tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66346074118053337852024-03-21T07:19:18.971-07:00Gore-Gore GirlHi all. I'm just a movie nerd who loves to write, think, and talk about movies. I have a particular soft spot in my heart for B-movies and forgotten movies. I have an undergraduate degree in film but am now pursuing my real dream and getting a PhD in neuroscience, and as such now need an outlet for my thoughts about film. I hope that maybe something I write will inspire someone to go out and watch something worthwhile.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-52088050300726131592007-07-13T14:48:00.001-07:002007-07-13T14:48:42.979-07:00Just cuzSo, I checked it out, and on a daily basis I break 8 of the 10 commandments.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-26704741463049039152007-07-11T16:29:00.002-07:002007-07-11T16:38:41.468-07:00So, it was like a giant drum circle?<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/09/arts/music/09bore.html?ref=music">77 BOADRUM</a><br /><br />If you weren't there, you're a communist. Because it was awesome, and communists hate awesome.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59HoOKo3PzoiotcdEp6sfUlRIdnL0mjmTKFByNtKCPaVQcHwGqUBv8vZAnfonRm-oQ6heWzQDIJnHetuH1rlhith4KErNzI5X6GTvugonF1pYcwqvt6ckPxTHUqiajvLJPvy-Z-m6sHQ/s1600-h/IMG_3221.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59HoOKo3PzoiotcdEp6sfUlRIdnL0mjmTKFByNtKCPaVQcHwGqUBv8vZAnfonRm-oQ6heWzQDIJnHetuH1rlhith4KErNzI5X6GTvugonF1pYcwqvt6ckPxTHUqiajvLJPvy-Z-m6sHQ/s320/IMG_3221.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086086149499067906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCAGZ_zr-jkFLzS8WTZqalTw4cAUsMNkSU2N_j6faswE7wwbm_kDlqVpS82jyro2uEg1BLMQkkAc7bY3xU84G7_EgoZY6dE1PK2aG54C4MK5_kKWtZ3vXGQzfQsBylZJL1dUFFau11Rg/s1600-h/IMG_3248.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCAGZ_zr-jkFLzS8WTZqalTw4cAUsMNkSU2N_j6faswE7wwbm_kDlqVpS82jyro2uEg1BLMQkkAc7bY3xU84G7_EgoZY6dE1PK2aG54C4MK5_kKWtZ3vXGQzfQsBylZJL1dUFFau11Rg/s320/IMG_3248.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086086596175666706" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtD3HjmTfJ9PYgsrJL8qq8BFzD-EM0NoIO7cckFasGdZRC9LYst3GR44xgwDtbebpr2AaN_QmMG8PZU25rXHRcNtQQGtLe8dvC0xPWaueFxZUX1iktQjTlOJ9_m_RRbpKoHiFpQh1lWs/s1600-h/IMG_3249.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtD3HjmTfJ9PYgsrJL8qq8BFzD-EM0NoIO7cckFasGdZRC9LYst3GR44xgwDtbebpr2AaN_QmMG8PZU25rXHRcNtQQGtLe8dvC0xPWaueFxZUX1iktQjTlOJ9_m_RRbpKoHiFpQh1lWs/s320/IMG_3249.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086086836693835298" border="0" /></a>And here I am being happy about being there.<br /><br />Sorry guys, it's summertime, and I won't be watching movies for a while. I'll probably be in the park.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-78413473033179309882007-06-25T09:38:00.000-07:002007-06-25T09:46:13.404-07:00LOCK AND LOLL!Wild Zero (2000) Tetsuro Takeuchi<br /><br />So, I keep picking movies to write about that largely speak for themselves. Wild Zero, for those who missed it, was the Rock 'n Roll zombie alien gender-bending guitar-sword-spaceship-slashing epic I had been waiting for my whole life. It's chock full of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guitar_Wolf">Guitar Wolf's</a> sloppy, noisy punk antics, complete with excessive hair combing and beer drinking as well as concert footage (R.I.P. Bass Wolf). If you're not already totally convinced that you should run out and rent it right now based on what I just said, ummm....we're not friends anymore.<br /><br />I could review this movie, instead of listing genres that it could possibly belong to (guitar-sword-spaceship-slashing? Whatever). But it's not that kind of movie. It's way too Rock 'n Roll. Which brings me to what I've really been thinking about.<br /><br />Rock 'n Roll is NOT over, baby! Rock 'n Roll NEVER DIES!<br /><br />So can we all just go out sometime this week, buy some cheap beer, put on the Cramps, or the Ramones, or Elvis, Guitar Wolf, or hell, even the Murder City Devils, and remember that anyone with a guitar can be a hero for 5 minutes, and we aren't above loving them for trying. In fact, God Bless the talentless, scrawny boys of the world who first picked up a guitar because they thought it could get them chicks. God Bless them, every one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4gHClQNthtUbatGcr7isOBv-Bx5ox5mCN0-ZFFlRHAr1OFQqfA6BmYTcFfycdbQco59Au7lS9YtWqHcYYRI2AlnScB89DGy-gtcY5MMvY0MNyya8zLjyfWWSYwWKnI4jeGvfSZoGalY/s1600-h/guitarwolf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4gHClQNthtUbatGcr7isOBv-Bx5ox5mCN0-ZFFlRHAr1OFQqfA6BmYTcFfycdbQco59Au7lS9YtWqHcYYRI2AlnScB89DGy-gtcY5MMvY0MNyya8zLjyfWWSYwWKnI4jeGvfSZoGalY/s320/guitarwolf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080043297203624162" border="0" /></a>Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-3311100580569782142007-06-16T12:37:00.000-07:002007-06-16T12:41:59.098-07:00My heart is all aflutter...Go watch Tears of the Black Tiger RIGHT NOW! I'mna watch it again...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-Hvi8VBS2YM0L-MRGOmAVhAXomsq37HH5c8QVo6kqYOWHl8V8MXBF2gvuagBeksTtkyNxvKZgX7gIXoF8qml-GEEENw9bvMK2RGR_mKyoByLvKnat4yXDG7RcOpgGlssVbEAn8hHiSw/s1600-h/TearsOfTheBlackTiger_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-Hvi8VBS2YM0L-MRGOmAVhAXomsq37HH5c8QVo6kqYOWHl8V8MXBF2gvuagBeksTtkyNxvKZgX7gIXoF8qml-GEEENw9bvMK2RGR_mKyoByLvKnat4yXDG7RcOpgGlssVbEAn8hHiSw/s320/TearsOfTheBlackTiger_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076749211906414802" border="0" /></a><br />Have I ever mentioned how much I love epically stylized movies saturated with bravado, heroism, and heartache? Yeah. Well it's a lot.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-46982625767600994172007-06-15T10:43:00.001-07:002007-06-15T11:08:11.970-07:00VentI'm about to feel sorry for myself. Please ignore me, I just have to throw this out into the void. Because I have nowhere else to release it to.<br /><br />I'm in a new city (well, 7 months isn't that new, but it's new enough) at a new job. My closest friend is my husband, who is having some problems right now and taking them out on me. My job is very exciting, but as a 23 year old with naught but an undergraduate degree I'm responsible for a million dollar, multi-site R01; and a very ambitious one at that. They finally got me an assistant, but she won't be able to help with any of the development, technical or theoretical, that's giving me a heart attack right now. I've been given an impossible task: to replicate a study and add novel techniques and measures to it without purchasing any of the equipment used in the former study. So I've been laboring away; writing software, modifying hardware, attempting to adjust the functionality of neurophysiologic tools we do have that were designed for completely different purposes. And I'm doing it. And I'm doing it well. But I'm not doing it fast enough for them, we have NIH deadlines and recruitment schedules, hospital administration breathing down our neck...all because when they hired me to do this no one considered that we might need the equipment neccesary to perform the experiment. <br /><br />On top of that, my husband does not seem to think it's important to pay me back any of the money I've loaned him over the years, and in fact lost his job (and me) because of his problems with alcohol. And I'm flat broke. So I work nights as a phone sex operator on a no taboos line, pays OK. I get up every morning at 7:30, go to the hospital, frantically try to pull off nearly impossible feats of coordinating folks at three different sites in three different states, do my best to not have any bad news for them regarding the development I'm breaking my back over, get yelled at anyway because it wasn't done yesterday, and then get snide little snaps from the psych associate who has decided I'm disorganized and lazy even though she has nothing to do with my project and has never seen my work output. Then I try to clean my house, as well as feed myself and my kitten, before I have to log into the chatline at 7 and then have phone sex with strangers who are allowed to discuss bestiality, pedophilia, rape, and drugs until 11. I'm pretty good at everything but the black and the domination lines, although most of the young girl calls end up being domination anyway. I have no outlet for human contact or support, because I have no family and my husband just lashes out at me and tries to hurt me as much as he can whenever I try to talk to him about his problems, let alone mine. Other friends I have shy away immediately if I even come close to opening up to them; they want to have fun with me, drink sake and talk about movies or hear my crazy stories and dance to the cramps all night long, but not hear me talk about myself. My husband said once, when he was really mad at me, or just hurt because I told him I couldn't be with him anymore unless he stopped drinking, that I was a bitch all the time, and that's why no one cared about me. I've been assured by my friends that this is not the case. However, none of them care enough to listen.