The Role of Sex in the Art House Film.

One evening, I decided to watch a documentary about sex in the indie film world.  The documentary was all about the use of real sex in art house films, as opposed to simulated sex.  It had the major art film players making commentary on the importance of using real sex and how it makes these films different from, not only their big budgeted Hollywood counterparts with their simulated sex, but also from pornography.

While I found it to be very interesting, subject matter-wise, the whole thing felt trite and pretentious (much like your average art house film).  For one, it left you with such statements as:

“In porn, you have the pizza boy who comes to the door and has sex with the lonely housewife, and that’s it. In an art film, you might have the pizza boy who comes to the door and is turmoiled and finds out who he is and his meaning through having sex with the lonely housewife.”

Therefore the difference between an art film and porn is… plot.  The pretentious filmmakers also used the documentary as a soapbox to make social commentary and assumed that anyone who opposes their use of real sex in films is “afraid of sex”:

“I hope that people will be less afraid of sex in movies and less afraid of sex in their own lives.”

Really?

How typical/predictable/any other synonym you can think of.

I didn’t like your piece of crap film that was sex-laden and weak-plotted, therefore I must be afraid of sex.  Your film couldn’t have just sucked.

The best example of an art film that utilizes actor/actress actually engaging in intercourse is Michael Winterbottom’s 9 Songs.  I was intrigued when it was initially released, however I never went to see it.   Normally, I am one for forming my own opinion after watching a film, however this time I allowed numerous reviews (both positive and negative) do the dirty work – so to speak.

The plot of 9 Songs, for those that don’t know, is: American girl goes to study at a school in England, and she and English lad “fall in love”.  The entire story is told through the young man’s fond memories of his first love.  They include nine indie rock shows (hence the title), and lots of sex.   From what I understand, there is not much acting in this film – the minimal dialogue that is in the film is 100% improvised, the concerts come from stock footage, and the sex comprises probably about 90% of the film.

The selling point of the film is supposed to be the “real sex” – even highlighted by the movie poster:

Essentially, what Michael Winterbottom appears to have done is to attempt to see just how much sex and nudity he could get away with by creating a 69 (get it?) minute amateur porn under the guise of “art film;” and naturally, Winterbottom fans sopped it up as a “great/important/beautiful work of art”.

From what I understand, the actress (Margo Stilley) has attempted to remove her name from this film.  I guess she must be afraid of sex too, huh?

The documentary didn’t make me feel one way or another about the use of real versus simulated sex in film, but it did make me highly irritated with the pretension and self-importance of indie filmmakers.  For one, I can fully understand when sex (real or not) is used to aid a story (i.e. Requiem For A Dream), but not when sex is used as a shock factor in a film that has no real story or a weak plot.  Lastly, I find it highly insulting for anyone, let alone a filmmaker, to assume that his consumer is closed-minded or afraid of sex just because they don’t eat up the product.

The Life Crisis.

I find it infinitely interesting to look at how our pasts form who we are as people now, and how our present situations and selves go on to shape our future selves.

I can’t help but to think of the now clichéd phrase “history repeats itself” and wonder how much of that is true of our personal lives.

If it does ring true for personal history, as well as world history, how aware are we of it occurring? Is it like the movie Groundhog Day in which Bill Murray’s character takes a while to catch on to the fact that he’s waking up, doomed to repeat the events of that particular day indefinitely?

I like to think of myself as self-aware enough to know when I am turning into something I do not wish to become, and as such, I like to think that I have full control over what my future self will become. But living according to such a philosophy would imply that one is capable of wielding power over the events that unfold.

From time to time, I find myself becoming very disinterested and underwhelmed with my life the way it is, and as such, I decide to make drastic changes to alter it. Afterall, if things are in a static state, it’s up to us to be proactive, yes?

Such is the state in which I am currently residing.

Everyone talks about the “mid-life crisis” and the tell-tale signs of the 50-year-old man driving the Porsche, and having the 20-year-old strumpet on his arm. But, does the crisis only apply to 50-year-olds?

