A Murder of Minutes: The Useless Observations of a Wannabe Intellectual

Well hey, I forgot all about you!

2010-10-14T21:33:00.003-04:00

Hello blog, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I've been neglecting to post anything in the past few months - not because I have nothing to say, but because I've had no idea how to phrase it lately. Lost my inspiration, or my muse, or writer's block, or whatever highfalutin name you want to call it apart from laziness or procrastination, which is what I call it.

Fear not, the dark ages are over and I rise triumphantly through the storm clouds of negigence and lethargy, creating arcs of inspiration with my sword of enlightenment. Or whatever, I don't know.

Glad to be back.

Tim Burton Art Exhibit Coming to Toronto on November 26th

2010-04-30T21:40:00.004-04:00

According to the New York Times, the acclaimed Tim Burton exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art (which came to a close this Monday) is stopping off in Toronto, after the Australian tour, at the new Bell Lightbox (which, evidently, isn't finished yet - and is everything in this city named after a telephone provider now?) from November 26th to April 17, 2011. Because I've matured since the height of my Burton-worship from the teen goth years (due to both growing out of the phase and because, lovely as they may be, I'm tired of seeing Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter don corsets and fantastical wigs together), I'm not sure how excited I should be for this. It has piqued my curiosity, though, and I may go solely for the severed Sarah Jessica Parker prop head.

A Very Rare Instance in Which I Have These Things Called 'Feelings'

2010-03-22T23:29:00.005-04:00

Today I watched Every Little Step, the documentary about dancers auditioning for starring roles in the revival of A Chorus Line on Broadway and got perilously close to bawling my eyes out.

I know its obviously constructed to manipulate the audience into caring about specific dancers and making us emotionally respond to watching them achieve their dreams, but something about people succeeding in the arts despite the harsh reality of the fact that almost nobody actually does makes me go to pieces.

My boyfriend the former theatre actor also pointed out that this was probably completely fabricated and not a role touching too close to home, but if this doesn't tug at you at least a little, you may have no soul.

The fact that the last shot of the film was this guy getting out of his costume after his first Broadway show and looking absolutely elated was way too much for me to handle. I am clearly a rubbery pile of mush.

Oscars fail to be engaging as usual and I stop caring

2010-03-09T11:04:00.000-05:00

Last night was the first time the attendees of the 2010 Academy Awards looked particularly bored as the ceremony runs approximately half an hour past its scheduled end. Last night was also the first time I didn't watch a single second of the awards (while on syndication, at least - my impression of the ceremony results from watching YouTube clips for the brief fifteen minutes they remain on the site before being deleted for copyright infringement).

Once again, the Academy plays it safe and rewards everyone we knew would be rewarded, and the Iraq War is deemed culturally more important than nature-loving blue aliens. Cristoph Waltz, the only winner who hasn't yet been chewed up and spit out by the Hollywood robot machine (everyone looks stiffer and blander every year) is also the only person to appear genuinely thrilled, humbled, and does not prompt me to throw a shoe at my television (Sandra Bullock winning an Oscar for playing a rich hick housewife in a predictable, schmaltzy, and possibly borderline-racist family film, however, does).

Jeff Bridges also addresses the director of Crazy Heart as "man" and giggles during his acceptance speech, reminding me why The Big Lebowski is the greatest movie of all time.

Some thoughts on the last few movies I've seen

2010-03-09T10:50:00.002-05:00

Shutter Island
I was enjoying this quite a bit up until I realized I knew exactly how it was going to end. I initially thought, "Nah, Scorsese has more integrity and imagination than that," but, well, my initial suspicions were confirmed. This movie was pretty chilling, well-acted, and clever when it was subtle and affecting, before it decided to run with a twist that rivals M. Night Shyamalan's most ridiculous. I'm pretty disappointed. This could have been so much better if it hadn't relied on a gimmick.

Sukiyaki Western Django
As someone with a love/hate relationship with Quentin Tarantino, I couldn't help but find his presence in this movie kind of out-of-place and jarring, and this is a film about Takashi Miike's version of a Wild West Nevada populated by rival Japanese gangs. It's actually surprisingly subtle for a Miike film, and even when the violence borders on the extreme, it doesn't veer into ridiculous territory. It's obviously indulgent, but not to the point where it is obnoxious due to how lovingly crafted it is. Enjoyed this very much, but for the love of god Tarantino, stop acting.

Thirst
A legitimately sexy and intense vampire film. I'm a big fan of Oldboy, and stylistically this is very similar - it's dark, moody, and it looks beautiful. It grappled with religious issues in a way that I admired for being touching and refreshingly honest. There were times when I felt the film unnecessarily incorporated too many vampire tropes, but the touches of black humour made me smile and the score was eclectic and almost jazzy. Really liked this movie.

Adaptation.
I generally enjoy Charlie Kaufman's awkward, paranoid view on life (except for one of his other films that shall remain nameless), and deep down I geek out over a movie like this, with so many layers of meta I confuse myself trying to keep track of all of them, get them all straight, then lose myself again. The screenplay is pretty damn close to a masterpiece. Nic Cage is surprisingly excellent in this, and reminds me that he can actually act when teamed with a competent writer and director. I did think there were times when the constant reiteration of Charlie's pathetic loner-ness was hammy and overstated, but it petered out by the last half of the film.

Inland Empire
I have a very tenuous grasp on exactly how I feel about this movie because I, like most other people I'm sure, have no idea what the fuck it was about. I'm left with a strong sense of being both horrified and fascinated. I liked it a lot. I'm fairly sure of this. It's probably the most frustrating thing I've ever seen, but I felt such a sense of wonder at how powerfully psychological and disarming it was. It feels more like a long, bizarre, frighting, trip with frequent flashes of brilliance than a movie, and I'm wondering if this really is the point of Inland Empire after all.

All That Jazz
I'm not sure why I haven't seen this before, but it's probably the smartest, most affecting, most creatively crafted quasi-musical-(auto)biography I've ever seen. It also becomes a million times more disturbing when you realize that Bob Fosse wrote, directed, and choreographed a film about essentially himself as a drug-addicted workaholic who is too "generous with his cock". The whole thing is fast, wild, and, just like Inland Empire, feels like a trip - albeit one that's much more fun (and much less hopelessly confusing. This has a plot).

