My Life in Review

Hugo (2012)

2012-02-04T13:09:00.000+11:00

Okay, this is Scorsese's latest flick and I was really excited to see it...

I'm not saying I want my $18.50 back, but I do wish I hadn't spent it. This film is a rental at best - it certainly didn't require 3D. It took me just under an hour to earn that money and I certainly didn't get an hour's worth of enjoyment out of it. That's my barometer.

Hugo is Oliver Twist except he lives in early(?) twentieth century Paris in the walls of Montparnasse Train Station maintaining the clocks and a mysterious robot. Having been there it was kind of cool to see how everything was represented. The set design was beautiful. Having been through the Metro myself, I was impressed at the likeness. There certainly are cafe's and bookstores and it doesn't take much to throw your mind back to a time where people danced in the restaurants and had Shakespeare and Co-esque floor to ceiling bookstores. It was nice. It was a magical setting.

And that's where my enjoyment ends. Nothing happened. I came to the realisation that this really was a kids film - totally for kids. No ultra-violence, no drugs, no gangsters - basically all the things I love about Scorsese films weren't there and there was nothing else left to fill the entertainment vacuum. To be honest, if he hasn't got buckets of blood and strung out Italian actors, his films aren't much.

But what about the homage to film? What about Scorsese showing his history and his love of the cinema? Yes, it's kind of cool, but only if you've studied film at university will you recognise any of what he's talking about. Yes I have, and yes I thought that part of it was cool - but there's a film called Cinema Paradiso which nailed it about 30 years ago, and much better. I think it may be the only film I've cried to.

In any case, I could see what Hugo was trying to do, but there have been people who did it before Scorsese and better than him. Unfortunately a real misfire on his part - But it's so French and quirky! Hence all the award nominations. Again, if you're looking for French-quirky look at Amelie, a much better example. It just felt as if the whole thing had no heart whatsoever. A Scorsese film without the heart and without the blood isn't much of anything.

Also, sidebar, is that train station a fucking steam factory? It seems to be all it produces. Everywhere you went there was fucking steam and yes it looks cool in 3D but you get a bit fucking sick of it in four fucking seconds. Ease up on the steam, my god.

Also, from what I can tell, all trains approach the end of the line at full speed. That's how it works right? We don't gradually slow down, right guys? We approach at full pelt and slam on the breaks. That makes sense, right? Idiots (I don't care if that train out the window was a nod to film students, I didn't like it. Start making sense. Obey your own internal logic.)

It's because it's Scorsese and no producer is going to tell him how to run his business that this film was such a bloated, smelly, beached-whale. It's Scorsese, the man's a genius, how do you correct him? How do you give Scorsese a bad review? But he's never made a kids film before and the studio did what they always do and threw money at him trusting he'd make it work. He didn't, and what we're left with is like that green-vomiting-every-moment-I live-is-agony-patchwork-monster from the Simpsons. An utter mess that could've had a solid hour cut from it in order to be watchable. Had Scorsese not have had final cut on this film it would've been pretty good.

Sacha Baron Cohen is good, I looked forward to his bits. Classic physical comedy.

(How did Jude Law die? Nobody ever explained that...)

It's not a bad film, that's the worst part. It's just tragically average and for such a constellation of bright stars to be associated with something average seems almost worse. Missable.

The Importance of Being Earnest - MTC (2011)

2011-12-30T00:28:00.000+11:00

Okay, you got me.

It's not often I've got good things to say about the Melbourne Theatre Company, but you got me guys, you got me good. I'm not sure if it was the heady combination of Oscar Wilde, Geoffrey Rush and money or if it was the celebratory champaign I had beforehand but I was simply in the mood to enjoy this play. And I did. Couldn't help myself.

No revolving sets, thank god. It's the first production of anything I've seen since my return from Europe a few weeks ago and I would've hated to have been affronted immediately with another GM-esque orbiting monstrosity. I simply couldn't bear that if they did it to Oscar Wilde. Especially with me just having visited his grave in Paris (GOD I'M AN INSUFFERABLE WANKER!).

The set was truly something to be marvelled at. A beautiful, simple idea. executed well. The concept was simple enough: a flip book that opens into a set. An idea, it occurred to me, that many have probably had but haven't had the extensive resources available (as they are to the MTC) to pull off. It made me happy to see responsible use of their funds for a change. Though the construction of the set itself appeared impressively sturdy, it did seem a little plain in its design. A little colour and vibrancy wouldn't have gone astray - but I understand they were trying to remain faithfull to the 'picture book' concept and that's quite admirable of them - they certainly pulled it off convincingly.

Acting was fairly strong all around. Miss Bracknel (Christie Whelan) was a tad grating at times as when she would feign surprise (I mean it's a farce, either go balls to the wall or don't try at all, but halfway in-between doesn't do it for me) but the stellar performances of Geoffrey Rush as Lady Bracknel and Patrick Brammall as the foppish anti-hero Algi made for wonderful chemistry. It was good to simply see pros at work. A company who has a lot of experience, a lot of money and a lot of means sitting down with a good script and doing a faithful adaptation, well. No projections, no improvisations, no painful devising process and no scent of patchouli oil in the air, just simple good fun.

I feel bad about that previous comment about Ms Whelan, but the only moments that took me out of it were hers.

The only real gripe I had with this production was the price-tag. Capitalising from the star-power lent by Geoffrey Rush's presence, the MTC saw fit to charge me $140 for my ticket. Whilst it was a lovely show I am still a student after all and certain things are beyond me. Had the price of my ticket not been subsidised by a rather too-loving parent I would've been simply unable to go. The MTC normally charges $30 for people under 30 for the rest of the season, I don't see why this production should be any different. The fact is that no piece of theatre could ever be worth that amount of money, anything above $60 strikes me as rather absurd, especially when there are other shows out there charging a lot less with totally empty rooms.

I'm a hypocrite, I know. I paid like all the rest of them, rather than going to those 12 fledgling shows I could've afforded, I know, I know. It's just a shame, that's all.

Overall, a solid show that for me was a more than satisfactory nightcap to a rather fantastic year.

Cheers

Chunky Move's 'Assembly' at the Melbourne Recital Centre

2011-10-10T20:19:00.000+11:00

Wow. Just wow.

It's not often I see a piece of performance and actually gasp. I gasped. I gasped like a 12-year-old girl gasps when she rides the mechanical pony for the first time.

'This is amazing. How do I get more of this?'

I'm usually a straight theatre guy. Not much for contemporary dance, not much for people smearing themselves with mayonnaise and yelling 'Labia! Labia!' at the top of their lungs. I appreciate devised work to a point but most of all I like to sink my teeth into a gritty, well-structured script that deals with hard issues.

Assembly is not that. But I loved it nonetheless.

The thing that amazed me most was how little I was able to anticipate. In a play it normally strikes me very quickly what's happening and what's going on. I can see it coming. Chunky Move's production was the opposite of that. Because all of the elements worked so well in concert together it was absolutely seamless. There was no moment where you caught something offstage, or some screw-up that broke the illusion. They want you to look somewhere, so you do. Then all of a sudden a formation has been created and it seems to make perfect sense to you. Of course these dancers are arranged that way - how could they ever not have been? How have they not always been that way?

It was so many things all at once. A cacophony of sound, light and colour. An amorphous blob of kinetic energy that was a writhing crowd in one moment and a haka the next. A machine that moves itself. Entirely mechanical, yet entirely organic.

To top it all off the dancers were performing from a kind of series of steps. Like in a gym. The word for it escapes me, but this added a whole new dimension to the piece. Dancers were of course restricted by this space, but seemingly unencumbered. Such fluid falls, rolls and climbs are the things that dancers aspire to.

Absolutely beautiful, especially in conjunction with the music. As someone who has no background in dance whatsoever I was able to get something very deeply profound from this piece. I was not bored for a second and I would thoroughly recommend students of dance (or any performing arts) to go and see this- or any other- Chunky Move show.

Horrible Bosses (2011)

2011-09-19T14:50:00.001+10:00

Horrible Bosses is pretty cute. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. The plot is pretty straight-forward - three employees plan to kill their bosses because they're douche-bags. The fact is, they let this cat out of the bag way too soon; this, in fact, nearly prevented me from seeing the film. Another case of bad marketing. Let it be a surprise, otherwise the whole lead up to the decision to kill the bosses feels forced. I get it. They're going to try to kill their bosses, that's why I'm here - don't force the ethical dilemma that we know is going to be overcome. Get to the coke snorting and the butt-shaving.

That being said, the 'leap of logic' wasn't very convincing. They go from regular guys to murderers rather quickly, it's a bit jarring. Either commit to it by making it realistic or totally farcical. People appreciate characters with a bit of grey. Make the first murder an accident or something. There are ways to transition into death that could be darkly humorous - see A Film With Me In It (2008)

Jason Bateman and Charlie Day will seem familiar to their fans. The snarky douche and the hyperactive weasel - that's what they do. But I didn't really mind, these characters were entertaining and they were sympathetic enough that I could get behind them. Just a good old fashioned comedy of errors. Good fun.

Jennifer Aniston was good. She was a convincing nympho and sex object - which I think she needs at this point in her career. It's been a while since the days of Rachel and Ross and she needs to feel a bit sexy. That's fine, I'd still put one through her. Good on you Jennifer ;)

It's the first comedy in a while that I can get behind. It's solid. There are flaws, but I got past them. All the characters are so thoroughly likeable that you gave a shit. The importance of which is not something to be understated. I need to like your characters in order to laugh with them. And I actually did, out loud and all. After such a slew of disappointing comedies in the last few months (Cough, Hangover II, cough) it's good to be able to go to a cinema and cut loose with some decent laughs. 8/10.

Good News World Ch 10 - Monday's at 9.30pm

2011-09-05T22:47:00.002+10:00

Good News Week was a comedy game show that focused on weird and political news and through a series of games and guest players would make satire of the news. Great fun. It was a solid format and generated great laughs and entertainment for many years.

Recently the people that brought you Good News Week have returned with a new show Good News World. It's more of a political comedy variety show. Think The Daily Show meets Skithouse. They're brought on some of the regular guests as permanent cast members and it seems a bit more free-form and I'm worried.

There are no consistent comedy sketch-shows in Australia. The only ones I can think of were flash-in-the-pan at best and I'd really hate to see some people that I really enjoy watching take a dive because they can't sustainably make an hour of content a week. The game-show method was perfect. Enough pre-planned material that you can have a show if nothing else comes up and plenty of material to riff-off if something presents itself. Funny, insightful and clever.

Believe it or not, the sketch format is hugely limited. Everything not only needs to be written up in advance, but also needs to be memorized, rehearsed, filmed, edited and rendered before it can be shown. This leaves less time between conception and production and thus things regarded as obviously 'contemporary' news will be passed up for obsolete material that will have already passed from the public's consciousness. Think if the new news is huge, it'll seem odd that you're not mentioning it. Also, think of all that time you would've spent polishing, lost.

You can't have a new song every week. You can't have a huge new dance number. You can't have a glitter cannon and explosives. You can't keep ironically slapping down Masterchef and Underbelly. In the duration of a single show it got old.

It's not without laughs. Sammy J bring some freshness, but ultimately the show is a big misfire. It's a shame to see, really. I can only hope they concede defeat quickly and revert to the old format because I definitely won't be watching the show as it is.

jt

'Hamlet' by the Melbourne Theatre Company (2011)

2011-09-05T18:40:00.001+10:00

Okay, I normally don't do theatre reviews but this play has been playing on my mind for the last few days.

Ewen Leslie (Richard III) stars as Hamlet in this years production of Hamlet. The problems I had with this production were mainly to do with the fact that it was Hamlet and the fact it was on at the MTC. I went to go see it because I really enjoyed Ewen as Richard III last year and decided to take a chance.

I've had it drilled into me from my left-wing, unwashed, patchouli oil, granola loving performing arts course that the MTC is the worst thing that's ever happened to theatre - but I decided to try anyway. There is something to be said for actually having a budget. You can get good actors, good sets and good costumes. Nothing lets down a production more than having production values that are so bad they stifle the action. So here we are, at the MTC. Where the money's at.

MTC FLAWS:
- Too much money. If I want to so see some shit revolve I'll put a turd in a microwave. It's wonderful and avoids blackouts and lost time, but by the same token, offices don't spin. It's a great way of forming images and a clear set allowed for some interesting background scenes, but after a while I just ended up being concerned about the stage-hands having to remove things without being seen. When you do see one it's a huge victory, and you realise you're not paying attention to the action. Fail.

- Minimalist Design. I'd love them to design my house. It's like a film where the main characters have too much money and live in urban-splendor whilst their emotional lives crumble from the inside. Great. But you realise after a while that there's nothing to actually look at. It's all clean lines and arrogant corners and you get the impression that the crew 'polish' the set before it comes out. If you're going to have a huge set you need to put something in there so my eyes don't wander.

- No diversity. It was almost freaky. There wasn't a single black, asian or maltese person. It was almost like a clan meeting. Chuck in an Asian. Just for fun. Jeez.

- Not daring enough. They pick a lot of old plays and simply throw them back on stage again and again. I remember seeing Hamlet specifically not too long ago from the Bell Shakespeare company in the Arts Centre. Maybe a different shakespeare? Maybe do something a little more inventive than putting them in suits? You can be a traditionalist and keep all the old dialogue, but set it somewhere interesting.

HAMLET FLAWS:
- Too long. Yes it's a great exploration of character in a very early text but it's too long. I know, I know It's shakespeare Jorge, shut the fuck up, but it is too long. A revenge fantasy could could easily be done in 90 mins. I don't need to see a play within a play to get the point. Do something.

- Improbable. The text of Hamlet relies on so many coincidences it barely deserves examination. Hamlet gets attacked by pirates, manages to not only survive but ingratiate himself to them, get passage back to Denmark and then happens to be perusing graves at the exact time Ophelia's being buried. Right. Never mind that all that shit was the most exciting stuff that happens and it occurs offstage!

- Everyone dies. You could still have an acceptable tragedy that tied up all the loose ends without just copping out and saying 'fuck it, everyone dies.' There are better ways to end a play.

So, knowing all this already about the MTC and Hamlet it was really my own fault I put my $47.15 up for grabs when I could've bought like 6 burgers or something. I enjoyed it, don't get me wrong; I just got what I came for. I wasn't surprised. It was the best production the MTC ever could've done of Hamlet. So well done?

- jt

Getting my priorities straight

2011-08-02T09:51:00.003+10:00

I'm not sure exactly where that saying came from, but it's a part of my consciousness now.

Now that this thing is over I can get my priorities straight. I would argue that all the times (excepting sleeping and sex) your priorities are generally straight. You generally know what you need to do and when you need to do it by.

Me playing Assassins Creed is me having my priorities straight. If I didn't then I wouldn't. Generally if I'm smashing some sexbox it's because I have time to. I've never been on a eight hour deadline until the final paper is due and think 'Man, now is a good time to smash some Borgia. Those guys are dicks!'

I'm not amazing. I don't have some kind of lame organisational super-power. I make lists, and I have a mildly functioning, luke-warm brain. You don't need to be a genius to figure out when something needs to be done and do it before then.

But constantly I hear people say they're going to get their priorities straight. Like somehow they'd thought that surfing with the turtles in the Galapagos Islands was more important than making rent. Modern life is all about priorities and there's no way you wouldn't have them straight because then you'd be homeless. Or a drug addict. Or Both. Or all three?

It's like people saying 'actually' or 'literally,' it just seems a little redundant. I mean, I know you're actually annoyed, because I can hear your tone and see your face. What's even weirder is that I can hear your face and see your tone. (Damn synesthesia!) You don't need to throw in extra words so I know you mean it - I get the point.

The fact is, people like to talk. People like to share their opinions and even if it's something as small as talking about how the weather in Melbourne is always changing and wasn't it just sunny a minute ago and haha, that's Melbourne for ya - that's something they need. They need other people to know that they exist and can think and are still alive. So even if they say some dumb shit like 'well now I've got my priorities straight,' you should probably just smile and congratulate them. That's all they wanted in the first place.

All anyone wants is for some people to cry in a room after they're gone.

X-Men: First Class (2011)

2011-06-13T23:01:00.002+10:00

Finally, a film that lived up to my expectations.

This was essentially a period piece that incidentally had super-heroes in it. The narrative and characters came first and I think that was the greatest success of the whole thing. This film wanted to tell a story - and that story was best told with super heroes - so it used super heroes. I hate films that have decided that their subject matter is superheroes so they just slug out another mediocre film based on that premise.

Cough. Wolverine. Cough.

The story was about characters. Professor X and Magneto's relationship was beautiful and heart-wrenching. They inspired each other and aspired to greatness. It was really the relationship which was the subject matter of the film - and the backdrop of the Cuban Missile Crisis provided the whole thing with the grandeur worthy of a superhero film. What's a bigger deal than the end of the world? Sadly, I think, it even taught some of the audience members about American history.

This film had so many things against it: origins, remake, reboot. They could've easily made a total hash of it. There's been a spade of superhero movies recently and not all of them have been diamonds in the rough.

They've mostly been rough.

The relationships could've been cheesy, the action token and the origins story bland and boring - they managed to make all these elements work. It's a simple premise: if you care about the characters then you're more likely to give a crap about them learning how to use their powers. By filling out these characters and giving them backstories and inner conflict the film was brought into the world of the real.

There were lots of sexy ladies, which I appreciated. January Jones stars as Emma Frost, playing the same frosty bitch she plays in MadMen, and was very sexy. Rose Byrne was also sexy as the CIA agent who tied the whole 'government intervention' thing in nicely. Mystique was played by Jennifer Lawrence of Winter's Bone fame and was also greatly sexy.

Many sexy ladies.

My problem was that none of them got their boobs out. I mean, as a film-watching audience we can be so contradictory sometimes: we're happy to watch constant gratuitous violence - but god forbid we see a pair of tits. Magneto can crush Nazi skulls, but a nipple, no way!

