Vale, Princess/General Leia Organa Solo.

         

Everybody who knows me well enough knows Star Wars is a religion for me and has been since my childhood, so today's news, while largely expected, has saddened me considerably. Carrie Fisher, born of Hollywood royalty, was an indomitable spirit on- and off-screen. She wore those hairbuns and that gold slave bikini better than anybody else could have, and she made Leia a female who could more than hold her own against the boys in battle. But it hardly stopped there. Carrie fearlessly and with great humour and self-deprecation told the truth about her tumultuous personal life, including her long-term struggles with addiction and mental illness, and the weight of expectation fame and her lineage placed on her from birth, and she strove to do everything she could to erase the social stigmas of those afflictions. Having generalised anxiety disorder myself, I must also thank her personally for that. My heart goes out fully to her family and friends, particularly her mother, Debbie Reynolds, whose grief now is a kind I've seen in my own family, unfortunately. She was much more than her most famous role (even ever since 1980 with her hilarious turn as Jake Blues' scorned ex-girlfriend), but Leia never went down without a fight, and Carrie sure as hell didn't. Rest in peace, sweet Princess. May the Force be with you.

Silent night, artsy night.

December. No other month has nearly as many holidays, be they religious ones or not. And whether you’re a religious believer or not (like me, respectfully), the December holidays have all unquestionably become something of a culture unto themselves. But while the enduring importance of Christmas to many of us today naturally has much to do with its basis in religion, I must say I believe other factors have long been play play here also, namely the arts. Now, before I try to argue that here, I wish to stress now that I will only be concentrating on Christmas here not out of ignorance towards the other December holidays, but simply because I'm not nearly familiar enough with any of them to write about them in this capacity.

As an atheist even I can’t deny the Catholic Church has real integrity, as all organized religions do for that matter. And because of that integrity, Christmas has endured for all these centuries. But I have to say, I believe the arts have played just as big a role in that endurance, especially in the modern world. I'm just going to scratch the surface here. Since 1843, when John Callcott Horsley illustrated the first ever Christmas card AND Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol was published, artists in every medium have given us all sorts of festive sentiments or observations. When Irving Berlin and Bing Crosby dreamed of a White Christmas they created the world’s biggest-selling single until Princess Diana’s chauffeur got behind the wheel drunk (and all those traditional Christmas carols are examples of music too, remember.) When Frank Capra and James Stewart said It’s a Wonderful Life, they inspired a US Christmas television tradition. More recently, in 1994 Mariah Carey recorded a new Christmas standard when she said All I Want for Christmas Is You, and that proud maverick Tim Burton spun a Christmas-set romance about a guy named Edward Scissorhands and then one about The Nightmare Before Christmas. Still looking at cinema, those of us who’ve ever been a bit weary of the holidays have had Terry Zwigoff tell them about that Bad Santa or Bob Clark tell them A Christmas Story. And I’d challenge anyone to find me a Christmas-observing action movie fan who doesn’t love Die Hard.

Finally, art has always meant to either shock us, or help us escape for awhile, and when has humanity not needed comfort and escapism?

Sure, some religious people might say the arts and pop culture have trivialized Christmas somewhat, and that’s their right. But I agree with what I think Mr Scrooge would say to that... Bah, humbug! Happy holidays, one and all!

When the bells stop jingling.

Australia woke this morning to the very relieving but sobering news that Victoria Police have foiled plans for a terrorist attack in Melbourne to have been carried out on Christmas Day. Among the locations for it were to have been Federation Square and Flinders Street, both astonishing public spaces (I visited them both in 2011). As pleased and grateful as I am that VP have foiled those plans, it has still made me quite fearful.