Tattoos and Why One Woman Thinks You Shouldn't Bother If You're Not Angelina

2010-01-25T20:26:00.001-05:00

Sitting in the waiting room of a downtown Toronto counselling clinic (not for therapy, for once – scouting out locations for a student film and awaiting the arrival of my partner-in-crime), I idly flipped through the October 2009 issue of Elle, a highly-regarded Canadian fashion magazine that leans toward the haute couture. Due to this fact, I did not expect to happen upon

A: An article about tattoos;

Or B: A positive article about tattoos.

Best guesses as to which the article contained (Hint: it sure as hell wasn’t Option B).

Oh, it wasn’t all bad. The author did admit that tattoos look “fab” on Angelina and Rhianna, but she cautions the rest of us mere mortals to think twice before getting a tattoo, because we might not “suit one.”

There are some interesting notions surrounding this tidbit of advice. One is that only “certain people” can appropriately pull off tattoos. Whether they be exotic Hollywood goddesses or punk rock rebels remains to be seen, but the author seems to be hinting that “normal” people, with normal clothes, normal looks, and normal attitudes, would look positively ridiculous with a tattoo. She claims tattoos “suit” a person, like a particular outfit would, and if a tattoo doesn’t fit within the boundaries of your look, it is inappropriate for you to bother with one.

The other strange part of this article is the author’s experience with her own tattoo, which she got on a lark in college – by a tattoo artist in a dingy shop who smoked a joint the entire time and, quite obviously, ruined the Urdu script she had chosen. She went home, immediately hated the tattoo, scrubbed it with a scouring pad (allegedly believing this might actually work), and eventually gave up and took to constantly wearing clothes that hid the tattoo for the next fifteen years.

According to this enlightened individual, because she was incredibly irresponsible and chose to leave something as monumental as a first tattoo, a permanent and life-altering decision, in the hands of an "artist" under the influence of drugs in a shoddy shop, we should all take caution when getting a tattoo. The author could have stressed the importance of research, or how to locate a friendly and clean shop with talented artists, but instead she simply shrugs off her story as yet another reason why some people should avoid tattoos altogether.

Reading this, my immediate thought (aside from irritation and “I should totally write an article about this”) was, “Why doesn’t she just get a cover-up from someone who knows what they’re doing?” Sure enough, the author does address this – and claims it is only one of her many fantasies. She imagines herself (I paraphrase here) “At L.A. Ink, hair flowing over one shoulder as Kat von D constructs an elaborate piece to cover up my mistake, but this will never happen.”

Probably not, dear author (practically being in the presence of Kat von D herself costs at least a grand) – but why not do the apparently unthinkable and actually put more than thirty seconds of thought into your cover-up design, visit an artist who doesn’t have a blunt sticking out of his mouth, and change your mangled piece into something beautiful? Or can only incredibly attractive rebellious celebrities who get tattoos from other incredibly attractive rebellious celebrities fulfil this particular fantasy?

Another Tentative Attempt to List the Best Movies of the Decade

2009-12-20T13:53:00.002-05:00

Keeping in line with the last update, here's a list of what movies I enjoyed the most from the last ten years, not necessarily those that were objectively best (No Country For Old Men made me sleep, as did all three Lord of the Rings movies).

Big Fish (2003)
Paris, je t'aime (2006)
Let The Right One In (2008)
Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Y tu mama tambien (2001)
Breakfast on Pluto (2005)
Ghost World (2001)
Anchorman (2004)
Pan's Labyrinth (2006)
Chicago (2002)
28 Days Later (2002)
The Incredibles (2004)
Hot Fuzz (2007)
Moon (2009)
Grindhouse (2007)
Moulin Rouge (2001)
Memento (2000)
Amelie (2001)
The Prestige (2006)
Oldboy (2003)
Donnie Darko (2001)
Eastern Promises (2007)
Benjamin Button (2008)
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)
The Aviator (2004)
Catch Me If You Can (2002)
Thank You For Smoking (2005)
Sweeny Todd (2007)
Spirited Away (2001)
Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
Children of Men (2006)
O Brother Where Art Thou (2000)
Burn After Reading (2008)

A Tentative Attempt to List The Best Movies of 2009

2009-11-18T21:19:00.015-05:00

2009 obviously isn't over yet, and, in preparation for Oscar Season, the next two months are promising some very must-see movies (9, Doctor Parnassus, and The Lovely Bones in particular). I also haven't seen a couple of noteworthy releases from the last little while, like The Hurt Locker.

By the end of the year, I'll update this list. As of now, here is a draft version, of sorts, of the films that wowed the pants of me in 2009.

Moon

As I wrote when I first reviewed Moon, I originally went into the movie thinking it would be an indie ripoff of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Instead, it ended up being an achingly sympathetic view of a man's loneliness. The isolation of space is even more apparent when it becomes increasingly clear that the memories that held him together were never as they seemed.

Star Trek

I know perilously close to nothing about Star Trek except the most basic of facts: Spock has pointy ears. Their ship is the Enterprise. But J.J. Abram's Star Trek prequel is wonderfully inclusive of non-fans like myself with just enough tradition to appeal to hardcore followers. It's intensely exhilarating, smart, well-crafted fun, a summer blockbuster that rises above its ilk with fantastic acting, an engaging script, and the gloriously saturated backdrop of space.

District 9

District 9 has two distinct parts. The first, and the one most widely applauded, is the somewhat heavy-handed (to me, at least) allegory to Apartheid-era South Africa. The second, and the one I appreciated the most, was the terrifyingly brutal transformation of a normal, somewhat dim-witted, human into a monstrous hybrid that doesn't quite belong anywhere.

And hey, there's a mecha robot, a big spaceship, and illegally-distributed cat food.

The Informant!

The Informant! is a fantastic film, precisely because it is not what it appears to be. It looks like another quirky expose on white-collar crime, but after awhile, when the audience is allowed to observe just what is going on here (and even then, we're as befuddled as the rest of the cast), Matt Damon's bumbling and clueless character consistently throws us for a loop. By the film's end, we're not sure if we're sympathetic, amused, or horrified, but in this case, that was it's intention all along.

