born in 1908, the same year President Theodore Roosevelt invited members of the Audubon Society to the White House to watch the first motion pictures of birds, Peterson was the anxious, rebellious son of working class immigrants.

According to Rosenthal, Peterson was captivated as a youth by a woodpecker sleeping on a tree trunk that seemingly “burst to life” upon being touched. It is that single event, maintains Rosenthal, that is the touchstone for Peterson’s self-taught, homegrown evolution into one of the most important naturalist/scientist of the last 100 years.

From there, his story really soars. A teenage transplant from upstate Jamestown to New York City, he worked his way through art school, and palled around with a group of local boys — the Bronx County Bird Club — who were similarly into birds.

At just 22, in 1934 he conceptualized, and single-handedly authored and illustrated, the first practical (and portable) field guide to birds in world history. His landmark “Guide to the Birds,” was the first guidebook designed to be taken outdoors and help people identify the elements of nature. An instant smash hit, “Birds” sold out its first printing of 2‚000 copies in a single week, and immediately generated six additional printings.

Rosenthal, herself an avid birder, tapped into her passion when it came to writing about Peterson. She may blush a bit at the comparison, but her storytelling style isn’t unlike that of fellow biographer David McCullough. As if modeling her book using Peterson’s own methods, she opts to break down the story and examine the self-proclaimed “student of nature” via his “several lifetimes” as field guide author, painter, photographer and filmmaker, natural history teacher, scientist, conservationist and mentor. She exhibits a knack for place, time and flow; the book’s six-part, 19-chapter structure follows Peterson’s remarkable life from “Fledgling” to “Bird Man of Bird Men.”

Whether he was at his desk or in the field, Peterson was on the cutting edge of the modern conservation movement. This was true not only in the U.S., but also in far off locations, such as Spain, Africa, Midway Island and the most pristine (and remote) place on Earth: Antarctica, where he brought to light the need for real studies of the indigenous bird population there. This earned him perhaps his most prized nickname, King Penguin.

Rosenthal balances his fame and notoriety against the realities of both life with and being Roger Tory Peterson. As are many geniuses, Peterson was complex, and Rosenthal did her legwork, collecting more than 100 interviews to develop what is without question a definitive portrait. Included are observations from friends, colleagues, peers, members of Peterson’s family, and fellow pioneers such as Keith Shackleton, who hailed Peterson’s 1954 European bird guides as “the absolute bible.” Others consulted included Kenn Kaufman, author of “The Kaufman Field Guide to Birds of North America,” naturalist sculptor Kent Ullberg, and PBS journalist and producer George H. Harrison.

Peterson was the most sought-after ornithologist and conservationist of his time. Brilliant as he was at the art and science of birding and conservation, Rosenthal doesn’t shy away from the toll his career took on his family life, including three marriages.

Interesting facets of Peterson’s life include his fascination with and mastery of the camera, amassing a catalogue of roughly one million photographs of birds from all over the world. And I also found his perfectionism a curious part of his character. On the day he died, July 28, 1996, one month shy of his 88th birthday, he was in the middle of revising his Field Guide to the Birds of Eastern and Central North America for the fourth time. (It was finally published posthumously in 2002.)

You don’t have to know beans about birds to reap the rewards in “Birdwatcher.” It’s a marvelous account of Peterson, a historical giant who forever (and for better) changed the way we look at and document our world, and a book that should appeal to the historian and indeed the naturalist in all of us.

Order a copy from the Booky Joint in Mammoth or Spellbinder Books in Bishop.

MOUNT ST. ELIAS
(2009, Red Bull/VAS, NR, 100 min.)

“If all goes well, you’re a hero. If all goes wrong, you’re dead,” extreme skier/mountain climber Axel Naglich remarks during the early moments of the new documentary “Mount St. Elias.” The true adventure follows a 2007 team of skier/mountaineers determined to make “the planet’s longest skiing descent,” first ascending the Alaska mountain and then skiing from the summit at 18,008 feet down to Icy Bay at 0 feet.

