2010 began in a "chillwave", or at least that's what the kids were calling it. Dubstep was either in ascendancy or decline, depending on who you talked to, and either way, high energy sounds (especially rock-centric ones) were on the way out. For the most part, the trend away from rock and roll continued (my hetero-lifemate and I defied the trend, perhaps giving it a good send-off down south with this mix), early in the year.
The electro-banger persisted, in spite of those of us on the other side of that Geiger-counter begging people to stop remaking Pon De Floor with a 4/4 (or morse-code).
What follows then is an off-year list, one in which narrative builds gave way to experimentation rather than the search for climactic moments. What did I look for in my sets? The same things I always do, stuff that's good on or off the floor, with or without pills, of the moment but not a slave to it, and quite possibly crossover music for the bleep-blop resistant.
Here goes, in no particular order:
Jamie Lidell - I Wanna Be Your Telephone (Tiga's Party like it's 19909 mix)
Smooth, instrumentally spare, loquacious and surprisingly epic, this is a down, slow and dirty groove good for catchin' 'em unawares. Only for adventurous DJs (DO NOT SPEED THIS UP! 118bpm is just right, don't ruin it):
Scissor Sisters - Invisible Light (Siriusmo mix)
From the Teutonic wonder-kid, this remix is harmonious with the original, able to stand on its own, and just absolutely smashes it, through and through:
BT - Le Nocturne de Lumiere
Go ahead, count the notes. Count the edits. Count the sheer number of sounds. I dare you. Or just take it in. This is what BT does. These Hopeful Machines is as much an attempt at mainstream success as BT has tried since Emotional Technology, and as such it is a beautiful, powerfully earnest, but genuinely emotional and frankly transcendent record of electronic music. The man writes music for healing that works as dance music. I don't care what style you're into, you simply must hear BT, whatever he's doing. This is the most "underground" cut on the record, deep into the second disc, but even at his most anthemic, he could make the most hardened dance-music cynic sit up. As well we all should:
Om Unit - Searching (Adam Freeland mix)
Adam Freeland has had an amazing year, and he's done it on the DL. After two years working on and touring from his Freeland album Cope, he's turned back to DJ sets, touring and trainspotting. His ears manage to find un-charted records that yearn to be heard, making him a DJ in the classical sense. Do yourself a favor, and go download his most recent set here. My goodness, new things you will hear. The set also includes this bangarang fucking remix of Om Unit from late summer:
TWR72 - Shock
The Walk & Rogerseventytwo are two Dutch guys with wild imaginations. To me, this record is breaks. Period. It's the boom-tap, baby, just wobbly, and then that build and release? Flawless. Listen here.
Ramadanman - Work Them
This kid is twelve or some shit. And he has this kind of rhythm structure in his brain. Whatever, he's the closest thing to dubstep I'm really embracing right now, though there are others. This guy won me over with this song, slowly and gradually, and then I began to discover his other work, which is really impressive for a young-un. He's the most accessible experimenter of 2010. Also, this track is definitely breaks, not dub, in case you wanna fight about it:
Coin Operated Boy - Trust Me (Clouds mix)
Heard this track in an Evil Nine set, really contrasted the disco-vibe of theirs, in a good way. Gnarly, that's what this is, and that's what Clouds is. Just sick as fuck:
Evil Nine - Auto
Speaking of their disco-vibe, they've really rocked it out with that. Their brand new label For Lovers and three sets of long-form DJ mixes have really changed their direction for them in the past year. Still, don't fret, they remain, as ever, Evil Nine. Here's a clip previewing their new three-track EP, Auto being the track one:
Sandro Silva & Anjiro Rijo - Fifty What (Dem Slackers mix)
Every DJ needs a good Hattori Hanzo sword, and here's one crafted by Dem Slackers, another ridiculously young producer, this time out of the Netherlands:
Cassius - I <3 U So
We're gonna finish it off with some elder statesmen, the classic duo you may remember from the time of Fatboy Slim and Basement Jaxx (as if now isn't also their time), here's some remarkable and gorgeous stuff from Cassius, producing perhaps the first instance of "Frenchstep" I'm aware of. Take it away, 2010:
Friday, December 24, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Fair Game
Neither agitprop nor Jason Bourne-esque spycraft lie at the heart of Doug Liman's Valerie Plame thriller Fair Game. Few attempts are made to elevate your heartrate on the way to a well-known conclusion, and no attempt is made to heavily propagandize the events that lead to that well-known conclusion. Instead, what we have is a strange, thoroughly implausible domestic drama, wherein a hot-headed husband's big mouth gets his wife fired, forcing him to hit the road to clear her name (not to mention provide for their family). Were it not for the events depicted centering so closely on the actual, real world outing of Plame, none of what transpires in the film would have the slightest verisimilitude.
