The period known as the "fear" is dated in historical document from 2013 until the insurgencies in 2016, but in reality it began with the election of DuClerc in France and Garza in Spain. Everything fell apart. The European Union crumbled like the ancient ruins of the civilizations it used for its foundations. The lessons we learned were forgotten. Modern civilization turned its back on morality and reason and donned its gruesome costume. I urge you not to misread this as hyperbole, I will most likely be persecuted for what I am revealing and thus it is vital that you understand this document as genuine. It would be easy to pin all the responsibility on the European union but that would be naive. The problem began in the political institutions but it was propagated by people on-line, on television, on the phone, on stage, on the front and back page. I accuse the media, the politicians and the businessmen but that path is a slippery one, I am also to blame for letting it happen and for looking the other way.
Rene DuClerc, was elected chef d'etat in France in the 20 election. He was a young man who won all the demographics over with his confidence and his apparent transparency. His opponent Thomas Dubrozny, belonged to the UMP, the conservative party that everyone felt had reached the end of its rope.I was 25 at the time and had been working as a freelance writer for one of the Parisian newsblogs so I was deeply invested in the election. Paris had changed immensely over the first half of the century. The administration was adamant in forbidding the construction of skyscrapers within the city limits but the city desperately needed some more commercial space to accommodate all the growing business. So there was a compromise: the development of skyscrapers was concentrated around the city. Now Paris is encircled by sky scraping walls of glass and metal, it is a very unnatural place to be. Parisians retreated further into the cocoon of the city and severed the tenuous link it had with the rest of the country. The days were short and the nights were replaced by an ever constant twilight.
DuClerc won the election mostly due to his massive restrictions on immigration and also because he sounded the more French of the two. I remember the day Dubrozny recounted the source of his "exotic" name, all of the newsblogs began insinuating the most ridiculous things about him and his "Slavic" mentality. About a year into DuClerc's residency at the Elysees all of the borders were sealed shut and France had trouble breathing. Her head was pumped full of blood, her eyes darted around terrified, her nostrils inhaling desperately, uncontrollable, she had finally broken. Suddenly, every article was entitled J'accuse and every writer described the corruption of foreign influence. Everything was boycotted.At the beginning it seemed ludicrous the television At the beginning it seemed ludicrous, one day you couldn't buy fruit from Portugal, a month later it was Italian restaurants shutting down. Meanwhile in Spain, French imports were being sent back, vicious representations of French people were broadcasted on Tv and online.
The transition into this xenophobia happened so smoothly it was terrifying. Fortunately, Paris was quarantined from the madness outside. The city became a center for refuge for the Spanish, the Italians, the Portuguese, the Germans and the countless others who watched their flags burn in their town squares. It had been 15 months since DuClerc won the election, when I met Tia, a Portuguese chef, working in a Rive Gauche restaurant.
As they shook hands over the perimeter, instauring peace, new distinctions were being created to fuel the people on either side to destroy that illusion of peace. I watched the ceremony with horror. All the smiling faces waiting to attack. The provincial man and the city people unite in the galvinizing hatred. They are still letting people in but only because they have to. The people who squeeze over the borders are not people at all. They are imposters invading our culture and our history, vandalizing everything. What do I do? I don't feel like I am a part of either side but I have to make a decision. I have to escape, I might be able to go south but then again who is to say they don't suffer the same limitations? When I was little, people roamed and roamed for hundreds of miles without hindrance. Visas and citizenships were easy to get if you put in the time. People could visit the 38th parallel were a country was once torn in half by the distinctions, Americans could visit Russia and russians could visit America. I remember once my father told me about his brother who was assisting a diplomat, didn't even have to use airports or go through any identification system. They just flew wherever they wanted and were accepted almost everywhere.
It has been many years since the borders were brought down. I remember that period so well, it was so peaceful. It seemed like there had been abosolute chaos on either side of this calm period: The war leading up to it and the devastation following it. In order to explain why the leaders of the world adopted such an extreme policy, I need to clarify the important precursors.
A lot happening this week so I will fit it in as best as I can. Monday: Film and tv essay was due. It was one of the most interesting essays I've had to write as it was on Feminism in cinema. Tuesday was a big day as I got to do some stand up at "The Stand", one of the best clubs in the country. I was so full of energy and the crowd were amazing, it was an ineffable and an indelible experience, of course I had my english essay due the next day so I got back from stand up full of adrenalin and typed the rest of my essay out like a madman. The rest of the week was filled with work as I have three jobs now, which is good, I feel good that I'm earning some money. I will dig myself out of this small,kneehigh pool of debt I've sunk myself in and then hopefully have enough to be self sufficient. Now that essays are over, I am looking forward to writing again: scripts,stories,jokes, sketches whatever I fancy.
What better way to commence reading week, which is basically a week off, than eating 700 grams of fruit and fibre and embarking on a science fiction adventure? I'm going to start writing a sci-fi serial about a world without countries and borders, so expect to be thouroughly confused initially and then greatly entertained, ON A WEEKLY BASIS(probably wont be weekly as I suffer from laziness).
This sci-fi epic will be interspersed with these type of posts concerning how much cereal I have eaten in the past 24 hours and how much tv I am watching et cetera. So you'll get the best of both worlds, the fantastic future and present reality in all its beauty.
Hello, it's been to long, I shouldn't have left you. But I'm back now to reanimate this monster. So what's up? I'll tell you what's up.
Sophmore slump Second year is great in the fact that you think you know everything about uni and the city but that's also paralyzing because instead of being spontaneous and having the carpe diem attitude of first year, you play an inordinate amount of computer games and watch piles of television. What should I do? Get a hobby What will third year be like? Go to Vancouver/Prague for a change in scenery
Work wise, I get a few shifts from a telemarketing company, which is bad for the soul but good putting food in my locker, I've also written several sketches about telemarketers so I guess telemarketing has become my muse. On top of that, I'm trying to get a waiter postion which I have registered for but I have yet to be given any shifts, which is annoying.
I'm in the middle of developing two short films that I wrote. We have found a good team of people, now we just need to get some decent actors and then find out when everyone is available(the hardest part). It's an ambitious goal(two films in one semester) but if we can pull it off, we we'll be the greatest student filmmakers this side of the Clyde.
I was invited to a Thanksgiving, which I'm looking forward to greatly. I will be the closest thing to American as everyone else is British, so I'm going all out: sweater, pabst blue ribbon and other American thanksgiving stereotypes I can find (shouting drunken commentary at NFL on tv).
November: Essays, Stand up and possible LCD soundsystem concert wooh
So now that everyone knows for sure that Joaquin phoenix's fat,depressed junkie rapper persona was just a persona. He spent two years, building to this moment of performance art. The zenith of this experiment was the movie "I'm still here" and this interview with Letterman.
