A GHOST…
Cool.
2 years ago, backstage for Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra, I bumped into Bill Murray. I was armed with a recorder because I just had words with an unnamed musician. Must have spoken with 30 or 40 in those 3 days. He agreed because he liked our mascot on my t-shirt. We did a short and sweet, on the fly interview. We discussed his new film “CITY OF EMBER,” Fantastic Fest, Austin & Jim Jarmush while the tape rolled. At the time, rumors were around about a third Ghostbusters film… He told me about his 1st visit to Austin with “Danny Ackroid” way back when. I dropped the question and he told me that he was in for the ride but that no script had been finalized. I let it go and we then talked about my favorite film of his “RAZORS EDGE.”
A very cool guy. Really awesome that he made time for me. Things just seem to work out in this town.
I am excited that a script has been made. Ramis is in, Ackroid and Murray are in. Moranis? Anyone heard of Rick Moranis in awhile?
The bureaucracy and decision making at UT can be a funny thing. When UT hired a new general manager and a program director for music radio station KUT, they chose people without experience in running a music-centric radio station like KUT, instead choosing people with backgrounds in news radio. The result? Local music programming severely axed at KUT, sparking public outcry.
Another funny thing is Austin’s iconic Cactus Café. The folks over at UT have placed the fate of the Cactus Café, a legendary music venue and cultural institution with a world wide reputation, in the hands of the Texas Union directors, people mostly concerned with cheap bowling and foosball tables.
As you probably know by now, the Texas Union recently decided to shut down the Cactus Café, and discontinue all Informal Classes. Both are community traditions that go back to the 1970s. According to Andy Smith, the executive director of University Unions, the purpose is to save $122,000 annually.
Juan Gonzalez, vice president of student affairs, said “while the students understand the loss, they also understand there are higher priorities, and to direct services to students, I think, is the higher calling.” Yes, Andy and Juan are leaders who understand the higher priorities of the Texas Union’s glow-in-the-dark bowling. Why provide education and life enrichment through Informal Classes when there is the inspirational higher calling of air hockey tables? True, the Cactus has launched the careers of many musicians, and the Austin economy benefits from their success, but once the Cactus is removed, and there is more convenient access to a Taco Bell, just think how that will inspire and benefit Austin’s economy. Higher calling indeed!Read the rest of this entry »
KELLER WILLIAMS IS ON TOUR THIS WINTER IN SUPPORT OF HIS NEW ALBUM ODD
Saturday, February 6th @ 9:00 PM (Doors @ 8:00 PM)
Antone’s — 213 West 5th Street, Austin
For more information please contact 512.320.8424 or visit http://www.antones.net Everyone’s favorite one-man-band, Keller Williams, officially released his new studio album, ODD, on August 12, 2009. He’s spent the last 12 weeks releasing the songs track by track through his brand new, fan-oriented download feature, ‘The Once A Week Freek’. Now, full digital copies and physical copies of ODD are available for purchase at www.kellerwilliams.net and at Keller’s live shows. Read the rest of this entry »
Just about now, every year, when we are amidst of our 2nd or 3rd cold blast, I start to get the itch. Got my early bitd tickets to Old Settlers Music Festival. But that doesn’t suffice. I need that “Old-Timey Sound.” Bluegrass and nothing else will do. Essentially this is the DEL MCCOURY BAND WITHOUT DEL. On stage are: Ron McCoury on mandolin, Rob McCoury on banjo, Jason Carter on fiddle, and Alan Bartram on bass , with featured guests on guitar and vocals, is the latest incarnation of the most awarded band in the history of bluegrass -The Del McCoury Band. “Known for their individual prowess on their instruments and their rapidly expanding reputation as collaborators with the members of numerous musical icons from Vince Gill to the Allman Brothers, The Lee Boys and Phish, this touring unit blends the best of the Appalachian tradition with the improvisational magic of jazz. Unique live collaborations are the hallmark of their performances, and demonstrates why people across the country hail them as the best bluegrass band in the world.” I have seen these boys play many times with and without Del and am always blown away by the McCourys generational representation on stage.The McCourys name will surely live on in music for years. Seeing this gig at One World was awesome, up close and intimate.. Only problem; nobody was dancing until I closed my eyes.