That conflict between the pragmatic, good soldier Plame and the truth-seeking, jusice demanding Wilson is really the main-thread of the movie, which is doubtless an improvement over the Michael Moore speechifying or Oliver Stone psychodrama you might be expecting.
Naomi Watts's Plame and Sean Penn's Joe Wilson are each a workmanlike rendition of a type we've seen lately, the Mr and Mrs. Smith couple, a la Prizzi's Honor (and played out in five or six other films this year). The difference here is they're not superhuman or smug or overtly comical (or assassins). They're real people, extraordinary public servants or not. Things are most interesting here when we see Plame's matter-of-fact approach to concealing her identity, going on the job, interrogating people and collecting intelligence, and finally dealing with her exposure to the limelight.
Watts has a resume filled with serious, difficult roles, and a nack for playing them flawlessly. Penn's close-to-the-heart portrayal of Wilson as a boorish, passionate blow-hard, pursuing the truth at great peril to both of their livelihoods, is as you would imagine it. He's quite good, as usual, and plays the character without over-playing his own personal politics.
The film is not distractingly partisan, save for finding us the fattest Karl Rove in Hollywood. It depicts the Cheney underlings who cooked the books on WMD and then revealed Valerie Plame's identity to the world as thuggish, incompetent and treasonous, which of course, they were.
That conflict between the pragmatic, good soldier Plame and the truth-seeking, jusice demanding Wilson is really the main-thread of the movie, which is doubtless an improvement over the Michael Moore speechifying or Oliver Stone psychodrama you might be expecting.
Naomi Watts's Plame and Sean Penn's Joe Wilson are each a workmanlike rendition of a type we've seen lately, the Mr and Mrs. Smith couple, a la Prizzi's Honor (and played out in five or six other films this year). The difference here is they're not superhuman or smug or overtly comical (or assassins). They're real people, extraordinary public servants or not. Things are most interesting here when we see Plame's matter-of-fact approach to concealing her identity, going on the job, interrogating people and collecting intelligence, and finally dealing with her exposure to the limelight.
Watts has a resume filled with serious, difficult roles, and a nack for playing them flawlessly. Penn's close-to-the-heart portrayal of Wilson as a boorish, passionate blow-hard, pursuing the truth at great peril to both of their livelihoods, is as you would imagine it. He's quite good, as usual, and plays the character without over-playing his own personal politics.
The film is not distractingly partisan, save for finding us the fattest Karl Rove in Hollywood. It depicts the Cheney underlings who cooked the books on WMD and then revealed Valerie Plame's identity to the world as thuggish, incompetent and treasonous, which of course, they were.
Monday, November 08, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Hunting Season
Powerful yearning, for escape from one’s roots, the love of a good woman, and an abandonment of violence as a way of life are all boiling to the rim of Ben Affleck’s comeback in The Town. Here we have, as with the superior Gone Baby Gone, a return to the working-class Bostonian roots of Affleck’s breakout role, as co-star and co-author (with Matt Damon, and most certainly Kevin Smith, respectively) in Good Will Hunting. Affleck takes the starring role this time, and the box-office receipts have proven that to be a decent gambit. Here is a star well past his phony tabloid meltdown and a string of bad pictures, clearly having spent the last five years figuring out where to go from there. His two most recent films suggest he’s back in the game, and would very much like you to consider an end to the backlash against him.
It is, first of all, a good and absorbing film. It’s a heist-movie, co-starring an apparently fat(?) Jeremy Renner and a reliably one-step-behind FBI agent Jon Hamm. It is in many ways a standard one-last-job/shoot-out-with-the-cops flick (To call it a cat-and-mouse game would be to give the cat too much credit). It’s a film of lean, physical toughness and swagger. With any good heist or streets picture, you go for the window dressing, not the frame.