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-75149154510195603092007-06-08T22:16:00.001-07:002007-06-08T22:16:44.865-07:00Happy summer.....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLXHyjsaEX_5_oJcQUi9Xtx0nc4dTSUulVx0dXY2bwKDXbYZ-q1Kciyvea1-WfIiEuRJTLIxb-I7fFVefyvSgmtPRg2DpFrvXsKM1NCxHIIbWKRMYDYTSI7dS_a244BpraRwiXYmqD-I/s1600-h/money.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLXHyjsaEX_5_oJcQUi9Xtx0nc4dTSUulVx0dXY2bwKDXbYZ-q1Kciyvea1-WfIiEuRJTLIxb-I7fFVefyvSgmtPRg2DpFrvXsKM1NCxHIIbWKRMYDYTSI7dS_a244BpraRwiXYmqD-I/s320/money.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073929106315090114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />everyone....Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-8418419712285428662007-05-31T10:35:00.000-07:002007-06-08T22:17:33.250-07:00Ode to Brigitte LahaieWhen my girlfriends invited me to go see a midnight viewing of Pirates last night, my first thought should have been: "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Arrrrrr</span>," followed by brash enthusiasm; but all I could think was 'God, and stare at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Keira</span> Knightly for nearly three hours?' Now I know, I know, that the main draw of the movie is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Johhny</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Depp</span>, followed closely by both swash and buckle; but what happened to the days when this kind of crowd-pleasing fluff included some cheesecake? Why even have a female lead if she's going to look like a 12 year old boy?<br /><br />Now, I believe that the trend towards slim models and actresses has about as little to do with teen eating disorders in America as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Metallica</span> has to do with Columbine, or whatever nonsense people spew about that sort of thing. My problem with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Keira</span> Knightly and, for that matter, every other plain faced stick figure on the big screen today is not the example they are setting for the youth of America. Their presence in big budget <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Hollyood</span> productions says something terrifying about America's relationship with women. And I'm not even sure what it is.... but I know it has to be negative. The sexuality exuded by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Keira</span> Knightly in the Pirates movies is...non-existent? Completely! And what is a pirate movie, really, except for treasure, violence, and heaving bosoms in hot corsets? (also rum) At least in the era of Russ Meyer, Jayne Mansfield, Brigitte <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Lahaie</span>, Barbarella, Isabel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Sarli</span>, and Reiko Ike, female sexuality was celebrated. Russ Meyer's movies are joyful; filled with bouncy, big breasted, oversexed women who can be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">badasses</span> too. Brigitte <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Lahaie</span> and Isabel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Sarli</span> shared with us two of the most beautiful naturally <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">occurring</span> human forms in history. Mansfield and Ike are flawed women that we love to love anyway, because of their ability to go to extremes, to touch us where we haven't been touched (giggle)...and, well, you get the idea. In essence, we were at one point getting off on women getting off. And that's hot. So whatever happened to cheesecake? Where is the Brigitte <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Lahaie</span> of 2007? Jenna Jamison? Seriously? I'd rather take the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">GRE</span> again than watch her take her clothes off. And what is the Barbarella of recent years...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Aeon</span> Flux with motherfucking Charlize Theron? Is that what we've been reduced to? What are all these joyless, sexless hags doing on my screen?<br /><br />I think that one of the causes of this problem is that there's no joy in filmed sex anymore. Russ Meyer loved tits, and it's his genuine enthusiasm and fetishism, as well as the burlesque-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">esque</span> writing style and tone he adds to his films, that made them great. Brigitte, Isabel, Jayne, and Reiko were in movies because they had presence and were physically representative of the ideal woman; and not because they were made of plastic and willing to do double penetration. Or, alternately, whatever it is that makes people hire <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Keira</span> Knightly. It sure as hell isn't talent, or screen presence, or physical attributes. The best thing I can come up with is that as a celebrity, her name is a marketable attribute, and will draw a certain number of viewers. Or something. Really, I just don't know, it's totally beyond me. So what happened in between the late 80's and today that made us stop valuing female sexuality? Why don't we feel comfortable with celebrating joyful, overblown <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">vampiness</span> anymore? Why aren't we actively demanding the return of the sex-kitten?<br /><br />I just hope Rodriguez's remake of Barbarella will remind America of what we once had, and how silly it is that we don't have it anymore.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWMfm3sevlgp5EGQwOsRAefUlwWanrw5LRUZHR0tWuz8170xO-mM4uZDe7IMjshcyzNzIsCZMvXOERq7EAVrfpdy4c6o32PJjeQtOYvlEWZA_tL-rI2At8YS8Mi6sMZ6gkDIz0gOho5Q/s1600-h/isabelsarli.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWMfm3sevlgp5EGQwOsRAefUlwWanrw5LRUZHR0tWuz8170xO-mM4uZDe7IMjshcyzNzIsCZMvXOERq7EAVrfpdy4c6o32PJjeQtOYvlEWZA_tL-rI2At8YS8Mi6sMZ6gkDIz0gOho5Q/s320/isabelsarli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070781822545244706" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLe1d9JxDTcIKnS3sF3-1-Iq75mWQIoWz3kAxRRp-kQoPEafGXrTRXOuoILhO9AowgXcbfrbJrc_y3tiU9Kk1j6DUbroUIdeoANgZwNLT9qgYscsbcVmNbDMK8GcBEhu5DJwarORugAE/s1600-h/jayne_mansfield.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLe1d9JxDTcIKnS3sF3-1-Iq75mWQIoWz3kAxRRp-kQoPEafGXrTRXOuoILhO9AowgXcbfrbJrc_y3tiU9Kk1j6DUbroUIdeoANgZwNLT9qgYscsbcVmNbDMK8GcBEhu5DJwarORugAE/s320/jayne_mansfield.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070781822545244722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuFOK_vqaaSTM2-YMu22EiGMrgvR-5RaN65JahNi5jfZd5f3zaQhHGpusDCuUY3WBE8iVI0IfUPmaEhSJqz4A77MAtfQkOx21sImXBi0ngq0J_rLjRzREplp61sEQ6HJg1uQx15vsfU8/s1600-h/keira.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuFOK_vqaaSTM2-YMu22EiGMrgvR-5RaN65JahNi5jfZd5f3zaQhHGpusDCuUY3WBE8iVI0IfUPmaEhSJqz4A77MAtfQkOx21sImXBi0ngq0J_rLjRzREplp61sEQ6HJg1uQx15vsfU8/s320/keira.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5070781822545244738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Update: <a href="http://www.nerve.com/personalessays/calhoun/dollyparton/">Dolly Parton</a> is the shit. Linked is a decent article about why, exploring some of the female sexuality related issues I'd like to have something bright to say about.