How daring and elabourate, the dedication to the joke is astounding. But in reality he is just a lame imitation of Andy Kaufman
“I opened the door, walked in. Then I saw a lot of broken glass by the window and it was so resplendent, it hurted to look at, like someone was deliberately reflecting sunlight in your eyes. I saw Ronan watching TV but I couldn't tell what exactly he was watching. I start to go sit beside him but then I noticed a hole in the carpet, about the size of a bowling ball. When I go over to look into it, it was just pure black down there. That's is when I started getting scared. The hole started to make a weird, gargling sound and then started spewing a flow of silver coins slowly out onto the carpet. Ronan was still oblivious to my presence and to the coin hole, his face was firmly facing the TV. I started sweating buckets. The coins were coming out in one messy mass, all trembling and slimy, moving towards me. I couldn’t look but was forced to. I ran over to Ronan, but he was still unaware. But then when I grabbed his collar, he turned around slowly, his eyes still on the TV and asked me what the matter was in his calm, soft voice. This was the worst part. In my peripheral vision I could see the silver slug making its way around the couch, slow but determined. Ronan was no longer there and I started to panic. Is it death? What is it? I couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing the air out of my body. Then, the sweating started to overwhelm me, I could feel it dribble down my neck and face, I could taste it in my mouth. So I started to wipe it off energetically, closing my eyes. The TV started to hum loudly and I tried and look at the image on the TV but I couldn't. Something was stopping me. It felt like someone was twisting my head so that no matter how I hard I tried I couldn't look directly at the TV. Then I’m in my bed still wiping furiously but it’s dry by then.” My throat was dry; I drank some of her coke. She sat there silently for two minutes, looking at the cracks in the table top. She finally said “That’s really confusing, really weird. You should talk to my mum; she interprets dreams and stuff like that”. “I just had to tell someone, it really freaked me out” I explained, “Oh, and I know the feeling. I always have fucking weird dreams. One time, I dreamt I was in this empty room and all I could hear was the pipes which were incredibly load, booming.” She slammed her fists on the table to demonstrate. Then she dropped the earring she had been toying with into her cereal. “Then the pipes exploded and tons of pigeons came out, screeching and flapping. Ugh, it was awful” “How many times did you have the dream?” “Um three times and then it went away. I wouldn’t worry if I were you”. I went to the library to work on my dissertation. That’s how it started, completely innocuous and simple. I just shrugged it off and went on with my life.
I had been at UCL for five years; I was working towards a career as a journalist. I enjoyed university and I used to love being in London. It had so much character, so much to do. As with most big cities, there was variety in everything: restaurants, nightlife, housing,neighborhoods, people, hobbies. I was so spoiled for choice that I ended up doing nothing. But it was starting to get claustrophobic during my last year. It is a stubborn city. You can build new buildings and put new roads down but it will still refuse to change. It was the city of Literature that produced so many great writers but that was a long time ago. I knew the smell of each street like the back of my hand. I walked from Hyde Park to Victoria Park and wanted more. I bumped into people I knew all the time. What really frustrated me though were the attitudes of some people. If you told people you were a writer, you were automatically put in the pretentious pile; the profession had lost all its legitimacy at least for those who write under the age of 27. Most of the students were just following the “life path” they assumed was the right one. They were at University and they were young so they had to be entertained, amused all the time. They had to drink, they had to dance. It’s interesting how quickly people can change regarding their environments. I mean at the beginning I never wanted to leave, it was completely alien but safe, new and wonderful and I wanted to know it in its entirety but once I did I realized it was no different than where I came from. I didn’t know where I would go after that.
I ended up in Rockville, Maryland in 2008 because I had been offered a work opportunity I couldn’t resist.I had managed to get an internship at one of the better Wahington D.C newspapers. I felt I could achieve more there; I could write more and I could experience more. It was a very satisfying time for me. There were so many opportunities and possibilities. I would commute to Washington every morning and then come back to the golf courses, country clubs and imported furniture of Rockville. I lived in my Aunt's apartment while she was out in South East Asia with UNICEF. It was a nice place, modest, understated. African icons and statues complimented the soft colours of the walls, everything was carefully arranged to be understated. The ceilings were high, the floors were wooden. My neighbors were successful investment bankers and young lawyers. All of the men kept their golf clubs in the boot of their car, just in case.From my windows, I had a good view of Maryland Avenue and everything passing by slowly. Despite my discerning disapproval for the american bourgeois, I felt comfortable here. I had been given the internship through a professor at UCL who had passed on some of my essays and some of my creative writing stuff; also I had worked quite a bit on the university’s magazine.
I met with other writers regularly, I was writing everything: stories, essays, poems, songs, scripts. There was no end to it, in retrospect not all of it was outstanding but it was still part of that constant, wonderful flow. Then I would share my work with the group and they would react. We would meet in someone’s bare apartment, sit on the floor and drink coffee. It was all very unglamorous but the work itself had the fervor and the hunger, it was daring, it was necessary. Our young minds were hitting a plateau but we believed it to be the peak, like an explorer who was given the wrong map. But the songs and the stories that came out of all those midnight meetings and weekends at someone’s cabin were brilliant. I met Howard Berman at one of these midnight brainstorm parties. We were introduced by a mutual friend and just by looking at him I knew he was a powerful creative force, the reckless kind, the kind that will risk everything to achieve near perfection. “You’re the Englishman everyone’s been talkin’ bout” “Ah, Yes, I also go by the name Geoff” “Nice to meet you Geoff, I’m Howard. I came up here from Tallahassee to make some movies” He was a large man: broad shoulders, strong chest. I looked like a boy next to him. “How is that working out for you?” “We’ve managed to get 3 independent films made and distributed and we’re looking for funding for a fourth. What about you? What’s a boy like you living in a place like this for?” “Well actually, I live in Rockville. I intern at the Washington post, I am also unsuccessful writer” He opened a beer for me with his huge hands and passed it to me. “Ah, a writer, such a rare species nowadays. What do you write?” “Mostly short stories, some scripts and a couple of plays but I’m more comfortable in prose” “Well, we could always use another script writer, If you’re interested. Here’s our card” He handed me a piece of yellow cardboard with the words “AOK productions” written in biro and his number. We sat on the couch as more and more people piled into the small cottage. A few people started playing some oriental sounding music behind us on the old,broken piano. There were three people rehearsing a play in the kitchen. Maybe it was the wine but it felt wonderful to be around so much creation even if it wasn’t necessarily great music or theatre.. Howard became increasingly friendly as the hours and beers passed. “You know what all this is right?” he asked “A good combination of drinking and creating?” “No. This is reminiscing my friend. These people long for a time that they weren’t part of. They all think they’re Ginsberg or Lowell. That’s all this is, an elaborate game of dress up. Dress up as Allen and dress up as Earnest.” “What’s wrong with wanting to be Hemingway?” “He was a drunken idiot!, look if you ever want to write something really good, come write for me. I make films that need to be made, films that say something important. Now, I’m going to leave the party in a mysterious fashion” “Get home safe” He muttered something else as he stumbled out onto the porch. I kept thinking about what he said the following day. It was nagging me that there was truth to what he said, I was afraid that everything we were creating was just to serve our vanity. I tried to forget about it but I ended up calling him and thus we started to become friends.
