film history #h

We got back the exam grades from last week’s mid term in class tonight. Let me just say that seeing the long faces from all my peers when they received their grades had said it all. I mean this is a film history course, how can someone fuck up their GPA by flunking what is, essentially, an easy class? Yes, I admit that getting that “A” didn’t come to me naturally, but showing up to class and taking notes is.

This week, our professor kicked off class by deciding to reshow the D.W. Griffith short film, “A Corner In Wheat” because, as he said, it has some connotations with today’s failing economy due to oil prices and that whole sub prime housing loan foolishness. My professor is right about the fact that this film does reveal a truth about today’s socio-economic situation: the rich will only get richer and the poor will only end up getting billy clubbed by the police and shot at for their troubles. Oh, what wonderful times that await for us in the certain not to distant future! Mark my words: D.W. Griffith had said it would be like this first!

Today’s class also marked the beginning, (in the syllabus, at least) of the era of the talking motion picture. A technological advance in the industry that also ironically, brought with it the rise of the popularity of the “gangster film” genre. As long time members of my faithful reading several would know, is an film genre that I fucking despise. The correlation between the rise of this two fixtures of the film industry are connected by the fact that movie writers like to write tough sounding, fast paced dialogue for the gangster characters. Some people may think that ’snappy” dialogue such as “You see, someone is gonna kick out your teeth one by one” is all tough sounding and what have you, but to me, it sounds very campy and I just can’t take the threatening gangster character all that seriously for the rest of the film.

Tonight’s film was the 1931 gangster film ”The Public Enemy.” I know, I was going to take the easy way out and crack jokes about Flava Flav, Terminator X, Professor Griff and Chuck D through out this review, but aren’t the careers of the former members of this one time revolutionary rap group already a big joke? I mean, Chuck D had, at one time, “sold out to da man” and was a commentator for Fox News! I suppose this means that his claim about rap music being the black man’s CNN is false. (Ha! God, I kill me!)

Oh, where was I? Oh yes, “the Public Enemy” was a 1931 vehicle for James Cagney and Jean Harlow that also set up the basic story template for all gangster films that came after it:You know, the tough street hood, and his dame witha heart of gold, who works his way up the mafia ladder and once on the top, he loses control and he falls back down. I mean * yawn* what an interesting story arc that just keeps me on the edge of my seat with suspense through out the entire film. Good thing that I brought my copy of the Migthy Book Of Boosh along with me to class tonight, otherwise, I would’ve fallen asleep during the film.

Next week is fall break, but two weeks from now in the syllabus: The production code, 1930’s musicals and “Footlight Parade!”

jareddriskill

Oasis “dig out your soul”

Oasis/Dig Out Your Soul/2008

I don’t know why but when I first heard of this release several months back, I somehow knew that this would be Oasis’s most brilliant album to date and now that I have gotten my grubby mitts on this album (as a side note, this does bring up a not so burning philosophical question to ponder: how does one physically hold a digital release? Through his laptop or ipod?) I have to safely say that my intuition was, indeed, correct. 

Before I go any further with this review, I will make a bold statement about Oasis: I believe, nay, I KNOW that they are the greatest post modern band in the world! By ”post modern,” I mean that their ideas aren’t always original, but its how they incorporate old ideas into their material in such new and interesting fashions is what makes them brilliant. (Or, in other words, they are the greatest band in the world because, simply, they say that they are.) Their lack of success in Amercia stems from the fact that most of my American peers are too dim witted or too lazy to research the history and the influences of the band to understand the context and the brilliance of the concept of Oasis. (I mean who else would write a song called “Rock and Roll Star” back when they were struggling youths playing to small crowds at the local pub? Brilliant! But out of proper context it sounds like someone is just full of themselves.)