<br /><br />P.S.- I got no beef with skinny girls, or androgynous girls, just the role Hollywood MAKES them play in representing female sexuality (although, Shane from the L Word, you rock it Japanese pillow book old school and make that skinny, androgynous look wicked femme positive). Seems to me that typically these girls are made to represent women who do not embrace their own sexuality, which I got beef with. I know it can be a thin line to walk, in between exploitation and celebration when it comes to female sexuality; but especially in a medium where female sexuality is not just the icing but the cake( I'm talking 'bout pirate movies...): somebody's gotta try! And, as is evidenced by the L word, when you put forward genuine representations of female sexuality, it's legit even though it's hot! In fact, it's more legit because it's hot! Whatever, ask Dolly Parton, she's smarter than me.....Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-81394298911114337172007-05-24T21:52:00.001-07:002007-05-24T21:58:12.780-07:00Double failurePossibly even triple.<br /><br />So I know I'm not doing Acephale anymore, but some things just gotta get said. Basically, I just had the most amazing sex ever, twice, followed by a brief cuddle session that lasted <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> the right amount of time so that I didn't have to ask him to leave. I let him out, still feeling that glow, took a hit and hit play on my computer, and it's fuckin' Elvis's 'Do the clam" on my itunes. If anyone in the world is in a better mood than I am right now, I'm really happy for them.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-20815100042976875732007-05-23T11:57:00.000-07:002007-05-23T12:04:47.182-07:00Failure!I'm a total failure at writing about movies right now.<br /><br />HOWEVER- my new apartment has an ant problem, and I was about to be really bummed about it, when I remembered what Richard Feynman wrote in <span style="font-style: italic;">Surely you're Joking, Mr. Feynman, </span>about ants. They navigate by smell, and confusing their scent trail will...well, confuse their trail. So I dosed my kitchen sink liberally with some perfume someone gave me at some point, and what do you know: now my kitchen is ant free, without the use of pesticides; and it smells like that French girl I made out with in high school. So I guess reading that book wasn't a complete waste of my time after all...Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-5584815361692123132007-05-07T14:14:00.000-07:002007-05-07T14:16:27.077-07:00Grindhouse cinemaAs we are all being forcibly made aware of grindhouse film by the illustrious Mssr. Tarantino, I'd like to put in my two cents about this genre, which is near and dear to my heart. While I have yet to see Tarantino's (or Rodriguez's) nod to one of my favorite kinds of movie, I am reasonably sure that Tarantino's attempt at emulating this will be a failure, since the elements of exploitation cinema that interest him appear to be those stylish, cool-factor bits and not the raw ugliness that comprises what is really interesting in these films. Additionally, Tarantino's dialogue heavy format and bent for pseudo-philosophical content will not lend itself well to the genre, and I seriously doubt he can manage to broaden his scope. I might be wrong, but I'm willing to bet that I called this one.<br /><br />So I will review one of the ugliest, one of the worst, and one of the most representative grindhouse features that I'm aware of: Lucio Fulci's New York Ripper.<br /><br />New York Ripper is barely a film. It barely has a plot, it barely even has a premise, but of all the messed up junk I enthusiastically show to whomever will watch, this is the one that most frequently elicits: "That changed me," and I certainly will go back and watch it, and watch it change people, again and again. The film opens with an elderly gentleman tossing a stick for his golden retriever in a recognizable, NYC location(a classic feature of grindhouse flicks, which were predominantly shown in the 42nd street grindhouses). In a trite, cheap shot moment, the obliging pooch return to it's owner carrying not a stick, but a severed human hand. And it only gets worse from there. The basic, overarching premise of the film is that there is a serial killer on the loose, targeting women in the manner of Jack the Ripper, antagonizing the police, and generally being up to no good. Character development is achieved largely through the assertions of other characters in the film, and "she has an IQ of 142," is supposed to be enough to convince us that some simpering blonde nitwit who behaves like she couldn't put her pants on by herself is smart. Similarly, much of the police work/mystery unraveling is necessarily made by a leap of faith; "After reviewing these tapes, it is clear to me that the killer is well-off, from a cultured background" (after listening to a tape of a man saying "you're stupid" in a donald duck voice). Like many grindhouses, this film exists as a vehicle for two or three truly shocking set pieces, and the rest of it is poorly connected, compulsory plot-furthering situations. So I'll review this film how it should be reviewed:<br /><br />Set pieces:<br /><br />1) Razor to the nipple<br /><br />2) Razor to the eye-ball<br /><br />3) Broken bottle to the crotch, w/ crotch POV shot<br /><br />4) Foot rape<br /><br />Themes/gimmicks:<br /><br />1) SM<br /><br />2) Voyeurism/exhibitionism<br /><br />3) Donald duck. You heard me.<br /><br />Grindhouse films are ugly. These films were made to deliver a blow, to touch something in members of society who wanted to feel: anything. I think things like this are worth seeing because they are a naturally occurring phenomenon that I find fascinating. Those things that are most telling about them now, (their emotional salience, themes of misogyny and violence against women, one of the only glimpses into the lives of certain fringe elements of society, one of the truest glimpses into the real fantasy life of at least one section of Americans...), came from someplace true and important to understand. This particular type of escapist relief, this particular kind of head trip, is deeply interesting but a sad and curious artifact of deep hatred and loneliness; of film-makers and film viewers. If Tarantino delivers as much emotional scope and complexity in his polished, kick-ass retro piece as I take away from New York Ripper, I'll be very surprised.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-47418141032909406852007-04-30T21:16:00.000-07:002007-04-30T21:26:06.659-07:00The Host part IIOr 'insomnia part 80 billion' or something.<br /><br />I still don't have the energy to really say anything about 'The Host,' but I will relate this anecdote to those of you who have seen it. So I work in a Children's Hospital, and right outside the door to my office is a wall where the feeding disorder kids hang their art therapy projects. These kids are between the ages of 2-10, I'd say, and were probably almost all born prematurely. At any rate, I am always largely impressed by these projects, and am particularly enamored of the work of a young girl of about 4 named Claire, whose last project "snazzy feet," I actually considered stealing before I realized what I was considering. This week Claire has painted a large, watercolor mural; of a river flowing, and the sun, and some plants, and.... a large, indiscriminate amphibious looking blob? And the word HAN scribbled in big yellow kiddie letters, with an arrow pointing to the river. Now I'm sure there's some perfectly reasonable explanation for this; if you figure it out, let me know.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-84044766819820479872007-04-30T16:56:00.000-07:002007-04-30T17:00:20.948-07:00Science!Hi all, sorry for the shocking lack of content in recent weeks. Tomorrow I am off to <a href="http://www.cevs.ucdavis.edu/Cofred/Public/Aca/ConfHome.cfm?confid=281"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">IMFAR</span></a> (International Meeting for Autism Research) to present a paper; this is why I haven't had any time to write about movies. Although I haven't managed to stop thinking about them... At any rate, wish me luck, it's the first thing I've ever been first author on.