Wednesday, 14 October 2009
The Kinesis Thesis- a review
With a lot of British rap acts having to go the Dubstep, Grime or Drum 'N' Bass route to survive, it comes as a breath of fresh air to discover K.I.N.E.T.I.K, a truly talented rapper, out of the hectic streets of Kensal Rise, North London, at the 'notorious' end of the Bakerloo Line.
Citing influences such as Wu-Tang-Clan and the Lost Boys, this 27-year-old has been on a mission to return hip-hop back to its purposeful roots and essence - namely, a great lyrical flow, a variety of meaningful subjects and some wicked production, featuring scratching to add flavour to two tracks.
Taking film director Alfred Hitchcock's adage about grabbing the audience's attention in the first few minutes, Kinetik jumps out of the box with 'Let's Go', a blistering, amped track where he just rhymes for his life, announcing his purpose and telling all competitors to 'fall back.' The production hits you rougher than an animal, with a cinematic punch to the face, complete with a apt scratched-in Big L sample: "You think you're nice as me? Ha ha!'
Things slow down a bit on the title track, 'The Kinesis Thesis', to take things a little more reflectively. Over a nice funky two-step drum-riff and a female vocal, Kinetik raps about his reasons for being a rapper and the struggle to achieve his goals.
Other tracks speak upon living in London - 'In the City' paints a vivid picture of the daily grind of avoiding drugs, guns and having to survive - the hip-hop business, ('Keep it Goin') and domestic violence ('Love Has Never Lived Here'.) The 1980s break of choice, Melvin Bliss' 'Synthetic Substitution', provides the foundation for 'An Intense Rush', a track that speaks of the thoughts and feelings of rhyming as an outlet for frustration and positivity. 'Don't Be Silly' has a lovely trumpet sample and some Roy Ayers- inspired xylophones lacing the subject of Kinetik's lack of commitment with the ladies.
Inspired possibly by Nas, we also have 'Memory Lane', which is no less vivid and heartfelt than Nas' version. Kinetik raps about his hip-hop influences ('B.I.G') and quotes some cartoons of old such as Ninja Turtles and Transformers.
Kinetik reminded me a lot of underrated rapper O.C, another rhymer with skill, high-quality production and a gift for painting gritty stories with his rhymes. Thankfully, whilst Kinetik talks about British lives and issues, it doesn't detract from how well-produced the album is, or how much care and thought has gone into his rhymes.
If you're bemoaning all the Yin of hip-hop being about partying, blunts and materialism, then balance your Yang and support this artist. No more moaning; it's time to put your money where your mouth is and enjoy the essence of rap once again.
The Human Condition...
So, I just finished watching the mamoth (9.5 hour) Japanese epic "The Human Condition", recently released on Region 1 dvd by Criterion, upgrading it from some horrible VHS versions and a jarzy triple dvd set that didn't do the film(s) justice.
As we humans seem to be the only ones that question why we are here, beyond the basic need to survive etc, it seems only fitting that a film try and tackle the questions of 'Why are we here?' in a tangible way. As I've always argued: "there's no real meaning to life, which is why we must bring meaning to it."
The film is adapted by director Maski Kobayashi from Jumpei Gomikawa's six-volume novel, and, in three parts, tells the story of Kaji (Tatsuya Nakadai), an idealistic technocrat and it's his story, his anguish that contrasts this sprawling epic, which encompasses so many vistas, so many changes of weather and scenery, that this is about as near as a movie gets to recreating the scope of a novel.
It's really about one man trying to change things in the face of so much oppression; a man trying to make things better despite the increasingly hostility and loneliness he suffers.
On one hand he could be seen as a stubborn, self-righteous prig, and, on the other, a true moralist, standing up for the rights of the individual, who usually had no say in how they find themselves, especially as this film is set around WWII, a time of termoil for most.
I enjoyed the film, even though it was the longest I've sat through in about a year. Much of what he goes through in the film resonated with me, in my own experiences. There's a lack of morality and decency in a lot of a humanity, or lack thereof. I bemoan comments like "Well, that's just the way it is." It isn't. It's a choice, and we must never forget that whilst most of us don't understand why we're on planet Earth, our dealings with each other could be a whole lot more productive and happier.
As we humans seem to be the only ones that question why we are here, beyond the basic need to survive etc, it seems only fitting that a film try and tackle the questions of 'Why are we here?' in a tangible way. As I've always argued: "there's no real meaning to life, which is why we must bring meaning to it."
The film is adapted by director Maski Kobayashi from Jumpei Gomikawa's six-volume novel, and, in three parts, tells the story of Kaji (Tatsuya Nakadai), an idealistic technocrat and it's his story, his anguish that contrasts this sprawling epic, which encompasses so many vistas, so many changes of weather and scenery, that this is about as near as a movie gets to recreating the scope of a novel.
It's really about one man trying to change things in the face of so much oppression; a man trying to make things better despite the increasingly hostility and loneliness he suffers.
On one hand he could be seen as a stubborn, self-righteous prig, and, on the other, a true moralist, standing up for the rights of the individual, who usually had no say in how they find themselves, especially as this film is set around WWII, a time of termoil for most.
I enjoyed the film, even though it was the longest I've sat through in about a year. Much of what he goes through in the film resonated with me, in my own experiences. There's a lack of morality and decency in a lot of a humanity, or lack thereof. I bemoan comments like "Well, that's just the way it is." It isn't. It's a choice, and we must never forget that whilst most of us don't understand why we're on planet Earth, our dealings with each other could be a whole lot more productive and happier.
Brother Ali- he ain't no terrorist.
Brother Ali, Barfly, Camden, London (15th Sep 2009)
After a schizophrenic summer in London, where the sun shone sporadically, this concert, featuring Minnesota based Brother Ali, was prefaced by an all-day downpour, which, thankfully, didn't dampen the spirit of the sold-out crowd at the intimate Barfly.
Sporting a green Adidas tracksuit with gold stripes, contrasting with his highly publicised, but never exploited Albino skin, Brother Ali cut a stocky, cuddly figure as he took to the stage. Having a self-effacing, good-natured vibe about him, he got the crowd on side with tracks from his new album 'US' (Rymesayers Entertainment) which deals with such diverse subjects as his family ('Preacher', featuring an infectious drum and trumpet pattern); positive thinking and self-belief ('Crown Jewels'); poverty ('House Keys'); and the immigration experience ('The Travelers').
Equally diverse is the production from Ant, from underground rap group Atmosphere. Using DATS featuring funky trumpets, guitars, drums and pianos, Brother Ali took his audience on a journey of reflective, almost bluesy tranquillity- as if rap had finally grown up from its angry roots and successfully channelled its frustrations.
To balance the seriousness of some of his themes and rhymes Brother Ali knew when the time was right to show his sense of humour. He goofed off with some witty anecdotes and let his DJ BK-One show off his talents with a Latin American inspired, electrically funky mix of carefully thought out production and turntable wizardry.
Brother Ali is fast becoming a stalwart of a rap industry that falls between two stools: the conscious grafters who stay below the radar and the 'stars' who get the fame and fortune, but don't move the art form forward. If anything, the Lil Wayne’s of the rap world bring it back to its more vapid, party-orientated days. Not that I'm hating on the latter, but Brother Ali's blend of bluesy and intelligent hip-hop is a rare breed, even rarer for it to be heard live.
Going on the evidence tonight, Hip-hop has lost a lot of its angry, unfocused energy and managed to make 'golden age' generational fans proud, whilst picking up new heads along the way. Words like ‘edutainment’ have been absent in rap circles ever since KRS-1 lost his relevance; but Brother Ali's picked up the mantel and ran with it.
Ali’s paid homage to rappers like Public Enemy and Ice Cube and moved things on a pace. It has nothing to do with colour; it has everything to do with attitude. He’s the keeping-it-real face of mature hip-hop for cats that like to think beyond the blunt and the cheap fumble. Masta Ace once said: 'Take a Look Around.' -you couldn't have a better guide that Brother Ali.
After a schizophrenic summer in London, where the sun shone sporadically, this concert, featuring Minnesota based Brother Ali, was prefaced by an all-day downpour, which, thankfully, didn't dampen the spirit of the sold-out crowd at the intimate Barfly.
Sporting a green Adidas tracksuit with gold stripes, contrasting with his highly publicised, but never exploited Albino skin, Brother Ali cut a stocky, cuddly figure as he took to the stage. Having a self-effacing, good-natured vibe about him, he got the crowd on side with tracks from his new album 'US' (Rymesayers Entertainment) which deals with such diverse subjects as his family ('Preacher', featuring an infectious drum and trumpet pattern); positive thinking and self-belief ('Crown Jewels'); poverty ('House Keys'); and the immigration experience ('The Travelers').
Equally diverse is the production from Ant, from underground rap group Atmosphere. Using DATS featuring funky trumpets, guitars, drums and pianos, Brother Ali took his audience on a journey of reflective, almost bluesy tranquillity- as if rap had finally grown up from its angry roots and successfully channelled its frustrations.
To balance the seriousness of some of his themes and rhymes Brother Ali knew when the time was right to show his sense of humour. He goofed off with some witty anecdotes and let his DJ BK-One show off his talents with a Latin American inspired, electrically funky mix of carefully thought out production and turntable wizardry.
Brother Ali is fast becoming a stalwart of a rap industry that falls between two stools: the conscious grafters who stay below the radar and the 'stars' who get the fame and fortune, but don't move the art form forward. If anything, the Lil Wayne’s of the rap world bring it back to its more vapid, party-orientated days. Not that I'm hating on the latter, but Brother Ali's blend of bluesy and intelligent hip-hop is a rare breed, even rarer for it to be heard live.
Going on the evidence tonight, Hip-hop has lost a lot of its angry, unfocused energy and managed to make 'golden age' generational fans proud, whilst picking up new heads along the way. Words like ‘edutainment’ have been absent in rap circles ever since KRS-1 lost his relevance; but Brother Ali's picked up the mantel and ran with it.
Ali’s paid homage to rappers like Public Enemy and Ice Cube and moved things on a pace. It has nothing to do with colour; it has everything to do with attitude. He’s the keeping-it-real face of mature hip-hop for cats that like to think beyond the blunt and the cheap fumble. Masta Ace once said: 'Take a Look Around.' -you couldn't have a better guide that Brother Ali.