At university I was determined to reach a higher potential. To be better. I would lock myself in a corner of the library and read everything, anything. I wanted to meet people who read the same books as me, watched the same movies, thought about the things I did. Everyone around me was more concerned by their dicks and their suffering. I’m a man and of course I have the same desires but I refused to let them define me. Going to parties and talking about parties to come. Talking endlessly about the trivial and the transient. Sometimes I can’t believe how much apathy there is in the world. People too lazy and afraid to care about their own lives. Teenagers passively rolling through the system becoming passive adults with problems and issues. Now, I’m not suggesting he should be working incessantly but at least be motivated, care about your work, care about your life. Is it laziness or is it fear? Are people afraid to be great? Afraid to reach for a higher potential? Leisure has become the ultimate end to our lives. Nothing else matters. We have become a hammock society. I fall into this state as well. Sometimes I feel so vapid and disconnected it frustrates me. Can you imagine if Plato decided to masturbate to some tawdry images instead of working on the Republic or if Joyce decided to go bowling and play in the arcade instead of writing? Human creativity seems to have hit a wall, post modernism doesn’t even try and ascend the obstacle instead it talks about it in a clever, witty way. Everyone references someone else, every song or book is heavily “influenced” by those that wrote and sang before us. We are stagnating. This is a topic I have spent a considerable amount of time contemplating so I do not believe I am being dramatic or hyperbolic. This is something bigger than the middle east, bigger than Labour and Tory, this is a deep rooted, modern affliction that chokes human creativity and creation in general.
So this brings me to the centre of this journal. The dream was usurping my life. My sleeping suffered greatly; I would go a couple of weeks without sleeping and then have 4 or 5 hours sometimes. I would throw up at night and sometimes I would be completely slimy with sweat. I couldn’t deduce what it was about the dream that made me react so violently. Was it that horrible slug? Was it the fact that Ronan wouldn’t look at me? I had so many questions. I told my aunt and she was greatly concerned. She demanded that I see her personal doctor and therapist. My parents sent me to a counselor when my shoplifting out of hand and she told me the shop lifting was a manifestation of my misanthropy but that didn’t stop me from shoplifting. Ever since that experience with Dr. Calloway I stayed away from therapists.
Of course I still went to see the Doctor and the Psychologist to please my aunt and they gave me horrible medicine that gave me headaches that made me want to tear my head apart. I talked to him. I told him about my parents, my mother’s death, and my personal history. At first he thought I was gay and this was how my body was telling me. But then I told him about the dream and he was greatly interested. I would sit back in the comfy leather chair and sip the lemonade he made. The fan swishing from left to right. There would be considerable silences. I would listen to the goings on outside, fractured conversations. “You have to leave the money under the pillow”, “Will you keep me company?”, “Get in the car!” He would bring me back into the room, “Why do you want to see the TV so bad?” he inquired. The question jarred me; I was still between …… street and Dr. Korman’s practice. It was so obvious it hit me hard. I would write more about these therapy sessions but there not relevant to the plot. That's another story.
I had been living in Maryland for 3 months and was trying to focus on my writing. I would work full time at the post and then come home and write until late at night. I told Howard about the dreams. He came from a strict, Jewish family that he tried to distance himself from. “The only part of Judaism he admired” he told me “was the hair”. Subsequently he had a huge beard. At first he was bored, thinking it to be another “psychedelic’ dream, but once I told him about the television he leant toward me with curiosity. He was dead silent for a couple of minutes, waiting to drop his idea on me. “We could make a film” he said. “We could recreate these dreams onto film, and then if we get it right we can study it and find out what it is on the screen!” He slid closer to me. “I’ve read a lot about dream theory and dream therapy and I’ve always had this idea in my head. To recreate the dream, to put you back into it, thus allowing us to analyze it more thoroughly” “We have to start a script, I some actors and my uncle owns a great camera. It’s going to be good” he persuaded me. “If I could convert these hallucinations onto the screen I could watch it over and over and could scrutinize every frame” He stood up and looked around the room, “We would have to disguise this as your London apartment, you have pictures right?” I had had little experience with film and cameras in general so I decided to let Howard take care of the project as he had produced a few independent films out in St.Louis. He seemed very excited about the project, I remember him tapping his nails on his desk and twisting his beard between his fingers. –Yeah, it’ll delve deeper than ever before. An absolute subjectivity. Making dreams come true. We both laughed at that. He explained “Dreams are basically your brain that is your subconscious, tricking you into thinking a situation is real. This film will be turning the tables: you’ll be tricking your brain into thinking the situation is a dream. Then you’ll be able to scrutinize every minute detail because your subconscious will think it’s in control”.
So the next day, we spent the whole day in his flat trying to convert my hallucinations into a script. We thought it would be easy to translate absurdity into a story, but of course it wasn’t His flat was pretty big for one person and considering how much he was making as an “independent” film producer. He had his drum kit in the living room and black and white photographs all over the walls. There were his photos mixed with famous photos, photos he liked, photographs of famous people, photographs of famous situations et cetera., It was that time of the year when summer hit its peak, before people started taking it for granted. Sun filled the streets and people filled the parks. Romance and lust were airborne. Seduced by the warm air slipping through the window we couldn’t help but be brought back to our past romances. We spent half the day talking about women. He told me about Camille. She had strong limbs, strong face, and strong all over. She had a tattoo of Descartes on her forearm, which was one of the things that had impressed him so much. She worked as a meteorologist. They spent two years together but had known each other for three. They shared a small flat with a balcony overlooking a corner of Lake Charles. She changed him, then she changed, then she left. It didn’t seem to sadden him thought, he enjoyed reminiscing. In turn I told him of the women I had known and how I had never had a “Camille”. “Geoff. It’s six thirty. I’m sorry I went on and on. We can’t sit here and talk and sip on our tea all day. Let’s get started.” I explained, in great detail, the dream and he put it all together into a story board. He began scratching out images of me and the slug into quick storyboards. I told him quite frankly that I didn’t want this to become anything more than a practical experiment but he wouldn’t have it. He insisted that “it will be art, you can’t control it”. He was really enjoying the details of the dream but for me it was like I was a victim of some crime repeating everything that had happened, over and over.
By then my dreams had become more ubiquitous, I couldn’t just leave it all at home anymore. They would become more intense and their effects would be more violent. This development became clear on Monday 24th of April 2008. It was around lunch time, when I would usually talk to Alisha (a fellow intern) about economy in third world countries or a particular episode of M*A*S*H, but she wasn’t around that day, I wish she had been. I was at my desk, looking out the dirty window and thinking about how to finish a small bit I was reviewing on an auto show. Then I heard a sizzling noise, it reminded me of barbecues when I was a kid I would put my ear to the sausages to hear the sizzle. Then I realized that it was coming from inside of me. I understood what it was immediately: I could hear my cells dying. They were making a terrible sound; a loud fizzing and then a high pitched POP, everywhere: my arms, my mouth, my foot, my chest. It went from being din barely audible in the back of my ear to a loud, claustrophobic experience. Then I remember waking up, like I had just taken a nap. My eyes and limbs felt heavy and my mouth was dry. All of my co workers were around me, looking at me with emphatic eyes. “Are you alright,Geoff?” I was embarrassed as they helped me up. “I’m fine, really. It’s just a side effect of the antibiotics I’m taking”. So, I was sent home, so the people in the office thought I had mental problems, there are worse things in life. I got home and into bed and had that fucking dream again.
