The first sure sign of the Apocalypse appeared on TV the other day: The newest trailer for the upcoming Star Wars installment. “Sign of doom”, you ask? Actually, I’m not the one to ask, but there are some who apparently take umbrage at the diversity of the film’s cast:
Hours before the release of the new, eagerly anticipated trailer for Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens, a group of ‘fans’ of the franchise have been urging others to boycott the series.
The phrase #BoycottStarWarsVII began trending heavily on Twitter and a depressing foray into the hashtag revealed that a small minority of people are not happy with the inclusion of John Boyega in the film.
One small mercy is that the majority of the tweets in the hashtag are actually calling out the trend for its bigotry, but it still contains mind boggling comments that make us simply want to leave this planet and head to a galaxy far, far away. Or perhaps send the tweeters to it.
Hmm. Let’s watch the trailer and see what “they” are talking about:
Obviously anti-white! People of color…in outer space?! I never…
Yeah, OK. But that’s a commie liberal fantasy! Would never happen!
Okay, so there’s Mae Jemison, with her dual degrees (chemical engineering and African-American studies) at Stanford and doctor of medicine degree from Cornell, and her fluency in Japanese, Russian and Swahili, and her time serving in the Peace Corps, and her 8-day mission on the shuttle Endeavor in 1992 that made her the first African-American woman in space…but seriously folks, in real life, are these really the types of qualities we look for in our heroes?
A Salina [Kansas] theater was evacuated after a man apparently shot himself in the leg with his concealed handgun. […] Tim Coleman says he was sitting nearby when he heard a pop, smelled gunpowder, and the man said, “Oh my God! I shot myself!” […] Coleman fixed a tourniquet to stop the bleeding and made sure the weapon was secured. Police say no charges have been filed, and the man’s injuries were not life-threatening.
I also understand this 2nd Amendment worshippin’ theatergoer had only recently received his concealed carry permit (I’m shocked, shocked to learn this!). Look on the bright side…at least he wasn’t there to shoot everyone else in the auditorium. How refreshing.
Jesus. I need to rethink this movie critic gig. I should get hazard pay.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 17, 2015)
The Kinks came up with one of my favorite album titles, Everybody’s in Show Biz. True dat. Everyone wants to be a star; movie star, rock star, top dog, grand vizier, whatever. Of course the reality is that everyone can’t be. And those that do make it to the toppermost of the poppermost rarely get there on raw talent alone. One of the secrets? Good management; particularly evident when one considers the pantheon of rock ‘n’ roll.
While The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin were certainly destined to make great music, it’s fun to speculate how differently their careers might have played out had they never hooked up with Brian Epstein, Andrew Loog Oldham and Peter Grant (respectively) at the right place and the right time (Tonite: Puppet show and Spinal Tap!).
Which brings us to another iconic rock act, The Who, four gifted but somewhat (initially) rudderless blokes who arguably had the most to gain from bumping into the right handlers at the right time. Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp may not be household names like Pete Townshend, Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon and John Entwistle, but for all intents and purposes, they were (for a crucial formative period) the 5th and 6th members of the Who.
In his cheeky and absorbing documentary, Lambert and Stamp, which slipped in and out of theaters this past summer and is now available on home video, director James Cooper draws from a trove of archival footage, adding latter-day interviews to recount this unique creative partnership which on paper, should not have worked out as well as it did.
The two men could not have been any different in social background and personality makeup. Lambert was gay, cultured, privileged; the son of a famous composer-conductor, he spoke with what the British refer to as a “posh” accent. Stamp, on the other hand, was straight, working class, the son of a tugboat operator, an East Ender replete with Cockney h-dropping.
Together, they created a formidable entity; like the Who themselves, the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. Cooper gets much mileage from that disparate personality quotient; drawing parallels between Lambert and Stamp’s dynamic with that famously volatile “push me-pull you” tension that made The Who…The Who.
A lot of the story is one happy accident after the other, so I won’t spoil it here. It wasn’t all sunshine and lollipops; Cooper gives us the ups and the downs. Stamp was still alive when Cooper began working on his film (he died in 2012), so we get the benefit of his latter-day perspective. Stamp’s famous acting sibling Terrence (“Kneel before Zod!”) is also on hand to add a few observations.
Unfortunately, Lambert died in 1981, so he is relegated to archival snippets. This obviously robs him of the luxury to share benefit of hindsight, and entrusts his legacy to the comments of associates like Townshend and Daltrey, who help fill in some of those cracks. While not the best place to start for neophytes, hardcore Who fans will appreciate Cooper’s fresh angle on familiar material.