Thursday, 9 July 2009
SUGAR BEAR- THE ONE SHOT WONDER FROM LONG ISLAND
Back in 1988 when I was sixteen years of age, submerged in the golden era of hip-hop, I constantly heard this one track which always started with the now immortal words: “I said it before, time after time, whoaaaaaa… don’t scandalize mine” before the track whip-cracked into the Talking Heads sample from “Once in a Lifetime”.
It took a while to find out who this rapper was and when I found out it was the self-confessed “Powerful Powerlord from Strong Island” known as Sugar Bear- who took his name from the advertising cartoon mascot of the 1950s American breakfast cereal Super Sugar Crisp- I was duly impressed. “Scandalize” played well with everything at the time, especially Doug Lazy’s epic hip-house track “Let it Roll”.
Sugar Bear, a.k.a Teddy Jackson was, at the time, the manager for Townhouse 3-who became Son of Bezerk-and wrote rhymes in his spare time, mainly as a hobby. Befriending Chuck D on his pioneering radio show Spectrum City (the original name for Public Enemy) at Adelphi University, Sugar Bear would showcase his rhymes along with his crew, the Players Club. Opening for such acts as The Fat Boys, Sugar Bear gained some valuable experience of the rap music industry, especially in how to rock a crowd.
Sugar Bear’s crowning glory came with the single “Don’t Scandalize Mine” b/w Ready to Penetrate”, the brainchild of Sugar Bear whilst testing out ideas with Paul Shabazz, friend and studio space sharer of Bomb Squad producer Hank Shocklee.
Producer GM Web D, nowadays a producer for MF Doom, laid down the track for “Scandalize”, which, originally, wasn’t the “Once in a Lifetime” sample, but a far slower incarnation. Once the Talking Head’s sample had been laced under Sugar Bear’s rhymes, he knew he had something.
But Long Island and the rest of North America wasn’t really feeling “Scandalize”. Save for a little radio play in New York, the single didn’t really bring the noise, despite being pressed up by little-known Coslit Records and then picked up by Next Plateau, also home to the Ultramagnetic Mc’s. Why the track may not have had the impact it should have could be linked to fellow New York rappers DJ Chuck Chillout and Cool Chip, who had already used the same sample on their seminal track “Rhythm is the Master”, with backing from big label Polygram.
Ironically, U.K hip-hop and club heads embraced the single with surprising results: it became an underground hit with crossover appeal. So much so that Sugar Bear got exposure and a lucrative tour in the U.K and Europe.
The U.K has always embraced the ‘real’ hip-hop coming out of New York, especially in the 1980s and “Don’t Scandalize Mine” (a metaphor for ‘mind your own business’) remains-along with Most Wanted’s “Calm Down”, Mantronix’s “King of the Beats” and Masta Ace’s’ “Letter to the Better”- a New York bastard child adopted by British surrogate parents.
Interestingly, the ‘B’ side of “Scandalize”, “Ready to Penetrate”, became reincarnated by Public Enemy four years later for “Tie Goes to The Runner”, off their otherwise poorly conceived “Greatest Misses” album.
Very little is known about Sugar Bear in the intervening years. It has been documented that he’s happily married with children and, I assume, has a normal life, away from the music industry.
His brush with fame, whilst all too brief, was, for a one-shot wonder, more interesting and longer-lasting than most. Perhaps if he had actually joined Public Enemy, he may have made it to the hall of fame, the pantheon of hip hop greatness. I suspect he’s happy he was just a part of it all in the first place.
It took a while to find out who this rapper was and when I found out it was the self-confessed “Powerful Powerlord from Strong Island” known as Sugar Bear- who took his name from the advertising cartoon mascot of the 1950s American breakfast cereal Super Sugar Crisp- I was duly impressed. “Scandalize” played well with everything at the time, especially Doug Lazy’s epic hip-house track “Let it Roll”.
Sugar Bear, a.k.a Teddy Jackson was, at the time, the manager for Townhouse 3-who became Son of Bezerk-and wrote rhymes in his spare time, mainly as a hobby. Befriending Chuck D on his pioneering radio show Spectrum City (the original name for Public Enemy) at Adelphi University, Sugar Bear would showcase his rhymes along with his crew, the Players Club. Opening for such acts as The Fat Boys, Sugar Bear gained some valuable experience of the rap music industry, especially in how to rock a crowd.
Sugar Bear’s crowning glory came with the single “Don’t Scandalize Mine” b/w Ready to Penetrate”, the brainchild of Sugar Bear whilst testing out ideas with Paul Shabazz, friend and studio space sharer of Bomb Squad producer Hank Shocklee.
Producer GM Web D, nowadays a producer for MF Doom, laid down the track for “Scandalize”, which, originally, wasn’t the “Once in a Lifetime” sample, but a far slower incarnation. Once the Talking Head’s sample had been laced under Sugar Bear’s rhymes, he knew he had something.
But Long Island and the rest of North America wasn’t really feeling “Scandalize”. Save for a little radio play in New York, the single didn’t really bring the noise, despite being pressed up by little-known Coslit Records and then picked up by Next Plateau, also home to the Ultramagnetic Mc’s. Why the track may not have had the impact it should have could be linked to fellow New York rappers DJ Chuck Chillout and Cool Chip, who had already used the same sample on their seminal track “Rhythm is the Master”, with backing from big label Polygram.
Ironically, U.K hip-hop and club heads embraced the single with surprising results: it became an underground hit with crossover appeal. So much so that Sugar Bear got exposure and a lucrative tour in the U.K and Europe.
The U.K has always embraced the ‘real’ hip-hop coming out of New York, especially in the 1980s and “Don’t Scandalize Mine” (a metaphor for ‘mind your own business’) remains-along with Most Wanted’s “Calm Down”, Mantronix’s “King of the Beats” and Masta Ace’s’ “Letter to the Better”- a New York bastard child adopted by British surrogate parents.
Interestingly, the ‘B’ side of “Scandalize”, “Ready to Penetrate”, became reincarnated by Public Enemy four years later for “Tie Goes to The Runner”, off their otherwise poorly conceived “Greatest Misses” album.
Very little is known about Sugar Bear in the intervening years. It has been documented that he’s happily married with children and, I assume, has a normal life, away from the music industry.
His brush with fame, whilst all too brief, was, for a one-shot wonder, more interesting and longer-lasting than most. Perhaps if he had actually joined Public Enemy, he may have made it to the hall of fame, the pantheon of hip hop greatness. I suspect he’s happy he was just a part of it all in the first place.
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Sunday, 28 June 2009
MICHAEL JACKSON: DID HE STOP WHEN HE HAD ENOUGH?
No matter what you might think of Michael Jackson in his later years- by later years, I mean post 1987, when he had his best years behind him after the album "Bad"- he was a genius of showbiz talent and pizazz. Along with his mentor and super-producer Quincy Jones, his albums "Off the Wall", "Thriller" and "Bad" changed the face of modern music. These were stone-cold classics of mainstream R n b and that crossed over into the pop market. I vow anyone not to dance if "Billie Jean" ever came on in a club or at a dance or wedding, even "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and "Rock With You" have their moments. The album, "Thriller", didn't become the biggest selling album of all-time for no reason. Thanks to Michael's talent and Quincy Jones' production, the album was 40 minutes of tightly arranged music and amazing songs, seven of which were released as singles and all of which went to No.1, in country after country, transcending race, gender, nationality and class.
Jackson, a product of an over-bearing and emotionally abusive father, never had a childhood, and was propelled into the limelight far too young. Obviously he had the talent and it needed to be nurtured, there was no point in pushing him out to work like some Motown chimney sweep at such a young age.
Not surprisingly, his later years were a delayed reaction to not having a proper childhood, having far too much money, too many hangers on and having an identity crisis which made him as troubled as he was. The skin condition, so severe that it changed his pigmentation, opened him to ridicule. His relationship with a monkey, made a monkey of his reputation. His possibly sexualised interest in young kids, overstepped the boundaries of fondness for children, making him somewhat of a pariah.
I remember the 15 minute video of "Thriller", a sort of riff on "American Werewolf in London", in which Michael becomes possessed, mainly because nothing like that had been seen before. As a mini-movie it blew people away, especially with the special effects and choreography. Michael's grace and dexterity in his dance moves, along with the synchronised zombies was fantastic, especially for 1984 and which has stood the test of time. The video didn't have all the flashy whip-panning or crane shots or sweeping movements, it just was able to capture the entire essence, letting Michael do his thing. In the U.K the video was so 'scary', they rated it "15", meaning you couldn't see it unless you were 15 or over. For some reason, we all watched it under-age in a chemistry lab, with the teachers blessing. I think they showed it on TV sometime after. But the video started the sell-through VHS craze and fans were only too happy to pay the £20 (a lot in 1984) asking price for a bit of thriller.
There was no way he was going to be able to do 50 shows at the O2 in London. Even if these shows were not 50 in a row, they still would have tested the endurance of any man or woman. Even Madonna, as fit as she is, would have struggled. It seems all the prescription drugs he was taking, the stress and pressure he put himself under, the enormous debts, the near-miss conviction for child molestation, all compounded his frail frame, until he couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't care for his later work, after 1987, and after Bad. By then he had go a bit potty and his aura became irritating and put me off. I liked "Remember the Time" as a song, but the rest left be cold. He had all the moves and sang all the right notes, but I think he just couldn't live a normal life, which is what he so badly craved. His death seemed to be symbolic of that famous white glove being held up as some sort of indication of surrender. Truly stopping when he had enough.
Sad that he's gone, but his music will live on and for Generation X, my generation, he'll be forever known as our Sinatra, our Elvis.
Jackson, a product of an over-bearing and emotionally abusive father, never had a childhood, and was propelled into the limelight far too young. Obviously he had the talent and it needed to be nurtured, there was no point in pushing him out to work like some Motown chimney sweep at such a young age.
Not surprisingly, his later years were a delayed reaction to not having a proper childhood, having far too much money, too many hangers on and having an identity crisis which made him as troubled as he was. The skin condition, so severe that it changed his pigmentation, opened him to ridicule. His relationship with a monkey, made a monkey of his reputation. His possibly sexualised interest in young kids, overstepped the boundaries of fondness for children, making him somewhat of a pariah.
