This blog goes great with malbec

By now you may have deduced I am frequently inebriated while creating these posts (if you could call this creation). Perhaps you noted the ephemeral nature of of post topics or the (meta)physics-defying leaps of logic that occur. What you may not already know is the drinking extends to school work.

This is a problem.

Though, it's likely not what you're thinking. Dionysus, for the the uninformed among you, has long been the writer's friend. She takes those austere, white-washed halls of academia and molds them into something nebulous, luminescent and full of possibility. Mind-altering agents will make a lateral thinker out of you. Consider that Francis Crick was doped out of his mind when he granted the spontaneous revelation of the DNA double-helix model. When you're a genius like Crick, a night of partying means you wake up with a Nobel prize in your lap. When you're me, it means walking up in class as your professor explains how they loved your dissertation on the parallels of agrarian economics and Victor Fleming's The Wizard of Oz and you should totally do a term paper on that thesis because it's just so damn fantastic!

It's an irritation, certainly, but what's perhaps worse is reading the paper (that you wrote) and being convinced of a case you previously thought ridiculous. Convinced by yourself. It's difficult not falling victim to intellectual nihilism at this point. If one could make a case for the secret agenda of a Judy Garland film, one could certainly explain vaudeville as an allegory for 19th century social theory, or justify moral outrage at the crude trappings of Rocko's Modern Life, or even state, without irony, that Birdemic is the single greatest film in American history.



And it is. Birdemic is the single greatest film in American history.

What makes a film great? Ask that question of any number of your peers and you'll receive any number of different answers. In light of this confusion, let's indulge in a thought experiment. Imagine a friend were to approach you, giddy in the afterglow, and inform you of one of the single most memorable nights of cinema in their life. They gush about the theater being packed to capacity, a riveted audience that never stopped laughing for two solid hours. After the film had ended, they could hardly stop talking about it. Indeed, weeks later, the excitement still hadn't died. This friend tells you, "I would watch that movie over and over again. I've never had so much fun at the movies." Could we agree this person is talking about an incredible film?



That's exactly what people are saying about Birdemic. I can declare truthfully that it has forced me to reevaluate everything I thought to be true concerning movies. Here's a dare. Go watch it, and see if it doesn't change your life.

I haven't slept in a long time

Creating a short film for the Reel New Haven Festival has taken its toll on my mind and body. I’ve lost no less than 10 pounds of muscle mass, and my faith in God has been severely shaken. Nonetheless, we do have a film submitted for consideration, and the New York festivals will follow shortly. Top prize at the Vimeo Fest is a $25,000 grant. Does my entirely improvised meditation on urban loneliness, heartbreak, and pop culture have what it takes to bring in that money? Probably not, but at least I learned a great deal in the process, like how hard it will be to finish a feature by the end of August. El Mariachi was a crazier idea, and look how well that turned out.

The internet remains a luxury revoked but not forgotten in this household. With its continued absence, a lurking sort of madness has seeped into the mind of my incredibly attractive housemate. There is a reasonable concern that this mental contagion is spreading. Today my work was interrupted by the braying of the uneducated, a common occurrence in this neighborhood. It would have passed without remark if I hadn’t been situated advantageously by our large living area window, and was therefore able to spot the source of this revelry. Two drunken hipsters made their way past our building with great effort. Their movements a sort of exaggerated slow motion, as if they were literally wading through the summer humidity. Listening to the hateful language of the lower classes sounding forth from the mouths of two jaded trust-fund babies was unsettling. It took the seams of my reality and began to stretch them to an uncomfortable point. Is this a dream? Or has everything up to this point been the dream?

On the subject of dreams, Inception was a passable film. My thoughts leaving the theater are listed here in descending order of intensity:


1)Joseph Gordon Levitt is one spindly little bastard.
2)That movie was not complicated by any sane definition of the word.
3)Really though, he’s so spindly. It’s incredible.