Not yet on DVD, Mammoth locals will have an exclusive opportunity to see the finished film on the big screen. Minaret Cinemas owner Bill Walters has obtained a print of the film for one day only this coming Thursday, March 3.

Based on an idea by Naglich and writer/producer/editor Gerald Salmina, “Mount St. Elias” is a visually stunning, dramatic and all-around jaw-dropping feature documentary following three of the world’s greatest ski mountaineers to Mount St. Elias in Alaska. Situated right on the Yukon and Alaska borders, the mountain, which is also designated “Boundary Peak 186,” is the second highest mountain in both the United States and Canada, reputed to be the highest mountain covered with continuous snow from peak to base.

The film centers on three main climbers: Austrian ski mountaineers Naglich and Peter Ressmann, as well as the American freeski mountaineer Jon Johnston. Surveying their target, the three observe that, “there are so few real climbing challenges left in the world.” Perhaps for us mere mortals, it’s hard to understand why this special breed of human tries something so terrifyingly hard. Naglich recalls four failed attempts at the same thing on New Zealand’s Mt. Cook to help make that point. But the film’s message is straightforward: there’s simply no greater challenge than attempting something massive that’s rarely or never been done. Just two other attempts had been made before, and only one was successful. Mountaineers Lorne Glick, James Bracken and Andy Ward pulled off the first ski descent of Mount St. Elias in 2000. Every now and again, Salmina also revisits a tragic 2002 attempt that claimed the lives of skiers Reid Sanders and Aaron Martin, whose bodies are still somewhere on the mountain.

There’s no way to convey in words how unbelievably physically demanding and life threatening such an effort is … but “Mount St. Elias” comes damn close! The mountain is as dangerous as it is beautiful, and one of the most interesting aspects of the film is watching the climbers react to the extreme amount of mental pressure that push them to the absolute limit. The conditions: raw … on both the climb up and the ski down, you’ve got unstable rock faces, avalanches (the climbers watch one go right by them while setting up base camp), ice fields, sub-zero temperature, cornices, and weather that can go from picture perfect to ravaging and raging in a matter of minutes. Rescue: not a chance. When their drop plane flies away, they’re on their own.

As Naglich notes, “The summit alone is dangerous. Every step can be fatal. Every grasp can be the wrong one. And every turn can be your last.”

The film originally finished editing and underwent a limited release in 2009, but at more than two hours was deemed to be too long. This version, a much leaner and meaner one hour and 40 minutes, is a much more satisfying experience. Not lost in the re-edit, though, is the spectacular photography and phenomenal sound. The dramatic music score employs a lot of big, “Survivor”-like percussion, and is mixed with the occasional rock track, but avoids becoming cliché, a la the average trick-centric snowboard or ski movie.

The only shots that aren’t absolutely real are a handful of recreations depicting what might have happened during the Sanders-Martin disaster, though there are several interviews with surviving team members and camera crew.

Of the three, Naglich clearly emerges as the film’s protagonist due to his charismatic personality and, and strong, polarizing demeanor, oth against nature, and at times against himself. Johnston, conversely, is a total team player, but suffers a rude awakening when dealing with the headstrong Naglich. The film reaches its’ adrenaline-fueled climax when Ressmann and Naglich, the two of the trio who made the entire climb, click in and start their descent.

Making “Mount St. Elias” was undeniably a herculean work. Salmina and his camera and sound team brilliantly captured the gritty reality of high altitude mountaineering.

The audience is made a part of the team, whether debating a climb up or a line down, or almost being buried alive in a snow cave by a killer snowstorm that dropped 9 feet of snow in a matter of a few hours. These guys could figure out how to shoot some guys skiing behind the space shuttle. Put it this way, dress warm or bring a blanket … it’s that vivid.

My only caveat: the film is unrated as yet, so parents wishing to avoid any “colorful” language that’s still intact should use appropriate guidance.

“The ones you have to fight for, they stay in your memory forever,” said Ressmann, who lost his life in a May 2010 climbing accident in the Austrian mountains. So will this compelling, powerful film experience.