But with “Dig Out The Soul” I have to say, wow, they finally have written an album, in this millennium, to back up all their shit talk. Not that the band were always shit, mind you, it’s just that their past several albums “On the Shoulder Of Giants” and “Heathen Chemistry” were really just not up to snuff. Their last proper studio album, “Don’t Believe The Truth” was a step in the right direction, but it was lacking in some indescribable factor to make it truly great. I don’t know what gave the group that extra push to greatness on this album, but whatever it was, I strongly encourage them to keep on keeping on with it. ( Who knows, maybe they just simply re-listened to the material from last year’s 2 album best of set, “Stop The Clocks,” to get the group in the proper frame of mind.)

Not that Oasis has written another rock n roll classic, they have also matured as song writers, giving this album a slight psychedelic sonic edge. (Don’t worry, I don’t mean “psychedelic” in a hippy dippy, “everything is going to be alright if you take acid” sort of way. I don’t want you to think that the Brothers Gallagher have softened with old age.) “Dig Out Your Soul” is also the first album in a long while from the group where you can’t play the ”pick the 1960s song they stole that riff from” game with. (At least not with the first several listens, or maybe it’s just that their record collections are just that more obscure than mine and therefore, their riff stealing tactics from the past has become more creative over the course of time.)

Noel, Liam and the lads have written the best album of the year, hands down. But the question is: will the music buying (or in some cases, music pirating) public be willing to accept this fact?

jareddriskill

random item tuesdays

1. I must be failing in my profession of an anglophile and living under a rock to not have recognized the comedic genius of british comedian Russell Brand. I recently subscribed to his podcast from BBC Radio 2 and I have to say that anyone who can get Oasis guitarist, Noel Gallagher, as a regular guest color commentator is a “genius” in my book.

Speaking of podcasts, another great podcast is the well thought out and irregularly released Stephen Fry’s podgram which is available from either itunes.com or stephenfry.co.uk

2. Looks like we in the beginning stages of total world wide economic ruin!  Woo hoo!

It looks like my long standing opinion/view of the apocalypse being a series of economic crisis’s instead of some religious mumbo jumbo about some Antichrist coming on the world scene may be correct. I hate to sound like a environmentalist whacko, but let’s face it: the world can’t sustain the short sighted lifestyle we have been currently living.

Here’s an example of the sort of shortsightedness I am speaking of: I could’ve told you, my faithful reading several, a few years ago something was going to happen when I was working the HVAC gig where assistant fry cooks at McDonalds were somehow obtaining $500,000 new homes. I remember speaking to a building contractor several years back if he was worried about some sort of economic backlash when these new homeowners somehow defaulted on their mortgages. His reply “I don’t give a fuck, I’m making money right now.” The last time I heard, this same contractor ended up declaring bankruptcy because he kept cranking out hastily assembled new homes that didn’t sell and won’t sell.

3. More retail stupidity: a customer came up to me the other day and asked “If something is not on the shelf, does it mean it’s out of stock?” No, we knew you were coming so we hid that item from you intentionally.

jareddriskill

the end of the line?

Yes, I’m afraid it is true, my faithful reading several, the plug has been pulled on The Best of Soul Train. It turns out that the show’s new distributor had only picked up Soul Train because it was part of a back end package deal with the syndicated American Idol Rewind series. The new distributor allowed the show to finish out it’s syndication contract and then dumped the apparently unwanted Soul Train and quickly sold the syndication rights to the American Idol show to someone else. (Of course it didn’t help that WGN decided to stop carrying the show either. I mean, the nerve!) But what can I say? These things happen in the entertainment industry all the time.

An once important piece of African American pop culture is now dead. But hold back those tears because we do have the possibility of future dvd releases of episodes (depending on music rights) and the “Soul Train” feature film is still slated to come out in theaters next year! Who knows? Maybe Don Cornelius Productions can persuade TV Land or some other basic cable tv station to carry Soul Train and give the show a brand new lease on life. Always remember, no matter how dark things may look, there is always that crazy little thing called hope.