For me it brings to mind two international Christmas incidents, one of which became a significant tragedy. Firstly, the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, on 21 December 1988. I'm ashamed to say that was my birth year but more to the point, it caused 270 casualties and extensive property damage; it was the most notable act of modern terrorism worldwide until 9/11. The perpetrator, Libyan Abdelbaset al-Megrahi, was convicted in 2001 but then released in 2009 on compassionate grounds after a prostate cancer diagnosis; he died in 2012. Then, just before Christmas Day 2009 we learned of Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the "Underpants Bomber," who had planned to bomb an American domestic flight. Now I know none of these figures likely celebrate or would have celebrated Christmas given their different faiths, but it has never been the only December holiday or the only religious one. (And I'm an atheist, by the way.)


You may know of the World War I Christmas truce between French, British and German troops on the Western Front in 1914. They dropped their weapons and ideological differences for just one day, in the name of peace and goodwill, so what do you think those men would all say if they saw either of those events, or learned of what was reportedly to transpire in Melbourne on Sunday? If they could call a truce for humanity on such an important date, over a century ago, surely humanity everywhere now can, too. And surely there's no reason not to at least try.

Pop culture violence: how influential is it?

"It seems today, all you see, is violence in movies and sex on TV..." - Lois Griffin.

The debate has raged for years: is pop culture too violent? Does that violence inspire real-life violence? I wonder what Spike Lee must have felt after one critic, reviewing Lee's 1989 Black protest film Do the Right Thing, for him implied that the film's target audience could not demonstrate self-control. A decade later, the Columbine High School massacre was widely blamed on the perpetrators' love of violent action films and video games. Then in 2012, a massacre infamously occurred outside a theatre screening The Dark Knight Rises. Pop culture violence can certainly be partly responsible for such tragedies, but does it stop there?

Now, I'll admit immediately I love a lot of violent movies despite considering myself a pacifist. But I'm just one example. Your outlook on or interpretation of one probably does stem from nature or nurture, too. Just considering ones that clearly promote violence for now, there are some I've loved (Kick-Ass, for example, which was never meant to be taken seriously overall anyway) and others I've hated (Fight Club first comes to mind; for me it's the most overrated movie of the '90s). Quentin Tarantino, the Gun Director himself, has said this about the whole issue: "What if a kid goes to school after seeing Kill Bill and starts slicing up other kids? You know, I'll take that chance! Violent films don't turn children into violent people. They may turn them into violent filmmakers but that's another matter altogether." As much as I adore QT and his films, I don't quite agree with that statement.

It's not just Hollywood, or cinema itself either. Bart and Lisa's favourite show on The Simpsons, The Itchy and Scratchy Show, has always been meant as a satirical comedy of children's cartoons like Road Runner that usually end in at least one character being blown up or flattened. These may be funny even to some adults, but children often - not always, but often - have trouble telling fact from fiction and right from wrong. And then we have foreign-language cinema, much of which of is decidedly more gratuitous than Hollywood's output, particularly Asian and Mexican cinema. Now, if you follow this blog you should know by now I have something of a weakness for Asian (particularly Japanese) action flicks, but I thankfully was raised to enjoy such texts without condoning or replicating their content, as many other fans have been.

Do I think pop culture violence can inspire real-life violence, particularly in children? Yes. But violence, sadly, is just in human nature, and our interpretations of and attitudes towards the violence we see, on- AND off-screen, depends on how we were raised to behave. That's the key. 

Nerdiness: show it loud and proud!

On Thursday I attended the Rogue One: A Star Wars Story midnight screening. It's very appropriate that many franchises have those now, as a way of rewarding fans. But going deeper, they're very appropriate because of one very 21st-century trend: nerd chic.

For much of the last century, once "pop culture" became what it is now, anything esoteric or intellectual was largely kept on society's fringes, albeit with fierce devotion from its followers. But then, after milestones like Star Wars/Trek, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings film trilogy and online gaming, nerds acquired quite a different cultural image.