James McAvoy and Micheal Fassbender were both amazing. Fassbender is clearly the breakout star of this film. I think his superpower is acting. He acts hard. Single tear falling down the face Native American style and everything. It was intense. It's a shame that he didn't get more recognition from his part in Inglorious Bastards, he was fantastic in that too. He's going to be huge.

Kevin Bacon and Oliver Platt were both great in their rather smallish roles - I think they're greatly under appreciated and would like to see them in more stuff. Platt particularly provided some great comic relief in such an easy and effortless way. Give this man more work damnit!

What I'm saying is Matthew Vaughn did a great job of putting together this story in an interesting and engaging way with some great actors - not an easy feat considering the genre.

8/10.

Facebook: The Performance of Identity

2011-06-09T16:53:00.003+10:00

Okay, this is going to sound a little wanky.

Okay, a lot wanky.

I do believe there is some merit behind this line of questioning: merit that will be made worthy by greater men and women than me. I'm here first, however, so I get to call shotgun on future academic theory.

Here's the situation: I do believe that Facebook has done something to the fabric of society. Something that no other social network, even website, could ever hope to achieve: It's tied itself into our identity. Perhaps it will not always be the case. Perhaps there is a bigger, better social network coming, but for now, this is it.

Facebook is so ingrained in our culture.

You share your happiness: so-and-so got the job! (20 likes)

You share your disappointments: so-and-so got dumped (23 likes)

You share the minutia of you daily life: so-and-so ate a sandwich (500 likes)

Facebook has become what the best friend used to be: a port of call for instant validation at any time of day or night. I'm sure I've only gone to sleep once or twice because there was nobody left on Facebook to talk to. Sad but true.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those chicken little's that say the sky is falling and it's Facebook's fault. Not at all. Facebook has done great things for being social. It's made it easier to get together for events and to stay in touch with people that aren't close by, etc. But it has definately transformed the way that people create their identity.

For example. Take the Facebook Profile: Customisable, to a certain extent. Full of photos of you and little updates about your life. Places you've been and places you want to go. All of these are under your full discretion, however. If you don't like a photo of you, it's possible to un-tag yourself. The photo still exists but is no longer linked to your profile - your online identity. In this way it's very easy to 'edit' yourself to appear a certain way - to craft your identity. By only showing what you want seen of you, you are projecting an image of yourself as you would have other people see you.

It's not a wonder that all the pictures on Facebook are of people at parties; what a better way to say to the world "hey, look, I'm a cool guy, look at all the parties I go to," than to have pictures of yourself right there on your profile, going to parties. You can't contradict me, here's the evidence. I'm fun.

The most recent (and I think insidious) feature of Facebook is the 'check-in' feature. On your mobile device you can choose the place where you are and it broadcasts it in your Facebook feed. You can also see people who are nearby, as if there would be a chance that you might interact with them. If there is a better way of projecting your identity to the world than defining the places and establishments that you frequent, I haven't heard of it. In fact, the whole notion of theatre in the 1800's was not that you'd go to see theatre, but rather that you'd go to the theatre to be seen. Only the upper classes could go, after all.

The same is true of the 'check-in' feature. Whether it comes from an arrogant place or not, you are placing yourself somewhere on the social ladder so people can judge you and validate you, in record time; in a way that is, as yet, unparalleled by any other.

This brings me to my final point: if Facebook is a performance, is it then art?

If we agree that the act of updating an infinitely large notebook of whens, wheres, whose, whys and hows, is performative, then isn't it performance? Isn't it then art? Could there be a day when whole exhibitions are online? When an exhibition or performance becomes Facebook? Could there even be a performance event which is just simply a Facebook account? All these questions seem extremely relevant to me and worthy of anthropological study. But for now that's all I have to say. If I have any more thoughts about Facebook I'll be sure to let you know.

'Like' me so I won't cry.

Jorge

The Hangover Part II (2011)

2011-06-05T14:58:00.008+10:00

Never has there been a wider gap in the quality between the original and the sequel than between The Hangover (2009) and The Hangover Part II (2011).

I went into the first one expecting nothing. I was pleasantly surprised. The characters were interesting enough that I could connect with them and the plot was ridiculous enough that it made for a hilarious situation. The action, plot and direction was all fresh and the stars all lined up and it was the biggest comedy film release of all time. OF ALL TIME!

The stars did not line up again. It was too good to be true.

Director Todd Phillips took the reigns again - but rather than get the same writers he got different ones. He actually wrote some of it himself. The result was a re-baked plot which can most accurately be surmised by 'Uh oh, we did it again!' and characters that were so far removed from the originals that they were barely recognisable - and most importantly, not funny.

Zach Galifianakis, who is an extremely funny dude (Between Two Ferns, it's hilarious) went from being an eccentric kind of dude to a blubbering retard. We knew his character was kooky and weird - but this new incarnation of him looked as if he'd been kicked in the head by a very belligerent horse and left to bake in the sun. He was wholly unsympathetic and only had a few mildly funny moments where he said things that shouldn't be said in places where he shouldn't say them. Hahaha, retards don't understand social conventions. The world continues to spin.

There were so many penises in this film! There must have been one for every 9/10 minutes of screen-time. I mean, they were in Thailand, so I was expecting to see some lady boys, but Jesus. I mean, it wouldn't be so bad if we saw some vagina, or at least a comparable amount of breasts - but no, just a lot of cock. It would've been funny in a 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall' kind of way if it weren't so constant. And to all the audience members who gasped only when we saw her cock (never mind she said 'blow my load') you are all fucking idiots. I'm not the only person in the room who reads books, am I?

The guy they're looking for this time is Teddy. The brother-in-law. He turns out to be stuck in the lift rather than on the roof - but the principle is much the same. He's a cellist/surgeon. Is nobody pissed about his finger being cut off? He even seems fine with it. Oh well, lost a finger - that's Bangkok for ya.

Also, stop saying 'Bangkok has them now,' like it's a thing that people say. People don't say that. Just because you acknowledge that it's a stupid line ("Why to people keep SAYING that!") doesn't mean it's not a stupid line; and it's certainly not tag-line worthy. This whole thing has been an awful cluster-fuck. Like a grenade full of shit and spiky dildos. Which went for nearly two hours. There's a reason all the positive quotes in the trailers are from the last film.

I didn't laugh once.

The main point of this is that it was a less good, smaller scale, less interesting version of the last one. It might have been a half-decent film if I hadn't already seen it. There are books, musicals, periods of history - all of which are ripe for cinematic production. Lets try and make NEW films from now on. Let's try it, you never know, it may not be a piece of crap. MAYBE.

2/10

Source Code (2011)

2011-05-26T11:03:00.005+10:00

Jake Gyllenhaal plays an army captain who wakes up in a wacky room. Slowly we realise that he's been magically 'injected' into the last 8 minuets of this guy's life over and over again. He's gotta find out who bombed the train. Shit gets real. The end.

Okay, I'm going to warn you - there will be some spoilers.

You have been warned.

This film was great. I was having a really good time. I could suspend my disbelief of the whole impossible science thing. Sure, you got this guys brain and you can convert the brain chemicals into electrical impulses which you can experience in a computer. Sure, why not? But as soon as you start changing things you loose me. Just cause you get this information from one guy doesn't mean you can re-create the entire world. You can only know what this guy knows. Sure, you could watch the whole event one-hundred times: but according to the science that you set up it doesn't make any sense that he can alter things. Where is this information coming from?

Perhaps a way to get around this is to claim that somehow 'memories are stored in DNA.' We figured it out and as a result we can get a hundred different overlapping opinions of the same train. If nobody was there to remember it: it simply doesn't exist. Again, you can't change things - but at least you could observe from dozens of different perspectives. You could make a mystery out of that easily.

Okay, so there's that thing.

I could've got past all that. The film was so charming, so fast-paced, so exciting that I really could've ignored all the flaws if they tied it up with a decent ending. I wanted it to work. I wanted it to succeed to badly. It had got me on-side.

Then the last two minutes happened. He dies but for some fucking reason he's still alive in the source code. He gets to bang the shit out of the sexy Michelle Mohnagen, the end.

NO NO NO NO NO!

He's supposed to die. They freeze in the final kiss. The end. No happily ever after. No alternate universe. No nothing. THE END. FUCK. Why do they have to Hollywoodize EVERYTHING??

FUCK.

Cut out the last 2 mins and you'd have a great film.

4/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 37: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011)

2011-05-20T11:19:00.004+10:00

Or as I think it should be called 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Now in Technicolor!" This film had flashy special effects, a classic McGuffin plot and sexy ladies in bodices. How could it have gone wrong? Because this is the fourth time we've seen it. Replace cursed gold with the fountain of youth and give Kiera Knightly some breasts and you have the same film.

The 3D is a gimmick. There are times where you can tell they went out of their way to show it off - but I think the most noticeable difference is that my wallet it $4 lighter. You can easily see this thing in 2D and still appreciate all the special effects and whatnot. No need.

Penelope Cruz is really pretty. Also, the mermaids were pretty too. They were kind of like water vampires that had Spiderman's abilities. It was quite weird, but also a very cool scene. I'm not quite sure how mermaids didn't make their way into the series until right now - but there you are. Your dose of sexy ladies.

That being said, ladies on such pirate vessels always seem to emerge unscathed. I've read stories about real pirates: raping is pretty much all they do. Raping and pillaging. They would not tolerate hunky priest getting all the aqua-poon - no sir they would not. These pirates are meant to be ruthless cunts. But it's Disney: we can show all of the violence - but none of the tits!

There were lots of unexplained magics (mermaid legs, black beard's sword, cups, the black pearl all of a sudden being a piece of shit) which annoyed me. It's fine to introduce new elements into this fantasy realm. They just need to make sense with the internal logic of the world you have created. One line about why Blackbeard's sword had magic powers would've been fine.

"Oh, that sword, he stole it from a leprechaun. It's got magic sailor powers."

"Cool, now I know."

They kept recycling the same score as the very first film! Lazy. I understand it's catchy but at least get someone in to riff off the original or do something totally new. Each of the Star Wars films had a new and catchy sound track. Surely such a big budget film could do the same.

All the good stuff was in the trailer. Seriously, if you want to save some money just look below.

Last ten mins of the film was a sequel set up. Not that I mind, they have a bit of a habit of doing this - but it seems to me that after four films you can probably leave the situation open ended and the characters will just pick up another adventure. You don't need to set it up. We get it, you like getting a cheque.

It's what I expected. A fun, big budget, action film with some actors that I quite like. Everything barring the special effects left a lot to be desired - but I wasn't surprised. I didn't feel like I'd been jibbed. I felt as if I got exactly what I'd set out for. I don't think it deserved only 35% on rotten tomatoes. I wasn't bored and that actually says a lot.

5/10

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 36: Inside Job (2010)

2011-05-08T19:11:00.006+10:00

Inside Job is a documentary which explores the world-wide financial crisis of 2008 and tries to identify those responsible. Everyone is corrupt and full of shit and greed. The world is fucked. The end.

It's one of those films that it's odd to say; but I really liked this film. I mean, I don't like the fact that things like this are happening - but I think it's a really well made film. The graphics, the cinematography, the language and the subjects are all crisp, clear and intelligent.

What's most impressive about this film is that you don't need any specialist knowledge to be able to understand it. The film does really well to make it clear, in layman's terms, what exactly is going on. I'm actually surprised that I understood as much of it as I did. I mean, considering how dense the subject matter is, it's a real achievement.

That being said, I still don't know what the fuck a derivative is. Seriously, anyone who can explain it to me will get money.

It does leave me rather disenchanted with the state of the banking system in America - and around the world, for that matter. I feel rather impotent. I mean, after Food Inc I had certain avenues open to me: try to buy locally, don't eat meat, etc - but after this I kind of feel like there's nothing I can actually do about the situation. Especially since the people identified by the film-maker as the causes of the problem are still in power. Very frustrating.

Overall a stunning documentary with excellent interviews and an important message. Well worth seeing. A real triumph of the genre. 10/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 35: Paul (2011)

2011-05-01T16:37:00.003+10:00

Paul is an alien from outer-space (not Mexico) and he runs into a couple of Sci-Fi geeks from London (Simon Pegg and Nick Frost) as he tries to escape the government's clutches. Shit gets real. The end.

It's a basic sort of 'help the alien escape' plot with some 'road-trip' features thrown in - but what the script lacks in structural complexity it more than makes up for in satire. The characters are likeable, funny and absurd. Exactly what you need for a parody. Good casting for Jason Bateman and Bill Hader as the douche-bag FBI agents - but I feel like Seth Rogan was too obvious as the 'stoner alien.' He needs to stretch himself.

The film had some really funny moments - especially in its incessant referencing of sci-fi culture. There were a few moments where I found myself laughing balls at some obscure reference that struck a chord. However, I was the only one laughing. This is a problem when you're trying to create a broad comedy - you can't have too many intertextual references otherwise you're going to alienate (pun!) the audience that's out of the loop. And unless you're a fairly big nerd like me, you can count on it.

The film was good but could've used the benefit of Edgar Wright's direction. Pegg, Frost and Wright have worked on so many projects together that they get each other by now. Wright has got such a snappy style that it drags the comedy out of situations that would otherwise be boring - and he knows how to direct the shit out of action. The direction in this was flat and a little generic and was a little disappointing to be honest. I didn't even bother to memorise the director's name - something which I normally do. Out of the Pegg/Frost collaborations this has definitely been (sadly) the weakest.

That being said, the weakest of a good bunch is still pretty good. I enjoyed this film. It was a good bit of fun and had strong moments - but it's not the best thing I've ever seen.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 34: Thor (2011)

2011-04-27T21:29:00.004+10:00

I honestly thought this would be bad. I went in and laid down my hard earned $19.50 and got those d-bag glasses knowing (for sure) that this was (definitely) a bad idea. Now, maybe it's because my expectations were (clearly) low - but I actually really enjoyed this film.

It followed along the Tron: Legacy formant: Lots of amazing special effects with a running theme of ridiculous and flamboyant grandeur. A solid, if a little temperamental, medium.

Thor was everything he was supposed to be: Eight feet tall, long blond hair and dreamy blue eyes. And he made quite a funny fish out of water. Juxtaposing this man with Stalin Skarsgard as the slightly plump Irishman professor-man made for some laughs and actually got you to like these characters. When you think about it, Thor is the God of Lightening, he doesn't strike you (pun intended) as incredibly light-hearted (that's two!), but the director Kenneth Branagh (of Hamlet fame, I know) does well to bring the human out of this myth. You give a shit.

Now, don't get me wrong - there are some ordinary moments (script and plot-wise) in this film; but I think they're saved by the production crew, the actors and the direction. It easily could've swung the other way and been an Iron Man 2. Things like Natalie Portman for some reason believing this raving lunatic (Thor) in that he's a Nordic god seemed to take me out of it for a moment. Also, just because you hit someone with your car in a lightning storm doesn't mean he has all the answers - it just means he can't read street signs.

Also, maybe it's just because I've watched a lot of films - or maybe it's because I have a basic understanding of semiotics - but I was not surprised when Loki turned out to be the secret bad guy. I mean, I saw Thor, the blond child, and Loki, the black haired douche and I turned to my friend sitting next to me and I said: He turns out to be the bad guy. Watch.

And he did. No surprises there. Maybe make that a surprise. That deserves to be a surprise.

The film was definitely marketed badly - because I realised soon after it started that I had no concept whatsoever of what it was about. I was going in blind. Something about a dude and a hammer. That's it. I didn't even know that ACADMY AWARD WINNING ACTRESS NATALIE PORTMAN was in it! That's a selling point, people! Use it! Jeez.

Overall a solid action film with strong moments and a good cast - which didn't overstay its welcome! It's so annoying when films do that! I give it 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 33: Rabbit Hole (2010)

2011-04-26T12:53:00.003+10:00

Rabbit Hole is a 2010 film directed by John Cameron Mitchell. This may seem like a new name - but he's been around the block a few times. His forte seems to be exploring the dirty and disturbing aspects of society and it comes through well in this story. For a quick example of his work check out the music video for 'First day of my life' by Bright Eyes. Very sad.

The film was adapted for screen from David Lindsay-Abaire's play of the same name. Fortunately he was the one to adapt it - so it remains largely faithful to the original intention of the play. ATTENTION HOLLYWOOD PRODUCERS: This is a good thing. Do this. Have the original author as a part of the production process. It's not hard.

The film is set in the suburbs of New York eight months after a tragic car accident has killed Danny, the five-year-old son of Howie (Aaron Eckheart) and Becca (Nicole Kidman). The couple, now past the initial shock and grief are trying to get their lives back on track.

I really liked this film. The photography, through lots of long shots and extreme close ups with a shallow depth of field, managed to show the extraordinary isolation of these characters. It's almost hard not to relate to them. Anyone whose lost any kind of relative will be familiar with the suffering.

What I love most about this film is that it deals with a rather taboo subject - child death. Not that I love child death (obviously) but rather that this film fearlessly delves into the issue. It's never 'alluded to' or 'suggested' you see these characters almost physically wrestling with these demons inside their head. You are never lost in 'what is this character thinking?' you know - you always know. But the death is never shown. You barely become familiar with the face of the child - at this point he's just a name - but he's a presence that pervades every part of this film.

Nicole Kidman was good. I kind of see her as an uptight, control-freak anyway, so I think she suited the part (i.e. Australia, it was a very similar character when you think about it). That was a bit of a back-handed compliment; what I'm trying to say is she suited this role. After I saw that she was one of the producers, I got a little turned off though. I mean, she's an academy award winning actress - yet she needs to set up her own star vehicle? I don't know, it seemed a little 'eh' to me. Like she specifically thought about doing this film 'Oh okay, he kid dies and she cries a lot. Oscar!' Not cool.

Aaron Eckheart does not get enough credit. Ever. He played the supportive, yet disillusioned husband quite well. His little subplot with Sandra Oh was as subtle and emotionally wrenching as Lost in Translation. There were no overt signals - but you could see the inner conflict. It also makes me a little sad that his first choice after this was Battle: Los Angeles but hey, everyone needs a cheque.