Think back to your teens and twenties, and all those times you felt discontent, uncomfortable in your own skin, and like you needed change. It’s quite possible, I think, that we have life crises at every decade. Lately, I’ve been hearing the term “mid-20’s crisis” being tossed around casually, and I do wonder how much it rings true.

Perhaps the life crisis doesn’t get examined at other ages due to the low percentage of people that are in settled lifestyles in their 20’s and just getting settled in their 30’s. Perhaps the teen crisis is looked at as “normal” because adolescents are still developing who they are as people. When you’re in your 40’s, you’re generally still supposed to be harnessing your parental skills and/or sending your children off to college and getting re-acclimated to life without children around, yes?

It is quite possible that due to the lack of any seemingly major lifestyle changes in the years after 49 – aside from menopause and retirement – the only thing 50-year-olds have is the mid-life crisis.

How depressing of a thought that is.

In any case, I am rather optimistic that history does not repeat itself, and that it serves only to teach us lessons on how to become the people we want to/will ultimately become. And, instead of succumbing to my mid-20’s crisis and fear of having my existence become obsolete, proactivity sounds like a much better option.

Artist Chasing.

When I was in my teens, I only wanted to be involved with artistic men.  I repeatedly went after artists, actors, musicians, writers… Any sort of artistic expression served as an aphrodisiac for me.

I then started to date a writer.

In my naivety,  I thought we would have the deepest possible connection.  In my fantasies of artistic men, we would spend hours discussing components of their crafts and the important figures.  This writer and I, we would discuss the best writers and books.

In reality, all we had in common was sex.  I hated everything about him before too long, and when I broke it off with him, he cried and I hated him even more.  And, before long, I went after my next artistic conquest.

Until recently, I could never figure out why artistic men were such a draw for me.

One drunken Halloween night in college, I met a drunken Dylan Thomas.  I forget what I was – perhaps that was the year my friend and I went around handcuffed  as thieves.  This drunken Dylan Thomas putting on a fake accent was the most beautiful man I’d seen, in person, in a very long time.  I couldn’t quite figure out what it was that was drawing me to him so, aside from his amazing looks, height, and talent for faking accents.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago.  I attended an amazing poetry reading put on by some friends of mine.  The Dylan Thomas was there, less drunk, and accent-less, but still very striking.

He’s an amazing poet.

Years later and the draw that I thought went away remains.  I now, however, realized that when I was in my adolescence, I wanted to be a muse.

I sometimes, even now, sit and fantasize of how awesome it would be to have the idea of myself immortalized in someone’s craft.

Now, ten years later, I no longer actively seek out those artistic types.  I hate actors.  I’m friends with poets and writers.  I, myself, was a bit of a musician.  Ten years have passed and now, my only goal to is to find someone with less baggage than I have.

Funny how those things change.

Control.

Over the weekend, I saw Anton Corbijn’s Control. In case you couldn’t tell from the movie poster, it is the story of Joy Division front-man, Ian Curtis.

If you know Joy Division, you know about the “untimely” death of Ian, and the subsequent outcome of those involved in his life.

I wrote a previous blog entry about the book ‘Touching From A Distance’, from which this movie is largely based. In that entry, I mentioned not being able to feel anything for Ian, Deborah, or any of the involved parties. I also mentioned that the book had the tone of being a self-pitying, victimization of the writer.

While the film still produced a disconnect between me and the involved parties, there seemed to be less of the victimization of Deborah Curtis, but I’ll get to that a little later.

In my head, Control was going to be an amazing story of this enigmatic man. It was going to humanize him, tell more about his life, how the band started, how the affair began, and possibly delve into why it was that he committed suicide.

It was going to be a fantastical tale of a boy growing up in “suburban” Manchester, his family life, his relationship with a young Deborah, and his relationship with his music. It was going to be a young Ian running around with a young Peter Hook, boys being boys.

We were going to get the history of the band in all its forms. There was going to be Stiff Kittens, followed by Warsaw, followed by Joy Division. There was going to be Joy Division vs. The Fall – when, where, why? It was going to give more information than the 30 minute segment from ‘24 Hour Party People’.