“Mount St. Elias” will play on March 3 only at 6 and 8:30 p.m. Call the box office at 760.934.3131 or go to www.mammothlakesmovies.com for more info.

GRIFTOPIA
By: Matt Taibbi, 2010
Spiegel and Grau, 250 p.

If you’re like me, the whole economic meltdown of 2008 elicited a few general reactions:

1. Wow, this sucks.

2. How the hell did it happen?

But really, you didn’t wonder so much about the second part, because you innately knew there were a bunch of unethical, greedy bastards behind the whole thing. You just wondered what the heck they’d done, exactly.

But when the punditocracy started talking about credit default swaps and mortgage-backed securities, your eyes glazed over. Because no one either had the time or the skill to explain in layman’s terms what these financial instruments were.

So none of us really knew how much we’d been screwed by the Wall Street banks (with the complicity of our fine representatives in Washington, D.C.).

And then along comes Matt Taibbi.

Taibbi is a contributing editor for Rolling Stone and, quite frankly, the best political journalist they’ve had since Hunter Thompson.

And for a taste of Taibbi’s gift for explaining things, this is how he defines a credit default swap.

“A credit default swap is just a bet on an outcome. It works like this: Two bankers get together and decide to bet on whether or not a homeowner is going to default on his $300,000 home loan. Banker A, betting against the homeowner, offers to pay Banker B $1,000 a month for five years on one condition: if the homeowner defaults, Banker B has to pay Banker A the full value of the home loan.

… So Banker B has basically taken 5-1 odds that the homeowner will not default. This is gambling, pure and simple.”

In his opening chapter, Taibbi scorchingly lays out his premise, which I’ve tried to condense here:

“There are really two Americas, one for the grifter class, and one for everybody else. In everybody-else land, the world of small business and wage-earning employees, the government is something to be avoided, an overwhelming, all-powerful entity whose attentions usually presage some kind of financial setback, if not complete ruin. In the grifter world, however, government is a slavish lapdog that the financial companies … use as a tool for making money.

The grifter class depends on these two positions getting confused in the minds of everybody else. They want the average American to believe that what government is to him, it is also to JPMorgan Chase and Goldman Sachs.

… The insurmountable hurdle for so-called populist movements is having the nerve to attack the rich instead of the poor. Even after the rich almost destroyed the entire global economy through sheer unrestrained greed and stupidity, we can’t shake the peasant mentality that says we should go easy on them, because the best hope for our collective prosperity is in them creating wealth for us all.

… Far from taking care of the rest of us, the financial leaders of America and their political servants have seemingly reached the cynical conclusion that our society is not worth saving and have taken on a new mission that involves not creating wealth for all, but simply absconding with whatever wealth remains. They don’t feed us. We feed them.”

If Taibbi had then proceeeded to hammer me mercilessly with variations of the above, I may have soon tired of the book. But Taibbi is not a one-trick pony. It’s not one’s professed political affiliation which draws his ire so much as the backroom dealing, the shortsightedness and the naked opportunism.

He rips President Barack Obama and former Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel just as vehemently as Goldman Sachs’ bankers in his denunciation of the Obamacare legislation, which he calls “The Trillion Dollar Band-Aid.”

“Obamacare,” writes Taibbi, “had been designed as a coldly cynical political deal: massive giveaways to Big Pharma in the form of monster subsidies, and an equally lucrative handout to big insurance in the form of an individual mandate granting a few already-wealthy companies 25-30 million new customers who would be forced to buy their products at artifically inflated, federally protected prices.”

Matt Taibbi is a gifted writer and journalist, and it’s refreshing to read someone who digs underneath the platitudes to try and tell you the whole story. I had no idea how important the McCarran-Ferguson Act of 1944 was or how it continues to impact the regulation (or lack thereof) of the insurance industry today and why the failure of Obamacare is really the failure of politicians to not take on the insurance lobby and amend this legislation.

Pick up a copy of Griftopia at your favorite local bookstore.