Now, yes, some of the nerd stereotypes are still true: we can be either very skinny (like me) or overweight, we can have asthma, many allergies or be autistic (which I am), we may champion the Big Bang Theory (the TV show or the actual theory ;) ); or we may be in our 30s and still living with our parents. But plenty of us tick none of those boxes.

I'm a nerd and I love it. I love science fiction and fantasy, anime, Asian action movies, history, writing and reading. But obviously that's just me, and come to think of it, this year I've also done cosplay quite often, which is great fun. It's a global community where there's almost no judgment or mocking (although there must be personal conflicts sometimes but you get those everywhere), and so many nerd culture items have now permeated themselves into the general vernacular. They're instantly recognizable to even the "hip" crowd. Doesn't that just speak volumes?

I think it was Bill Gates who once said something like, "Don't make fun of nerds. You'll end up working for one one day." And that is spot on. (But don't quote me on that attribution.) Just consider the types who run for political office, aim to be a company's CEO, direct all Hollywood blockbusters or write the biggest bestsellers: most are nerds to the core.


That's also a pleasant reality because of the social limitations many of us (and not just nerds ;) ) face. They can inspire us, show us how we, too, can succeed, and they can use their fame to help whatever cause.


Nerd chic is a beautiful thing to me. And I'm so fucking proud to be a nerd. Not simply because of the success of everything related, but because the whole subculture has achieved a strong, beautiful voice and every member a sense of camaraderie and solidarity. If you try to play with us, what will it be for you? Game over!

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #16: C.R.A.Z.Y. (2005)



Zachary Beaulieu (Marc-Andre Grondin) is the fourth of five sons, born on 25 December 1960, into a middle-class Catholic family in Quebec. With an ambiguous sexuality and more explicit aesthetic tastes than his brothers, he quickly becomes a pariah at home, particularly in the eyes of his rigidly conservative father Gervais (Michel Cote) and tearaway second-oldest brother Raymond (Pierre-Luc Brillant). As he grows up and his homosexuality becomes increasingly harder to hide, he never stops fighting for his father's love and acceptance. (Meanwhile, his mother Laurianne (Danielle Proulx), who always makes ironed toast for breakfast, swears he's a faith healer.)

C.R.A.Z.Y. won 11 Genie Awards (basically the Canadian Oscars) in 2006 and was named the eight-greatest Canadian film ever made at the 2015 Toronto International Film Festival, and deservedly so in both cases. Jean-Marc Vallee (who's since made Dallas Buyers Club among other things), drawing on his own adolescence in '60s and '70s Quebec, takes us on a very vivid ride through that era and place (when the so-called "Quiet Revolution" was in full swing; Google it if necessary), with very accurate period design, a smashing period soundtrack, and obviously a nice message about acceptance in every form.

Marc-Andre Grondin is a terrific find: he fills Zac with such vitality and tempestuousness, with fear and loneliness just under the boilerplate (and after seeing this movie, I promise David Bowie's Space Oddity will always remind you of him). Vallee's son Emile also plays Zac as a boy. Danielle Proulx also shines as a housewife who very much knows how and when to bring the boys (her husband included) into line, and Michel Cote creates a father you can ultimately sympathise with despite so much (and who plays Patsy Cline albums and belts Charles Aznavour out repeatedly).

But what always stays with me most about C.R.A.Z.Y., perhaps superficially, is its visuals. Vallee infuses it with a really striking bohemian, Dadaist aesthetic that offers such a rush, particularly in the second half when Zac's glam-rock lifestyle reaches its zenith. Vallee even invokes a tinge of this in the numerous birthday/Christmas scenes.

I have to conclude this way: I'm crazy about C.R.A.Z.Y.

Jagger's New Boy.

