I awoke to the stove making strange noises. I thought it was the refrigerator, but soon realized it was in fact the stove. When I plugged in my amp I noticed an awful buzzing noise at steady intervals, much like the stove, though I didn't make the connection until later. Before the repair shop I contemplated phoning an ex-lover who knows about electronics, but I decided against it. Some hours later I realized the connection. It seems I have a ghost.
It went like this:
Ghost in apt 3
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Friday, February 9, 2007
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Flags of our Fathers
Clint Eastwood's first draft of an attempted WWII revival nearly squirms in agony with every successive shell impact. A despondent Adam Beach plays private Ira Hayes, a man whose Native American origins, in the eyes of almost every character in the film, seem to justify the rejection of heroism and his consequently booze-soaked descent. If this project is Eastwood's take on Iraq, it's only fair to view private Hayes' struggle in parallel to that of today's minority soldiers. Eastwood's Republican leanings are quite public, as is his blunt hatred of colleague Michael Moore, but isn't he re-examining a point clearly made in 2004's Farenheit 9/11? The intangible cost of war is not only the ante of human life, but the inevitable isolation and exploitation of our lower classes. The three flag-raisers, in fact, represent each of the socio-economic echelons of American life respectively, and go on to represent the respective cost of war. i.e. The poor get poorer.
Whatever his take, a sobbing and impotent Hayes isn't much of a vehicle for commentary. Rather than drive home an all-too-important point, Eastwood drags us through the mire of weak-stomached melodrama in the face of an unspeakably terrible (and completely unrepresented) enemy. There are so many problems with this it makes me want to throw grenades. Since when is Clint Eastwood a pussy? "He was the best marine I ever knew..." says Hayes of Barry Pepper's Captain Strank. Perhaps it's because he was the only marine in the film that wasn't continually sobbing. Anyway... At least Eastwood's formal abilities shine through, despite some basic problems. He's created a balance between the physical challenge of going against a tenacious Japanese force, and going against an equally apathetic American public. It's a very interesting split, and although the heroes apparently don't get it (and do nothing if not complain about the latter struggle, one which in truth is perhaps the more important) it makes an interesting reminder to both sides of the political spectrum. Eastwood reminds us lefties that wars are perhaps a part of American life, but more importantly reminds Bush and Co. that once upon a time governments actually needed to drum up support for wars in order to finance them. Oh, how times have changed.
In spite of this informative balance, Eastwood's tale is still lacking. The American public has no voice, and the really interesting historical stuff never makes it to the surface. The story of American apathy toward WWII is actually pretty amazing. Likewise, we see nothing of the Japanese, and are left with only secondary accounts of their ferocity, creating demons in our imaginations and therefore pigeon-holing an entire ethnicity. Nice job, Clint.
Whatever his take, a sobbing and impotent Hayes isn't much of a vehicle for commentary. Rather than drive home an all-too-important point, Eastwood drags us through the mire of weak-stomached melodrama in the face of an unspeakably terrible (and completely unrepresented) enemy. There are so many problems with this it makes me want to throw grenades. Since when is Clint Eastwood a pussy? "He was the best marine I ever knew..." says Hayes of Barry Pepper's Captain Strank. Perhaps it's because he was the only marine in the film that wasn't continually sobbing. Anyway... At least Eastwood's formal abilities shine through, despite some basic problems. He's created a balance between the physical challenge of going against a tenacious Japanese force, and going against an equally apathetic American public. It's a very interesting split, and although the heroes apparently don't get it (and do nothing if not complain about the latter struggle, one which in truth is perhaps the more important) it makes an interesting reminder to both sides of the political spectrum. Eastwood reminds us lefties that wars are perhaps a part of American life, but more importantly reminds Bush and Co. that once upon a time governments actually needed to drum up support for wars in order to finance them. Oh, how times have changed.
In spite of this informative balance, Eastwood's tale is still lacking. The American public has no voice, and the really interesting historical stuff never makes it to the surface. The story of American apathy toward WWII is actually pretty amazing. Likewise, we see nothing of the Japanese, and are left with only secondary accounts of their ferocity, creating demons in our imaginations and therefore pigeon-holing an entire ethnicity. Nice job, Clint.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Welcome!
Hi Everyone!