The other day, someone saw me toting around a copy of Sherman Alexie’s “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” (published by Little, Brown & Co.) and asked, “So what’s all the hype about? Is it any good?”

One would hope that when members of the Bishop community decide to organize an almost two month-long series of events stemming from one novel, the book is actually decent. The answer, by the way, is “Oh, yeah, it’s well worth the read.” Put it this way, typically a novel isn’t translated to more than 10 other languages, nor does it win almost 20 awards, if the content is subpar.

This novel has engaged readers and earned praise by tackling touchy issues like adolescent angst, racism, poverty, sexuality, alcoholism and death. As a work of fiction, the story could stand on its own as a powerful piece of work. The fact that it also happens to be semi-autobiographical makes it all the more inspiring. By choosing this particular novel, Bishop Community Reads hoped to spark local dialogue about sensitive issues apropos to the area. Conveniently, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is inspiring and racy enough to do the trick.

Junior is the story’s protagonist, a zit-prone 14-year-old cartoonist with a sharp sense of humor, who lives on the Spokane Indian Reservation. Junior is born hydrocephalic, or with “water on the brain.” As a result, he undergoes surgery that will leave him with physical problems, making him an easy target for teasing. The novel takes an interesting turn when Junior decides to transfer to an all-white high school off the reservation. He then confronts the conflict of betraying his tribe while hoping to steer his life toward a different, ambitious path.

What makes the story so poignant is Alexie’s way of confronting controversial topics. He doesn’t sugarcoat or hold the reader’s hand. The protagonist’s raw honesty seems as personal and exposing as a genuine diary. But at times, he shares more than some readers — or parents and teachers of young readers — can handle. Junior doesn’t omit the lewd or scandalous details, which is why some schools have banned the book. In one case in Oregon, a parent deemed the book “trash” for some of its risqué messages and offensive language.

It’s true that Alexie throws in a couple racial slurs and discusses the perks of (gasp!) masturbation. But, these references are never gratuitous. They stand to prove certain points about a teenage boy navigating his way through bullying, racism and adolescent sexual exploration. Alexie also examines some uncomfortable truths about poverty, alcoholism and domestic violence. But as seen through the eyes of a 14-year-old protagonist, these elements of the story take on an almost profound quality of discovery about the world. The truths of reality — even a teenager’s reality — can be shocking, sad, enraging, and at times, worth celebrating.

Another unique quality of the book is how Junior communicates his thoughts through not only words, but images as well. Illustrated by Ellen Forney, the cartoons scattered through the book uncover one more dimension of Junior’s mind. The reader is able to understand certain ideas and thoughts that Junior wouldn’t be able to convey as clearly through pure prose.

What readers might find interesting is how much the novel mirrors Alexie’s own life. Like Arnold, Alexie was born with “water on the brain.” A Spokane/Coeur d’Alene Indian, he was born in October 1966, and by age three, had learned to read. At age five he read John Steinbeck’s classic novel, “The Grapes of Wrath.”

He grew up on the Spokane Indian Reservation and attended Wellpinit High School until he was assigned his mother’s old text book from 30 years prior. Rather than feel condemned to read outdated textbooks, Alexie decided to transfer to the all-white school, Reardan High, 20 miles away from the reservation. At Reardan, he did well in school and became a key player on the basketball team.

In 1985 Alexie graduated from Reardan and attended Gonzaga University in Spokane for two years on scholarship until he transferred to Washington State University (WSU) in Pullman, Wash. He enrolled in WSU’s pre-med courses, but several fainting spells convinced him to redirect his career. Under the watchful eye of his poetry professor Alex Kuo, Alexie discovered his aptitude for writing. He began writing poetry and soon after graduating, Alexie published his first collection of poems, “The Business of Fancy Dancing” (Hanging Loose Press).

