This post is dedicated to (and about) a wonderful friend named Donkers.

There are things I do that I thought were things only I could do. More specifically, things I thought were alone things to do. Reading the same Raymond Carver story over and over again, eating a burrito, walking silently in the snow, listening to music. Granted some of these things can be done with other company, but generally you aren't just doing that thing, you are eating dinner, you are talking, it isn't the same feeling as when you do it alone. There is a comfort I feel in doing these things. I wrote about them before, everytime I say for instance, I watched a movie with Tombstone pizza, that is something that I couldn't share with anyone. And then there is the reason I want to be a writer. I know there is a certain thing about life that i "get." so to speak. And I don't want to spell that out, but there are things, I promise, that I have to say. Approprietly there are people that I feel the need to say them too. Good example of that person is Donkers. Another thing about the Donk is that somehow, we can do the things I thought I only could fully experience alone, together. I'm not sure if Donk feels the serenity of the activities, but being there with me and allowing me to just be, well that has made reading Raymond Carver even more enjoyable and more relaxing. So donkers has this very comforting quality where taking part in my generally alone activities becomes a shared experience. That is a pretty rare quality.

My review of the Pianist, as printed in today's Badger Herald.

Many complain about watching Holocaust-genre films but at the same time feel obligated to make the effort to defy the Nazis with long-overdue sensitivity. Understandably, the subject is often portrayed in long, gray, sad and miserable plots with little to no sign of anything remotely capable of being considered humane or redeeming.

And perhaps that is the reason Steven Spielberg was so immensely successful with "Schindler's List" -- yes, it was long and gray, but it was a story about a savior, just like "Life is Beautiful." On the other side of the genre is the isolated story of survival where no one is saved, Roman Polanski's "The Pianist."

"The Pianist" begins with Wladyslaw Szpilman (Adrien Brody "Liberty Heights"), a young, cocky, talented pianist in Warsaw only months before the German decree that all Jews must live in a ghetto.

In the ghetto, Szpilman and his family witness the systematic persecution and extermination of the Jews by the Nazis. In graphic scenes of violence and cruelty, the tension in the family builds as the day approaches when they will all be deported to a work or concentration camp.

But a sympathetic friend and member of the Jewish police spares Wladyslaw alone. Working in the ghetto with the future members of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, Szpilman decides that he would rather attempt to escape and hide than stay to die.

With the help of old German friends and music appreciators, Szpilman successfully hides until Warsaw is destroyed both by resistant fighters and by the approaching Ally armies. With no one left in Warsaw to provide for Szpilman, he is alone in the ruins of the once-great city.

When dealing with Holocaust stories, directors must make choices of how to approach the stark evil of the time. It is easy to make a film about millions of people being murdered mercilessly, but to make that film seem real, to make those viewers believe that Nazis, who loved their children and loved their lives as much as the innocent, -- were the monsters; that is the challenge.

Where Spielberg failed to present a real evil and rather made the Nazis seem more like the distant space aliens who destroyed Earth in "Independence Day," director Roman Polanski succeeds marvelously. His meticulous shots of such a narrow experience shared by so few today allow for a wider scope of the situation.

The film transcends experience and becomes real, allowing viewers to see life and not just a story. With attention to such things as focusing for a second on the pictures of soldier's families and the passing frown of a Nazi as his partner beats a Jew while drunk, Polanski creates understanding.

Adrien Brody's performance as the pianist is spectacular. His portrayal is a layered character analysis, on level with Robert Deniro in "Taxi Driver." He is Wladyslaw Szpilman at every moment; he is him as a successful pianist, he is him as a squandered talent, he is him as a brother and son, a crippled starving man and, most importantly, as a Jew surviving the Holocaust.

Hopefully the Academy will not interpret Brody's passivity in the film as bad acting and will realize the immense physical decay displayed so brilliantly with each gaze, limp, bite, whisper, and shallow tap on piano keys. The supporting cast is all small roles; worth mentioning is Frank Finlay ("The Three Musketeers") as Szpilman's father and Thomas Kretschmann ("Blade II") as the Nazi captain who, well, is an avid music lover.

"The Pianist" is an excellent film with, needless to say, incredibly moving music. Polanski may be at the end of his career, but what a spectacular ending, finally conveying feelings that he has tried to show so many times. Aside from the praise offered here for dealing with the Holocaust so humanely, the film will provide any viewer with an excellent experience of the era and of the Jewish dilemma