I remember the 15 minute video of "Thriller", a sort of riff on "American Werewolf in London", in which Michael becomes possessed, mainly because nothing like that had been seen before. As a mini-movie it blew people away, especially with the special effects and choreography. Michael's grace and dexterity in his dance moves, along with the synchronised zombies was fantastic, especially for 1984 and which has stood the test of time. The video didn't have all the flashy whip-panning or crane shots or sweeping movements, it just was able to capture the entire essence, letting Michael do his thing. In the U.K the video was so 'scary', they rated it "15", meaning you couldn't see it unless you were 15 or over. For some reason, we all watched it under-age in a chemistry lab, with the teachers blessing. I think they showed it on TV sometime after. But the video started the sell-through VHS craze and fans were only too happy to pay the £20 (a lot in 1984) asking price for a bit of thriller.
There was no way he was going to be able to do 50 shows at the O2 in London. Even if these shows were not 50 in a row, they still would have tested the endurance of any man or woman. Even Madonna, as fit as she is, would have struggled. It seems all the prescription drugs he was taking, the stress and pressure he put himself under, the enormous debts, the near-miss conviction for child molestation, all compounded his frail frame, until he couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't care for his later work, after 1987, and after Bad. By then he had go a bit potty and his aura became irritating and put me off. I liked "Remember the Time" as a song, but the rest left be cold. He had all the moves and sang all the right notes, but I think he just couldn't live a normal life, which is what he so badly craved. His death seemed to be symbolic of that famous white glove being held up as some sort of indication of surrender. Truly stopping when he had enough.
Sad that he's gone, but his music will live on and for Generation X, my generation, he'll be forever known as our Sinatra, our Elvis.
Saturday, 20 June 2009
TRANSFORMERS 2: WHAT AN ORDEAL!
I saw "Transformers 2" yesterday. For some reason, it opened in London before most of the rest of the world. Wow, this was probably the dullest, most stupid and irritating film I've seen in a long time. Like watching paint dry, while being punched in the face at the same time. Transformers as characters are dull visually, so I'm not sure why they would have made a good movie in the first place. The plot ends up being some symbol-driven Indian Jones quest for something that makes no sense, as does most of the film, which means there's consistency, but not a fun film, at all.
There's the stock shouty sidekick character, a lot of boring explosions and endless minutes of over-sized robots knocking the crap out of each other, which, without any characterisation or plot development is just an exercise in sitting with very expensive computers and having a lot of money to make these things visually interesting, which given the results means that isolating yourself from the screenplay and the rest of the movie, gives the money a fractured feel- between the non-existent plot and the explosion pornography.
If any of it made sense, then the payoff would be somewhat compelling, but this film insults its audience. Nothing wrong with dumb Summer movie, but not so quite stupid and annoying and boring would have helped. Especially, as they added two Transformers that have obviously being hanging around gangs in the ghetto, because they speak so "street". Jar Jar Binks-all is forgiven.
The set pieces are boring too, especially as they're made in isolation to any hint of a plot that engages or makes sense. At 150 minutes, it's at least an hour overlong. People may say, "well, what did you expect?". True, I wasn't expecting great things, but, in contrast, I didn't expect something so stupidly dull. I'm sure it'll clear up at the box office, but I'll be looking for Michael Mann's new movie to re-engage my cinematic taste buds. I'm not a film snob, but "Transformers 2" upset my sensibilities and didn't entertain. I'm sure it'll make a bundle... which is a pretty sad state of affairs for movies for the future. And Foxy Megan Fox might look hotter than Palm Springs in August, but she'd give Jeppeto a run for his money in the wooden stakes.
There's the stock shouty sidekick character, a lot of boring explosions and endless minutes of over-sized robots knocking the crap out of each other, which, without any characterisation or plot development is just an exercise in sitting with very expensive computers and having a lot of money to make these things visually interesting, which given the results means that isolating yourself from the screenplay and the rest of the movie, gives the money a fractured feel- between the non-existent plot and the explosion pornography.
If any of it made sense, then the payoff would be somewhat compelling, but this film insults its audience. Nothing wrong with dumb Summer movie, but not so quite stupid and annoying and boring would have helped. Especially, as they added two Transformers that have obviously being hanging around gangs in the ghetto, because they speak so "street". Jar Jar Binks-all is forgiven.
The set pieces are boring too, especially as they're made in isolation to any hint of a plot that engages or makes sense. At 150 minutes, it's at least an hour overlong. People may say, "well, what did you expect?". True, I wasn't expecting great things, but, in contrast, I didn't expect something so stupidly dull. I'm sure it'll clear up at the box office, but I'll be looking for Michael Mann's new movie to re-engage my cinematic taste buds. I'm not a film snob, but "Transformers 2" upset my sensibilities and didn't entertain. I'm sure it'll make a bundle... which is a pretty sad state of affairs for movies for the future. And Foxy Megan Fox might look hotter than Palm Springs in August, but she'd give Jeppeto a run for his money in the wooden stakes.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
CALIFORNIA LOVE?
I've just come back from a trip to Los Angeles to see my dad, catch up with some old NYU friends and make some new ones. This must be the fifth time in the modern era (post 2006) since my dad emigrated there. Whilst the weather is lovely, sometimes barmy, sometimes a little too humid, and, even, sometimes a bit chilly, certain aspects of Californian life bug the hell out of me. Namely, that because Los Angeles is such as car-o-centric city, it treats pedestrians as a massive inconvenience. Every time I walked across a road, I'd have a bloody car snaking behind me, impatiently trying to turn left or right. They couldn't wait for me to cross completely, oh no, that would be too much to ask, even though they're supposed to yield to people crossing the road, and so many of them stick one or two fingers up to that process. I got so annoyed with it, that, at times, I gave an extended finger, a clear indication of how pissed off I was because people were so bloody impatient and rude, sitting in their air-conditioned cars. California, especially Pasadena, is not a fast, zippy state. Its palm trees and good weather and plastic blond Stepford Wives identikit washboard stomached females don't really inspire running around like a blue arsed fly. It's a bit like the bunny in the Cadbury's Caramel ad: 'take it nice and slow.. take it easy'. Anyway, apart from that-some incidents where no one understood my accent and experiences of really annoying vapidity, which certain Californians do so well, ignoring nuance, sarcasm and irony-things went quite well; it's hard not to have fun in Los Angeles, no matter what you're doing.
Watching a half-cleaned up print of John Ford's "Stagecoach" was one of the highlights. I say half-cleaned, because UCLA touted this film as 'really cleaned up'- it wasn't close. But, still, it was great to see it on the big screen after a long absence in the Academy's screening room in L.A, complete with Buck Rogers episodes and a Loony Toons cartoon. Thanks, dad, for buying the ticket. My only gripe is that they need to be more contemporary, just like the stuffy Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. More like the New Beverly, which doesn't have the 'agenda' the Egyptian clearly does. Cinema needs to be inclusive, not exclusive. I'm sure my dad would beg to differ, but I'm sticking to my guns. The Hal Ashby 'Harold and Maude' screening on the 25Th of June looks excellent, taking back everything I just said about the Academy not being contemporary. ' If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. There's a million ways to be', as Cat Stevens once wrote and that ditty is the signature toon of Hal Ashby's joyful, humanistic comedy masterpiece 'Harold and Maude'- one the greatest movies of all time, and especially of the 1970s.
A trip to Oakland via Burbank airport went well. I enjoyed the BART subway line in San Francisco and the dinner that evening in North Beach went well, with a wonderfully beautiful trip walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Fisherman's Wharf and the Castro district followed in the morning/afternoon, including some shopping for a G-Shock watch, Old Navy T-Shirts and the plane back in time for early evening. I missed having lunch at Crackerbarrel- very few exist on the West Coast, but I made up for it in a decent diner in the same area.
The two trips to Long Beach were great fun. Visiting Rosco's Chicken and Waffles is something to be done only once, given the huge slab of fried chicken and waffle you get given. Tasty as all hell, but heart attack city if you made that a staple of your diet, which many seem to, especially in the deep South, where there are variations on Rosco's. The surprise trip to San Diego was great, especially the hotel with the harbour view. Downtown was a little too crazy for my liking, but booze, cherry pie and good company made up for it. The trip to Tijuana was aborted at the border when we chickened out of going through to the Mexican side, mainly because everyone had told us how dangerous it was. Taking a straw poll of various people, they all said 'no', in no uncertain terms.
But Coronado was great, especially the hotel where they filmed "Some Like It Hot' and the beach attached to it. The food wasn't great, but the company, atmosphere and weather made it a lot more palatable.
So, another successful trip to the West Coast. Thanks to everyone who made it possible.
As a post script to the holiday, I thought the flights there and back on Virgin Atlantic sucked majorly. The flight out was long, cramped and for some reason the new planes on Virgin's fleet are smaller, meaning less slack at the back of the plane where you usually can rest up, stretch your legs, which has been replaced by a poky toilet and crew food preparation and rest area. It makes the room in the galley pretty small with people frustrated that they have to use the tiny amount of space they have wisely and in consideration of others- not always successfully, I may add.
The flight back was even worse: crap food, more indifferent service, the same poky toilet set up, which meant up to 80 people for one loo. I had some female member of cabin crew slam the door on me because she had been too stupid to lock it, thereby avoiding that kind of thing. Good to see they notice their own notices- not! Also, throughout the night flight, around 15 times we entered pockets of turbulence, with a captain obviously covering his arse but not using best judgement. This meant returning to seat, fastening the seat belt and then having a pissed-off cabin crew with a pen-light coming round to check you've fastened your belt. I wouldn't have minded, but I was trying to get the bleach out of my eyes and sleep on the 10Th time. After it went on and on, I ended up calling them Virgin Pedantic and vowing never to fly with them again, which I haven't vowed since my trip to New Orleans in 2005 with U.S Airways when I had to sit next to a very large man, sitting in the seat side-saddle with some very rude and stupid cabin staff on that journey too.
Anyway, all in all a good time was had by all. Roll on the next time, but with a different airline that doesn't cut space to the bone , forcing customers to have an endurance of a flight rather than an enjoyable one.
Watching a half-cleaned up print of John Ford's "Stagecoach" was one of the highlights. I say half-cleaned, because UCLA touted this film as 'really cleaned up'- it wasn't close. But, still, it was great to see it on the big screen after a long absence in the Academy's screening room in L.A, complete with Buck Rogers episodes and a Loony Toons cartoon. Thanks, dad, for buying the ticket. My only gripe is that they need to be more contemporary, just like the stuffy Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. More like the New Beverly, which doesn't have the 'agenda' the Egyptian clearly does. Cinema needs to be inclusive, not exclusive. I'm sure my dad would beg to differ, but I'm sticking to my guns. The Hal Ashby 'Harold and Maude' screening on the 25Th of June looks excellent, taking back everything I just said about the Academy not being contemporary. ' If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. There's a million ways to be', as Cat Stevens once wrote and that ditty is the signature toon of Hal Ashby's joyful, humanistic comedy masterpiece 'Harold and Maude'- one the greatest movies of all time, and especially of the 1970s.