(THANK YOU K.F. FOR THE PICTURES.)
Flatcar Rattlers–Which side Are You On?: A rowdy bluegrass band with a touch of Grime mixes up rootsy, backwoods Appalachia with fast punk rock to create a sound all their own. With six members form six states, they eventually made the journey to Austin and became ranked as one of the top ten Best New Bands and Best Bluegrass Banks per the Austin Chronicle’s 2008-2009 Music Poll. They released their first studio album on 11/28 at the Scoot Inn with appearances including the Lonesome Heroes, American Graveyard and The Bread. The Rattlers take hold of the listener and stick them on a ride that blows right off the tracks. 6.0 McRiprock’s. www.myspace.com/FlatCarRattlers. Dertybird--Pure Analog: Cultivating thier mix of Muscle Shoals Soul and Hill Country/Swamp Blues into a new blend of Southern Vinyl Rock. The release of this album is a fresh starting point for the band, after releasing a self-titled EP and a regional tour. The album allows for a stronger foothold and step forward to building thier fan base. Dertybird is Clayton Colvin and JT Holt. They fuse Clayton’s soulful, honest MuscleShoals influence with JT’s raw, gut-bucket guitar riffs. Trademarked by solid, gutsy vocals with tight arrangments and a tasteful Southern Rock sound with searing slide guitar they began to march their way to branding themselves in markets throughout the South. The alubm was recorded to a 2″ tape and mixed live at NestRecording in South Austin. They hoped to give the listener an “in the room” sound and experience so the bass, drums and rhythm guitar were cut live in one session. The most radio-friendly tune on the album is “People Change,” however other tracks have impressive hooks and arrangements. Read the rest of this entry »
David Bates since 1982: From the Everyday to the Epic
David Bates, a Texan by birth and still a Texan by choice, makes art. In a way, Bates’ art is like the city of New Orleans: both can mean different things to different people. You may find it modern, yet others like the folksy charm, some enjoy its natural beauty, while others are drawn to its human emotions. Bates’ art is shown in New Orleans a lot, so much that I assumed he was from Louisiana at first. For New Orleans, a place rich in local culture, to welcome a foreigner like Bates into their museums and galleries speaks highly of the man’s work. Accolades also come from his home state, as seen in the Austin Museum of Art’s exhibition David Bates Since 1982: From the Everyday to the Epic. AMOA’s downtown gallery is filled with the different sides of Bates: folk art renderings of musicians, landscapes of nature preserves, still life magnolia blossoms, and cubist forms of cigarettes and Corona bottles. Bates’ brushstrokes have a signature style, and the same unique angular lines he puts down on canvas show up in his sculptures. In The Woodsman, Bates paints a life-size five-foot tall woodpile, no two logs alike, each one painted with subtle differences in color and pattern. The relationship between Bates and New Orleans comes as no surprise; the city is a famous haven for roots music, and Bates exalts this music on canvas via the imagery of musicians Clifton Chenier and Lightning Hopkins. People are the soul of any city, and Bates’ work shows a connection with the people of New Orleans. In the Katrina aftermath, Bates painted flooded landscapes and the faces of the citizens deluged by the federal levee failure. This recent Katrina series is worth seeking out. The AMOA exhibition is a sure bet, and the Ogden Museum of Southern Art in New Orleans has Bates on view in their permanent collection. The Ogden features The Storm, a series of three large panels, each one filled with a dozen life-size faces of flood survivors.
