Only a Blockhead: Trail Running

09/25/2019

2019 Vietnam Mountain Marathon Race Report

I had an adventure. I posted about it on Facebook, but figured I'd put up a slightly edited version here as well.

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I'm sitting in a cafe in Hanoi remembering how, a few years back when I was first getting interested in this trail running malarkey, I used to lurk at the Tokyo Trail Running website hoping to pick up some knowledge. I did, and one of the tidbits I picked up was about a crazy race in Vietnam called the Vietnam Mountain Marathon. It was 42km through what sounded like some very rugged mountains. My long runs in those days were maybe 15km with about 800 meters of vert, so though the VMM sounded wonderful, it also sounded entirely out of my league.

Fast forward a few years and here I am, a finisher in the VMM (114th overall out of 725 participants, 88th male, and 6th in my age group). That, to me, counts as a successful run, and I owe that success in large part to TTR and the friends I've made there, nuts like Wye Khe, Elma, David V., and Kana who have been willing to join me on the Hakone trails in pouring rain and the mud and slipperiness that come with that, excellent training, it turned out, for the VMM.

Which brings me to the race. Although we had beautiful weather on race day, it had poured the night before (the 100km runners were out in it—respect). That meant that the trails were a muddy mucky mess, for which muddy mucky Hakone had prepared me well. The race started with a couple of km on road before bringing us to the trail and the first of the day's four major climbs, the longest and the steepest, followed up with a long technical downhill. This beginning, it seemed to me, would be a harbinger of what was to come. If you could do it without destroying yourself, you'd have a good run.

It was tough. Some might even break out the B-word (brutal), but it wasn't any tougher than lots of intermediate and above TTR runs. If you can do those without killing yourself you'll probably be okay at VMM. Although I did slip a couple of times on the descent, I came out of that section with some confidence, and also a lot of joy. The landscape through which we were running was stunning, and meeting some bovines (cows? buffalo?) at the top of the 2000+m peak was a pleasant surprise, the first of many animal encounters that day. (They could run faster than me.)

I can't remember if it was before or after the first aid station where we first made our way through the terraced rice fields characteristic of the area. This was a major muck zone and also featured some rickety bamboo bridges. In some ways it was as challenging as the climbs and descents, though most of us, by this point, had given up trying to avoid the muck and slogged right through it, so there's that. (There are lots of domestic animals on and around the course, so some of the "mud" we waded through was probably not mud.)

From here things get a bit more impressionistic, and the biggest impression was made by the hill tribe people through whose fields and villages we were running. They were ready with smiles, waves, and hellos, and also offered bamboo poles for sale to runners whose knees has failed them. By the end of the race even the smallest children were accomplished high-fivers.

At 27km, just before the third climb, I bought a Coca Cola from one of the hill tribe ladies (I'm not sponsored by the Coca Cola Bottling Company) drank it, and immediately got genki. A feeling that stayed with me until the end of the race, even through the long paved downhill that finished the thing. I flew past scads of runners whose knees were clearly giving them trouble. Mine (thank you, Coca Cola) were fine.

The whole race experience including busses from Hanoi to Sa Pa, the hotel, the aid stations, the medical team, the staff, and the post-race festivities, was brilliant. There was never the slightest hiccup.

I would recommend this race (and the 70km and 100km versions for the hardcore beasts) highly, with one caveat: there was a bit more pavement than I expected: maybe 30 percent? I didn't mind it myself as it was almost all beautiful country roads or paved trails through stunning areas. It was nice to open the legs up. Trail purists, though, may feel differently.

—David

Posted at 07:45 PM in Pleasure, Trail Running | Permalink | Comments (1)

10/02/2014

Togakushi Trail Run Race Report

Summary for the Busy Executive: The Togakushi Trail Run Race, held in Nagano Prefecture, is a great event with an endearingly local feel. The distances offered are 41km, 28km, and 5km. It is well-organized, the scenery is stunning, and the organizers and staff are pleasant and efficient, friendly and encouraging. Based on my experience, I recommend it.

The Long Version: I arrived in Nagano the day before the Togakushi Trail Run Race not exactly brimming with confidence. I felt undertrained, having taken the previous three weeks off from running on account of a tender Achilles, and on top of that, I had gone to bed the night before heading to Nagano feeling dopey with what, I kept telling myself, couldn’t possibly be a cold. With a bad ankle and a head cold I wondered whether I’d make the 8-hour cut-off for the 28km race I had chosen.