A trip to Oakland via Burbank airport went well. I enjoyed the BART subway line in San Francisco and the dinner that evening in North Beach went well, with a wonderfully beautiful trip walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Fisherman's Wharf and the Castro district followed in the morning/afternoon, including some shopping for a G-Shock watch, Old Navy T-Shirts and the plane back in time for early evening. I missed having lunch at Crackerbarrel- very few exist on the West Coast, but I made up for it in a decent diner in the same area.
The two trips to Long Beach were great fun. Visiting Rosco's Chicken and Waffles is something to be done only once, given the huge slab of fried chicken and waffle you get given. Tasty as all hell, but heart attack city if you made that a staple of your diet, which many seem to, especially in the deep South, where there are variations on Rosco's. The surprise trip to San Diego was great, especially the hotel with the harbour view. Downtown was a little too crazy for my liking, but booze, cherry pie and good company made up for it. The trip to Tijuana was aborted at the border when we chickened out of going through to the Mexican side, mainly because everyone had told us how dangerous it was. Taking a straw poll of various people, they all said 'no', in no uncertain terms.
But Coronado was great, especially the hotel where they filmed "Some Like It Hot' and the beach attached to it. The food wasn't great, but the company, atmosphere and weather made it a lot more palatable.
So, another successful trip to the West Coast. Thanks to everyone who made it possible.
As a post script to the holiday, I thought the flights there and back on Virgin Atlantic sucked majorly. The flight out was long, cramped and for some reason the new planes on Virgin's fleet are smaller, meaning less slack at the back of the plane where you usually can rest up, stretch your legs, which has been replaced by a poky toilet and crew food preparation and rest area. It makes the room in the galley pretty small with people frustrated that they have to use the tiny amount of space they have wisely and in consideration of others- not always successfully, I may add.
The flight back was even worse: crap food, more indifferent service, the same poky toilet set up, which meant up to 80 people for one loo. I had some female member of cabin crew slam the door on me because she had been too stupid to lock it, thereby avoiding that kind of thing. Good to see they notice their own notices- not! Also, throughout the night flight, around 15 times we entered pockets of turbulence, with a captain obviously covering his arse but not using best judgement. This meant returning to seat, fastening the seat belt and then having a pissed-off cabin crew with a pen-light coming round to check you've fastened your belt. I wouldn't have minded, but I was trying to get the bleach out of my eyes and sleep on the 10Th time. After it went on and on, I ended up calling them Virgin Pedantic and vowing never to fly with them again, which I haven't vowed since my trip to New Orleans in 2005 with U.S Airways when I had to sit next to a very large man, sitting in the seat side-saddle with some very rude and stupid cabin staff on that journey too.
Anyway, all in all a good time was had by all. Roll on the next time, but with a different airline that doesn't cut space to the bone , forcing customers to have an endurance of a flight rather than an enjoyable one.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
RELAPSE-EMINEM'S NEW ALBUM
Another big album leaked to the internet via Rapidshare and the other share file servers, Eminem's Relapse isn't a great album lyrically, but production-wise, the greatest producer in music, Dr. Dre, has excelled himself.
Opening with "Dr. West", with Em in conversation with his doctor (he's obviously been having treatment for alcohol misuse) played by Dominic West (McNulty, from The Wire), with British accent, playing a laconic, devil-may-care doctor, who doesn't seem to care that Em is quite nervous about going back into society, hoping he doesn't go back to the demon drink. The end of the funny skit tells a different tale, sending the listener in 78 minutes of Eminem as he falls off the wagon.
We go through Eminem's insanity, issues with his mother, obsessions with celebrities (like Lindsey Lohan and Mariah Carey), references to felching (a pretty gross sexual act); it's all business as usual and, lyrically, it doesn't break new ground, even though it's quite witty in places. The trademark flow is evident throughout and the wordplay is inventive, if a little lazy and obvious.
What sets this apart from the usual hip-hop albums is Dr. Dre's production. His trademark synths and drum patterns, including some wonderful samples of sitars all make for a head-nodding, funky, cinematically kaleidoscopic landscape.
The unofficial sequel to the introspective "Stan", "Beautiful" is about the only time Em shows he can make a track with that seems troubling and heartfelt. The production, by Dr.Dre has a touch of the Aerosmith's about it, especially with guitar and sad refrain.
The carnivalesque "We Made You" is obviously a commercial sop for the album to get more exposure and more sales. Musically, it could have been a track made for Britney or Christina, even they're the targets, more or less, for Em's rant on this track.
The French singer Mike Brant's Mais Dans La Lumiere track gets the sample treatment in the excellent "Crack a Bottle". That is, until 50 Cent chips in with the most lackluster rhymes he's ever bother to record. At least Dre's credible performance (and elsewhere, vocally, on the album) elevates the album a bit more that it probably deserves. Even though it's probably a sure bet that Dre's rhymes were ghostwritten, as they have been in the past by Jay Z and MF Doom.
Overall, Relapse is solid, but more so for the production, which is always consistent and worth listening too. Perhaps they'll release an instrumental album. Relapse 2 is due out at Christmas. I suppose, for Em's fans, this makes up for his 5 year absence.
THE WIRE-BEST SHOW EVER MADE ON TELLY
Since I fell Ill recently with some bug or whatever, it has been miserable and boring trying to get through the illness without going stir crazy with cabin fever.
Recently I picked up from Ebay the entire 24 discs of critically-acclaimed U.S TV series The Wire. To be fair, I've known about it for a long time. My mum, brother and some friends have always mentioned it. I suppose I've dismissed it up until now because of my love for films and thinking, rightly, in a lot of cases, that TV is/was the poor cousin of cinema.
Well, The Wire has proved to be the exception. This multi-layered, multi-stranded epic 60 episode, 61 hour series had me hooked from the first episode. Each season concentrates on a different aspect of life in Baltimore, Maryland, including: the drug trade, the ports, local and state government, the school system and the newspaper industry, specifically the Baltimore Sun. But these aspects overlap, and the series' try to show you the six degrees of separation between, for instance, between the drug dealer on the 'corner', and the police chief, his subordinates and the politicians that need the dealers off the streets as they're linked to a series of brutal, drug-related murders.
But this only scratches the surface. Both the police and the drug dealers have their own hierarchy, but its expressed in different ways, with different sanctions for those that step out of line. Depending on your point of view, you decide on who has the more legitimate coda. Although, it's fair to say that stepping beyond your boundaries in the drug world is usually a lot more bloody and fatal than upsetting your boss in the police force.
To complicate matters, brilliantly, the characterisations of each character are shaded and multi-dimensional, so that there is no black and white easy way of defining anyone. Main characters include McNulty (Dominic West), a maverick cop with a rebellious streak, who hates authority, drinks heavily and can't commit to a relationship; Omar, (Michael K. Williams) a gay drug dealer with a contradictory nature: He's not materialistic and sticks to his own strict code, but has a fondness for extreme violence, usually with a shotgun; Stringer Bell (Idris Elba), a drug Kingpin, who is far more intelligent and cunning than anyone might give him credit for, he's the main henchman of drug lord Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris), both of whom run the drug game on Baltimore's West Side. This is only the tip of the iceberg as far as characters go. There are many more, overlapping, contradicting and similar traits in many of the series' many players.
Also, for a TV series this goes in-depth in sociopolitical issues, so that the viewer understands that the drug dealer on the corner isn't always there by choice, but by circumstance. The police have their own agenda, which doesn't always mean that they get the results they need; they're subject to the same problems as all human beings: namely maintaining a sense of self in a senseless world.
The Wire goes in depth into every facet of Baltimore life, not always with the most interesting results, but, in the main, the program is compelling viewing and even with the lulls, there's plenty to enjoy and to learn from.
The music, apart from the title sequence, is usually urban hip-hop, much of it the soundtrack surrounding the urban blight and crime of west Baltimore, a part of any city in the U.S, but which has its own feel. Baltimore hasn't been seen much on TV or in the cinema (save for John Waters, a native of Baltimore) and with the distinct housing architecture, it seemed it was only time before someone would exploit this untapped city, nestling as it does between Washington D.C and Delaware.
The language of those in the drug neighbourhoods seems authentic and the slang tells its own story- it's good to see that the makers didn't feel they had to dilute the expression and language to make it more palatable for consumption. Incidentally, the brilliance of The Wire is how things overlap, so the kids in the school, blighted by a poor education system, slang their way through school, acting up to a self-fulfilling prophecy, so that the teachers (including one disgraced police officer) find it difficult to get them to integrate back into "normal" society.
The grasping, ambitious politicians pull rank at every turn, but even they are "schooled" into the machinations of government, making sure they don't get their own way all the time. The dockers union come into criticism, as its elected leader finds himself in temptations way with a nephew and son who seem too easily embroiled into the world of drugs and smuggling prostitutes.
Anyway, The Wire can't really be written about successfully. You just have to drop a fair bit of cash, take the weekend off and enjoy a wonderful, fascinating, brilliantly written and acted epic slice of crime drama in the city of Baltimore-a city rarely ever seen on the screen.
STAR TREK-BOLDLY GOING AT LAST-HOLLYWOOD MAKES GOOD FILM SHOCKER
After a bout of gastric flu, food poisoning and all kinds of intestinal comings and goings, I was well enough, and looking forward to, Star Trek- the re-imagining, or whatever its purpose was. I remember seeing the first ever Star Trek movie back in 1979 with my dad at the Golders Green ABC (now demolished)- we walked out after half an hour; God, it was boring, but then I was only 7 at the time.
Still, I wasn't really interested in going to see the sequels that came out in the 80s. Wrath of Khan was good and so was the Search for Spock, mainly because they had more action, or in "Search's" case, it had a lot more humour, and didn't take themselves oh so seriously as they had in the past. I did like the TV series, but never took it seriously, never rushing home for the exploits of Shatner and Nimoy (I always thought T. J Hooker was more enjoyable, even if Shatner wasn't in shape enough to chase criminals or jump over the bonnet of criminals' cars).