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-41301848706390685352007-04-18T10:07:00.001-07:002007-06-08T22:27:05.161-07:00Feminism, apparentlyAlright, let's talk about vagina. In film. I'd like to preface this by saying that I am by no means a feminist, educated about feminist theory, or even really a huge fan of feminists as they appear to me to exist today; nor am I really very similar to most women and therefor close to being able to understand how they feel about gender roles and all that jazz. So here goes what looks to be pretty much a shot in the dark. <br /> <br />I specifically want to talk about feminism in the context of two films: Catherine <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Breillat's</span></span> 'Anatomy of Hell,' and Peggy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ahwesh's</span></span> 'The Dead Man'. Both of these films purport to be explorations of female sexuality, sans "the usual patriarchal-porn trimmings" (Jonathan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Rosenbaum</span></span>, Chicago Reader, on The Dead Man). Both are adapted from literary sources (The Dead Man from the short <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">story by</span> Georges <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Bataille</span></span>, Anatomy of Hell from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Breillat's</span></span> own novel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Pornocracy</span></span>). <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">And both</span> are very focused around one overwhelming mood: revulsion. <br /> <br />I didn't choose to talk about these movies because they are good, and, in fact, I'm pretty sure <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Breillat's</span></span> movie sucked, but they did make me think. <br /> <br />'The Dead Man' was interesting in that it has been heralded as a feminist film, as is evidenced by the above quote, but damn if it isn't absolutely true to the<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"> Bataille</span></span> story. In the story (and the film) a young woman discovers her lover's corpse. She leaves her country home and wanders, naked under a raincoat, out into a storm and engages in a series of acts that convey that she has completely relinquished her self control; the violent situation produces a series of violently unstudied actions. Our heroin, naked, soaking wet and already at the edge of experience enters a bar and things escalate until she is engaged in raunchy public sex acts with the lecherous local yokels; falling down drunk and not above squatting on the bar and urinating on one of it's patrons before being unceremoniously fucked on the floor. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Ahwesh's</span></span> treatment of the subject matter is pretty much verbatim, and I don't think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Bataille</span></span> would be at all displeased with her decision to include acting so bad it made the audience squirm almost as much as the image of one of her actors pulling on his limp dick, or the very long and simply shot sex scene on the floor, with all the drunken grunting and thrusting that that involved. As the original story was written by a man, and the film is, in fact, shockingly true to the tone of the story, it is interesting that it is considered a feminist film. My best guess would be that this is a reflection of the perception that works that are violently confrontational and have female characters that make us uncomfortable are feminist works. Exactly why it is important, to the end of establishing gender equality, that we be made uncomfortable, that we be confronted with a revolting woman, I can't say I know. Needless to say, I thought the dead man was the most awesome movie ever. <br /> <br />The Anatomy of Hell, on the other hand, was deeply flawed and at times obnoxiously preachy. It did, however, leave an impression, as some of the images are burned into my retinas until the end of time, or at least the end of this week. In this confused head trip, a gay man(aging Italian porn star Rocco<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Siffredi</span></span>) happens on a woman, in a gay bar, slitting her wrists. They enter into an agreement in which he will be payed to watch her while she sleeps at her isolated country home. What follows is a lot of terrible dialogue about how revolting women are, and how (straight) men want to possess them. The heart of the film, however, is the imagery and without the dialogue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">obnoxiously spelling</span> out what must have been basically the entirety of '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Pornocracy</span></span>,' the mood in this film is basically the same as that of 'The Dead Man.' Important differences are that the female character in Anatomy of Hell is in no way rooted in psychological realism, in fact I'm pretty sure that as this was in conception and execution a feminist film, she must necessarily be less specific than that and be representative of women. In addition, she has complete control, and although she's asleep for most of the action (and she's quite a deep sleeper), appears to constantly be doing things to poor Rocco. Rocco does an excellent job of being deeply affected by all this, and calmly drinks the reddened water she prepares for him by infusing it with her used tampon, but I have trouble buying the importance of the shit that he's so deeply affected by. Also of note is that Rocco's big, hard, beautiful cock makes a number of appearances in the film and female anatomy is, well, made revolting. I guess we'd have to ask <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Breillat</span></span> how this forwards the feminist agenda. The film is absolutely violently confrontational, although when coupled with the explicit feminist 'men want to own me period blood is OK' dialogue it seems as if we are being asked to feel guilty for thinking the disgusting, confrontational imagery is gross rather than being asked to push ourselves to the limits of experience, perception and understanding as I feel we are in 'The Dead Man.' Overall an interesting idea in that it's violent and confrontational about sex, but, well.<br /> <br />So those are my thoughts on at least this one specific aspect of feminist film.<br /><br />Anatomy of Hell available through <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">netflix</span>, The Dead Man available for rental(16mm) from the <a href="http://www.film-makerscoop.com/catalog/f.html">NY film makers coop</a>Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-8215773177301081442007-04-13T07:48:00.000-07:002007-04-13T07:56:40.419-07:00AcephaleSo, for all one (possibly two) of you who are wondering what's up with Acephale... The lovely foreign boy that I married three years ago and I are about to embark on that leg of the journey towards a green card in which, we have been told, the government will start to interview people, monitor our monitorable communications, and snoop around generally making sure we're really married. It might be overkill but I don't plan on losing this boy or this battle with the department of homeland security, so I'm going to kill Acephale temporarily. Given that it's taken 3 years to even get this far, temporarily might mean any number of things. At any rate, maybe it will give me some time to come up with new material. Damn shame about the timing, as I just found out that Mia shares Hitler's birthday, and more than a few of my interests...Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-48690155646706794652007-04-09T23:08:00.000-07:002007-04-09T23:50:06.017-07:00!!!!This isn't film related, but it was so cool.