The race, held on September 28 this year, offers three distances: for adults a 41km race, the 28km race I was doing, and, for children and beginners, a 5km. As this was only my second trail race, (and the first, having been run almost entirely on fire roads, was a “trail” race in name only) I chose the middle course. (Didn’t the Buddha have something to say about that?)

The good news is, I woke up the morning of the race with all signs of my incipient cold gone, with my Achilles feeling fine, and with weather—sunny and warm, but not too warm—that couldn’t have been better.

I had spent the night with two roommates who’d been assigned to me by the organizers of the race (by the oddest of coincidence, both of them were non-Japanese—Olaf from the Netherlands and Sebastien from France). Olaf, who was doing the long course which started two hours before my race was already gone when I woke up on race morning. Sebastien and I sipped cups of coffee while we made our final preparations before heading down to breakfast which, like the ample dinner we’d been served at our inn the night before, was simple and tasty.

It was nice that we were only a fifteen-minute walk from the starting line, and most runners were also close by, because, in an effort to support the local community, the race requires everyone doing the 41 or 28km distances to register the day before, and part of the fee racers pay includes a night at a local inn. Rural Japan is struggling. This seems to me a great way for racers to help out.

Finally, after some stretching led by a local yoga teacher and the obligatory milling around and final restroom stop we were, with horns blowing and a uniformed matching band playing, off. The 41km has three big climbs and descents, while the 28km course offers two, one after another, right at the beginning of the race. We start by running up a ski slope which eventually becomes single-track. Faster runners will want to be sure to get out in front early, because it does turn into a conga line here. Slower runners like me will be stepping out of the way a lot to let the speed demons get by. This first climb, up and down Meno San, took me about an hour and was invigorating, vigor I would need for the next, more substantial climb, up almost, but not quite, to the top of Iizuna Yama. The climb is steep and technical, no one around me was running it; those leading the race may have, but I wouldn’t know. We made it to the top, and then it was time for the long and technical descent, from about 1800m to about 1100m. I’m crap at descending, so lots of folks passed me on this part as I gingerly picked my way down. At last, though, I was at the bottom and soon pulled into the first aid station.

There are two aid stations on the 28km course, and three on the 41km course. This (augmented later in the race by locals handing out Shinshu apple slices and water) seems ample to me, particularly as the race organizers told us to carry at least a liter of water and some food, but I did hear some grumbling. The volunteers staffing the aid station, many of them folks connected with the lodges in which we had stayed or other tourist-oriented businesses, were helpful and efficient, friendly and encouraging.

Just as I had reached the bottom of the climb down from Iizuna my left knee started to hurt. Although the course had leveled out here, and was even paved for a few-hundred meters, I actually had to stop running and walk a bit on account of the pain. I ran-walked my way into the aid station, and considered consulting the doctor who was stationed there. He was busy with another runner, though, and I was eager to get going, so I set out; the pain disappeared on its own.

Here the race goes onto a trail that parallels the Togakushi “Bird Line” highway. It’s mostly flat and smooth, so it was a pleasure to pick up the pace here after crawling up and down the climbs. Since I had made it to the first aid station in about two hours, and was moving at a decent clip now—cold and Achilles entirely forgotten—I was no longer worried about making the cut-off, and wondered if I could get to the finish line in less than six hours. That’s a time that, I know, would be disappointing to more accomplished runners, but to me it seemed a worthy goal.

As I was feeling confident now, the rest of the race was a pleasant run through stunning forests and past ponds that looked so good it was hard not to dive in. In fact, the second aid station was at one of those ponds, Kagami no Ike, so-called because it offers a perfect reflection of the peaks that tower above it.

Though my legs were definitely tired at this point, thanks in part of a couple of highly caffeinated gels, my energy was rising as we neared the end of the race. One of the volunteers at the second aid station told us it was 5km to the finish, and I realized that with a bit of a push I had a chance to make it to the finish line in less than six hours. Part way through those final 5km a volunteer yelled “ato 3 kilo,” which was great news, except that after running for what seemed like a long time after receiving that encouragement I came to a sign that said “ato 3km.” This was mildly disheartening, but not too bad. I was soon at the finish. I crossed the line, and someone handed me a card with my time printed on it. It was going to be close; I really didn’t know if I’d beaten six hours. The card said: 5:58:24.