I thought that it was interesting that the film was set eight months after the death of the child. I would've thought that for 'maximum impact' they would start the timeline on the actual day of the accident. After some reflection though, I realised that the film wasn't about the tragedy of death (not in the immediate, visceral sense) but rather the tragedy of life. Of having to live past your son - but also having to deal with the daily minutia of life. Still washing, cleaning, cooking, gardening, working - all the things you have to do as a person to function in a society.

The film wasn't about grief or shock or obsequious sorrow - but the pain of having to rebuild your life once its been totally shattered. About simply figuring out what comes next when it makes no sense to go on. The peripheral characters that the parents encounter try to soothe them with the normal platitudes (it must be so hard for you, etc) and these sound especially hollow once we start to see the real, irreversible suffering of these people.

Despite releasing all the plot information in the trailer the film still had some surprises. There were relationships that surprised me and characters that moved me. It was a very powerful film and definitely one worth watching - but not if you're feeling sad. This one will destroy you.

9/10

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 32: Never Let Me Go (2010)

2011-04-04T15:08:00.014+10:00

Ruth, Kathy and Tommy attend an idyllic boarding school in the English countryside in the early 1970's. But as they grow older they realise the place is home to some terrible and haunting secrets. You find out they're non-consentual organ donors, they try to stop it. They don't. The end.

I liked this film. It was kind of like The Island without the sci-fi grandeur and the overexposed star-power-action-block-buster-ness. It succeeds where much of The Island falls short and falls short a lot where The Island succeeds. For one this is not an action film. It's not exciting - you know that these characters are always going to die. It's their fate to become organ donors and part of their character development is coming to terms with this fate. It's what would happen if an indie director caught the script of The Island before Hollywood was attached.

Something that annoyed me was that none of the characters ever tried to escape. I mean, if knew I was going to 'complete' (ie die in a terrible amount of pain and sickness) from people stealing my bits I'd get the fuck outta Dodge. I mean, they had these metal things on their wrists which seemed to document their whereabouts - but that was never explained nor was it ever challenged. It was just there and that's the end of that.

It would've made more sense if we had've gotten a sense that they were being brainwashed from a young age at the school - but there was no real evidence of this at all. In fact, them 'rehearsing' social behaviours like buying things from a store seem almost counter-intuitive. If you know these kids aren't going to have to function in society, why bother? Just brainwash them into believing it's some religious rite or some great sacrifice they're making for the 'good of England.' To me it seemed like they had no motivation not to run away. Human survival would prevail over any amount of fear.

Use all the organs! I mean, if you're going to spend millions of dollars to school and keep healthy human incubators for delicious, delicious organs why not use all of them at once? It seems almost cruel to stretch the process out over several operations - and they don't take all of them. Only a liver - or a lung. It doesn't make fiscal sense - but because we only see the world from the donor's perspectives there isn't a chance to critically analyse the cost benefit analysis of the authority.

Perhaps this is for the best. It keeps the film in an 'alternate-univerise' kind of feel. Like High-Fantasy, it was set in England - but really nowhere. It was its own place. It was a concept - like a short story - that was extended out to a feature length film. If this doesn't sound like your thing - avoid it. It's like a concept album.

What it made me think of is if cloning was able to have free reign from ethical limitations. It seemed to me like it was a meditation on the nature of cloning and the 'soul,' rather than a thoroughly structured narrative. There was no exposition, conflict and resolution - it just was. It started, went for a while and then ended.

What was really insidious and more sinister than 'exposing the corporations MAAAAN' like in The Island, was the notion that the entire world was okay with and had fully accepted the notion of 'forced donations.' I think the film made a very profound commentary on the banality of evil - you got the feeling these people were just free-range human-cattle. It reminded me of the Nazi's. It made me sad.

Performances from Keri Mulligan and Keira Knightly were good and the script-adaptator and DoP did their job well. One of the results of having the writer of the base material as an integral part of the creative process.

Not a perfect film, but very touching and (strangely) enjoyable. 7/10.

I hate my own writing

2011-03-31T20:23:00.001+11:00

I hate my own writing. I get sick of it. I get sick of looking at the same fucking sentence that I didn’t think was good the first fucking time again and again and again and again. It sits there. It taunts me. It’s like an old alcoholic grandmother who says nasty things to you while her barely lit cigarette dangles from her thin, grey lips.

For example.

I already hate this. It’s taking every fibre of my being – no scratch that – every cell in my body is scream- no scratch that too. Cliché. Ugh. Even saying cliché is cliché.

It’s taking a significant portion of my willpower not to pound that ‘delete’ button until my screen is returned to its natural sparkly white tinct.

For example.

Nothing worse than a writer talking about writing. There’s a terribly romantic notion that the tortured Boehme sits in front of his dirty typewriter, bent cigarette dangling from his mouth as he crumples up (yet another) sheet of paper, discards it and yells “damn it, it’s not good enough!”

I think I want a cigarette.

There is no artistic voice. People always say that,

‘find your voice,’ and

‘nurture your voice,’ as if it’s something tangible.

Like there’s some little man in your head who you’re trying to decipher. Like you’re trying to interpret god through your pen. Or keyboard. Or whatever. Ignore the man behind the curtain.

‘Ask yourself if you have to write. If you can’t live without it. Only then are you a writer.’

Um, no. If you write things you’re a writer. Nobody has to do anything.

Breathe. Eat. Drink. Shit. There are things we must do. On the list of elements of survival I don’t think writing is even in the top ten. Or twenty. I feel better when I’m writing. I feel better doing this than what I was doing ten minutes ago. Than what I’ll be doing ten minutes from now. It’s a thing I like to do and I do it. I don’t know if it’s good. I don’t know if you like it or ‘get’ it. Frankly I’m not overly concerned – but I think that’s mostly because I don’t really care about things like that.

‘What are you trying to say? Only when you know what you want to communicate can you really be a writer.’

I don’t know what I want to say. Often I don’t know I’m writing till I ask people to leave the room because they’re distracting me. From what? Oh, I’m writing.

Oh shit.

If you want to write, write. There’s no such thing as talent. There’s no such thing as a ‘calling.’ No artistic voice. No ‘right’ way to do things. There are words. Sometimes they hit – more often they miss. Sometimes they miss for decades, centuries before it hits someone.

Don’t believe the hype – just put pen to paper.

Review Recap

2011-02-10T21:36:00.002+11:00

I just want to talk a little about the project I did over the last month. Reviewing a movie each day was no small feat. And I know about small feet (I dated an asian girl).

I think it was good. Helped me keep occupied and stay not bored. What's more is I think I've actually found a direction and formula for this blog that kind of works and that people like. The result of this being that I'm going to primarily post movie reviews on the blog from now on. Sure, they'll be the occasional short story and poetry blah, blah, blah, that I used to do - but that'll come in second to the reviews. Nobody's going to miss them because nobody really read them in the first place. So there.

Now obviously the movie reviews won't be every day like they were over the last month - but on the other hand they will all be about up-comming films. Those are the films that I'll be seeing on a regular basis - because I see films. That's what I do. The reviews will be fairly frequent, but not enough so as to actually make you care about what I'm doing. So there's that. I'm just ensuring my status as a marginal act for the years to come.

I hope you enjoyed the reviews and continue to follow them as I cover off the remaining Oscar Noms. Omnomnom. Delicious awards. Thanks a bunch, and if you like what you see make sure you hit that 'follow' button on the right hand side and leave a comment.

Don't forget to stay abreast (haha, breast) of what I'm doing by regularly looking at my website:

http://jorgetsipos.com/

Thanks, Bitch.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 31: Another Year (2010)

2011-02-07T21:46:00.003+11:00

Another year chronicles the life of retired English couple Gerri and Tom over the course of twelve months. Their relationship is stable, but those between their friends and family are less so. People get sad, then they get drunk and one of them dies, the end.

I saw this film because of the positive reviews - I'll be honest. It's up for best original screenplay at the oscars. It won't win, but that's nice, right? I'd be flattered if I'd written it. Oh thanks, yeah that was pretty good. I pumped that out in a weekend. Whatevs.

The characters are full - so full that they actually come at the expense of a narrative arc. I didn't really mind because it's been a long time since I've seen characters that are so sympathetic, so colourful, so real, but it did make me wonder. What was the purpose of this? What was the situation, the exploration, the climax, the resolution? All the buzzwords. Basically what this means is long, extended conversations with peripheral characters that give good insight into what's going on - which isn't terribly much.

The advantage of this is you form connections with all the characters quite easily. I mean, you spend an extended amount of time in anyone's company and you'll be bound to understand them, even if you don't like them. Such is the way with Another Year. Even though one of the characters was excruciatingly lonely and pathetic you feel bad for her - her loses are your losses and her pain is your pain: I even cried. True story.

I mean, in a way it's more honest than most films. A year in someone's life doesn't have a clear narrative arc. It doesn't have a through-line. A year of your life may end in you taking a big steamy dump while the dog claws at the bathroom door because he's gagging for a feed. For example. A year of your life may be as totally uneventful and scatological as a shotgun pellet hitting a flying turd. Actually that's pretty eventful. I take it back.

My point is I really liked this film. It was sweet, funny and sad - in the good way. 8/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 30:Persepolis (2007)

2011-02-06T00:18:00.003+11:00

Persepolis is a French animation based on a series of autobiographical graphic novels by Marjane Satrapi. Set within revolutionary Iran, Persepolis explores in an interesting new way the hope, the oppression and the fear of the years of (and more importantly, post) the Shea. It is enlightened and graceful storytelling at its best. Really remarkable.

The majority of the film is in black and white - much like the comics, I would imagine. This provides from some really powerful and stark images. I mean, when documenting post-war Iran, it wouldn't make much sense to have different shades of magenta colouring your universe, now would it? No. So the idea of black and white, freedom and oppression, right and wrong can be summed up pretty easily in this world. It is a world of good and bad, and though bad seems to be the guy with the guns and the power - there is still hope for a better world.

The animation is truly amazing. I mean, while the special effects don't blow you away the way the animation shows the perspective of Marjene is truly amazing. You get this wonderful, stylised point of view that makes things truly refreshing to see. It's this new perspective which makes old things new. We see them through another lens - much like the work of cartoonists. There was a great scene where part of the film Terminator was on the television. It wasn't made clear but you could tell it was him. It somehow exaggerates the reality of what's going on. By watching these cartoons, a representation, you get to uncover a greater intrinsic truth. Especially with so much of the film being about violence it really tells you more about the cruelty of war - more than Saving Private Ryan ever could.

Persepolis' only shortcoming is that it suffers from an ambling story and a character whose directionless is so strong that it actually drives the narrative. The first half of the film was fine - it chronicled Marjane's coming of age alongside political turbulence in Iran - but the second half is essentially just a series of things that go wrong in her life in different countries. Obviously it's the truth of what happened - you can't call it an autobiography and then change the events for narrative cohesion. Sometimes life is scatological. It usually is. That doesn't mean that it makes for the best story.

I really liked this film. The animation was interesting and fresh, the characters were riveting and it explored in an unflinching way a corner of history that's usually perceived through news reports, statistics and dates. I just wish the story could've had some kind of closure - I felt it ended a little abruptly and I didn't really get a chance to resolve whatever tension was built up over the course of the film. A little sad.

As a side-note: It was interesting watching this film at a time when Egypt is in such a similar situation. I hope it goes better for them.

8/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 29: 127 Hours (2010)

2011-02-04T18:49:00.002+11:00

Oscar nominee. A mountain climber becomes trapped when exploring a canyon on his own and resorts to extraordinary measures to keep himself alive. The end.

I liked this film. I liked it a lot. Like Black Swan it was excruciating to watch. Despite (and sometimes because) you know how the story ends. My sister asked me, when I told her what film I was watching, 'is that the one where the guy cuts his arm off to survive?'

Well, yes. But there's more to it than that. They fake you out by making you think that it's going to be over 3/4 of the way through. It's not. He has to drink pee and feel sad about stuff a lot before that can happen. It actually really impressed me that Danny Boyle was able to expand such a simple story into a full length feature film. I mean, sure they use flashbacks and premonitions and little tricks like that to try and frame the narrative - but when it comes down to it most of the film takes place with him being stuck. Hard to do - ask the people who made Buried - also a great film, which I was surprised wasn't nominated for anything.

Boyle has a penchant for using split-screen shots (much like the TV series 24) in order to enhance the dramatic action. This helps, especially when there isn't much going on - and in an odd way allows the viewer to explore any feelings they might be having about any particular situation by examining each point of view separately. It suited, is what I'm saying, but it could easily have looked tacky.

Soundtrack was really great. It broke up the action nicely and added levity and seriousness when required. Like the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack, I think I'm going to buy it. Or download it illegally. Don't pirate kids. Just don't. The use of sound also made the pain of cutting one's arm off quite relevant to the viewer. The high-pitched noise of hitting a nerve will stick in my mind like nails down a chalkboard. Very uncomfortable. Very amazing.

There were one or two moments that weren't gripped entirely by tension (though they were few and far between) and these were thankfully filled with levity. A little game-show-esqe crazy is definitely the way to stop the audience from clawing their own eyes out. With that said, let's talk about how awful it was that he cut off his arm.

It hurt me. It hurt my soul. I don't think a film has ever gone into such painstaking detail about what it's like to cut off one of your own limbs - including saw. Hopefully nobody cuts off any limbs in the next movie I see or that'll be a hat-trick. A disgusting, disturbing, hat-tick.

All in all, this was a great film. Not for the feint hearted. 9/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 28: Saw (2004)

2011-02-03T23:03:00.002+11:00

You probably already know this film. It's violent and bloody and rather twisty and turny. I mean, up until the final ten minutes of this film I wasn't a fan. Big twist. There, I ruined it. Or did I?

I did. But DID I?

Two men are trapped in a room. They're both chained up and they must uncover a series of clues in order to escape. Shit gets real. The end.

This film was made on a shoestring budget by some ex-melbourne university film students. The story is fairly basic and the special effects and make-up are pretty standard for every horror film. The story was pretty simple: hurt yourself or someone else to save your life. Things aren't what you think they are - everybody learns, grows and bleeds.

What gave me hope about this film was that it was adequate and it was made by someone who could've possibly been me. That's a little exciting to think that what you're watching was made by someone like you. It fools you into thinking you have potential and unique ideas. Then you remember you have to make rent somehow and that the only thing people will actually pay you for is waiting tables. I may have gotten sidetracked.

Some of the script could've been tidied up. Though the story ends well some of the dialogue was a bit strained and wooden - and for once I don't blame the actors. The characters simply arrived at conclusions far too soon. They had no time to digest all the information but they came up with the most intensely deliberate and rational answers almost straight away. Much like a writer whose spent hours analysing the situation from every possible angle. When you're in a state of shock and fear, sometimes you don't always do what's rational. Sometimes you just sit there are cry until you pass out. It's for this exact reason that studio's 'punch up' a script before they put it to production. It's passed over and tweaked by someone totally unrelated to the project in oder to get some fresh perspective on the idea. This makes for good (or at least better, probably) scripts. This is the disadvantage to a film that's made independently and the picked up by a studio after the fact.

I liked it. The story was good and original. I wouldn't bother with the six (that's right, six) sequels because I imagine it'll be much of the same but with far less finesse and intelligence behind it. There was so much violence and gore that I was kind of turned off by the whole thing, though. I mean, it's clear at this stage that I'm not into that sort of stuff, but I thought it was worth mentioning. 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 27: Winter's Bone (2010)

2011-02-03T19:26:00.003+11:00

Ree (Jennifer Lawrence) is out to find her dad. He's missed his trial and put the house up as a bond. This means Ree, her mentally handicapped mum and her two younger siblings are going to be out on the street. Seeing as the streets in Missouri are made of gravel and fucking cold this time of year she decides to hunt down her dad and bring him in for trial. Shit gets real. The end.

Loved this film. Jennifer Lawrence's performance is definitely one of note. The way she showed the character's fragility, beauty and stern determination was inspired. Who knew that there were so many strong female roles that would be contenders in this years oscars? Feminists. Feminists did. They knew all along.

But seriously, this seventeen year old girl is forced to take her entire family under her wing and does so without a moment's hesitation. It's not bravery, it's not machismo or a false sense of righteousness; it's simply her duty and she does it accordingly. She's magnificent as the hard-headed girl who wont take no for an answer - simply because she doesn't resort to masculine imitation or the use of 'feminine wiles' to get her way. She wants what she wants and simply wont stop until she gets it. This would be a great character to play for any budding actor - but Lawrence pulls it off particularly well.

I would say the only flaw of this movie is that it moves too slow. The story is relatively simple. It focuses on a poor, disadvantaged people of Central America in the penetrating and solemn way that Michael Moore's films often aspire to. In fact, much of the scenery reminded me a lot of his film Roger & Me - and in many ways it's an expansion on the stories of desperation related therein. As interesting as this is (and believe me, I understand this was the point) the story is long - but essentially a mystery. Take out all the social milieu, scenery, political commentary and desperation and you're left with an episode of Ms Marple in what looks like Alaska. I mean, it's not dissimilar to Fargo, but at least Fargo got to the point quick enough. It was, I think, the only thing that stopped this film from being a ten.

It's great in that it explored an area of American society that's not normally covered - by any sort of film, let alone a fictional one. The characters were real, gritty and dirty. There wasn't any forgiveness for them. They weren't bad characters, just desperate, and desperate people do desperate things. I thought that the conversation with the recruitment officer - though entirely unnecessary for the plot - showed a good insight into the social strata. The military wasn't painted badly and actually was seen as a 'way out' for these people. In short, it gave some sort of a voice to the desperate members of the 'fly-over' states who are usually ignored in such works.

This was a really good film. It's nominated for Best Picture and Best Female Actor at this year's Oscars so I'd get out and see it. 9/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 26: Tombstone (1993)

2011-02-01T17:34:00.002+11:00

Tombstone is a Western about a trio of brothers who go to the booming mining town of (you guessed it) Tombstone (awfully ominous) to take part in the burgeoning gambling scene that is a result of all the money floating about. Well, it's not too soon before the most badass of the brothers Wyatt (Kurt Russell) is dragged into the sheriff's office and cleaning up the town. For good. Shit gets real. The end.