Since then, Alexie’s career has taken flight. He has earned high praise as a writer and poet, a celebrated filmmaker, and an inspiration speaker. Alexie’s first collection of short stories, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven (Grove/Atlantic) received a PEN/Hemingway Award for Best First Book of Fiction in 1993. He published his first novel, Reservation Blues in 1995 (Grove/Atlantic) and his second, Indian Killer (Warner Books) in 1996, both of which won awards. His short story collection, “War Dances,” earned a PEN/Faulkner Award.

In 1997, Alexie collaborated with Chris Eyre, a Cheyenne/Arapaho Indian filmmaker, to adapt one of Alexie’s short stories into a screenplay. The film “Smoke Signals” was adapted from “This is What it Means to Say Phoenix, Arizona,” a short story from “The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven.” The film won the 1998 Sundance Film Festival’s Audience Award and Filmmakers Trophy.

Alexie writes mostly fiction, but bases  his stories on experiences from his life and the lives of other American Indians. When his characters battle with alcohol, their struggles seem all the more real because Alexie himself had problems with alcohol in his early 20s. When he learned that Hanging Loose Press would publish “The Business of Fancy Dancing,” he swore off drinking and has been sober ever since. What makes the serious elements in his stories palatable though, is his signature sense for humor. Alexie currently lives with his wife and two sons in Seattle, Wash.

Sherman Alexie will make two public appearances during his visit on Feb. 23 and 24 in Bishop. On Wednesday, Feb. 23, the public is welcome to attend a talk, question and answer period, and book signing at the Bishop High School Auditorium starting at 7 (301 N. Fowler) p.m. On Thursday, Feb. 24, at the Bishop Tribe Community Center (405 N. Barlow), the public is welcome to attend a dinner, talk, question and answer period, and book signing starting at 6 p.m. Spellbinder Books in Bishop currently carries his books.

Other related events:

Feb. 15-16: ”American Outrage.” Documentary of two Shoshone sisters and their heroic fight for their land and human rights. 7-8 p.m. at Inyo Council for the Arts (ICA) in Bishop (2/15) and Lone Pine Film Museum (2/16).

Feb. 17: Discussion, “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian” Facilitated by Sandy & Chris Langley. 7-8 p.m., Lone Pine Film Museum.

Feb. 22-23: ”In Whose Honor” Documentary about American Indian mascots in sports. at ICA (2/22) and Lone Pine Film Museum (2/23).

March 1-2: ”The Business of Fancy Dancing,” written and directed by Sherman Alexie. 7-8:45 p.m. at ICA (3/1) and Lone Pine Film Museum (3/2).

March 3: Discussion, “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian,” facilitated by Sandy & Chris Langley. 7-8 p.m. at ICA.

March 8-9: ”Pow Wow Highway” Comedy/drama film about Native Americans understanding the past and fighting for the future. 7:-8:30 p.m. 3/8 at ICA (3/8) and Lone Pine Film Museum (3/9).

(L-R) Mickey O’Keefe, playing himself, Mark Wahlberg and Christian Bale (Photo courtesy Paramount Pictures)

THE FIGHTER
2010, Paramount, 116 min., R

By William Wiggins

I’m not exactly sure what it is about boxing and the movies, but for some reason Tinseltown seems to have a love affair with the sweet sport. In addition to football and baseball, films about boxing have yielded some great cinema. From 1949’s “The Setup,” to the 1962 Rod Serling classic “Requiem For A Heavyweight,” to 1976’s iconic “Rocky” and the 1980 Scorcese classic “Raging Bull,” which some have called the best film ever made, to modern day classics such as “Cinderella Man” and “Million Dollar Baby,” film fans and indeed Oscar voters love boxing flicks.

This past year, “The Fighter” stepped into the ring as the latest contender for the title of best boxing film. The third film collaboration for director David O. Russell and Mark Wahlberg (in addition to “Three Kings” and “I Heart Huckabees”), the biographical film centers on the life of real-life pro boxer “Irish” Micky Ward (Wahlberg) and his older half-brother Dicky Eklund (Christian Bale).

