Grindhouse

Written and directed by: Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez

Starring: Rose McGowan, Rosario Dawson and way too many other people to list.

For those of us too young to remember exploitation flicks from the 70s (and I count myself proudly among that number) this Tarantino/Rodriguez double feature can't help but feel like an exercise in organized nostalgia. The two have gone to great lengths to subvert the multiplex: with double cuts, scratches, and occasionally a missing reel, the films have been carefully edited so as to replicate the look and feel of a grimy back-alley theater circa 1972. The critical buzz is well deserved; I sat in a dark Manhattan theater in stadium seating for three hours and was completely convinced.

But the experience of watching Grindhouse—admittedly surreal for someone coming to the cult exploitation party a few decades too late—is more than just a technical exercise in nostalgia. To put it simply, I can't remember the last time a movie left me so exhilarated.

Planet Terror, Robert Rodriguez's lovingly recreated babe-on-zombie flick, is Troma at its best and bloodiest. No expense spared for popping pustules or flaunting herpes victims—it's all here, and it's all pretty much disgusting. The story is straightforward; a military conspiracy looses a deadly toxin in a small-town community, and people start to eat each other. Throw in Bruce Willis, a sadistic (but decidedly sexy) anesthesiologist and a mysterious gun-slinging Texan named El Wray, and you've got a film that's practically wallowing in its own giddy excess.

Rodriguez has some nice sight gags here, including a "wiggle your big toe" scene that would make Uma Thurman proud. And there is of course the girl with the gun—who wouldn't want to have Freddy Rodriguez strap an AK47 to their stump? Be warned, though, it's not for the weak of stomach.

The real draw of the movie is Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof, which proves once again that Tarantino is one of the smartest writers working in Hollywood today. A road movie about stuntmen using real stunt doubles as actors to mimic classic chase sequences, Death Proof is about as self-referential as they come. It's also terrifying to watch; seeing Zoe Bell swinging around on the roof of a speeding car, you remember why normal actors don't usually hire themselves out for this kind of work.

Nor do normal writers make these kinds of movies. Death Proof is fifty-three minutes of the most original filmmaking I've ever seen. It's a haiku in the style of Dirty Harry. The film features Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), a grizzled hack who gets his kicks taking

unsuspecting girls for joyrides in his car. His plan backfires when he meets a group of stuntwomen who are every bit as hard-core as he is, and who follow suit in a series of gripping (and visibly dangerous) car chase sequences.

Tarantino has said that he envisions this as a cross between a slasher and a road movie. While this is true, there's more to it than the joy of seeing a master director tinker with genre conventions. Watching Rose McGowan settling nervously into Mike's trumped up passenger seat reminds you of what's creepy about slasher movies to begin with: that they're not about the violence, but the weirdly thrilling mentality of watching violence up close. It's hard to tell whether Mike is a sadist or a voyeur in this regard – or which one would ultimately be worse.

It also highlights the ironic thing about Tarantino, that is, for all the Eli Roths and Rob Zombies Tarantino has inspired, it was never the violence itself that made him great. In a double feature defined as “a joyful relapse into sex and violence,” the scariest ten minutes come in an essentially bloodless scene—no chainsaws, no torture, none of the gory trappings that Tarantino has become known for. Just a girl going for a joyride, who suddenly finds herself clinging to the roof of a moving vehicle. It's nice to be reminded that after three hours of zombies, serial killers and bloodthirsty ex-husbands, it's the simple things in life that will scare you straight.

Katie Gradowski – Temp Jockey

The Hoax

Director: Lasse Hallstrom

Writer: William Wheeler

Cast: Richard Gere, Alfred Molina, Marcia Gay Harden, Hope Davis, Stanley Tucci, Eli Wallach, Julie Delpy, Zeljko Ivanek

In the early 1970s, author Clifford Irving wrote a biography on recluse millionaire Howard Hughes. A few years before, Irving had written a biography on the world’s foremost art forger, Elmyr de Hory. It would appear that Irving learned a few things from his former subject, because his biography of Hughes was a complete study in fakery. The Hoax is based on the true story of Irving’s falsely authorized book on the eccentric hermit.

In his attempt to sell the idea for the book to a publisher, Irving claimed that Howard Hughes had contacted him and requested that Irving write Hughes’ biography. Irving even went so far as to forge Hughes’ handwriting and signature to send letters that were verified by the publishing company’s experts. Irving was paid his advance, as well as Hughes’ payment, to write the book.

In director Lasse Hallstrom’s film, Richard Gere plays the conspiring author. It’s one of his finest performances and the flawless Alfred Molina and the equally gifted Marcia Gay Harden support him. The Hoax unravels, not as a film where you are on the side of the main character, but rather as a film where you are fascinated by his actions. The picture keeps you curious as to just how much Irving can get away with and how he’s going to continue his charade. Along the way he even goes so far as learning to mimic Hughes’ voice and speech pattern. Eventually, Irving takes on some of Hughes’ own traits, in particular his paranoia. Irving begins to blur the line between reality and his self created fiction.

The story is played out as part character drama, part mystery. Hallstrom turns out another splendid effort, directing a well crafted, very literate script by William Wheeler. With no conventional protagonist to support, The Hoax is quite simply an entertaining look at what people can get away with when they are motivated by making money. The motives may not be entirely commendable, but to say it isn’t interesting would just be a lie.

David@picturesandframesmagazine.com

May Movie Madness or: How I learned to Love the IRS and Stop Worrying About My 2006 Taxes.

By Lily Percy

The Lookout

Written and directed by: Scott Frank

Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Matthew Goode, Jeff Daniels, Isla Fisher and Carla Gugino.

Scott Frank’s directorial debut is a memorable and moving one with incredible performances by Matthew Goode (sans English accent), Jeff Daniels (the chemistry between Daniels and Gordon-Levitt is wonderful) and one of the best actors of our generation, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, whose Chris Pratt is both completely original and heartbreaking.

Hot Fuzz

Directed by: Edgar Wright

Written by: Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright

Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Martin Freeman, Bill Nighy, Timothy Dalton, Jim Broadbent and Paddy Considine.

As “Fresh Air’s” resident film critic David Edelstein noted in a recent review of Hot Fuzz, one of the greatest things about the film is the way that it lovingly pays tribute to the action movie genre rather than going the obvious route of American comedy mockery—you won’t find a funnier nor more satisfying movie currently playing at the theater.

The Lives of Others

Written and directed by: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

Starring: Martina Gedeck, Ulrich Mühe and Sebastian Koch.

The Lives of Others won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film this year, beating out the seemingly-unbeatable (especially in my book) Pan’s Labyrinth; “seemingly” however truly is the operative word as you’d be hard pressed to argue with the Academy’s decision upon actually seeing the suspenseful and harrowing film (although why Mühe did not win the award for Best Actor is a mystery). Had I seen this film in 2006 it would have undoubtedly been at the very top of my list.

Reign Over Me

Written by and directed by: Mike Binder

Starring: Adam Sandler, Don Cheadle, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Liv Tyler, Saffron Burrows and Donald Sutherland

Despite the fact that I did find myself wondering several times while watching Reign Over Me what the film would have been like without Adam Sandler in the lead role, writer-director Mike Binder’s ode to sorrow, pain and survival (much like his terrific and completely underrated The Upside of Anger) makes its point clearly and sincerely, with terrific performances from Don Cheadle, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Safron Burrows, and yes, Adam Sandler.