Anyway, back to "Star Trek". Creator of "Lost" and a host of other things, J.J Abrams has updated the saga by injecting youthful energy into every scene. This is a prequel of the "Star Trek" saga that has gone before it. So, we're treated to the interesting idea of showing the crew of the USS Enterprise as space cadets, who, as the film unfolds, have their own set of problems, and don't seem, on first glance, able to take on the rigors of manning a space ship.
James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) is a reckless risk-taker, stealing cars, drinking heavily and overly confident (if not very successful) womanizer. Spock (Zachary Quinto) is as logical as ever, even if he's not allowed to be emotional, despite having the conflicting characteristics of being both Vulcan and Human, as such, he's tormented by these two worlds, feeling left out of both. It isn't spoiling too much to tell you that Kirk and Spock- respected colleagues and friends in the original series-are at each other's throats in this new version, giving the film a lot of its energy and spark.
Whilst a prequel could have been boringly predictable, this "Star Trek" takes you in unexpected ways, with action sequences and a plot that shoots along with a cracking pace. If the battle with Romulan Nero (Eric Bana) is a bit old hat and one-dimensional, the screenwriters pepper the film with observations and a sub-plot-slightly complicated- regarding time travel, which includes a cameo from Leonard Nimoy. I won't spoil it, but it's an interesting conceit.
The look of "Star Trek" is bold and futuristic without being obvious. Anticipating the future, when much of the 1960s original series looks very dated and updating it for a very cynical, ungrateful age wasn't an easy ask, but the filmmakers have equipped themselves wonderfully. Not sure about the cameo from Simon Pegg as Scotty, the engineer. His 15 minutes of fame should have been up when "Hot Fuzz" opened; half an hour too long and just not very funny. Pegg's been trading off of "Shaun of the Dead" for far too long. At least he keeps his mugging to camera to a bearable minimum.
Overall, the film works. Finally Hollywood has made an intelligent, witty and engaging piece of cinema. Whilst it's easy to be cynical and point out that Hollywood has run out of original ideas, so has to rely on TV series, old films, etc, but this is actually worth the effort, able to stand alone in the vortex of space, boldly going, inevitably, to the sequel, star date... probably Summer 2010.
Friday, 1 May 2009
X-MEN: WOLVERINE (THE CINEMA VERSION).
Not much difference between the two versions. As I suspected, louder and a little more obnoxious. A lot more clarity on sequences filmed in darkness. Otherwise, popocorn fodder- digestible, but hardly memorable.
X-MEN: WOLVERINE (THE SNIDE EDITION)
So, from my contact in the 'underworld', I snagged and bagged a snide, bootleg copy of the latest "X-Men" movie. The quality was quite good, just a little under the type of clarity I'm used to when watching most bought dvds.
Anyway, the movie, for me, was a fair old dud. This version had a few special effects missing-these were strangely rendered by grey, matted animation, which obviously needed shading and editing. It didn't detract, much, from my overall feeling that this was lazy stuff- produced, edited and directed by committee, to satisfy the short attention span of the all-important 18-25 demographic.
Hugh Jackman oozes charisma throughout, but it's a bit unfair for the filmmakers to expect it all to fall on his shoulders, especially as the writing, at times, is pretty bloody weak. The opening sequence had a certain flair about it- but following the rule of keeping an audience glued by what you show them in the first few minutes-this quickly descends into trite territory, with lots of swirling camera angles, pre-censored, teen-friendly swordplay and knockabout violence. The tacted-on plot devices of sibling rivalry and corrupt government officals are just too hackneyed to be bearable.
The trailer gave away all the best bits, including the cheesy one-liners. But even the action is lazy: if there's no plot device or well-written verbal joust, just blow things up, which this film does- over and over again. I suppose as this the start of the Summer blockbuster season, you can't expect much more than popcorn fodder, but the best movies, be it Summer, Winter, rain or shine, give you something to think about as they blow everything to kingdom come.
We used to have comic book heroes in movies- John Matrix in "Commando", for instance. But now, because Hollywood, having had a dearth of original ideas for far too long, has had to take everything so literally, and plunder the actual comic book heroes of the actual comic books.
I wonder how many scripts with originality are being thrown to the wayside because, on the surface, they're just not marketable.
Hollywood- you need to think a bit harder, and, have more security on your product, so top-quality leaks of your new movies don't get into the hands of people who won't be encouraged to watch films in the cinema or rent them on dvd. Before anyone says anything, I will probably see "X-Men: Wolverine" in the cinema, but not until the crowds die down. Although I still don't hold out much hope that the reasons I didn't like it will improve on a big screen.
I noticed that lots of extras in the film get to flay their arms wildly and look earnest and exciting at the same time, even though most would probably be thinking: "how dumb I look trying to look cool"... and failing miserably. The uber-smug and piddingly talented Ryan Reynolds gets little screen time- thankfully so.
When all is said and done, it's an hour and a half of entertaining mayhem, but it could have been so much more. I'm sure it'll make 20th Century Fox a bundle of money, and that's the bottom-line. You might think that if this is all Gavin Hood and the gang have to offer, are they just toying with us? Is there a better film in the pipeline to be released in a parallel universe?
Let's hope the re-imagined "Star Trek" lives up to the hype, otherwise I'll boldly go back to watching classic foreign films.
Anyway, the movie, for me, was a fair old dud. This version had a few special effects missing-these were strangely rendered by grey, matted animation, which obviously needed shading and editing. It didn't detract, much, from my overall feeling that this was lazy stuff- produced, edited and directed by committee, to satisfy the short attention span of the all-important 18-25 demographic.
Hugh Jackman oozes charisma throughout, but it's a bit unfair for the filmmakers to expect it all to fall on his shoulders, especially as the writing, at times, is pretty bloody weak. The opening sequence had a certain flair about it- but following the rule of keeping an audience glued by what you show them in the first few minutes-this quickly descends into trite territory, with lots of swirling camera angles, pre-censored, teen-friendly swordplay and knockabout violence. The tacted-on plot devices of sibling rivalry and corrupt government officals are just too hackneyed to be bearable.
The trailer gave away all the best bits, including the cheesy one-liners. But even the action is lazy: if there's no plot device or well-written verbal joust, just blow things up, which this film does- over and over again. I suppose as this the start of the Summer blockbuster season, you can't expect much more than popcorn fodder, but the best movies, be it Summer, Winter, rain or shine, give you something to think about as they blow everything to kingdom come.
We used to have comic book heroes in movies- John Matrix in "Commando", for instance. But now, because Hollywood, having had a dearth of original ideas for far too long, has had to take everything so literally, and plunder the actual comic book heroes of the actual comic books.
I wonder how many scripts with originality are being thrown to the wayside because, on the surface, they're just not marketable.
Hollywood- you need to think a bit harder, and, have more security on your product, so top-quality leaks of your new movies don't get into the hands of people who won't be encouraged to watch films in the cinema or rent them on dvd. Before anyone says anything, I will probably see "X-Men: Wolverine" in the cinema, but not until the crowds die down. Although I still don't hold out much hope that the reasons I didn't like it will improve on a big screen.
I noticed that lots of extras in the film get to flay their arms wildly and look earnest and exciting at the same time, even though most would probably be thinking: "how dumb I look trying to look cool"... and failing miserably. The uber-smug and piddingly talented Ryan Reynolds gets little screen time- thankfully so.
When all is said and done, it's an hour and a half of entertaining mayhem, but it could have been so much more. I'm sure it'll make 20th Century Fox a bundle of money, and that's the bottom-line. You might think that if this is all Gavin Hood and the gang have to offer, are they just toying with us? Is there a better film in the pipeline to be released in a parallel universe?
Let's hope the re-imagined "Star Trek" lives up to the hype, otherwise I'll boldly go back to watching classic foreign films.
Monday, 20 April 2009
MONSTER (2004)
Rightly deserving of this year's Best Actress Oscar, Charlize Theron gives a magnificent performance as the infamous serial killer Aileen Wuornos, who was executed in 2002 by the State of Florida.
Theron, an ex-model and star of many a two-a-penny Hollywood dross action or comedy movie, finally sheds her vanity and sex symbol image for something far more substantial and far more defining.
She immerses herself into the role so completely that she's virtually unrecognisable, caked in hideous make-up and wearing ragged clothing.
But her performance redeems a movie that feels clumsy in terms of story-telling skills and very heavy-handed in trying to get across its lurid subject matter.
Two accomplished documentaries from British filmmaker Nick Broomfield have tried to explain Wuornous's place in the pantheon of heinous criminals, but her seven-time killing spree wasn't as clear-cut and evil as criminologists and the media would have you believe.
Wuornous was a notorious Florida prostitute turned serial killer- the first female serial killer in history. She was executed for killing seven men with a hand gun, including some local dignitaries and businessmen with high standing in the community.
The film sets about explaining, rather than condoning, her reasons for why she killed so many. She had a hatred of men brought about by countless years of sexual and physical abuse, and, touchingly, she wanted to protect her lover Selby Wall (Christina Ricci).
Although it's hard to see the connection between her hatred of men and wanting to protect her lover, there was no way she would be able to sustain the situation. Wuornos was not a master criminal and she rarely hid her tracks well, so capturing and convicting her for these crimes was only a matter of time.
As well as exploring the sociological and personal reasons for her homicidal tendencies, the film, in linear fashion, shows us how Aileen and Selby meet.
It shows, too, that Aileen was capable of loving someone, despite her tragic, mistrusting past.
Theron's ugly dental work and studied tics and mannerisms of Wuornos are spot-on, so much so that it's difficult to tell the real person from the actor playing her. And her performance is by no means a fluke of mimicry. She embodies her character in the same way as method actors have done in the past, with the sort of intensity that makes every moment of her screen presence spellbinding.
However, from another perspective, she looks like Michael Keaton's 1988 character creation Beetlejuice, especially in the way that she fiddles with her hair, chews on her gums and cranks her neck and vertebrae with a flexible finesse.
But this is a small, slightly uncharitable observation because Theron transcends the ambiguity of her character, making you sympathetic towards her, even though you know that she's guilty of the most serious crimes.
Ricci is also good, travelling the path from naivety to finally facing the gravity of her lover's crimes. Her androgyny, through the short hair and bleached milkiness of her make-up, provides some strikingly believable moments.
Monster is a ironic title, used to reflect on the contradictions within Aileen Wuornos. She was part devil and partly a victim of circumstance.
As the film shows , despite her tendency to kill at will, she showed a maternal instinct towards her young lover which proved that all she needed was a chance of redemption. But, by then, it was too late and politics, notoriety and a needle expunged any possibility of her being saved.