The film has a strong start, we know who the bad guys are straight away. There's action and it sets up the narrative well. Best of all it has those kind of guns which you have to cock before each shot, which looks fucking cool on the big screen. It makes me want to play Red Dead Redemption even though I've finished the game and completed all the sub-quests and any achievements that weren't ridiculous or pointless. It resembles the game in many ways and I think the great men and women (but probably more men, be honest) at Rockstar Entertainment drew much inspiration from it. It is pretty badass.

There are some great quotes which just affirm for me that Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer are just the manliest men in existence;

- "Skin that smokewagon and see what happens."

- "You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?"

Val Kilmer in this film seems like a pre-Johnny Depp and he kind of rocks. His swagger and casual nature are so fucking cool that I want to twirl his moustache for him. In short, I didn't actually realise that he could act - but it turns out that he can. He's the thing that's so cool about the Western genre.

One of the few things that did bother me about this film was that Wyatt's wife was such a bitch. I mean, I get that the writers were trying to drive Wyatt to the arms of the buxom brunette who is so much more fun - but I saw it coming from a mile off. I wish films didn't require a secondary plot-line like a romance to beef up the narrative, but they seem to need them.

The film is long but it doesn't overstay its welcome. It's fun, it's blood-thirsty and it gets to the point. Beyond that it's thoughtful, emotional and full of impractical moustaches. Even though the theatrical trailer (below) isn't very good I assure you this film is. Also, there's a great sequence at the end where the main characters just stride around with guns looking very determined. I don't see the point personally, but it is very manly. 8/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 25: On The Waterfront (1954)

2011-01-31T15:24:00.002+11:00

I gotta stop watching classics. I'm not sure I have really anything of worth to contribute on the subject - but I've done it now so I should stop whining. Okay, On The Waterfront is a film directed by Elia Kazan (A Streetcar Named Desire) and starring Marlon Brando as ex-fighter Terry Malloy. Basically he gets disillusioned with his union boss on the docks and decided to go and kick corruption (and his union boss) in the teeth. Everyone learns and grows, the end.

I'm pretty sure Brando invented acting. I'm not really sure what the distinction is between him and the other actors - but's it's certainly palpable. He's lively, he's electric, he's sympathetic - even if he starts out as a bad guy. Maybe it's because the characters back then were so devastatingly two-dimensional, but he brings it to life. Literally every other actor is such an overblown stereotype that it's amazing to watch Brando treat them as if they're not. You want to shake him and say 'I think you're on the wrong set, this is where the people who want to be actors practise!' Or at least I did.

His acting was good. Even by today's standards, but I mean, if you took any movie from the common day back to the mid-fifties it would clearly blow their fucking minds. Not just special effects-wise, or colour-wise, but just acting wise. It really seems as if we only realised in the last twenty years that you're supposed to behave as you would in life. As to whether the film deserved the 1954 best picture Oscar, I can't say. I didn't see the rest of the films that were nominated that year and my guess is that it was a defining moment in cinema history - a film that's willing to talk about corruption, violence and alcohol in a very serious and real way. I think it was something which changed they way other films were made.

I finally got to hear the 'I coulda' been somebody,' speech which was nice. I've heard it referenced in so many things that it's hard to believe that they all came from a singular source. The scene was moving and even though the character its being delivered to is a douche I still gave a shit. It was impressive. It was well written and well delivered and I'm pretty sure it was the very first time that Hollywood had seen real emotive acting. It's the kind of scene that was so good it makes me angry at other films of the time. It makes me think that it wasn't just the time - there were actually good films being made. We just sometimes remember the wrong ones. Like forty years from now someone is going to watch House of Wax and think it was representative of this entire decade of film-making. Eugh.

The soundtrack was intrusive at time and the peripheral characters were stiff but I think that's not bad for a film that's fifty-seven years old. I liked it - and the reason I watched it was because DeNiro does the same monologue in Raging Bull - even better. It's too bad he's such a humourless fuck. I give this film a very controversial 9/10.

Stop watching classics.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 24: Raging Bull (1980)

2011-01-30T21:52:00.005+11:00

You may have heard of this film. It's kind of a classic and I bow my head in shame that I haven't seen it up until this very moment. It's my fault. I should've tried harder. In any case I think it's rather good. Directed by Martin Scorsese and starring Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci it's a bloody and unflinching look at the rise and fall of a professional boxer Jake LaMotta. He needed a hug.

Lots of things I liked, so that means I can talk about themes. There was an interesting perspective on the weakness of the strong man. Even though Jake becomes the World Middleweight Champion he's still a douche. In addition to being emotionally abusive he's physically abusive. He's paranoid and jealous of his wife and manages to alienate everyone close to him. It seems Jake is a fighter simply because it's in his wiring. He doesn't like it and he doesn't seem to do it out of financial need - he's just one of those antiquated warrior types that have mostly been bred out in civilised society. Even though he's strong it comes out of emotional weakness - and that makes for an interesting character. It's like he didn't get enough hugs as a kid so now he has big strong muscles that hug him all the time. He's kind of pathetic really, a more than a bit annoying to watch. But that's the character, not the acting.

There was an almost Godfather-esque examination of 40's society - especially in regards to women. From all angles in this film women manage to be sexualised: From an Italian perspective, a catholic one and a simple temporal one. You really feel for Jake's wife Vicki. When we first meet her she already seems resigned to her fate. There's no hope in her eyes, even as a fifteen year-old girl. She was forced into this life, right from the word go - and doesn't really get a chance to absolve herself until her mid-fourties. It's sad because she was really Jake's idea of the ideal wife; he was simply too small and insecure to let her be it.

One thing I particularly liked about this film was that it didn't really glamourise violence or the boxer. It showed the rise and fall of Jake's career. From nobody to somebody to champion to nobody. It's the tragedy of the fighter that they always expire in the spotlight. Nobody can stay on top forever and it seems like the moment you're there it's already gone. He became a tragic character, trapped in a body he didn't really want resigned to the fate the he deserved but couldn't prevent.

It was a story that took a little too long to tell, which would be one of my only criticisms, but that's the one I've picked. Apparently a lot of the conversations between DeNiro and Pesci were ad-libbed and while this makes for natural sounding conversation it also makes for cyclical conversation. There was easily some time in these back-and-forths that could've been saved - fun as they were to watch. That and the actual boxing scenes boardered on unrealistic by some of today's standards. It made me appreciate The Fighter a little more.

It's DeNiro and Scorsese - how the fuck can you correct them?

It's like teaching the Queen how to spell.

9/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 23: Soulboy (2010)

2011-01-30T15:02:00.002+11:00

A coming-of-age drama set in the 1970s Northern Soul underground music scene in England. It's simple, cute and you actually care a little about the characters, which is a nice change of pace.

Something which I liked about this film was that it was firmly rooted in a history, a culture. It was, unlike Cemetery Junction, a real slice of the life of that time. You got the impression that this subject was close to many people's hearts in the making of it. It was made with love and believe it or not that does show in the film-making. By setting a film so firmly in a specific time and place you set it apart from others like it. It's not just 'some coming of age' drama, it's a specific one in a specific place with its own set of issues - similar to those of Billy Elliot. It's specific and significant. It was good.

The film, as most films must, applied the classic formula of Boy + Girl which drove me more than a little crazy, I must admit. With that said, despite it being a little more than formulaic I think the setting and the soundtrack were enough for me to set it apart from most other teen dramas. I mean, sure, if a girl tries to kill herself over you that means it's true love. You guys should totally do it. Right? No probably not - but their pants were so wide! Ooo-ahh!

There was stealing, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, spousal abuse and just about any other abuse you can think of. It succeeded in nailing what it was that Cemetery Junction was trying to go for: grit. It reminded me a lot of 'Skins' actually, back when it was good. First two seasons, am I riiight? The reason I keep referring back to Cemetery Junction was that one of the actors, Felicity Jones, was in both. Now, I'm not sure who poached who, but whoever made the second film (and I think it was Gervais) really didn't have much to add on the topic of growing up in a scummy English town. I don't know why the answer in these films is always to leave - but that's why they all do. In fact, I'm sure Ms. Jones, lovely as she was, may have been having some severe pangs of deja-vu when shooting the second film.

Also, I enjoy any film that has a dance off as its climax. 6/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 22: True Grit (2010)

2011-01-28T12:59:00.004+11:00

14 Year-old Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld) is after the man who murdered her father. Unfortunately for her she lives in an American Western and justice is not readily available. She decides to put a bounty on the murderer and follows the hunter, Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) along to 'see the job done.' They make some friends, some enemies and some frenimies; and there's some people they shoot at. They learn and grow, the end.

The plot was simple - I liked it. You don't need to be a genius, or even sober, to get the point. That being said it wasn't one note. There was interest sustained throughout the film and intrigue. The characters were complex and unique - namely that of Mattie - feminists are going to love her. In short, it is what it purports to be: a good old western. Nothing more, nothing less. It this, it succeeds fantastically.

The score was really good, it wasn't invasive, but highlighted and enhanced key moments in the film. It was one of those things that you realise how good it is because you didn't realise it. Like a vaccine, or something. It does its job without too much sting - if a sting is even perceptible. This is no small feat. There are many films that don't adequately utilise (or improperly utilise) their scores. Cough. Shutter Island. Cough. It's good to see the Coen's direction extend beyond casting choices and the placement of the actors within a shot - they really are auters in the old-school sense of the word.

Josh Brolin and Matt Damon do what they do as peripheral characters. They only have so much screen time but we get to see a kind of tenderness in the good and the bad that we don't normally see in such films. Normally the divide between the good and the bad is very clear and tangible. In this film the villains are just kind of pathetic and the good guys morally ambiguous. There is no knight it white-shining armour in this story. It's about - I shudder to use the word - real people. Not moral bastions or righteous symbolism - about a situation that needs to be rectified.

This film is not like the Coen brother's normal style. I'm not sure exactly what that is to be honest, but I'll mention some things I was expecting, but didn't see. I didn't see any 'quirkiness,' in the film, I didn't see any real humour, ironic distancing or jewish sensibility. It was an honest, fresh perspective at a genre that's been a bit dead for the last few decades. It's kind of like the Coen brothers just decided one day: lets do a freaking Western, and just do the shit out of it.

It was long at an hour and fifty minutes, but didn't overstay its welcome like No Country for Old Men. The story simply took that long to tell. In short, it was the perfect Western. It slots into the genre right alongside such classics as The Good the Bad and the Ugly and anything else with Clint Eastwood and his narrowing eyes. It delivers exactly what it says and is satisfying as as a story. I know this may not be for everybody, but if you don't like this film it's because you don't like Westerns at all - and there is no hope for you. 10/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 21: Black Swan (2010)

2011-01-28T00:42:00.002+11:00

Psychological thriller. Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is cast as the lead in the NY Ballet's production of Swan Lake; when the sexy, rambunctious newcomer Lily (Mila Kunis) threatens her spotlight. Nina subsequently proceeds to lose her shit. The End.

There's a lot of Oscar buzz about this film. I mean, that's no indication (necessarily) of whether a film is good or not; but there you are. That's a thing. Now I'm not sure if buzz is created by the quality and timing of the release of the film - or by someone simply declaring that such a buzz is indeed palpable and must be attended to as swiftly as a wounded kitten. Buzz is simply buzz - but I thought you should know about it.

Okay, something I loved about this film was the use of sound. The foley artist needs a fucking hand-job. Minimum. For those who aren't as supremely smart as I am, a foley artist is someone who records sounds which are to be inserted within the film. Basically the person who records 'sound effects.' That being said, any sounds, people walking on gravel, background noise, etc, are included in this description. The sounds in this film, of skin peeling, bones cracking, flesh rippling, were all fantastic. They were so exaggerated that even ordinary things such as Nina cutting her nails bordered on the grotesque. If these images were simply viewed without sound they would have no effect whatsoever - but with the sickening crunches that accompany them they become larger than life. There is a revulsion and a kind of white hot tension that sits in your stomach for this entire film as a result. It's not just emotional - your body reacts physically to what is going on. Viewing this film will physically alter you. This is not for the feint of heart - but to me, at least, it's an indicator of excellent film-making.

Something which I didn't love as much was the cinematography. Darren Aronofsky (The Wrestler) made, and continually makes, stylistic choices I don't always agree with. Whilst I appreciate a bit of Cinema Dogma as much as the next person, there's a limit to what I can take. Sure, a shake here and there is fine, but sometimes you're allowed to use a tri-pod. Just saying. One of the follow-shots of Nina actually reminded me exactly of an entire sequence of The Wrestler - and I don't think that's a positive thing. I've said it before and I'll say it again - it's a trick; not a method. Thankfully it didn't interfere too much with my viewing and I managed to enjoy (seems a strange word) the film.

The narrative, I think backed itself into a corner. Without giving too much away it seemed fairly obvious what had to happen. There were only a few outcomes and all of them would've been hack. Admittedly the film shied away from that - but not without leaving many (most) questions unanswered. Unsure of the divide between reality and fantasy the viewer is left to think, as both I and my sister did: Well, how else could it have gone? Was any of that real? What was the point of that? And unfortunately this lets down what was otherwise quite a remarkable film.

Great performances all around. Special mention to Winona Ryder who plays the mentally fragile predecessor to Portman's Nina. Though it was a small role it was meaty and it's good to see her working again. Oh yeah, and you get to see Mila Kunis eat Natalie Portman's nanni. Kinda cool.

With a little re-working of the narrative and the photography, this film could easily have been a nine. 8/10

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 20: The Time Traveller's Wife (2009)

2011-01-26T22:03:00.002+11:00

I didn't really want to see this film. It looked a bit sappy and I got what I needed to from the trailer - but I wanted to put the whole disc in the 'watched' pile, so I watched it. I was surprised. It was really good. Now, I'm sorry if I hurt the director's feelings just then, but with the below-par reviews that I remembered it getting I kind of anticipated a shit-storm. Perhaps that's how I should go into every film - with low expectations. It would certainly be less disappointing.

This film connected many interesting elements from different genres: Existential, romance, tragedy, sci-fi. Things which wouldn't seem to go together but do. Eric Bana plays Henry, a man who travels through time involuntarily. He meets Claire (Rachel McAdems) and they fall in love. This puts strain on their marriage - but they try and live their life together.

One thing I immediately liked about this film was that the characters won the lottery. Of course! Of course that's what every time traveler would do! First thing! No questions about morals or ethics or some other throw away reason as to why you wouldn't accept a bundle of free money. You would win the lottery. Done. Now we can move on with the story. I liked it.

I liked the way that the involuntary time travel was used as a narrative device. It created mystery. It created suspense and it created hope. It left things in doubt and brought things to light. Things that made no sense before make sense now - and in retrospect couldn't have made sense any other way. What I'm saying is there were lots of 'Aha!' moments. Which I love. I feel very smart.

Also the film explored the idea that every time-travel fantasy yearns for: the opportunity to talk to a younger self. The ability to pass on the knowledge that you have to spare yourself the pain of life. Now, of course time travel in this film means everything is 'locked in,' meaning you have free will, but you can't 'change' anything - because anything you do is what was done. What was always done - you were always in this moment doing this thing. There are no altered outcomes. As such, the isolation and sadness of the time traveller is explored. What he actually wants most (as is the way with anyone who is extraordinary) is to have an ordinary life. That's the tragedy. I kind of felt it was a reasonable, rational yet emotional and sweet examination into the nature of time-travel and love.

The main thing that disappointed me about this film was that it got a little convoluted during the middle. As there was little discernible difference between a 25 year-old Henry and a 35 year-old Henry it was easy to lose track of exactly what time the viewer was seeing. Thankfully the narrative mostly followed the time-line of Claire's life in a linear way - but even then there were 'flashbacks' to when Henry met her during her childhood. What I'm saying is I'd like to see how the novel it was based on handled these difficulties

Last thing. The special effects were rather great. The way Henry appeared to just evaporate away like a time-lapse of water drying up - very cool. I'd love to see how they did it. It didn't really contribute to the narrative at all - but I thought it was worth mentioning.

I quite liked it. 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 19: The Fighter (2010)

2011-01-25T19:31:00.003+11:00

This is like every sports/victory/adversity film in existence. Micky Ward (Mark Whalberg) is a down and out boxer and his brother Ricky (Christian Bale) is fucking things up. Then he meets Charlene; (Amy Adams) things get hectic, people yell, punch, drink and just act generally Irish. They work it out and become super-successful.

There was a particularly intrusive rock soundtrack. I didn't mind the music - in fact I liked most of it - but sometimes I just want to hear whatever the fuck the characters are saying. I don't need to hear 'Back in Black' for the umpteenth time. It actually gets to the point where you have to strain to hear vital plot points and gave me the shits.

I liked the use of video rather than film-stock during the 'televised' portions of the film. Since that's the way most people engage with boxing it gave the viewer a familiar and accessible way of engaging with the film. I mean, maybe it's just because I've only ever seen snippets of boxing on TV myself, but I got the impression that it was somehow more legitimate, more real, more gritty, than the warm forgiveness that shooting in film brings. Video doesn't lie, it doesn't make you look like a movie star - all your flaws are visible and you look very, very human. I liked it.

This is a simple film: the trailer tells you everything you need to know. I mean, I couldn't have come up with another way of marketing this film myself, to be honest, but doesn't mean it was effective. I saw this film because of the surprisingly positive reviews that it got - not because of the marketing. I don't like it when trailers do this because it means all the dramatic tension that is meant to intrigue you into sustaining your interest in the film is already laid out. I know he sucks, I know he hooks up with Amy Adams and I know his brother goes to jail. All that's left is him actually winning the world title. Yes, believe it or not, he wins. Oh and whoever came up with the line "He's a fighter, break his hand!' should be shot with a BB gun until they bleed out.