Jeremy Renner plays Affleck’s lifelong friend recently released from prison on a stint that kept Affleck from going there himself. Renner is the wild-card, like his character in The Hurt Locker, only with a self-preservation instinct that won’t outpace the death one. He’s predictable only in the sense that you can easily expect violence from him. At what point it will emerge is anyone’s guess.
The more crucial force in the picture is Jon Hamm’s FBI agent, who, though smart enough to know he has his guys, can’t quite keep up with Affleck. He throws around the word omerta in a strong-arming interrogation session, knows what it means, and knows the guys he’s tailing are bound by it (but doesn’t understand quickly enough how deeply another character becomes bound by it).
The film, while not as great as Gone Baby Gone, speaks to how deeply we may have ourselves underestimated Affleck. In salvaging his career, he has now made two of his best pictures. He’s currently filming his next project for Terrence Malick. People can surprise you from out of the holes they pull themselves.
It is, first of all, a good and absorbing film. It’s a heist-movie, co-starring an apparently fat(?) Jeremy Renner and a reliably one-step-behind FBI agent Jon Hamm. It is in many ways a standard one-last-job/shoot-out-with-the-cops flick (To call it a cat-and-mouse game would be to give the cat too much credit). It’s a film of lean, physical toughness and swagger. With any good heist or streets picture, you go for the window dressing, not the frame.
Jeremy Renner plays Affleck’s lifelong friend recently released from prison on a stint that kept Affleck from going there himself. Renner is the wild-card, like his character in The Hurt Locker, only with a self-preservation instinct that won’t outpace the death one. He’s predictable only in the sense that you can easily expect violence from him. At what point it will emerge is anyone’s guess.
The more crucial force in the picture is Jon Hamm’s FBI agent, who, though smart enough to know he has his guys, can’t quite keep up with Affleck. He throws around the word omerta in a strong-arming interrogation session, knows what it means, and knows the guys he’s tailing are bound by it (but doesn’t understand quickly enough how deeply another character becomes bound by it).
The film, while not as great as Gone Baby Gone, speaks to how deeply we may have ourselves underestimated Affleck. In salvaging his career, he has now made two of his best pictures. He’s currently filming his next project for Terrence Malick. People can surprise you from out of the holes they pull themselves.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
The Soci(opath)al Network
“That’s got to be the land-speed record for talking”
David Fincher’s Facebook "exposé” opens to a roller-coaster of words, no faster in terms of pacing and screw-ball velocity than ones spoken during the set-matches of the rest of the film, but they feel faster. Your ears sit up. The first exchange is between Mark Zuckerberg and his Boston University girlfriend, and it’s more densely packed than an episode of House (if not The West Wing). It reels you in, makes you adjust to the pitch and timbre of the film, and may well be the interaction you’ll need to review the most to get the entire movie. It’s all right there at the start.
Recorded from the perpetual-motion-machine of Aaron Sorkin’s brain, it doesn’t matter in the slightest whether or not what occurs from thereon is even remotely true. We’re witnessing history re-written from the heights. A few facts are certainly inescapable, being that Mark Zuckerberg founded Facebook, settled out of court with two different parties (or many, many more), and went on to become Charles Foster Kane (in a hoodie).
For those who both snickered at the notion of a Facebook movie being made and at the prospect of Jesse Eisenberg starring in it, you are offered Eisenberg's scrutinizing, contemptuous face, for two whole hours. And, while he’s flaunting your small-mindedness with his pitch-perfect performance, he’d like to thank you now in advance for never again comparing him to Michael Cera. There are fine performances here, particularly from Eisenberg and Andrew Garfield (our incipient Spider Man). What’s more of a surprise is how surely Justin Timberlake takes over the movie halfway through. He fares more than well enough with the speaking of Sorkinese.
David Fincher’s film presents what most people would be convinced are mundane affairs, through his usual shadowy, sepia-lensed viewfinder. In this, he gets the tone of Zuckerberg’s resentment-filled coming-of-age just right. He also takes us deep into the world of the elite Harvard establishment and power-drunk tweener-preneurs. It’s a very interesting film for our resentful times.