And that’s the time I’ll want to beat when I return to this race. It was well-organized and an entirely positive experience, so I definitely do plan to be back. (The winner of the race finished in 3:02:21. The winner of the 41km finished in 4:31:20. Hats off to them.)

--David

Posted at 12:50 PM in Hiking, Japan, Trail Running | Permalink | Comments (3)

Books David Finished in 2024

Bulgakov, Mikhail (translated by Michael Glenny): The Master and Margarit
One critic has astutely described Mikhail Bulgakov's Master and Margarita as "Alice in Wonderland meets Monty Python." This may seem like hyperbole: Can any novel really rise to the heights of those geniuses? The answer is, yes! The satire that features in Bulgakov's masterpiece will make one smile, if not guffaw even when one can't quite identify the Russian literary figures and institutions being lampooned (for my next reading of this I'd like to get my hands on an edition with notes); the fantasy and whimsy are as inventive as Carroll's (though of a somewhat—but not entirely—different stripe). Interspersed with the chapters that take place in and around 1920s Moscow there is a recounting of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and the agony Pilate experiences over his part in that execution. These sections, in contrast to the Moscow sections, are gritty historical realism, and are absolutely convincing. For all that the novel features, on the one hand, the devil and his dastardly crew, a gang that cause real suffering (though much of it seems deserved), and on the other the agony of Pilate, the novel has a happy ending. The Master and Margarita will live happily ever after, and Pilate is relieved of his agony. The general consensus seems to be that Glenny's translation is the worst of the available options. I can say nothing about its fidelity or lack thereof to the Russian original, but it reads well. I'm not sorry Glenny's version was the one on my shelf.
Fallowell, Duncan: Twentieth Century Characters: Iconic Meetings
This is a collection of profiles by Duncan Fallowell of the talented, the rich, the famous, and the notorious. Anthony Powell, James Brown, William Burroughs, Kirk Douglas, Quentin Crisp and Arnold Schwarzenegger (profiled together along with the actress Caroline Langrishe), Fred Hoyle: all of them and others make appearances. Fallowell is a good interviewer, asking questions intelligent and unexpected, and often effacing himself in the pieces as they come to us. My pet peeve is interviewers who think that the interview is always about them, so this was welcome. All of the interviews were interesting, but somehow, Fallowell seems at his best when interviewing literary and artistic icons from a generation or two before his own, such as Anthony Powell, Peter Quennell, and John Betjemen. As some of the figures profiled here slip into the memory hole, this is a good reminder of figures who were once impressive.
Vater, Tom: The Man with the Golden Mind
Mostly because of the attractiveness of the milieu, South-east Asia, I read the first in this series. I was somewhat lukewarm toward it, but I guess I liked it enough, and it was cheap enough on Kindle, that I took a punt on volume two. It's much better than the first. There are sharp observations and interesting speculation, and the milieu, this time mostly Laos, remains attractive. The prose has improved. The plot turns around real-life CIA shenanigans in the region (think Air America and the bombing of Laos and Cambodia), but becomes, by the end, implausible (cameo appearance by that old war criminal Henry Kissinger). I was invested enough in the ride by then that I didn't mind. I have already purchased Book 3.
Duncan, Dennis: The Oulipo and Modern Thought
My last faculty talk is coming up. Maybe I'll do it about Oulipo, that group of nuts, one of whom put down a whole fiction without using the symbol also missing from this short blurb.
Milne, A.A.: The Red House Mystery
Raymond Chandler, for unsurprising reasons, didn't like A.A. Milne's Red House Mystery, but I enjoyed it. It is light and funny and sharp. There's an amateur detective and a sidekick who see the humor in setting themselves up as a Holmes and Watson duo, and Milne has fun with that. I wish he'd written more about the pair, but I guess he was more interested in bears.
Walsh, Colin: Kala
This is a dark and well-done coming-of-age novel. The author skillfully moves between three voices to create vivid pictures of these three central characters as teenagers and as the adults they become, and also creates a vivid picture of the bleak Irish town in which they live, and in which the center of the group, a girl named Kala, dies.
Saknussemm, Kris: Enigmatic Pilot
Why had I never heard of Kris Saknussemm? In Enigmatic Pilot, Mark Twain meets Thomas Pynchon. The language is rich and lively, the story surprising and rich in things wonderful enough to make us gasp. It's a road novel through the American 1840s but has absolutely none of the fustian that besmirches so much historical fiction. There's a boy and an escaped slave on a boat, a riverboat gambler with a prosthetic hand, a female gunslinger who would put Annie Oakley to shame, and much more besides. And best of all, this is, apparently, the second book in a series, and the author, Kris Saknussemm, has written a stack of other books, too. There's lots to look forward to.
Connelly, Michael: Lost Light
Bosch has a private detective license now, but he's not using it. Then an an old cop colleague, confined to a wheelchair after being shot, drops something into his lap. He pursues it (you knew he would) and it's a twisty compelling story. His ex-wife Elizabeth is back in the picture, too, leading to some additional emotional complexity. I'm glad Connelly wrote a lot of these.
Collins, Wilkie: The Woman in White
The novel reached its apogee during the Victorian years, and Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White is a perfect example of the kinds of excellence that Victorian novels display. The plot keeps one turning pages, and the characters are fine, particularly the archvillain Count Fosco. You wouldn't want to share a drink with most of the other characters—they're too namby-pamby—but an absinthe with Fosco would be a treat. As is the rule with "sensation" novels of this type, there are lots of plot twists and reversals, but two, which I was expecting as I neared the book's end, never came to pass. I believed that the protagonist, Walter Hartright (name symbolism much?), would somehow shed himself of the insipid Laura Fairlie with whom he was besotted for her much more worthy half-sister, Marian Halcombe. Likewise, I expected that Laura Fairlie, who Walter insists upon marrying, would, in the end, turn out to be instead her look-alike, the woman in white. My expectations were surely formed by the many more modern novels I've read, novels not published in serial form in monthly magazines for popular audiences.
Carey, Louise: Inscape
The protagonist of this cyberpunk thriller in which corporations control the world is so naive at the beginning that it's cloying, and this nearly made me put the book down. Reading on, I understood the reason she is that way, and that made it palatable. I'm glad I stuck around because the book gets better as it goes. It is fascinating to see how the author, Louise Carey, and the character both deal with that naivete and the sinister reason for it.