The Year of the Dog

Written and directed by: Mike White

Starring: Molly Shannon, Regina King, Laura Dern, John C. Reilly, Josh Pais and Peter Sarsgaard.

The Year of the Dog’s tagline: “Has the world left you a stray?” could not have been more succinct. Don’t be fooled by the humorous and bittersweet trailer (or your preconceived notions about White’s storytelling tendencies), this is a film that speaks volumes about our inherent loneliness as human beings and our endless desire to be loved and love, whatever shape, form or breed that it may take. I could not shake Molly Shannon’s beautiful performance (nor her sad smile), even several days later.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

DVD'S:

Soylent Green (1973)

Directed by: Richard Fleischer

Written by: Harry Harrison (novel) and Stanley R. Greenberg (screenplay).

Starring: Charlton Heston, Leigh Taylor-Young, Brock Peters and Edward G. Robinson.

A Boy and His Dog (1975)

Directed by: L.Q. Jones

Written by: Harlan Ellison, L.Q. Jones and Wayne Cruseturner.

Starring: Don Johnson, Susanne Benton, Jason Robards and Tim McIntire.

Two virtually unknown Sci-Fi classics, each filled with bits of genius that helped them to become visionary achievements in their own right. The first film, Soylent Green, stars Charlton Heston as New York Detective Robert Thorn, a cop of the future in a time when overpopulation, pollution and global warming has caused the world’s food supply to be wiped out. After a high official is murdered, Detective Thorn begins an investigation that puts him in the middle of a government conspiracy that will reveal, drum roll please, Soylent Green. 

Back in the 70s when this movie was made, this story line might have seemed far-fetched, but now this is the very problem that our generation is facing. Unlike most of the Sci-Fi movies of the time, which dealt with the threat of nuclear attack, Soylent Green uses the environmental issue to show us a world post-climatic change. The flaws in the film lie in the obvious special effects limitations of the time and the lack of a better-written script, and yet regardless of those two factors the movie is still fun to watch.

The second film, A Boy and His Dog, is a low budget film that inspired the Mad Max movies. After the world is ravaged by nuclear holocaust, few people are left and each must do what they can in order to survive. The film stars a young Don Johnson as Vic and his canine sidekick Blood, a super smart dog that can communicate with Vic using telepathy thanks to the effects of radiation from the war.

Together Vic and Blood are in a constant search for food and the one thing hard to come by in this post-apocalyptic world, women. Blood’s keen sense of smell keeps them out of trouble but it’s the ability to detect a woman from miles away that interests Vic. The real trouble begins after Blood and Vic find and lose an attractive female, Quilla June Holmes, played by Susanne Benton. Ignoring Blood’s many pleads for Vic to forget her, Vic decides to go underground alone to find her. Once underground Vic discovers what seems to be paradise, but he later finds that things are not as they seem and is taken hostage where he faces a very cruel fate.

The real highlight of the movie is the ending, which I will not spoil for you. The special effects and budget limitations are evident but the imagination of the script more than makes up for it. A Boy and His Dog is an entertaining yet deeply dark film that will leave a smile on your face and leave you wanting more. Both films are a part of Sci-Fi movie history—landmark movies from a period when films still encouraged you to think.

Juanmarcos@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Kidnapped: The Complete Series

One of the best things about DVD? The fact that good television shows that didn’t quite catch on can find an audience. Shows like “Wonderfalls” or “Undeclared” that didn’t seem to get a fair chance on the air are preserved for posterity forever on DVD. Add to this list NBC’s short-lived “Kidnapped.”

After airing only five episodes, the remaining eight were relegated to being released on the Web. Fortunately for us, the story’s arc is resolved in the last two. The basic plot deals with a rich Manhattan family, the Cains, whose son is kidnapped early one morning, his bodyguard critically injured. The Cains hire a private detective, the unfortunately named Knapp (Jeremy Sisto) and his assistant, Turner (Carmen Ejogo), to help find the boy. It’s not long before the FBI gets involved and Knapp finds himself working alongside agent Latimer King (Delroy Lindo). Over 13 episodes, each one representing a day, there are enough twists and turns and skeletons in closets to keep you hooked as King and Knapp search for the kidnappers.

It’s a mystery why this show didn’t catch on with viewers. It’s just as gripping as, say, ‘24,” with some added heart and depth, as well as surprising moments of humor. Sisto does the dark, tortured thing that he does so well and Delroy Lindo commands the screen every moment he’s on it. Also impressive are Dana Delaney and Timothy Hutton as the wealthy parents of the kidnapped boy, and Anthony Rapp as a recurring mysterious character called Kellogg. While the series does have a definite ending, there is a wonderful twist that makes you curse the NBC execs that cancelled such a promising show. Sadly, the DVD itself is pretty unexceptional. You’ve got your widescreen and your 5.1 stereo, but that’s about it, aside from a 15-minute featurette that goes behind the scenes and features an interview with the show’s creator Jason Smilovic (writer of Lucky Number Slevin). Regardless, “Kidnapped” is a DVD worth keeping, and a television show that is actually worth your time.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Breaking and Entering

Filmmaker Anthony Minghella is known for grand, sweeping epics set during wartimes that recall the work of David Lean. Which is why I was surprised to see that he had written and directed something as intimate as Breaking and Entering. The story of a London architect (Jude Law) and a Bosnian immigrant (Juliette Binoche) and the way their lives entwine, this film is a far cry from the Minghella I was familiar with. As usual, he works with the finest actors (Binoche previously starred in his film The English Patient and Law is on his third collaboration with Minghella after The Talented Mr. Ripley and Cold Mountain) and they give fantastic performances. Robin Wright Penn, as Law’s longtime girlfriend, gives a lovely, delicate performance. In fact, watching it made me wonder why I hadn’t heard more about the film during Hollywood’s award season. Whether telling the story of an immigrant mother trying to do the best for her son or the tale of a relationship holding on by a thread, the film is compelling. Once those two stories connect, you will be glued to the screen. The disc features a commentary by Minghella, as well as a making-of-featurette and deleted scenes. Hopefully, this is a film that will be discovered and appreciated more upon its release on DVD. It would be a shame if it weren’t.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

The Covenant

Night Interior: The Brooklyn Gang is seated on their broken down futon hotly anticipating last year’s most acclaimed piece of gay porn…no, not Shortbus, The Covenant! Gay witches rock! Okay, so I don’t think any of the random, cast ‘cause they have pretty faces, future stars of the WB that are in this movie play gay characters but something about a group of 5 young boys who share a secret makes our minds all head that way. We’re just dirty like that.

Richard: What’s this movie about again?

Chris: Gay witches.

The movie begins with text to explain to us the mysterious setting of this strange and macabre tale:

Jeanne (reading the screen intro in a husky, important sounding voice): “No one really knows how the power came into being. Not even the Book of Damnation recorded it’s beginning but those who mastered it have”…Oh. (The screen flips to the next page of text before Jeanne can finish. I guess the moviemakers hadn’t expected anyone to read the opening with so many dramatic pauses.) It went too fast!

Richard begins to laugh loudly.

Jeanne: No. Stop it! Shut up!

Richard laughs louder.

Chris: You’re missing everything.

Jeanne: I hate you all.

Richard: (still laughing) Just go back 10 seconds! (This is a dig at Jeanne’s DVD player, which lacks the all-important 10-second back button that Richard’s has. Bastard.)

Jeanne: I can’t!

The screen is finally rewound and Jeanne can pick up where she left off. I’m sure the line that we missed was the all-important key to cracking this mind-bending story. For those of you who can’t tell, that there was some sarcasm.