Christian Bale really looks like a crack head - that's a victory. Well done, I guess? Or maybe that's just him. I mean, the role could've been played without going to such a physical extreme but I guess some viewers appreciated the commitment. His acting was good and Walberg was Walberg. Strong and silent and rather more wooden than a piece of pine. It was a good watch, but I'm not really feeling the hype. Maybe it's because I'm not a fan of boxing and the technical language alienated me, or maybe because I'm not a fan of violence generally - but I think the better parts of this film were wasted on me. When it comes down to it, it's a film about fighting - and I'm not into it.

6/10. No rush to see this one in the cinema. Unless you love pine boards or Amy Adam's ass - of which you don't see enough, in my humble opinion.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 18: The Witches of Eastwick (1987)

2011-01-25T18:19:00.000+11:00

The Witches of Eastwick is about three single women who have their prayers answered when Jack Nicholson, the crazy flamboyant millionaire arrives in town. OR SO THEY THINK! He's actually the devil. Shit gets real.

I've never seen this film until now. It's been something I've always heard about in passing, in that obnoxious wow-you-really-haven't-seen-it way that people who have no tact love ever so much. It was funny. It was meant to be funny, obviously. It wasn't one of those, so bad it's good films - it was actually good. So that's good.

Okay, compliment sandwich, here we go. The film is old enough that the actresses (Susan Sarandon, Cher and Michelle Pfeiffer) were actually smoking hot. Susan Sarandon! I know. But they were. The humour was sharp and the writing witty. There were actually some interesting examinations of the nature of gender - it's just too bad that they came from the devil. It kind of hurts their credibility. One line which I thought was just great was when Nicholson, at the end of one of his pro-feminist rants concludes with the sentence "Men, they can be such cock-suckers, can't they?" It was entertaining and serious at the same time - so much so that I actually considered doing the seduction scenes for my directing subject this year. We'll see how it goes.

Now the bad stuff; Jack Nicholson just plays himself - and though he's not unlikable the relative consistency of his characters makes him seem kind of flat. I get it, he's eccentric, hedonistic and he cackles rather a lot. Maybe for your next film pick a mild insurance broker or something - stretch yourself.

The special effects gave a lot to be desired, but it was the late eighties and I'm not sure it's fair to compare it to today's standards - just as people in twenty years will laugh at today's films for the same reason. You know.

Also, I felt that there should've been a bit more surprise on the part of the witches when they realised they had powers. They were just kind of like 'Oh yeah, that makes sense now.' When in reality any normal person would kind of be shitting themselves at the ridiculous nonsense that was happening.

It was a really interesting concept that was handled in a unique way. Even though there wasn't really an oppositional force once the Puritan lady died, you were still interested in the story and what was going to happen to the characters. I'd like to read the book and see the musical now - to see how other people handled the material. I liked it. 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 17: Outlaw (2007)

2011-01-23T22:04:00.000+11:00

Outlaw is a film about a group of vigilantes in London who try and get a super-bad-guy. They have moral dilemmas and infighting - but in a world so super-awesomely corrupt, what choice does a real man actually have?

Okay, compliment sandwich. Here we go. The acting was decent. The plot, though it was something that had been examined before, was interesting. It was approached in a new way in that it examined the motivating forces for the vigilantes and also made detailed mention of their decent into crime. They simply didn't just wake up as criminals - they progressed slowly. It shows, in an interesting and visceral way, the power and short-comings of the law. Now the bad stuff.

The cinema dogma style was, like in many smaller budget films, overused. For simple scenes of dialogue the director of photography still chose to go with shots that could barely keep the focus of the shot in frame. Having a shaky camera may intensify the sense of reality that accompanies an action scene - it's even a cheap way of creating drama where there really isn't much - but it is not a replacement for something worthy of your attention. It does not replace good camera work and a decent story. It's a trick - not a method.

The nature of violence in the film is exaggerated. It's shown in far too graphic detail and with far too much readiness. Everyone, stop trying to confront me. I get it. Violence is bad. I get the point. I'm not a pussy, I play video games, I see plenty of violence. This is too much. I don't need to hear the crunch and crackle of bones and I certainly don't need to see women being abused, either. Stop it. It makes it seem to the outside viewer that London is so corrupt and evil and V for Vendetta was a wet dream of some sort. Please, not even the Ivory Coast is that bad. Jesus Christ.

And it was too long. I don't know why certain films seem to take up more or less time than others - but that's the way the cookie crumbles. This story needed less time to be told. It was good that it wasn't just an American 'Let's go kick ass,' kind of two-dimensional schtick - but there certainly some scenes which could've been avoided. We got the picture.

And now we're out on the other side. There was an interesting moral dilemma presented and examined during the film. This was made especially relevant by one of the characters occupation as a barrister. As well as tie all the strands of the story together it also gave the sense that even those closest to upholding the law can become disenchanted by it. Even the best person, under the right circumstances, can become a bad one. Yet, standing up for oneself has traditionally been considered a positive thing. Interesting, but not unmissable. 5/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 16: Changing Lanes (2002)

2011-01-22T22:27:00.001+11:00

Oh, my god. Oh, I can't put into words how much I despised this film. I want to rape Ben Affleck with a thousand razorblades on a poison dildo. I'M ACTORING NOW! CAN YOU TELL I'M NOT ACTUALLY ME??

This whole film is about nothing. Actually nothing. Guy gets important file. Other guy tries to get it back. They fuck with each others lives. Everyone learns and grows. The end.

There were so many things I hated about this film that to sit down and catalogue them would take longer than the film's duration - and is not worth my time.

Moral of the story: Buracracy bad. Jesus good. Yep, that story needed to be told.

If you start writing the review before the film even finishes, that's bad, right? Just checking.

1/10

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project 15: Death to Smoochy (2002)

2011-01-21T23:10:00.001+11:00

It's quirky and kind of funny - but ultimately the half-baked characters and absurdist plot can't really sustain the viewers interest in a film that goes for over an hour and forty minutes.I found myself looking at my phone, and that's never a good sign.

Ed Norton was good as the simpleton and DeVito as the scumbag but when it all came down to it it wasn't film of the year. It was 'Matilda' with a couple of 'fucks' thrown in. That being said, it had some genuine moments - a nice watch but nothing special. Very quirky. 5/10

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 14: Easy A (2010)

2011-01-21T00:28:00.000+11:00

It's a teen/coming of age movie. It's based (quite deliberately) on Hawthorn's novel 'The Scarlet Letter.' A lady makes whoopee with a minister and then gets ostracised for being a slut. It's transposed to a high-school setting where a girl tells a lie about losing her virginity and things spiral WAAAAY out of control. But not really. It works out fine.

Okay, so there were - as with most things - some good things and some bad things with this film. Let's start with a good one, then the bad one, then a good one. A compliment sandwich, if you will. With a despair shake and some low-self-seteem fries.

One good thing was the protagonist - Olive (Emma Stone). She's cute, sarcastic, funny and relatable. She's the kind of girl that the guy should actually end up with in American teen movies. Her motivations for following through with the lie could've been better explained than with the simple, throwaway phrase "I liked all the attention," but hey. No, this is meant to be the compliment side. Um, okay and her parents were well scripted and performed and provided a nice foil to her developing character. There we go.

Now the bad stuff. Teen drama a dying genre. Its been done and re-done so many times that it's kind of hard to swallow - whatever incarnation it comes in. Also, I'm pretty sure I remember my high-school correctly and nobody was as hot as that - and if they were, they certainly would've been having as much sex as we were having, if not more. If some chick gets laid then it might be news for a day, but the bottom line is people don't care that much about other people's shit. It would quickly blow-over rather than escalate to an affair. I understand it was meant to be a reflection on the nature of scandal and obsession - but when the picketing started I simply sighed in irritation. Also, some characters just turned into complete cunts for no particular reason, simply just to advance the story.

And we're onto the other side. The story and dialogue were clever and written by someone who actually has read a book in their life - so that was a nice change of pace. The fast motion 'run-around' shots of the school gave a cute, snappily little description of how rumour spreads and finally it actually dealt with some serious issues of femininity and the emergence of ones sexuality at such an age. The only thing that disappointed me was that it was framed (AGAIN) around a traditional love story. I think from a feminist point of view it would've been more valuable to follow someone who had actually had sex with someone and was comfortable in that. Someone who was expressing their sexuality freely and fighting for her rights - rather than someone who pretended to be 'the town bike' to try and get Home Depot vouchers.

The film had some good humour and seemed to be founded on more than the average teen drama. I didn't mind it - but I could take or leave it. She wears some very sexy corsets though, and that bumps it to a 6/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 13: Catfish (2010)

2011-01-19T17:01:00.000+11:00

Nev is the subject of the documentary that his brother and his friend are making. He starts corresponding to eight year old Abby in Michigin, who is a big fan of his photography. She starts painting her impressions of pictures that he has taken and gets her mother Angela to send them to him in New York. Over many months Nev (Naive, if you ask me) forms a relationship with the entire family, including Abbey's older half-sister Megan. Gradually, through chance, Nev and his friends start to unravel the little white lies and falsehoods. Soon the film becomes more about the complex character of Angela than the correspondence at all.

This film is exactly why people say don't give your information out on Facebook. For the first twenty minutes or so I was kind of ambivalent. There didn't seem to be that much going on with the story and though the film-makers seem like cool guys there wasn't really a narrative. Things obviously changed. I can't say too much otherwise it'll ruin the bloody thing - but it's a very interesting film.

It was a low-budget documentary - as most are. This gives me hope. This tells me that with a good story and a bit of skill, good art can me made. You don't need 40 million dollars and Sam Mendes to make a good film. I mean, if Mendes is there, sure, use him. Couldn't hurt. My point is, if these guys put together such an interesting story on a shoestring budget than so could I. There are plenty of ways to make a good film - these guys found one of them.

It was well shot. I mean, it had that 'documentary look,' where there were lots of close ups and a shallow depth of field that kept having to be re-focused - but that was fine. The cinema dogma look doesn't bother me; especially when you know that it's not a deliberate artistic choice. It's a way of capturing real events as a passive bystander. It's not a device, is my point and in some ways I felt it actually expressed something more real than simple video could. It was expressed as art and that gave it a new reality. It was really kind of inspiring.

Now I understand that all documentaries are constructed and that they all have a slant - but I felt this film was the closest thing that I've seen to reality. I felt as if I was there with those guys piecing it all together. I felt that I was travelling along with them using Google Earth as my guide. It was so technologically familiar that I had no trouble easing into the narrative that presented itself. Also there was commendable foresight from the filmmakers into the development of this story. I certainly wouldn't have followed it from where it began. It's certainly not fast paced - I mean a TV show could wrap up this story in twenty minutes with the bare facts but there was something so human about Nev and Angela's relationship that it was hard to ignore - or even cut down. Essentially its a story about lost aspirations and sadness - which was something I definitely didn't expect. See this. 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 12: The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo (2009)

2011-01-19T00:45:00.001+11:00

This film comes highly recommended by my mum. She ranted and raved while it was out in the cinema and the moment it came out on DVD she eagerly purchased it with the notion of strapping me down (Clockwork Orange style) and showing it to me. So, by having my retinas exposed as a result of metal clamps I was forced to take it in. It's a Swedish (or Swiss? I always get them mixed up) murder mystery/thriller. It's exciting. It's suspenseful. It's genuinely surprising and well considered. It is - dare I say it, no I won't give her the satisfaction, yes I will - a good film.

Journalist man whose been fined for libel is looking for some money. Enter old rich guy who says he will 'pay him handsomely' for investigating a forty year old cold case about the disappearance of his niece. I always love that they never haggle over money in films. The old man says 'lots of money' and all of a sudden we have an agreement. Okay, sure. Journalist guy teams up with mentally disturbed super-genius hacker chick. She's the one with the ink. Together they unravel a thing which is far more thing than they ever could've thinged. Very exciting.

One of the interesting things about this film was its desire to avoid all the stereotypes of American crime cinema. The male protagonist is the one who wants to be all snuggly and emotional and shit and the female character is a hard-as-fuck, piercings galore, awesome hacker-person/ sex crimes victim. It was really good to see the male protagonist get the shit kicked out of him while a strong female character saves the day. She's probably morally ambiguous and definitely mentally disturbed but she's one of the grittiest, most believable characters I've seen in a long time. Yay feminism!

Along this vein I felt the producers of the film went out of their way to find good actors. People who are unknown to you or me (they may be a big deal in Switzerland or Sweden or whatever) but are great actors. My point is I don't think how aesthetically pleasing any of the cast members were was a consideration in their casting. There was no Angelina Jolie, no Johnny Depp and certainly no Rufus Sewell. They were there because they deserved to be there - and it showed in the performances.

Like a lot of the films I've been reviewing lately there was a very strong tie between sex and violence in this story. I don't know if I'm a pansy or what - but I really don't need to see rape scenes, I don't need to see beatings and I don't need to see murders. Not in such agonising detail. My goodness, some of it was excruciating.

The film is in Swedish (or Swiss, or whatever they speak in arian country) and this doesn't really present any problems. Largely the foreign films I've seen have been in a language I'm at least vaguely familiar with so I have some context for what's going on. Even though the language, the people and the landscape looked so foreign to me I was able to keep up because the story was good and the acting believable. Something which does bother me is that America (as it always does) has decided to make an English version of the story. I think this is lame and silly. Stop it film studios, stop it now. The film was strong enough that it is accessible to English audience's without a Californian setting to muddy the waters. Too many cooks and all that.

Apparently there are two sequels to this film - and obviously the book it's based on too. I'm not sure where they'll all fit into the story. Everything was wrapped up rather nicely by the conclusion of the film and I think extracting another murder mystery story out of the same characters would take significant work. I think it can be done.

The story strands and motifs were so subtle in this film - but everything connected. There was no wasted space. In short, a very exciting, very unexpected film. 8/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 11: Tangled (2010)

2011-01-17T23:41:00.000+11:00

Picture yourself as a hot blond. Picture yourself on the top of a giant tower. Picture yourself with a frying pan and long ass hair with healing powers. Hey, you're Repunzel! Nice one! Well, at least you're the Disney version. The alterations made to the classic story of Repunzel in the film Tangled will actually please audiences. I went in expecting a trite little mock up of the classic fairy-tale, but as with all animated films of the last few years I was pleasantly surprised. This film has full characters, a story which is actually believable (in that it obeys its internal logic) and an emotional connection between characters that I actually care about.

I'm not sure what it is about animated films: maybe it's because you have to spend so much time in planning an development before the thing hits the screen - but they seem to be so much more considered than live-action films. I feel like the film The Tourist might have actually been very decent if it had of had the kind of care and attention that Tangled clearly had. Perhaps its that we expect less from a film that's for kids. This confuses me for several reasons:

1. Why should animation be just for children?

2. Why should a children's film be any less impressive than an adult one?

Riddle me that, mother-fucker.

In any case this film was rather good. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it made think about love. It was a true encapsulation of the classic notion of a Disney film. Not to mention the animation was really grouse. The attention to detail was really stunning: down to individual hairs that were out of place. Disney are getting closer and closer to realising that the best road to verisimilitude is by finding the perfection in imperfection. The little things like a stray hair or a split end are definitely the way to bridge that gap between fantasy and reality. Not to mention all the big and wonderful things that can be achieved with animation that could never be conceived of in live action.

One thing that bothered me was that the evil character actually looked a lot like my girlfriend's mother. Not Disney's fault really - just wished they'd stop making Arian people the heroes and darkish looking people with curly hair the bad people. I have curly hair. It's offensive.

I could be Aladdin, I guess. Okay, I'm alright.

See this one. In 2D, I think 3D would be a waste on this one. 8/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 10: The Killer Inside Me (2010)

2011-01-17T00:06:00.000+11:00

The Killer Inside Me is a film. It is a very long film. It's a long and twisty film with too much violence and (I can't believe I'm about to say this) too much sex. Maybe because it's not sexy sex as much as it is hurty sex, but there you are. It's the story of a young deputy (Casey Afflek) who has a score to settle. There is a man called Conway who did something bad to the deputy or something (it wasn't exactly clear) and the deputy decided to kill his son. From here on in the film becomes a list of mistakes the sociopathic deputy made and the ensuing murders he has to commit to cover them. It ends very cleverly. You feel smart.

I was interested in the relationship between violence and sex. In the film this is thoroughly emphasised. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if the original title of the film was The Sexy Killer Inside Me (Winkface) - but sadly it wasn't. Another marketing opportunity missed. Damn you Don Draper. Damn you. But back to the violence. It was a little too much. The narrative could've easily continued and communicated its message without me seeing Jessica Alba's bloated and bloody face. I get it, he beats her up pretty good. I don't need to reconstruct her face myself. I don't need a play by play. No instant replays and no close ups. I get it.

And the way this connected to sex was odd. I mean, I felt that just because the deputy was into a little S & M doesn't mean he was a sociopath. I think in the real world there is an element of violence in sex - but the overwhelming emotion is tenderness, or at least affection. If the deputy really loved the women of the film as much as it makes out then he never could've done such horrible things. Just because you like a little spank every now and then doesn't mean you kill people, is my point.

With all this said I liked the script, even if it was a little long. The performances were strong, but I would've like to have seen the deputy character have some sort of breakthrough emotionally. I mean, even sociopath's experience rage when things don't go their way. He was just kind of flat the whole way through, which I feel can stifle a dramatic arc.

One of the strong points of the film was that it gave an in depth character study into the causes and nature of violence - which I believe too few films explore. Usually all of a sudden we arrive at the scene with the character and the context is never explored. It leaves the viewer to simply accept the nature of violence without truly understanding it, and I think that's dangerous. The film was confronting, and though this was clearly an effort to demonstrate the context of violence I felt it was a little too much at times. It was a good point - but it didn't need to be driven home so hard.