Until next time, (and there will be a next time) you can bet your bottom money because it will be stone gas, honey! So, on the behalf of Don Cornelius, The Soul Train Dancers and myself: love, peace, and SOUL!

jareddriskill

brent loses his keys

Brent didn’t know what the hell he was thinking when he accepted the position of “office/business manager” of the hospice wing at his local regional hospital. He imagined himself working in “a fulfilling career” where he could “help his fellow man easily transition from life to that great mystery that awaits us all” (actual pull quotes from the free brochure that the hospice gave Brent when he first applied for the job. The same brochure also re-appeared in his new employee packet once he was finally hired, a fact which struck Brent as strange.) 

But as Brent quickly found out on his first day of work, is that all the “fulfilling career” bullshit in the brochure only applies to staff members that actually see and care for the clients. (i.e. the nurses, chaplain, social worker, ect.)  Brent’s role as “office/business manager” as it turns out, means that he spends 8 hours a day in a cramped, broom closet of an office trying to negotiate through the confusing bureaucratic maze of billing forms and paperwork that is known as Medicare part B. That and sitting in endless, boringly soul crushing, staff meetings.

Brent tolerated sitting through these staff meetings because A: usually there were fresh bagels and cream cheese on the conference table during these said meetings. B: these meetings also provided a much needed break from filling out all those seemingly endless forms in his cramped office.  So as a result, Brent usually showed up early to these meetings and seated himself next to the plate of bagels so that he could ensure that he would get a cinnamon raisin bagel, which was his favorite.

Sitting next to the plate of bagels at the conference table also meant that Brent also had to sit next to the Director of Human Resources, Cathy, who also attended the meetings solely for the bagels but she didn’t try to hide this fact by faking taking notes during the meetings like Brent did. During one particularly boring meeting, Brent decided to himself that Cathy looked like an obese version of the Wicked Witch of the West (complete with a huge ass wart on her nose) who also seemed to be able to grow a better goatee on her double chin in a 2 hour time period than Brent could if he tried for a million years. Cathy also wore a wedding ring and made numerous vague references to her husband who ‘mysteriously” is never named in her vague stories about her boring ass life. But the thing that made Brent hate Cathy even more than the fact she was a mouth breathing, lard ass, bagel eating bitch with a fake ass husband was thefact that Cathy worse those trendy looking square-ish looking eyeglasses which Cathy thought made her look “all that.” Needless to say, Brent prayed each night before he went to bed, that tonight would finally be the night that Cathy would commit suicide. And each morning as he showed up for work, his faith in god, which was non-existent in the first place, was crushed yet once again.

Brent and Cathy were at a stalemate over their war for “the seat of power” ( which was Brent’s term for sitting next to the bagels) until the day that Brent “accidentally” lost the key (it was in his back pocket the whole time) to the administrative bathroom, forcing the office staff of the hospice wing to use the ‘lesser’ restrooms that the housekeeping and laundry staff have to use for an unbearable 45 minutes one rainy Tuesday afternoon in October. Brent thought all was forgiven until a few weeks later when during a particularly less formally run meeting when Cathy made a smart ass remark to the effect that “no wonder Brent was so dumb for losing the bathroom key when it was in his back pocket the whole time because he also pretends to takes notes during meeting to hide the fact that he’s only here for the cinnamon raisin bagels” causing the rest of the staff in attendance to laugh.

Brent flipped his fucking wig and jumped up and grabbed Cathy by the throat (or as much as his hands could fit around her fat neck) and began to choke her shouting “at least I make the effort to pretend I’m not here only for the bagels like you do, you fat, worthless, no husband having cunt!” and laughing like a total maniac, which he was doing when security came to escort him off the hospital premises.

film history#g

Wow, exam time already. Luckily for you, my faithful reading several, you didn’t have to take notes in class and then go home and actually study for this danged thing because otherwise you would’ve easily finished your exam in under 5 minutes like yours truly here. (Not to bang my own drum too loudly or anything.) Like all exams in college (or otherwise) the exam is actually easy if you show up to class, take notes and actually pay attention to what the hell is going on when the professor is speaking. (He isn’t standing up there for no damn reason, you know.)

Or in other words, if I weren’t such a failure as a writer: cramming is NOT learning. When are my college aged peers are actually going to learn this?