I struggle with thoughts on filmmaking. The Hong Kong action films of yesteryear have lost their divinity somewhere along the road. All that remains of those once holy structures is the architecture, notably perfect, but worn and dusty from neglect as congregations slowly dwindled over the years. Have I simply grown older? More mature? Is film not the medium I believe it to be? Perhaps the power is imagined. These are the kind of questions that will keep me awake at night. They are fruitless, labyrinthine paths of thought that I ought to avoid in the future. As it is said, “The Kingdom of Heaven is shaken by violence, and the violent take it by force.” Let us be violent.

A Better Today, Part II

The battle continues, but, this time, it's personal.

Insert Funny Chuck Norris Fact

It's Chuck Norris month at Insomnia Theater.



I used to think Chuck Norris was really cool. I don't mean in the post-millennial-satirical way either. I certainly don't mean it in the 90's era cowboy-culture way. No, like most New Englanders, to me, the south is a troubling reality I can't blot away, an inconvenient truth. What I'm trying to say is I thought Chuck Norris was cool in a Delta Force kind of way, a Lone Wolf McQuade kind of way, even in a echoes-of-way-of-the-dragon kind of way.

An anecdote: when I used to take tang soo do lessons (from which Chuck Norris developed his own deadly style) my cousin was the envy of the dojo for sharing a surname with the bearded badass.

If pressed, I'd tell you my favorite Chuck Norris movie was Sidekicks.



The movie is largely a ripoff of The Karate Kid with Chuck Norris poking fun at the warfare of old. This was the cinematic equivalent of Jesus ushering in the new testament (I'm not comparing him to Jesus, this isn't that kind of Chuck Norris post). The times had changed, and film had changed with them. The flick was released in 1992, a new decade, and one without room for heroes who were unapologetically awesome. Irony was the new weapon of choice. Hipsters ruled, and a dynasty of machismo fell.

The film mirrored my own transition into adulthood, and, much like that metamorphosis, there was no returning once the threshold had been crossed. The shift paved the way for our modern day gritty action stars, ones with realistic psyches who feel the burden of killing on their souls.

We all have to grow up eventually. It's not a bad thing. Still, I can't help thinking wistfully at times of fishing trips, summer vacations, and Chuck Norris popping out of the murky water to murder thousands and thousands of people.

The Good Old Days

Remember when they made movies that didn't suck? I do.



I really am more-or-less this impressionable.

Avatar sucked just a little bit more than I miss you

In a more enlightened age when free love and shocking drug abuse reigned Pauline Kael would have saved us from Cameron's new movie Avatar. It's in her honor I'd like to rip into this critic-beloved travesty.

Those following industry news have all heard Cameron touting his new technologies for years leading up to the release of Avatar, and he certainly delivers on that front. The visuals of this movie are amazing. The world that Cameron paid a large team of researches and technicians millions and millions and millions of dollars to create is visually stunning, lifelike, and simply like nothing you've seen before.

The movie itself is complete crap with pretensions of being art. Let's be honest. This isn't some unflinching allegory for western imperialism. It's not a boldly innovative tale that will force us to examine our world in a new light. No, this is a product that cost producers nearly half a billion dollars. That's billion with a "b" if you weren't paying attention. When something costs that kind of money you can't afford to screw around, so you follow the melodrama's formula to the letter. You do this because people love that formula. You'll make lot's of money and the shareholders won't fire you.

I don't begrudge them for being cliched and formulaic. If I had half a billion dollars riding on something I'd sure as hell do the same thing. What's enraging is the length, the lack of early action, and Sam Worthington's inconsistent voiceover which doesn't tell you much other than how stupid the studios think you are. I shelled out fifteen dollars a ticket because I wanted a 3D cinematic roller coaster. I came here looking for blood and gladiatorial action. Where are my spear-chucking, dinosaur-riding battle sequences? Where is my hot human-on-overgrown-smurf action? Two hours in and I still hadn't seen a single aircraft destroyed by fluorescent pterodactyls. You do get these things eventually, but so much time is wasted. We know our protagonist will fall in love with the smurf who sulkily agrees to train him. Were 45 minutes of exposition necessary? Didn't they invent the montage for this sort of thing?