Wuornos is more than a footnote in history, but, sadly, for all the wrong reasons.
Theron, an ex-model and star of many a two-a-penny Hollywood dross action or comedy movie, finally sheds her vanity and sex symbol image for something far more substantial and far more defining.
She immerses herself into the role so completely that she's virtually unrecognisable, caked in hideous make-up and wearing ragged clothing.
But her performance redeems a movie that feels clumsy in terms of story-telling skills and very heavy-handed in trying to get across its lurid subject matter.
Two accomplished documentaries from British filmmaker Nick Broomfield have tried to explain Wuornous's place in the pantheon of heinous criminals, but her seven-time killing spree wasn't as clear-cut and evil as criminologists and the media would have you believe.
Wuornous was a notorious Florida prostitute turned serial killer- the first female serial killer in history. She was executed for killing seven men with a hand gun, including some local dignitaries and businessmen with high standing in the community.
The film sets about explaining, rather than condoning, her reasons for why she killed so many. She had a hatred of men brought about by countless years of sexual and physical abuse, and, touchingly, she wanted to protect her lover Selby Wall (Christina Ricci).
Although it's hard to see the connection between her hatred of men and wanting to protect her lover, there was no way she would be able to sustain the situation. Wuornos was not a master criminal and she rarely hid her tracks well, so capturing and convicting her for these crimes was only a matter of time.
As well as exploring the sociological and personal reasons for her homicidal tendencies, the film, in linear fashion, shows us how Aileen and Selby meet.
It shows, too, that Aileen was capable of loving someone, despite her tragic, mistrusting past.
Theron's ugly dental work and studied tics and mannerisms of Wuornos are spot-on, so much so that it's difficult to tell the real person from the actor playing her. And her performance is by no means a fluke of mimicry. She embodies her character in the same way as method actors have done in the past, with the sort of intensity that makes every moment of her screen presence spellbinding.
However, from another perspective, she looks like Michael Keaton's 1988 character creation Beetlejuice, especially in the way that she fiddles with her hair, chews on her gums and cranks her neck and vertebrae with a flexible finesse.
But this is a small, slightly uncharitable observation because Theron transcends the ambiguity of her character, making you sympathetic towards her, even though you know that she's guilty of the most serious crimes.
Ricci is also good, travelling the path from naivety to finally facing the gravity of her lover's crimes. Her androgyny, through the short hair and bleached milkiness of her make-up, provides some strikingly believable moments.
Monster is a ironic title, used to reflect on the contradictions within Aileen Wuornos. She was part devil and partly a victim of circumstance.
As the film shows , despite her tendency to kill at will, she showed a maternal instinct towards her young lover which proved that all she needed was a chance of redemption. But, by then, it was too late and politics, notoriety and a needle expunged any possibility of her being saved.
Wuornos is more than a footnote in history, but, sadly, for all the wrong reasons.
Sunday, 19 April 2009
LARA CROFT TOMB RAIDER: THE CRADLE OF LIFE (2002)
To be fair, this sequel to the unfathomably popular original Tomb Raider is actually better than the first, but it still lacks the real essence of what a blockbuster movie should be about-humour, lots of action and a sense of fun. This film suffers from a severe lack of character development or a coherent plot.
Here, what translates to the screen is little more than the sense of watching the computer game, but being unable to interact with it.
However, it does have a few things that at least make it somewhat bearable. Not the least of which is star Angelina Jolie, who reprises her role as the fearless adventurer and archaeologist Lara Croft.
In this adventure she's trying to prevent the wrong people from getting their hands on Pandora's Box, which, it turns out, is not merely a legend but an actual artifact. In fact, it contains a plague that could mean the end of life on earth.
However, if she's going to locate that long lost treasure, Lara's going to need some help. So she enlists imprisoned mercenary Terry Sheridan (Gerard Butler) who happens to be her former lover. Having betrayed the British government on a previous mission, he doesn't seem to have the character or the loyalty to carry out such a daring plan.
Even with the added dimension of a steamy, stormy romance between the two adventurers, the film makes little headway in portraying the couple as romantically credible.
Usually, their conflict, be it romantic or mission-based, is little more than repetitive argy-bargy that soon becomes wearisome.
As dialogue-heavy as the film is, it should have been trimmed down because most of the characters speak so lifelessly that it would have been better just to concentrate on making the action sequences more exciting and the overall plot more lively and interesting.
Jolie's accent is still wobbly, veering from posh lady of the manor to mid-Atlantic drawl, but she's feisty enough to be watchable, even if the tight swimsuits that she has to wear appeal only to the underdeveloped prurience of adolescent boys.
Still lacking a killer script and some decent adventures, Tomb Raider 2 is unmoving, uneventful and unexciting.
Here, what translates to the screen is little more than the sense of watching the computer game, but being unable to interact with it.
However, it does have a few things that at least make it somewhat bearable. Not the least of which is star Angelina Jolie, who reprises her role as the fearless adventurer and archaeologist Lara Croft.
In this adventure she's trying to prevent the wrong people from getting their hands on Pandora's Box, which, it turns out, is not merely a legend but an actual artifact. In fact, it contains a plague that could mean the end of life on earth.
However, if she's going to locate that long lost treasure, Lara's going to need some help. So she enlists imprisoned mercenary Terry Sheridan (Gerard Butler) who happens to be her former lover. Having betrayed the British government on a previous mission, he doesn't seem to have the character or the loyalty to carry out such a daring plan.
Even with the added dimension of a steamy, stormy romance between the two adventurers, the film makes little headway in portraying the couple as romantically credible.
Usually, their conflict, be it romantic or mission-based, is little more than repetitive argy-bargy that soon becomes wearisome.
As dialogue-heavy as the film is, it should have been trimmed down because most of the characters speak so lifelessly that it would have been better just to concentrate on making the action sequences more exciting and the overall plot more lively and interesting.
Jolie's accent is still wobbly, veering from posh lady of the manor to mid-Atlantic drawl, but she's feisty enough to be watchable, even if the tight swimsuits that she has to wear appeal only to the underdeveloped prurience of adolescent boys.
Still lacking a killer script and some decent adventures, Tomb Raider 2 is unmoving, uneventful and unexciting.
GERRY (2002)
Gerry gets my vote for worst film of the year. This utterly pretentious, silly, self-indulgent and turgid film gave me the urge to walk out very early on.
This film is exactly the reason people don't go or want to go back to the cinema.
Some improvised films bring a natural organic feeling to proceedings and the audience can fed off the realism and energy by a film produced, essentially, on the hoof.
In Gerry's case, this means an entire film of two college-aged men wandering around in the desert talking the most inane babble; it's enough to drive any sane person to seek help.
It does have one plus point. It is a very good looking film- it focuses more on the never-ending vistas of deserts, mountains, rocks, crevices and cacti than on actual plot.
We're not given the names of the characters and the name Gerry is the only reference point that we have, so the characters are, to all intents and purposes, Gerry one (Matt Damon) and Gerry two (Casey Affleck).
These two young men are on a hiking trip in the desert, when Gerry one becomes annoyed at the number of other, less serious hikers around them, even though they themselves don't look anything like serious hikers. So he suggests that they stray off the main path a little.
Within minutes, the two men find themselves in a vast desert. Once there, they're too far gone to make their way back to their car.
These two imbeciles are on the ramblers' equivalent of kamikaze. What happened to using the sun as a guide to direction?
What happens by the end is tragic, but you'll be hard-pressed to feel an ounce of sympathy. Especially when you step back, explore the logic and realise that none of this makes sense.
It's an unedifying ego trip for a couple of actors with the arrogant assumption that because they're Hollywood players, we should have to pay to watch them act out this drivel.
Life is way too short to sit through rubbish like this.
This film is exactly the reason people don't go or want to go back to the cinema.
Some improvised films bring a natural organic feeling to proceedings and the audience can fed off the realism and energy by a film produced, essentially, on the hoof.
In Gerry's case, this means an entire film of two college-aged men wandering around in the desert talking the most inane babble; it's enough to drive any sane person to seek help.
It does have one plus point. It is a very good looking film- it focuses more on the never-ending vistas of deserts, mountains, rocks, crevices and cacti than on actual plot.
We're not given the names of the characters and the name Gerry is the only reference point that we have, so the characters are, to all intents and purposes, Gerry one (Matt Damon) and Gerry two (Casey Affleck).
These two young men are on a hiking trip in the desert, when Gerry one becomes annoyed at the number of other, less serious hikers around them, even though they themselves don't look anything like serious hikers. So he suggests that they stray off the main path a little.
Within minutes, the two men find themselves in a vast desert. Once there, they're too far gone to make their way back to their car.
These two imbeciles are on the ramblers' equivalent of kamikaze. What happened to using the sun as a guide to direction?
What happens by the end is tragic, but you'll be hard-pressed to feel an ounce of sympathy. Especially when you step back, explore the logic and realise that none of this makes sense.
It's an unedifying ego trip for a couple of actors with the arrogant assumption that because they're Hollywood players, we should have to pay to watch them act out this drivel.
Life is way too short to sit through rubbish like this.
SWIMMING POOL (2003)
Here is a very clever, very sexy French thriller which playfully confounds expectations and is wonderfully acted and directed.
Swimming Pool has the elegance of a well-written detective novel, complemented by the nuanced acting of a great actress and the talents of a fledgling star of French cinema.
It's a mood piece, a film to confound your senses, and it has a killer ending.
Charlotte Rampling stars as Sarah Morton, a British crime-fiction author who's having a hard time coming up with ideas for the umpteenth sequel for her detective character Inspector Dovell.
So, her publisher and sometime lover John Bosload (Charles Dance) sends her to France to spend some time at his family home.
At first, while Sarah finds the sunny French countryside to her liking, especially compared to dreary, crowded London, she also gets an unexpected visitor- Bosload's nymphette daughter Julie (Ludivine Sagnier).
The two women get on like chalk and cheese . While Sarah seeks peace and quiet, Julie seeks cheap thrills. She brings strange men back to the house almost every night for sex, drugs and dance music, not to mention a midnight dip in the house's large swimming pool.
As Sarah finds Julie's actions both repelling and strangely alluring , she finds that the unwitting inspiration for her latest work comes directly from Julie, her newly fashioned muse.
As I mentioned, this film takes you to such wonderful, unexpected places that it's a joy to watch it unfold.
The creative process of writing is given a sensitive but playful analysis here, as we get into Sarah's head and find all manner of devilish ideals floating around inside.