<br /><br />I visited my grandfather on the north shore of lake <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ponchetrain</span>(outside New Orleans) over the weekend and last night as we were sitting on the porch drinking coffee we started talking about... well shit, I don't remember. Somehow music machines came up, and my grandfather pipes up with "My neighbor Randy collects antique music players and machines, why don't we go and ask him to show us?" We call Randy up and moments later he is graciously ushering me into the house, obviously tickled that we asked to see his collection, of which, my grandfather has told me, he is very proud. He starts in the dining room, with an old gramophone and a 50's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">juke</span> box he has restored, with before and after pictures. Then he showed us the phonograph cylinders, and several music boxes that dated back to the 18<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span> century, more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">juke</span> boxes, and all kinds of things I can't even remember the name of, before taking us back into the room where he kept all the really good stuff. I don't even know what to call the thing I saw.... It was, I guess, a fully automated band from 1918, which read from a paper roll. It had been re-done in the 30's when an accordion was added and it was given an art-deco makeover. Apparently there are people, somewhere, who still transcribe music onto rolls for these things, and Randy said he had a bunch of Beatles and some Hank Williams from sources like that. Did I mention the size of this thing? It was monstrous, with the instruments a few inches above eye level and a giant organ in the back, filled with pneumatic tubes and machinery behind the green art-deco facade. He had it play us a few songs, and he showed us the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mills_Novelty_Company#Mills_Violano-Virtuoso">Mills novelty Co. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Violano</span>-Virtuoso</a>, which is a self-playing violin with piano accompaniment. So awesome. I might be 5 years old, but I love watching the keys on the piano move by themselves. And as a true appreciator of genuine weirdos, I have to say that this is one of my favorite types: the crazy collector in backwoods Louisiana whose hobby is worth WAY more than his house, and is totally awesome. If anyone else ever finds one, tell me and maybe I'll make a movie about it. Oh yeah! He also had a piano that could record and play back those rolls, how cool is that?Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-78646211855948120842007-04-02T09:42:00.000-07:002007-04-02T09:50:53.858-07:00Still horrifiedTwo things I wish I had never overheard:<br /><br />"Let's see... Maryland... Maryland... I just can't remember what state that's in "<br />- a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Comcast</span> employee, talking to a customer who was apparently calling from Maryland<br /><br />"I'm really bummed they locked that gate"- my neighbour<br />"Why?" -his girlfriend<br /><br />That last one isn't quite as awful out of context, but the gate to the back of my building has been locked and we now have to walk around a block of apartment buildings in order to get to the back, besides which the only reasonable answer to that question is "because I can no longer use the gate" in almost any context. I wonder what she's like in bed. Not very intuitive, I would imagine.<br /><br />I swear to Jesus on the cross I'll watch some movies soon, and then write unbelievably interesting things about them.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-67808977626395952082007-03-31T00:18:00.000-07:002007-03-31T00:20:04.153-07:00People are so weirdI may be drunk, but I am rarely as horrified as I am right now, about <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070330/ap_on_re_mi_ea/iraq_arab_idol">this</a> .Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-15411489782586936192007-03-29T07:21:00.000-07:002007-03-29T08:22:47.396-07:00Die WalkureIt's not a movie, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Imna</span></span> review it anyway.<br /><br />Last night I saw the Washington National Opera's current production of Die <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Walkure</span></span>, with 66 year old <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Placido</span></span> Domingo singing the role of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Siegmund</span></span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Unfortunately</span> for me, he had a cold and was singing well but not at full volume and in full force. Whatever, now I can check "see one of the world's best tenors in one of history's greatest operas" off my list of things to do. The much in vogue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Anja</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Kampe</span></span> failed to impress me as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Siegelinde</span></span>, perhaps because her awkward body language and less polished stage presence must <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">necessarily</span> be compared to Domingo's performance, as the two characters play off each other constantly. Her singing was superb, but it was Domingo and the otherwise negligible <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Gidon</span></span> Saks, as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Hunding</span></span>, who carried the burden of establishing her role as the downtrodden wife, barefoot and in the kitchen. No, seriously, they totally had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Siegelinde</span></span> barefoot and in the kitchen. I wonder if this is what director Francesca <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Zambello</span></span> meant when she said she was making "an American Ring."<br /><br />Linda Watson as Brunhilde and Elena <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Zaremba</span></span> as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Fricka</span></span> were both outstanding, and haven't gotten the good press that they deserve. Bottom line, these folks can sing and most of them can act.<br /><br />But now for the confusing part. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Zambella</span></span> made some head-scratch worthy decisions, and there was a lack of unity in the direction of the opera as a whole, not in terms of narrative and drama but in terms of sub-texts and allegorical interpretations. I was first caused to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">scratch</span></span> my head when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Hunding</span></span> appeared, in boots, suspenders and a brown shirt. Huh, I thought to myself. Nazis. OK, we can bring Nazi's into this, I guess. Although why <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Hunding</span></span>? Isn't that sort of an odd, re-appropriation and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">reinterpretation</span> of post-Wagner conceptions of this work's significance, specifically in terms of political revolution and German <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">nationalism</span>? And if so, isn't it a bit of an over simplification? We get it, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Hunding</span></span> is evil. The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Nazi's</span> were evil. Is anything interesting being communicated? Or was it non-intentional? How could you unintentionally dress a character in Der Ring like a skinhead?