Instead, what I got was little more information than what I already knew.

Yes, the majority of the information came from Deborah Curtis’ ‘Touching From A Distance’, but all of New Order, Tony Wilson, and the like were involved. Somewhere in there, between all of them involved, there should have been a little more light shed on the story.

I guess my problems with the movie fall on the writing.

The acting was quite good, everyone pulled off their parts well. Sam Riley played a very convincing Ian Curtis – and even managed to get the spastic, epileptic seizure-like dance moves down. Samantha Morton played a very good Deborah. Bernard, Hooky, and Morris were all very well played. Toby Kebbell as Rob Gretton was absolutely hilarious. However, Craig Parkinson as Tony Curtis left a lot more to be desired.

In ‘24 Hour Party People’, Steve Coogan’s Wilson was over the top, loony, and funny in the best of ways. He was sarcastic, he was a dick, he had dimension. In ‘Control’, Parkinson’s Wilson was subdued, low-key, and boring. I quite understand that in ‘24 Hour’ Wilson was the major focus, as the film was about Factory Records, La Hacienda, and all things Tony. This doesn’t mean that he should be so boring as a secondary character. Tony Wilson was never a boring, stale person at all.

That was a major disappointment.

The music in the film was utterly fantastic. This sort of goes without saying, my being a Joy Division fan. However, the music was done by the actors, performed live on set just for the movie. It could have been disastrous. It could have been Sam Riley attempting to clone Ian Curtis’ vocal nuances at every turn, but it wasn’t. In fact, it was Sam Riley not really attempting to sound too much like Curtis at all,and in turn making the music his own. And it was done extremely well. “Bernard Sumner”, “Peter Hook” and “Steven Morris” all did amazingly well at making the music their own, as well. It was refreshing to hear a re-creation of the music, rather than a carbon copy. It was almost like hearing a reincarnate Joy Division.

It was also refreshing to see humor throughout this film. It would have been very easy to make a doom and gloom piece about Ian Curtis and Joy Division. After all, your subject matter is a man who killed himself at the age of 23, a band whose music was quite moody, and this legendary band who people take very seriously. It’s very easy to forget that they were still all very young, and had friendships from very young ages. The humor – dry in some spots, and crass in others, was very appropriate and did humanize them to a degree. There were the usual 20 year-old male fart and sex jokes, and antics. It’s not so often that you would see such a thing in a movie like this one.

As I mentioned before, I expected more about Ian’s affair. In her book, Deborah Curtis mentions finding out about Ian’s affair with Annik Honoré, the Belgian music journalist. She talks about how Ian and Annik managed to keep their affair going with the help of band members and Tony Wilson sheltering the two of them. In the movie, the start of the affair is shown, and Ian grappling with his feelings for both Annik and his wife, but not much else is shown.

In ‘Touching From A Distance’, Deborah portrays herself as a helpless victim, slighted by this affair. She portrays herself as clueless as to what was happening, and unable to do anything about it once she found out. In the film, however, Deborah is portrayed as having some backbone and standing up for herself. In the film, she confronts Ian several times, and eventually asks for a divorce – as I’m sure she did in real life. In the film, Deborah is portrayed as a fairly charming, plain woman who knows what she wants and knows how to stand up for it. She’s fairly clever, and funny. She’s utterly sympathetic, allowing the audience to feel for her. I’m sure this was what Deborah was attempting to convey in the book, but something was lost in translation between brain and pen, and this picture was askew. The film helped to bring this portrayal of her back to the masses.

The portrayal of Annik Honoré as “the other woman” was pretty one-dimensional.  I’m sure the fact that Deborah Curtis was involved in production had a little to do with this.  And though she was the “other woman”, it would have been nice to give her some dimension and shed some light on what the fuss was all about.  After all, if you’re going to continue an affair for years, there has to be something there besides sex.