Anyway, after the in class exam, we talked briefly in class about Dada and Surrealist cinema. Dada and Surrealism may seem like the same art movement to those those who aren’t art majors, such as myself, but the main distinction between the two movements is this: Dada was about randomness for the sake of randomness and Surrealism is randomness presented in a narrative but with a communist/socialist underpinning.

Or… in 1977 British punk rock terms: Dada were the Sex Pistols of the art world (destroy, no future, self destruction) whereas, Surrealism is the art world’s version of the Clash (a more watered down version of punk with a strong leftist philosophy, which turned out to be more popular with the overall general public for some godforsaken reason.) To bring this point even further home: the split between Mick Jones (represented by Salvador Dali) and Joe Strummer (represented by the rest of the Surrealist movement) is that Salvador Dali broke free from the surrealist movement to make loads of moolah (Jones’ more pop rock direction ala “Combat Rock”) while the rest of the movement stuck to their guns and stayed poor. (Joe Strummer’sill fated 1986 Clash album that was so bad that it was officially excised from the Clash’s back catalog shortly after it’s release. And that’s really saying something, because I think that the Clash really fucking sucked.)

Due to the unnaturally extra long nature of the in-class exam by my aforementioned less studious peers, we only were able to see three of the scheduled short films in class this evening. The first being “Return to Reason” by Man Ray which was mercifully short (2 min) film composed of placing random objects on raw film stock and then exposing the film. It looked kinda neat, but using a modern day perspective, it really looks like the end result of a bad film project for a junior high art class.

The second film was Marcel Duchamp’s “Anemic Cinema”  which was actually cooler than Man Ray’s effort, which was shots of spinning discs that looked like hypnotic wheels that visually lulled me into another world  (or as David Letterman used to say back in the 1980’s, “Help me! Help me! I’m being hyp-NO-tized!”) interspersed with random Dada automatic word poems. I do have to admit: I wouldn’t mind having the hypno wheel footage as a screen saver. (Does anyone know if such a screen saver exists?)

Tonight’s last film was a poor 3rd generation VHS dub of “the first and only true Surrealist film,” Luis Bunuel’s and Dali’s “An Andalusian Dog.” With it’s ethereal, dream like quality, this film makes the entire output of The Mighty Boosh look like a really bland version of “Mr Rogers.” Holy fuck! I just know that this film will give me nightmares for weeks to come! As if my dreams weren’t already fucked up enough (please see the dream log section of this blog.) This film is a work of indescribable genius. All I can say that the eye ball slicing scene in the first minute or so really sets the tone for the complete fucked-upedness of the rest of the film.

Next week in the syllabus: talking movies and “the Public Enemy!”

jareddriskill

random item tuesdays

1. Any pro-lifer who bases his or her stance against abortion on the premise that all life is precious has apparently never worked in retail. The next time you are at an abortion rally, tell those wacky pro-lifers to go work a job in retail for a week and see if their stance on the issue would change or not.

Die, human scum, die!

2. Speaking of those crazy fundamentalist christians, I was out eating lunch the other day at a restaurant when two middle aged ladies at the table next to me were having a battle of church one upmanship about which of their respective churches was “doing more of the lords work.” (Have you ever noticed that “doing the lord’s work” is always brought up as a vague concept/context before the speaker of that deadly phrase does something totally fucked up against their fellow man?) One lady in this conversation was obviously was just repeating whatever the other woman was saying but adding just a little bit more to make her church look that much better in comparison: “Oh, your church has drug rehab outreach program for homeless men? My church has a drug rehab outreach program for homeless men and women!” The one lady just could not figure out that the other woman was just egging her on.

I suppose you just had to be there.

3. One of my male coworkers told me today he was embarassed to buy condoms while one of his female coworkers was working the register. I just don’t understand the reasoning behind his embarrassment. I mean it shows that he’s taking proactive measures against STD’s and unwanted pregnancies. Now if he was buying hemorrhoid cream, then I would understand.