I was in too drained to refuse Howard’s proposal no matter how ridiculous it sounded. I was becoming less and less coherent with every passing day. I couldn’t have conversations and I struggled to execute everyday tasks. Everything was beginning to blend, moments would overlap and it was hard to tell which was happening and which was just remembering. I would be at the supermarket and look left and right as I crossed the aisles for fear I might get hit by a car as I thought I was crossing the road. However, I was still keeping up the appearance of working at the office somehow but the work I was producing was mediocre. Unfortunately, the poems and story I had been working on were completely left to the dust. Here I was, with so many extra hours of the day to use and I was absolutely unproductive. Emily would build our set. She was reluctant about the idea at first but then she had a sudden change of heart. She had called me at 4:16 in the morning (I remember the exact time because my alarm clock was all I could see). “Geoff! Sorry to wake you but I…. I have had one of the most disturbing dreams I’ve ever experienced” her child like voice made the conversation all the more disturbing. “Does this mean you’ll build it?” I replied half awake. “Yeah, yeah. In fact I’ve started thinking about it all already. I’m on my way over. Get some coffee on!”
After listening to her ideas, we talked ourselves into dawn. “How does it feel?” “I have never felt this bad. I’m surprised I haven’t collapsed completely yet” “That’s awful, I wish there was something I could do. Geoff?” I was starting to fade out of the conversation. “Yeah, I’m here; what is it?” “What do you really think of Howard’s idea?” “I have tried everything else: Therapy, medicine, alternative therapy, alternative medicine. Some helped, but mostly just made it worse. So I’ll give anything a shot” “I don’t think this is just insomnia. I think it’s much more. I want to help you”
Even in my hazy state, I could tell Emily liked me. But there was something disengenuous about her altruism. I didn't trust her. She put on Monty python to cheer me up. I reached out for her on the other side of the couch and she crept over to kiss me. After we had had sex on the couch, she fell asleep in my bed. I sorted through some of the poems I was writing. I was surprised I could even still have sex. It was refreshing to feel the warmth of her lips, her body but it was a transient release. Afterward I went back to feeling deflated.
On our first day of shooting,we were five: Howard, Emily, I and two of Howard’s friends Robbie and Jacob came along to help out. I was nervous but I didn’t know why, I think I was afraid that the idea was too crazy after all. But I looked on the positive side; I told myself “at least this flop sweat will make my performance more real!” Howard came up to me before we started shooting. My anxiety was obvious I suppose. “You ready to go?” He said holding on to my shoulders. “I’m a little nervous”, I looked around the “set” and it was perfect. The windows were open slightly, there was a slight drizzle outside (replicated by one of Jacob’s machines) that made the windowsill slick. They even found the same cat ashtray that was the centerpiece of our coffee table. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, we’re going to fix this. Ok?” he reassured me. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, I’m ready.” I reassured him. Jacob would be playing Ronan. They had done a great job on recreating the slug. We began shooting at 4p.m, Howard wanted to shoot it from 1st person and 3rd person perspectives and then pick the more effective one. So I strapped this big, grey camera to my body and we started. Fortunately it wasn’t like reentering the dream; I concentrated on the camera in my face. I could feel the others watching which was reassuring. I was expecting something magically mysterious to happen but of course nothing occurred. We ran through the routine a few times, tried different shooting techniques
We had finished two days later. Howard, Emily and I edited at his flat. He was tapping his foot excitedly on the wooden floors. I was so weak by then. I could barely keep track of a conversation. I would just watch people’s lips, concentrating on them moving wildly like a frightened animal. I would hear their voices but the sound was flat, like I was in a box.
Howard and Emily left me to watch the finished product alone. They both hugged me and wished me good luck. As I watched them pull away in Emily’s old Ford Taurus I realized the gravity of what would happen in the next few moments. Either I would watch the video, realize what has been driving me to madness, overcome it and get on with my life or I would watch it and nothing would happen, I would continue on the path to a mental breakdown. And over what? A dream? I sat up out of the chair. I couldn’t watch it. It was a ridiculous idea. I would watch it and nothing would happen, I would lose my mind. The video would cause my breakdown. I was breathing pretty heavily by then. I could hear it so loudly, as if someone were breathing into my ear. I walked over to the window for some air, trying to distract my brain with the sights of passing people. I saw an expectant mother get out of a taxi cab, a young delivery man walk into the pharmacy, birds shitting from the roof of Annie’s bakery and flying away elsewhere. This soothed me.
I focused the energy I had left on getting to the computer and sitting down. I cleared my head of all the confused whispers. I ejected the disc, picked it up and squeezed it on both sides until it snapped. The shards flew everywhere, and I laughed out loud. I knew I had made the right choice. Maybe, the film would have had the same conclusion but I knew I had made the right choice. After picking up all the pieces I lay on the kitchen floor for a while.
I awoke to the sound of Emily closing the window because it was raining outside. It was dusk outside; everything had an orange glow around it. When she realized I was awake, she turned around and started laughing. Her childish laughter started me laughing, I could barely keep my eyes open but that didn’t stop me from laughing my head off. She jumped over to the couch and hugged me. Howard came in once he heard all the inane laughing. “Hey, there he is. It worked. I can’t believe it. We got a bite to eat, went to Larry’s and came back around one. You were asleep on the floor. You must have fallen off the chair. This film is a wonder” he spoke with happy fervor. I didn't have the courage to tell him the truth. But I was too relieved to care about my cowardice. Everything was in color, everything was in focus. I was still tired but I felt like I could sleep for ten or twenty hours.
“Lets go celebrate. We can tell the others” Emily said
The three of us got into her car and drove to a bar on the other side of D.C. It was “Irish” themed so the pogues were playing on the sound system. Some of Howard's friends were already there so we joined them in their booth. As Howard told them about our little experiment(with pride in his voice), I looked across at Emily and saw she was looking at me. She rolled her eyes at Howard. It was unusual to feel”normal” or at least recovering to normal. It was as if it were a new state of mind that took some time getting used to. My attention was caught by the large mirror they kept behind the bartender which allowed an almost panoramic view of the bar. I could see everyone. It was half six on a Friday so everyone was coming in from work. There were construction workers, plumbers, city workers, truck drivers and the like. I realized that I would fight with lethargy and fear for the rest of my life, but I had to fight it, that is the price of creation. All of the people at the bar have that same choice. They can drive their trucks across states and wait for their weekend. Live off work, sex and sedation and do nothing else besides that, they make that choice. They fight the same battle I do, they just don't know it. I fell asleep after my second whiskey. I dreamt about nothing in particular.
We live in a time where a movie is judged(prematurely) on its trailer. People decide whether or not they will see a movie based, for the most part on the trailer. Later, there are other factors that figure in people's decision to see a certain film, such as: the actors that star in the film, the director, the subject matter e.t.c. Looking at trailers is a fundamental part of going to the cinema. But what makes a good trailer? Some would argue that a good trailer exposes the main plot without giving too much away and from a marketing perspective, the trailer should display the qualities of the film that will intrigue the selected demographic(impressive CGI, nostalgic period film e.t.c). These initiatives are vital to trailer making but one must also consider the relationship between the trailer and the finished film. If the studios are aware that the film they are supporting is a half hearted, formulaic romantic comedy, how do they get people into the cinema to see it.