So Lambert & Stamp may not be for everyone; here are 3 Who flicks no one should miss:
The Kids Are Alright– Director (and super fan) Jeff Stein’s 1979 labor of love is not only the ultimate Who film, but one of the best rockumentaries I have ever seen. It’s a truly amazing compendium, curating every worthwhile archival performance clip extant, from the band’s earliest TV appearances in the U.K, to The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, and feature films like Woodstock and Monterey Pop. Stein also folds in a generous helping of archival interview snippets.
There’s no traditional narration; Stein cleverly edits the footage in a manner that essentially enables the Who to tell their own story. His only acquiescence to the tradition of adding “present day” perspective was (in hindsight) a prescient move; a concert staged exclusively for the film in 1977, beautifully shot in 35mm (the band tears it up with rousing renditions of “Baba O’Reilly” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again”). Sadly, this turned out to be the final filmed performance of the original lineup; Keith Moon died in 1978 (footage of the band’s entire set was restored and released on Blu-ray as The Who at the Kilburn 1977).
Quadrophenia– The Who’s eponymous 1973 double-LP rock opera, Pete Townshend’s musical love letter to the band’s first g-g-generation of most rabid British fans (aka the “Mods”) inspired this memorable 1979 film from director Franc Roddam. With the 1964 “youth riots” that took place at the seaside resort town of Brighton as his catalyst, Roddam fires up a visceral character study in the tradition of the British “kitchen sink” dramas that flourished in the early 1960s.
Phil Daniels gives a James Dean-worthy performance as teenage “Mod” Jimmy. Bedecked in their trademark designer suits and Parka jackets, Jimmy and his Who-loving compatriots cruise around London on their Vespa and Lambretta scooters, looking for pills to pop, parties to crash and “Rockers” to rumble with.
The Rockers are identifiable by their greased-back hair, leathers, motorbikes, and their musical preference for likes of Elvis and Gene Vincent. Look for a very young Ray Winstone (as a Rocker) and Sting (as a Mod bell-boy, no less). Wonderfully acted by a spirited cast, it’s a heady mix of youthful angst and raging hormones, super-charged by the power chord-infused grandeur of the Who’s music.
Tommy– There was a time (a long, long, time ago) when some of my friends insisted that the best way to appreciate The Who’s legendary rock opera was to turn off the lamps, light a candle, drop a tab of acid and listen to all four sides with a good pair of cans. I never got around to making those precise arrangements, but it’s a pretty good bet that watching director Ken Russell’s insane screen adaptation is a close approximation. If you’re not familiar with his work, hang on to your hat (I’ll put it this way-Russell is not known for being subtle).
Luckily, the Who’s music is powerful enough to cut through all the visual clutter, and carries the day. Two band members have roles-Roger Daltrey is charismatic as the deaf dumb and blind Tommy, and Keith Moon has a cameo as wicked Uncle Ernie (Pete Townshend and John Entwistle only appear in music performance).
The cast is an interesting cross section of film veterans (Oliver Reed, Ann-Margret, Jack Nicholson) and well-known musicians (Elton John, Eric Clapton, Tina Turner). Musical highlights include “Pinball Wizard”, “Eyesight to the Blind” “The Acid Queen” and “I’m Free”. And you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Ann-Margret, covered in baked beans and writhing in ecstasy! Raucous, garish and gross…but never boring.
And we just have enough time left for a quick one…
There is an oft-repeated lament that Hollywood and/or television has “run out of original ideas”. Which is (mostly) true, but not necessarily indicative of a dearth of talent or creativity in the business. The blame for this particular writer’s block, I believe, can be laid fairly and squarely at the feet of…Reality.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 10, 2015)
In my 2010 review of the documentary, Marwencol, I opened with the following quote:
From whence it follows, that one thing cannot have two beginnings of existence, nor two things one beginning; it being impossible for two things of the same kind to be or exist in the same instant, in the very same place; or one or the same thing in different places.
-John Locke, from An Essay Concerning Human Understanding
I’ve often wondered if twins were the possible exception to Locke’s rule. I’m sure we’ve all known twins (you might be one, for all I know). Likewise, we’ve observed those quirks unique to twins (like finishing each other’s sentences). But what about their minds, their consciousness? That’s when it gets into a weird area; which may offer some explanation for the weird and unique micro-universe that identical twins Stephen and Timothy Quay have been able to create through their stop-motion animation short films.