It’s also a classic tale of an almost Nixonian triangulator. Spurned from his lack of social and practical acceptance in the highest echelons and clubs, not to mention his puny ineligibility for the rowing team, Zuckerberg is forced to outdo them all.
That starts a war. We see the testimony of the three major parties, the Winklevoss twins, Eduardo Saverin (Garfield) and Zuckerberg, the first two suing the latter for theft of intellectual property, and quite literal disenfranchisement, respectively. The official line of the filmmakers is that they’re presenting a “Rashomon” scenario for the viewers. They claim they don’t know which version of events is correct.
The movie seems to know, however. The entire film flashbacks from its deposition frame-story to a narrative in motion that leads inexorably down Zuckerberg’s byzantine maneuvering and cut-throat deal-making. The endgame is your typical lonely man in a tower, loveless, friendless, and rich.
We’ve seen that movie before, a few times. What we don’t usually see is a protagonist who might not realize what he’s lost; the price of being the world’s youngest billionaire. One is led to believe he didn’t even know he was so Machiavellian, but it’s all right there in the first scene.
It’s a break-up movie, set to Trent Reznor, filmed in Se7en-vision. And it’s the best film made from a Sorkin screenplay yet. Go see it.
David Fincher’s Facebook "exposé” opens to a roller-coaster of words, no faster in terms of pacing and screw-ball velocity than ones spoken during the set-matches of the rest of the film, but they feel faster. Your ears sit up. The first exchange is between Mark Zuckerberg and his Boston University girlfriend, and it’s more densely packed than an episode of House (if not The West Wing). It reels you in, makes you adjust to the pitch and timbre of the film, and may well be the interaction you’ll need to review the most to get the entire movie. It’s all right there at the start.
Recorded from the perpetual-motion-machine of Aaron Sorkin’s brain, it doesn’t matter in the slightest whether or not what occurs from thereon is even remotely true. We’re witnessing history re-written from the heights. A few facts are certainly inescapable, being that Mark Zuckerberg founded Facebook, settled out of court with two different parties (or many, many more), and went on to become Charles Foster Kane (in a hoodie).
For those who both snickered at the notion of a Facebook movie being made and at the prospect of Jesse Eisenberg starring in it, you are offered Eisenberg's scrutinizing, contemptuous face, for two whole hours. And, while he’s flaunting your small-mindedness with his pitch-perfect performance, he’d like to thank you now in advance for never again comparing him to Michael Cera. There are fine performances here, particularly from Eisenberg and Andrew Garfield (our incipient Spider Man). What’s more of a surprise is how surely Justin Timberlake takes over the movie halfway through. He fares more than well enough with the speaking of Sorkinese.
David Fincher’s film presents what most people would be convinced are mundane affairs, through his usual shadowy, sepia-lensed viewfinder. In this, he gets the tone of Zuckerberg’s resentment-filled coming-of-age just right. He also takes us deep into the world of the elite Harvard establishment and power-drunk tweener-preneurs. It’s a very interesting film for our resentful times.
It’s also a classic tale of an almost Nixonian triangulator. Spurned from his lack of social and practical acceptance in the highest echelons and clubs, not to mention his puny ineligibility for the rowing team, Zuckerberg is forced to outdo them all.
That starts a war. We see the testimony of the three major parties, the Winklevoss twins, Eduardo Saverin (Garfield) and Zuckerberg, the first two suing the latter for theft of intellectual property, and quite literal disenfranchisement, respectively. The official line of the filmmakers is that they’re presenting a “Rashomon” scenario for the viewers. They claim they don’t know which version of events is correct.
The movie seems to know, however. The entire film flashbacks from its deposition frame-story to a narrative in motion that leads inexorably down Zuckerberg’s byzantine maneuvering and cut-throat deal-making. The endgame is your typical lonely man in a tower, loveless, friendless, and rich.
We’ve seen that movie before, a few times. What we don’t usually see is a protagonist who might not realize what he’s lost; the price of being the world’s youngest billionaire. One is led to believe he didn’t even know he was so Machiavellian, but it’s all right there in the first scene.
It’s a break-up movie, set to Trent Reznor, filmed in Se7en-vision. And it’s the best film made from a Sorkin screenplay yet. Go see it.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Canard
I won't be writing any sort of stabilized review of Inception until I take my boo to see it next week, and am able to sort it more clearly a second time.