A welterweight from the wrong side of the tracks, Irish-American Dicky is the pride of working-class Lowell, Massachusetts. Living in his shadow is his half-brother and sparring partner Micky. After fighting Sugar Ray Leonard, Eklund plunges into a nightmare of crack addiction, a disappointment to his family that they try their best to deal with by buying into his talk of a comeback. Micky becomes their new hope, fighting his own fight and making his mark in the ring.

Wahlberg did the film in large part based on his friendship with Ward, the two having their blue-collar inner-city upbringing in common. Wahlberg considers Ward every bit the local hero, and wears it on his sleeve in his version of Micky, but it’s also to his credit that he’s nuanced about it, giving lots of room to his co-stars.

Nowhere is this more apparent that in his scenes with Bale, who took the part of Dicky when both Brad Pitt and Matt Damon had to drop out due to scheduling conflicts. It’s the movie’s good fortune things turned out as they did. Bale immersed himself in Dicky, virtually disappearing into the part. He’s captivating, riveting, a dead ringer for Dicky, so much so that you have to look hard to find any trace of Bale himself. Best Supporting Actor should be a no-brainer for Oscar this year.

In the role of Charlene, the bartender who captures Micky’s affections, Amy Adams goes a long way to distance herself from some of her lovely, but otherwise fluffy work, driving home the character of a street-wise sexy bi**h, who’s still a sweetheart at her core when it comes to the man she loves.

Among the real-life Lowell, Massachusetts residents cast in the film is Mickey O’Keefe, who plays himself. A police sergeant by day, O’Keefe was Ward’s real-life trainer. O’Keefe, who had never acted, was hesitant at first, but Wahlberg convinced him to do it, and O’Keefe brings absolute authenticity to his part.

Swedish cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema’s documentary background serves him well here, intermixing the look of an HBO-style cable TV boxing program with a behind-the-scenes handheld style that isn’t overbearing, but puts you right in either the ring or the living room as if you were part of Micky’s entourage. Authenticity was a big part of telling the story. According to Russell, the boxing-match footage was created “in big, choreographed sections that were taken directly from [video of] Micky’s actual fights.” And the production licensed the original color commentary from HBO boxing hosts Larry Merchant, Roy Jones Jr. and Jim Lampley.

Hoytema also shot some of the film on actual Betacam [video-format] cameras that add to the period look, and Russell went so far as to hire the HBO director and his crew who had shot the actual Ward fights to replicate them, almost shot for shot in some cases. In the ring, the perfectly recreated boxing action scores points for a unique style that’s as original as Micky’s fighting.

And the movie doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to family drama, illustrating why reality TV is so much part of our modern culture. Micky’s relationship with Dicky — think an episode of “Intervention.” His relationship with his mother, sisters and Charlene — think “The Real Housewives of Lowell.”

Don’t worry if you think the film starts off a bit slow. I did as well, but as the saying goes, “A fight is rounds.” And like any good boxing match, this one is well worth staying to see how it ends. Whether it can be called a “knockout” is up to you, the judges, but from my corner, “The Fighter” delivers a solid body blow of a movie that goes the distance.

William Wiggins is a freelance entertainment writer from Los Angeles, who can’t see “Raging Bull” enough times. “The Fighter” is now playing at the Minaret Cinemas. Check www.mammothlakesmovies.com or call 760.934.3131 for show times and other information.

Recessions hit Mammoth a little later than the rest of the country. Recessions also tend to hit the public sector last of all. Perhaps this is why Mammoth finally made some serious staffing cuts (as opposed to early retirements, furloughs, et. al.) 15 months after the recession was supposed to have ended. Ah well. In Mammoth, things take time. After all, it only took 57 public meetings to approve Old Mammoth Place.

JIM CORE (b. 1936): Jim Core, dubbed the “Bank of Mammoth” by the late Rick Blake and considered by many to be one of Mammoth’s three “icons” of the real estate and business communities (along with Dave McCoy and Tom Dempsey) passed away July 17.