In this trailer, Jason Bateman is presented as the main character who will bring people into the cinema to see this movie. This is the studio making an effort to cover the fact that this is another Jennifer Aniston bland, romantic comedy because she doesn't bring in as much as she used to. Furthermore, most of the narrative is exposed in the trailer, the only thing left for us to speculate when we see the movie is Jennifer Aniston's reaction to "The Switch". The trailer uses light, pop rock taken from some commercial bands(The Kooks) to try and intrigue a certain demographic.Thus, such a trailer leads the potential audience to suspect that the film is mediocre(and lo and behold it is). The people who compiled the trailer were more concerned on marketing techniques than inspiring intrigue and curiosity because they know the film isn't incredible.
Here's a good trailer for a bad movie. The trailer roars to us "Beowulf has celebrity actors, impressive CGI, atmospheric score and exciting action". But when people actually went to see it(82,280,579 dollars domestic total gross), they realized that CGI isn't impressive if you have to sit through 2 hours of it. Therefore, it didn't matter if Angelina Jolie gave a poignant, vocal performance, if there were intense action sequences and orchestral soundtrack because they are undermined by the incessant CGI.
This a perfect example of a good trailer. It exposes the main narrative but omits most of the subplots and twists thus this trailer uses intrigue and ambiguity to attract potential spectators. The trailer devotes a lot of time to Leanardo Di Caprio's character, his anxieties, his mission and the fact that he is a tormented man with a mysterious past. All of this displays the films character depth. They use music scored specifically for the movie by Hans Zimmer and is therefore well adapted to the trailer. Inception is an intellectualy deep blockbuster, thus the trailer for movies like this consists mainly on affecting an audience's curiosity by being ambiguous and implicit.
Making a trailer for Inception seems too easy because it is a good movie, backed by a popular director and it seemed destined to cause a stir at the box office(This is also due to the fact that it is a Summer Blockbuster). But what do you do when you don't have Cristopher Nolan and Leo Di Caprio, when you don't have a charming couple like Jason Bateman and Jennifer Aniston? How do you make a trailer if you don't have any assets or if you're movie is just plain bad?
You fill the trailer with catchy, popular soul music and poignant indie music(the former for the happy climax and the latter for the poignant conflict) and ask the audience dumb rhetorical question like: "Have you ever dreamed?"
The idea for the film Thud was a joke, Roch and I came up with one sweaty day in the South of France. Now it has blossomed into one elaborate, giant joke. Ideas are sprouting from everywhere. It is incredible that a coherent story has been created just from one silly joke. Of course it is not all original ideas, we are making fun of some genres and taking stuff from others but it is unusual to think that inspiration is on one hand random but at the same time it seems to come from within us. Silly as this little "distraction" might have been, it has really refreshed my desire to make films, the DIY element of making films at least. Anyway, we already have Thud 3 and 4 planned out and they seem to get progressively more ambitous and longer.
I feel compelled to write about inception, I can't not write about it. It is all anyone is talking about and it deserves that amount of attention. I saw it the other day and it had a great impression on me as it affected others. I was amazed because the themes of the film are so abstract yet that obscurity is not an obstacle for the "blockbuster" elements of the movie, it is perfectly accessible. Nolan does this by restraining the narrative: dealing with dreams and dream theory can get out of hand easily and dream theory itself is massive and complex but everything in the film is simplified and exposed. There are dreams within dreams within dreams and there is dream manipulation and relativity of time but the spectator is never lost. Also, the film doesn't focus on doubting reality either, there are key moments where reality is put into question but for the most part reality is clearly defined and the skepticism is not the central theme. The action within the movie was never gratuitous or redundant it seemed vital to the story, to the characters. However even without the action scenes, the film would have still been great due to the depth of the story. DiCaprio seems to be drawn to psychologically tormented characters in denial but hey it's working pretty well, the Departed, The Aviator, Shutter Island were all great films. Joseph Gordon Levitt stole the show with two of the best fight scenes ever. Inception is Christopher Nolan's first time writing by himself(he normally writes with his brother) and it shows in some parts where the dialogue is a little too heavy on exposition and the last scene was superfluous and a bit cheap but overall he has composed an airtight, brooding blockbuster.
The Social Network I found the trailer for this little prospect today on a blog. The social network is David Fincher's biopic of Mark Zuckerburg and the creation of facebook. It looks surprisingly interesting but at the same time it seems weird to make a film out of it. Facebook is a very interesting subject from which many themes can be approached but the film seems to be more concerned with dramatizing Zuckerberg's ordeal. Also, the attempt at revamping creep(which everyone is sick of) works for the trailer and the whole idea of Facebook. I would like to see how Jesse Eisenberg approaches the role because I've never really found him funny yet he does have a certain charm like geek appeal(not unlike Michael Cera)
The Green Hornet I've been looking forward to this trailer for a while just to see what Seth Rogen in a superhero movie would look like and it looks boring. I am intrigued that they have chosen to use a comic tone but then again it would be hard to go straight faced drama with Rogen although I think he could do it. Michel Gondry was the other reason I was excited about his movie. He represents the eccentric, do it yourself, creative type of filmmaking but the style of the movie looks very bland and generic. I will definitely see it but my expectations have been lowered greatly.
I just discovered that a company called Solar Impulse is experimenting with their planes by relying solely on solar energy and I'm deeply intrigued. Although their site doesn't concentrate on how the plane actually works it is a very exciting prospect. The first flight landed this morning after 26 hours of flight, the prototype is composed of 12000 photovoltaic(energy conversion) cells that are relayed onto 4 big electric motors.
This of course got the science fiction geek inside of me ecstatic and giddy. Admittedly everything is still in the experimental stage, but it's reassuring to know people are still endeavouring to break through and change the way we think about energy and new ideas. To think that in my lifetime, I might fly on Ryanair and it would be solar powered gives hope for the future. However, Solar impulse don't have the resources to take the project to that stage and the commercial plane would be hard to build (huge wingspan, tiny hull). I believe they are completing the vital foundation that could open up to commercial airlines.
When it comes to solar energy as a solution to the depletion of fossil fuels people tend to be very skeptical and I'm no different. The question is: is solar energy reliable? is it sustainable enough for a trans atlantic flight? This bold project is starting to cast my doubts away. Plus, in a few days they will test the plane at night to evaluate its charging capacities.
This is my second year at this particular festival and I have to say it has expanded quite a bit since I last experienced it. Still at the huge MK2 Bibliotheques cinema, the festival has become more popular which has lead to more movies being available. Every year the festival highlights one country and it's cinematic exports, this year Japan will be in the spotlight. So on the first day I enjoyed some of Japan's best films, it is a very ecelectic selection and each film is preceeded by an introduction given by a specialist.
5 things I learned about Japan thanks to the Paris Film Festival: 1 If you kill a japanese person either accidentally or on purpose expect a swift and horrible revenge to come down on you.In "Pure Asia", a young girl is murdered by thugs on the street so her sister decides to go on a terrorist rampage on all those who let it happen. She tosses mustard gas into assembly halls and train stations. In "Machine Girl", a young boy is murdered so his sister starts her vendetta by attaching a chain gun to her wrist and murders everyone involved. It seems that there is no police or judiciary system, people just sort it out themselves, which sounds badass until you cross Machine girl's path. So don't mess with japanese people, for the love of christ. I will add more details of my education as the festival continues.