Overall, I liked it. Not one for the kiddies. No sir. 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 9: The Spirit (2008)

2011-01-16T14:15:00.000+11:00

The Spirit is just a classic super-noir bloodbath. Directed by Frank Miller, based on a graphic novel of the same name The Spirit, meanders back and forth between the supernatural, neo-noir and myth. It's exciting, stylised, blood-thirsty and thoroughly sexualised. In short, a bloody good romp.

There was, unfortunately, no story. Something about a golden fleece and the blood of a god. I lost interest. But there was lots of nice boobs and people exploding so I didn't mind so much. It wasn't actually something of concern. The classical noir framework of a detective 'chasing down the bad guy' was enough to connect the thin narrative strand of the graphic novel/film. I wasn't always sure where exactly we were in this New-Gotham-esque city, or why, but all the shiny special effects distracted me sufficiently. I think this is a flaw with all graphic novels turned movies - there isn't actually enough narrative strength for a feature length film. Think 300, Sin City and Daredevil. In fact, I believe the only successfully transposed graphic novel to film construct has been Watchmen.

That being said there were plenty of entertaining parts. The absurdism that accompanies the first fifteen minutes of the film actually makes for good humour. We're just thrown into this world of clones and immortality without any warning and it takes a while to suspend our disbelief. It was fun. Also, I think the lead role was just a shoddy Rorschach who could just take a beating - but hey, that's just me.

A decent watch - nothing extraordinary. 7/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 8: Cemetery Junction (2010)

2011-01-13T22:17:00.001+11:00

Cemetery Junction is essentially a coming of age story, which isn't shit. Written, directed and occasionally starring Ricky Gervais and Steve Merchant the story centres around three youths who have finished school and are looking for their direction in life in Redding, England in the early seventies. Gervais lived in Redding and grew up precisely in this point in time, so it's clear to see that this film is very personal. If you're a fan of Gervais' comedy you'll also also see certain aspects of his personality and history bubble to the surface in this fictionalised memoir.

It's no secret that Gervais worked in an office for many years before pursuing his dream (hence, The Office) and this is apparent in this film. The main character is beginning his career selling life insurance and it turns out to be a wholly soulless endeavour and he ends up wanted to take off into the world, looking for 'real life.' This presents a problem as the film frames 'getting out' as a solution to all problems. In fact, the opposite is true, rather than solving all your problems, running away would simply compound them. The thing that presents a challenge to these young adults is not their geographical location but their socio-economic status. You can be poor in Redding or poor in London and the result is much the same. I understand the need to 'get out' as much as the next person, but perhaps if some of these characters had some sort of ambition or dream that couldn't be attained in their town it would've made a more cohesive narrative.

The music was great, a selection of british and american rock music from the period sets the background for all the change occurring at the time. The hippy movement was only just starting to breakthrough and conservative, white-bread, working-class families were finally being confronted with liberal values. It's actually really funny hearing some of the dated conversation topics that passed as totally normal in the day: Elton John is looking for a wife. Black people are stealing our jobs and National Geographic was porn. The irony is not lost on Gervais' audience, but the traditional narrative device of a love story perhaps limits the real depth that this film could've aspired to. The social commentary could've been more biting, the irony more clear and the violence more gritty. Essentially it was a whitewashed BBC film version of what Gervais' childhood might have been like.

The film isn't a comedy and shouldn't be marketed as such. Don't go looking for a laugh, because even though you'll find a few, it's not the focus of the film. Gervais and Merchant are great at crafting day to day dialogue and that's why their shows have been so successful. However, their ability at crafting a feature length film is still in its infancy and this film reflects that. Sure there's some swearing and some hints of cringe humour that made The Office and Extras so successful but this can't, nor should this be, the crux of the film. Essentially this is a story that has been covered in the same time and place by people who've done it better. The Boat That Rocked and The History Boys immediately come to mind.

Gervais takes a back seat in this one and I think that's good. He'll make an excellent director one day - but it takes many years to get to that point and he has a lot of work ahead of him. I'll be excited to see the next film the Gervais/Merchant team puts together, but until that time I can only follow their work in anticipation of the greatness I know they're capable of.

The fact is I really wanted to like it, but for all the expectations I placed on it, the film continued to fall short. It wasn't a bad film - it just could've been better. Some honourable mentions should go to Emily Watson and Felicity Jones for some of the most powerful, touching portrayals of women in that period to date - they really took the show. I give this film a 5/10. It was watchable and interesting but I think I expected more than it could deliver.

- jt

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 7: Bad Education (2004)

2011-01-12T22:45:00.000+11:00

Okay, so this film review is about seven years late. But fuck you, I'm doing it anyway. It's a Spanish film directed by Pedro Almodovar. This guy kind of rocks. He usually writes and directs his films - typically with a cast of the same people. What I mean is that an actor that plays a main character in one film might have a bit part in others. It's like being privy to one massive in-joke or following a theatre troupe or something. I actually think this enriches the experience because you get to see the full range of all these different actors in various roles. I think Almodovar deliberately does this to show his audience how wonderful he is at picking actors. The thing is, he actually is.

Now, this film, like many of Almodovar's, is about making a film. He seems to gravitate strongly to films on this subject, or ones about storytelling. He seems to be very concerned about the theme of retrospect and subjectivity and this film is no different. Ignacio is an ex-lover of a film producer Enrique. He comes to him as a desperate actor with a story for Enrique to make into a film. It's a story of their childhood love and the way it was forbidden by their catholic masters. Interestingly enough, Almodovar is openly gay and is known to have gone to a catholic boarding school - so the extent as to how autobiographical this story actually is makes the narrative very intriguing. It's impossible to take it as fact, as the narrative begins to spin out of control faster than a rogue dradle, but it provides an interesting perspective on the remainder of his works.

The cast is largely male, and though it wasn't a problem for me I could see it upsetting feminists. Since the film was centred on gay males, there wasn't really any need for women. The fact is I've gotten used to, and in fact, require the presence of females within a narrative to balance the tone. I'm not really sure what it means to me that there aren't these extenuating factors - but it was something I noticed. The gender absence becomes even more pronounced with a large part of the focus of the film being on transvestites. With such an exaggerated view of femininity being presented it's kind of hard not to remember that there are no actual females present - and the notion of someone who is clearly a male wearing large fake breasts can border on slightly grotesque (As in discordant, not as in gross) for even the most open-minded of viewers.

The film is thoroughly sexualised - to me it seems appropriately so. For example, if I were a gay man I may stare at a man's dick as he walks past. That seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. That being said, whenever a film-maker shows a point of view shot they focus on the sexual objects face, or maybe their muscles. Rarely do they simply focus on the sexual organs. Almodovar, perhaps because of his sexuality, has no qualms about doing this. The viewer is confronted with these shots, whether they like them or not. This seems right for the tone of the film but I feel it could alienate people who don't really understand what the director's intention is.

In short, I liked this film. It has a sensational and sometimes twisty plot but it was very exciting to see where it went - because with Almodovar it's never where you'd expect. He's a bit weird, but something about him intrigues the shit out of me. 8/10 for this one. If I keep seeing films like this one I'll be a happy chappy.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 6: Bottleshock (2008)

2011-01-10T00:05:00.000+11:00

Okay, so Bottleshock was an irritating film. Classical 'America-beats-all-because-it's-the-best-of-the-super-best.' Except it's not about football or war or anything that anyone would care about: It's about wine. Some ailing French wine seller (Alan Rickman) decided to compare American wine and French wine. The American hippy looking douche-bag wins. They all live happily ever after, the end.

This film was annoying to watch. There were so many annoying peripheral characters that didn't need to exist. Eliza Dushku, hot as she is, was one of them. I mean, there were a whole bunch of characters that I wanted to fuck - but that does not a good film make. Well, maybe, but it's a different kind of film.

Chris Pine's (hippy douchebag) haircut was ridiculous and actually got in the way of me being able to take anything he said seriously. Yes I get it, you're good for nothing, but you're a jet at wine. Shut the fuck up and get one with it! For a film that was 1hr and 52mins long there wasn't much going on at the heart of it. If that's the kind of film they wanted to make it could've been 25 mins shorter and a hell of a lot more powerful. It took what was actually an interesting, true story and managed a dull re-presentation of the facts with a few unintelligible in-jokes about wine wedged in-between. Yippee.

Something which gave me the shits was a scene where Pine's character convinces all the passengers on a flight to put a bottle of wine in their hand luggage. There's some flimsy explanation as to why Rickman can't just check it with his luggage (he's a fucking princess) and right before he unclenches his pretentious asshole, thereby dropping his pink little tampon the community decides to be good old chums and help out. American's are just fucking awesome guys, aren't they??? HOW GOOD ARE AMERICANS??? AM I GETTING THROUGH???

It was set in california with these idealistic notions of a place that doesn't exist. Never did. Sun drenched fields of grapes. Harley's and dilapidated cottages with sprawling vistas of GOD'S LAND. Amazing. Bullshit. Nobody lives like that, stop romanticising alcoholism.

Ugh, this film gave me the shits. I give it 3/10, two of those points are for Dushku's tits and the blonde's ass; the third is for Alan Rickman's smarmy self-refferential line about being a douche-bag. Other than that I award you no points and may god have mercy on your soul. Avoid this one.

- jt

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 5:Elegy

2011-01-09T02:13:00.000+11:00

Elegy is a film set in New York sometime in the recent past. It took me a while to accept for a fact that this was the case - all the plush and spacious surrounds seem incongruous with compact American living, but there you are. It had the feel of a European film; warm air and love stories - perhaps that was due to the largely foreign cast. Ben Kingsley plays an ageing professor who falls in love with his gorgeous student (Penelope Cruz) and gets all jealous and Italian on that shit. For once the womanising professor has actually fallen for one of his trysts - oh no! Peter Sarsgard plays the professors angry son that is following in his footsteps against his will.

The characters aren't as trite as they may come across as in my description. To boil down essential traits means to generalise. All the good stuff gets burnt off - but I'm giving you a general idea, I think. In any case, there is some real humanity in Kingsley's character. He may be a womaniser, but you really feel for him. His belated mid-life crisis is really touching in a way. His fear and mistrust arises because he's an older man. He feels inadequate - compared even to younger versions of himself. For Kingsley's character there isn't any wisdom in age; if anything he's started acting irrationally, and frankly, illogically - something at odds with his usual system of order. For the professor there is no black and white (something which the film emphasises subtly but consistently throughout the film) there are simply shades of grey. He lives his life in this moral relativism and, too late, seeks escape. He wants to be a better man, but finds it hard to get there. His fear not only sabotages his somewhat healthy relationship with the student - but also paralyse him from acting when loved ones around him lose their lives unfairly and unexpectedly.

That's the thing about this film. It's filled with the unfair. There are no clear lines. Some people who deserve more chances get none and some who don't, receive fortune's hand. It's all the luck of the draw. It suggests that it's not how we act but how we love that's important. Love is very important.

Cruz's character makes most of the development in the final quarter of the film. To explore this would ruin some plot points, so I'll abstain. What I will say is that Cruz's ability to entirely shift in her character is sublime. The same figure, the same beauty becomes altered. It becomes less than the sum of its parts. It really reminds you how much she is indeed capable of.

In many ways its a tragedy. About chances missed, loves lost and time wasted. It's slow to get going but overall the performances and the cinematography make this a very deeply moving and wise film. 9/10. If you didn't find this review funny it's probably because I couldn't muster up any ironic distance from the content. It was too interesting and (for lack of a better term) real to be treated glibly. It really made an impact on me. Definitely see this.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 4: The Last Station

2011-01-07T16:54:00.000+11:00

The Last Station is a fictionalised biography of the last year of writer Leo Tolstoy's life. Tolstoy was considered Russia's greatest writer in the year of 1910 - the year of his death. His influence was powerful and his wealth great. He was a count, so this compounded with the revenue raised from his writings meant he was totally pimping. During the final year of his life he became disenchanted with this wealth. He became somewhat of a communist - though throughout his life and writings he reflected these kinds of views. He wanted to sign over the rights of his works to the people of Russia - thereby stripping his wife and thirteen (yeah, thirteen) children of any income.

Tolstoy (Christopher Plumber) and his wife Sophia (Helen Mirren) play out this dialectic for most of the film, with Sophia getting progressively more psychology unstable. The story was slow but the secondary plot-line of James McAvoy and his love interest seemed to carry some of the interest in the film. In so far as character development Helen Mirren was impressive. She always is - but there was something so tragic about her character that was hard to quantify. Perhaps it was a woman who had grown old and useless to the man that everyone else admires, perhaps it was the diminishing star of a great love, perhaps it was just great acting. Regardless of the reason there was something more in Sophia than the sum of her parts. He constant gibber-jabber - though warranted - could've made her character seem bitter and unsympathetic but she really did communicate a tragedy that seemed really genuine and touching. The love between these two characters - though they were so diametrically opposed - was palpable and real. I may have even had a bit of a teary.

McAvoy is always good too. The film created an interesting comparative paradigm between the two couples: Tolstoy vs Sophia and Valentin (McAvoy) vs Masha (Kerry Condon). You could almost feel Valentin measuring the success of his relationship with Masha against the eventuality of Tolstoy and Sophia's. He believes in the Tolstoien/communist(ish) ideals - but is essentially a romantic at heart. By the conclusion of the film he has been swayed from these principles by the more noble pursuit of love. Valentin has become alienated by the cool idealism of Chertkov (Paul Giamatti) who seeks to preach Tolstoy's message to the masses; he is a true - but sadly, uncompromising - disciple of Tolstoy's teachings; and it is this alienation which finally turns the audience against him.

Giamatti makes a good (subtle, but very good) bad guy. He is not without his humanity - but simply believes in something so strongly that he is willing to exercise what could be considered cruelty in order to achieve it. By trying to drive a wedge between Tolstoy and Sophia he hopes to achieve this proliferation of an image - Tolstoy the martyr. As Valentin rightly observes "That image will look more like yourself, when all is said and done."

This was a great film. The way the set was composed, the costume, the acting, the camera technique and the unmistakable sound of the scratching of reporters pencils to emphasise the theme of authorship that sits so heavily over the film. In short this film was Tolstoy - he would've liked the message it sent and he would've liked the fair representation it offered the different perspectives of those who loved him. I give it 9/10. Definitely see this one.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 3: Ronin

2011-01-06T22:51:00.000+11:00

Okay, so basically Ronin is a spy/heist film. Robert DeNiro is the ex-CIA awesome person/dude who is generally great at things. The chick who is the wife from Californication is the love interest. She's pretty and Irish. They're trying to steal a briefcase which is the classic definition of a McGuffin - An item which is simply the object of the chase. It doesn't necessarily contain any intrinsic value or worth - but we're chasing it for the whole film. We never find out what's actually in it, but who cares. It's a McGuffin.

I liked the film. The action scenes were quite long but since they were driven by a logical plot driven narrative (which had twists, that weren't ridiculous) I enjoyed it. It made sense. I gave a shit that DeNiro was chasing down some ex-KGB agent through the streets of Nice. I gave a shit that Irish girl crashed her car. I gave a shit that the Frenchman got shot. It was good.

There were lots of crane shots and helicopter landscape views of contemporary Europe. It was probably the catalyst for all the terribly terrible spy films starring Schwarzenegger and Norris. That being said, it was well shot. Perhaps too much money was thrown at those scenes, but from a filmmakers point of view it was gorgeous. It was beautiful. It would be a film that I would be proud to be involved with.

I liked this film. Strong acting. Decent plot. Decent writing. Something that bothered me was the thin connection to feudal Japan that the title of the film suggested. There was one irrelevant scene in the middle of the film which discussed the idea of a 'warrior without a master,' but that was the entire connection with the notion of a Japanese Samurai. It didn't need to be about that. There was plenty of existential grief and bad things which could have suggested character depth. And a good title for the film. Admittedly, Spy Things wouldn't have been as effective a title as Ronin, but what the hell.

I really liked it. Any two hour film that doesn't drag by is okay by me. 8/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 2: Adventureland

2011-01-05T15:36:00.000+11:00

Boy (Jesse Eisenberg) meets slightly emo girl (Kristen Stewart, before anyone cared) and falls in love. They're teenagers that are working at a crappy amusement park. She's banging older guy (Ryan Renolds) who's a failed rockstar turned maintenance guy - but really wants a proper puppy love relationship with Jesse, who is also a virgin - something which is for some reason a massive deal in American films. They both fuck it up but work it out eventually.

I wondered where Jesse Eisenberg came from. Before The Social Network the name only sounded vaguely familiar. I also realised that he kind of got the role because of this movie. He plays the same awkward, snarky, douche as Mark Zuckerberg. I'm not sure if this is because he's being type-cast or if he's got a limited range. That being said, I kind of like the character he's playing. He's exactly the kind of sarcastic guy that indie girls are meant to love. He's kind of fun to watch.

I didn't know it was in the 80's until halfway into the film. I don't know if it's because I'm not good with details - I mean, hot chicks are hot no matter the period, but still. Ronald Regan on the TV kind of gave it away - but if I didn't see that I wouldn't have realised.

The film was well shot but took far too long to get to the point. I understood that by the time Jesse gets to university that he's meant to have a 'life experience,' but aside from smoking copious amounts of weed and almost having a lot of sex nothing really much happens. I hope that for the next 28 days that isn't the complaint with all the films I watch. Maybe I just have a hard on for strong plot through-lines.

I guess it's a coming of age story. It's fun. It's got a feel of summer. It's watchable - even if Kirsten Stewart isn't exactly enthralling. I liked it. I'm giving it a 6/10.

The Unabatedly Stupid Film Project - 1: The Men Who Stare at Goats

2011-01-05T02:00:00.000+11:00

Okay, so I had this stupid idea for a project. Since I'm not at school and half my jobs aren't really going right now and the biggest thing in my life (apart from the lovely girlfriend) is currently swimming - I thought I'd do something new. I'm going to watch a film every day for thirty days. That doesn't seem so ridiculous - except for the fact that I'm going to write a review. Daily.

More than likely this will stay buried in the annals of the internet, like the rest of my arrogant metaphysical musings, but maybe someone will get something out of the reviews and my perspective on things. Probably not. Look, be honest, it's another egotistical exercise.