Jeanne: “But those who mastered it have always been hunted.” Shut up. You read the next one.

Richard: “In the middle of the seventeenth century many escaped the brutal witch hunting in England and France by coming to America.”

Chris: “As the brutal persecution of those with the power spread throughout Massachusetts the families of Ipswich formed a covenant of silence.”

Jeanne: “After 200…”

Chris: That says 300, genius. (Sadly, Jeanne is seated about 4 feet away from the TV screen.)

Jeanne: (laughing) “…it has been kept safe until now.” Shut up, I’m not wearing my glasses. That was a vague three. Vague!

And now that the history lesson is over the real movie begins with a muscle car and a White Zombie song! The opening credits roll.

Richard: (Bursts out laughing and even though his mouth is full of food. He starts muttering some crazy talk that only Chris understands.): Remmy Harwlrfeir…

Jeanne: What?

Chris: It’s a Renny Harlin film.

Jeanne: What’s that mean?

Chris: (I sense sarcasm.) That means it’s gonna be awesome is what that means!

Richard: He made Cliffhanger. He made Cutthroat Island and The Long Kiss Goodnight.

Chris: The Long Kiss Goodnight was awesome.

Richard: I loved The Long Kiss Goodnight.

Jeanne: Cuttthroat Island though was bad…I heard.

Richard: He also did either the 4^th or the 5^th Nightmare on Elm Street, I can’t remember which one.

Chris: Didn’t he do one of the Die Hard’s as well?

Jeanne: (To Richard.) Did you just put chocolate in my hair?!

Richard: (Laughing, probably a sign of guilt.) This is my chocolate hand! (He mumbles with his mouth full of ice cream cookie sandwich.)

Jeanne: You have a chocolate hand?

Somehow everyone manages to put their focus back on the job at hand, gay witches, and the discussion turns back to the movie.

Jeanne: Look, its boys!

Richard: Gay boys.

Four young, studly, WB-looking boys drive their muscle car up the edge of a cliff and get out. They stand at the edge and look down at a beach party in full swing. Puns are thrown around without any concern for the harm that they can ‘cause. Someone says, “let’s drop in.” Followed by, “it’s not like it’s gonna kill us…yet!”

Richard: This looks stupid already.

All four studs take a leap off of the edge but, alas, this doesn’t result in a tragic and premature end to the movie. Instead they all use their gay magic to land all catlike at the bottom and go strutting into the beach party looking for pussy. I guess magical 17-year-old boys aren’t all that different from regular 17-year-old boys. Oh, Harry Potter, how I’d hoped that you’d be more dignified but I’ve seen the pictures of you and that horse…

Richard: They’ve totally ripped off Lost Boys!

Jeanne: Yeah. I feel like it’s gonna be like Lost Boys meets Point Break.

Richard: I think it’s gonna be like Lost Boys meets The Craft meets GAY!

Jeanne: This is very like Lost Boys with them going toward the beach bonfire. If they start killing people…

Chris: I don’t think they’re out to kill anyone. I think that they’re out to get laid!

Jeanne: Although there’s not that guy in the tight pants singing like there was in Lost Boys.

The four WB boys have met up with a group of equally, generically attractive girls. I bet $10 that we’re never ever able to tell these people apart. It’s like watching an Abercrombie ad walking and talking—and no wants to see that.

Chris: (Momentarily forgetting the caliber of movie that we’re currently watching): Is that Claire Danes?

Jeanne: I don’t think they could afford Claire Danes.

While one of the boys begins to mingle with a blonde and her friend, the movie’s jealous bitch and her sidekick begin to talk smack from nearby about the blonde and how undeserving she is of Gay Witch #1’s attention. They move in and the bitch sticks herself in between them to grope on Gay Witch #1.

Jeanne: (referring to the bitch) That’s somebody’s mother.

Richard: Did you mean to say that’s somebody’s daughter?

Jeanne: No, I mean that chick looks like she’s forty.

The bitch makes a point of talking about the blonde chick’s common folk upbringing by asking how someone from a, scoff, public school found a way into their super, ultra, extra, exclusive, elite, pompous, we charge the boys $10,000 for a hand-job in the janitor’s closet, private school. Gay Witch #1 that was hitting on the blonde tells the bitch to give it a rest. The gay sidekick pipes in for about 10 seconds before he realizes that he’s a lover not a fighter.

Chris: (Referring to the four witches) All of these guys look the same. I can’t differentiate between any of them.

Richard: (More skilled in the ways of gay witches attempts to help.) There’s the guy with the long hair and the guy with the brown eyes, the guy with the blonde hair and then the guy who kind of looks like them all.

The personal drama is suddenly interrupted by the DJ with the news that cop cars have been seen on their way to break up the party. I guess the Massachusetts police are pretty fucking scary because people just tear off into the woods nearby abandoning whatever they had on the beach.

Jeanne: Are you scared, Richard? Are you scared?

Richard: (whispers) I’m already bored.

For some reason a 10 minute long debate begins about whether the blonde chick has a tramp stamp or if it’s just the shadows pooling in her muscular buttock region. Chris is supporting the muscular buttock side while Richard and Jeanne are taking up for the tramp stamp.

Jeanne: She has a tramp stamp. She’s gonna totally do somebody.

Chris: I think that’s muscle.

Jeanne: I think that’s a tramp stamp.

Chris: No, go back I think that was like shadow and like…

Jeanne: She has like rippling ass muscle??

Chris: Yeah!

After many rewinds and scientific use of the zoom function we’re all shocked to discover that it does look like Chris is right and the ass muscle hypothesis has won out.

Richard: Maybe there’s like a little tramp stamp.

Chris: No there’s not! I think she may have a tail though.

Jeanne: Her and Viggo.

Quick note: Seriously, if you watch A History of Violence check out the scene where he has sex with Maria Bello on the stairs and he has a fucking tail! It wags and everything. Maybe this was a sick joke on the part of David Cronenberg but I like to believe that it’s real.

Richard: Like that guy in that movie.

Jeanne: Viggo?

Richard: I was thinking of Jason Alexander in Shallow Hal but okay, Viggo.

Jeanne: Except Viggo’s is real.

Chris: I saw A History of Violence on HBO the other day…

Jeanne: You think that we were imagining it?

Chris: NO! I…It’s like…it’s clearly…

Jeanne: Clearly a tail?

Chris: Clearly, yeah.

Jeanne: Lily claims that he doesn’t have that in any of the other movies but maybe she was just overlooking it.

Chris: I could believe that David Cronenberg…

Jeanne: Made him put on a prosthetic tail?!

Chris: Yeah.

Jeanne: But...it wiggled.

Chris: Well, he was having sex so there was like thrusting and stuff.

The gay witches have decided to elude the police by piling into their SUV and going on a high-speed chase to what we think is a Kid Rock remix.

Chris: Where’s Harry and Ron?

Jeanne: The blond witch keeps reminding me of Aaron Carter.

Chris: He does.

Richard: Eww.

Jeanne: Although without the meth face that Aaron Carter has.

The car chase continues through the woods with daring (read lame) jumps and witty (read retarded) repartee.

Jeanne: Oh, they jumped like a foot.

Richard: (Sarcastically) Oh, I’m impressed. The Dukes of Hazard did that every week and they weren’t freaking gay witches!

In their big magical money shot, the witches drive through the haze right off of a cliff while screaming, “Harry Potter can kiss my ass!” The cops stop just in time to not die and get out of the car to stare down the ravine and scratch their heads. I feel like this requires a roadrunner, Wyle E. Coyote comparison.

