The New Yorker's "Target Issue"
Apparently The New Yorker is publishing an issue that features advertisements from just one entity: Target.
That just doesn't feel right. The ads are elaborate and, I must say, quite arresting. But that doesn't change the fact that they're celebrating a store that's just a few notches down from Wal-Mart.
And there's something else not quite right about it. I echo one of the comments posted on this page (which features several of the ads): Isn't it a bit strange for The New Yorker to have an issue featuring artwork in which targets are painted all over New York buildings?
Here's the New York Times coverage of just how this came about.
Brock Peters, 1927 - 2005
Brock Peters (front right) with Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird.
LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- Actor Brock Peters, best known for his heartbreaking performance as the black man falsely accused of rape in "To Kill a Mockingbird," died Tuesday at his home after battling pancreatic cancer. He was 78.
Peters was diagnosed with the disease in January and had been receiving chemotherapy treatment, according to Marilyn Darby, his longtime companion. His condition became worse in recent weeks.
He died peacefully in bed, surrounded by family, she said.
I'll remember him best as the voice of Darth Vader in the Star Wars radio dramas.
Here's the IMDB page on his films. They include To Kill a Mockingbird, Soylent Green, and Star Trek: The Voyage Home.
Specials: Boyle's Sunshine. Lonergan's Margaret. Burnett's B.R.M.C.
Today's specials:
- At long last, Ken Lonergan, director of You Can Count On Me, is preparing another project that looks likely to star Matt Damon, Anna Paquin, and Mark Ruffalo. It's called Margaret.
- Just how much did T-Bone Burnett meddle with the new album from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club?
Today's specials: Richard Thompson. Fagin. Harry Potter. Pixar. And more.
Today's specials:
- Richard Thompson's first solo album in ages, Front Parlour Ballads, is earning a bunch of raves and a few surprisingly contrary complaints.
- Ho hum... here it comes. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire ... the new international trailer. Hmmm. Some very nice effects on display here.
- Al Pacino to star in remake of Rififi, from the director of Sea of Love.
- Pixar blog features tributes to Joe Ranft, who died last week. If you explore this blog further, you'll also see some truly incredible sand sculptures of The Incredibles.
- Does Brian Flemming really exist? In a few hundred years, I doubt that many will have enough evidence to prove it.
- Roman Polanski and Ben Kingsley dream up Fagin all over again for Oliver Twist.
- The fall movies are coming! Here's one preview. Here's another.
Sex onscreen: J. Robert Parks on "9 Songs"
I frequently publish reviews by my friend J. Robert Parks, who writes for a Chicago-area paper and for Paste Magazine. Parks and I see eye-to-eye on many things. Occasionally we don't.
I'm posting this review of Michael Winterbottom's 9 Songs even though I personally disagree with Parks on a few issues surrounding the film. (In short, I object to the filming of actors engaging in real sex acts, and I cannot in good conscience recommend that anyone else view such footage. Because of this, I cannot in good conscience buy a ticket to this film even to review it. For the same reason, I avoided last year's scandalous film by Vincent Gallo, The Brown Bunny.) But I respect Parks, and I'll be interested to hear your thoughts on his review of this controversial film. I encourage you to post comments.
Sex. When my friend Garth was in college, he put up a sign in the cafeteria that had the word SEX in big letters. Then beneath it, in much smaller letters, he wrote, "Now that I have your attention, I'd like to tell you about this bike I'm selling." Much has changed in the almost twenty years since Garth manipulated the student body with irrelevant sexual references. The post-feminist backlash has made the selling of/with sex even more overt, to the place where it's now almost omnipresent. This cheapening of sexual intimacy has been accompanied by a firestorm of debate where forces on both sides argue about how sex is portrayed on tv, magazines, and especially movies. It's safe to say that the two sides aren't exactly arguing, as neither appears to be listening to the other. So it is with great trepidation that I wade into this morass--to attempt to review a movie that features more sex and deals more honestly with it than any film in recent memory.
9 Songs is directed by Michael Winterbottom, who has made a name for himself as an eclectic, thoughtful filmmaker. His 2002 movie In this World, about two young Afghans trying to immigrate to England, was one of my favorites of that year, but he's also made the science-fiction Code 46, the post-modern bio-pic 24 Hour Party People, and the winter western The Claim, just in the last five years. I caught 9 Songs at last year's Toronto Film Festival, where it arrived with plenty of advance notoriety for its explicit sex scenes, and they are explicit (and prevalent).
The movie simply focuses on a couple, a British man (Kieran O'Brien) and an American woman (Margo Stilley), who meet at a concert and then spend much of the movie going to other concerts and having sex (not at the same time). The concert footage, nine songs worth, is fantastic. Winterbottom shoots with a hand-held camera in the midst of the crowd, so it feels like you're a part of the concert, though with an especially good seat. He taps into the tremendous energy of the music, light show, and audience, imparting that communal feel you get when you're part of a 5,000-person crowd all dancing and clapping in time to the music.
He then cuts to the sex, which is just one man and one woman, but because the sex is real (erections, genitalia, penetration, orgasms), its energy matches the energy of the music. Furthermore, the intense connection between these two people mirrors the connection we experience during the concert footage, reminding us that intimacy can take a number of forms. There's also a great tenderness to many of the sex scenes; an especially nice moment in a bathtub echoes something out of the French New Wave. This stands in stark contrast to the trend of European films in recent years that also feature real sex but emphasize the brutality and emptiness of the experience. The half-joke that circulated in Toronto was that it was refreshing to see sex between two characters who actually liked each other.
