Been rasslin’ with whether or not to throw in the trowel and post a couple of “best of” lists, but along comes the American Film Institute with a much better idea to pilfer.
They’ve put together a list of “moments of significance” that includes noteworthy or notorious events that took place during 2006, from the deaths of director Robert Altman and the VHS format to the rise of YouTube and viral media. Worth a peek, here.
I’m going to launch this far more personal reverie by seconding one of the AFI’s emotions and salute the titanic cojones of Stephen Colbert.
Watching Colbert waterboard the White House and the media it too often coddles at this year’s correspondents’ dinner in April was one of the most joyful, inspiring experiences of the year here at DNLA HQ. If you didn’t catch it, Colbert was the “entertainment” brought in to warm up the crowd for the president, whose routine with an impersonator was kind of funny, I’m Matt Damon enough to admit. As it washed over the Bushes and the media figures in attendance, though, that Colbert was Going For It in “Report” character, and was not going to relent, the shift in temperature in the room, especially on the dais, could be felt in my rumpus room 900 miles away from D.C.
Colbert’s my 2006 hero, and I cannot believe he hasn’t been the victim of a freak accident by now.
The AFI list also gives a shout-out to Spike Lee’s monumental HBO documentary “When the Levees Broke,” now available on DVD here, and even here. Lee’s had a fine 2006, his most successful since the summer of “Do the Right Thing,” with “Levees” and “Inside Man,” which’d be on that “best of” list I’m not going to compile, but “Levees” is staggering in its power and immediacy as Lee digs deep into Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. It should be required viewing for all, especially if you’re on a “working vacation” on your ranch and you’re all out of brush to clear.
My related Moment of Significance, though, took place just off Canal Street in New Orleans in the summertime, during my first trip back after “the storm.” (All the locals I spoke to referred to Katrina that way, and the only places I saw her named were on the foul and silly t-shirts some of the tourist traps were hawking.)
It was bittersweet, getting back to a city I love that I watched go under, literally and figuratively, on CNN. Seeing the storm’s impact in person, reflected in the high water marks on the freeway overpasses and the homes still waiting for demolition, glyphs still spray-painted on the doors indicating whether or not corpses had been inside to await retrieval, was moving, infuriating, and more.
While walking back to my temporary digs one early evening, I heard a happy ruckus coming from up the street a few blocks, and could see people crossing Canal from all directions to check it out. Turned out it was a marching band from one of the local schools, taking to the streets on the edge of the Quarter to play the bejeebers out of “Sexual Healing.” A huge crowd of what looked like tourists and locals surrounded them, and we followed them into the Quarter, past the strip joints and daiquiri bars. They played that irresistible Kanye West song I can never name and a bunch of other songs you wouldn’t imagine a marching band playing, and I’m getting the goose bumps just calling up the memory. Pass me a Turbodog, would you?
Your guess is as good as mine whether or not New Orleans is going to be morphed into Creole Disney or manage to battle its way back and fully restore its unique, mystical mojo, but those kids in that band that night gave me good reason to hope for the best.