Welcome to my bold foray into the world of blogging. I'll be updating this site as much as possible with various pieces of brilliance, but for now I've archived some movie reviews taken from my Myspace blog, although I seem to have the order of them reversed.
My inital idea for this blog is that it's a space for me, where I can put some thoughts out for mass consumption, but also it's a place for you, my friends, to leave comments, tirades, and send your own reviews of just about anything and I'll put them up.
Enjoy.
Welcome to my bold foray into the world of blogging. I'll be updating this site as much as possible with various pieces of brilliance, but for now I've archived some movie reviews taken from my Myspace blog, although I seem to have the order of them reversed.
My inital idea for this blog is that it's a space for me, where I can put some thoughts out for mass consumption, but also it's a place for you, my friends, to leave comments, tirades, and send your own reviews of just about anything and I'll put them up.
Enjoy.
The Devil and Daniel Johnston
The Devil and Daniel Johnston finally made it to Burlington and I finally saw it. Schizophrenic. Attention to detail. Spastically thrown together, but with an intense and intensely insightful knowledge and understanding of the surprisingly enormous heaps of existing material. I had no idea! Daniel J's tape-recorded voice notes are right on. I'd never imagined he had so much video and (amazing!) super 8 footage. Edited even. You can see the man come through.
I've seen Daniel J perform and I still had no idea. We said hello after the show and he said back: "Good luck." He said the same thing to Matt Groening at the end of the film. He must say it to everyone.
Watch for the insightful details on director Jeff Feuerzeig's part: The Metallica press photo (excellent), the contrast between the label bands and Daniel's painful "realness". Gibby Haynes in the dentist chair acting smug, Thurston Moore trying to talk Daniel down from manic schizophrenia. It just gets realer and realer. I love the shaky home movie footage that wears you down before you're hit with the slick, photo op jobs with the record execs and the hippest artists in the country. And the interviews are on color 35!! And there's loads of it!
It doesn't get more real than the redneck, sleeveless-T, motorcycle-ponytailed, Texas gallery owners describing Daniel's annual shows. Or the "Fuck Satan" T-shirt on the local Waller, Texas shredmeister. "Are you Daniel Johnston?" Are good artists crazy? When we've decided whether Daniel J is a good artist, we'll have our answer.
I've seen Daniel J perform and I still had no idea. We said hello after the show and he said back: "Good luck." He said the same thing to Matt Groening at the end of the film. He must say it to everyone.
Watch for the insightful details on director Jeff Feuerzeig's part: The Metallica press photo (excellent), the contrast between the label bands and Daniel's painful "realness". Gibby Haynes in the dentist chair acting smug, Thurston Moore trying to talk Daniel down from manic schizophrenia. It just gets realer and realer. I love the shaky home movie footage that wears you down before you're hit with the slick, photo op jobs with the record execs and the hippest artists in the country. And the interviews are on color 35!! And there's loads of it!
It doesn't get more real than the redneck, sleeveless-T, motorcycle-ponytailed, Texas gallery owners describing Daniel's annual shows. Or the "Fuck Satan" T-shirt on the local Waller, Texas shredmeister. "Are you Daniel Johnston?" Are good artists crazy? When we've decided whether Daniel J is a good artist, we'll have our answer.
Wassup Rockers!
First things first, the Clint Eastwood thing is the best. Larry Clark must hate him. Anyway, Wassup Rockers actually de-labels a group that could only be described with common idiomatic phrases (South Central, Latino, Skater, Punks, etc.) And it still places those kids so correctly ("we're from the ghetto"). Oh yes, you are.
In Rockers, Clark has made Hollywood hand-held realism look like the cutting room floor at Troma. And the images! Tracking the kids while they skate, the fucked up teeth, the 14-yr-old packages. He's like the Herb Ritts of the docu-drama.
But here's the thing. The movie is a big romantic jaunt through the Hills. There's no element of Aristotelian tragedy as in Kassovitz's Hate. There's no referential/archetypal weight as in The Warriors. These kids are nothing more than what Larry Clark fancies them to be. "You could be a model, I'm just trying to help your career." At least he knows full well what he's doing, and is having as much of a blast doing it as we are watching it.
In Rockers, Clark has made Hollywood hand-held realism look like the cutting room floor at Troma. And the images! Tracking the kids while they skate, the fucked up teeth, the 14-yr-old packages. He's like the Herb Ritts of the docu-drama.