Briefly, I will say, however, something I've said before about different material in the past. The complaint has been surfacing (spoiler?) that the lucid dreaming of these characters is impossible, that is, dreams just don't work like that.
I will not speak to the real world implications of this. Either the conceit of this movie is impossible or it isn't. But.....ahem:
You can't hear explosions in space. You can't bend a spoon with your mind. There are no such thing as replicants. It's almost 2015 and we don't have hoverboards yet.
Nobody talks like an Aaron Sorkin or Quentin Tarantino character in real life.
You don't accept the premise of Inception? Then you weren't paying attention to how carefully they set up the notion that our protagonists have been at this for awhile, are the special ops of the dream-world.
And you're just looking to complain, aren't you?
Briefly, I will say, however, something I've said before about different material in the past. The complaint has been surfacing (spoiler?) that the lucid dreaming of these characters is impossible, that is, dreams just don't work like that.
I will not speak to the real world implications of this. Either the conceit of this movie is impossible or it isn't. But.....ahem:
You can't hear explosions in space. You can't bend a spoon with your mind. There are no such thing as replicants. It's almost 2015 and we don't have hoverboards yet.
Nobody talks like an Aaron Sorkin or Quentin Tarantino character in real life.
You don't accept the premise of Inception? Then you weren't paying attention to how carefully they set up the notion that our protagonists have been at this for awhile, are the special ops of the dream-world.
And you're just looking to complain, aren't you?
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
OH NO NO NO
- Overheard during the Guillermo Del Toro produced recent flick, Splice
Sad, really, that this movie, in this summer of flop-sweat on executive car-seats, had to go down with the rest. It's one of maybe three or so films with any ideas in it to come out since April.
And does it ever have ideas. So many, and so casually strewn in ornamental order, and in so short procession (the themes):
Man plays god, toys with nature
Man splices (titular!) genetic hybrid rabbit/fish/slug that harbors all kinds of disease curing possibilities
Man breaks rules (because man HADN'T broken rules yet!), combines own DNA with that of rabbit, bird, bat, fish (manticore?)
Man and woman have domestic woes. Raise subsequent she-beast together as though it were child
Man reads Frankenstein, realizes things will be JUST FINE
Step back for a second, replace the word man with Sarah Polley, and you've got the real story. Adrien Brody's character is playing rear-guard here. He has to be pleaded with for a good sixty minutes of the movie to be remotely on board with raising the central creature of this film, a female straight out of The Arrival with a stinger on her tail and a longing in her heart.
The film is compulsively watchable, interesting, and deeply creepy from start to finish. It has two or three very memorable scenes and a conclusion that will make or break your willingness to re-evaluate everything that has gone before.
The creature itself is the best reason to see the film. It's called Dren, and is named suddenly and decisively by Sarah Polley's character, who does everything here suddenly and decisively. Dren can proudly stand beside our greatest movie monsters. She's an ably designed, but most of all very well acted character indeed. It's worth remembering the words of Terry Gilliam:
My problem with E.T., and I think it would be a better film, are those big Walter Keane moonstone eyes, because you immediately love that little creature. There’s a moment in the film when they’re dissecting the frogs and they do a close-up of the frogs with those alien slit eyes. Now if E.T. had those eyes, then he’s a really grotesque ugly thing and the kid has to learn to love a grotesque ugly thing. It’s easy to love E.T. It should have been difficult to love E.T.
This movie keeps those moonstone eyes and makes it at times deeply troubling to find any sympathy for this creature, who is just NOT right at all. She shouldn't be. The story's inherent flaw, for me (though I sense the film is fumbling at a comment on our incredibly blasé times), is that our protagonists here take it as a given that they can essentially create life. There is nothing of the human awe we have in Croneberg's The Fly, in his protagonist's technological breakthrough. Stealing from the gods is so old hat.
True, Brody's character (wisely) fears their creation, knows it's just plain wrong, leaving Polley motivated by wounds I'll leave for you to discover. The whole thing is a domesticated affair. Everything is neatly tied into a homemaking, child-raising bow in this movie. It's interesting, but strikingly implausible. Genetic cut-chemists in love or no, if your significant other clones a human lady-bat-scorpion-frog-princess, it's actually perfectly reasonable to protest.