Jeanne: Is their car gonna fly back and wink their headlights at them?

Chris: (Laughing) I bet it totally does.

It doesn’t quite do that but they do suddenly plop their car down right behind the cops and speed away.

Richard, perhaps to distract himself from this crap movie, has started searching for the Netflix envelope for the very movie that we’re watching.

Chris: Why do you need to read the synopsis? We’re watching the movie!

Richard: This is based on a comic book.

Chris: (sounding disgusted and disappointed in the comic book industry) Is it?!

Richard: (explaining his need to read the movie synopsis so late in the game) I usually like to prepare myself for how much of my life is going to be spent watching a movie. We have an hour and 20 minutes.

Jeanne: It’s going to be the best hour and twenty minutes of your life.

Cut to dark-haired gay witch at home with his drunken mom. She’s rambling about his dead dad and how she’s worried that she’ll lose her son like she lost her husband. She alludes to some big shit going down when he turns 18 soon. Apparently, he and all of his friends first received their “powers” when they were 13 as a small taste of the greater powers that they would receive once they turned 18 and could finally get in on the gay porn wagon legally.

Richard: This is a bad script.

Jeanne: (mocking the drunk old lady) When they ascend! Hey, didn’t they ascend on Buffy? (Yeah, Jeanne’s a dork).

Richard is cringing with every poorly acted, badly written word. Considering we’re only about 20 minutes I’ll take this as a very bad sign.

Jeanne: I think Richard wants out.

The drunk mom is still explaining to the dark-haired witch how horribly, terribly, painfully, completely, the evil magic destroyed his father and how she’s sure that he’ll get sucked into it the same way ‘cause “magic” is just a convenient movie metaphor for “drugs.” Hey, wasn’t that another Buffy episode?!

Chris: (astutely pointing out the important parts of the drunk lady’s ramble) So apparently every time they use their power it ages them…or shortens their lifespan or something.

Jeanne: (Jeanne totally hasn’t been paying attention. She has the attention span of an ADHD kid full of coffee and red bull) Is that what she said?

Richard: (please refer to description above) I had no idea what she said!

Cut to the blonde and her friend in their dorm room. They’re both wearing lacy teddies so Jeanne strongly needs to point out that girls don’t really dress like that to go to bed when there’s only another friend in the room. Apparently, girls only dress like that for bed when they’re trying to convince someone to fuck them so, following that logic, we may be in for some lesbian action. Unfortunately, we get girl talk instead of lesbian sex. The two girls gossip about Caleb (we think he’s the dark-haired witch) and how the blonde should totally go for him. Then the conversation turns toward witch lore. There were originally five families that founded the town. The fifth family was killed off during the Salem witch-hunt. The four gay witches remaining are all descendents of the remaining four families.

Suddenly, the story cuts back to the woods where everyone ran after the party. Those cops that got punk’d by the flying witch car are still explaining their story to their superiors. They’re going to be seeing a mental health professional very soon. Anyway, the other cops call everyone over because they’ve discovered that a kid sitting in his car isn’t drunk, he’s dead! DunDunDun!

The next scene shakes us from nearly snoozing with a shower scene. Sexy. Although Jeanne does note that none of these people are that attractive. They’re all pretty unmemorable. After some talk about how suggested nudity no longer seems hot now that we’ve seen Shortbus we suddenly see that the blonde totally has a tramp stamp. Take that Chris! With your ass muscle theory! Pshaw!

The blonde is apparently showering in the middle of the night ‘cause no one’s around and everything is really creepy. She seems to think that someone’s watching her so she gets out of the shower and creeps down the hall where we see some sort of person shaped fog fade away. Oooh…cree…um, yeah it’s pretty lame actually. In the end she turns a corner and sees the Aaron Carter looking witch.

Cut to the dark-haired witch suddenly bolting up in bed from some sort of nightmare.

Richard: He’s really sweaty.

Jeanne: And unattractive. I bet he’s from Miami.

Richard: (Laughing) High five!

Chris: (Sounding suddenly very sad) But I’m from Miami.

Jeanne: No, but you’re not a Miami guy like one of those guys that’s like sweaty and stuff…

Chris: I’m kind of sweaty.

Jeanne: But not like that.

Richard: Tomorrow we’ll have Flushed Away.

Jeanne: That’s all you.

Chris: I’ll watch it with you.

Jeanne: I don’t want to see rats in the sewer.

Richard: They’re British rats.

Jeanne: They’re rats getting flushed down the sewer and playing in feces.

*Note – Jeanne did end up watching Flushed Away and loved it so take that! Long Live British Rats!

Back to Covenant. The dark-haired witch is talking to one of the other non-descript witches on his cell phone while he drives through a fairly deserted country road. He’s telling him about how he suddenly woke up the night before. Apparently, he believes that he was woken up because one of the other witches must have used a lot of magic all at once. They both agree that it was probably Aaron Carter witch since he’s the second one set to turn 18 after the dark-haired witch and he’s jealous that he’s not first. Suddenly he turns to his passenger seat and the dead kid from the party is sitting in his seat looking all fucking dead and scary. Unfortunately, the witch’s momentary freak out distracts him just enough that he doesn’t notice the big, log-carrying truck that’s barreling down on him. But the dark-haired witch thinks fast and somehow breaks apart himself and his car into, I guess, the molecules or something so that they travel around the truck and re-assemble on the other side. I know. It’s retarded.

Richard: This guy’s still sweating!

Jeanne: Dude, if you’d just died and then put yourself back together you’d be sweating, too. I bet that’s exhausting.

Chris: She has a point.

Jeanne: I wonder if he does that during sex.

Chris: Blows himself apart and puts himself back together?

Richard: And leaves only his penis.

The dark-haired witch and the blonde go on a date that’s super boring. It’s seriously like them driving a car through the country. He’s got super powers for Christ sake! Superman flew Lois around for a while to get her in the mood.

Richard: Aww…She’s like a less pretty version of Claire from Lost.

Jeanne: Maybe she’s gonna get knocked up and have a creepy baby.

Richard: A haunted baby…A witch baby…A gay witch baby!

Jeanne: Gay witch babies! We need bumper stickers, “Protect the gay witch babies!”

Chris: “Abort gay witch babies for Jesus.”

So the lame country ride of a date ends with the dark-haired witch taking the blonde to a creepy house where a guy shoots at them when he pulls up. Dude, this guy never wants to get laid. So he takes the blonde into the creepy house of death where he leaves supplies for some guy that we only see from behind as he sits in a large chair. Dude, is that Dr. Claw?!? The Brooklyn Gang discusses and votes that this is his father’s house and his father’s not dead! DunDunDun!

Jeanne: Yeah, that’s a hot date. (To Chris) Honey, if our first date had been at the creepy nearly abandoned cottage at the end of the road I don’t think that it would have worked out.

Chris: Our first date was at a creepy abandoned photo lab.

Jeanne: It wasn’t abandoned. And it wasn’t in the middle of the night!

Chris: Yeah it was!

Jeanne: It was like 7:30pm.

Chris: No, it was later than that.

Jeanne: It was like 8pm. And there were people in there. And if anything it would have left you an opportunity to molest me.

Richard: (Creepily) Yeah!

Chris: (Also creepily) Yeah, I know!

Jeanne: You guys are retarded.

Richard: (laughs for a minute until he realizes he’s been insulted) Did you call me retarded, too?