Three of their films have been curated by director Christopher Nolan as part of a special touring package that includes the world premiere of Nolan’s own short, Quay. Unfortunately, a preview copy of Nolan’s film was not available for review, but I am familiar with the three Quay Brothers selections (In Absentia, The Comb, and Street of Crocodiles), which have now been bundled and re-titled as The Quay Brothers on 35mm.
It’s difficult to describe the Quay Brothers to the uninitiated. As I mentioned earlier, what they have created is literally their own micro-cosmos; their “sets” are meticulously detailed miniature constructs, and they use found objects, common household items (and occasional cameos from human actors) for perspective.
This attention to micro detail gives them something in common with the subject of the documentary I referred to earlier, which profiles photo-artist Mark Hogancamp, who found a unique way to deal with the physical and mental trauma he suffered from a near-fatal beating. As I wrote:
Now, the Mark Hogancamp, that is to say, the corporeal being we perceive as “Mark Hogancamp” may exist and “live” in Kingston, N.Y., but as far as Mark himself is concerned, he actually lives in “Marwencol”. And Marwencol actually does “exist”. That being said, you’re not going to find Marwencol on Google Earth, because the entire town is located within the confines of Mark’s back yard. It’s a stunningly realistic 1/6 scale WW 2-era town, populated by G.I. Joes and Barbies, constructed over a period of years. This is not a hobby; it is on-going therapy (a luxury that he could not afford). Every doll has a back story; many are alter-egos of his friends and neighbors (including himself).
Is this a thing? Did the Quay Brothers experience a childhood trauma? I wonder if it’s therapy for them (once you’ve seen their work, you may beg them to get therapy). At any rate, do not expect traditional narrative. Their films can be unsettling…but not for the reasons you might assume. There’s no inherent violence, nor are they trying to “scare” you. Their films are more like pieces of dreams, or perhaps a screen capture of that elusive nanosecond of Jungian twilight that exists between nodding off and disconcertingly jerking awake a moment later. Catch them on the big screen if you can.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 10, 2015)
If you were to put Van Helsing, Highlander, Forbidden Zone, Godzilla and Youth of the Beast into a blender, and then splash the puree onto a blank movie screen Jackson Pollack style, you would end up with something resembling Takeshi Miike’s Yakuza Apocalypse.
Near as I could figure, the “story” centers on a yakuza boss who is magnanimous toward, and beloved by, the “civilians” of the (Neighborhood? City?) he lords over; as for his rivals in the criminal underworld…not so much. Oh, did I mention that he’s also a vampire? As this can give one an enormous advantage over one’s enemies (being already dead tends to make you immune to assassination), he’s been the top dog for a long time.
However, this dog’s about to have his day. I mean, any vampire yakuza boss with half a brain will tell you that you’re in deep shit when a guy who dresses like a pilgrim blows into town with a mini-coffin strapped to his back and a blunderbuss in his sash, announcing himself as an emissary of the actual underworld and cryptically warning anyone who will listen that “he” is coming.
And so the boss finally meets his doom (don’t ask), but not before biting his most trusted lieutenant on the neck, thereby passing on his awesome vampire powers. The freshly anointed boss has his work cut out for him; according to a “kappa goblin” (a guy with a beak, chronic halitosis, and a turtle shell growing out of his back), his town is about to have a visitation from the “world’s toughest terrorist”, a bad-ass dude with an agenda that is “…so chilling, you gotta laugh.”
Are you following all of this so far? Shall I go on?
Fret not; for I shan’t, because from this point onward, it gets sort of hazy. There’s something about the end of the world, and a magic ring, but otherwise it’s just yelling, shape-shifting and martial arts shenanigans. There’s also too many superfluous characters jamming up an already needlessly busy story line.
I’ll admit that I got a few chuckles watching the “world’s toughest terrorist” deliver roundhouse kicks in his Teletubbie suit (that can’t be easy), and “Gander all you want at my kappa-ness,” may turn out to be my favorite movie line of the year. And someday, some way, I will fully understand the significance of the knitting class in the basement, with all the students in leg irons. And on that glorious day, I will know that I have finally found the path to true enlightenment.