The film has the feel of a well-polished and sharply written stage play but isn't falsely theatrical in the slightest.
Director and writer Francois Ozon tries to twist the tale one too many times, but it's forgivable, simply because of the way in which the material is handled and how subtly the ending works.
Rampling, is, as always, mysterious, repressed, but at times erotic, troubled and seductive.
Her younger co-star, who could have passed for Rampling in roles which she played 30 years ago, matches her for allure and presence.
At times, the fact that the lead actresses, especially Sagnier, are nude for much of the time leaves Swimming Pool open to accusations of exploitation- often because it's fairly gratuitous.
But it also adds to the atmosphere, reflected in the sunny rays of the French villa and adjacent village.
It has to be seen to be believed-only then will the magic work its power.
Swimming Pool has the elegance of a well-written detective novel, complemented by the nuanced acting of a great actress and the talents of a fledgling star of French cinema.
It's a mood piece, a film to confound your senses, and it has a killer ending.
Charlotte Rampling stars as Sarah Morton, a British crime-fiction author who's having a hard time coming up with ideas for the umpteenth sequel for her detective character Inspector Dovell.
So, her publisher and sometime lover John Bosload (Charles Dance) sends her to France to spend some time at his family home.
At first, while Sarah finds the sunny French countryside to her liking, especially compared to dreary, crowded London, she also gets an unexpected visitor- Bosload's nymphette daughter Julie (Ludivine Sagnier).
The two women get on like chalk and cheese . While Sarah seeks peace and quiet, Julie seeks cheap thrills. She brings strange men back to the house almost every night for sex, drugs and dance music, not to mention a midnight dip in the house's large swimming pool.
As Sarah finds Julie's actions both repelling and strangely alluring , she finds that the unwitting inspiration for her latest work comes directly from Julie, her newly fashioned muse.
As I mentioned, this film takes you to such wonderful, unexpected places that it's a joy to watch it unfold.
The creative process of writing is given a sensitive but playful analysis here, as we get into Sarah's head and find all manner of devilish ideals floating around inside.
The film has the feel of a well-polished and sharply written stage play but isn't falsely theatrical in the slightest.
Director and writer Francois Ozon tries to twist the tale one too many times, but it's forgivable, simply because of the way in which the material is handled and how subtly the ending works.
Rampling, is, as always, mysterious, repressed, but at times erotic, troubled and seductive.
Her younger co-star, who could have passed for Rampling in roles which she played 30 years ago, matches her for allure and presence.
At times, the fact that the lead actresses, especially Sagnier, are nude for much of the time leaves Swimming Pool open to accusations of exploitation- often because it's fairly gratuitous.
But it also adds to the atmosphere, reflected in the sunny rays of the French villa and adjacent village.
It has to be seen to be believed-only then will the magic work its power.
Saturday, 18 April 2009
25TH HOUR, (2003)
Film director Spike Lee has always made changeling, interesting, if, in some cases, very flawed films, and 25th Hour is no exception.
But, as a director- and ambitious as he is- even Spike Lee's worst films are better than a lot of other directors who have little to say for themselves.
25th Hour is another of Lee's stories about New York, the place he loves and hates.
Summer of Sam explored New York trying to avoid a serial killer. Do The Right Thing-his greatest achievement- explored racism in one long, heated 24-hour period.
25th Hour takes a similar approach, in that it explores the moral choices of a group of friends over 24 hours.
The title refers to the fact that Monty Brogan (Edward Norton), a New York City drug dealer is about to be sent up the river for seven years, after being convicted of possessing and selling cocaine.
He's determined to spend his final day of freedom with loved ones, including his girlfriend Naturelle (Rosario Dawson).
As he starts on his reflective, redemptive quest for answers, Brogan tries to find out who told the police about his possessing large amounts of drugs and counterfeit money.
He suspects his girlfriend, but his father (Brian Cox) seems to trust Naturelle and thinks she wouldn't want to see her boyfriend behind bars under any circumstances.
Monty also cherishes his best friends- neurotic, socially awkward private school teacher Jacob (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and arrogant, brash, but emotionally hollow Wall Street broker Francis (Barry Pepper).
They provide the balance between Brogan's dishonest lifestyle and his need to reconcile with his conscience and prepare for prison.
But his friends have their own problems. Jacob fancies a 17-year-old student (Anna Paquin) and has to wrestle with the moral choices of underage sex, teacher-student ethics and his own lack of assertiveness.
Meanwhile, Francis is trying to block out dealing with real life and his attitude to his friends, including Brogan and his girlfriend, is dangerously one-dimensional and dismissive.
Francis's apartment overlooks the burned-out crater left by the September 11 attack. His nonchalance towards human suffering causes him to remark: "Hey, if Osama Bin Laden bombed again, right outside my door, I still wouldn't move." His amoral stance is quite telling, it's also quite sad.
As usual, Lee makes New York City large than life, as it to suggest the idea that a person is defined more by their environment than they would probably care to admit.
The opening credits, scored by the wonderful Terence Blanchard, express New York City's more sombre mood Since September 2001, complete with a montage of the city's skyscrapers silhouetted in a blue light. It's a beautiful, mournful image.
Expanding on what was quite a brief source novel, Scriptwriter David Benioff gives the characters a rare depth and the film manages to sympathise with even the most corrupt character.
Benioff , correctly, realises that even drug dealers, as characters, are not black and white in how they see things in life. They, too, have contradictory impulses.
Norton's performance elicits sympathy because he's not playing up to the normal stereotypes and he's actually scared of prison and regretful of his stupidity.
In homage to Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets, Lee manages to up the ante in terms of using music to explain a sequence or add a frisson of energy to it.
In a lengthy sequence, which takes place in a nightclub, Lee gathers his main characters as they talk, discuss and become more truthful, thanks, in no small part, to drink and funky music.
But the music, from '80s rapper Big Daddy Kane to Wilesden-based '70s funk group Cymande, takes on a resonance all its own, as the characters start to accept themselves, or express latent desires or spew home truths.
Lee uses turntable scratching in addition to traditional tracking shots and jarring close-ups, to conjure up the feel and confusion of the nightclub space.
Sometime the flashbacks in the story overlap confusingly and there is a fogginess to the approach, but, just like life, if you imagine that you'll come away from the film with just one opinion, then Lee hasn't done his job properly.
However, as in Do The Right Thing, Lee posits certain ideas about humanity that aren't clearly defined and leaves you to make a conclusion or set of conclusions based on your own life experiences.
Strangely, though, some of the characters are mere ciphers and somewhat badly defined, especially those in the Russian Mafia.
25th Hour is a strong, emotionally moving drama that packs in ambitious ideas and tangible, realistic situations that explore the human condition with verve, skill and sincerity.
But, as a director- and ambitious as he is- even Spike Lee's worst films are better than a lot of other directors who have little to say for themselves.
25th Hour is another of Lee's stories about New York, the place he loves and hates.
Summer of Sam explored New York trying to avoid a serial killer. Do The Right Thing-his greatest achievement- explored racism in one long, heated 24-hour period.
25th Hour takes a similar approach, in that it explores the moral choices of a group of friends over 24 hours.
The title refers to the fact that Monty Brogan (Edward Norton), a New York City drug dealer is about to be sent up the river for seven years, after being convicted of possessing and selling cocaine.
He's determined to spend his final day of freedom with loved ones, including his girlfriend Naturelle (Rosario Dawson).
As he starts on his reflective, redemptive quest for answers, Brogan tries to find out who told the police about his possessing large amounts of drugs and counterfeit money.
He suspects his girlfriend, but his father (Brian Cox) seems to trust Naturelle and thinks she wouldn't want to see her boyfriend behind bars under any circumstances.
Monty also cherishes his best friends- neurotic, socially awkward private school teacher Jacob (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and arrogant, brash, but emotionally hollow Wall Street broker Francis (Barry Pepper).
They provide the balance between Brogan's dishonest lifestyle and his need to reconcile with his conscience and prepare for prison.
But his friends have their own problems. Jacob fancies a 17-year-old student (Anna Paquin) and has to wrestle with the moral choices of underage sex, teacher-student ethics and his own lack of assertiveness.
Meanwhile, Francis is trying to block out dealing with real life and his attitude to his friends, including Brogan and his girlfriend, is dangerously one-dimensional and dismissive.
Francis's apartment overlooks the burned-out crater left by the September 11 attack. His nonchalance towards human suffering causes him to remark: "Hey, if Osama Bin Laden bombed again, right outside my door, I still wouldn't move." His amoral stance is quite telling, it's also quite sad.
As usual, Lee makes New York City large than life, as it to suggest the idea that a person is defined more by their environment than they would probably care to admit.
The opening credits, scored by the wonderful Terence Blanchard, express New York City's more sombre mood Since September 2001, complete with a montage of the city's skyscrapers silhouetted in a blue light. It's a beautiful, mournful image.
Expanding on what was quite a brief source novel, Scriptwriter David Benioff gives the characters a rare depth and the film manages to sympathise with even the most corrupt character.
Benioff , correctly, realises that even drug dealers, as characters, are not black and white in how they see things in life. They, too, have contradictory impulses.
Norton's performance elicits sympathy because he's not playing up to the normal stereotypes and he's actually scared of prison and regretful of his stupidity.
In homage to Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets, Lee manages to up the ante in terms of using music to explain a sequence or add a frisson of energy to it.
In a lengthy sequence, which takes place in a nightclub, Lee gathers his main characters as they talk, discuss and become more truthful, thanks, in no small part, to drink and funky music.
But the music, from '80s rapper Big Daddy Kane to Wilesden-based '70s funk group Cymande, takes on a resonance all its own, as the characters start to accept themselves, or express latent desires or spew home truths.
Lee uses turntable scratching in addition to traditional tracking shots and jarring close-ups, to conjure up the feel and confusion of the nightclub space.
Sometime the flashbacks in the story overlap confusingly and there is a fogginess to the approach, but, just like life, if you imagine that you'll come away from the film with just one opinion, then Lee hasn't done his job properly.
However, as in Do The Right Thing, Lee posits certain ideas about humanity that aren't clearly defined and leaves you to make a conclusion or set of conclusions based on your own life experiences.
Strangely, though, some of the characters are mere ciphers and somewhat badly defined, especially those in the Russian Mafia.
25th Hour is a strong, emotionally moving drama that packs in ambitious ideas and tangible, realistic situations that explore the human condition with verve, skill and sincerity.