Zombieland

The strength of Zombieland, and what sets it apart from other contenders in the horror-comedy genre, is the fact that it's motley crew of unlikely heroes are the stars, not the zombies themselves. Even if there were absolutely no zombies whatsoever, and we only get to see the team discussing the appeal of Hannah Montana for 12 year old girls, Zombieland would still be one of the funniest films of the year due to the absolutely fantastic chemistry between them.

Inglourious Basterds

Once upon a time, I was convinced Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds was either, A: never going to be made, and B: once it was made, going to be terrible. Heralds of it being his "masterpiece" only served to increase my suspicions and cynicism. I went into the theatre without expecting much, and came out of it absolutely speechless. It's a Tarantino film all right, but it's his most subtle, the most nuanced, the most controlled, and still incredibly fun, featuring a host of stellar actors (including Best Supporting Actor hopeful Cristoph Waltz) who all seem to be having a hell of a lot of fun too.

Some thoughts on Where The Wild Things Are

2009-10-22T22:50:00.004-04:00

Not a review per say, but here be my opinions.

I'm not entirely sure why WTWTA has been deemed not suitable for children, as I didn't really see anything you'd call "frightening."
Then again, I grew up in an era when it was perfectly fine to make fucked up kid's movies like The Dark Crystal and Return to Oz, so I guess children are used to slightly different things now.

To enjoy this movie (as I certainly did), it's best to embrace your inner child, if you'll pardon the expression. I'm an adult with an interest in movies who is able to appreciate things like mise-en-scene and lighting and so forth, but you're really going to get the full impact if your mind adapts to what it's like to be a little boy who is jealous of his mom's new boyfriend and is devastated when big kids destroy his snow fort.

This is true for identifying with the Wild Things as well - as they are ultimately the creation of this young boy, they look upon situations with a child's logic, and you'll only end up finding it odd if you scrutinize with an adult's logic. Wild Thing Carol (voiced by James Gandolfini, who, sadly, does not whack anyone or call them a mortadelle, but it's a testament to how good he is in this movie that after a while you stop picturing Tony Soprano completely), as the creature who most resembles Max, is wont to temper tantrums and crushing disappointments when his dreams are dashed. After trying in vain to create a universe with no disappointment or pain, Max's naivete is echoed by that of the Wild Things as well. Through a series of events it becomes clear that this is impossible, but what is possible is to be happy despite issues when you love and are loved. For me, one of the most powerful moments in the film is when Max discovers firsthand that his own temper tantrums are hurting those who love him.

I hated most of the music, but then again, hipster acoustics and Karen O shouting isn't really my cup of tea. But she's banging the director, so what are you gonna do.

Visually, it looks lovely, and the slightly shaky handheld camera effect works because it's used very sparingly and thus doesn't come across as a gimmick. I thought the Wild Things look great, and it was a fantastic idea to only CGI their faces (everything else was an actor in costume). It gives them the appearance of being more human and thus easier to identify with, but their exaggeratedly creature-like features and the fact that they run and stomp and knock around trees while the tiny Max is standing beside them only emphasizes Max's fragility.

Also, they're kind of adorable. I want one. I can't decide between Ira or Douglas.

A note on the trailers: I can already tell I'm going to hate Fantastic Mr. Fox. Even when he's directing an animated feature about a talking fox, Wes Anderson still manages to adhere to all the tropes he's used in his other insufferably clever movies, as well as being the only person on the planet who still thinks it's funny when Owen Wilson talks fast.

All in all, Where the Wild Things Are isn't necessarily a masterpiece, but it is incredibly moving and a pretty beautiful film. I totally cried at the end, but don't tell anyone, it'll ruin my street cred.

Movie Review: Dead Snow (2009)

2009-08-17T11:15:00.006-04:00

I know it's cliche these days to say Europeans really know how to do horror, but damn is it true.

I went to see Dead Snow last night as part of the Toronto After Dark film festival. While I could have been going to see any number of hot new movies (District 9, Ponyo, and what have you), I opted to see something completely ostentatious and highly entertaining: a gory comedy horror about zombie Nazis (Yes, zombie Nazis. Why aren't there more movies about zombie Nazis?). What I did end up getting was something that was actually created with a good deal more talent than you'd expect of this sort of thing.

Was it ridiculous? Of course it was. It's about a bunch of students who get attacked by Nazi zombies while on a skiing trip. I'm not expecting Eraserhead here. There's not a lot of psychological depth and motivation, and the plot has more holes than Charlie Brown's ghost Halloween costume. The characters are likable enough, even though most are essentially gore-fodder, but then again, I'm one of those dinks who feels sorry for horror movie teens (mostly, unless they're just stupid and deserve to be eaten). I will say, without spoiling, that some of them must have balls as big as their heads.

Dead Snow doesn't care about realism, though, or plot development, it cares about giving you a fantastically good time. It begins with some old-fashioned uni student partying up in the (actually very lovely) Norwegian mountains, complete with booze, loud music, and an admittedly very icky sex scene. A creepy old guy shows up to spoil the fun and warn the students about the area, cursed due to some very evil Nazis who froze to death during World War II. Of course, this is exactly when all hell breaks loose and we are treated to gory, action-packed goodness that just gets more and more demented as time goes on, to the point where I thought, with amusement rather than exasperation, "I wonder if this is going to turn out to be all a dream?"

The over-the-top violence and gore, as well as the darkly comic script, is hysterically funny one minute and intensely chilling the next. I wouldn't go so far as to compare Dead Snow with Shaun of the Dead, but there are moments when it pays homage to, while simultaneously taking jabs at, classic horror of yesteryear.

A surprising aspect of Dead Snow is the fact that the cinematography is fairly impressive. The audience is treated to fantastically framed shots of beautiful Norwegian mountains in winter just as much as lingering, almost affectionate shots of brains and intestines.

I saw this with a crowd of about a hundred and fifty people, some of whom were dressed in zombie attire, and were clearly all in the mood for a blood-splattered good time. We laughed, cheered, and screamed at the most intense moments, which just made it all the more entertaining. Definitely a film to watch with a big group of gore-addicts or just those who appreciate the blackest kind of comedy there is.

Attention: spam

2009-08-01T00:56:00.002-04:00

Taking a moment to direct your attention to Hearwax, the blog my boyfriend writes for, and his excellent review of Moon (which I wrote about last week).