Books Julian Read Recently

Alice McDermott: Absolution
In this absorbing novel, the wife of a US engineer dispatched to Vietnam in the Kennedy/Diem early 1960s recalls expat life centering on various attempts at altruism. It is masterful storytelling with vivid characters, inviting us to make up our own minds about how cynical or otherwise is one character’s description of that altruism as “a disappearing generation’s efforts at inconsequential good.”. (****)
Anne Enright: The Wren, The Wren
Why didn’t I get into this portrait of an Irish family/celebration of nature? The scattered structure: first person/third person? The dark places it sometimes went: self-harm; child abuse; animal abuse? Because it seemed the author was clearing a bunch of disparate good ideas out of her notebook? For this reader, in spite of its verve and sensitivity and surprise, it didn’t hang together or really go anyplace. (**)
Paul Lynch: Prophet Song
I don’t note books I don’t finish, but here’s an exception: a finely written account of a family facing totalitarianism and war. It was relentless: I continued reading as a training in empathy, but it was finally too upsetting to continue. The horror is knowing the events of the story are being lived in Ukraine, Palestine and anywhere migrants are in flight.
Chris Broad: Abroad in Japan
A serviceable entry in the foreigner-fish-out-of-water/my-adventures-learning-to-love-Japan genre. The UK author gives it a high taboo-word-per-page ratio, with some variants that must have arisen since I lived there ("Double fuck!"??). (**)
Barbara Kingsolver: Flight Behavior
An absorbing novel about an east-coast rural family and a surprise ecological event. Mesmerizing, entertaining, thought-provoking. (****)
Junot Diaz: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
A thrilling balls-to-the-wall account of a Dominican family in the US, and their prior life and later returns to the homeland, which – in its agony and ecstasy – is the real star of this tale. Laid back and electric, both. Superb. (First read 9 years ago, and almost totally forgotten.) (****)
Barbara Kingsolver: Pigs in Heaven
What a surprise: here are characters from Kingsolver’s debut "The Bean Trees," developed, deepened, facing life’s challenges, with the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma as a backdrop. A glorious marriage of hyper-realism and outrageous coincidence, this is top-notch socially conscious storytelling. (****)
Elizabeth Chatwin & Nicholas Shakespeare (Eds.): Under the Sun: The Letters of Bruce Chatwin
Letters carefully linked with background comment as necessary. There are also footnotes, sometime by the person addressed in the letter, expanding, explaining, and occasionally – when his wife Elizabeth – contradicting what was in a letter. Chatwin, gifted and complex, was a hard-working and compelling correspondent. The result here is a sensitively edited, enlightening account of a life both awe-inspiring and tragic. (***)
Lafcadio Hearn: Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan
Hearn arrived in Japan 130 years ago, and the essays penned here are of a new and thrilling world discovered. The tone is sepia for his first trip down kanji-filled and lantern-decorated streets, and on a rickshaw excursion to Kamakura and Enoshima, but when he’s in his garden with the plants and insects it might be yesterday. The strangeness of Japan does cause overreliance on adjectives like “tiny,” and on the multiple myths and legends and ghostly tales related at length. My only great surprise was his support of his students’ vows to die for their emperor (“That wish is holy”). Hearn was a fascinating character, and this is a fascinating book. (***)
Sylvia Plath: The Bell Jar
The hijinks of college teens on an expenses-paid stay in New York take a dark turn when the narrator, driven all her life, loses her way mentally. (*)