But here's the thing. The movie is a big romantic jaunt through the Hills. There's no element of Aristotelian tragedy as in Kassovitz's Hate. There's no referential/archetypal weight as in The Warriors. These kids are nothing more than what Larry Clark fancies them to be. "You could be a model, I'm just trying to help your career." At least he knows full well what he's doing, and is having as much of a blast doing it as we are watching it.
Built to Spill
I hadn't realized they were so jammy, and I guess in B,VT you can't expect, at a rock show 600-kid strong, not to catch a glimpse of the backwards-hat-frat-jam-dance. It was described to me as "like a seven-year-old," and I looked over and agreed completely. If you've never seen it, perhaps it's impossible to really get the humor of it, but it's there, bouncing, back to front, beer in hand, eyes squinted, emotion on the face, head rocking with the beat, mouth trying to lip sync the words but not really knowing them. (It's OK, I don't really know many BTS lyrics either, but as a side note it's great when you catch them, very poignant, clever, well-put. But I'll get to that in a minute). I'm doing the jam-dance right now, sitting at my kitchen table, trying to figure out really how to describe it in words. It's a culture thing.
The lyrics. Excellent. They opened up with "Goin' Against Your Mind" and as awesome as it was to watch him sing, the phrases are pretty cool. "Thought it was an alien/ Turned out to be just God." I downloaded another live version and it sounds like he says it differently.
So, Doug Martsch had this video projection with a slide show of the album art from "You in Reverse," and it was the most lo-fi operation you can picture. He's just got this flimsy stand (it looked like a music stand from high school concert band) and the thing keeps shaking when the bass gets loud. And it blipped a couple times when they really got into it, and toward the end of the song when they're really rocking out, it starts to fall and then the signal cuts out and the thing says "no signal" on the projection board as it's slowly sinking because the stand is shaking so much and as the song crescendoes and the stage lights are turning red and he's singing his fuckin heart out, the stupid thing just falls out of view and then it's just the band, playing rock music. It was mesmerizing, cathartic.
It happened a couple times. Doug and the other guitarist really wanted to get a political tape to play, but the sound was giving them trouble. Eventually, they figured it out and played it during the encore to a tired but loyal audience. It didn't say a lot, but it was there. And it was important for them. I say Bravo.
"This next song is dedicated to Hugo Chavez," said Martsch before playing the awesomest track from the newest album. It was awesome. His intentions are so noble. And he wasn't kidding about leaving during the last song. It's like a contest to see if they can outlast the audience. I just wish they played "Car."
The lyrics. Excellent. They opened up with "Goin' Against Your Mind" and as awesome as it was to watch him sing, the phrases are pretty cool. "Thought it was an alien/ Turned out to be just God." I downloaded another live version and it sounds like he says it differently.
So, Doug Martsch had this video projection with a slide show of the album art from "You in Reverse," and it was the most lo-fi operation you can picture. He's just got this flimsy stand (it looked like a music stand from high school concert band) and the thing keeps shaking when the bass gets loud. And it blipped a couple times when they really got into it, and toward the end of the song when they're really rocking out, it starts to fall and then the signal cuts out and the thing says "no signal" on the projection board as it's slowly sinking because the stand is shaking so much and as the song crescendoes and the stage lights are turning red and he's singing his fuckin heart out, the stupid thing just falls out of view and then it's just the band, playing rock music. It was mesmerizing, cathartic.
It happened a couple times. Doug and the other guitarist really wanted to get a political tape to play, but the sound was giving them trouble. Eventually, they figured it out and played it during the encore to a tired but loyal audience. It didn't say a lot, but it was there. And it was important for them. I say Bravo.
"This next song is dedicated to Hugo Chavez," said Martsch before playing the awesomest track from the newest album. It was awesome. His intentions are so noble. And he wasn't kidding about leaving during the last song. It's like a contest to see if they can outlast the audience. I just wish they played "Car."
Drawing Restraint 9
Matthew Barney's films stand apart from his sculpture and installation work because he's declaring that it actually happened. DR9 isn't a sculpture in cinematic form (as I had originally used the phrase as a foothold for interpretation), there's an actual narrative.