If you're looking for the transcendental experience the critics and fans seem to be raving about, I suggest spending an entire day spent watching smurf reruns, dropping acid, and eating shrooms. Then and only then should you go watch Avatar.

Last one I swear

Time to submit yet another (you guessed it) Asian exploitation film. For your viewing pleasure...



Enter The Ninja is the first of a trilogy by Sho Kosugi (actual ninja!) followed shortly by Revenge of the Ninja and last, but certainly not least, Ninja III: The Domination.

It stars a white guy, but the movie is still pretty cool. I especially like that his mustache is so powerful you can see it right through the mask. It gives him an edge against the other ninja much like Chuck Norris' beard.



Other noteworthy trivia is this movie has the coolest opening credits of all time. Seriously, there is a scientific consensus on that.

I'd suggest not drinking when you watch this movie unless you are among like minded friends or have a particularly stable psyche. Definitely not for the suicide prone (I'm looking at you Japan). Enjoy your newfound sobriety!

Oh yes, I can dig it

There aren't really words to express how much I love this movie. I'll just give you some pictures. They're worth a thousand anyway.



Note the lesion from a recent gonosphyphillherpelaids infection spreading on Swan's face. Never make out with mustachioed latinas from a bottom-tier street gang!



The scariest teeth you ever did see. Believe it or not, this is not the gayest gang uniform you will see in the film.



And this dude... This is the original badass. He can bite the head off a baby before you even know what happened. If he took those shades off, it would kill you outright.

The Warriors is constantly in rotation at Insomnia theater. You really have to go see it. I recommend a large bottle of Little Penguin chardonnay for your exploitation experience. Careful in those dark theater aisles though. I ended up pouring about half mine on the floor.

One for my homies.

This is why I do drugs

I missed my golden opportunity. Tell me what's worth living for now?



















Just keep dreaming I guess.

Eclecticism

I can't remember the last time I talked about a film that didn't have at least one decapitation. Lest I be seen as a certifiable gore-snob reveling in the explicit violence rending the moral fabric of our nation I'd like to talk about Clint Eastwood.



That we could all marry women 35 years our junior... Who can blame her though? One year shy of 80 and he can still make a grown man crap himself. He's perhaps the most extreme example of Hollywood's vogue for geriatric action heroes. When he tells the gang youth in Gran Torino he would blow their heads off and sleep soundly afterward there's something in that gravely voice that makes you believe him. He'll do it man. He's crazy.



The man bleeds masculinity. Not to mention he's masterful in the director's chair. His is the kind of filmmaking you don't see anymore, the very best of a bygone era. No MTV generation inspired quick-cutting or Oliver Wood cinematography-as-a-track-and-field-event antics, but he'll make you want to scream at all the right moments just the same.

Do yourself a favor and add his filmography to your netflix queue. I'll recommend (but not buy because I am poor) some Blackjack Pasture to go with your experience. Like Eastwood, it's from Carmel-by-the-sea, California and possesses the soul of a cowboy.

Zombie erotica

A friend of mine recently gave this underrated sub-genre a stab, and it got me thinking. What films could I recommend to spark that perverse imagination of his? It didn't take me long to come up with a short list, which is now provided here for your enrichment.

Let's start by keeping things local: New Haven's very own Love of the Dead. It's sexy. It's funny. It's horrifying. It's everything you could want from the field, and the strongest indie short film offering I've seen come out of CT in years. For those of you who missed the Yale humanities center screening, the entire film is now available online.

Next on the list is something you've no doubt seen coming a mile off. If you haven't seen Dead Alive a.k.a. Braindead then run out and rent it right now. Yes, right now. Why are you still here? Check out that hot zombie on zombie action in the basement. With an ordained priest no less? Scandalous!



I couldn't find an actual picture of the scene since all my blogger brethren are prudes. Prudes!

Moving on, you need to check out the third installment of the Return of the Living Dead series. Yes, I know it sucked. What matters here is that it has arguably the hottest zombie of all time.