<br /><br />THEN: the ride of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Valkyries</span>. The third act began with imagery that appeared to be lifted straight out of Apocalypse Now, a screen was lowered and images of helicopters and fighter <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">planes</span> were projected as the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Valkyries</span> entered the stage by parachute. Which seems to me to be a pretty strange way to go with that. THEN I noticed that the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Valkyries</span> were also dressed as skinheads. No suspenders this time, but that's sure what it looked like to me. So either it was a huge oversight on the part of the costume designer, or perhaps everyone who would get in the way of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Siegmunde's</span></span> victory over <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Hunding</span></span> is a Nazi. Except Wotan, who was an evil capitalist, for some reason. So you can understand my confusion. I'm pretty unclear on what the director intended to communicate through these particular decisions, making it pretty clear to me that the direction lacked focus and theoretical continuity. And originality. I feel like the helicopter/<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">parachuting</span> ride of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Valkyries</span> was in fact just lifted from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Apocalypse</span> Now, and I'm uncomfortable with the kind of reverse pop-culture reference being made. Also, the Wotan as evil capitalist angle was lifted straight from the '76 Bayreuth production, but isn't put into context at all. It is almost as if the director felt that precedent was enough context, and that this kind of superficiality is acceptable.<br /><br />To top it off, all of these decisions inject war into the piece, and by her own admission <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Zambella</span></span> was intending to make "an American Ring," and god knows that revolution and upheaval, the institution of a new regime, are the most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">overwhelming</span> themes in the cycle. So where was our war? This was an amazing opportunity to do something really interesting with this piece, and they did nothing.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, it was spectacular, and as a music drama everything carried and resonated. But the art direction, set and costume design, not to mention certain thematic decisions, lay a strange and opaque film of confused allegory over an otherwise solid production of a wonderful piece.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-91436448480895630442007-03-26T10:58:00.000-07:002007-03-26T16:55:15.444-07:00The Black Lizard (1968)The Black Lizard (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Kurotokage</span>) Directed by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kinji</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Fukasaku</span>, screen<br />adaptation by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Yukio</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mishima</span><br /><br />The Black Lizard is a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">noir-ish</span> detective story based on the novel of the same name by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Rampo</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Edogawa</span>. The film centers around the interactions of two strong characters; The Black Lizard, played by transvestite actor Akihiro Maruyama, an elegant gender-ambiguous criminal mastermind; and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Akechi</span>, Japan's best detective. When <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Akechi</span> is hired by a wealthy jeweler who has been alerted to a plot to kidnap his daughter, a battle of wits between Black Lizard and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Akechi</span> begins. Over the course of the film both parties develop a mutual appreciation and respect for the other. In the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">interims</span> between the almost erotic mental battles these two engage in there is plenty of time for treachery, crime, plot twists, false identities, lavish set design, and flowery language.<br /><br />This movie is similar to other Japanese crime films of it's time in that it is unabashedly stylish and saturated with bravado(Tokyo Drifter, Lady <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Snowblood</span>, etc..) but the subject matter and it's treatment are unique. The gender-ambiguous title character is only the icing on the cake; the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">really</span> interesting moments in this film draw their power from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">sexualized</span> battle of wits, to the death, enacted by our protagonist and the title character. Although predatory, their relationship develops into something <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">overwhelming</span> intimate and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">undeniably</span> sexual.<br /><br />The Black Lizard, although the villain, comes through as the most developed character in the film despite being the most reprehensible. Her acts are almost <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">unconscionable</span>, and the extent of her evil gradually unfolds throughout the film, building up until the viewer finally reaches her headquarters, decorated with stolen jewels and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">taxidermied</span> corpses of her beautiful victims, posed at the Black Lizard's whim for eternity (um, sorry Gunther <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">von</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Hagens</span>, but that does seem pretty evil. I know, I know... it was for science.) But we identify with her. We feel her loneliness, sense her intense attraction to beauty and danger,to intellect, and her keen desire to be bested by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Akechi</span>. The love that went into crafting her character; her appearance, her cruelty, and her desire to be dominated; must trace back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Mishima's</span> script. This is the character that he identifies most with, and the power of his fantasy makes this callous, shallow, criminal highly empathetic.<br /><br />I watched this film because I find <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Mishima</span> intensely interesting, and got even more than I bargained for. Sets, lighting, costumes and acting are all spot-on. Subject matter is overblown (in the best possible sense of that word)<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">outrageous</span> and fantastic (in the original sense of that word). I'd be interested to read the novel and see how and where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Mishima's</span> influence really shaped the telling of this story; the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">dialogue</span> is clearly representative of his tendency towards imagery, and the plot and characters themselves reek of his particular ability to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">sexualize</span> death. It would be interesting to see where inspiration left off and deeply personal ideas and aesthetics took over.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Recommended</span> viewing<br /><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Available</span> for download from cinema <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">obscura</span>, previously secret cinema (http://www.cinema-obscura.com/)Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-73153714491708633932007-03-22T16:13:00.000-07:002007-03-22T16:16:07.868-07:00The FountainOK. Here I go. So about Darren Aronofsky's "The Fountain": To the filthy hippies who brainwashed the maker of pi; shame on you! The Fountain sucked so hard it created a vacuum. What happened to the Aronofsky with potential? The Aronofsky whose movies interested me as a teenager, who used images and content in a really neat symbiotic way where some of the images were the content, who could shock and surprise me and make me feel stuff? I mean, sure, as a film maker he had a lot of flaws, but he had some pretty good, er, OK, some ideas. But the fountain is so empty of meaning and infused with obnoxious new-age self indulgent self important shit it makes me want to punch the next hippy I see in the face. It's so empty of meaning that even the mechanics of the film are empty gestures; sure, you made all that stuff happen on film without using a computer, but I couldn't tell. My buddy who watched the movie with me couldn't tell. Basically, you blew god knows how much money in some kind of new age film-snob revolt against digital animation techniques for no good reason. There are a million instances where there is a good reason NOT to use CGI, for example, if you are representing fire. Fire cannot be CGI. I don't care how good you think you are at it, you're not, just don't do it. But that hippy shit in the fountain? I thought it was CGI until I read otherwise. So, good job of not disrupting the flow and feel of the movie by not using CGI, it really made a difference. Idiot.