Overall, Control proves to be a good companion piece to 24 Hour Party People and ‘Touching From A Distance’.  It was an okay film.  It doesn’t shed much more light on any one aspect of Ian’s life than anything else has.  It didn’t make me feel any more or less than what I already had for any of the  parties involved.  In short, it wasn’t a life changing, epic, stunning film.  It was a run of the mill, story of a man and a band and an affair that was shot very prettily.

New Years, Redux.

I am not a very big magazine reader. I mostly pop them open when there’s a lull period at work, or when I am in a waiting room for the doctor or dentist.

When I was a young, impressionable youth, I had subscriptions to Seventeen and YM. This was mostly because I loved to read embarrassing tales from other teens – they were all the same, “my pad became exposed!”, “I embarrassed myself in front of my crush in these number of ways!” etc., etc., etc. And, although I knew the stories never changed, they filled me with hours of comedy.

I look at the “grown up” magazines in very much the same manner as YM and Seventeen – the content is always the same, the problems that need advice are always the same. The major difference is that now, instead of having an exposed pad or a gnarly pimple, women want to know “how to please my man the most” and “how you know it’s time to move in together”. However, in the New Years editions, the content is always about the brand new diet and exercise regimes, having a fulfilling sex life, the New Years’ fashion and make up trends, and et all.

Being that I only read these types of magazines at work, or waiting rooms before getting poked and prodded, some of the volumes are from years before. And yet, the relic issues are always the same as the brand new, bright and shiny ones.

Always.

This got me to thinking, why is it that New Years resolutions never change? Why is it that everything gets recycled?

If your resolution is always some lofty, nearly unattainable goal – why even bother?

Why are the resolutions always appearance or money related?

Who cares if you lose 10 pounds by Valentine’s so that you can buy a new red dress (because Red is the new Blue)? Who cares if you have that credit card paid off by January 30th, just so you can max it out again?

Why not make a resolution to broaden yourself in some way? Why not make a resolution to pick up a new hobby, accomplish something tangible – such as read a handful of classics this year or get a pen pal with whom to practice letter writing?

I thought that was the original point of the New Years Resolution – to enhance yourself, and to change for the better every year. Instead, New Years has turned into debt and starvation.

If your New Years goal is the same year after year after year, why even bother making a resolution at all?

And so, my New Years resolution is to have no resolution at all.

Sometimes I roll with it, but sometimes I just get plain pissed off.

I was on a crafting/dinner/shopping trip with a friend of mine, when we decided to browse the magazine section. One that caught my eye had the “7 Reasons You Need To Lose Weight” gracing the cover next to an athletic woman boxing in a red dress.

Mockingly, I said to my friend, “and two of the seven will be: your man will love you more, you’ll look great in that hot new outfit!” and so on, and so on, and so on. We laughed, as you do when you see ridiculousness like that being spoon-fed to the masses who will, undoubtedly, catch on that all of those articles are the exact same. Though, there will be the minority who, let’s face it, will buy into that crap.

What we didn’t realize is just how damaging this particular article was. To see if I was correct, we popped it open, found the article and started to read it aloud. The more we read, the angrier we became.

It was downright insulting, and written in such a way that blatantly was attempting to give women complexes. Instead of being able to laugh it off and just “roll with it”, we got so angry that we had to put the magazine down.

The reasons were tainted with explanations like, “Actually, we should say you need to lose weight in order to have a sex life!” and “thinner women look better in their clothes!” The “explanations”, of course, were graced with pre-fabbed statistical data and there were probably “professional” commentaries to back up the notion that “fat people just are too damn lazy even for sex!”

And to them I say a big fat fuck you.

How dare they write things like that and attempt to push it to the masses. They may as well have just said, “you may as well go kill yourself, fatty” and saved the cost of wording and editing. Not only is it insulting, but it’s downright lying.

Thinner women don’t automatically look better in their clothing, it’s a matter of knowing how to dress yourself.

Fat people do have sex, and they have fucking fantastic sex.

I am so sick of fat hatred not only being splashed across the covers of countless magazines, billboards, ads, etc., but I’m appalled and disgusted that they would even write something as ugly and distasteful as that.