The competition itself is comprised of 8 films picked out 1500 films. After watching two, I couldn't help but be disappointed though. One was a Romanian prison movies which tackled some interesting subject on morality but it was lacking narrative direction, the whole movie happens in the last twenty minutes. It was still really good but it made me wonder about the quality of the other 1499 films So I hope the competition develops into something better, something really eye catching over the next few days.
5 reasons why the Paris Film Festival is more fun than Cannes: 1 You don't have to wade through a sea of cameramen, journalists and elbows to see a movie 2 Furthermore, anyone can enjoy the Premieres for a modest price. You don't have to be privileged to enter the actual cinema. 3 It's in Paris 4 There's a movie for everyone. The festival hosts a huge array of different films. 5 The Paris Festival will close with a huge Cinekaroake session. I still don't really know what that is but it sounds fun.
My second day at the festival, and today I watched some Australian films and then I got my first look at the films in the competition. The first day had a lot of feminist themes and topics with the acting troupe reading out feminist manifestos and the screening of porn films made by women for women. But today was much more eclectic, there were films about male dominance, female desire, privacy e.t.c
I arrived at the Grande Action cinema at three and got a seat to watch some sexy, Australian films. It was a very intriguing mix but there were some that were definitely pretentious. There were some comedic ones which was refreshing, the festival has been lacking in comedy movies. There were a lot of short, absurdist ones which were interesting too like "Chick addict" by Victoria Waghorn. I was also informed of how strict the rules regarding sex in cinema were in Australia, films like Romeo and Juliet directed by Franco Zeffirelli were banned. In recent years The Australian cinema board has loosened the rules which has subsequently allowed these filmmakers to make their films.
I had a half an hour break between screening so I decided to wander around the neighborhood, when I heard the mass of people celebrating the gay pride parade. I've never seen so many people on the streets of Paris and there were no riot police or CRS. It was crazy, everyone was out on the streets.
I went back to the cinema after the bedlam to see the standard of the films in the competition.
I was rather disappointed by some of the entries, half of the films were poor attempts at humor and completely uninteresting. There were two that grabbed my attention. "Ona", directed by Pau Camarasa, displayed beautiful, thought provoking cinematography and brooding narrative.
"Bobby visits the Library", directed by Eric Krasner also caught my eye. Krasner, edited together two "educational" films together to make an interesting perspective on American culture. One film was about a young boy enjoying the services of his local children's library, the other was a fear monger film, warning people to be aware of libraries and their sexually deviant material.
I saw a lot of movies, most of which were thought provoking which really shows how versatile and deep this festival is, I would definitely consider it a succesful debut.
After wandering through the town hall and finally finding the sexy international Paris Film festival, I am given my press pass in a small yet hospitable room. As I look around I see about 15 people, a long table with some cheap snacks and punch. There are directors, actors, producers and journalists. Much smaller than film festivals I'm used to, the SIPFF is as intimate as its central theme. It's humble size allows for much more mingling, journalist can approach directors and producers, photographers can capture a lot more.
The festival itself was ambiguous: what exactly is it about? Admittedly, I did very little research plus there wasn't a lot of information on the site so I had to just go and find out. After reading all their pamphlets and press kits, I began to understand that they wanted to tackle a bit of everything, there is a section on porn, there is eroticism in cinema, romance in society and so on.
Can you take your mum to the Sexy International Paris Film Festival?
Approaching the SIPFF, it's uncertain just how far they go regarding eroticism and sexuality. So it is reasonable to think that it could be interesting to go with a parent, I mean you're both adults why not? The first day of screenings starts off with several eclectic short films, that deal with desire, loneliness and separation. The ensemble, is quite soft. There are a few sex scenes but they are tastefully cinematic. There was a short break before the second screening which concerned a series of porn films made by women for women. Now this is were the festival goes up a gear as far as intimacy goes. The first film presented an exchange of roles. A couple gets bored of normal sex, so the women decides to dress like a man and vice versa and then they have sex with the roles reversed. All four films were very interesting because they displayed a female perspective, they didn't seem pornographic in the traditional sense, they seemed to convey pure desire. So the first day of screenings proved very interesting and informed me about just how explicit the content would be. Now, onto day two.
Thursday, 10 June 2010
I started listening to rap or hip hop earnestly when I was seventeen. But I couldn’t explain this sudden change in opinion. Before, I would reject any and every rapper and song. I was a devout listener of rock music. There were a number of things that distressed me about the rap genre. Firstly, I couldn’t get over the contradictory nature of it, rappers would rap about themselves in misogynistic, egotistical verses on one song and then rap about the importance of family, community and equality on the next song in the same album. On Nas’ 2002 release “God Son”, he glorifies drug lords like Nicky Barnes on the song “Get down”, then later on in the album, there is the song “I can”, where Nas tries to inspire children to be “An architect, doctor, maybe an actress” and not to use “heroin, cocaine, sniffin up drugs all in her nose... “ . It seems like they are just trying to pander to every one like a marketing ploy developed by their record companies. Then, there is the infamous use of the word nigger, which has become ubiquitous in the genre, dating to about the creation of N.W.A.. So did I just abandon my ideals and submit to the popular genre like a sell out or had I been convinced by something else? Is there more to this genre than money?
One thing that I’ve realized I enjoy about rap music is its poetic nature, which is something a lot of people seem to neglect when talking about the genre. It seems obvious once you become aware of the poetic instruments used. Rappers use rhyming schemes (obviously), tone, rhythm patterns (or flow), imagery. Beyond this, the majority of rap music abandons strict, linear narratives or songs that carry one unified message. Instead, rappers choose to voice opinions, feelings and depict situations of poverty (in the projects) or of wealth (in the heights), which is obviously inspired by the desire to express oneself as in Lyric poetry. The genre embraces digression; the rapper tries to touch on several topics in the same verse, a lot of the time without correlation between the topics. For example, in Kanye West’s “Two Words”, it seems quite obscure what point Mos def is trying to make:
Two words, United States, no love, no brakes Low brow, high stakes, crack smoke, black folks Big Macs, fat folks, ecstasy capsules Presidential scandals, everybody MOVE Two words, Mos Def, K West, hot shit Calm down, get back, ghetto people, got this Game ball, lock shit, dump off, cock shit We won't stop shit, everybody MOVE Kanye West, “Two Words”)
However, this neglect of “structure” does not stem from ignorance rather it is part of a want for feeling. It’s as if he is impatiently trying to voice a million ideas, it invokes feeling and creates vast diorama detailed intricately. Moreover, a rapper is only as good as his ability to freestyle, thus the rapper creates a poetic flow that is improvised and inspired by the moment much like the works of surrealist poets like Andre Breton with the cadavre exquis. This poetic influence might be linked to African American culture that stems from a long history of Oral tradition, history and narratives passed down through spoken word.