Jeanne: I did say “you guys.” That would include you. No, don’t hit me!

Apparently the creepy date is fucking never ending. The dark-haired witch takes the blonde out to the local gay witch bar. After, of course, he criticizes her clothes and suggests that she takes a shower first. Gay guys are so super critical. At the bar he meets up with the other 3 gay witches and together they huddle around a pool table and make bets about the color of underwear that a girl at the bar will have on once they’ve magically blown her skirt up. The answer, for all of you pervs out there, is that she wasn’t wearing any. Yeah, skanky, a short skirt and no panties. What would your mother think, young lady!

So the blonde is feeling a little slighted by the lack of attention so she does what any girl would do: she walks over the jukebox, puts on something sexy and starts dancing sleazily in the middle of the bar. What’s the sexy song, you ask? “I Love Rock and Roll.” Oh yeah. I think Britney Spears did this same routine in that movie that she was in.

Jeanne: (in a sad admission) I was still sort of interested until here. This is dumb.

In the midst of the blonde’s sexy dance the gay witches get into a bar fight with some non-private school locals because they were using their gay witch powers to hustle them at pool. They take it outside. Richard believes that the non-local they’re about to fight is the guy who had sex with the donkey in Clerks 2. The Aaron Carter witch ends up using his freaky gay powers to send the donkey guy flying into a wall. The dark-haired witch bitches him out for using his powers all of the time because they’re addictive and he’s totally going to end up with Meth Face like the actual Aaron Carter if he doesn’t slow the fuck down. The Aaron Carter witch tells him to fuck off so they have a magical version of You Got Served. Yeah, it’s as lame as you’re thinking. The dark-haired witch kicks the Aaron Carter witches ass ‘cause he’s like 2 weeks older.

At school the next day the dark-haired witch gets called into the principals office to be lectured about his bar brawl the night before. The principal also tells him that he needs to look after one of their new students, Chase, that he’d recently met. The principal tells him to make sure that Chase’s “stay here is a pleasant one.”

Jeanne: Sexually.

Richard: Yeah.

Jeanne: Up the butt.

Richard: Up the butt.

Jeanne: Ass to mouth.

Richard: Yeah, although you never go ass to mouth.

Jeanne: Unless you’re a magic, gay, witch.

Richard: Then you break all the rules.

Jeanne: I bet that they have some kind of a spell to make that all okay.

Richard: That’s how they do their spells.

Jeanne: Ass to mouth? That’s where they get their power. Does that mean that the guy in Shortbus was a wizard?

Richard: He was a wizard. “Wizard Sleeve.”

The blonde has gone to the school library to research the whole witch angle. Go little Nancy Drew.

Jeanne: Is she going to figure out what no one else has been able to figure out from a book in the library? Reading is power.

Richard: It is. Willow taught us that. (Did these people watch anything but “Buffy?!”)

The next scene opens on the school pool. Apparently all the witches are on the swim team. Yeah, right. This isn’t just an excuse to show young boys in Speedos.

Jeanne: This is what we’ve been waiting for. Those unattractive guys in tiny, tiny….

Richard: Oh No!

Jeanne: Does that guy not have testicles!

Richard: He has nothing! That is a highly unlikely school uniform, too. It’s like a band-aid.

Richard: They’re on the swim team. How much gayer could it get?

Jeanne: Maybe if they were on the gymnastics team.

Richard: Then it would have opened with the same scene as Shortbus.

Jeanne: Awesome.

Richard: Gymnastics equals flexibility.

Jeanne: And blowing yourself. I’m sure everyone in gymnastics has tried that.

After the homoerotic swim meet we see the dark haired witch wake up in the middle of the night all sweaty again. A sweaty man is a sure indication of something evil afoot.

Back to the pool. Chase, the kid that the dark-haired witch is supposed to look out for, is totally the fifth gay witch. There’s all this boy on boy competition between them. After bickering in the showers, they take it out to the pool to settle the score. Just hit each other like real men.

Chris: It’s a swim-off!

Jeanne: This is so gay! There’s just nothing…

During the swim-off we get proof of Chase’s witchery. As they head down the final lap his eyes go black (it’s the sign this movie uses to show you that magic is going down. I’d like to point out that this, too, is so “Buffy.” There was an episode with Willow that did this whole ‘magic is a metaphor for drugs’ a long time ago. Get with the program, Covenant!) and he causes the dark-haired witch to pass out mid stroke so that Chase wins the race. Yay, whatever…we’re not all that into this movie anymore.

Next scene and Chase gets pulled out of class and called to the Provost’s office. The provost explains to him that the mother of that dead kid that was found in the woods returned Chase’s student ID card to the school. It was found in the kid’s car. DunDunDun! Um…yeah…this is totally getting transparent. So this kid’s totally the fifth gay witch, he killed that random kid at the party, that’s the power that made the dark-haired witch sweat himself awake and there will be a big a highlander-esque showdown ‘cause there can be only one. You’d think that I’d stop the review now that I’ve told you what’s gonna happen but I won’t. If I had to watch the remaining 47 minutes of this piece of shit you’re going to have to read it. Deal.

The dark-haired witch and one of the other ones that we can never tell apart go where all witches go to fight their nemeses…the school library. Seriously, people! What the fuck high-school library is rife with original Salem witch trial manuscripts? They read about the fifth family and found out that the last known man-witch of the fifth family may have knocked up some widow in the village when he came to her as an incubus. Sexy. Not only is there a fifth now running wild they learn that he’s already turned 18 and that makes him all the more potent.

The dark-haired witch calls a gay witch house meeting to take down this new guy.

Jeanne: Why are they fighting, though? Why wouldn’t they just be like, “Fuck, that’s awesome. There’s a fifth! Let’s go get drunk.”?

Chris: Maybe it’s like Highlander.

Jeanne: “There can be only one.”

Witch #1 goes off on his motorcycle to fight the fifth but ends up getting his bike wrecked and his head squished as the fifth goes on this whole weird nursery rhyme sounding rant about how he’s only killing witch #1 to get to the dark-haired witch who is, apparently, the juiciest and most sought after of all of the witches.

In the meantime, the dark-haired witch is rushing back to the dorms to check on his blonde girlfriend but when he walks into her room he sees (gasp!) that she is sitting on the bed talking to someone who looks just like him! The other him turns out to be the fifth and he immediately puts the blonde into some weird trance/death spell thing. As a good villain, he spends the next ten minutes telling the dark-haired witch his life story (he came from a poor family that didn’t understand their power. They’d been shunned from these rich, stuck-up witch families that they totally wanted to hang out with. It’s all Great Expectations. He took his father’s magic and vowed to avenge his forsaken bloodline by killing all of the rich, pretty witches. Dude, just invite this kid to your birthday party or something.) He tells the dark-haired witch that unless he turns over his power to the fifth after he ascends (which would kill the dark-haired witch) he’ll kill the blonde. DunDun…Dun….eh. He releases the blonde for now and tells the dark-haired witch to meet him at the old barn for the final showdown.

Richard: Only 29 more minutes, Jeanne.

Jeanne: Thank god.

The dark-haired witch takes the blonde back with him to see his father again. We finally get a shot of his face and the guy looks like ass. In a dramatic introduction of the blonde to his old codger dad he says that the guy’s only 34 years old. DunDunDun! It’s such a “don’t do meth or you’ll get scary methface kind of anti-drug (aka magic)” ad. The dark-haired witch heads out to the barn to meet with the fifth solo. He’s told the other gay witches and the blonde to stay back ‘cause he can take this one all on his own.