A growing and welcome trend among Austin museums is to screen films that tie in with their art exhibitions. The Austin Museum of Art recently hosted a screening of the documentary Trouble the Water. A story of two Katrina survivors, it ties in nicely with the paintings of Katrina survivors. The film won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance, and comes recommended from none other than David Bates himself. AMOA arranged for cinematographer PJ Raval and real life evacuee Daisy Warren to attend the sold-out screening as special guests for a Q&A session afterwards. Film and art mixed together and served up to Austinites will sell out a theater? Seems like a no-brainer.
Trouble the Water
By now everyone knows the story; hurricanes over the past five years punished the Gulf Coast from Mobile to Galveston and everything between. Different hurricanes hit different places, but each community shared the same shock of devastation. From the casino towns of the Mississippi coast, to the fishing villages of southwest Louisiana, to the Crystal Beach getaways of Texas; the residents of each place also share in feeling abandoned and forgotten in their recovery. Life goes on, with or without them, and the ones that pick up and start over again are inspiring in their resilience. The recovering husband and wife in the documentary Trouble the Water are no exception. Often called a “Katrina documentary”, the label is a bit off the mark for this character driven story. Katrina’s effect on the region is too much for one film; a story too big to tell even if it focused on just one state, one city, or even one neighborhood. Trouble the Water narrows the epic focus down to the story of two people, Scott and Kimberly Roberts, and their survival in New Orleans’ Ninth Ward.
Jesus, what a waste of time. I was actually giving the bird to the screen, midway through. It started off pretty cool but it soon became a rehash of revenge pictures. Where are the original ideas? Along the same lines and well done was a film called “TAKEN.” Save your money and time and skip this. Mel was sleepwalking through this. Some folks actually applauded when the credits rolled. I was grateful also. The talent and money wasted could have done better. Maybe I’m harsh, my friend that was there didn’t feel negative about it. Maybe I missed something? Ray Winstone was awesome and saves what he can of the film. As it stands, the story was a rehash and poorly executed. I just did not give a toss……………………. I’m owed a few hours of my life back.
Imagine, if you will, my sheer unbridled glee at being handed this assignment, to catch a new Werner Herzog movie! Me and Werner go way back, beginning with Fitzcarraldo. Here is a man who picks highly explosive, Quixotic characters who put themselves and everyone around them through mind bending hell on their quest for their own personal holy grail, and Werner gives them free rein to eviscerate themselves for our entertainment. Werner is not everyone’s cup o‘ tea, mind you, but I dig his aesthetic largely.
Now, imagine, if you will, how dumbfounded I became when I’m walking into the theater and the greeter tells me this is a David Lynch production! I could barely contain my enthusiasm… Finally, I am going to be challenged by the celluloid, rather than being slapped in the face with a dead rotting fish and insulted, like I was by the last attempts of both Eastwood and Jackson, of which I covered both for the Daze. After those two miserable excuses for film making I needed this like a junkie with a pocketful of money knocking on the door of his reputable and reliable dealer.
This film, a crime drama, stars Willem Dafoe, Chloe Sevigny, Michael Shannon, Grace Zabriskie and Udo Keir (with a great cameo by Brad Dourif), and is based on a true story, but between the capable folk in charge here we get something quite surreal in the process that never sacrifices or sullies the ongoing narrative. A brilliant mix of style and composition, the marriage of these two auteurs is awesome to behold. I was transfixed from start to finish, wondering just what in the hell was gonna happen next, satisfied as well as bewildered at every crook and turn.
The musical score, by Ernst Reijseger, is not to be believed. It seemingly never stops the entire film, lending an already phantasmagorical set of scenes a twist of nonsense and raw emotion that keeps the deadpan delivery of this movie percolating right along. Brilliant choice, this.
Warning: THIS MOVIE ISN’T FOR EVERYONE!!!
Art lovers, however, will rejoice!
Finally, a movie that is well worthy of an investment in time. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and I’m sure will continue to do so for the next few days, too; a true mark of a movie well done.
What can I say, but by all means…
Thank you Herr Lynch and Herzog. A collaboration that lives up to your hype.