Books Mark read recently

Scanlan, Kathryn: The Dominant Animal: Stories
This is a book of super-short fiction. Of the 40 or so stories, most are less than two pages. Nothing in the writing here is beautiful or kind, but somehow I whizzed thought it all. Some stories leave out points that would have made them more accessible. What the heck happened? A lot of the stories end on a sudden whim of observation and leave one wanting to read more. Most of the stories focus on a negative experience with a male, with strange detail, and after finishing a story, I often wanted to take a hot shower to get clean. I did enjoy "Design for a Carpet" and "Mother's Teeth." (**)
Woodrell, Daniel: Woe to Live On: A Novel
Confederate soldiers on a journey to fight Yankees in Missouri and Kansas. Woodrell's voice in this novel is similar to Cormac McCarthy's. Lots of brutal killing and torture and the story seems to float along on southern dialog and an internal monologue of fear by the speaker. There are moments of occasional humanity, but for the most part the plot is a thin gruel of spilt blood, wandering, waiting, and revenge. (***)
Munro, Alice: Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage
There are three standout stories in this very fine collection by Alice Munro. She has a real knack for creating a variety of believable characters. The title story was my favorite: two teenagers pull a sour trick resulting in a surprising ending. In the story "Queenie" we see a young woman scrambling to make her way in the world, using a bad marriage as a way to make some progress. The final story, "The Bear Came Over the Mountain" veers off into occasional long-winded reflection, as one man struggles with the loss of his wife to Alzheimer's. Munro is a master story teller. (*****)
Waters, Sarah: Fingersmith
Sarah Waters: Fingersmith Such a good story: the get rich scheme of a handsome scoundrel twists and turns into... Two women in the story are quite duped into role playing. A lot of playful sex is talked about, but not much happens in the way of happiness or fulfillment. As always, Waters is right on target with the voices and the atmosphere in this London area thriller. (*****)
Barry, Sebastian: The Temporary Gentleman: A Novel
What a sad story. This novel takes place on the Gold Coast in Africa, where an Irish soldier/engineer recounts his life growing up near Galway and Sligo. Back and forth we go between Ireland and Africa. Like an unseen shadow, in Ireland, what slays the characters in this novel is alcohol. Back in Africa, the memories of the homeland, and the attempt at living again are equally daunting foes. Excellent story telling. (****)
Donna Tartt: The Little Friend
Donna Tartt's second novel does not disappoint. The story of a young girl, Harriet, who seeks to revenge the death of her brother, Robin. The backdrop is a small town in Mississippi, and the goings on of 4 or 5 sisters, whose lives all changed with the murder of young Robin; hung from a tree. Harriet wants to solve the mystery. Who killed him? She gathers clues, and encounters the wrath of the local druggies. Quite a page-turner, and like Tartts' other two novels almost nothing is left out or glossed over. There were times in the novel where I felt her writing fell short; places where I couldn't actually see what was happening from the writing, as is the case when she encounters the villainous brother, Danny Ratliff on top of the water tower. The writing perspective seemed off (who was where and when?) as a battle ensued. But one is so caught up in the narrative we read on and on. Also, who is the little friend who is suggested in the title? Harriet? Hey? Robin? I don't think it is the best title she could have thought of for such a wonderful and awful story. (****)
Strout, Elizabeth: Olive, Again: A Novel
A wonderful sequel to an earlier collection of stories, Olive Kitteridge. Clearly, Strout is a masterful writer; each of the characters in her stories I can see clearly in my mind. These stories span Olive's life from middle-age to old-age, with thoughtfulness, kindness, reflection, and regret. In a general way of summing up, this collection tells us that life sends us problems that are most times not of our own making-- and that we do our best with what we have to work with, and what we think is best to do at the time. The prevalence of loneliness that comes with old age is a dominant theme in the later stories here. Read this book. (*****)
Strout, Elizabeth: Olive Kitteridge
It's been more than a few years since I first read this wonderful collection of stories. As a prelude to reading her next collection, Olive, Again, I read these stories again. Wonderful insight into a community in Crosby, Maine and how they encounter each other. Henry and Olive Kitteridge function as the main characters, and each story includes them if in even a small way. Prior to my second reading, my favorite story was The Piano Player, but this time I enjoyed Incoming Tide most. Her stories can veer into a local gossipy mode, yet there is always tension lurking in the next sentence. (*****)
Alan Hollinghurst: The Folding Star: A Novel
Edward Manners goes to Belgium to teach English to two boys who are getting below average marks in high school. When not teaching, he helps out at a museum focused on a Jewish painter who was hidden from the Nazis during WWII. Manners falls in love with one of his students, and a lively adventure ensues as Manners undertakes to seduce him. The narrative is fun, at times cynical of gay life, and there is a lot of sex. One also learns a good deal of personal history of growing up in post-war England and Belgium. Hollinghurst is a brilliant writer, and I learned many new words. (*****)
Alison Moore: The Pre-War House and Other Stories
After reading the Booker Prize nominated The Lighthouse, I was excited to read this earlier collection of 24 short stories from Alison Moore. They are a little underwhelming; as if written by a grad student. Moore is great at creating tension and awkward scenes. She is an artist when painting a picture of place and atmosphere. Some stories are creepy, and one longs for a hot bath. However, I found them to be a bit formulaic. By the third or fourth story, I was keeping my eyes open for the one clue in the narrative that I would return to in climactic ending sentences. I like Moor's sparse style, and I will read more of her work (written after The Lighthouse) in the future. (***)