And you know what else? Women aren’t the only ones who get fat. Men aren’t the disgusting pigs that these magazines make them out to be. Fucking embrace what the hell you look like, and the only reason you should worry about losing weight is to make yourself happy and for your own health.

And if I could remember what the hell that magazine was called, I would tell you.

No Country For Old Men/I’m Not There.

On Monday, I went to see the latest from the Coen brothers, No Country For Old Men. A film whose story is based around the idea that life is not as simple as “good prevails over evil”.

The central story is about a man named Llewelyn Moss (played by a wonderful Josh Brolin) who finds a stash of money, takes it, and is then hunted by the most “evil” villain alive – a man named Anton Chigurh (played by a fantastic Javier Bardim).

Tommy Lee Jones plays Sheriff Bell, a pre-retiree who is becoming disillusioned by the evils in the world, and who wants to help Moss save his own life. Sheriff Bell is, essentially, who the title of the film is about.

The film is done beautifully in a very subdued style. We watch as events happen and paths cross, all the while watching Bell grapple with the decision to give up.

And though there are moments where a bit of dialog is funny, it’s circumstantial humor and is not relied on to keep the film going. Very rare is it, especially now, to have a suspense or drama that does not rly a little bit on comic relief. In fact, it’s the lack of the comic relief that keeps the film feeling very real.

In all, the film is damn near perfect, with little – if any, flaws at all. I would highly recommend it.

Also on Monday, I went to see the film I’m Not There. You may recall in a previous post, my having mentioned wanting it see it in spite of a hatred of Bob Dylan’s music.

While the movie didn’t make me like Bob Dylan, it did give me more of an appreciation of his music. I’ve always thought his lyrics were amazing, and if he had a better voice, there’s no doubt in my mind that I would love him.

The film was really good, and also very different – maybe even a little disjointed.

On the surface, it is a film about Bob Dylan and his life, however it’s done in a way that makes it about aspects of his life, career, personality, and songs as well. Thus, no one character is completely Bob Dylan, so much as a piece of him or a song.

It is definitely a film that requires you to be familiar with his life,  or else it would prove to be quite confusing.

As for individual performances, they all get a bravo – except Richard Gere, who I have to say I was highly unimpressed with. His acting just seemed to be a little flat. He reminded me of Richard Gere in all of his other movies (except for one).

Part of the reason I was drawn to see it was due to the fact that Cate Blanchett played one of his personas. She was absolutely fantastic! Honestly, she may possibly have done the best Bob Dylan and her performance was downright flawless and perfect.

Christian Bale and Heath Ledger were pretty surprising. I would never have thought to picture Christian Bale playing a singer/songwriter, but it worked. Very well. Up until he had the strangest Bob Ross-like afro I’ve ever seen. In fact, I think it took away from his character because it was so distracting and funny that I couldn’t stop laughing. That, I blame completely on costume design.

Heath Ledger essentially played a similar aspect of Dylan as did Bale, but also combined it with a second aspect – that of Bob Dylan, family man. He acted in a way that I had never seen before, and it was great. He truly is a good actor, and this film definitely brought it out of him.

Perhaps the biggest surprise (and gem) was the performance from Marcus Carl Franklin, who played a character named Woody Guthrie. The kid acted and sang his butt off, and it was fucking great. I have never seen this kid before, and I don’t know where they found him, but if he continues to act as he did in this, he will have one hell of a career for sure.

What I did like about the film, and one of the reasons it did make me appreciate more of Dylan’s music, is that the entire film was drenched in his music. There were a combination of covers and his original singing, as well as some of the actors performing his songs. It was great. The film also probably possessed one of the best uses of ‘Stepping Stone’ (performed by The Monkees, and by far my favorite Dylan song) ever.

I think one of the best things about the way this film was done was the creativity of it. It truly is unlike anything I’ve seen before, and I think that – in addition to the outstanding performances – is what made me like the film so much.