THIS WAS SUCH A COLD NIGHT OUTSIDE. ROCKSLIDE AND I BRAVED THE ELEMENTS FOR THE AUSTIN DAZE. ON THE WAY HOME THAT NIGHT, I SAW 2 POLAR BEARS ON THE SOUTH CONGRESS BRIDGE! REALLY!
The movie began well enough, a seemingly complimentary pairing of the suspense thriller genre with a fantasy backdrop. I was pulled deeper and deeper into the story, enjoying myself, along for the ride….
Then suddenly, without warning, or buildup, or anything resembling plausibility, the movie takes a horrible turn where the characters come unhinged and commit acts totally out of character, and the film never recovers, only gets worse and worse.
Because of some CGI enhanced transmuted feeling, admittedly vague at best, one character literally stalks another with a baseball bat down the middle class streets, at night!!, pursing the other character into a cornfield where all goes bad to worse in a most unbelievable way????!!!!! BS! The mother flies the coop, leaving family behind to go work with itinerant strawberry pickers somewhere far far away. ????!!!!! BS!! We are given no buildup of how or why for these sudden twists of character, who until now, were distraught, but normal, together, middle class folks.
One of the family does keep it together and she manages to uncover the source of the families woes, duly reports it to her family… and nothing happens… Nothing.
Some more inane story crap ensues, enhanced by CGI that is a horrible device for storytelling.
Then, apparently after much time passes, the bad character is still up to his nastiness, but lures his bait to another person in the most unbelievable of settings and circumstances, and then courtesy of CGI magic, something resembling justice occurs. … Gimme a break.
Then, it ends. Mercifully.
Susan Sarandon is the only believable character here. But her role doesn’t a movie make.
Yet another note to Hollywood… Take the money you guys are spending on CGI and HIRE A DECENT WRITER!!! Don’t try and lull us and dazzle us with your dream worlds when you haven’t a clue how to move us with a believable and compelling story.
Don’t bother with this one, readers. A total mess. A waste of two hours of your life. Yuck!
Yo Pete, gain back the weight you lost, maybe that will bring you back to form…
Cruel I know, but I don’t particularly like my time wasted, regardless of whom is the perpetrator. Pete let the bar be lowered, and the buck ultimately stops with him, and for that he should pay. And I guarantee you he will come 2nd week box office receipts. I’m not a betting man, but any takers?
Being a huge fan of the film, “Tender Mercies”, I entered the theater with a knot of trepidation firmly lodged in my stomach. The theater darkened, then this sweet music filled the room, and the inner nervousness melted right away.
First off, I’m also a huge fan of Jeff Bridges. Beginning with “Last Picture Show” and moving right along through “Starman”, “The Big Lewbowski” and others, this actor has steadily applied himself into roles that he made entirely believable. This role as Bad, a country singer/songwriter who’s fallen prey to alcohol and shit gigs just to stay alive, may very well be his masterpiece.
Must also give kudos to Maggie Gyllenhaal. Her character’s pitch was spot on.
This story is believable and does not come away without leaving some bumps and bruises, and is real. I only had one slight problem with some dialogue in one scene concerning some music business that I found non-believable, but still, this small film gives the movie goer everything they emotionally need to leave the theater having had a real life experience from a world they can never inhabit.
And must bring up the music again as this was the swan song of the late T. S. Bruton. The work he’s done here with the esteemed T-Bone Burnet brings the film an honesty, a hard won battle over life and all its iniquities, trials and tribulations, the travails that we all face day to day. Beautifully done. Read the rest of this entry »
There’s a new joint on South Lamar that deserves a few words in its favor: Red’s Porch
Imagine, if you will, a restaurant that is equal parts Z Tejas, Threadgills, with a bit of Torchy’s Tacos thrown in for good measure. And most everything on the menu for $9.95 or less! A multi-story, extremely spacious joint that overlooks the Barton Springs Greenbelt. Serves a wide selection of beers. Has multiple television for sports viewing. Kitschy 50’s style. Even has a renovated Airstream trailer outside for private parties or alternate seating. All sounds good, right?
