I've seen films old and new on DVD over the last few days. The 2006 film The Prestige, a story of rival magicians in Victorian England, was worth a rent from Blockbuster, although the obsessiveness and cold-heartedness of its main characters ultimately keeps the viewer at an emotional distance from the proceedings.

Although the film had its fascinations--especially David Bowie as inventor Nicola Tesla, who rivaled Thomas Edison as a visionary of electricity--its screenplay has that currently popular structure of puzzles within puzzles within puzzles, which makes it intellectually engaging but chilly in its final effect. Hugh Jackman shows real "leading man" flair as the more suave of the two young magicians, but Christian Bale is opaque and one-dimensional as his intolerably arrogant competitor. Yet the film's recreation of a bustling London and the full-scale magic shows of the late 19th century is a spectacle worth savoring.

An older film which I enjoyed was 1952's Loan Shark, available from VCI Entertainment in their "Forgotten Noir" series. George Raft plays an ex-con who goes undercover in a loan shark operation to find out who killed his brother-in-law. Yes, the story was formulaic, but Raft was a great and always convincing tough guy; and Paul Stewart and John Hoyt as the loan sharks give two shining examples of the Golden Age of Hollywood character acting. There are also a couple of sexy "dames" in bit roles, Margia Dean as a waitress and an unbilled leggy blonde as a gangster's moll, just for window dressing and added entertainment value. They added nothing to the plot, but they sure were nice to look at.

Finally, I watched 1949's Arson Inc., on the same double-feature disc as Loan Shark. It had a similar story of a man undercover in a corrupt organization, in this case an arson and insurance-scam ring. Robert Lowery, who played the lead in one of the early Batman serials, here portrays a fireman hero adequately, but the real stars, once again, are the character actors--in this case, Edward Brophy as a jolly avuncular arsonist, and Douglas Fowley as the slimy head of the ring. They really stole the show.

I'm so stressed out about most things in general and everything in specific (like MONEY!!) that I don't want to write tonight. All I want to do is look at actress Salma Hayek's cleavage. Join me at the link below, and then we can all schedule our angioplasties together!!

SalmaHayekAtHotCelebsHome

So I went to my accountant today to see what my tax bite would be as a self-employed freelance worker. Every year I have to pay so much that I have to borrow to pay it, then spend the rest of the year paying off my credit line. This is the price I pay for being able to make my own hours and come and go as I please. I'm not a 9-5 guy, haven't been for years. I could do 9-5 if I had to, I suppose, but I prefer the freedom of being a freelancer. But times are tight these days for me and a lot of other people.

One nice thing about my trip to the accountant is that I walk across town to Midtown East where his office is. The day was gorgeous and it was a nice long ramble both to and fro. I used to get over to that area a lot, but now I hardly ever do. There are plenty of spectacular office buildings to gaze up at in the area between the United Nations and Grand Central Terminal.

Later in the day I got some work done, which was a mixed bag. Some stuff went well, other stuff didn't. At least I had my laundry done today, so I have some clean shirts and underwear tomorrow.

Stopped by the stripclub for awhile to unwind, and I was actually willing to have a dance or two with a girl I like there. Now if you've been following my blog in the last couple of months, you know that I almost never spring for lapdances anymore because my money is tight. Today I felt I needed the distraction, but the girl went back into the dressing room once she got off stage. Then my thriftiness kicked in and I didn't tell the waitress to ask the girl to come out, figuring that I'd just save money which is better than blowing twenty or forty bucks on a couple of dances that are over in less than ten minutes.

Finally I just picked up some cheap Chinese food and came home. I couldn't get into the Chesty Morgan cult movies that I bought on Sunday--she's the chick with the 73 inch tits--so I put in a DVD of an old George Raft picture called Loan Shark. It seems pretty good; I watched a bit of it as I tried to eat my chow mein, but the food tasted heavy and bland tonight. I dumped it in the garbage and sat down to blog. Guess I'll get back to Loan Shark when I sign off here.

Well, as Scarlett O'Hara would say, tomorrow is another day.

A gorgeous Sunday, full of intimations of spring, and so I got myself out of the book-cluttered apartment and downtown to Union Square for awhile. The place was packed with other people with the same idea. Lots of vendors selling art work and crafts (one guy had some cool pinhole photography of bridges and buildings), a mellow jazz twosome playing bass and sax, and streams of folks going this way and that under the watchful eye of President George Washington (his statue, that is).

My monetary inhibitions loosened by the sunshine and perhaps by the early Daylight Savings Time, I stopped by one of my favorite video stores and promptly spent more dough than I should have. Boy, can I ever rationalize the necessity to buy a DVD I want post-haste! But I didn't stop with one disc. I got a three-pack of obscure films noir; a double-feature of sleaze classics starring a giant-breasted icon of the 70s named Chesty Morgan; a triple bill of rare burlesque movies from the 50s, and finally the Ed Wood classic Bride and the Beast, complete with a commentary track that, according to a review I read the other day, is supposed to be both informative and hilarious.

Now I'll have to avoid the video store for at least a month, not counting a memorabilia show that's coming up in a few weeks and which will predictably draw me like a magnet.

Hey, friends, I'm whistling while I'm walking the plank! Because tomorrow I have to go see my accountant and find out the ball park figure of what I'll have to pay for my freelance self-employment taxes. Whoopee! "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho/back into debt I go! With last year's debt not quite paid off/heigh-ho, heigh-ho, oh no, oh woe!!"

Anyway, I was going to see the new sword-and-sandal epic "300," and there were certainly seats available at the theater near Union Square, but it was just too beautiful to go into a dark movie theater. I'll try to catch up with it later in the week.

After all, I do have Chesty Morgan movies to keep me company tonight! Her bosom measured 73 inches! Yowsa!!

I saw two pictures of the actress Salma Hayek today in the tabloids that couldn't have been more different. In the New York Daily News, she's stunningly glam in a tastefully cleavage-displaying dress as she attends some big event with her new fiance, a billionaire French businessman, who is reportedly the father of her unborn child. In the other photo in the New York Post, Salma is glimpsed dressed 180 degrees in the opposite style--in jeans, bulky sweater, sneakers and shades, her hair thick and mop-like, as she leaves a Beverly Hills clinic. As gorgeous as she looks in the former picture, she looks as if she went out of her way to look major dumpy in the second one. Yeah, I know, the stars try to avoid the photogs by dressing down, but why not embrace her maternal gorgeousness and send out a big glow to the universe and put a smile not just on Sir Cranky's face, but on mugs worldwide? Just a suggestion.

The cumulative effect? Well, after seeing the first shot, I thought, "Wow, I should see some more Salma Hayek movies--dude, what are you waiting for??" After seeing the second, I thought, "Why bother? She doesn't care about the fans."

The illusion is fragile; easily shattered. And when movie tickets cost $11.00, you want your illusions intact. Salma's not doing her job right...at least, according to my description of her duties. I'll put her on suspension in the movie studio of my mind! Yes, deep within me lurks the spirit of an old-time movie mogul who wants his stable of contract actresses primped and perfect whenever in public! "Read the fine print, doll, and go put on some lipstick..."

Because every true movie fan, in a way, has a stable of actresses on contract in his brain...