Core, who co-owned the Inyo-Mono Title Company with his son Jerry, is survived by Jo, his wife of 57 years, Jerry, daughter Judy Markham, five grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

Core was born in Paris, Arkansas in 1936. His family moved to the Ventura, Calif. area in the early 1940s. He was in the title insurance and escrow business for over fifty years, starting out in Ventura with stops in Concord and Merced before settling in the Eastern Sierra in 1983.

Soon after his arrival, son Jerry said that the United States Geological Survey’s (USGS) determination that Mammoth had “volcanic issues” led to a tremendous amount of economic uncertainty and property foreclosures. No banks would lend on Mammoth property. So Core stepped forward with a group of fellow Rotarians to establish a funding source for builders and buyers. “I know we funded a lot of people’s payrolls in the ‘80s,” said Jerry.

As Jerry said, “He gave people a fuzzy feeling.” And he had a wonderful laugh. In a crowded room, you could identify where he was. Jo was her husband’s faithful caregiver from the time he was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS) in January, 2009 until his passing.

EDITH BUCHANAN (b. 1920s): Edith Buchanan, ageless wonder and longtime local florist, passed away on Tuesday, July 13. Her exact year of birth is omitted because daughter Marcia says she’d want it that way.

Edith was born in Jackson, Mich.and moved out to California in the late 1930s with her husband Walter, who had just received a PhD in music.

They followed Walter’s parents, who had moved to Santa Barbara after a stint as missionaries in Japan. Ross Mather sold Edith and Walter their first Mammoth condo in 1967. They moved up here permanently about 30 years ago.

Edith was an extremely hard worker, and in fact, worked up to the very minute she died. She was found on the floor of her in-home flower shop, Celebrations. It is believed she may have collapsed in the middle of making a floral arrangement.

In fact, Edith had just done the flowers for a wedding the previous weekend.

“She thought work was good for you, because that’s what you were supposed to do,” Mather said.

“It was typical of Mom not to let a day go by without hard work,” added her daughter Marcia, who credits Edith with passing on her artistic enthusiasm to her daughters.

Edith, who married a man 13 years her senior, was married for more than 60 years. She had both her daughters while she was in her teens.

In addition to her flower shop, during her time in Mammoth, Edith worked as a concierge and arranged  flowers at the Mammoth Mountain Inn. She also managed a haberdashery in the Mammoth Mall.

To the end, Edith was tough. In the past year, she’d had a few falls, including one where she broke her pelvis. Did she seek immediate medical treatment? No. She thought she’d stay at home and see if it got better. Her explanation to her daughter as to why she didn’t mention it to her for weeks. “Oh, I didn’t want to bother you.”

JOSH SOKOLOW (b. 1976): “Let’s see, I’m a 33 year old punk from Mammoth Lakes, Calif. originally the San Fernando Valley. I’ve been here for years and I can’t see myself leaving anytime soon. It is a small town but when you lived in Los Angeles for pretty much your whole life, a change of pace is damn nice.”-Josh Sokolow

Josh Sokolow, 33, died in January of complications from pneumonia at his home on Lupin St. He graduated from Trabuco Hills High in Mission Viejo, Calif. and made Mammoth Lakes his home starting in 2004. In town, Sokolow worked at Casa Diablo, A-Frame Liquor and Shell. You may have recognized him as the guy in the red and black hooded sweatshirt walking his Pit-Rottweiler Maggie through the ghetto. -penned by Randy Villarba

RHIANNON LYNN TAYLOR (b. 2009):

Rhiannon Lynn Taylor passed away Saturday morning, March 13, three days short of five months old. She was born on October 27, 2009 at Mammoth Hospital and flown to Renown hospital in Reno with complications. Testing revealed a terminal genetic disorder with severe heart complications.  -Gabe Taylor

CARY SHIBLEY (b. 1972): Cary, 38, who passed away on April 6, grew up in Crowley Lake, and loved the outdoors and sports, engaging in cycling and snowboarding, bonding with her dad and brother during all-day fishing excursions, and enjoying long hikes with her mom. Her love for dogs and their owners was immeasurable. She was entirely dedicated to her Spoiled Rotten Pet Grooming business in Mammoth, cared about her customers, could work with any animal’s temperament, and was able to connect with and four-legged friends.