Jeanne: (cynical about the romance between the blonde and the gay witch) I’ve known you for like a week and half!

While the dark-haired witch is driving out to the barn he’s talking to the other witches on his cell but when he asks to speak to the blonde they realize that she’s suddenly missing from the room. Once he makes it to the barn he sees that the fifth is there with the blonde back in her sleep/death spell to ensure that the dark-haired witch keeps up his side of the bargain. And now, finally, the fight!

Jeanne: This is gonna be the lamest fight scene ever.

It is. The fifth begins it with, “like taking candy from a baby.” Nice writing chops here. The witches look like they’re throwing little balls of light at each other. It’s all very lame.

Richard: You know what had a better fight scene? The Craft.

Jeanne: Yeah, it actually did have a better fight scene. They did show balls of ectoplasm flying at each other, though.

Then, all of a sudden, in the middle of the fight the dark-haired witch ascends. Which is to say that he thrashes around moaning and screaming and being struck by lightning. But once he’s done he goes all badass and flies at the fifth, managing to knock over all of the candles surrounding his unconscious girlfriend. Way to go, dumbass. The fight continues. Balls of ectoplasm go flying. At the last minute, when it looks like hope is lost, we cut to a scene of the dark-haired witch’s father deciding to die and give his power over to his son. Aww…that’s really…sweet, I guess? Back to the fight and the dark-haired guy starts fucking his shit up. Although a lot of what he’s doing seems to be coming really close to hitting his girlfriend.

Richard: She’s just his beard anyway.

Once he’s thwarted the fifth he runs into the burning barn to save his girlfriend. It’s only right considering he set the fucking place on fire.

Jeanne: Don’t you have a spell to make fire stop?

Richard: Apparently not.

Jeanne: Apparently witches are only worth throwing ectoplasmic balls at each other.

Richard: This movie’s just about balls. Which normally I would like.

Chris: You didn’t like it when it was in Shortbus.

The dark-haired witch rescues the blonde and police begin arriving at the scene. We all wait anxiously for that reliable horror movie fake-out where the villain comes back for one more shot.

Chris: I think there might be a twist ending.

Jeanne: Your mom’s a twist ending.

Jeanne: Is it gonna be like Carrie with a hand shooting up at the end?

Richard: Yes.

Jeanne: Holding a testicle.

But, as with every other aspect of the film, we are disappointed when no hands come up from the ground or charred skeletons come running out of the remains of the barn. Instead, the dark-haired witch gets into his car with the blonde, magically fixes his cracked windshield (I like to think that the magic he uses to do this ages him 10 years) and drives off into the sunset to the romantic sounds of Slipknot or some other similar sounding band. For future reference, the next time you feel like watching gay witches do yourself a favor—just rent “Buffy.”

The Saturday Night Itinerant Brooklyn Gang is:

Jeanne Lopez, Cookie Monster

Rick Sayre, Pop-Culture Critic

Christopher Wilson, Vampire Hunter.

BrooklynGang@picturesandframesmagazine.com

MUSIC:

Amy Winehouse – Back to Black

Just when you think (mainstream) music is getting a bit trite and uninteresting, you get a surprise and the music scene gets a much-needed jolt with the arrival of an extraordinary artist. This is exactly what’s happening with Amy Winehouse, and her latest release Back to Black. It’s a soulful ode to the 60s with a brutally honest take on life and love.

This 10-track release features the production of Mark Ronson and Salaam Remi. They provide the perfect backdrop to Winehouse’s heart wrenching voice and gutsy lyrics. The music is heavily inspired by the 60s, with shades of the Shangri-Las, the Supremes, Motown and Phil Spector and his infamous wall-of-sound throughout. That being said, you can expect great arrangements and top-notch musicianship. Brass and woodwinds accentuate “You Know I’m No Good,” “Tears Dry On Their Own” and “Just Friends.” Strings add an emotional dynamic to the lush orchestration of “Love is a Losing Game,” “Rehab,” and the title track. The superb layering of vocals and instrumentation will enhance each listen.

If nothing else, Winehouse’s voice is enough to garner attention. Hers is rich, powerful, soulful and sexy. It’s one that easily trumps many of her contemporaries in range, depth, and emotional display. Her timbre and phrasing can echo Dinah Washington (“Me & Mr. Jones”), Etta James (“Rehab”), Shirley Bassey (“You Know I’m No Good”), Billie Holiday (“Wake Up Alone”), and Lauryn Hill (“Some Unholy War”). While she may recall these greats, however, her sound is still quite unique. Winehouse could probably belt it out with the best of them but she forgoes the vocal acrobatics: She knows when to exercise restraint and when to let loose (“Love Is a Losing Game” vs. “Me & Mr. Jones”). She knows how to get just the right effect, feeling out the notes and lyrics.

As for the lyrics…. I’ll just say this—There aren’t too many artists who are as frank as she. It’s obvious that many of theses songs were inspired by love, several of which lean towards love lost and heartbreak. On the title track, she is saddened and torn at the end of a relationship and amazed at how quickly her ex rebounds. She admits she’s still in love, but while he “goes back to her, she goes back to black.” On “Love Is a Losing Game” Winehouse waxes poetic on the trials of love. She sings “Tho’ I battle blind/Love is a fate resigned/Memories mar my mind/Love is a fate resigned.” On “He Can Only Hold Her” Winehouse sings about a woman in a relationship with a man who tries but fails miserably at loving her the way she knows she should be loved. On “Some Unholy War” Winehouse pledges unconditional support by standing by her man. She flips the script on those that think she needs to seek support for her drinking on “Rehab.” She sings, “I’d rather be at home with Ray/I ain’t got 70 days/Cause there’s nothing, there’s nothing you can teach me/That I can’t learn from Mr. Hathaway.”

Back to Black is a masterpiece. You have it all here—great music, great lyrics, and great vocals in under 40 minutes! It’s bound to be on many of this year’s best-of lists. Winehouse has been well received on record and on the stage, so it’s just a matter of time before she really hits it big. Due to the album’s subject matter and tabloid fodder about her weight, drug and alcohol use, and relationships, many have dubbed her a “tortured soul” and music’s next “troubled genius.” Well, if people are proclaiming this and she’s getting massive tabloid coverage already, maybe she has hit it big.

Markell Williams - Music Critic

Air – Pocket Symphony

Being the long time Air fan that I am, you could say that I was fairly excited about the recent release of their 4^th studio album, Pocket Symphony. Unfortunately once I got it in my hands and gave it a dedicated listen I was surprisingly let down.

The latest work from the French pop-lounge duo is a collection of soft ballads filled with melancholic string and percussive arrangements. Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But isn’t that Air’s signature sound?” While the answer to your question is yes, in my eyes Air was always one of those bands that was pushing the envelope with each new album. Since their debut with the critically acclaimed Moon Safari, Air has managed to create a sound that takes elements from Vocal, Lounge, Electronica, Classical and Pop music.

This is the formula that has given Air the cutting edge, and until now each of their previous albums showed just how far you can go with a sound that borders on monotonous. I’m not saying that Pocket Symphony is not worth a listen (although it’s definitely coming in last on my list of best Air albums) but I do hope that you check out Air’s previous albums. Each is a gem filled with wonderful pop melodies guaranteed to take you to that French lounge in the sky.