We saw it together and discussed a lot of the same concepts, so I personally found it interesting to compare his observations with mine.

I will now force upon you the random things I've been listening to non-stop.

2009-07-30T19:25:00.002-04:00

The following is what I hereby dub the "Summer 2009" playlist. It consists of a motley assortment of the songs I've been listening to far too often lately. Because I'm not entirely sure how to upload a playlist for iTunes and share it with the world (and by "world", I mean the 10 or so people who read this), I have provided YouTube links so that you may be privy to the awesome.

"You're Standing On My Neck" - Splendora
"The Well and the Lighthouse" - The Arcade Fire
"Air War" - Crystal Castles
"Hold Tight" - Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Tich
"Venus in Furs" - Siouxsie and the Banshees (Velvet Underground cover)
"Freeeeze!!" - Aural Vampire
"Chick Habit" - April March
"Soon" - My Bloody Valentine
"The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" - The Smashing Pumpkins
"Science Fiction, Double Feature" - Richard O'Brien, Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack

"Moon" (2009)

2009-07-25T00:10:00.008-04:00

Directed by Duncan Jones. Starring Sam Rockwell and Kevin Spacey.

I actually hadn't heard anything about Moon until about four hours before I went to go see it, and searching it on Google briefly didn't lend much insight into what it was about. Essentially, I went into Moon thinking it was one of those tales of deep-space isolationism, in which the protagonist is accompanied only by his computer and the vast emptiness of space as he delves into eventual madness (i.e., I thought it was going to be a Space Odyssey rip-off). What it was, however, was a very inventive sci-fi with a touching sense of humanity.

The premise is deceptively simple: in the near future, astronaut Sam Bell (Rockwell) is sent to the moon in order to harvest helium-3, the standard source of fuel on Earth. He spends three years in isolation, alone save for the occasional video he receives from his wife Tess (Dominique McElligott) and his computer, GERTY (Spacey), a benevolent AI designed solely to ensure Sam's well-being. As he nears the end of his three-year contract, Sam eagerly awaits returning to Earth and the wife and young daughter he left behind. However, after an accident, in which a strange hallucination causes him to crash his lunar rover, Sam makes a startling and bizarre discovery that causes him to doubt his own sanity and the reality of his existence.

The film's exposition does indeed raise the possibility that Moon could be yet another "man goes stir-crazy after being alone" film, as I initially suspected, but very quickly we realize that it exists in a realm separate from convention. While paying obvious homages to classics of sci-fi past in terms of visual style, it is uninterested with genre traditions. His computer GERTY is not presented as a forbearing and chillingly cold machine, nor as an impossibly cheery AI with a heart of gold. It is simply a tool that Sam can interpret in whichever way he likes, either as friend or as device. Designed with the intention of fulfilling Sam's basic needs, this includes fixing his breakfast just as much as acting as confidant.

In addition to this, interestingly enough, the barren, alien landscape from which the film takes its name is not the star - Sam Rockwell (putting in an astounding and heartwrenchingly honest performance) is. The environment is beautifully, meticulously designed, but it is a vehicle for Sam's exploration of his reality, the perfect blank facade for him to act upon his emotions in the most nuanced way possible.

Nothing about Moon seems false or exaggerated, and it doesn't feel the need to work extra hard to engage the audience, simply inviting them to observe the behaviour of an ordinary human in an extraordinary circumstance. It carries undertones of allegory to the media-entrenched modern era, with carbon-copied stand-ins replacing authenticity and truth, but it is refreshingly subtle. Paradoxically, there is no sense of smoke and mirrors here - Moon is rife with true sincerity, and its strength lies in its fantastic ability to give a complete and whole sense of a man at his most emotionally vulnerable. At its core, it's a character piece, devoted to the exploration of what it means to know oneself when, after living alone for three years, you realize you do not.

Excellent Young Adult Fiction No One Ever Talks About, Part 1

2009-07-16T16:41:00.006-04:00

Growing up, I was constantly attempting to convert other people my age to fans of the amazing books I was reading. Evidently I was a fairly convincing kid, as many of my friends did share in my delight of the latest under-rated novel or series, but, judging by their almost non-existent popularity, not many others did. I still bring them up every so often in conversation, and I am almost always awarded with a blank expression. My only consolation is that most of them do have Wikipedia pages, although tragically, having an article on Wikipedia is no longer a tried-and-true sign of celebrity.

In a well-intentioned but probably fruitless attempt to direct attention towards the literature I was obsessed with as a thirteen-year-old and still hold in the highest regard today, I bring you a three-part series best young adult fiction that never received much media attention (i.e., was never made into a film starring actors who smoke pot, don't shower, or star in plays naked with horses).

1 - Broken Sky, books 1 - 7 (1-9 in the UK) (1999 - 2001)
by Chris Wooding

Best volume: 7. (Pictured above is the UK cover of book 5, featuring some excellent artwork by Steve Kyte).
Twice as long as all the others, it's an epic, moving, satisfying end to the series. I cried. Seriously. Books never make me cry, so that's saying quite a bit.

Broken Sky was the highlight of my elementary school existence. I loved it, I worshiped it, I thankfully did not write any fanfiction about it (give me SOME credit here).

I never had much interest in Tolkien-esque fantasy. Wizards, elves, dwarves, and dragons (okay, dragons are pretty awesome, but you get the picture) were unappealing and dull to me, as almost every single fantasy novel I read featured standard stock creatures and races. I also watched a lot of anime for the sole purpose of getting away from conventional Western fantasy and its recycled elements. So imagine my surprise when a young English author writes a series of novels heavily inspired by Japanese anime and mythology instead of Lord of the Rings, but still maintaining its own sense of imagination and individuality.