Returning to the word nigger because one cannot avoid it when debating about Rap music. It can be difficult to understand what rappers wish to achieve by using it relentlessly. I felt, like many others, ambivalent to the word being thrown around, considering the connotations relating to the slavery era, at times it seems rather disrespectful and insensitive towards those who suffered, those who were bound by chains and the word nigger. However, the word was being used in African-American culture as far back as the 1970’s before the conception of hip hop in the late seventies to early eighties. Richard Prior used it controversially in his stand up. The word is used between African Americans:
“In many African-American neighborhoods, nigga is simply the most common term used to refer to any male, of any race or ethnicity. Increasingly, the term has been applied to any person, male or female.” (Arthur K. Spears, Diverse Issues in Higher Education, 2006)
Therefore there is a confusion of cause and effect between society and art. Some critics (Get a name, scholar or columnist) argue that rappers use it to reverse its effect. By using it incessantly they have, in a way, defused its original connotation and turned it into an instrument to inspire solidarity in African Americans. In spite of this reminder of the wonder of language there is still a problem: now there are two meanings to it and therefore it has become dubious and double edged.
“For instance, a show on Black Entertainment Television, a cable network aimed at a black audience, described the word nigger as a “term of endearment.” “In the African American community, the word nigga (not nigger) brings out feelings of pride” (Davis)
Yet, there are numerous instances where people of other races use the word off the cuff and have been black listed by the African American community (Michael Richards, Ron Atkinson are some infamous examples). The word nigger continues to be a dangerous and ambivalent word but the dichotomy between the rapper’s (and African American culture in general) use of the word and the historical use emphasizes the complexity and importance of language as a means of communication and representation. Just as verbs when used excessively and in different situations become irregular, nouns like nigger can become “irregular”.
Rap music is heavily based on image and building a persona. In order to be recognized, the majority of rappers develop a reputation as a gangsta or pimp or coke dealer. Their reputation can have some truth to it like Jay-z who did actually sell drugs or it can be completely fabricated like Ice cube during his career with N.W.A or Clipse. This is done through lyrics first and foremost; you need to speak the language, you need to recite anecdotes about your past et cetera. But a rapper can’t leave his persona solely on the record; he needs to maintain it as well as he can throughout his personal life. Nowadays the genre is a battle of egos, you’re either allies or enemies, either you feature regularly on your buddy’s record or there’s a beef. The unusual thing is how easily this can change depending on what a particular rapper wants at that time. The best example is the game, who after teaming up with G-unit after his first album is now adamantly antagonistic with the Brooklyn outfit. This demonstrates the theatricality of the genre. It can demand a lot of tailoring your awn image and trying to destroy your opponent’s credibility Rappers seem to need a certain amount of street cred if their rags to riches narratives are going to be taken seriously. You might need to have spent some time in prison, have been shot, have sold drugs or just had a lamentable childhood. However entertaining this theatre rap might be, it is important to consider the effect this can have on the culture. In certain mentalities, rappers are the representatives of the African-American population and black people in general. Thus, there are horrible stereotypes cast over a whole group. Now, I’m not saying I agree with the rapper’s view on the world, I’m simply trying to expose the dichotomy between the rapper himself and his persona. Of course, this can be related to the age old idea of celebrity in general, and the creation of an alternate persona exists in other genres (Bowie, Dylan et cetera) but rap seems to be more dependent on this image.
However, there are several rappers who transcend the need to create a rebel character like a tribe called quest, fat lip and the Pharcyde. They rap as themselves, transparent and because of this they are labeled “intellectual” or unusual when in reality they are closer to the initial values of hip hop as a form of expression. They deal with social problems directly from a wider perspective. Fat lip turns the arrogant, self loving character on its head in “What up Fat Lip?”: “Over the years it seems I’m getting dumber […] Yeah, I’m a brotha but sometimes I don’t feel black”. He exposes an interesting issue, what does it mean to feel black? What are the expectations? Obviously, I can’t delve into self conscious, aimed at socio-political rap without mentioning Public enemy. The duo explicitly confronted the issues that affected the African American community with great determination. Whereas most rappers, especially in the contemporary list, tend to rap about poverty and social conflict solely in relation to themselves, or they rap about it but simply as a ploy to appear concerned (Akon “Ghetto”). Chuck D and Flava Flav investigated the their culture amidst the melting pot of America (“It takes a nation of millions to hold us back”, “Fear of a Black Planet”), the discrimination against African Americans from the entertainment industry (“Burn Hollywood Burn”) and they wrote songs that incited African Americans to be more politically aware and active (“Fight the power”). So what happened to people like Chuck D? Did he strive in vain or are all the problems solved now? Well, even though chuck d has stopped rapping and there has been some considerable social progress in America there are still people who continue to be informants, describing the inequalities that persist but also celebrating the challenges that have been overcome. Some examples would be Q-tip, Panacea, Talib Kwali and even Kanye West to some extent. But the most vehement rappers trying to articulate their idea’s on politics (Dead prez) suffer from having their voices drowned out by the mainstream rap
The genre has changed in some ways. Beginning with the method, listening to sugarhill gang and run DMC and comparing it to Aesop Rock or Lil Wayne it is easy to see there is an important change in the lyrics themselves and rhyming. “Rapper’s delight” can seem a bit innocent and simple: “i said a hip hop the hippie the hippie to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat” Contemporary rap seems profane and extravagant in comparison. A lot of rap lyrics are provocative and crudely explicit. The there are artists like Aesop rock who use abstract and complex lyrics and rhyming patterns, who demonstrate a more direct influence to poetry, focusing on tempo and the sounds of words.
”pirouetting madly on a mirror full of baggies in the valley of the irritable aggie, any sincerity, miracles,or memory buried in the back-seat by the hazardous material was seriously gasping,here he is in action trying to patch up the attraction, figured he would win her back if he act in a common passion” (Aesop Rock “Fumes”), Aesop rock's lyrics are abstract and adhere to poetic methods like. rhythmic stream
See I wanna fuck, tell me whats up Walk around the club with yo thumb in ya mouth Put my dick in, take your thumb out[…] I keep a hoe hot when I'm puttin' in work Wanna skeet skeet you bout to get your feelin's hurt” (Ying Yang twins,”Wait”)
Another objection commonly raised against rap music is its originality. The genre is continuously criticized for being dependant on sampling music (taking it from other sources and incorporating it into their songs). There is more to sampling than just theft, it is a creative process. Sure, there are rappers who merely hear a beat or a melody and exploit it. Tinchy Stryder’s “Tiny Dancer” is a good example as it takes advantage of the appeal and notoriety of Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s 1971 classic. Stryder’s version depends on the melody sung in the chorus and the whole song builds up to that moment, whereas the rest of the song is bland. A talented sampler will go beyond mere pick and mix, they will adapt the music and create a synergy between the original music and the sample. A tribe called quest’s “Can I kick it?” is renowned by peers as being a great sample. They use the bassline from Lou Reed’s “walk on the wild side”, but they use it in a way that makes it their own. Instead of the bass being the rhythm for the subdued tranquility of Reed’s song, it is backed by a resounding beat transporting it and integrating it into the vision of A tribe called quest. Furthermore, hip hop is not the only domain where sampling takes place and people seem to forget that: sculpture, poetry, the novel, painting and theatre just to name a few. Shakepeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” has been adapted and sampled incessantly for hundreds of years but that doesn’t stop anyone from picking up the play and presenting their personal interpretation and representation.