<br /><br />Also, a whole movie and all that overblown drama about some chick who dies of cancer? (Yeah, she dies, now you know the end so you don't have to see it.) Big deal. Something sadder happened to me on my walk to the bus this morning and you don't see me making a movie about it, especially not one in which I become some kind of ascetic who makes out with trees in the sky for eternity because of it. Also, brain surgery? In a drug trial? With results that are worth something in days? Whoever did the research for that aspect of the story deserves to be shot in the knees, because my kid sister could tell you that drugs enter the brain through the blood-brain barrier and drug trials last no less than 5 years. If you're developing a drug that requires direct access to the brain you're probably in Nazi Germany, and it's probably not a drug. My kid sister is pre-med, but my point still stands.<br /><br />In conclusion: Return Darren Aronofsky to us, you filthy filthy hippies, and I will give each one of you a brand new filthy sleeping bag and some used dread wax. Seems fair to me.<br /><br />Available: doesn't matter, don't see it.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-41964196986869952222007-03-19T07:19:00.000-07:002007-03-19T07:22:43.700-07:00The Host1) Go see Bong <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Joon</span>-Ho's "The Host" <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">immediately</span>.<br /><br />2) Actually, there is no 2 but I'll have more to say about this later.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-53710227581887028292007-03-15T14:49:00.000-07:002007-03-15T15:14:34.557-07:00ANGRYOK, so I just got chastised for my apparel at work, by a doctor I work closely with, after someone else in the department (Dr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Palatucci</span>) mentioned something to him. It began with the qualifier "I know this is something I've mentioned before...."<br /><br />1) If you mentioned it before, it wasn't to me.<br /><br />2) I'm wearing a button down collared shirt and dress slacks.<br /><br />So I asked, "what exactly about the way I dress is it?"<br /><br />Apparently, I need to cover more skin. Because I work with 8-12 year old mentally handicapped boys, blah blah blah.... I look down, to see what offending bit of skin I could have missed. Well, I can see... my hands... and.... my neck from the collar bone up, and then my face. That's it. So, a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">burqa</span>? And some gloves? Or what? It's obvious that by "showing too much skin" he meant "I find you attractive" because I wasn't showing ANY skin and if a collared shirt and black slacks are inappropriate work attire then I have been severely misinformed about many, many things. So suck my fat dick, Dr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Palatucci</span>, if you think it's inappropriate for attractive young women to work with young boys with developmental disabilities then maybe you should start hiring some ugly chicks, or MAYBE EVEN A DUDE. I know it's no coincidence that the majority of my co-workers are leggy 20-something female psych students with pretty faces, I just didn't want to hate you for it.<br /><br />I don't mean to imply that I find myself attractive, only that the only implication the statement "showing too much skin" could have, under the circumstances, is that my sex appeal is inappropriate for the workplace.<br /><br />Imagine what would happen if I started wearing make-up.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-19591640670470418472007-03-13T13:18:00.000-07:002007-03-13T13:30:44.817-07:00Notes on culture and perspective in film:In my study of the human mind and human social cognition specifically (which is what I do when I'm not watching movies) I have become very familiar with a set of theories that I am <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">beginning</span> to think are relevant to my recent discussion of black cinema; specifically my post on Melvin van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Peebles</span></span> and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">inaccessibility</span> of his work to white audiences. This is also relevant to my more recent rant about how Sofia Coppola is an inane whiny bitch. Theory of Mind is the study of how people make inferences about the contents of other people's minds: for example, when a stranger opens a door at the train station and hesitates for just an instant, you have to infer from contextual cues whether this person is holding the door open for you, for another person they are with, or for themselves; and your behavior should appropriately reflect an understanding of their intention. If there is a failure to make the correct inference, you may end up bumping into this person or cutting off their aging mother... at any rate, you get the idea. The simulation theory of mind, which I am a proponent of, suggests that we are capable of making such inferences by simulating the mental state of the person holding the door open: in other words, we put ourselves in their shoes and infer what they will do based on an understanding of what we would do, given their perspective. This is a super-simplified summation (alliteration!) of the theory, but hopefully a useful one. In theory, from infancy we learn about our selves by imitating members of our species; everything from how to move our arms to language, and that we learn about <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">inaccessible</span> internal states of others by simulating their situation within our selves. This is, in theory, how empathy works. You feel the pain or joy of another human being because having access to the internal states of other people helps you infer what they are likely to do, and to behave appropriately given their mental state. OK, one final item, and then I'll get to my point: humans don't, and can't invent things. Yes, it's true that most people consider our ability to make and use tools one of the things that truly makes us human, and yes, we have devised a plethora of novel and useful STUFF, so how, you ask, can I make a statement like that as I sit here typing on a freaking computer for god's sake. The answer is that we are inventive, but the human mind is not capable of creating something out of nothing. It IS capable of abstracting information about objects and inventing new ways to combine, tear apart, or use objects, concepts, and thoughts that exist in this world. But it can't make something from nothing. Even monsters, creations of pure fantasy, are frequently composites of things that exist given a novel arrangement and context. (The griffin?) So what does this have to do with Melvin van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Peebles</span></span> and Sofia <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Coppola</span>, you ask? Well I, for one, have a hard time identifying with the characters and scenarios in their films. It could be argued that I don't have access to the world's of these films because I don't have access to the minds of the film makers, because our cultures are so disparate. Not just because I've never been a blond millionaire