Broken Sky's plot is a time-tested and oft-seen one: a brother and sister are thrust into a very strange world they know nothing about, and devote their lives to overthrowing the tyrannical king who was responsible for destroying their family. But its a story that's so finely crafted, with compelling and fully three-dimensional characters and worlds, that it's impossible to not appreciate the care Wooding puts into his creations. Despite technically being for children and teens, the series' overlying theme is that of race relations, and although it makes its metaphors clear, the meticulousness in which it is applied does not make it an insult to the intelligence. The same is true for its sophisticated and mature, but never alienating, portrayal of resistance movements. Wooding, who previously had written several fantastic novels set in the real world (his first to receive acclaim, Kerosene, is a gripping and powerfully honest portrayal of a teenage pyromaniac and his drug-dealing best friend), has a masterful hold on realism in his fantasy. There is no deux-ex-machina in Broken Sky, no character or force who is invincible, no villain without a measure of empathy. The violence is surprisingly brutal for the novel's age group, and there is no glorification of war - the opposite is highly stressed. Although, as previously mentioned, the premise itself is certainly not new, the directions in which Wooding takes it and the characters - who never delve into cliche or formula, but instead, refreshingly for a fantasy series, behave as real people behave - make it memorable, fascinating, and really very fun.

Why old arcade games amuse me greatly.

2009-06-16T00:23:00.001-04:00

My first official post in a good long while is about Pac-Man. How sad is that? Not some up-and-coming ingenue in the art world or photos of a celebrated Japanese fashion designer's newest runway show.

No, bloody Pac-Man.

Actually, it's not really about Pac-Man. It's about old video games in general, "kill screens" in specific.

A kill screen is a stage or level in a video game (often an arcade game) that stops the player's progress due to a programming error or design oversight. Rather than "ending" in a traditional sense, the game will crash, freeze, or behave so erratically that further play is impossible.

That's right, I quote from Wikipedia. I couldn't be bothered to find any esoteric literary criticisms of the subject to increase my artistic blogger street cred, so the Wiki will have to do.

The Wiki article then goes on to say that programmers didn't even bother to program additional levels once they hit a certain stage (usually around the 256th level. Maybe 265 is some sort of enigmatic number that represents the apocalypse? I bet it was all deliberate, to warn us ignorant gamers of the upcoming end of the world). They didn't think anyone would be bored enough to play through hundreds of levels of a video game, so they started to become a bit lax on coding the later levels. Therefore, that means the "final" level of Pac-Man looks like this:

There are all sorts of kooky schemes discussed on the Internet pertaining to how to overcome this infamous "split screen level", and people devote meticulous, extremely confusing websites on how to create a patch to fix this level. But in the end, the level counter still resets to zero.

I'm not sure why I find all of this so amusing. It's not because I'm amazed by the legions of gamers who have dedicated their life's work to fixing an essentially unfixable bug in an arcade game.

No, it's because I keep imagining the poor original programmers of Pac-Man, possibly a single man whose life was shattered by this pie-shaped yellow creature that eats dots. Holed up in his cubicle surrounded by hundreds of pages of code, he slowly goes mad from staring at nothing but white numbers on a black screen all day and night, until he finally screams "I CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS ANY MORE!" Frothing at the mouth, he finishes one last half of a Pac-Man level haphazardly before knocking over his chair and running out of his office shrieking to locations unknown, never to be seen again.

Expect updates to come at a much more regular pace, now that I may or may not have my groove back.

A Treatise on Stretching

2009-04-28T21:25:00.003-04:00

The process of stretching one's ear piercing was relatively unheard of in Western society until fairly recently. Until the last twenty years or so, the practice was primarily thought of to be something occlusive only to the less civilized tribes of far-off countries, those fascinating individuals found within the pages of National Geographic with ears the size of dinner plates.

With this short piece I aim to dissuade those who think stretching is a triviality, yet another body modification performed by rebellious youth to conform to a particular subculture. Piercing, and especially stretching, is not merely a sublet of another subculture - it is a culture unto itself, with a set of guidelines and norms. The appreciation of jewellery for stretched ears is not dissimilar to an art connoisseur, requiring a keen eye for quality, materials, and aesthetical structure of each piece.

As with any social group, there are leaders, highly passionate people with a keen eye for piercing aesthetics, the biology and science behind piercing, the craftsmanship involved in creating quality body jewellery, and so on. These people are the unifiers, those who connect with other body modification enthusiasts. For years, while the traditional body modification arts like tattooing and piercing had a solid and substantial fan base, occupying conventions, clubs, and websites, there were no such community meeting places for stretched piercing enthusiasts. Stretched ear jewellery, commonly known as “plugs”, were often difficult to find. It was almost akin to finding drugs – you had to “know a guy who knows a guy.” With the popularity of urban primitivism (a movement that celebrates ancient body modification practices for spiritual, sexual, or personal growth motives, emerging in the late 80’s) and, of course, the extremely rapid growth of the Internet, stretching exploded in the underground. Online forums and websites entirely devoted to discussion and sales of stretching and stretched piercing jewellery. Crafts enthusiasts and those skilled in woodworking, metallurgy, glassblowing, and other such arts were compelled to not just create jewellery for standard sized piercing holes, but for enlarged ones as well, marvelling at the opportunities for new and creative designs.

However, this is an essay about my own personal experiences with stretching my ears, and the background information I have provided is merely for the reader to understand the legions that support and care a great deal about the stretching community. It is this community itself that is one of the reasons I became involved in the process of stretching.

Despite being a group of people whose appearances sometimes deviate radically from the norm, ostensibly provoking mistrust from most of the population, stretching enthusiasts are among the most passionate, helpful, and informed individuals I have ever come across. There is no sense of “size elitism” – those with smaller gauge ears are as welcomes as those who resemble Africans with the aforementioned ear dinner plates. They are ready to share stories about purchases or aid each other with sudden cases of finicky ears. As with any culture there is a set of phrases and terms unique to the community, inclusive lingo that serves to unite and define the culture as well as educate members on proper aftercare techniques, stretching tools, materials, and the like. Their only insistence is that practitioners be as informed as they are, a requirement for acceptance that tends to weed out those with a more casual, half-hearted approach to the process. Stretching on a whim can often lead to regret, as it is a permanent process. Improper, overly fast stretching can lead to injuries and disfigurement. Many individuals who begin stretching often do so as a misguided attempt to rebel against the man, to visually stand apart from society. Obviously, many people with large-gauge earlobes do stand apart from society solely based on appearance, but with enthusiasts, this is usually not the intention. Rather, it is for primarily aesthetic purposes: they love the look of larger gauges on themselves.