I clearly need the practice.

We've already kicked things off to a start with The Men Who Stare at Goats.

We're lead to believe (in a way that assigns liability to no one) that this story is based (kind of) around true events (maybe). This 'grain of truth' idea is mainly what perpetuates the viewer's interest in the film. Strictly speaking, if it were plainly (and truthfully) portrayed as fiction it would contain little emotional resonance whatsoever.

Rob (Ewan McGregor) plays a disenchanted journalist in search of adventure in Iraq in the beginnings of the war. On his way he encounters a myriad of strange but wonderful characters. With Lyn (George Clooney) as his paranormal 'jedi master' guide things are sure to be hilarious. Kevin Spacey is the bad guy (sort of) and Jeff Bridges plays a hippy who convinces the army that astral-projection can be weaponised.

Well, that's about the whole story. There's not much more I can give you because not a lot else happened. There's no strong driving force to the narrative, we're just kind of following these two goons around the desert for about 85 minutes. They get shot at. The hit a landmine. They walk through the desert. They save the day. It's a bit thin and scatological to make any kind of sense. In this it really did come across like a war journal. There are entire sequences (maybe half an hour in total) that could be stripped from the story - and it wasn't a long film. At least it didn't overstay its welcome.

With all this being said it sounds like I hated the film. I didn't. I wanted to like it. I really wanted to connect with the ironic voice of the narrator. I really wanted to believe George Clooney thought he had psychic abilities. I wanted Jeff Bridges to drop some acid and get gnarly with the rough and tumble of the US Army. But sadly I didn't really care about these things. They were sometimes vaguely humorous and even cute - but I felt the main flaw with this film was that it didn't know what it wanted for itself. It didn't know whether it wanted to be a comedy, a satire, a drama or a social commentary. It failed to be any mix of these and as such just turned out to be a quietly amusing little anecdote (claiming to be true, but probably false) about some stuff that may have (but probably didn't) happen in the army.

There was one scene which I thought was good. Where two American security forces start fighting each other without realising it. It was quick, subtle and showed (in a quirkily funny way) the waste, the violence and the ineptitude that the war on terror produced. It was, for just a moment, real satire.

I hate to give ratings for films because I feel it negates the review. There were some good things about this film. Most of them were in the previews and the rest were too subtle to be deliberate, but there was something weird about this film that I kind of dug. I'm glad I watched it. I'll give it a 5/10.

The Lost Posts

2011-01-04T22:13:00.000+11:00

I think the file must be running into the thousands. Ideas that were deemed genius in the heat of the moment or in emerging from REM sleep into wakefulness or the million other liminal moments between him and her that govern the majority of our lives. Between the infinite little moments that are devoid of meaning or the perception of time.

Every now and then: Pop.

There's an idea. A fantastic idea. An idea that's so good every person with ovaries will immediately drop to their knees and commence fellatio regardless of sexual orientation or preference. A really good idea. This idea sits on the top of your head like a bit of jelly for a time. It wibbles and wobbles and separates and regroups and just generally has a bally good time. It percolates on the corners of your consciousness with the full intention of being transcribed upon arrival to your destination - or at least noted. It must be noted.

Inevitably, it is not noted. It is forgotten. The stack of books tumbles off your skull. The towers crumble. The jelly slides off your head and lands with a sad splat that would give flubber a disappointed jiggle. It's gone. Into the ether. Unrecoverable. In the place in between places from whence it came. Like a proton that blinks into existence for a millionth of a second and is gone again just as quickly.

Where do these ideas go? These fully formed ideas that utilise metaphors and smilies with the ease that Keith Richards has with vagina - where are they? They were in my head and they were going to make bloody good blog posts. But now they don't exist. They never really did. Never got the chance. Now they're off in Narnia or wherever odd socks go when they're tired of your feet. The land of the lost posts.

Instead we're left with the posts that were. Not the brilliant ideas. Not even the best ones - but the ones that were retarded enough for my brain to hang onto because they were so thoroughly strange. I feel that's a great metaphor for life. Choices we could've made. Things we could've been. Places we could've gone. The chance was only there for a millionth of a second and now they're gone. They were never really there.

But it's always going to be better. Things that are never forced to stand up to the test of reality and consistency rarely are as good as they seem at first. It's better to write the posts that you actually can remember, rather than simply lament the ones you can't. You might find in the doing you'll actually come up with something that's halfway decent and even better; surprising.

And you won't regret waking up to dream notes such as: electric toilet?

Right?

The poetry in motherfuckers

2011-01-02T23:47:00.000+11:00

What a wonderful phrase.

Motherfucker, ain't no passin' phase.

What a versatile word. I mean, it used to mean someone who actually fucked their mother. I mean, Oedipus was probably the entire sample size. Think about that, someone who did a deed so foul that they had to invent a word just to describe the magnitude of it. Remarkable. One can only aspire to such greatness.

The word came to mean those who fucked other peoples mothers. Eventually it just degenerated into simply another insult hurled around by people in The Wire. Tragic. How the mighty have fallen, etc. But it is in this vein that my true admiration for the cultural hijacking for the word 'motherfucker' exists. The word (or conjunction? abbreviation?) has become synonymous for person.

Who's that motherfucker?

No reason. No violent intent. Not even disrespect. I can go up to my closest friend and say ' hey motherfucker,' and as long as it's in a specific cadence it's totally socially acceptable. It's as good as 'man' - hey man, what's going on?

Isn't that beautiful? Isn't that just poetry in motion? The most horrific word that could possibly be dreamed up (barring cunt, perhaps) being incorporated into common culture. Now, you're probably not going to get nanna to drop it - but when was the last time she said shit? Or anything, for that matter. Unless of course she's that lady from the Golden Girls who does gangster things as a hilarious joke. (It's funny because old ladies don't say those things! HA! That really cracks me up. Where's the new episode of Two and Half Men..?)

My point is I find it amazing how language evolves, grows, breaks down and builds itself back up again. Ebonics. Pig Latin. Txt Speak. These are marvellous things. Sure some poetry may be lost since the days of 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' but think of all the poetry we've gained. Think of all the new areas of human endeavour that have been explored because of the motherfuckers of this world. We haven't lost the poetry, or the tenderness. Times change. It's time to find the poetry in motherfuckers. I think it's exciting.

Fuck, Dexter is a good show.

2010-12-21T17:47:00.001+11:00

It is.

I mean, I know this sounds like a sponsored advertisement but it's really not. Exploring the lovely grey fields of moral relativism is fun and funny with a protagonist like Dexter. A killer that kills serial killers. A novel concept; but how does the literature stack up to the psychology?

Lets look at some of the textbook characteristics which define ASPD (Antisocial Personality Disorder) or psychopathy or sociopathy as the umbrella covers. Please note that some people define psychopathy and sociopathy as different subsets of ASPD and some define them as three separate disorders all together.

· Persistent lying or stealing (Dexter lies about killing people. Understandably)

· Apparent lack of remorse or empathy for others (Not for people under his knife)

· Cruelty to animals (Yeah, once I think)

· Poor behavioral controls — expressions of irritability, annoyance, impatience, threats, aggression, and verbal abuse; inadequate control of anger and temper (Sometimes he loses his shit, but it seems reasonable under the circumstances)

· A history of childhood conduct disorder (I'm sure)

· Recurring difficulties with the law (Well, he kills people, so technically.)

· Promiscuity (Nope)

· Tendency to violate the boundaries and rights of others (By killing them?)

· Aggressive, often violent behavior; prone to getting involved in fights (He's kicked some ass.)

· Inability to tolerate boredom (He is very sarcastic when someone else is prattling on. Not necessarily his fault)

· Poor or abusive relationships (He never abused anyone.)

· Irresponsible work behavior (Nope)

· Disregard for safety (Only for his victims. Again.)

Okay, so knowing all this I think Dexter is a great character. His profile seems to fit within the reasonable confines of a serial killer - yet there's something utterly charming about him. Maybe it's the way that his unique moral code seems almost like a beacon in an age where most murders go unsolved and crime and drugs seem to be eroding the moral fabric. Maybe we need a hero to show us the way to go. It seems funny that it's a serial killer who provides this guidance for society - but with corrupt officials, cops and judges perhaps the desire for self-government and self-determination aren't so misguided.

I love that there's a show that I watch that is challenging and clever enough to make me think of all these issues from a new perspective but also has interesting characters and plot lines. I love that I give a shit about the people involved in the show. It’s dramatic. It’s tense. And it’s still original after five seasons. I’m impressed and eager for what season six holds.

Things are always very much the same

2010-12-11T01:11:00.000+11:00

I feel bad for belonging to a family that’s well off. A family that owns property, goes to private schools and on vacation. Not crazy rich – but well off. I feel bad not because of starving kids in Africa (that’s right, not even a specific country or anything, just a big, vague AFRICA. I just judged an entire continent. Go me) or anything like that – but mostly because I think being in my position is much the same as most others.

For example, say you were at an expensive resort and all around you are beautiful things – beautiful people. Everywhere there’s granite this and silver that. Things that reek of needless excess. Social status. Now imagine you see a lamp. A beautiful, expensive looking lamp. You see the design, the materials, it’s faux-ancient-Greek vase aesthetic. I’m sure if you looked at this lamp you would see it was made in Italy or Spain or some other place where they don’t really make much of anything anymore. Made in the most painstaking, amazing way to truly bring you the best lamp. The Adonis lamp. The closest thing to Plato’s notion of ‘perfection.’ The perfect lamp.

The thing is, no matter how far this object tries to get away from the regular IKEA lamp that you buy for twelve dollars in Richmond there are things that will always remain very much the same. The lamp is powered (presumably) by electricity. This is the same electricity that everyone else uses for his or her daily needs. For watching television, for using their computer, for pleasuring themselves to the sound of George Michael’s ‘Faith.’ Whatever.

This electricity comes out of a power-point that is exactly like all the others. It may be surrounded by a mural composed of diamonds, or the frozen tears of Norwegian babies but it’s still the standard white plastic power-point that emits the energy required. It goes into the standard copper wire that is encased in rubber that goes into a thirty cent transformer and into the light bulb that was probably bought at Woolworths – just like yours.

In this light (ha!) the lamp looks rather ordinary. It may be spick and span at first, but after you see the trees and not the forest it seems much less impressive. A lamp – like most things – is actually much less than the sum of its parts. Last of all, you look around. You see a dozen of these lamps. Every one exactly like the one before. This lamp may be lovely and pretty and have suggestions of Aristotalian delight– but it is just one lamp in a long line of lamps. Mass produced. Made cheaper than what they’re sold. Buy for one – sell for two. There’s not love in this lamp. It’s a product. A product that tries to make you think it was made with love – but is really as loveless as a fifty year marriage.

So it’s based on this that I feel bad. Even the good things aren’t good things. Things are, in fact, for the most part, very much the same. What separates these objects is not their intrinsic ‘quality’ or ‘goodness’ some other, equally immeasurable definition of worth but rather the value we place on them as subjective entities. This lamp is made of this shiny metal we all agreed is more expensive than the other shiny metal – therefore it has ‘worth.’ Therefore it has ‘value.’ But when it all comes down to it – the job of a lamp is really to produce light.

Isn’t it?

Writers writing writers into their writings.

2010-12-10T01:14:00.000+11:00

Okay, so there was this writer. And he's just a totally awesome protagonist and he's totally great. He's smart, witty, ironically distant and handsome. Very handsome. And then a whole bunch of stuff happens to him - but that's not important. What's important is that he's awesome.

This is how novels who have writers as their protagonists sound like to me. I just get the feeling like the writer has just injected himself straight into the story - and interestingly, isn't a fuck up, or if he is; it's very poetic. I'd like to see the percentage of careers represented in films as opposed to the percentage of careers actually chosen in life.

For example, I think for the amount of films made about cops there aren't that many cops in life. Say 20% of films are about detectives - I don't think detectives make up 20% of the real life work-force. I'm sure there are a lot of garbage men, say 5% of the work-force - now is every 20th film you see about waste management? I doubt it. There are certain careers that are just more glamorous. And that's fine. Some careers are just more interesting than others - but writers just shit me.

You know what would be an original film? A story about a receptionist. It'd be very avant-garde and really deep and critical of fascism or something. You know, some director could make it as interesting as a spy film. Maybe. I mean, I know they say 'write what you know' but Jesus Christ - show just a modicum of imagination. Just one.

I swear to god if Stephen King (or anyone else for that matter) writes about another writer I'm going to write a short story where a writer whose fed up with writers who write writers into their stories goes and murders the writer in question.

Or I could write this - whatever's less convoluted.

Oprah in Australia

2010-12-08T20:10:00.000+11:00

You understand she’s not a demi-god, right? She’s just a person. She’s not an Adonis, Diana or Juno. She’s a person. She takes her morning dump just like other people and she eats KFC and slurps her soup and bites her nails and farts just like the rest of us.

Yet the moment she arrives in Australia everyone loses their mind. “Oh it’s great, the first thing I thought was ‘I should move here.’” Well, of course she’s going to say that. She probably says that every place she goes. She probably said it in Burkina Faso. I’m not sure if she went there - I just thought of an obscure African country and took my chances. And then explained myself. Sigh.

Anyway – I don’t understand the hype. She took up a large segment on the nightly news. Interviews with people who’d seen her. People who’d chatted to her for a moment. The premier of Queensland! Shots of the mating Koalas that she so humorously viewed with her benevolent smile. What the hell? I’m sure someone died today – I’m SURE of it. But this is breaking news: A person is travelling. Stop the presses.

This really confirms for me my theory that celebrities are the new royalty. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t mind Opera. I respect her. How can you avoid respecting a woman who has built an entertainment empire with her own hands? You can’t. YOU CAN’T, DAMN IT! But come on – it’s not the second coming of Christ. Calm the fuck down.

I think it’s the reporters’ fault. They’ve been to journalism school for four years and all they seem to have learned is alliteration and poor puns. How are you liking Australia? It’s shit, I hate it and I hate you. What’d you expect? She took a shit on the koalas and lit them on fire? She’s fine, she’s having a great time and she’ll do her thing and go away. There, send that to the printers. It’s an advance copy. My god.

Waiting

2010-12-04T17:35:00.000+11:00

Waiting tables has given me a whole new perspective on restaurant dining. I knew it would. I knew that the naive little preconceptions, misunderstandings and downright ignorance would melt away and I would be right in the head of whatever person was taking my plate away. Like a Yerk (for those who read Animorphs as children - or as sad adults). I knew this would happen - yet I'm still surprised it did.

I'm surprised that after all this time waiting tables I'm still surprised. I'm shocked, even. I was totally in the head of each of those waiters last night. Each awkward movement, each badly phrased question, each gesture, I knew what it all meant. It's like, after taking drugs you know by looking on the street what people are on drugs. You get a feel. Call it women's intuition.

It's actually the first time - I've just now realised. The first time since I've been waiting tables that I've actually been on the other end. As a customer. As a waiter/student/actor thing I've been frugal. I've been saving every last cent that I can - and as such haven't really been enjoying the nicer things. Seeing a show. Eating out (At restaurants - not at ladies). Maybe having extra cheese - or an extra beer. As a waiter I've been... well, waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to take off. Waiting to go on my self-funded holiday. It seems that none of my work has actually gone into anything. It hasn't gotten me any further in life. The savings I had I blew on my car accident.

I feel like I'm treading water. This isn't an unfamiliar sentiment to those who take the time to read what I write. I just wish I wasn't waiting for whatever it is I expect to come my way. Anyone who has any notoriety didn't just wait for things to happen for them - they did it themselves. It's only those Hollywood one-off glamour story cunts that confuse the rest of us. There is no 'and now you're famous/successful/whatever' moment. There is no winning. The internet makes us think all we have to do is some insignificant shit and we can go gangbusters, global, viral, worldwide, international, hit, sensation, teenage dream, etc.

This is my destiny - if I can be so presumptuous as to use a word I don't believe in. This is what I want with my life - to be in the semi-obscurity. To try and eek out a living doing what I enjoy without ever realising my potential. That is my fate. I've done it twice now... Use words I don't believe in.

I don't want to wait anymore - but as far as problems go, that's not a bad one to have. Right?

Can I have my cake and eat it?

2010-12-01T21:42:00.000+11:00

Well, can I? I would like to - but it seems you can't have everything.

I've been swimming every day and I feel pretty damn (that's right DAMN) good. I don't know If I look better but I certainly feel better and that's a plus. I've got the feeling it's going to be like pushing shit up-hill for several months before I get any results - but hey, that's the price you pay for a hooker on Labour Day.

I feel that because I'm on holidays from University and only working 2-4 days a week it's easy to keep this routine going. It'll be easy to swim on holidays and easy to put the weight back on when I don't. And I'll feel twice as bad. It's when I go back to school that I'm worried about. About when I'm doing 25 hours a week at uni plus reading, plus homework, plus student theatre - I may not have time for a splish-splash in the pool.

I think what I'm most worried about is being creative. Can I still have all these things and write? Or look for an agent? Or, Or, OR! Multiple digressions ending in nothing except bitter disappointment and debt. Or both. I want it all. I want my radio shows, and my degree, and money and friends and a body that doesn't make me cringe every-time I catch sight of it in the mirror. I'm worried something is going to fall by the wayside. Something HAS to, right?

Make time. That's what they say - you've gotta make time for the things you want. The things you don't you mustn't really want. I just wish something would take off. The acting thing. The writing thing. The radio thing. The video thing. I've got my fingers in so many pies it seems impossible that one of them doesn't get hot. Instead I just have a handfull of luke-warm pies - which isn't as delicious as it sounds. Maybe that's the problem - divided attention. Maybe I'm doing all these things half-heartedly. How can you really give all these different things a chance? How can you really give any of these things a proper crack if they're not full time?

Maybe it's time to start covering some ground. Make some to-do lists and smash that shit like a whack a mole.

But first, an episode of West Wing....

Go to my website - if that's what you're into.