The romance is certainly reminiscent of Eraserhead. Instead of succumbing to the vile detritus surrounding them as in David Lynch's masterpiece, Barney's (real-life) lovers are forced into the inevitable extravagance. I've read a little about traditional Japanese tea ceremonies and they're very similar. It's like the entire film is modeled on the tea ceremony, ritualistic and human, only more visceral, guttural. Barney hasn't lost his attention to the body and its various needs and functions.
The two are methodically invited, transformed, bred, and excreted. And we watch the whole process from the root to the fruit. It all happens in the presence of the most exquisite and illegal substance in the world, ambergris (of Moby Dick fame). The life cycle of humans and animals. Humans thrive in the presence of the most magnificent of them all: The Whale. And we don't even see one.
The romance is certainly reminiscent of Eraserhead. Instead of succumbing to the vile detritus surrounding them as in David Lynch's masterpiece, Barney's (real-life) lovers are forced into the inevitable extravagance. I've read a little about traditional Japanese tea ceremonies and they're very similar. It's like the entire film is modeled on the tea ceremony, ritualistic and human, only more visceral, guttural. Barney hasn't lost his attention to the body and its various needs and functions.
The two are methodically invited, transformed, bred, and excreted. And we watch the whole process from the root to the fruit. It all happens in the presence of the most exquisite and illegal substance in the world, ambergris (of Moby Dick fame). The life cycle of humans and animals. Humans thrive in the presence of the most magnificent of them all: The Whale. And we don't even see one.
A Prairie Home Companion
Robert Altman's latest was clunky and shambly (is this a word?). It doesn't really hold together as a film, but more of a showcase of the PHC juggernaut that is Garrison Kiellor's eternal legacy. His script is so self-serving, I was put off. First, there's no way Meryl Streep's Yolanda Johnson had her heart broken by GK of all people. That guy? I mean, yea, he can sing, but... Anyway, it's not sci-fi.
Which brings me to my next point. Keillor's bit of clever (N)oir is a little too cheeky and amateurish for me. The thing reads a little like a Devin Tanchum script, I'm just waiting for the angel in the white trenchcoat to have a body double. And the few juicy lines are hacked and contrived: Lindsay Lohan's bitter accusation that "someone's dead" and GK's not even going to say anything. You know, nobody really said anything. I wonder how long the corpse sat down there in the basement. Giving off more gas than it took in.
Which brings me to my next point. The trail-hands were well-written, but they were just concentrating too damn hard on hitting the notes to really shine. Those jokes were really funny, though. Woody Harrelson told them with such boyish menace.
Meryl Streep underplayed it perfectly, Tommy Lee Jones has zero comic timing (although that's assuming GK's lines are actually funny), and Lindsay Lohan is out of place, drifting. Why is she in an Altman movie? Jesus, and Kevin Kline's Guy Noir! What the hell? Where did he go at the end? What was the solution? They conspired to murder the Axeman? Yolanda's daughter singing the last song of the show somehow brings it full circle? I think not. Scriptwriting 101: It's deserved, but is it earned?
Am I sounding bitter? Maybe it's a punk gesture. The Prairie Home Companion is just too sacred not to want to spit all over it.
Which brings me to my next point. Keillor's bit of clever (N)oir is a little too cheeky and amateurish for me. The thing reads a little like a Devin Tanchum script, I'm just waiting for the angel in the white trenchcoat to have a body double. And the few juicy lines are hacked and contrived: Lindsay Lohan's bitter accusation that "someone's dead" and GK's not even going to say anything. You know, nobody really said anything. I wonder how long the corpse sat down there in the basement. Giving off more gas than it took in.
Which brings me to my next point. The trail-hands were well-written, but they were just concentrating too damn hard on hitting the notes to really shine. Those jokes were really funny, though. Woody Harrelson told them with such boyish menace.
Meryl Streep underplayed it perfectly, Tommy Lee Jones has zero comic timing (although that's assuming GK's lines are actually funny), and Lindsay Lohan is out of place, drifting. Why is she in an Altman movie? Jesus, and Kevin Kline's Guy Noir! What the hell? Where did he go at the end? What was the solution? They conspired to murder the Axeman? Yolanda's daughter singing the last song of the show somehow brings it full circle? I think not. Scriptwriting 101: It's deserved, but is it earned?
Am I sounding bitter? Maybe it's a punk gesture. The Prairie Home Companion is just too sacred not to want to spit all over it.