Of course this brings up an important question: why did my co-worker confess fact this to me?

jareddriskill

the 2008 virginia state fair

2008 will be the last year that The Virginia State Fair will be held in the capital city of Richmond, and seeing how I have never been to a state fair before in my life ( yes, I know it’s hard to believe, my faithful reading several, because I am such a well adjusted fellow, but I did lead a somewhat deprived childhood) I decided that I better go now or else I will never the get the opportunity to go the the Virginia State Fair which will be held somewhere in northern Virginai from 2009 onwards again. (And the idea that I could always use some more diverse content on this website, had also helped to influence my decision to go.)

Minor gripe number one: While driving to the fair, I kept thinking I was getting lost because I figured that along the the highway and byways leading up to the fair that there would be some temporary road signs stating “state fair this way”  or something pointing you along the right direction. There weren’t. And with gas prices being what they are, one can’t afford to be driving aimlessly, you know.

Parking wasn’t too bad at the Richmond International Raceway complex, where the fair was being held, though I have to admit that the parking was great only because I decided to go to the fair at 6pm on a Sunday night, when most people were eating supper and then getting their children ready for school the next day. After paying for walk around tickets for my girlfriend and I ($26) we were instantly confronted by our first and only display of Virginia “heritage.” Two Native American dancers wearing traditional outfits, dancing traditional dances to the tune of new age music cover versions of Elvis songs. (I shit you not.)

Minor gripe number two: The illusion of traditionalism was ruined even further when I noticed that one of the dancers, who looked like he was one the verge of passing out from dehydration, was wearing his traditional “black nike air jordans” and he had those ear plugs in his ear lobes that stretched this ear lobes open wide enough that a small child’s fist could pass through. The Native American fellow running the booth was also playing around boringly with his “traditional” iphone.

One of the reasons to go to a state fair, one assumes, is to look at the animals, which we declined to do because, frankly, livestock smell and today had been a hot humid day, if you catch my drift. There was a chimpanzee show going on shortly after we arrived, but the throng of people around the exhibit was so thick that you couldn’t see a thing. Unless, of course, this exhibit was some sort of metaphysical statement about the primitive herd state of most people in attendance at the fair, as evidenced by the ubiquitous blue round McCain/Palin stickers that everyone seemed to be wearing on their t-shirts. (However, to balance things out, I did see one bootleg looking air brushed Obama t-shirt out in the crowd.)

However, when you go to the state fair, make sure you take a small bank loan along with you. Your basic walk around ticket doesn’t include rides, as I quickly found out. There was a bracelet that one could buy that allows you to go on an unlimited amount of rides, but seeing how I have an irrational fear of losing my glasses while spinning on a ride and the fact that my girlfriend has a heart murmur, we decided to go the next best option, which was a sheet of 25 ride tickets ($20.) But seeing how each ride takes a different amount of tickets to enter, it turns out that a couple can go on two rides before they are left with a conundrum: not enough left over tickets to go on more rides together with. So if you were “on fire” to go on more rides, you had to buy another sheet of tickets.

But, unfortunately for the greedy captialist nature of the state fair, we had set out to go on two rides only: the Ferris Wheel (which I had planned on yelling”hail satan!” at the top of my lungs when I was at it’s apex, but forgot to do so because I was just having too much fun by yelling “whee!” ironically) and the Tilt A Whirl, which is my girlfriends favorite ride. I ended up giving my remaining five tickets to a young mexican girl that happened to pass us by on the fairgrounds.

There were numerous carny games that looked like money grabbing scams that my girlfriend and I were just too jaded to play even just for a laugh.