FILM REVIEWS
From 1998-2004, I reviewed films for the ultra left-wing newspaper in the U.K, The Morning Star. As I have an archive of around 1200, I thought I would put as many up on this blog. You never know, I might get another gig reviewing through doing this, or perhaps it might inspire someone to go out and rent or buy one of these movies.
I'll start with Spike Lee's 2003 drama, "25th Hour", which, along with "Clockers", is Spike Lee at his very best.
I'll start with Spike Lee's 2003 drama, "25th Hour", which, along with "Clockers", is Spike Lee at his very best.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
EBAY-HOW I HATE YOU SO.
So, apart from flogging off the music biscuits in my apartment, I thought I would use some of the proceeds to catch up on a pasttime I've not been too familar with, namely the dvd box set of a T.V series. I managed season 1, 2 and 3 of Lost, but, ahem, got lost with season 4, and was all at sea, losing the momentum to complete 24 episodes in the space of a weekend.
So, in the U.K, they finally started screening The Wire, which has the reputation of going above and beyond the usual police procedural, and then some. After catching a couple of episdoes of Season 1, I decided to lay down some bread, daddy O' and purchase me some of that here slicky written police drama.
So, I trawled through the usual places: Play.com, Amazon.co.uk, com, even Fr. Of course, if you want a bargain that's too good to be true, try Ebay. And there, amongst all the dross, was the 24 disc region 1 (U.S) box set of series' 1-5 for £60. The seller assured me it was new/sealed, I should have had the alarm bells ringing and thinking: lying bastard/economical with truth.
Anyway, I paid, via Paypal and waited for it to arrive. All seemed well, until the cracks started to appear and this was even without close inspection. The shrinkwrap seemed to be quite baggy; shrinkboy let himself go and breathed out, for once. The box was a bit battered and brusied. The discs seemed to be genuine, until you check the back for stunningly clumsy scratches and a disc that's obviously been frisbeed or used as a drinks coaster. Oh, Ambassador, using The Wire dvds for coasters? You're spoling us! Not only that, but the etchings on the disc are in Chinese... very suspect.
Anyway, my heart sank. Sank even more when none of the discs would work. I've emailed the twerp and I await his slicky worded response, or a possible one finger salute. Just shows you can't be too careful. It's experiences like this that leave you feeling stupid and duped. I'm not hopeful about getting a refund; the little scrote of a chancer will wriggle his way of it. If that's the case, I'll vow not to use Ebay again, even though, as a seller with a rep for honesty, good comms. and fantastically fast delivery, I've done my bit to ensure that people buying from me get what they've paid for, with no misunderstandings or disatisfaction.
So, in the U.K, they finally started screening The Wire, which has the reputation of going above and beyond the usual police procedural, and then some. After catching a couple of episdoes of Season 1, I decided to lay down some bread, daddy O' and purchase me some of that here slicky written police drama.
So, I trawled through the usual places: Play.com, Amazon.co.uk, com, even Fr. Of course, if you want a bargain that's too good to be true, try Ebay. And there, amongst all the dross, was the 24 disc region 1 (U.S) box set of series' 1-5 for £60. The seller assured me it was new/sealed, I should have had the alarm bells ringing and thinking: lying bastard/economical with truth.
Anyway, I paid, via Paypal and waited for it to arrive. All seemed well, until the cracks started to appear and this was even without close inspection. The shrinkwrap seemed to be quite baggy; shrinkboy let himself go and breathed out, for once. The box was a bit battered and brusied. The discs seemed to be genuine, until you check the back for stunningly clumsy scratches and a disc that's obviously been frisbeed or used as a drinks coaster. Oh, Ambassador, using The Wire dvds for coasters? You're spoling us! Not only that, but the etchings on the disc are in Chinese... very suspect.
Anyway, my heart sank. Sank even more when none of the discs would work. I've emailed the twerp and I await his slicky worded response, or a possible one finger salute. Just shows you can't be too careful. It's experiences like this that leave you feeling stupid and duped. I'm not hopeful about getting a refund; the little scrote of a chancer will wriggle his way of it. If that's the case, I'll vow not to use Ebay again, even though, as a seller with a rep for honesty, good comms. and fantastically fast delivery, I've done my bit to ensure that people buying from me get what they've paid for, with no misunderstandings or disatisfaction.
PUBLIC ENEMY NO. 1
Last Thursday, after a 65 hour work week, I sat down to watch one of this year's cinematic highlights. Entitled "Public Enemy No 1, parts 1 and 2", it tells the story of real-life gangster Jacques Mesrine (played by the excellent Vincent Cassel) and tells of his life and times, from the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s.
This is a wonderful, absorbing, uncompromising and absorbing thriller, which runs almost 4 hours and has subtitles. I was so 'out of it' with tiredness and just basic fatigue when I sat down to watch this, but the movie kept me glued to the screen for the entire running time.
It opens in the U.K in two parts. Part one on July 31st 2009, part two on August 14th. I think I will see them again when they open in the cinema here. The limited U.S release dates are for August 09. I urge you to spend your hard-earned money and time watching this future cinematic classic.
Sure, it's violent and it rambles in places and is somewhat unfocused, but it's never less than compelling.
With a supporting cast that includes Gerard Depardieu, Luduvine Sagnier and Mathieu Amalric, this is not to be missed. Please, don't let the running time put you off. This is one of the year's movie highlights, in a year which will be dominated by the usually uncreative and cynical sequels and remakes of movies that were never good in the first place, although some might slip through the net and be worth the effort of seeking out. Such as "The Taking of Pelham 123" with Denzel Washington.
CD COLLECTION-UPDATE
Well, I'm nearly at the end of this purging. I cheated a bit last night: I took a lot of cds out of their jewel cases and put them into a huge CD wallet, whist binning the jewel cases and inlay cards. It actually looks like I have more room in my sitting/living room, which is a blessing. It's good to get rid of stuff from time to time.
Not the most interesting topic I'll admit, but from my point of view, getting rid of these items is symbolical of a change of lifestyle, one where I will concentrate more on my own health and well-being.
I've spent a lot of time with the mistress I call music, but it's time to focus on changing other aspects of my life, one that might ensure a longer, happier existence. I could mention a few reasons why my health has suffered of late, but it would mean probably having to justify it to people who pay my salary, which, given the climate, I'm not prepared to do. I have integrity, have always had it, but now is not the time for blame and grandstanding.
As my 6 weeks of meetings to deal with my stress have shown: it's not the actions of others that are the problem, it's my reaction to it that is most important. Nice sentiment, and there's a lot of truth in that, I just believe it goes deeper than mere reactions.
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Selling my entire CD collection.
I'm nearly at the end of selling my entire CD collection of around 600 discs. It used to be vinyl, spending a lot of time 'record hopping' all over London and in New York and wherever. They were all sold off in 2002- around 2,000 albums and 12's. I moved to CDs mainly because of the convenience and the invention of the wonderful Ipod-I've bought every one of them over the years.
But, one day, I realised that my apartment (flat) was turning into a hoarders paradise, with literally stacks and stacks of the discs on my shelves, shelves which should be used for a fancy clock or a photo or two. So, I set about selling the whole lot on Ebay. For the most part, this has gone well with most people bidding, winning and paying. But there have been a small minority- which keeps growing- of buyers chiseling discounts for postage, paying in a tardy fashion, and the old chestnut complaint of saying the CD never arrived, causing me to be out of pocket and without the CD. Unless someone wants to pay insurance, it's out of my control what happens to it after it's posted.
Try telling these goobars that. Endless emails, threats of non-payment, bad feedback, lies, claims of non-arrival of goods, it all adds up to quite a shite series of experiences. I can see why people are leaving Ebay in droves- and they are, and that there are collective experiences of people being ripped off, with one side not having trust for the other. One seller said "life's too short", when I profusely apologised for not having his item sent out as quickly as it should. It's a pity others don't take that approach, throwing their rattle out of the pram at the first sign of a problem.
To keep these idiots happy, I've waived the postage, offered free cds, offered discounts for postage, got back to people in a timely fashion with any problems, and still they keep-a-complaining.
Because of the volume of sales in such a short space of time, even Paypal came after me for money laundering. The issues were resolved, but it shows what kind of society we're living in right about now.
Despite this, the feedback score is fantastic and for the most part my European buyers have been fantastic, as have those in Canada and the U.S and Australia. The end is in sight. I managed to give 100 cds away to charity- it felt good. It will feel even better when the mantlepiece isn't clogged by the dusty, imposing stacks of cds.
For me, it's all about the music, and it's a lot easier shoving them on a dvd mp3, holding 1200 tracks on each disc. Music will never die, but the ways of storing them are far easier with the 80,000 or so Mp3s being safely stored on just a fraction of discs in comparison to what I used to have. The money raised has come in useful too.
SPREAD LOVE (REMIX) TAKE 6 AND MARK THE 45 KING
Here's one of my all time favourite tunes. It's remix of Take 6's "Spread Love", remixed by Mark the 45 King. It's been bootlegged for years and was always hard to find. The beautiful, rolling and thumping drum beat comes from Ike and Tina Turner's Cussin', Cryin' and Carryin' On. The sentiment is well timed and the beat is funky- what's not to like?
http://latinboogaloo.com/sounds/spreadlove.mp3
Phil Spector
Well, the time has finally come for Phil Spector to face the music, in more ways than one. My dad, who lives in Pasadena, CA, knows a friend of two of Spector. Whilst he got off last time around, he's gotten what he deserves. Even if he was out of his box on booze or whatever, shoving a gun in a woman's mouth, shooting her and all that kind of stuff is just unacceptable on so many levels.
He was guilty 7 years ago, it's just the wheels of Californian justice have finally got up to speed and whatever Spector's legacy was, he's heading to the same kind of prison that holds people like Manson, and no amount of good will and money is going to save him from being treated like a common criminal. Even if he did worked with the Beatles.
Greetings
Hello there,
I thought I would start a Blog. It'll probably contain my observations on life, both fair and not so fair. It'll be top heavy with film related stuff, with plenty of reviews, pithy comments and just what I fancy. Of course, I'll be mindful of the fact that certain people might use the information on this Blog to get me into trouble, so I'll proceed with caution, and obviously not 'kick off' in the usual way.
There'll be a lot of stuff on music- what makes me tick, what I love to relax to, what I enjoy getting amped with.
Hopefully, it'll be entertaining and engaging, which is all anyone can ask for and all I can ask for is that you keep reading, and let me know if you like it.
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