Splice is a series of bad decisions, played out on too everyman a stage. Stephen King is said to populate his stories with ordinary characters in an ordinary world, and confront them with extraordinary circumstances.
The couple in this movie is anything but ordinary, but they act like they're in a late-nineties sitcom together.
Still, it's fairly even-handed, in the sense that they both make about the same number of unfortunate choices. Brody's character takes the cake, by the end, making a profoundly terrible decision, and I must say, I haven't heard an audience talk back to a movie, in this way, in years.
Sad, really, that this movie, in this summer of flop-sweat on executive car-seats, had to go down with the rest. It's one of maybe three or so films with any ideas in it to come out since April.
And does it ever have ideas. So many, and so casually strewn in ornamental order, and in so short procession (the themes):
Man plays god, toys with nature
Man splices (titular!) genetic hybrid rabbit/fish/slug that harbors all kinds of disease curing possibilities
Man breaks rules (because man HADN'T broken rules yet!), combines own DNA with that of rabbit, bird, bat, fish (manticore?)
Man and woman have domestic woes. Raise subsequent she-beast together as though it were child
Man reads Frankenstein, realizes things will be JUST FINE
Step back for a second, replace the word man with Sarah Polley, and you've got the real story. Adrien Brody's character is playing rear-guard here. He has to be pleaded with for a good sixty minutes of the movie to be remotely on board with raising the central creature of this film, a female straight out of The Arrival with a stinger on her tail and a longing in her heart.
The film is compulsively watchable, interesting, and deeply creepy from start to finish. It has two or three very memorable scenes and a conclusion that will make or break your willingness to re-evaluate everything that has gone before.
The creature itself is the best reason to see the film. It's called Dren, and is named suddenly and decisively by Sarah Polley's character, who does everything here suddenly and decisively. Dren can proudly stand beside our greatest movie monsters. She's an ably designed, but most of all very well acted character indeed. It's worth remembering the words of Terry Gilliam:
My problem with E.T., and I think it would be a better film, are those big Walter Keane moonstone eyes, because you immediately love that little creature. There’s a moment in the film when they’re dissecting the frogs and they do a close-up of the frogs with those alien slit eyes. Now if E.T. had those eyes, then he’s a really grotesque ugly thing and the kid has to learn to love a grotesque ugly thing. It’s easy to love E.T. It should have been difficult to love E.T.
This movie keeps those moonstone eyes and makes it at times deeply troubling to find any sympathy for this creature, who is just NOT right at all. She shouldn't be. The story's inherent flaw, for me (though I sense the film is fumbling at a comment on our incredibly blasé times), is that our protagonists here take it as a given that they can essentially create life. There is nothing of the human awe we have in Croneberg's The Fly, in his protagonist's technological breakthrough. Stealing from the gods is so old hat.
True, Brody's character (wisely) fears their creation, knows it's just plain wrong, leaving Polley motivated by wounds I'll leave for you to discover. The whole thing is a domesticated affair. Everything is neatly tied into a homemaking, child-raising bow in this movie. It's interesting, but strikingly implausible. Genetic cut-chemists in love or no, if your significant other clones a human lady-bat-scorpion-frog-princess, it's actually perfectly reasonable to protest.
Splice is a series of bad decisions, played out on too everyman a stage. Stephen King is said to populate his stories with ordinary characters in an ordinary world, and confront them with extraordinary circumstances.
The couple in this movie is anything but ordinary, but they act like they're in a late-nineties sitcom together.
Still, it's fairly even-handed, in the sense that they both make about the same number of unfortunate choices. Brody's character takes the cake, by the end, making a profoundly terrible decision, and I must say, I haven't heard an audience talk back to a movie, in this way, in years.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Huh
I count myself lucky that none of my current favorite properties were casually offered up to this fucked-up burnout.
If you, after seeing The Happening and its box-office returns, still manage to throw a franchise away on the maker of that one, you should probably get fired.
My guess is that M Night Shyamalan is amassing every executive's secrets and is locking them away in his compound.