The genre has changed. Rappers have changed and the genre reaches a much bigger audience. Rap marks an important breach of American music culture, a rise in black artists in a predominately white domain, so where jazz and blues was labeled as “Negro music” and cast out to Europe, Rap is arguably an American genre.But as any part of the entertainment industry, rap music is fueled by the pursuit of wealth and fame. It is simply inherent, and to refuse to abide by the popular conventions, artists like A tribe called Quest, Panacea, Fat lip et cetera sacrifice the opportunity to become mega famous and mega rich. . The genre evolves, but one must ask; Is it a good evolution? Does the fact that it’s more popular correlate to a commercialization of the music? As Jay-z once said “I’m not a businessman, I am a business, man.”Even if I have failed to convince you of hip hop’s merit, I have attempted to demonstrate the complexity and depth that this genre comprehends, engulfing so many different sounds and narratives. I have begun to unpack the important connections this music has in society, not just America, but everywhere. The utility the genre has to voice the opinions of minorities and how it can be misused and manipulated and how the genre went from being this voice of a minority to becoming one of the most popular genres to date, listened by everyone, created by people of different social backgrounds.
As the world cup approaches, everyone gets excited: flags are being hung up everywhere and the faces of Ribery and Gourcuff are pasted everywhere. I think about all the great movies that glorify the huge event and the sport and realize there are none. Commonly referred to as the most popular sport in the world(omitting the US), football is an integral part of culture: it is broadcasted on tv constantly, players are paid CEO salaries and no one can avoid watching the world cup, it is inescapable. Then why hasn't there been a good football movie? The film "Goal" came close depicting the rise of a young star but it was more about fame then anything else.movies like Bend it like Beckham and Shoalin soccer are less concerned with football, concentrating on themes of female empowerment and whatever Shoalin Soccer was about. There are lists of good movies that glorify other sports : Ice hockey has "Mighty Ducks", American football has "Any Given Sunday", and even bobsledding has "Cool Runnings". Hollywood studios make most if not all of the uplifting sport movies, which explains why there are no good football movies. The only one they made was 1981's Escape to victory directed by John Huston which was a poor mashup of "The Longest Yard" and "The Great Escape".
Good sports movies are formulaic movies, so all you need to do is apply the formula to football: a team in desperate need of a win, an unlikely candidate steps up and helps them(Elijah Wood,Romain Duris), they have to face an ultimate opponent, somber and menacing, (Nazis or Russians) and then they somehow overcome their evil rivals.I think it will have to be produced by an independent source because Big studios don't really care but at least the film would be truer to football instead of making it into a romantic comedy or kungfu. It would be more of a rise and fall of a promising,young player, showing the beauty of the game and at the same time exposing its ugly side like "Any Given Sunday", that's what "Goal" tried to achieve. But if a Hollywood studio made a football movie it would be rejected in europe and other places for being formulaic and disingenuous, so the film needs to combine the melodrama of a hollywood sports movie with the realism of an independent film. So here's to "World cup:The movie" being made before the next world cup.
Friday, 4 June 2010
I have almost finished my first real "story", I say story because I don't know what to call it, it's a long short story. And, I say first but I have written tons of stories but never fully completed any of this caliber. It has been an interesting experience and I have learned so much about writing in general. For instance, the story element was easier than I expected but building characters and intrigue and ideas around that central story arc was extremely difficult. It made me think of literature in general. It's a common saying that there are only 6 or 7 stories in the world and they have been used over and over since the bible. So then what is really important are characters and character development and through these elements writers create "new" stories. The most difficult part was installing my ideas and arguments into the story, I had a lot but making them coherent and harmonious with everything else in the story. When I started writing, obviously I wanted it to be good, so I tried to discover what makes a good story. It's not enough just to write beginning, middle and end. I needed to be aware if every element of the story, so I had to ask myself several questions: Do I want to create characters with incredible attention to detail or sketch very bare, ambiguous people? What effect do I want the story to have? and so many others.Anyway, writing this story has been instructional and enlightening and I will post the final draft in the following week.
The canadian band released two surprising songs in anticipation of their third album. I don't think it's wise to judge the album before it comes out but these sneak peeks are a bit disapointing. "The Suburbs" is a mediocre song, with nice vocal melody,good marching beat and beautiful piano riffs but the song lacks energy and direction. "Month of may", despite it's distorted guitars and heavy beat is uninteresting: the riff is boring, and Butler's lyrics are dull. Anyway, the songs are ok but I expect much better for the finished record.
LCD soundsystem frontman James Murphy claims that this is the final record and as a conclusion it is definitive but then again so were the previous albums. The album opens with a synthpop tune straight from 1985 called "I can change", a song which seems incongruent until Murphy begins singing, infusing the bouncy pop synthesizers with his biting lyrics: "I can change if it will help you fall in love". Murphy seems to slip into a different voice for each song which gives them each a different tone. On "I can change" his voice is full of emotion and whereas on "Dance yrself clean" he sings with restraint, through grinding teeth like David Byrne. Where this album really differs from previous records is the Bowie influence. The LCD electro-funk sound has been mixed with obvious Bowie inspiration. The guitar on "All I want" is deliciously reminiscient of Bowie's "Heroes"(slightly sped up) and the more electronic songs like use the cold,electronic guitars and synth sound which reminiscient of Bowie's berlin trilogy with Brian Eno. This new influence mixes well with the LCD formula of funk bass and tight, quick drumming.
Murphy's lyrics are more compelling this time around, he's striving to transcend the life of leisure and the pursuit of pleasure, he is trying to get out of solipsistic apathy: " I am amazed at my decision to play". The songs have an expansive quality to them; the start off as bare electronic skeletons and then the band add their parts but the song maintains an element of unpredictability. The first single of "This is Happening" Drunk Girls is an entertaining, accessible dance song. Some of the songs can be a bit torpid, "Somebody's calling me" tries to emulate Iggy Pop's "nightclubbing" but just seems more lethargic than anything else. Whether or not this is actually their last album, The songs articulate a desire for something more substatial, what that is exactly remains uncertain as Murphy doesn't explicitly say what he is striving for
This summer, I am excited about the return of three big bands: Interpol, The National and Arcade Fire. The National have been steadily building up momentum for a decade now. Slowly building up a fan base across three great records: The national,Alligator and Boxer. I have been a fan since Boxer and have started testing their latest: "High Violet". All the best moments from previous albums are there: Berringer's brooding vocals and intellectual and edifying lyrics, simple yet poignant guitar riffs and slow buildups. Yet there are new developments. The lyrics are much more personal as Berringer reveals his anxieties about becoming a father but also how wonderful the experience is. He sings about apocaliptic floods, zombies and hurricanes and the world that is left afterwards. The sound of the album is a lot more expansive as they use the horn section more, the piano is more involved in the general sound and there are occasional hints of strings adding a sumptuous layer to their sound. The general sound is a lot softer compared to the heavy,distorted sound of Alligator and The Boxer.
The National represent the original wave of Brooklyn '00s rock band amongst Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Interpol and the strokes and it looks like they will be joining those bands considering their build up of critical acclaim. I have just begun to listen to the album but I know it will soon become one of my favorites this year. Here's the national performing "Runaway" on Canadian tv.