Although it may seem oddly shallow, I adore the aesthetical look of larger gauge ear piercings. There is true artistry and talent that goes into making plugs, hanging designs, and the vast majority of other stretched piercing jewellery. A great deal more innovation goes into making these pieces, each one of them a mini artwork worn in the earlobe. Through purchasing and collecting, I have learned an unprecedented amount about different types of materials – I now know about the vagaries of different types of stone, methods behind glass working techniques that make plugs sparkle like multifaceted galaxies, the beneficial properties of wood jewellery for healthy skin. It is both humbling and fascinating to be a collector of plugs, to constantly be in awe of the creative skills of a jewellery maker, to be stunned at the lovely shades and textures natural materials produce, and simply to marvel at the beauty of a very small pair of sculptural art.

I am not a particularly spiritual person, and I do not particularly relate to theories of stretching being an attempt to honour and emulate the religious beliefs of ancient tribes. However, I wholeheartedly agree with the simple fact that stretching encourages self-understanding. On the most base level, it is self-gratifying to observe the process of healthy stretching and smooth transitions to a new size as well as how well the new size compliments the individual. It is arguably akin to fitness enthusiasts, who, after countless days and months and years, take immense pride in watching their bodies tone to their own personal level of perfection. There are limits each individual must overcome if they wish to stretch further – oddly placed, thin holes that can be fixed by downsizing or even small surgical cuts, skin that is less elastic than others, dryness and other issues caused by the elements. Overcoming these limits requires understanding one’s body, in a sense becoming in tune with it. Disregard to the limitations one’s own body places upon them is, in a sense, disrespect to one’s body, and an almost deliberate form of self-harm comparable to alcohol or drug abuse.

As I stress in earlier paragraphs, above all else, appreciation and respect is the key to understanding stretching culture. To participate in it requires determination and patience (something I can attest to, as I have never had my patience tested as much as it when I wait to size up, all the while staring at a new, beautiful pair of plugs on my dresser in the next gauge). It is at once an art, a culture, a physical and mental trial that results in more than sufficient rewards.

Watchmen: it's good, but...

2009-03-09T00:54:00.001-04:00

I just got home from a screening of Watchmen. I bought my tickets four hours beforehand, and as I whittled away the time wandering around Yonge and Dundas, perusing overpriced flannel shirts at Urban Outfitters, my mind always slipped back to wondering: how the hell is this going to turn out?

I suppose I'm one of the newly converted to Watchmen. I'd always known what it was, and although for years had continuously told myself "you are going to have to read that at some point or another," I never did. Unlike my boyfriend, who has been an avid fan since he first read it a decade ago, I didn't spend my childhood reading American comics. I was a dedicated follower of anime and manga, and I spent my formative years on Akira, Escaflowne, and Miyazaki movies. I didn't know a blessed thing about the comics on this side of the globe until very recently.

I'm a big believer in familiarizing myself with a work's source material. So when I discovered a film adaptation of Watchmen was in the works after more than twenty years of trying, I figured it was a good a time as any to get my hands on the thing.

My reaction to it is probably the same reaction every fan experiences after turning the final page: I thought it was absolutely mind-blowing, as a comic and as literature, a truly three-dimensional piece of art. I almost obsessively began to research the upcoming film, watching clips, reading interviews, and overall wondering, how is this intensely multi-layered and complex piece going to translate onto the big screen? I was never one of those people who despises all Alan Moore film adaptations (League of Extraordinary Gentlemen may have been a pile of crap, but V For Vendetta was smart, politically-charged, clever, and hugely entertaining), but it really didn't seem like this one was going to go over well. There was so much fanboy backlash - especially over the altered ending, which I'll get to later. Everyone had a different idea of what should be left in, what should be left out, how Rorschach's voice should sound, whether Dr. Manhattan should be naked or not, and so on and so forth in that vein. I wasn't as emotionally invested, perhaps because I was a new fan, so I essentially went into the theatre thinking whatever happens, happens, and I will approach this with as little preconceived notions as possible.

Now that I'm home and have had a few hours to debate with myself about this, I will have to conclude that the film adaptation of Watchmen is not a failure on any level. It was fairly faithful to the source material and didn't sacrifice much of its intellect and insight, but as a film itself there were several glaring faults that prevented it from being a masterpiece as the original was.

The first hour or so of the film was the absolute best, in my opinion. The pacing was a tad slow but the artistry in which the scenes were constructed was phenomenal, and the opening credit sequence was easily the cleverest and most emotionally effective I've seen in a long while. Visually, it is incredible, with some excellently constructed shots that I very much appreciated. There were moments in which things seemed too over-the-top (the action, the fairly excessive slow motion, the delivery of lines), but Watchmen itself is over-the-top in places. The key word, however, is places, and as the movie went on I found myself a little confused by the amount of over-reaching. To that effect, my main gripe about Watchmen was the score: it was terrible. It felt like more of mixtape of nostalgic-sounding Top 40's than an actual selection of appropriate music for each scene. In some instances it was oddly fitting - The Comedian and Nite Owl II fighting off the angry mob, for example - but in most cases it was a bizarre, jarring, and distracting choice.

As for the acting, it was a mixed bag. Billy Crudup is an undeservedly underrated actor and I thought that, for a performance in which he was almost entirely 3D, he did a standout job giving Dr. Manhattan the perfect blend of otherworldly detachment and humanistic characteristics. I enjoyed Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Comedian, and although my partner in crime disagrees with me on this, I found that he gave The Comedian just the right amount of bombastic attitude without being a mere parody. Matthew Goode as Ozymandias was better than I originally thought, and his coldness and poise with only few overt signs of weakness was excellently carried out. I had high hopes for Jackie Earl Haley but I found his Rorschach more lifeless than it should have been, and more beyond the audience being able to identify with him. When his mask was off, on the other hand, he was much more effective and the subtle emotional ticks that seeped through his otherwise unchanging facade were impressive. Patrick Wilson I'm still on the fence about - I can't quite decide if I liked his performance, to be honest. It felt as though he played the entire role of Nite Owl II in superhero-mode, delivering some of his lines with too much earnestness to be serious. But he did shine in some of his scenes. Malin Akerman, on the other hand, was fairly bad. She's a beautiful lady, and although she wasn't as terrible as I was expecting, she definitely overacted with too much enthusiasm more than once.