Throw in some S&M themes since zombie porn is apparently not dirty enough and you have... I don't know what you have. A touching tale of young love? A harrowing allegory of the modern military-industrial complex and its inevitable evils? A wasted piece of celluloid? Whatever. Melinda Clark who prefers to be called Julie is smoke'n. I love those spikes baby.

Last and certainly not least we have to talk about Re-Animator. Not only do I get to reference Lovecraft, I get to make an obvious pun about head.



It doesn't get much more erotic than that.

It's all in the title

I went to see a matinee of Transformers 2 today, because I'm a whore. It was oddly unsatisfying and not even in that "I enjoyed that but still feel filthy" kind of way. Upon returning home I announced I was ready to shed my debaucherous lifestyle and settle down with a good man from the Korean new wave. I've got my eye on Chan-wook Park, but who am I kidding? It would be good for about three months followed by five painful years of forced smiles and awkward dates culminating in his tears while I scream for a divorce.



That was my unwieldly way of telling you Transformers 2 sucked. Like you didn't already know...

Let's talk about films that don't suck! Way of the Gun by Christopher Mcquarrie is such a film.



There's something about a Mcquarrie script that makes dual-wielding pistols look legitimate. His brother is responsible for the firefight choreography, and it really shines. You haven't seen anything quite like it elsewhere.

As a directorial debut it falters in places, but there's more than enough to keep you going, and glimpses of brilliance do occasionally flit by. I really think this guy has amazing potential (although it would seem he's out of the game now). Mcquarrie spits in the face of hollywood stereotypes and really knows how to show instead of tell. Great performances by the cast (notably Caan and Del Toro) help him in that regard.

If nothing else, watch it to see Sarah Silverman get punched in the face. Booyah! I'd say that goes well with a bottle of kosher cabernet sauvignon.

I just need the pom poms

Sometimes I feel like that slut from high school. You know, the one who was always sleeping with the muscle-bound jocks who treated her like crap?

Take Paul McGuigan's Push as the most recent example. I'm not stupid. I know this movie is going to be a steaming pile of celluloid, but I see a telekinetic gunfight in the trailer and buy the tickets anyway. Next thing I know I'm standing outside the theater trying to straighten my crumpled blouse feeling dirty and used.

The parallel continues for any action movie.



Seriously, just put some jersey's on these guys and it's the 12th grade all over again. I'm so easy all it takes is an explosion on the cover to get me alone in a darkened room. I don't learn my lesson either. Next time some vampire fare walks by and flashes a little Ethan Hawke at me I'll be in that position of degradation again before long.



To be fair, Push isn't that bad, but it's certainly not good. It suffers from lackluster directing, a contrived plot, and typical hollywood disneyland morals. You can't help but see the potential squandered here. If you're a whore like me and plan to watch this movie anyway, I recommend you don't drink, or, if you do drink, I recommend keeping the room free of any sharp objects.

Worthwhile things! Dakota Fanning, in following with Spielberg-chosen-girl tradition, appears to have developed a serious cocaine habit and ceased to age.

On killers

Lieutenant Colonel Dave Grossman's well-argued theories on killing don't apply to the Japanese (because there's something wrong with their brains as I've stated before). Check out Takashi Miike's Ichi The Killer for proof.




You could call this film a less polished precursor to Chan Wook Park's Oldboy directed with the energy of Mark Neveldine/Brian Taylor production. That wouldn't really be doing it justice though. Rent it and see. It goes well with the sake sampler from Miya's on Howe Street (no flavored syrups; the apples are brewed right in!), and a big plate of tempura shrimp. Oh yes. The shrimp are vital.

Is it possible I'll be recommending anything that is not a Japanese splatter film ever again? Yes. Is it likely? I think you know the answer to that.

PS - I'm sad to report a mosquito gave me the west nile, and there won't be any new updates while I relearn how to type with my amputated left hand. It's my hope a vengeance-driven mechanic can construct some kind of eviscerating device to serve me as a prosthetic.

Conan, what is best in life?

Beheading dudes.



I freaking love the American grindhouse cover for this movie. "It's impossible to keep a body count!" I disagree. Still, if you lose count, three year old Daigoro happily provides the score about halfway through.