Well bottom line for me is the groceries and on this day I was served a smorgasbord of items to get a general feel for taste and vibe. Big thumbs up!! Across the board, the food tastes like you are eating at someone’s home who knows their way around the kitchen. Read the rest of this entry »
As a film critic, you try and approach each film from an analytical standpoint-finding an angle or thread for which you might build a cohesive (and if lucky, coherent) observation about the content in question. Armed with pen and notebook, it was with this sensibility, that I attended a screening for Nine last week. In the hour and a half that followed, I wrote only this: “I can’t come if you don’t tell me where you are.” It was a line spoken by Guido Contini’s wife, the brilliant Marion Cotillard near the beginning of the film, a line that proves to be particularly poignant for her character’s journey (one of the few full believable ones) back to herself, and she is a stand out, elevating her role with grace and skill. The blank pages that followed my one liner are an admission that this film did my critic sensibilities in and turned any attempt at sophisticated observation into a pile of over-excited, teenage-drooling, mush. Was it lust or love? A week later it’s still hard to tell. So far the signs: the giddy anticipation of its release date; broad tingling smiles every time I see the trailer; singing lines from “Be Italian” and “My Husband Makes Movies” while cooking, cleaning, whatever-ing; swooning parental like-pride for each interview with one of the cast members (Penelope’s on Oprah! Nicole’s on the Today Show! They’re all on Larry King!); cheers when they announced the Golden Globe nominations for best actress, supporting actress, actor, film, and original song.
Philip Seymour Hoffman, mythical beast, appearing larger than life, to brood, contemplate, reflect, sometimes, if it strikes him, to offer up a deviling bit of comic relief. He roams the screen and the stage, layers of skin peeled back or removed entirely, discarded in a dressing room, relinquished to a trailer, emerging from these tucked away places as inner tissue and arteries whenever duty calls, thinking nothing of giving up the last shocks of his nerves to convey a point, a theme, a message–all in the name of being human.
It was with great anticipation that I arrived at the press suite on a cold morning in Manhattan for the interview with Mr. Hoffman as part of a press junket for Pirate Radio, the British import comedy by Richard Curtis. I had been dreaming about this interview since I first got into this profession. Waiting for Philip, I even named it. In my dream we were sitting in a coffee shop in the West Village (a real diner-like thing not the cozy lounge ones they have now) getting to the heart of it. “When you say ‘panicky’, do you mean mortality?” I would ask. The wait was finally over with a round table for this press junket. And while I knew it wasn’t quite the same (15 minutes, one question each), it held the promise, the possibility, of getting to know the man behind the mythical beast.
And then…
He enters. Shackled and unwilling, taking a decidedly side-ward seated posture, dagger eyes and grimacing mouth erect and poised to keep us from him: Mr. Hoffman had brought the beast.
We smile. He grunts. Battle lines are drawn. And it begins.
The rules of engagement are this: 15 minutes, the beast willing to be tied down, each of us given a line of rope by which to tie him. It’s a handicapped advantage but only fair considering the match up. One by one we take our place. And with those dagger eyes, he dares us to take our best shot.
Journalist number 1 fires confidently, “If your house was burning or whatever, what record or music would you absolutely have to take with you.”
The beast’s eyes flicker with contempt. “I wouldn’t do it.” Waiting for her to feel the burn, he continues, “I would be thinking of other things. Like my family.” With this, he clenches his right fist, snaps the rope, sending it and the unsuspecting journalist through the window of the press suite. Impressively, she catches the corner of the sill, dangling but determined, “What about your favorite music? That you had discovered on the radio when you were growing up?”
There is flash of submission, triggered by the memory of childhood. She seizes the opportunity to climb back into the room, taking her place -again, smartly abandoning what remains of the rope.