Several instances in the overall story I wasn't sure about. On the whole I thought the narration was fairly tight and flowed well on the whole, minus the odd overly long scene, but it seemed poorly thought-out when compared to the comic. Two of my favourite scenes from the comic, Dr. Manhattan's rebirth and Walter Kovacs talking with the psychiatrist, weren't given much justice - Jon's rebirth was under-acted (why in god's name was Janey not more upset, anyway?), and the Rorschach counselling was far too short. It felt almost as if it was alienating those in the audience not familiar to the comic. Why was Bubastis even included when the squid subplot wasn't, and why leave out Kitty Genovese's dress? Two of my friends whom I'd seen Watchmen with, and who hadn't read the comic, were confused about Bubastis and were interested in knowing the story behind Rorschach's mask, and they can't have been the only ones.

Speaking of the squid - I actually was never a fan of that particular part of the comic. It seemed like a random inclusion of something so far-fetched and nutty in a comic full of hardboiled realism that it seemed arbitrary. On the other hand, I'm not wild about the new ending in the film. I won't go into any spoilers but it also seemed a bit inexplicable, albeit not as nutty.

Another instance in which I enjoyed Watchmen was that it felt like it didn't sacrifice the original's brutal violence and grittiness. There was nothing Hollywood-slick about it, despite the abundant use of CGI. None of the musings and philosophy behind the original was disposed of, either. It still prompts the same questions as the comic, but this time in an entirely different visual medium, one that, although less gut-wrenching, raw, and complex as the original, still serves to be an interesting and engaging experience nonetheless.

Am I the only one who thinks 3 technical awards is not a failure?

2009-02-23T22:05:00.004-05:00

(I haven't posted in awhile, but the Oscars always bring out the ranter in me)

And 10 nominations too, for that matter. I know it really is a cliche to say "Oh, well it's an honor just to be nominated", but god, it's true.

I'm talking about The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, which was one of my favourite films of 2008 and one that has apparently lost much respect because of that bombastic cheesy mess known as the Oscars, and I don't quite understand why.

Before I continue, let me just say that I'm not one of the fanboys who is going to bitch and moan about Benjamin Button not winning OVER 9000 Oscars. It was, in my opinion, a beautifully orchestrated and moving film, but it did not deserve over 9000 Oscars. But it deserved what it received - not because it deserves to be ridiculed for not winning the apparently "more important" Oscars, but because it deserved to win awards for the very things that made it a quality film in the first place.

The Oscars are, at best, fairly overblown and pompous. This was clearly evident in last night's excessive attempts to bring back the good old fashioned Hollywood glamour. The ritualistic sense of pageantry - who's wearing what on the red carpet, who arrives with whom, who makes the schmaltziest acceptance speech, etc etc - ensures that it is the one film event that is sure to be watched by millions. Most of the millions are people who aren't aware of formal film criticism and techniques and who, more often than not, haven't seen most of the films nominated. Therefore, they aren't in a place to appreciate the finer details of what goes in to making a film a film, like the aforementioned technical aspects. I realize there are exceptions to this rule, that there are average moviegoers who appreciate cinematography and editing and so forth, I would sound pretentious if I did not admit it. But judging by box office trends, the average moviegoer does not make a beeline for Oscar nominated films when they go to the cinema.

Anyway, before I get ridiculously off-topic like I usually do, why is it shameful that Benjamin Button won technical awards? I know Best Actor/Actress/Picture awards are obviously the most publicized awards at the Oscars, but is it just because more people are sure to recognize actor names and discuss the latest celebrity news around the water cooler? Last time I checked, actors and actresses do not make a movie. It is the sum of the total parts of everyone who works toward making it a success, and this includes the cinematographer, the art director, the film editor, the makeup artist, the key grip, even the guy who gets Brad Pitt coffee in the morning. And hell, is it really that bad to enjoy a movie because it looks lovely? Is someone shallow for appreciating a beautifully composed shot or set?

So no, it probably wasn't amazing enough to warrant a Best Picture Award, or a Best Actor Award (I like Brad Pitt but he was not at his best here, but that's another story). But the art direction was lovely, and the makeup, and the visual effects, and those are the awards it won. And if you think it deserved more than that, that's entirely your opinion, and your opinion is not invalid. But the Oscars is not about your opinion, it's about the opinion of people in the industry. And that should mean little in influencing your opinion, because if you love a movie, you love it because it spoke to you, regardless of what awards or critical acclaim is bestowed upon it.

Hell, my favourite movie ever is The Big Lebowski. Not an Oscar in sight, but I'm not bothered by that in the slightest.

The next time you find yourself about to go see Twilight, see this instead.

2008-12-06T16:38:00.003-05:00

Do your poor brain cells a favour and see Let The Right One In if you want the exact opposite of Twilight: genuine moments of bloodsucking terror mixed with a thoroughly compelling tale of preteen drama.

Set in Sweden (and not Iceland as I originally thought - what the hell is wrong with me? This is what happens when my university goes on strike and my brain switches to autopilot) and based on the book of the same name, the film tells of the not-so-particularly-heartwarming tale of Oskar. He's a socially-awkward twelve year old who is constantly tormented by his peers and fantasizies about stabbing them, collects newspaper reports of grisly murders, has an alcoholic father and a mother who barely notices him, and looks vaguely like an albino. However, despite his almost creepy paleness, he's not a vampire - but his new best friend Eli is. She lives alone, except for a strange old man who carries out some disturbing deeds for her, and she genuinely wants to be Oskar's friend. But, when you drain people's blood literally for a living, friendship is often put aside for other, more deadly endeavours.

Let The Right One In was hyped as hell at the Toronto After Dark Film Festival in October, but due to the fact that tickets sold out almost immediately then, I didn't get a chance to see it until this week. Perhaps partly because of the hype and partly because of a certain plot twist regarding Eli (I won't spoil what it is, but I didn't think it added anything new to the story and its potential was never fully realized), I wasn't sure if it really was as fabulous as critics said. However, this doesn't mean it wasn't an amazing film. I was constantly floored by the cinematography; some of the shots were nothing short of gorgeous, and the score was appropriately haunting and beautiful at the same time. When it comes to storytelling, though, Let The Right One In really shines. Although it brings no new developments in terms of vampire mythology, there is both humanity and monstrosity in Eli, the likes of which haven't been seen before. She defends Oskar from bullies and shows him how to solve a Rubik's cube just as easily as she faceplants herself onto victims and sucks them dry.