or a black soldier serving overseas, but because these people belong to completely different cultures than I do; cultures in which elements present in these films are familiar, even if placed in a novel context. In the case of Sofia <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Coppola</span>,I have no problem not identifying with her because I find her despicable; and I place the burden of responsibility on her to make a movie about the human condition, and not about the Sofia <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Coppola</span> condition, which is apparently blond and spoiled. To some degree, I believe that all artists are responsible for communicating something to their audience. It should be something new, something that pushes us to see and experience new thoughts or perspectives, but if it's entirely <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">inaccessible</span> to an audience, then how can it change them? I probably shouldn't bring this up, because it's a bit of a scary topic to bring up in a public forum, but Wagner's infamous article "Judaism in Music" recently made me think about what I wrote about van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Peebles</span></span> (Oh god, I'm in trouble now). I will not touch upon whether or not I read the article as anti-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Semitic</span>, which I did, but will instead focus on one point that he makes. He seems to express that he feels Jewish composers of his era were <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">unsuccessful</span> in composing Opera in the western tradition because it had not been a part of their culture up until that point. This reminded me a lot of what I said about van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Peebles</span></span> work, that it was essentially outsider art that exhibits a lack of fluency in the art form, a form which up until the making of that movie had not been a part of van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Peebles</span></span>' cultural heritage. However, unlike Sofia <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Coppola</span>, van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Peebles</span></span> does communicate with his audience: just not with all audiences. And at that time, it was very important to start to establish a black cinema, something for and about the experiences of that specific community. But it is also important for that kind of work to be <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">accessible</span> to culturally distinct communities: isn't the spreading of information what it's all about, in the end? In conclusion, I guess I don't really have a point. The issues that I (hope) I've brought up are these: what role does cinema have in culture, and what is the responsibility of the film-maker to communicate and inform audiences? How precious is the idea of a culturally distinct black cinema, a new form that serves specifically to express identities and ideas within a community? I don't have any answers, and I barely had any real questions, but this intersection of the anatomy of the real world (or in this instance, American culture) and our minds' abilities and limitations regarding empathy and understanding of minds separate from our own, really interests me. If that makes any sense.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-60966045949857006272007-03-07T09:29:00.000-08:002007-03-07T09:43:34.556-08:00Marie AntoinetteI never thought it would come to this, but yesterday I actually watched Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette. To clarify something for those of you who don't know any better or have been confused by positive media reactions to Sofia Coppola's films, THEY ARE NOT GOOD. Even Lost in Translation; not good. In fact, really, really bad. If you think you liked the movie, I hate to tell you this but it was actually just the soundtrack that you liked, and possibly some vague sense that Tokyo, <em></em>Scarlett Johanssen, and Bill Murray are things that you should think are cool and that therefor the combination of those things, set to the chill sounds of My Bloody Valentine = a good movie. Such is not the case. In fact, that proclaimed "love letter to Japan" was just another weak, theoretically incoherent, inane movie about an attractive privileged white girl and how hard it is to be one, and in fact is insulting to the Japanese and completely marginalizes important issues like <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">misogyny</span> in Japan, among other things. But I digress. Marie Antoinette was, (surprise!) a weak, theoretically incoherent, inane movie about an attractive <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">privileged</span> white chick and how hard it is to be one. Sofia Coppola's main flaw as a film maker, besides a lack of talent, is a lack of perspective. Like many spoiled people, she only has one perspective, and it happens to be her own. All of her characters are representations of herself, and in making Marie Antoinette, she makes a pretty clear statement. She thinks she's royalty, and deserves our pity. Aside from my attack on the character of the director, which is directly related to the lack of value in her films, she's barely even trying in this one. The births and deaths of the children of the title character are represented by a 20 second montage of taking down and putting up family portraits; while at least an hour of the film is dedicated to shots of Kirsten <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Dunst's</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">snaggle</span>-toothed cackle as she gambles and, for some reason, runs a lot. Good to know what Sofia Coppola's priorities are. The dialogue is poorly written, with inconsistencies in style from scene to scene and between characters. Austrian characters speak English with a British accent(?) except for Kirsten <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Dunst</span>, and her daughter is inexplicably the only character who speaks French. The only real attempt at making this a period piece and not a piece of card-board with the words "I am Sofia <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Coppola</span> I have good taste in music and I want to be the queen of France I am so misunderstood identify with me!" written on it are the costumes and set design, which I will admit were kind of nice. But used to no good end. In conclusion, Sofia Coppola: shut the hell up.<br /><br />Available from wherever total crap is distributed.Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6634607411805333785.post-17906334427541787692007-02-27T13:50:00.000-08:002007-02-27T13:55:58.162-08:00EEEEEEK!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BhPNPPTQN_5IjkkLO9KGamQjx8_Ub7QIEfaIgSRY_253dw-kl3M6m3cS9dyNh0knDw4iHETUOPNCVzglrKEHWO7mY1lhpp9zvvKa4-o_3Sw_NFwo_ucEf9WYiPE6SQwa7uTgyDIdarc/s1600-h/duckies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9BhPNPPTQN_5IjkkLO9KGamQjx8_Ub7QIEfaIgSRY_253dw-kl3M6m3cS9dyNh0knDw4iHETUOPNCVzglrKEHWO7mY1lhpp9zvvKa4-o_3Sw_NFwo_ucEf9WYiPE6SQwa7uTgyDIdarc/s320/duckies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036335962752370658" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ln0wEEkrNwymjR0DfZRGGqm94C1b_c04AtApsH-8iJUfnKLHi4b0fBccfBcsMYfvYw406LLcyuERIz6iwTf0_9gS5BVlFU94TgTZMrwaF85TvhgBaVc-4WI5rHhJyzhGB9ISxnxuQQM/s1600-h/catgirl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Ln0wEEkrNwymjR0DfZRGGqm94C1b_c04AtApsH-8iJUfnKLHi4b0fBccfBcsMYfvYw406LLcyuERIz6iwTf0_9gS5BVlFU94TgTZMrwaF85TvhgBaVc-4WI5rHhJyzhGB9ISxnxuQQM/s320/catgirl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036335404406622162" border="0" /></a><br />Last night I went to the liquidation auction for Baltimore's Dime Museum, basically to check out a free freak show (auction items and those attending) and maybe pick up a little something something if it just happened that I happened to...... CHECK OUT THE AWESOME STUFF I GOT!Lilla Smutzighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07065905364060454766noreply@blogger.com6