So at 73, Mick Jagger's welcomed a newborn son after a night of Satisfaction.
I wonder whether:
- If they make the kid a new crib, Mick'll tell them to Paint It Black.
- When he's over the sleepless nights, Mick'll call him a Beast of Burden.
- After that, he'll have Sympathy for the (little) Devil.
- For his first birthday, he'll get some toy Wild Horses or a Brown Sugar cake.
- If the kid complains about his music, Mick'll say "I know, it's only rock and roll, but I like it."
- If Mick asks "Have you seen your mother, baby?" The kid'll groan, "Yes, Dad, she's standing in the shadow."
- After he buys him his first trampoline, Mick'll call him Jumpin' Jack Flash.
- He'll be raised to be a Street Fighting Man.
- When he asks Mick what he wants for Father's Day, Mick'll just say "Gimme Shelter."
- When he skins his knee, Mick'll just go "Let It Bleed."
- If the kid complains about that, Mick'll tell him he can't always get what he wants.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #15: DOUBLE FEATURE: Edward Scissorhands (1990) / The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993).

Once upon a time, in an old castle atop a hill, lived an old inventor whose masterpiece was a young man named Edward (Johnny Depp). He was perfect in every way - except one. The Inventor's untimely death left him incomplete, with metal shears for hands. And then, he was all alone. Until one fateful day, when sweet Avon lady Peg Boggs (Dianne Wiest) comes knocking.

Now Edward moves in with the Boggses: Peg, her everyman husband Bill (Alan Arkin), their cheerleader daughter Kim (Winona Ryder) and mischievous younger son Kevin (Robert Oliveri). Edward becomes a hit around town with his talents for hedge-trimming, dog-grooming and hairdressing, and even appears on a TV talk show. But the most significant experience Edward's new life gives him is when he falls instantly in love with Kim, whose oafish boyfriend Jim (Anthony Michael Hall) will go out of his way to keep them apart. Even if it IS Christmas.

I have favourite movies, and then there are movies that are just sacred relics to me. Edward Scissorhands (1990) is forever in that second group; suffice it to say I have NEVER connected psychologically with a movie more. The incomparable Tim Burton channeled it from his own upbringing in Burbank, California as the son of parents who never quite understood him and as a boy who didn't fit in at school either. He even created the role of the Inventor specifically for his childhood idol Vincent Price (in his last screen appearance); his work here proves there's just nothing more passionate and meaningful than an artist publicly exorcising their demons.

The same can also be said of Johnny Depp, who gives what remains his finest performance with under a hundred words and in a heavy leather costume that reportedly made him faint from heat exhaustion; upon reading Caroline Thompson's beautiful screenplay he apparently cried like a baby. Furthermore, Winona Ryder and Dianne Wiest are superbly natural and understated, a very much cast-against-type Anthony Michael Hall shows he can play more than just nerds in John Hughes flicks, the production design (a Burton specialty) is strikingly original and detailed, the cinematography (especially in the unforgettable ice angel scene) is exquisitely lush and Danny Elfman has never written a better score.

Edward Scissorhands brings me to tears time after time. But something else I love about it is its satirical undercurrent, which is often missed and which I myself only just recently noticed. Every minor character is a deliberate suburban stereotype: the black police chief (Dick Anthony Williams), the frisky housewife Joyce (an hilarious Kathy Baker), the religious nut Esmeralda (Burton bit-part regular O-Lan Jones, who actually composed all the organ pieces she plays here), the eccentric retired veteran (Stuart Lancaster) and even, to a lesser extent, the Boggses themselves.

Another beautiful touch is in an elderly Kim telling Edward's story in flashback to her young granddaughter, in the best fairytale tradition.

And, in my heart at least, Edward Scissorhands and everybody who helped bring him to life will live happily ever after.

Jack Skellington (voiced by Chris Sarandon; singing by Danny Elfman) is an upstanding, proud young stick figure citizen of Halloweentown, until he lands in nearby Christmastown, which instantly astonishes him. So much so, in fact, that on returning home he tells his fellow Halloweentowners about this wonderful other holiday and persuades them to also celebrate IT this year. Jack then takes over from Santa (shown here as an obsolete pushover) and vows to spread Christmas joy of his own. But while well-meaning, Jack is naturally evil, and equally preoccupied with finding his sewn-together true love, Sally (Catherine O'Hara).

