Film Review (Sorta): Somers Town

The Verdict: 2.5 Bedpans

I've only lived 29 short years and I may have limited perspective, but I feel that it wouldn't be out of line to state that no living actor plays a lovable vagrant/dupe like Thomas Turgoose. I'm forced to imagine that Shane Meadows must've found the kid on the street, living the very existance he now plays out on film. Either Thomas has an amazing natural talent or the authenticity with which his performances are presented...is...And he's so damn charming! He played a skinhead at the ripe age of 14 in This is England as Harpo Marx might. He's the bird shit on the passenger-side rear window. Sure, he's unsightly and probably conjures emotions of annoyance when brought to mind, but, not unlike a scout merit badge, he imparts instant credibility to anything to which he's attached. He's a joy to behold. If he ends up being to Shane Meadows as De Niro was to Scorsese, audiences better brace themselves.

                                                                                                                     Rating Scale: 0-4 Bedpans

Whaaa...Can't I Say?

I probably shouldn't write, talk, or think about it, but...I now know what it is to sucker someone...

Mere hours ago, some guy from New Hamshire (rainstorms clouding his mind?) bought a Kurt Vile 7" from me for more than twice what it's still currently worth. My listing wasn't misleading. I noted that it was fastly becoming rare, but I never stated that it was out of print. I bought it locally for $5. Anyone can still order it from Matador for the same price+$3 shipping. I sold it on Ebay for $12+$3 shipping.

I listed it as a personal dare. I'm pretty damn thrilled to realize the potential for such guile. I wagered that there might be consumers dumber than I and my risk was generously rewarded. I'm not used to being the wiser. I feel a bit dirty, but...I'm currently unemployed and the money will help to buy food for my Kennedy Doll...even if it's only $8 profited...

Film Review: Eldorado

The Verdict: 3 Bedpans

A man may not be of sound mind. He may say that he believes himself to be Jesus Christ. He may make such a claim under supposed penalty of death by lightning bolt sent from the Father...And when such sky fire strikes him not, has his claim been proven valid? Would this man be able to convince anyone of his allegation? Does he himself believe what his mouth speaks?

There're four shadows spoken of in Poe's Eldorado. The first is that in which the bold knight journeys. The second is that which falls over the knight's heart. The third is a pilgrim whom the knight meets. The fourth is part of a place's name, relayed to the knight by the pilgrim. The knight is searching for a legend. There's little chance he'll find it. Most legends aren't believed to be true. Shadows are nothing if not deceptive. Yet, the knight, who, in search of a legend, journeys in shadow, feels a shadow touch his heart, meets a shadow, decides a shadow is trustworthy, hears that he must 'ride, boldly ride' in his search for Eldorado.*

In 2008's Eldorado, painter turned filmmaker**, Bouli Lanner, rides boldly as he attempts to masquerade Belgiums' Wallonia as western America. The half-scraper featured was originally meant to be a Cadillac Eldorado. Fabrice Adde's would-be burglar asks the protagonist if the car is a Cadillac. He's told it's a '79 Chevy. It's also a station wagon...

But Eldorado, mostly, doesn't let the facts crimp its style. Lanner's character blasts American tunes by the likes of Devendra Banhart from the speakers of his American-made vehicle while traversing lonely backroads through sprawling landscapes. Lanner injects Eldorado with such a sense of the American Road Trip vibe that, if any fool were to watch it with dubbed English audio, they'd believe that the shadow Lanner presents is the truth. Bravo, man. This film is tickles with its longing and deception.

                                                                                                                     Rating Scale: 0-4 Bedpans

* The knight is promised nothing by his consultant, the shadow pilgrim. Readers can't be sure if the pilgrim shadow has ever reached Eldorado. He could be on the same journey as the knight. My guess is that the shadow pilgrim was once like the knight; he believed in the legend. He once sought the legend just as the knight does. His journey led him to various shadows and, soon enough, the pilgrim became such a shadow as he accepted the legend’s ambiguity. The advice given may be heeded as a general principle. Whatever is sought may as well be sought boldly, however daft the proposition.

** Other recently notable painters turned filmmakers include Julian Schnabel and Steve McQueen

Film Review: The Limits of Control

The Verdict: 2.5 Bedpans

Plenty of talented actors will debase themselves in order to work with certain auteurs such as Jim Jarmucsh. The latest casualties of this seemingly ageless trend are Gael Garcia Bernal and Hiam Abass. Since Mr. Jarmusch oozes cool, he gets to hand pick not only good-looking, but genuinely gifted actors to perform scenes that any common video store clerk could nail. One can only hope that all parties involved are satisfied with what results of such compromise.

Jim, of course, knows exactly what he's doing at all times. Little in his films seems improvised. Maybe he lets Bill Murray get his kicks by spouting off whatever first comes to mind, but otherwise, everything else usually appears very poised. Jarmusch is an impressionist and all his work adds up to nothing more than a contemplation. Everyone that the almost silent protagonist meets in The Limits of Control has questions for him; the first of which is, "You don't speak Spanish, right?" and the second is along the lines of "You wouldn't happen to be interested in (fill in subject), would you?" Usually the dialogue in a Jarmusch film is somewhat engaging, though off-kilter. Here, it's snore-inducing, unenlightening pseudo-philosophic tripe. I don't really know if it's designed to fool the audience into thinking they somehow missed the profundity in such sparse sentences, thereby forcing a second listen/viewing in the search for meaning. No one should think twice about this film. It was a joy to watch and that's about all.

Speaking of the visuals, they are really the only highlight of The Limits of Control. Jarmusch took his shtick on the road to Spain with cinematographer, Christopher Doyle. Spain looks tasty and nothing is fabricated save the streets. This film shunned most of Spains' residents. On ground level, it's deserted. Every once and a while the camera would pann up to see a few gawkers peering down from their patios. After about an hour of watching this, I started to wish I was hanging out with whoever wasn't around each locale. They must've been involved in more exciting stuff than was happening on screen.

                                                                                                                        Rating Scale: 0-4 Bedpans

Return of the Bedpans!

I'm going to watch Jim Jarmucsh's undoubtedly meandering latest film, The Limits of Control tonight. I'll try to pay close attention, take mental notes, and report back with some sort of review.

BOOM! Goes the Disappointment

I've submitted my work and now I gingerly await rejection from the editors @ Write Bloody Press.

I fear my verse is too awkward for their taste. It ain't "slam friendly" and most of it doesn't even flow well. Were I to orate it, the performance would be equally awkward. Uh...I think what I need is some Warhol acceptance. I need that goon, Andy, to peel off a fraction of his ADD for me. I want to be numbered in the hundreds of insignificant Factory experiments, present but easily forgotten, like Maureen Tucker's steady back beat.

I've only seen Mike Mcgee perform once and I've lived in San Jose for 11 years now. He's a massive presence. I really respect his intellect an' all, but slam poetry wears me out most of the time. Too many unnecessary words can be spoken in 3 minutes...I have a hard enough time reigning myself in on the page. Were I given 3 minutes to spew forth, I'd either repeat myself at least 3 times or I'd inject various topics into the piece sans coda. I'm not a play write, man. I'm not offered half of the door receipts.

All I really want to accomplish is impressing my adorable 9 month-old,

Kennedy Jane.

The Result of a Pack a Day

Peep the neck on this damned goose, man!