I'm not going to recommend a wine for this one. Suffice to say if you're the kind of guy that drinks wine while watching Ogami Itto impale ninja with pieces of his infant son's baby carriage, you are a man of impeccable tastes, and whatever spirits you choose to imbibe I will stand behind the decision.

Amputees are sexy

Here's a new talent to put on your radar screens: Noboro Iguchi. He entered the scene in 2003 with Koi-suru yuchu aka A Larva to Love, and has been making titillating exploitation films since that time. I was turned on to him after watching a trailer for The Machine Girl and immediately placing it at the number one spot on my netflix queue.

For a pairing I recommend rice wine. Sake and gratuitous blood-letting go together like garlic and basil I tell you.



This is the kind of B movie a man can really get behind. It's all here; hot women, dismemberment, kungfu. Apparently the the girl playing Miki is even a softcore porn star (which calls to mind possible allusions to guro, social commentary?). Iguchi has spared no detail for your debaucherous pleasures. He even managed to crank out a mini-sequel in 2009.



Yes. I know.

If you're an out and out freak like me, this isn't anything you haven't already seen. I was , much to my roommates delight (or was that horror?), able to accurately predict just what tempura oil would be used for in this movie. I was also able to name and describe the function of the metal-box-on-a-chain device a certain villain wields. Originality aside, Iguchi pulls everything off with tongue planted firmly in cheek and the kind of exuberant flashiness only the Japanese are capable of.

Are you still here? Go watch it already. RoboGeisha is coming out next year.

Indie filmmaking in CT (no, the other Indie)

There's something very wrong with the state of indie filmmaking in CT. Namely, our movies kind of suck. I'm glad no one reads this blog, for I'm about to say some hurtful things, and I feel a kinship with the filmmaking community of our state. Still, our movies kind of suck.



I'll make my case. 17 years ago (that's nearly two freaking decades, two freaking decades during which time the most exciting technology advances in the history of filmmaking have occurred) Robert Rodriguez made El Mariachi for $7,000, the price of a used car. This is the result.



It's a b-movie for sure, but it's pretty good. It also won the audience prize at Sundance. Then, 16 years later, at nearly double the budget, we made this.



I know they had fun making this movie, and no one is happier than me to see their success. Honestly. Still, why do our movies look like they were shot on a second hand camcorder in someone's backyard? Probably because that's exactly how they were made, but let's move away from that.

Rodriguez is one talented bastard, for sure, but he wrote everything down! It's in a book! See? We can read this book and copy him! Our movies should be better and cheaper not worse and more expensive.

Argh, rant finished. I should practice what I preach, yah? Well I'll see you again in December and you can be the judge.

Honorable opponents

This is my primary competition. I think I can take them.



Still, I'd be happier if I could roll like Carpenter with a secret weapon.



Any takers?

Geniusai

Rian Johnson's brilliance is not limited to making angsty highschool noir films. Observe.

Mountain Goats - Woke Up New (Directed by Rian Johnson) from rcjohnso on Vimeo.

Drunkeness in the workplace

It's been a bad week for celebs. Thanks to media super exposure I don't feel the need to go into that in any detail.

Let's focus on the pedophile (alleged).



Specifically I want to talk about his movie (this is supposed to be a film blog). You can check out Moonwalker here without even having to leave your work desk! I'd say it goes nicely with a glass of merlot. Something really cheap. We aren't going for quality here, but results. Of course, if you aren't leaving your work desk you should cleverly hide it in a coke can. Hee hee.



For the truly hardcore readers get the most expensive wine you can find. It doesn't matter what. After all, we're honoring a man who purchased actual Ming-dynasty vases to smash in his music video for "Scream" (citation needed). Also, you need to hunt down the out of print but visually superior laser disc edition of the film.

Moonwalker isn't good on any kind of artistic or entertainment level, but as a study on one superstar's psyche you're not going to find a more informative piece. This is MJ at his most self indulgent. Go into it with that understanding and I'm sure you'll find the experience fascinating.