My favorite review of The Happening is here:
Equally odd is their insistence, even though they’ve known from the beginning that the deadly nerve agent is airborne, on spending as much time as possible outdoors. When fleeing by car, they leave the windows rolled down; anytime they want to look at a map or discuss what to do next they get out of the car to do so. It never seems to occur to any of the protagonists that they should get inside somewhere and tape the windows and doors --even though this is the only strategy we’ve seen work for anyone else. Eighty minutes into a 90-minute movie, Alma and Jess are still sitting in a small guest house with all the doors and windows open. When Elliot, who’s just watched someone fall victim to the toxin nearby screams, “Close the windows and the doors!” Alma innocently inquires “Why?”
Sunday, June 27, 2010
From The Producer of Craven Money Grab!
The trailer for Despicable Me, a lackluster looking Steve Carell vehicle which appears to have all the trappings of Cynical Sarcastic Kid-Movie Syndrome, contains the linchpin "From [Hollywood Mogul], the producer of Ice Age!"
Ponder that for a second. Never mind that the Ice Age series is second only to Shrek in low expectations for a kiddie flick, the little halflings don't know that or care. They see bright primary colors and hear orifices eructating, and if you're five, that's fine. Maybe you'll grow up one day to the personal discovery that the Pixar movies were so much better than that, in so many ways, and were, in fact, MOVIES, which trained your brains towards higher purposes. Some kids will happen upon that revelation, some won't.
The fact remains, unless you're Walt Goddamn Disney, nobody GIVES A FUCK WHAT YOUR NAME IS, OR THAT YOU PRODUCED ICE AGE, and certainly, NOBODY UNDER THE AGE OF TEN GIVES A FLYING FUCK AT A BADLY COMPUTER ANIMATED ROLLING DONUT, EITHER.
Isn't it enough that we watch a trailer and are either sold by it or not?
Yes, Pixar ads tout "From the Makers of Wall-E, Finding Nemo, etc.
That's because those movies inspire quiet awe and gentle concentration in young (and old) minds. And they speak for themselves, and Pete Doctor doesn't care if you remember his name or not, whatever your age.
Ponder that for a second. Never mind that the Ice Age series is second only to Shrek in low expectations for a kiddie flick, the little halflings don't know that or care. They see bright primary colors and hear orifices eructating, and if you're five, that's fine. Maybe you'll grow up one day to the personal discovery that the Pixar movies were so much better than that, in so many ways, and were, in fact, MOVIES, which trained your brains towards higher purposes. Some kids will happen upon that revelation, some won't.
The fact remains, unless you're Walt Goddamn Disney, nobody GIVES A FUCK WHAT YOUR NAME IS, OR THAT YOU PRODUCED ICE AGE, and certainly, NOBODY UNDER THE AGE OF TEN GIVES A FLYING FUCK AT A BADLY COMPUTER ANIMATED ROLLING DONUT, EITHER.
Isn't it enough that we watch a trailer and are either sold by it or not?
Yes, Pixar ads tout "From the Makers of Wall-E, Finding Nemo, etc.
That's because those movies inspire quiet awe and gentle concentration in young (and old) minds. And they speak for themselves, and Pete Doctor doesn't care if you remember his name or not, whatever your age.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Chautauqua
There've been a few DJ sets, preceding the one in yesterday's entry, that have so far this year kept alive the proper filthy naughty. Do they come from the places you'd predict I'd reconnoiter?
Would you have it any other way? After this set, lamentably missed by all of us not in Miami this past March? Scroll to minute 3:10 and tell me you didn't burn a hole in your britches. Liar:
Stanton Warriors - Miami Beach Party Session Live @ WMC 2010 by Stanton Warriors
The most impressive production duo currently alive and being monitored by the Men in Black is the Netherlands' The Walk and Rogerseventytwo. Here's why I'm right about that:
And here's access to their latest DJ mix, straight from the brand new label they call home.
Golden Bug has had a terrific year, out-producing almost everyone on the block, in quality and quantity (It's sad that the prolific producers tend to produce the most redundant stuff. That's not the case, here). If you haven't rocked the hell out of his Flamingo EP, you aren't a DJ this year.
Here's his Blah Blah Blah podcast set.
In which he introduced me to:
Now that you've had your cocoa puffs, pour some Balkan hot sauce on 'em:
Nico de Transilvania - Balktronic mix by Nico de Transilvania
Now push play on all these things at once.