But it is real sex. Between two relative strangers. Who are being filmed. And we're watching. And this, of course, raises a whole host of moral and ethical issues. What is the difference between 9 Songs and pornography? If you believe in the sanctity of sexual intercourse (as I do), can you condone a film that required two people to participate in it? Is there a difference between directing a sex film and watching it? And what is the impact of watching such private moments in a large theater?
I don't necessarily have thoughtful answers for all of those questions, but I can say without hesitation that 9 Songs is not pornography. Its goal is not to titillate or arouse. Yes, parts of it are erotic, but that's intrinsic to sexuality. The fact that Winterbottom can capture even a small part of the sexual experience--revealing its joy and intimacy, vulnerability and intensity-- without cheapening it is testimony to his thoughtfulness as a director.
In fact, I would argue that 9 Songs has a stronger moral foundation than the simulated sex of most R-rated movies, the voyeurism of reality tv, and the commodification of sex in contemporary advertising. Those aspects of our culture, which don't even arouse controversy anymore, manipulate sex and debase it. They create horribly false ideas of how men and women should relate to each other. 9 Songs does almost the opposite. It reminds us of the power of sexuality as well as its vulnerability. It celebrates the intimacy of sexual intercourse and acknowledges its consequences. The sexual acts in this film don't occur in a vacuum. They are explicit but not gratuitous. Many critics have pointed out that the man and woman don't relate much outside of the bedroom, which is a legitimate point. But it's also true that 9 Songs is able, in its short running time (barely 70 minutes), to chronicle the beginning, middle, and end of a relationship, and do it thoughtfully and sincerely.
I do wish the film were longer, though. I wanted to know more about these characters, to get a better sense of what moves them and why they came together and why, in the end, they drift apart. There are also a few scenes in Antarctica that are forced. Winterbottom wants to say something about isolation, but the metaphor isn't as powerful as the metaphor of the concert. Furthermore, I agree with my friend Garth, who wished that the characters had been played by an actual husband and wife, which would've mitigated some, though certainly not all, of the ethical issues.
It goes without saying that 9 Songs is not for most people. No one under 18 will be admitted when it opens at the Music Box this Friday, but adults should also give deep consideration to their own experience and whether seeing something this explicit would be beneficial or harmful. Still, this is one of those provocative films that actually provoked me to think and not just to flinch. There are more than a few filmmakers who could learn from Winterbottom's example.
(Parks gives the film four out of five stars.)
Portland on Sunday
I hope to see you Sunday in Portland!
UPDATE:
Many thanks to all of you who, after church on Sunday, decided to spend a gloriously sunny afternoon sitting and listening to me talk about Christians' engagement with movies. I was blessed by your attention, your questions, and the warm welcome I received at Montavilla Baptist Church.
Special thanks to my uncle, Paul Morris, for going to so much work to spread the word and set things up, and for showing up the day after the wedding of his daughter Jenny (CONGRATULATIONS, JENNY AND GABE!), along with my aunt Ruth. Great to see you and work with you and share with your friends.
Thanks also to those discerning, world-traveling cinephiles Steve, Joanne, Andrew, Matthew, Christopher, and Anna Price, for sharing their home and a hearty meal.
It was great to meet more of those who stop by and comment on this rambling blog, like Timothy Grant, as well.
Oh, and for the record, the wedding of Gabriel Salo and Jenny Morris featured music from Punch-drunk Love, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and I Heart Huckabees. It was a Jon Brion fest. Very, very cool!
A tragic loss: Head of Pixar story department dies in crash.
The single most distinguishing strength of Pixar is its unparalleled storytelling.
For all of its breakthroughs in digital animation, each and every one of Pixar's films is exemplary in character development, plotting, comedy, drama, and note-perfect climaxes. The stories are rich with moral lessons without being preachy. These strengths shine all the more by the inability of competing studios to match their achievements.
I am sorry to say that the movie world has suffered a grievous loss. Yesterday, the head of Pixar's story department, Joe Ranft, died in a car crash.
My condolensces to the Ranft family and all who knew and loved him. I feel as if I have lost one of my heroes, and I wish I had formally expressed my thanks to Pixar's story department in some way before this tragedy, to show him my gratitude for the example he has set for the rest of the industry.
In addition to running the story department, Ranft supplied the voice of Wheezy the Penguin in Toy Story, Heimlich in A Bug's Life, and Jacques the shrimp in Finding Nemo.
He was 45.
Specials: Superman footage!; heist flick for Cusack, Thornton.
Today's specials:
- The trailer for the new Martin Scorsese film about Bob Dylan: No Direction Home.
Okay, add THAT to my Christmas list as well.
- It's a bird, it's a plane... it's a Christopher Reeve lookalike!
- John Cusack and Billy Bob Thornton are starring in a heist film directed by Harold Ramis. Cusack hasn't had anything really memorable for a while. Hopefully this will get him back on track. Oh how I long for a sequel to Grosse Point Blank.
"Last Life in the Universe" - a must-rent for foreign film enthusiasts
I am re-considering my Top Ten of 2003. Last Life in the Universe belongs way, way, way up near the top of the list. Unpredictable. Hilarious. Deliriously melancholy. Crowded with allusions to other films from all over the place. Hints of Jarmusch, Tarantino, Lynch. Two delightful lead performances. And the great Christopher Doyle (Hero) turns in some of the most excruciatingly beautiful cinematography I've ever seen. I'd like to live in a house full of freeze-frames from this film; it'd be like living in a fine art gallery. I have some gripes with the conclusion of the movie, when it becomes less poetic and more clever, but overall a deeply satisfying, surprising, and refreshing piece of work. I can't wait to see what this director does next.
Tom Hanks Accosted by Nuns, says Pakistani News
I must say, it fills me with joy to publish a headline like that!
I mean... wow. I love this planet.Read more