Again, I’d definitely recommend it – though, with the warning that it most definitely is not a biopic.

Inspired By the Unlikely.

I received an e-mail from a friend who recently returned from a trip to East Africa. Something that I should be so brave to do, but that’s neither here nor there.

The e-mail chronicled her adventures and experiences – from the frustrations to the most inspiring moments. The most interesting part of the e-mail was the extremes – from being surrounded by uneducated adults unwilling to learn and better their situation, to meeting a group of children who were so excited to learn that, rather than take their winter vacation as scheduled, they requested school stay open so that they would have a chance to learn from a group of foreigners.

I think that what struck me most was reading about children who loved learning so much. The complete contrast of American children who jump at the chance to have extended time off from school.

I’ve heard that African children are amazing people in terms of their willingness and desire to learn – who hasn’t heard that story about Oprah and the girls from South Africa who wanted a school rather than a car or a shopping spree? However, to hear about it from someone I’m relatively close to makes the impact of it much greater.

It’s strange, really, that the most inspiring and amazing are the people that have nothing, and the people who consistently have the opportunity for greatness almost always let it go to waste.

It got me thinking, were I in school and I had been in a similar situation – having an opportunity to learn something from a group of visitors – would I jump at the chance to do so like these kids did?

Probably not.

But, why is that?

It’s certainly not because I don’t like to learn. I do.

I’m not particularly lazy.

Is it my culture?

But, how is there such a vast difference between these two cultures?

And, how many people can say that they would rather learn than have a vacation?

In about a month’s time, I leave for Eastern Europe. A place I’ve never been before, to relish in three different countries that I’ve only imagined going to.

I can only hope that I have as amazing a time as my friend did in Africa.

I Hate Bob Dylan.

I hate Bob Dylan, yet am strangely drawn to the film I’m Not There.

I love Cate Blanchett.

I love Christian Bale.

Perhaps them playing Bob Dylan will make me… not hate Bob Dylan?

First World Problems.

I was skimming the titles on my dashboard, as I am want to do when I log in or am bored and I happened upon this, “My brother: Cheapskate? Or just Frugal?” Reading it, along with so many of the comments, really just made my stomach turn. I wish I were able to say that I was “shocked” and “appalled” by what I read; but really, I wasn’t surprised, shocked or appalled. In fact, what I read there was about what I expected to come across.

It really is pathetic, to me, that “first world problems” such as this are seen as the utmost of importance. “My brother doesn’t spend as much money as I do!” “Paris Hilton finds god in her one week in jail!” “Which celebrity is spawning now?” “Who is the next big celebrity to become bulimic/anorexic/fat?” “Help! I need to lose those extra pounds so that I can wear a skimpy bikini and attract sleazy men!” It’s simply pathetic. In the days when Bradgelina, Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes, coke addicted Kate Moss, Lindsay Lohan, etc. are constantly in the tabloids and on front pages bombarding the general public everywhere, and shows like Super Sweet 16 are gracing the television left and right, it’s no wonder that people can lose sight of the bigger picture.

Perhaps the most disturbing comment in the “frugal brother” article was the one that said this:
One of the blessings of being part of a large family is that I have learned that one of my siblings is a jerk. I am under no obligation to associate with him. If “Mr. Frugal-Cheapskate” doesn’t behave the way you want him to, simply stop having anything to do with him.

To me, this statement epitomizes the state of the current Capitalist society. Person A is a “jerk” because he will not spend, therefore Person B will end relationship. How has it come to be that a monetary value can be placed on even familial relationships? And how do people not realize how ridiculous they are being?

In a place where people do not have family due to a number of different circumstances, how can a person be so willing to withdraw from a relationship simply because this person won’t behave in a particular fashion? How has money become so powerful that the amount you spend directly correlates to what type of person you are perceived to be?

It’s a shame that so many “first world problems” revolve around greed, selfishness, power and corruption. It’s hard to stomach a culture that is so easily influenced by these factors. Perhaps if more first world inhabitants were forced to face real problems, there’d be less instances of “my brother is cheap, what do I do?“