The food was great, but expensive: two polish sausage and pepper sandwiches ($14) one funnel cake ($6) and one candy apple ($2.50.) However, eating these items were enough to stuff the two of us to the point that simple tasks like walking had become Herculean in nature. When that feeling hit, we knew it was time to leave.

jareddriskill

why is it…

…when you are male above the age of say, 25 or so, single, and who likes to keep his home clean, people always assume that you are mentally ill, or worse, gay? ( I’m not saying that I personally think that being gay is worse than being mentally ill or anything, its just seems that in the eyes of the modern American public, the people who judge me for my perceived quirk of having a clean home when I am single, that being mentally ill is more acceptable than being gay. Of course back in the 1950’s or whatever when being gay was considered a mental illness things sort of evened out, public perception wise. Although the mentally ill back in the day were also subjected to forced electro shock therapy sessions, so I guess there are no winners in this argument.)

Whenever I go out to buy cleaning supplies the following transaction with the cashier occurs.

cashier: “I see the Mrs is making clean house.”

me: “I’m not married.”

cashier: “Okay, your girlfriend then.”

me:”No, believe it or not, I like to keep a clean home without being forced to have one by the constant nagging of a woman.”

cashier: stunned silence with a twisted look on their face that eitehr says “He keeps a clean house?!?! This honkey bastard be trippin!” or “What are you, fucking gay?”

me: Standing there with tears in my eyes shouting out in my best ABC After School Special dramatic whail “Nobody understands me!!” And then I run off crying after I paid for my purchase with my bags in my hands bouncing around and hitting my legs as I run.

What I am saying is the reason why that I keep my home fairly clean, ( although my home would certainly never pass any intense 16 point white glove inspection, it is neat) is because filth and squalor sickens me because it is a personal belief of mine that states ”people who voluntarily live in filth and squalor are inherently lazy, and lazy people just fucking piss me off.” If this belief is a sign of a oncoming mental illness, then I say so be it. I know it is not a sign of being gay because being gay is about who you love. ( But I do love having a clean home. Gasp!)

But otherwise, I think that my quirks are perfectly normal.

jareddriskill

film history #f

I don’t know if it’s the suddenly changing weather or the fact that I intern at a health care facility full of sick elderly people or I have unconsciously uncovered some sort of deep seated latent racism (I kid you assuredly) but I developed one hell of a sinus headache this evening which made it hard for the author, that’s me, to concentrate on tonight’s film history topic, Black Cinema, or as the genre was called back in the day, “Race Films” or “Midnight Rambles.” (Hey, I didn’t make those terms up! Save those rotten tomatoes for my racist ancestors back in the day.)

The Black Cinema movement began around 1916 as a backlash against the popularity of the D.W. Griffith pro KKK historical drama, “Birth of A Nation” as a means to promote black lifestyle and to give African Americans positive, prominent roles in films. The Black Cinema movement also help birth, in an indirect way, the modern independent film industry because films from this genre had to develop their own means of production, promotion and distribution, so just like rock n roll, the next time that you enjoy an independent film take some uncomfortable knowledge in the fact that the modern independent film system was basically ripped off from hard working African Americans by some rich, snot nosed white devil.

Tonight we had two documentaries about the Black Cinema movement, the first ( the title of which escapes me at the moment) was a short film featuring a young Danny Glover re-enacting clips from the films of the African American auteur, Oscar Micheaux. ( Which by the way, brings me to my weekly Mighty Boosh reference in this series. The pronunciation of the name Micheaux had reminded of a lyric from a Mighty Boosh crimp\, which goes a follows: ”miso miso, fighting in the dojo, miso miso, oriental prince in the land of soup!”)

Of course, Danny Glover is Danny Glover, but why couldn’t they use actual Oscar Micheaux film clips instead? But the cool thing about this documentary is that the reenacted clips are interspersedwith interview segments from other major film stars from the black cinema era, such as my favorite: Lorenzo Tucker, ” the Black Valentino.” With a name like that, how can you not be cool?

The second documentary was “Small Steps, Big Strides” which I failed to watch because my sinus headache had just made it too painful to watch any flickering images on the big screen. I originally was going to compare this film to my other favorite documentary about early 20th century African American civil rights struggle, “Eyes On The Prize.” But I suppose that it was just not meant to be.

Next week on the syllabus: The first exam and afterwards, Dada and Surrealism in cinema!

jareddriskill