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) began as a poem Tim Burton wrote in 1982 while working as an animator at Disney, but by the time they finally greenlit the project (somewhat surprisingly, as Disney now largely considered him a traitor for abandoning them), Burton was busy filming Batman Returns and so handed it over to his colleague Henry Selick. Selick rose to the challenge admirable, retaining the macabre atmosphere and poetic rhyme of Burton's story while giving it an energetic vibe of his own. Plus, he and Elfman work the narrative cohesively around all those fabulously subversive and catchy songs: Kidnap the Sandy Claws, Sally's Song, This Is Halloween, Making Christmas and, of course, What's This? But the piece de resistance for me will always be The Oogie Boogie Song, a showstopper for the potato-sack bogeyman who loves to torture Santa on a spinning wheel.

You simply must commend the painstaking detail that went into this Gothic stop-motion world. 227 puppets were built to populate it, and Jack had roughly 400 heads for every possible expression. The Nightmare Before Christmas was nominated for the Best Visual Effects Oscar and though it lost to a certain movie about a theme park with dinosaurs (which in fairness is also brilliant and must've required at least as much effort), not a frame of it has aged in 23 years. This is one Nightmare I'll happily have night after night.



Not happy, ARIAs! (Reader discretion advised.)

I love music, from all eras. Not all genres, but all eras. I'm a long-time subscriber to Rolling Stone Australia, I own roughly 200 CDs, and numerous music books and DVDs. However, you could certainly call me a purist. That is because I truly despise techno (except, in some cases, when it's used in movie scores). It could be because of my upbringing; growing up, my older siblings, my brother especially, lapped up every Wild or Skitzmix album they could buy. But all I heard was fucking screechy noise.

So you can imagine my disgust when Flume swept the ARIAs last week. I'm sure he's a very nice, clever guy, but how the FUCK can being able to move dials and scratch vinyl on a turntable be considered musical talent? I simply cannot accept that it can be. Anyone can stand behind a turntable and push some buttons et cetera, but legitimate instruments? They can take literally years of dedication to master. I also hate Sia's music, but I really would rather she had won than Phlegm.

Plus, techno (at least to my ears) doesn't even acknowledge how fucking superficial it is. One of my favourite bands is AC/DC, whose music is often condemned as superficial. But not only does their music actually acknowledge its superficiality, that's actually the fucking point of it. AND you can very easily dance to it.

None of you have to agree with any of this, much less share my taste. But were I a musician, I would never let a DJ or "producer" tamper with my work. I wouldn't care what they offered or how it might paint me. And I really don't know if I'll watch next year's ARIAs after this year's show's results. For better or worse I have no respect for techno "musicians," and it puzzles me how anybody can respect them.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #14: The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012).



Charlie (Logan Lerman) is 15, smart beyond his years, and a loner. The youngest of three kids, and a very quiet high achiever at his new high school, he's hopeless at talking to girls and getting his peers to understand him. Until, he meets the free-spirited Sam (Emma Watson) and her gay stepbrother Patrick (Ezra Miller), both in the in-crowd, who take Charlie under their wing. They introduce him to high school football games, house parties (one of which sees him get high on a cannabis brownie), road trips and alternative culture. Meanwhile, his English teacher (Paul Rudd) fuels his ambition to become a writer. But despite Charlie's new social status, the coming-of-age road he must take remains rocky.

Stephen Chbosky's 1999 novel became a widespread cult hit, although I wasn't a fan as I have a longstanding dislike of epistolary novels. However, his film adaptation of it won me over immediately. This is very delicate material, dealing as it does quite explicitly with mental health, grief and homosexuality among other themes, but Chbosky hits every note right, with great tenderness, also realising the Christmas setting beautifully. His screenplay also feels very accurate of how teenagers interact.