“I like so many different types of music because all I really did was listen to the radio as a kid.” He tells an eager room. “I didn’t really buy LPs or go to concerts or-I wasn’t really a connoisseur in that way–I would sit in the back of the car and listen to the radio in the summertime. I was that kid. I was introduced to a lot of different type of music without any of it being shoved down my throat.”
The second journalist, now his turn, fearlessly jumps in, “And yet interestingly, you have played two seminal characters who really understand the essence of rock and roll.”
Nostrils flare. The beast’s head cocking abruptly to meet the assaulting voice, “‘Seminal’. I wouldn’t say ’seminal’.” He uses his newly freed hand to yank the rope leading to journalist number 2, momentarily amused by a game of human Paddle Ball, with one final swat, he plunges him through the walls of several neighboring suites.
Those of us that remain unite in fear.
The third one offers a huge beaming “nice kitty” smile for which the beast returns a mouthful of fangs, “What did you like or not like about living on the boat? Did you like living in those tiny little bunks?”
Gleams of white daggers flashing, “I showed up two weeks after they had already been shooting so I missed out on the fun-I never slept on the boat.”
We wait. Nothing. He is distracted by something caught in his front fang.
She braves, “So you’re not a cruiser.”
Removing what appears to be left over flesh, an earlier press junket perhaps? “I’ve never been on a cruise.”
Silence. It takes a minute to realize the silence is mine. My turn. I’m Journalist number 4. Everyone waits. I readjust my hands around my rope, bracing for the snapping and flinging and bruising to come, “The first time I ever saw you perform was in Shopping and Fucking“, I quiver.
“That was a long time ago.” I don’t hear this or anything else. The energy I have committed to my survival has rendered me deaf.
“I find what you do to be exhausting.” I plod on, after what I imagine to be an appropriate response time. And then for the plunge, “Did you consider this role to be somewhat of a relief?”
While he considers my question, I consider throwing the rope back to him and voluntarily throwing myself out the window. It would save us all so much time.
His eyes narrow, seemingly undecided on whether to strike or stroke, he says, “It’s a real ensemble piece. So I think it’s part of that-you are sharing the burden which is kind of what the characters are going through anyway. I think the movie itself has an energy about it and they are looking to have a good time. Those guys are really truly funny guys so I didn’t have to do much. I kind of sat back and enjoyed myself most of the time.”
Before my fate can be delivered, Journalist number 2 limps back into the room, white plaster stuck to bits of dried blood in his matted hair.
“…And you really express that especially as the American that goes to England. What did you channel?”
The beast seems amused by his resilience. Throwing him a bone, “These are very successful and fun characters to play because what they stand for is not a person but a meaning-what they identify with. That’s all they are. It doesn’t have to be about rock and roll. You can be passionate about anything.”
Emboldened by the few minutes of calm, Journalist number 3 pipes in, “I understand you went to DJ school…”
He whips around to greet her with a snarl, “They did that. Remember? I told you I didn’t get to the shoot until late-they did that-I didn’t get to do any of that stuff.”
With a suicidal laugh, “So you did nothing for this role, basically!” she snorts.
“Well, I did my own work.” He snorts back, mockingly. And with that, he grabs hold of her rope and pulls her towards him. He holds her body down, places her head between his forefinger and thumb, and twists it until it separates. Holding it up admiringly, he opens his mouth to swallow her still stupendously smiling head.
Journalist number 5, horrified, begins to squeak, “Where does your passion and energy for acting come from?”
The beast likes this question, enough so to forgo swallowing Journalist number 3’s head, tossing it instead into a corner of the room.
“I don’t know. I first had a great passion for theater as a patron. When I was 12 or 13 I was a huge patron. I loved it. I just did. Why that is, I don’t know. So that’s what it really still is. How I got on the other side of it? I’m still trying to figure out whether that was a mistake or not. I mean that in a half joking half serious way because my passion was truly seeing and watching-going to the theater. I really believe it is truly one of the rare gifts that we have, that our culture could offer a person. I learnt at a young age, which that has a lot to do with me becoming my creative myself-whether it be live theater or film. Why I’ve directed and acted and why it hasn’t just been acting. I have an interest in the whole thing, I’ve been interested involved in things that will hopefully give people reason to go like I have reason to go. ”
Is that a purr?