Films Julian Watched Recently

Wim Wenders: Perfect Days
This tale of days in the life of a Tokyo blue-collar worker makes a credible stab at the perhaps impossible task of depicting the extraordinary within the ordinary. Rich. Insightful. Life-affirming. And I learned to empathize with people and places I normally ignore, so there was that, too. (*****)
Killers of the Flower Moon
The 1920s: the oil-rich Osage Nation Reservation in Oklahoma is awash with con-artists trying to grift a piece of the action. And the murders begin... The acting is powerful: De Niro and Lily Gladstone are effectively subdued, leaving the histrionics to DiCaprio. Every frame of the bloated running time adds to the atmosphere, but a more disciplined director than Scorsese could have brought this story in at a reasonable 2 hours, saving the excess for a director’s cut or TV version. As it is, the initial horror is unrelenting and exhausting, making you wonder if you want to continue through the 206 (count ‘em; we did) minutes. (Streaming) (***)
Oppenheimer
This story of the man and the weapon is told with flair and imagination. It’s shattered into fragments of time and space for added mystery, suspense, impact and sometimes irony. Surprising and sometimes shocking. (I avoided the 3hrs-no-intermission at the theater, so was glad to see it on DVD.) (***)
The Holdovers
1970: an elite New England prep school over the Christmas holidays. Sure, it’s by-the-numbers, but this artfully shot, warmly acted, smartly written, big-hearted tale of pain and redemption is a touching pleasure. (DVD) (***)
Kill Your Darlings
A recreation of the birth of the Beats in the 1940s. War rages in Europe. Ginsberg has a troubled family. He meets the charismatic, transgressive Carr at staid Columbia University who introduces him to Kerouac and Burroughs, and a New Vision is born. Then there’s the murder. Entertaining if you already know all that, but probably not otherwise. (DVD) (**)