I couldn't help thinking as I watched it, "Why the hell are people watching Twilight instead of this?" Then I realized that Twilight, quite simply, is the fast food version of the vampire film. It's quick, it's easy, it satisfies a little but is almost totally devoid of nutritional value. In that vein, Let The Right One In would be a steak, thick, deep, full of substance and leaves you absolutely satisfied.

Great, now I'm hungry.

I miss when vampires used to be cool.

2008-11-23T16:10:00.009-05:00

I'm not sold on all this Twilight business.

I tried reading it. I really did. But somewhere in between the horribly awkward sentence structuring, the Hallmark card "romantic" dialogue, the bland characterization (even if there are entire paragraphs devoted to Hot Vampire Guy's appearance), and the throwback to 1950's female gender roles that only a Mormon stay-at-home mom could pull off, I lost the will to continue and couldn't finish the bloody thing.

I suppose it's the safe, traditional romance that draws in both teenage girls and those who wish they still were. Impossibly handsome and charming boy meets fragile damsel in distress, boy gallantly swears to never touch innocent, chaste lady, minor wrench (aka vampirism) is introduced to possibly harm the relationship, relationship survives against all odds, chastity still withstanding.

Therein lies the problem: what the hell does chastity and traditional courtship have to do with vampires? They're not supposed to be the perfect boyfriend, they're supposed to be dangerous, poetic, half-insane, sex-crazed gore fiends.

When I was the age the primary fanbase of Twilight are now, around 13 or so, this was what a vampire meant to me:

Good old Anne Rice vampire fare (yes, I was one of those goth 13 year olds who read Anne Rice. Oh, to be young again...). While they may not be literary masterpieces, they are classic vampire novels that sold millions of copies and broke through to the mainstream. This is exactly what Twilight has done, but compare my summary of Twilight above to the sorts of things that happen in Anne Rice's books. Lestat hates his blind dad, torments and feeds on hookers, turns a six year old kid into a vampire (six year old kid then proceeds to kill entire families), has his throat slit by the six year old vampire, is bitten by crocodiles, battles his way back from being half dead and turns into a rock star whose music wakes up a very sexy 7000 year old Egyptian vampire queen who can explode hearts and eyeballs with a single thought.

See? Not a second of wholesome morality or sweetness. Definitely out of a Mormon housewife's reach.

Mark Ryden and Natalie Shau

2008-11-17T18:40:00.012-05:00

Another quick feature relating to my obsession with pretty doe-eyed creepy girls.

Mark Ryden has always been one of my favourite artists, back when I first caught a glance of his artwork for Clear Hearts, Grey Flowers, the last album by the great but now defunct band Jack Off Jill.

There is so way I can adequately express how much inspiration I've derived from his work for my own art. He incorporates everything that fascinates me into each of his paintings - surrealism, disturbing imagery, a skewed sense of what is traditionally beautiful, and little girls with those big, eerie eyes.

Also sharing Mark Ryden's penchant for twisting the beautiful, Natalie Shau, who I first encountered on DeviantArt way back when that site used to interest me, draws more heavily on fairy tales and a gothic influence in her work. But they still features haunting little ladies.

Angelique Houtkamp

2008-11-16T17:40:00.008-05:00

The first time I ventured downtown with a certain someone who is currently instilling my life with all kinds of awesome, we ended up somewhere between Bloor and Bathurst and Bloor and Spadina. I am terrible with directions. Please do not ask me exactly where I was, but I did end up getting stuck in Honest Ed's, and spent a few brief minutes wondering if I was to be trapped between a display of Virgin Mary clocks and 99 cent peanuts for the rest of my life.

In addition to discovering that yes, there ARE other shops near Bloor and Yonge that don't involve creepy old men selling sex toys and PVC bondage gear, I also managed to come across a Dutch artist's book in a graphic novel store that indulged my love of pin-up girls and body modification. Her name is Angelique Hautkamp, and my god, I would kill just to have her design a tattoo for me.

According to her website, she learned to tattoo at the same time she learned how to paint, inspired by a friend's gallery show. The influence of traditional style tattoos on her work is very obvious, but this only adds to their charm. I've always been a fan of beautiful but strange doe-eyed girls as subjects in art, and Angelique's flapper skeletons and animal-human hybrids are enormously appealing. Plus, as the people who know me are aware, every single aspect of tattoo and piercing culture never ceases to fascinate me. Angelique's art represents both past and future for the body modification world, a throwback to the history of tattoo art and a message to modern naysayers that tattoos can certainly be fine art too.

I never know how to start these.

2008-11-14T20:16:00.007-05:00

In retrospect, it probably would have been better if I had started this a few weeks ago, to sort of compliment my therapy (does every wannabe intellectual go to therapy? Or just pretend university therapy like me?). Generally, though, I always think "you know, now would be a good time to start a journal" when I don't have time to start a journal.

I suppose that means they aren't good times to start a journal after all.

However, although this still isn't an ideal time for me to start writing again (no time is really an ideal time for people with extremely short attention spans whose ideas tend to fizzle out over time), the current situation with my university, which can only be described as "full of fail and AIDs", has lead to me having quite a bit of time of my hands. But, it HAS lead to certain new developments in my life that are making things a lot less dull.

I am attempting to better myself as a film student (surprise, surprise. No, I don't worship at Wes Anderson's altar, and yes, I am aware I will be making little to no money in future) by watching critically-acclaimed cinema. However, because of the aforementioned short attention span, I can't seem to bring myself to watch all of a Hitchcock film or a Nordic independent movie because there are no people asking metaphysical questions while blowing things up set to a pumping techno soundtrack. Coincidentally, I love Run Lola Run.

Although I attempt to stray as far away from that irritating classification of person known as the "art fag", it is a constant fear that one day I will begin to casually namedrop obscure bands whose music consists of acoustic guitars and xylophones and become obsessed with studying German Expressionism while smoking clove cigarettes. However, I think that as long as I maintain my sense of humour and my love for Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, I will be safe from this fatal disease.

I have rediscovered Tetris. I fully expect it to be a serious adversary in my struggle to combat the evils of procrastination. But good god is it a fun adversary.