The newly freed head rolls from one side to the next, trying to steady itself. Blood sputters from its neck, “How did you find the experience of being in Othello? It’s such a long play. What’s your secret?”
He lifts his foot to stomp her out once and for all but then stops. He seems to be tiring, worn down by the relentless stupidity of it all. “There’s no secret. Long Days Journey into Night was longer than Othello. And then True West, we were on the stage for 2 hours straight and didn’t leave…”
Exasperated, he crouches down, resting his large head on his hands, “It’s an incredibly complicated situation. It’s very alive and full of traps and successes and joy and sadness and inspiration and dead weight.” Retreating now, shutting us out to be with his self, to be somewhere else, anywhere else, “It’s an incredible thing.”
Journalist number 2, sensing the moment of weakness asks, “You’re getting a lot of offers. How do you make the decisions about the plays and films you choose?”
Aggression drains from the beast’s hulking body. He searches our faces for a hint of the human he has strived so hard to capture all these years. We offer him nothing. There is nothing left to fight. “It’s organic. It’s something…you know…it is life.” Almost pleading, “It just starts to make sense to you. It’s intuitive. All this stuff. How we all got here in this room, is intuitive.”
Blank eyes blink in unison at him.
Journalist number 3, “How do you see the difference between British humor and American humor?”
There is silence. Then an exhaustive sigh of defeat. “I don’t know.”
With that, a sacred publicist mountain dog escorts him away and I’m left still waiting.
I normally don’t write about anything that doesn’t set me on fire. Tonight, however, I make an exception, as I’m puzzled by the disconnect I feel.
NOT a Hollywood guy, by nature, but still, a film directed by Clint Eastwood, starring Morgan freeman and Matt Damon based on a true story about Nelson Mandela bringing a nation together via their rugby team’s march to the World Cup? Even if not your cup of tea, there are some redeeming factors at work here, right?…Well, that’s what I thought, too. But somewhere along the way this movie shit in my boot.
Have you heard a critic label a film UNEVEN? At best, that’s what I got here.
I’ve learned over time that rhythm and flow mean everything. And those two elements were distinctly missing in this movie. You get the broad strokes, but you’re not emotionally involved because rhythmically there’s nothing pulling you along to sink your teeth into. Call it bad editing. You’re given bits of scenes that never materialize into anything that pulls the story along. You don’t care about any of the characters, and the pacing seems down right rote. And the rugby action scenes are downright laughable as the powers that be don’t seem to know flip about what’s under the skin of this sport. They even got the Maori War Dance from the All Blacks all wrong.
I guess you can’t bat 1000 all the time.
Here, Clint and company fall miserably short on what could have been a very good film. Color me confused.
DARK DARK DARK. The poster art makes this movie look mainstream. It is not.
This film just grabbed me and shook baby shook!!! It worked. You can really tell that Werner Herzog and cast and crew had a great time putting this together. Cage is in top form here. He goes for broke being bad. The best work he has done in a long time.
And no, not everyone is going to get it. I lucked out and saw this in a full Alamo Drafthouse theater. The crowd was mostly cinephiles and movie geeks. AICN presented this event. So, it is safe to say that we got the gist of what was going on. This film was dark but the humor that flowed was golden. I rented “BAD LIEUTENANT” after the screening. There are many similarities, I wonder why nothing else I have read on this film mentions that.”BL:POCNO” seems to take these similar elements one step further and fleshes them out so to speak. The dialogue here is awesome. I must have said “TIL THE BREAK OF DAWN” a hundred or more times this past week and most folks around me have no idea why. This film walks a tightrope over having no clue. And therein lays the magic. I recommend this full on.