Jesus Camp
I just want to head this one off at the pass and say that to a Middle-American audience, there's probably not much of this film that actually surprises. But, my god (ha ha), will this film make a Blue-stater cringe. The pentecostal stuff is the most frightening. Kids writhing on the floor and crying out arameic gibberish. Harry Potter should be put to death, etc.
It's a lot of shock value, though. I admit there's an important point being made. Levi, the charismatic protagonist, says his favorite subject to preach is Faith. Fundamentalists have clung to this concept like a battle standard to the point that our Protestant commander in chief actually has a Divine Mandate, allowing him carte blanche. Faith in God equals Faith in Bush. It's obvious this is wrong.
The filmmakers of Jesus Camp, however, have crafted a sideshow of "jesus nuts," in order to advance their left-wing message. The connection is obvious, and it's spoken very plainly by the super-minister. "If the Evangelicals vote, they win the election." And Fundamentalism is being taught to our Bible-Belt children. It's a one-liner.
The kids in Jesus Camp are doubly exploited. They are trained to become God's Army by their conservative communities, and now they are propped up on display by liberal filmmakers. It resembles Napoleon Dynamite at certain points. I felt bad for the kids. They don't know they're such weirdos! Jesus Camp never quite reconciled the message. All I saw was a very narrow selection of brainwashed kids being paraded around as the sole reason to subscribe to a left-wing agenda.
It's a lot of shock value, though. I admit there's an important point being made. Levi, the charismatic protagonist, says his favorite subject to preach is Faith. Fundamentalists have clung to this concept like a battle standard to the point that our Protestant commander in chief actually has a Divine Mandate, allowing him carte blanche. Faith in God equals Faith in Bush. It's obvious this is wrong.
The filmmakers of Jesus Camp, however, have crafted a sideshow of "jesus nuts," in order to advance their left-wing message. The connection is obvious, and it's spoken very plainly by the super-minister. "If the Evangelicals vote, they win the election." And Fundamentalism is being taught to our Bible-Belt children. It's a one-liner.
The kids in Jesus Camp are doubly exploited. They are trained to become God's Army by their conservative communities, and now they are propped up on display by liberal filmmakers. It resembles Napoleon Dynamite at certain points. I felt bad for the kids. They don't know they're such weirdos! Jesus Camp never quite reconciled the message. All I saw was a very narrow selection of brainwashed kids being paraded around as the sole reason to subscribe to a left-wing agenda.
Death of a President
There was something ominous and hype-ey about the name Gabriel Range as it appeared over the motorcade and Richard Harvey's looming score played. I don't know, maybe it's the name itself. A name like that should either direct music videos or fight crime. Either way, this film has nothing to do with either. It's a lame crime drama that doesn't move.
The mystery story is played out in the most amateur and poorly-scripted way. The details of the investigation are withheld from us for the sole purpose of drawing a 15-minute YouTube conspiracy into a feature film. The basic premise of the botched conviction is racial profiling, a small bullet in a powerpoint presentation. The What-if aspect of the assassination holds a kind of vague, hangnail fascination, but it's a bullet as well. There are a few good performances from the almost all unknown cast, notably Neko Parham's Casy Claybon and (I love this guy) James Urbaniak's FBI CSI guy.
Politically, it's all hype. Range pulls all his punches, although I can't see even the opportunity for punch. Nobody says anything we didn't hear in any of the countless anti-Bush-regime docs of the last three years. The most salient point is this: Should this film incite similar action, we'll then have the Devil himself with whom to deal, and the three scariest words this year: President Dick Cheney.
The mystery story is played out in the most amateur and poorly-scripted way. The details of the investigation are withheld from us for the sole purpose of drawing a 15-minute YouTube conspiracy into a feature film. The basic premise of the botched conviction is racial profiling, a small bullet in a powerpoint presentation. The What-if aspect of the assassination holds a kind of vague, hangnail fascination, but it's a bullet as well. There are a few good performances from the almost all unknown cast, notably Neko Parham's Casy Claybon and (I love this guy) James Urbaniak's FBI CSI guy.
Politically, it's all hype. Range pulls all his punches, although I can't see even the opportunity for punch. Nobody says anything we didn't hear in any of the countless anti-Bush-regime docs of the last three years. The most salient point is this: Should this film incite similar action, we'll then have the Devil himself with whom to deal, and the three scariest words this year: President Dick Cheney.
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