ROGER MORRIS (b. 1934): Roger passed away on April 11 following a lengthy battle with cancer. He grew up in Los Angeles and would make frequent ski trips to Mammoth Mountain during his high school and college years and honeymooned there with his bride, Myra, in 1959. He retired from government service in 1995 and moved from Washington D.C. back to California to enjoy his golden years in Santa Cruz. Roger and Myra made frequent trips to Mammoth visit his son John’s family.

He could be found playing beach volleyball with John at the old Grumpy’s, loved hiking throughout the Eastern Sierra and in Yosemite, and often commented on how much his trips to Mammoth meant to him.                       -John Morris

KATHY McFEDRIES (b. 1942): Katherine Reed McFedries moved to Mammoth Lakes in the mid-1970s, and for 20 years worked as Supervisor of Field Maintenance with the Mammoth Community  Water District. She also served as a member of the Mammoth Lakes Hospital board. An accident in 1995 left Kathy a paraplegic, but she was one of the first participants in the Disabled Sports ski school. She designed and built her first wheelchair-accessible home in Crowley Lake, where she served on the local water board. In 2004, Kathy moved to Bishop, where during the summers she grew prize-winning zephyr squash. In recent years, she designed a series of greeting cards, which won numerous awards at the Bishop Tri-County Fair.

DAVE COX (b. 1938): State Senator Dave Cox, 72, represented the State Senate District 1, which includes the east side of California from the Oregon state border down to Inyo County. He spent two decades in public service and became a member of the legislature in 1998, and served as Assembly Republican Leader before his election to the Senate in 2004. Cox often made trips to the Eastern Sierra to speak one on one with local communities, including Mammoth Lakes. A fiscal conservative with a feisty wit, Cox’s family described him as, “A devoted man, who always found time to serve his community and constituents. He took great pride in public service and making government work for the people.”

PATTI INGLI REA (b. 1933): Patti Ingli was born in River Falls, Wisconsin but moved to California in 1940. She graduated from UCLA and married Ralph Rea the week after graduation. After marriage, Patti and Ralph lived in California. They also had stints in Arlington, Virginia, Tokyo, Japan and Sydney Australia. For the past eight years, they’ve called Mammoth home. Patti passed away the morning of Oct. 20 after the loss of her battle with internal injuries from an automobile accident. Patti was a Mammoth Mountain Lodge Host since the 1996. She was “Lodge Host of the Year” for the 2004/2005 ski season. In 2007 she received a Mammoth Mountain Black Diamond award.

Patti was a board member for Chamber Music Unbound and an ardent supporter of their music program. As a docent for the Valentine Reserve and the Sierra Nevada Aquatic Research Laboratory (SNARL), she continued to work to educate children.

JOHN NATHAN ADAMS: John Nathan Adams, a training and life coach and one of three SUV passengers who survived a horrific, fiery multiple-vehicle crash just south of Bishop on Aug. 9, died two months to the day of the crash that claimed two other lives in the SUV in which he was riding, as well as the life of another person in a passenger van that was also involved in the collision.

Adams, who lived in the San Diego area, was well known to many in Mammoth’s running and sports community. Mammoth locals Stu and Julie Brown were the last in town to see Adams and the four athletes traveling in the SUV prior to the accident. He was reportedly 39 at the time of the accident.

RICHARD L. JOHNSON: Hantavirus cardiopulmonary infection was responsible for the death of a seasonal state parks worker in Bodie.

According to recent reports from Mono County Public Health Officer Dr. Rick Johnson, the victim, identified as Richard L. Johnson, who was known by his middle name – Laird, 61, had been sick with a flu-like illness for about 4 days, and after an examination at Mammoth Hospital, was quickly flown to Reno, where he died. (Ed. Note: Johnson shared the first and last name of Mono County’s Dr. Johnson, but there is no relation.)