If you love films and can name another Herzog title off the top of your head or enjoy an occasional trip to the darkside, this film is for you. I will see this again. OPENS DEC 11TH.WATCH TRAILER HERE
Flatcar Rattlers–Which side Are You On?: A rowdy bluegrass band with a touch of Grime mixes up rootsy, backwoods Appalachia with fast punk rock to create a sound all their own. With six members form six states, they eventually made the journey to Austin and became ranked as one of the top ten Best New Bands and Best Bluegrass Banks per the Austin Chronicle’s 2008-2009 Music Poll. They released their first studio album on 11/28 at the Scoot Inn with appearances including the Lonesome Heroes, American Graveyard and The Bread. The Rattlers take hold of the listener and stick them on a ride that blows right off the tracks. 6.0 McRiprock’s. www.myspace.com/FlatCarRattlers. 
Jesus, what a waste of time. I was actually giving the bird to the screen, midway through. It started off pretty cool but it soon became a rehash of revenge pictures. Where are the original ideas? Along the same lines and well done was a film called “TAKEN.” Save your money and time and skip this. Mel was sleepwalking through this. Some folks actually applauded when the credits rolled. I was grateful also. The talent and money wasted could have done better. Maybe I’m harsh, my friend that was there didn’t feel negative about it. Maybe I missed something? Ray Winstone was awesome and saves what he can of the film. As it stands, the story was a rehash and poorly executed. I just did not give a toss……………………. I’m owed a few hours of my life back.
Imagine, if you will, my sheer unbridled glee at being handed this assignment, to catch a new Werner Herzog movie! Me and Werner go way back, beginning with Fitzcarraldo. Here is a man who picks highly explosive, Quixotic characters who put themselves and everyone around them through mind bending hell on their quest for their own personal holy grail, and Werner gives them free rein to eviscerate themselves for our entertainment. Werner is not everyone’s cup o‘ tea, mind you, but I dig his aesthetic largely.
The movie began well enough, a seemingly complimentary pairing of the suspense thriller genre with a fantasy backdrop. I was pulled deeper and deeper into the story, enjoying myself, along for the ride….
There’s a new joint on South Lamar that deserves a few words in its favor: Red’s Porch
As a film critic, you try and approach each film from an analytical standpoint-finding an angle or thread for which you might build a cohesive (and if lucky, coherent) observation about the content in question. Armed with pen and notebook, it was with this sensibility, that I attended a screening for Nine last week. In the hour and a half that followed, I wrote only this: “I can’t come if you don’t tell me where you are.” It was a line spoken by Guido Contini’s wife, the brilliant Marion Cotillard near the beginning of the film, a line that proves to be particularly poignant for her character’s journey (one of the few full believable ones) back to herself, and she is a stand out, elevating her role with grace and skill. The blank pages that followed my one liner are an admission that this film did my critic sensibilities in and turned any attempt at sophisticated observation into a pile of over-excited, teenage-drooling, mush. Was it lust or love? A week later it’s still hard to tell. So far the signs: the giddy anticipation of its release date; broad tingling smiles every time I see the trailer; singing lines from “Be Italian” and “My Husband Makes Movies” while cooking, cleaning, whatever-ing; swooning parental like-pride for each interview with one of the cast members (Penelope’s on Oprah! Nicole’s on the Today Show! They’re all on Larry King!); cheers when they announced the Golden Globe nominations for best actress, supporting actress, actor, film, and original song.
Philip Seymour Hoffman, mythical beast, appearing larger than life, to brood, contemplate, reflect, sometimes, if it strikes him, to offer up a deviling bit of comic relief. He roams the screen and the stage, layers of skin peeled back or removed entirely, discarded in a dressing room, relinquished to a trailer, emerging from these tucked away places as inner tissue and arteries whenever duty calls, thinking nothing of giving up the last shocks of his nerves to convey a point, a theme, a message–all in the name of being human.
DARK DARK DARK. The poster art makes this movie look mainstream. It is not.