While I abhor the concept of tossing creative artists into the gladiatorial pit (art, prose, poetry, music and film are not competitive sports), my sworn duties as a pop culture critic occasionally require me to add my two cents worth of bread, in regard to such circuses.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has announced their 15 nominees: The Cars, Chic, Chicago, Cheap Trick, Deep Purple, Janet Jackson, The J.B.s, Chaka Khan, Los Lobos, Steve Miller, Nine Inch Nails, N.W.A., The Smiths, The Spinners, and Yes. Worthy artists all, but (this is what I hate about “contests”) how do I justify my 5 picks (the Hall’s yearly limit for new inductees) without seeming to denigrate the rest? By doing my job and plowing forward (alphabetically):
Cheap Trick– The “newest” artists on my list stormed out of the gate in 1977 taking names and kicking ass as the missing link between the Beatles and punk. While they could be seen as direct descendants of melodic power pop pioneers like Big Star and The Move, they weren’t afraid to turn the Marshalls up to “11” and rage like balls-to-the-wall rockers . I think that’s why they’re one of those rare bands (like AC/DC and The Ramones) that metal, punk, new-wave, alternative and pop fans can all get together on. And if you ever get a chance to see them live…do not pass it up!
Best 3 albums: Cheap Trick, In Color, Heaven Tonight
2. Chicago– While I’m not fond of their schmaltzy (if chart-topping) descent into “adult contemporary” territory from the 80s onward, there is no denying the groundbreaking nature of those incredible first three double albums Chicago Transit Authority (1969),Chicago II and Chicago III (what I call their “Roman Numeral Period”). Those early albums were (for the time) a bold fusion of hard rock, blues, soul, jazz, and Latin styles, fueled by the late great Terry Kath’s fiery guitar and accentuated by a tight horn section. Not to mention an impressive catalog of radio hits over the years. Let ’em in, already!
Best 3 albums: Chicago Transit Authority, Chicago II, Chicago III
3. Deep Purple– It’s criminal that this seminal hard rock outfit hasn’t been ushered into the pantheon yet. They’ve been around since the late 60s, and had a major influence on the genre. There were many lineup changes over the decades (chiefly involving lead vocalists and lead guitarists), but the quality and power of their music never faltered. The most well-known lineup featured one of rock’s great screamers, Ian Gillian on lead vocal, and maestro of the whammy bar Ritchie Blackmore on guitar. Ian Paice (drums), Roger Glover (bass) and Jon Lord (keyboards) completed the classic team. I must mention the worthy contribution of the excellent (if less-heralded) 1975 Purple lineup that produced Come Taste the Band, featuring the late great Tommy Bolin (guitar), Glenn Hughes (vocals and bass), and future Whitesnake front man David Coverdale (lead vocals).
Best 3 albums: In Rock , Machine Head, Come Taste the Band
4. The Spinners– I was also a bit gobsmacked to learn that these guys have not already been inducted. For god’s sake, they’ve been around for nearly 50 years, and should be considered (at the very least) as the godfathers of “smooth groove”. Their classic period was the 70s, when they became the ambassadors for the “Philadelphia Sound” through their fruitful collaboration with songwriter-producer Thom Bell. If “I’ll Be Around”, “Could it Be I’m Falling in Love”, “Games People Play”, or “The Rubberband Man” comes on the radio while I’m in my car, I’ll still crank it up without hesitation and sing along at the top of my lungs (with my windows rolled up…as a public service).
Best 3 albums: Spinners, Mighty Love, Pick of the Litter
5. Yes– Long before MTV (or YouTube), my teenage self would while away many hours listening to Yes with a good set of cans, staring at Roger Dean’s art, envisioning my own music videos (special effects courtesy of the joint that I rolled on the inside of the convenient gatefold sleeve). Good times (OP sighs, takesmoment of silence to reflect on a life tragically misspent). Anyway, why this band hasn’t been inducted yet is beyond me. Complex compositions informed by deeply layered textures, impeccable musicianship, heavenly harmonies, topped off by Jon Anderson’s ethereal vocals; an embodiment of all that is good about progressive rock (I know the genre has its detractors, to whom I say…”You weren’t there, man!”). R.I.P. bassist/vocalist Chris Squire, who we sadly lost this year.
Best 3 albums: The Yes Album, Fragile, Close to the Edge
A brain is only capable of what it could conceive; and it couldn’t conceive what it hasn’t experienced.
-Graham Greene, from Brighton Rock
No one, it seems, is exempt from Mr. Greene’s axiom, not even a brain surgeon. Republican presidential candidate Dr. Ben Carson brought this home a few days ago in a Fox News interview, with his comments regarding what he “would have done” had he been present at the scene of the recent mass shooting in Oregon. As I was pondering what could possibly be going through his mind, a scene from Bob Clark’s 1983 film, A Christmas Story, popped into my head:
For a guy who knows everything there is to know about the human brain, it appears he still has much to learn about having a heart.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 3, 2015)
When former British PM Margaret Thatcher died in 2013, Digby did a great post about how the populist backlash against Thatcherism provided fertile ground for the Agit Punk movement in the UK (I wrote a companion piece on Thatcherism’s likewise effect on film makers). One of the best bands of that era was The Jam.