Juanmarcos@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Various Artists - A Tribute to Joni Mitchell

Covering popular or classic songs can be a tricky affair. A cover version that is too faithful may be deemed pointless. Bringing something new to the song is risky, but welcome. For example, the tribute to Dolly Parton, 2003’s Just Because I’m a Woman, featured several country artists but threw into the mix people like Sinéad O’Connor and Me’Shell Ndegeocello. The result was fantastic. On the other hand, a project like Remembering Patsy Cline was for the most part so unexceptional that you might as well have put on Patsy’s Greatest Hits album. (You could even hear the exact same songs, in the exact same order. Ho-hum.)

Therefore, it’s understandable that a tribute to someone as legendary as Joni Mitchell might be worrisome. I recall reading a few years ago about Mitchell enjoying Janet Jackson’s “Got ‘Til It’s Gone” (which heavily utilized “Big Yellow Taxi”) so much that she was hoping Jackson would contribute to an upcoming tribute album. Years later, the tribute is here, but Jackson is not. Which is a shame, but may be the only disappointing thing about the album. Fortunately for us, Nonesuch Records has done a bang-up job with the risk taking.

The album begins with every hipster’s favorite genius, Sufjan Stevens, performing “Free Man in Paris.” Without really connecting to his music on a personal level, I appreciate Stevens for his amazing musical talents and he proves himself again with his audacious arrangement of the song. Next up is Björk, who’s take on a lesser known song, “The Boho Dance,” is marvelous; quiet and beautiful, it fits in perfectly here, but would have also seemed at home on her brilliant Vespertine album. Brazilian crooner Caetano Veloso maintains the jungle rhythms of “Dreamland” and proves himself (again) to be an incredible interpreter of songs. (For further proof, check out his album, A Foreign Sound.) Cassandra Wilson provides a spare and gorgeous version of “For the Roses,” a beautiful counterpoint in a way to k.d. lang’s “Help Me” with its wonderful luxuriant pop. Incidentally, both have covered Joni Mitchell in the past: Wilson sang “Black Crow” on her Blue Light ‘Til Dawn disc, while lang performed “A Case of You” and “Jericho” on her most recent (and underappreciated) album, the collection of songs by Canadian songwriters, Hymns of the 49^th Parallel. Five of the other tracks have been previously released, including Sarah McLachlan’s “Blue” and James Taylor’s “River,” as well as Prince performing “A Case of You” live. The album is perfect—not a bad song to be found. A worthy tribute to one of music’s most talented, amazing artists.

Rick@picturesandframesmagazine.com

Joss Stone – Introducing Joss Stone (And a Commentary on Being Yourself in the Music Industry—and in Life)

Joss Stone makes both a notable and shocking turn on her third release Introducing Joss Stone. What may come as a shock or surprise is not only the sound but Stone’s image as well (check out the CD booklet photos of Stone with pink hair, scantily clad, wearing only body paint and in an intimate embrace with singer/producer/musician Raphael Saadiq). This will probably be the album that splits her fanbase in half. While there will be those that love it, there will be many that do not.

Introducing, executive produced by Stone, is a 14-track set that features the production of mastermind Raphael Saadiq. The chemistry these two bring to Introducing is, in a way, unbelievable. Saadiq provides Stone with a musical background that’s funkier, edgier, more urban and more organic than her previous efforts. Introducing is a pleasing mix of soul, funk, hip-hop, rock, and blues. Saadiq’s arrangements bring all the right elements together. The songs are put together so well that they seem to flow into each other.

It’s apparent before the midway point that Stone was able to really let loose and reveal more of herself on this record. The spoken word intro entitled “Change” by Vinnie Jones sets the tone for what’s to come. On “Girl, They Won’t Believe It,” Stone sings about the joy and love she’s found in listening to her heart and following her dreams. On the sassy “Headturner,” Stone is not afraid to admit that she’s got it going on. If the guy that’s caught her eye doesn’t move fast, she’ll “find another man.” Because everything feels so right, Stone wonders where her relationship will go, while rapper Common urges the need to appreciate the beauty and blessing of what they have on “Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now.” “Music” benefits greatly from an interpolation of “The Mask” by the Fugees and features an inspired verse by Lauryn Hill; Stone and Hill both proclaim their love and appreciation for this wonderful thing we call music.

Introducing also showcases Stone’s vocal growth. She exemplifies better control, knowing when and when not to hold back. She seems to be at home singing funky, up-tempo tracks like “ Bad Habit,” “Tell Me ‘Bout It,” and “Baby, Baby, Baby,” mellow, bluesy numbers like “Music,” “Arms of My Baby” and “Proper Nice,” and lush ballads like “What Were We Thinking” and “Bruised But Not Broken.” And it wouldn’t be a Joss Stone record if she didn’t show off a bit on songs like “Put Your Hands On Me” and “ Girl, They Won’t Believe It.”

You get the feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg for Stone after listening to this album. She’s only begun to express herself. Stone doesn't seem to be an artist you can pigeonhole into one style of music. The risks she's taken on this record serve as a sign of things to come for the future. Her core fans will be happy about that.

Now, this is not a shot at Stone but more so a commentary on my observances on the industry over the last 10+ years. I’ve noticed that after a female artist’s third or fourth record (sometimes earlier or later depending on the artist), that something drastic happens with their music and image. (Apparently I’m not the only one who’s taken notice of this. There’s an April 2007 article on Esquire’s Website entitled “The Butterfly Effect” that addresses this as well.) The music is grittier, more adventurous, and might I add, riskier in style, tone and subject matter. Their image exudes glamour—it’s chic, it’s sexy, and sometimes downright trashy. With some artists, their image cries, “Look at me – I’m sexy too!” This change may be due to the artist taking more control of their career or maybe another push by the executives to make more money and increase sales. Sometimes it works in their favor. Sometimes it backfires. Sometimes their image and whatever they may be going through in their lives begins to overshadow their talent.

It’s utterly sad in the instances highlighted above and sad in the instance that so many artists have to play the role before they can truly be themselves on and off the record. The more I think about this the more I realize that this isn’t just an industry issue. This is an everyday life issue. We should be able to be ourselves. We shouldn’t have to hide, wear masks, or play roles to make everyone around us happy. We should honor our true selves and those who’ve liberated themselves from influence, expectations and pressure.

Getting back to the review…. Yes, Stone should be commended for making an excellent album. And it sounds silly saying this, but Stone should also be commended for just being herself. Maybe she will inspire others to release themselves from all that is keeping or bringing them down.

Markell Williams – Music Critic

Ola Podrida – 4.5 out of 5 stars

Ola Podrida makes it easy to forget everything but the moment. Initiated as a home-recording project by film composer David Wingo (George Washington, All the Real Girls, The Guatemalan Handshake), the self-titled debut album, released on April 24, showcases songs as moods, quick glimpses of emotions shared through layers of acoustics, harmony and occasional discordance. The result is an album that traverses the course of fluidity and turbulence, at once soothing and biting.

Thematically, the album plays as a train ride, the clink-clank of the guitar and piano repetitive, smooth to staccato. While the opening tracks, including the graceful “Instead,” pace along slowly, the world outside the train window flowing past in a bittersweet focus, closing tracks such as “Eastbound” speed up the momentum of the album, producing an emotional blur. Yet, even as the songs transition from melodic to upbeat, the through-line is the consistency of the journey. Appropriately, Ola Podrida reflects on this journey in the lyrics of “Lost and Found”: “If we both fall down, another train will come around/ Packed with others getting lost and found.”