Would you have it any other way? After this set, lamentably missed by all of us not in Miami this past March? Scroll to minute 3:10 and tell me you didn't burn a hole in your britches. Liar:
Stanton Warriors - Miami Beach Party Session Live @ WMC 2010 by Stanton Warriors
The most impressive production duo currently alive and being monitored by the Men in Black is the Netherlands' The Walk and Rogerseventytwo. Here's why I'm right about that:
And here's access to their latest DJ mix, straight from the brand new label they call home.
Golden Bug has had a terrific year, out-producing almost everyone on the block, in quality and quantity (It's sad that the prolific producers tend to produce the most redundant stuff. That's not the case, here). If you haven't rocked the hell out of his Flamingo EP, you aren't a DJ this year.
Here's his Blah Blah Blah podcast set.
In which he introduced me to:
Now that you've had your cocoa puffs, pour some Balkan hot sauce on 'em:
Nico de Transilvania - Balktronic mix by Nico de Transilvania
Now push play on all these things at once.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Not Fighters
:: FOR LOVERS :: MIXTAPE NO.1 by Evil Nine
More posting this month than there was the last. For now, rinse yourself deeply in the Evils' new direction. It is clearly them. It is clearly different. It makes perfect sense in their timeline. Real Love and Ultimo would've pissed off their fans ten years ago. Here and now, those tracks are built on a series of perfect, quite natural musical choices.
A high point in the set for me is the Mustapha 3000 remix of Headman, which came out in '06, but still sounds incredibly forward thinking.
Cheers!
ikeya seki - kano
i need love ( morgan geist's love dub ) - hot toddy
funkacise ( instrumental ) - the funkacise gang
gin nation - tiger & woods
serious - donna allen
mindless boogie 20 - tina - villa edit
moisture ( mustapha 3000 remix ) - headman
real love - evil nine
zoid - retro-grade
invisible light ( siriusmo remix ) - scissor sisters
spaceship ( kris menace dub ) - kelis
kilometer ( aeroplane remix ) - sebastian tellier
lemonade ( deadstock 33s remix ) - erol alkan & boys noize
love dead ( evil nine remix ) - army of the universe
sweetlight ( boris dlugosch remix ) - boys noize
ultimo - evil nine
no way back - adonis
pelu tolo ( bo'tox lip dub mix ) - mickey moonlight
no manners ( jay zinga 666 edit ) - evil nine
no manners ( dannoso instrumental remix ) - evil nine
the mind of many ( obi blanche remix ) - zombie nation & friends
ultimo ( dem slackers remix ) - evil nine
so light is her footfall ( breakbot remix ) - air
More posting this month than there was the last. For now, rinse yourself deeply in the Evils' new direction. It is clearly them. It is clearly different. It makes perfect sense in their timeline. Real Love and Ultimo would've pissed off their fans ten years ago. Here and now, those tracks are built on a series of perfect, quite natural musical choices.
A high point in the set for me is the Mustapha 3000 remix of Headman, which came out in '06, but still sounds incredibly forward thinking.
Cheers!
ikeya seki - kano
i need love ( morgan geist's love dub ) - hot toddy
funkacise ( instrumental ) - the funkacise gang
gin nation - tiger & woods
serious - donna allen
mindless boogie 20 - tina - villa edit
moisture ( mustapha 3000 remix ) - headman
real love - evil nine
zoid - retro-grade
invisible light ( siriusmo remix ) - scissor sisters
spaceship ( kris menace dub ) - kelis
kilometer ( aeroplane remix ) - sebastian tellier
lemonade ( deadstock 33s remix ) - erol alkan & boys noize
love dead ( evil nine remix ) - army of the universe
sweetlight ( boris dlugosch remix ) - boys noize
ultimo - evil nine
no way back - adonis
pelu tolo ( bo'tox lip dub mix ) - mickey moonlight
no manners ( jay zinga 666 edit ) - evil nine
no manners ( dannoso instrumental remix ) - evil nine
the mind of many ( obi blanche remix ) - zombie nation & friends
ultimo ( dem slackers remix ) - evil nine
so light is her footfall ( breakbot remix ) - air
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