Formed in 1976, the three lads from Woking (guitarist/lead vocalist Paul Weller, bassist/vocalist Bruce Foxton, and drummer Rick Buckler) exploded onto the scene with their seminal album, In the City. The eponymous single became their signature tune and remains a punk pop anthem. While initially lumped in with contemporaries like The Sex Pistols and The Clash, the band was operating in a different sphere; specifically regarding their musical influences.
What set Weller and his band mates apart was their open adulation of The Beatles, The Who, The Kinks, The Small Faces and the Motown sound. At the time, this was heresy; as astutely pointed out in The Jam: About the Young Idea (a rockumentary that premiered on Showtime this week), you had to dismiss any music released prior to 1976, if you wished to retain your punk cred.
In the film, Weller recalls having a conversation with Joe Strummer of The Clash, who told him (in effect) that all of Chuck Berry’s music was crap. “Oh Joe…you don’t really mean that,” Weller replies rhetorically into the camera.
Also on hand are Foxton and Buckler, who still register palpable sadness while recalling their reaction to Weller’s unexpected announcement to them in 1982 (at the height of their greatest chart success) that he was quitting the band to pursue new musical avenues.
Weller is philosophical; he argues it’s always best to go out on top (as Neil Young said, it’s better to burn out than fade away). Director Bob Smeaton (The Beatles Anthology) does a marvelous job telling the band’s story, sustaining a positive energy throughout by mixing in a generous helping of vintage performance clips. This is a must-see for fans.
(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 3, 2015)
In dissecting the “art” of cinema, one can very easily bang on all day about narrative construct, auteur theory, lighting, camera angles, tracking shots, meow meow, woof woof…but you know what “they” say: all that artifice and a dime will buy you a cup of coffee. Let’s get real for a moment. At the end of the day, it’s still show business. And business is all about making money…amirite, boychick? And movies are basically about make-believe, right? So bottom line, what we really need here is ideas, bubbeleh, ideas! Ideas that sell tickets, and put asses in seats! With that in mind, here’s a crystalline distillation of all film theory, from one of the interviewees in Mark Hartley’s uneven but generally engaging Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films: “[Producer Menahem Golan] would make shit up…and then we’d film it.” See? Simple!
Mr. Golan and his cousin, Yoram Globus were two movie nuts who grew up in their native Israel dreaming about one day moving to America and becoming Hollywood moguls (which they in fact ended up doing…sort of). Golan directed several films in the late 70s, including one genuine cult item that (depending on who you ask) occasionally threatens to unseat Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space as “Worst Movie of All Time”…the 1979 sci-fi disco musical, The Apple (oy!). Hartley’s film primarily focuses on Golan and Globus’ joint tenure as the honchos of Cannon Films from 1979 until 1989.
During that period, the pair gained a rep for crankin’ ‘em out fast and cheap; as someone in the film observes, “[the money] was all up there on the screen.” That doesn’t necessarily guarantee that what ended up on that screen was eminently watchable, but it was product. And apparently somebody was buying tickets, because they had a “golden period” once they perfected their formula (mostly involving profitable overseas sales).
One thing I had forgotten is that Cannon accidentally made some good films during that period: Love Streams, The Company of Wolves, Runaway Train, Otello, 52 Pick-Up, Street Smart, Tough Guys Don’t Dance, Barfly, Powaqqatsi, and A Cry in the Dark. But again, that’s a relative handful among hundreds like The Happy Hooker Goes Hollywood, Hospital Massacre, Revenge of the Ninja, Bolero, Hercules, Sahara, Death Wish 3 and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace. Not to mention Cannon’s culpability in jumpstarting the careers of Chuck Norris, Dolph Lundgren, and Jean-Claude Van Damme (j’accuse!).
While Cannon’s Golan-Globus era indeed makes for quite a “wild story”, it unfortunately morphs from “untold” into “retold one too many times” early on. About halfway through I began to tire of yet one more anecdote from a former associate that illustrates how flinty and eccentric the cousins were (we get it, already!). On the plus side, you can always elect to turn off your brain and revel in the guilty pleasure of all those campy film clips.