Logan Lerman delivers a finely understated turn as Charlie, although I do find it rather ironic to see him playing a Catholic boy when he's actually Jewish. After a decade as the ultimate goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger, Emma Watson makes a real U-turn here as the defiant, dry-witted Sam and she's delightful as well, but stealing the show is undoubtedly Ezra Miller, by turns hilarious and gritty as the uber-daring Patrick. Also terrific are Joan Cusack as Charlie's psychiatrist and Johnny Simmons as Patrick's closeted footballer boyfriend Brad.

Throw in a brilliant soundtrack featuring David Bowie, the Smiths and the Rocky Horror Picture Show cast among others, some lush cinematography and fluid editing, and I think The Perks of Being a Wallflower are much more enjoyable - and resonant - on film than paper.

You think you know someone...

Have you ever had a friend or relative catch you totally off-guard with uncharacteristic behaviour? What do you do when that happens? Do you act naturally or try to think on your feet to evaluate what's come over them?

Last night, I had such an experience. I'm sure you'll understand my vagueness in describing it, but it proved to me that those you've know the longest are indeed the ones most capable of surprising you. It was an emotional outburst - not toward me, but in a group situation and as I sat there I was utterly stunned. After my friend left I told the others, "I don't know what to say," and I really didn't (though I added that I wasn't taking sides). However, I do also feel both sides were at fault; I just didn't know how to intervene, or if I should.

Luckily, it was at least in a private setting and to be fair to both parties, had it been in a public one they both might've acted differently. But what's the right thing for witnesses to do? I tried ringing my friend afterwards for a chat, and I had my concern compounded when I couldn't reach them, though they soon returned the call, and we had a very helpful talk.

How much grey area really is there between shock and surprise? Does it just come down to how you interpret the event: witnessing a crime, or getting a random gift for example? Should those sensations influence your reaction? This incident was the most unexpected, uncharacteristic thing I've experienced in quite awhile. And I'm happy with how I handled it overall, though the shock remains fresh. How long would or does it linger for you? How would you react in a similar situation?

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #13: Alien vs. Ninja (2010).

 

The setting is feudal Japan. In the wild, we meet a band of rogue Iga Ninja warriors, led by Yamata (Masanori Mimoto). Once day they encounter a flash in the sky, which becomes a fireball that crashes into the forest nearby. After then rushing to investigate it, they make a most shocking discovery: alien predators! They quite literally make mincemeat of several of the Ninja, and now Yamata and his crew, along with a young peasant whose village the aliens devastated, set out for revenge. But it will take far more than swords and throwing stars for them to fell these foes.

Even if it was already obvious, let me make this abundantly clear right now: Alien vs. Ninja (2010) is intentionally ridiculous and anachronistic. And it thoroughly wallows in that. Writer, director and even editor Seiji Chiba evidently loves science fiction and martial arts films, and by fusing the two he delivers a movie that turns both of those phenomena, individually and combined, very much on their heads. And except perhaps the theme of revenge there's no political or metaphorical subtext here either: it's just 90 minutes of shamelessly self-indulgent Eastern action with a postmodern twist, but that's clearly the point.

Action directors Yuji Shimomura and Kensuke Sonomura help Chiba deliver breathlessly paced and choreographed fight sequences, the cast all have great fun with their performances (especially Donpei Tsuchihira as the group's bumbling inventor Nezumi and Yuuki Ogoe as young peasant Nishi), the visual and special effects (there is a difference there) are utterly convincing and detailed especially for the budget (600, 000 Yen), and Kuniyuki Morohashi's score is a totally intoxicating and fitting electronic twist on traditional Japanese music.

At a time when far too many Hollywood action movies either rely on countless cliches or just don't even acknowledge how stupid and dull they are, Asian ones, particularly Japanese ones for me, are easily kicking their arses. And none more so than Alien vs. Ninja.