Although as a singer/songwriter album the natural tendency in genre has already critically lumped Ola Podrida in with Iron & Wine and Sufjan Stevens among others, and although there are certain similarities in musicality, the intent and impact of this album diverges quite a bit from its easy comparisons. Yes, there are notes about love and there is nostalgia but, beyond that, there is a uniquely cinematic vision of the way in which these ideas are interpreted. It’s as if this album is meant to accompany a memory of digging through old photographs or replaying a scene of lovers at a café, an image sad and wonderful and a bit worn around the edges.

Quiet yet resistant, lovely but blatantly honest, Ola Podrida offers the details of the in-between—the settled and yearning middle ground between extremes.

For more information, visit www.myspace.com/olapodrida.

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com

The Story – Brandi Carlile

Brandi Carlile is everything a breakthrough artist should be: authentic, gifted and full of promise. It’s no surprise that her second album, The Story, beautifully showcases the dimensions in which she is ambitiously growing her voice and her impact within today’s circle of voices. Part Melissa Etheridge, Bonnie Raitt, Tori Amos and Liz Phair, Carlile draws from a collective of fiery, bold female artists who have something real to say. With gospel guts, rocker rebellion, bluesy passion and songwriter sensitivities, Carlile is poised to inspire and lead her peers, present and prospective. She can belt and break your heart, all at her near twenty-five years.

While her title track was recently featured on Grey’s, it is the handful of tracks you won’t hear in upcoming montages of McDreamy and Meredith that capture the essence of this collection. “My Song” is pure personal statement, where “Josephine” and “Cannonball,” with support from the Indigo Girls, and “Again Today,” will knock you sideways as they embrace Carlile’s baked, tender reflections, woven in a web of deep honesty. Warmly and keenly produced live with the legendary T-Bone Burnett, Carlile and her band, the Hanseroth brothers, create and connect to life head-on; it’s only just beginning to reach an eager audience, ears perked and pressed to the songs that make sense again and again.

Jehan@picturesandframesmagazine.com

BOOKS:

Top 4 left to right: Kurt Vonnegut, Norton Juster, Edward Albee, Richard Brautigan. Bottom 3 left to right: George Saunders, Robert Crumb, Roald Dahl.

Author Kurt Vonnegut (1922 – 2007), a central figure of literary absurdum with a poignant bent, is best known for the iconic phrase, “So it goes.” Yet, in his works from Slaughterhouse-Five to God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, Vonnegut entirely shirked this blasé and instead grafted onto the American consciousness a sense of skepticism. In a post-war society, his work pointed out the humorous darkness of social mores, challenging everyday perceptions.

On April 11 Vonnegut passed away at age 84 in New York's Mount Sinai Hospital, and although it might seem tempting to launch into mini-reviews of his numerous novels in the wake, that would be all too simple, and not at all, as Vonnegut would have desired, surprising. In memoriam, what follows is a brief glimpse of the works of six additional brilliant absurdist writers as deserving as Vonnegut of attention.

Edward Albee (1928 -)

In an interview with The Paris Review from 1966, playwright Edward Albee commented, “When I was six years old I decided, not that I was going to be, but with my usual modesty, that I was a writer.” Best known perhaps for Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The Zoo Story and The Sandbox, among others, Albee delved into American hypocrisy and uncertainty without the least bit of moral flinching. His early works are at once seemingly light-hearted and bitterly difficult to read, often making social statements about the ways in which humans treat each other, or rather mistreat each other. 

Robert Crumb (1943 -)

Comic artist Robert Crumb started off drawing innocuous pirate comic strips with his brother Charles. As captured in Terry Zwigoff’s documentary Crumb, the socially awkward pair bounced off each other’s ideas for years before Charles’ depression pitted him in an acute turn for the worst. Still pushed by his brother’s nagging determination, Crumb made his way into the San Francisco comic scene and inadvertently played a large part in launching an underground movement defined by overt use of sexual exploits and subversive messages about intellectualism, racism and politics.

Although the mainstream knows Crumb primarily for his Keep on Truckin’ drawings, these are not in the least the bulk of his work. Criticism of his sketches and comics often rallies around feminist complaint that the misogyny inherent in every cell regresses the state of women’s liberation. Crumb, however, has always stood by the idea that while he may indeed unconsciously hate women, a consequence of the tenuous relationship with his mother, his comics only speak for his specific experiences.

Absurd and disturbing equally, Crumb uncovers the modern American neurosis with a bit of smoke and a bunch of tit.

Norton Juster (1929 -)

A far leap from Crumb’s X-rated comics, Norton Juster’s The Phantom Tollbooth sits on the shelves of nearly every children’s section in the country. A play with semantics, clichés and metaphors, the book reinvents a child’s imagination through a twist of phrase. Published in an era in which children’s book were allowed a great space for creative wandering, The Phantom Tollbooth, while not outwardly didactic, carries with it important themes about modern complacence in a world increasingly in demand of activism and forethought. Take for example, this sequence between the main character Milo, who is stuck in the Doldrums, and a watchdog--a dog, that is, with a ticking clock in its center:

“I suppose you know why you got stuck.”

“I guess I just wasn’t thinking,” said Milo.

“PRECISELY,” shouted the dog as his alarm went off again. “Now you know what you must do.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” admitted Milo, feeling quite stupid.

“Well,” continued the watchdog impatiently, “since you got here by not thinking, it seems reasonable to expect that, in order to get out, you must start thinking.”

Juster, just through this exchange and the many other quirky moments in the book, impresses his audience, arguably one of the most important mainstream audiences, children, to think clearly, often and with an appreciation of the silliness the world offers.

Roald Dahl (1916 – 1990)

Yet another children’s book writer, Roald Dahl is much beloved for books such as Matilda, James and the Giant Peach and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Through his witty take on family and society, he impressed his readers equally with a sense of wonder and also of the harsh realities everyday people can face. While on their surface the stories all play with the fun-loving, issues of child negligence, poverty and abandonment often plague Dahl’s protagonists.  As in so much absurdity, there’s a darkness that seeps through the humor in his work. Not overpowering, this darkness drives Dahl’s work into the most important area of the human heart, the place of compassion. 

Richard Brautigan (1935 – 1984)

Writer Richard Brautigan’s work is not for the faint of heart; it’s an eccentric, splice of life mixture of flash prose and poetry that flows and stagnates without any narrative linearity. Simply put, it’s wonderful and impossible. Best captured in Trout Fishing in America, the sense is one of a cartwheel—the reader’s head in the right place and then the wrong place in a circular, or perhaps, spiral pattern.

At times universal and at times so hyper-introspective that the reader feels Brautigan’s sharing an inside joke with himself, the work is layered with sentence upon disconnected sentence, but it’s worth its weight in density for the laugh. 

George Saunders (1958 -)

Heralded by critics from The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal, and with short stories published frequently in The New Yorker, George Saunders is blessed with the gift of empathy. Despite placing his characters in the most absurd situations—from running dying theme parks and observing scientific experiments on test subject monkeys—Saunders writes from a standpoint of utter humanity. His work is always moving, innovative and full of love for characters, if not for love of the situations they are placed in.

(Interesting side note: Ben Stiller bought the film rights to Saunders’ CivilWarLand in Bad Decline years ago to be produced by his production company. The film is still “in the works.”) 

Noralil@picturesandframesmagazine.com

FICTION:

Long Sentence

By Courtney Heilman

            She went around the room

            Where she had spent

            So many happy years

            In her childhood;

She turned

And looked

At the spring green Victorian

Slipper chair,