- jt

The Best Old Man Ever

2010-11-21T16:29:00.000+11:00

I would be the BOME.

Best Old Man Ever. Did you not read the title?

All that old people need to do to be funny is be crotchety pricks. If I say 'cunt' I'm a sexist - if an old grandpa (or Alf the rapist) says it they're a comedy master-mind. I can't wait. Because I figure I would still be me. I would still be playing Halo 45 and Final Fantasy Babillion and Four. I don't really think I'd grow out of those things. Fart Jokes, dick jokes, Rick Asley and Bill Hicks would still be funny to me - I'm not sure I'd ever reach the crocheting and waiting-to-die stage that seems to have absorbed most of the elderly undead at the moment.

Goddamn you, live! Jump out of an airplane, do some heroin and fuck some hookers - you're earned it after all. If I was old I'd sneak into Miley Cyrus' room and come in her hair - just for kicks! So what if you get caught? Just say your senile and they'll put you in a home where the girl-to-guy ratio is four-to-one. You literally can't lose.

The generation after me would have some shit to deal with, I can tell you that much. Grandpa Jorge, why are you taking a shit on dad's desk? He pissed me off. I can do what I want. I'm old, damnit. Then I play Lady Gaga, dance like a retard and people look at me like I'm from the moon.

I can't fucking wait.

Swimming in a pool

2010-11-19T11:26:00.000+11:00

I bit the bullet. I started exercising.

It had to happen sooner or later. I couldn't live in my tubby nirvana forever. Eating whatever the shit I want, walking a maximum of 50 metres from my house to the car. Ah those were the hedonistic, pleasure filled days.

Now I'm swimming every day. EVERY DAY. It's already driving me nuts - but I feel If I can hold onto this routine four more than a month it'll stick. Of course not a single one of them has stuck so far - but I keep bashing my head against that wall in the hope that it will suddenly cave in and allow me past.

Now that University has finished up for the year I'm finding myself with free time - this makes sense with my working only 3 days a week. I think exercise has, ironically, become procrastination for something even more important and demanding of my attention: finding an agent. Ah yes, the actor dilemma - there's always something more pressing than sending your resume off. The swimming pool can't reject you - and it just might make you look sexy. Maybe.

But sooner or later I'm going to have to send of those resumes - financial need dictates it. I've only got 12 months of my course left and not a hell of a lot to show for it. One of my friends leaves University and has an entry wage of $50,000 a year. I leave Uni and need to start applying for jobs. I'm definitely on the back foot.

So enrolling. Then swimming. Then Agenting. That's a verb for so many people - trust me.

Manifestos

2010-11-14T10:29:00.000+11:00

There aren't enough manifestos these days. They used to be all about the shop. The Communist Manifesto, The Anacharist Manifestio, The Humanist Manifesto and many, many more. All available for purchase now. If you use your credit card in the next ten minutes you get the Fascist Manifesto FREE. That's right FREE. Act now!

People with strong political or artistic views writing things, being heard. They had decided - for the benefit of everyone else - what was best for the world. What the rules should be. Everyone listened. Read. These documents were preserved and kept throughout history as being of vital importance. As if the world would somehow lose its place without them.

You don't get manifestos these days. People don't seem to like being preached to. It seems much easier to write these days - but much harder to be read. Sure, I can post this blog which potentially millions, even billions, have access to - but I'll get a few hits at best. By making communication so open, so broad with the current publishing system, the internet, etc. there is so much information coming in its overwhelming. Even if people were interested in my stuff they wouldn't be able to find it in the clusterfuck that is the internet. Okay, so you're Rambo and I'm the blond chick - would you really fight all of Burma to save me? Probably not.

I suppose there's just part of me that's nostalgic for the time where some nutball had some crazy notion and just like that there was a crowd. Sympathisers. Disciples. Without even really trying - they were bored back then, you know, before Jersey Shore.

What I'm saying is - I'd like to start a cult. Drink this cordial, it's delicious.

The Death of Paul the Psychic Octopus

2010-11-01T22:40:00.000+11:00

‘Should’ve seen that coming,’ is what people say when someone (or something) psychic dies. It’s a very funny joke – but do they realize that psychics probably have a hard life? Maybe they don’t want to live.

Could you imagine being on the crapper and some old prick from Adelaide in the 1950’s has to (I mean has to) get you to solve his murder. He was set up after all. I don’t care. Let me shit you geriatric apparition! My god!

Maybe the psychic octopus wanted to go. Maybe he was sick of all the negative attention. I know its coming and I can’t stop it. I won’t stop it. It’s like Final Destination but for calamari. Delicious Final Destination. DFD. In 3D. Now that’s a film!

How could the owners even tell it was that octopus that had died? Maybe Paul faked his own death and his on some beach in Aruba living of gambling winnings. He could do it, being a psychic and all.

That’s why I don’t believe in psychics – because if you had that ability you’d never work a day in your life. You’d always be at the TAB making millions. Or maybe there are psychics, but they occasionally lose money to throw people off the scent – or maybe they’re just ‘really good at business,’ because they can see what’s coming.

Or maybe it’s just a regular octopus that’s dead now. Could be. You never know.

Waiters: The Middlemen of the World

2010-10-30T22:42:00.000+11:00

I think the idea of the waiter is a good metaphor for the western world. Most people earn their living pushing papers, selling things, packaging things, trading things, advertising, hyping, quelling, carrying and destroying things. But notice one significant absence – nobody really makes anything. The rancher kills the cow, the chef makes the food, the waiter carries the food and the consumer eats it. We are all waiters.

What do we really make? We don’t source raw materials for things. We don’t manufacture. We sell. We carry. We are eternal middle-men. Buy for a dollar, sell for two – the drug dealer’s motto. As the apparition in Mad Men says:

‘What do you make? You farm bullshit.’

I feel like him.

I live in the middle. I make my money in carrying food. I buy the things I want from other people who carry it to me. If only I went to the source. But if everyone did that then we’d all be out of a job.

I think the job that really exemplifies this ‘middle-ness,’ is that of a banker. What does a banker do? He moves money from one place to the other. He carries. It’s not his money – but somehow he makes money from this money. He creates money. This ten dollar bill represents a dozen eggs – and he makes it into thirteen by moving it. Back and forth – like connect four. Like a puzzle. Somehow the bank has more. Always has more. That’s what they do; they are in the business of carrying money. The beauty of it all is even when people lose money they still make a profit. They can’t lose.

Even just the idea of money is ‘middle-ness.’ It started off as a paper representation of how much gold you owned and then it became currency itself. Here is my paper, which represents value. It is neither gold, nor goods, nor services it is merely the thing that is carried around. The middle between seller and buyer. The representation of something real. Substantial.

There is something in me that wants to make something. Maybe that’s what artists are nowadays: the only people who really make anything. And farmers. Artists and farmers, working together to make things for the world.

I like that.

Opera: the noble artform

2010-10-29T00:44:00.000+11:00

This is an article about the virtues of opera.

Now, those of you who are left will definitely take what I have to say seriously: I like opera music. I’ve had the radio on the classical music station and aside from musical songs, orchestral music and smooth jazz there are some damn fine operas being played.

Now, I know opera is not the coolest thing to own up to – it’s not like saying you made Lindsay Lohan lick your index finger after fisting her for over an hour (that’s cool, right?) – but it makes me happy and that’s the important thing. I think what I like most about opera is the intensity of emotion. The stakes are always high in opera. There’s always someone being thrown into the clutches of someone gripped by fear and the duty of vengeance. Or whatever.

Nothing is ever boring, ever meaningless in opera. Everything is of vital importance. These people will be ripped apart by the sheer fury of their emotions if they don’t achieve whatever it is they’re after. There’s none of this boring realism that seems to be infecting the very fabric of society with its banal subterfuge. No kitchen-sink dramas. No cinema verite. No boring stories about minimal character development. Opera is all flash. All blood. All heart.

Of course, the criticism of this being that opera borders on the melodramatic – but I say “what’s wrong with that?” It’s only because today’s society is so obsessed with the appearance of verisimilitude (which ironically forces it away from the real and into the hyper-real, take Jersey Shore for example) that anything except the ‘real’ or ‘raw’ human experience is dismissed as fantastical and petty. Anything, except meaningless, abbreviated observation of human sewage is considered ‘exaggerated’ because it’s not ‘real.’

Of course it’s not real, it’s art! If life truly mirrors art: you failed. Art is something through which we view the human experience – not a mirror to be held up against itself. That only causes a hall of mirrors. A reflection of a reflection: culminating in nothing but more reflections. That’s realism. A hall of mirrors, leading nowhere.

I really enjoy what opera has to offer. I mean it’s hard to tell with most of the lyrics being in German and all; but I make up my own stories and that’s better than anything else I’ll hear on the radio at midnight on my way home from waiting tables. Ah, but the fear, the joy, the hurt, all of it smacks of something better than reality. Something better than getting paid $15 an hour to transport over-priced food to spoilt people who don’t enjoy their lives. Something better than the real world has to offer. Give it a listen sometime.

103.5 FM 3NBS

Talking about important things

2010-10-25T00:23:00.000+11:00

I don’t understand it.

I don’t understand why people do the things they do. Why we can be here one minute and gone the next. It’s a crapshoot. It’s a roll of the dice. It’s rubbish. There’s no reason. No order.

Stories give us that. Or try to. Stories say ‘this started here and it caused that.’ Everything is significant. It has a point. But that’s so unlike life. That’s such an artificial way of organizing events: Causality. In reality there are such an infinite number of variables that it’s almost impossible to say that one thing is truly, directly connected to another. Caused another.

I’d like to see in a film or a book a travelling salesman. Someone who’s selling dictionaries door-to-door and interrupts a really important piece of dialogue between the main characters for no reason.

‘Honey, I’m leaving you.’

‘I know. But I’m keeping the kids.’

‘Those are my kid-’

Doorbell.

‘Hi, how would you like the latest (and greatest) oxford English dictionary! It comes with all new additions like ‘lol’ and ‘rofl’ for only 49.95, what do you say?’

‘Suck a fuck, I’m busy.’

End scene.

Or maybe someone just taking a shit for no reason. There isn’t anything funny that happens in the crapper, or any narrative significance, or a good reason for us (the audience) being there – just seeing the protagonist taking an honest to goodness shit. We know they must.

Not everything is related to other things. Human beings are such infinitely complex being in some respects – and so simple in others. You can’t question back and forth ‘what if I had done this?’ or ‘what if I’d been there?’ because it simply can’t yield results. You can’t blame your self for action or inaction because both routes are so uncertain. We are tiny little ants in a box in proportion to this world – do we really think the little grains of sand we move are important to anyone but us? Even if they were we can’t control them. We can’t influence results. Not in any real sense.

What we can control is our own actions. Our own state of mind. But that’s purely a singular notion. The idea that we could really influence anyone but ourselves is a fallacy that has somehow been perpetrated on the world. We can’t change what is. I mean really IS. The world is immutable. Interminable. Inexorable.

So why bother?

I sometimes wonder that myself. But here I am. Not brave enough to take a step in the other direction – but sometimes too tired to keep on. Where do I go? What do I do? What does it all mean? Can it mean something? Then things we can’t change happen and we just keep going.

What else is there to do?

Mediocrity Rules.

2010-10-07T18:37:00.000+11:00

Okay, now it's getting ridiculous. It's like nobody's listening anymore.

Katy Perry, Kesha (Yes, with an S, not a fucking dollar sign), Tailor Swift, The Back Eyed Peas, Beyonce, Adam Lambert and Justin Bieber. The court will come into session. You have been charged with excessive mediocrity in the sphere of entertainment. How do you plead?

Doesn't matter. You're guilty. Every single one of you. Guilty as sin. Guilty as those Collingwood players.

Sentence?

Five years trapped in the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

You'll be up for artistic parole soon, don't blow it.

To quote Patton Oswalt; It really feels like we're in the other universe, doesn't it? The bad one. Like it's an episode of Sliders where they go to the alternate universe where everything is screwed up. Except it's our universe. Except instead of Paul Keating we got John Howard. Instead of renewable energy we got coal. Instead of Norah Jones we got Lady Gaga.

We allow it. Every-time we listen to this mediocre hogwash we are supporting them. Every-time you go and see a crappy movie, or watch a shitty show, even if it's ironically, you are part of the problem. You are contributing to the cultural erosion of modern society. Yes, you. I know you're thinking 'not me.' Yes, you. Especially you.

But Jorge, I hear you say, who are you to decide what's high or low culture? Who are you to say what's good and what's bad? A person with a brain, that's who. I mean, fine if you don't want to use yours - but don't try to convince me I'm not using mine. YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD! You know deep down what's good and what's shit.

Justin Bieber is bad music. Simple as that. It is, without a doubt, objectively bad. Anyone who's ever studied music will tell you that. Anyone who's ever studied any kind of words will tell you, 'Me plus you, I'ma tell you one time,' OVER AND OVER AGAIN can hardly be called more than the ramblings of a barely musical, barely pubecent, barely boy. It's mildly coherent at best. But it went to number one, and stayed there. WHY? Because we love shit.

MMMmmmm, fill up the troughs I haven't consumed enough shit today. The world loves shit. We keep paying for it and they keep giving it to us. Do you really think they're going to bother to pay to put on a show like Arrested Development when they can just film the entertainment abortion that is Jersey Shore? Why bother? If people keep lapping up the shit then there's no reason to try.

I think this is the article I've been working up to all year. This is the issue that has really been at the heart of all my works: why isn't there any decent culture?

Bill Hicks said it best: They are DEMONS sent to LOWER the STANDARDS. Salman Rushdie said it too: it always matters to name rubbish as rubbish; that to do otherwise is to legitimise it. That's what we're doing, we're letting shit be served to us as chocolate ice-cream. No. Just no. I figured it would all fall apart after a while. Eventually everyone would realise they were talentless, glorified hacks and they would fall; faster and harder than they'd risen. But it just keeps going. The ever revolving pile of shit and it just keeps growing. It seems pointless.

But you can stop it. You can just switch-off. The radio. The TV. Switch off and don't switch it on again until there's something decent on there. The free market will provide if you don't consume the bullshit. It has to, otherwise it dies. So do something. You know what the right thing is. Do it.

P.S. Erica Chan, was I being sexist again? I can't tell, I'm just a stupid old man. Hurumph.

(Still) Jorge Tsipos

Stop reading my shit!

2010-10-05T20:51:00.000+11:00

Okay, so I've been told off by the Women's Room again.

I write articles for my uni paper and today is the second time that I've had an article in response to something I've written. Negative, obviously. Calling me a sexist.

I believe in equal rights. I have a sense of humour.

Those two things are not mutually exclusive - or shouldn't be.

Just because I've commented on Montana Fisburne's (Who? Exactly.) situation does not make me a sexist. Just because I talk about her in relation to her father (the only reason the story is noteworthy in the first place) is not sexist. The fact that I'm making a point about a society which values fame above all else is NOT SEXIST.

I repeat: NOT SEXIST.

It had nothing to do with Montana being a girl or the sex industry as a whole - these are immutable facts. YES the notion of a sex industry is lamentable. YES I feel for people who have negatively been affected by it - but I see these as constants. Unchangeable.

Frankly, uninteresting.

What I was making a point about is the new kind of society that seems to champion doing anything possible to obtain fame - even at the expense of one's friend's and family. THAT was the point of the article. THAT was the message I was trying to get across. The fact that the Women's group really took the message that I think of women as "either Madonna's or whores," is frankly ridiculous and I resent it.

Finally, you have free choice. You have arms (presumably); and you have the ability to lower them. If reading my articles bother you so much then DON'T!

Jorge, don't you want realistic criticism that reflects what people actually think of you're work?

No. Shut the fuck up. Be constructive or utterly silent. Stop reading my shit. I can do without your negative commentary. I don't need your voice in my life. Sure I disagree with things, I get annoyed about things - but the difference is I DON'T go and write articles in the paper whenever I see something I object to.

I realize the irony of me writing this all in my blog - but nobody reads it, it's fine.

If you're bothered by something you read - don't read it. It's as simple as that. But just because I'm a male commenting (indirectly) about issues which have affected women does not mean that I have an incorrect opinion. That's the right word for my article - opinionated. Not objective. Not expositional. Presenting a point of view.

And I've never been so condescended to as with the title of their response article 'Jorge, Jorge, Jorge,' as if I'm a belligerent child begging for candy in Coles during rush hour. Not making your cause very sympathetic; I'll tell you that much.

I bet they think they've done their bit for feminism for the day as well. Let me ask you, when was the last march you went on? When was the last time you wrote to your MP about something that concerned you? Never? But you wrote a bunch of articles for a free paper nobody reads? Say no more - you've done your part. Germaine Greer would be ever so proud. Spare me your condescension, spare me your guilt-schlepping but do me the greatest favour of all and spare me of you.

My god...

Work Stuff.

2010-10-03T22:16:00.000+11:00

Ordinary day at work, except at the end of today I cry.

Yay.

So this guy calls up, on Grand Final Day, wants an apartment. I tell him (mistakenly) that I can give him one. I realise my mistake after having taken his details. I call him back within half an hour and leave a message. I call him again and get him on the phone. He says, in the rudest possible fashion, he's coming anyway, dispenses a few choice swear words and then abruptly hangs up.

I find him another apartment. ON GRAND FINAL DAY. I find him one in the inner city area. A half hour tram ride from where we are, at the same price. Perfect. Not good enough apparently. He wants us to pay for the apartment. Not the difference - everything. He also says he can't book another apartment because he's driving. He says this on the phone. To me. Whilst driving.

Not only that, but apparently he's a babillionaire and uses our company for his business. He says he's going to pull millions of dollars out of our company and he hopes I get at least fired - At least! Like they're allowed to whip me or something.

Around 2-2.30 (right before the end of my shift, goddamn it!) he comes in and re-inactes the whole insanity live. He says he drove from Canberra (Impossible to do in less than 8 hours, by the way) and he's never been cocked around this badly. Oh yeah, there were customers there for this. Funzies.

He also said I threatened him (which still makes the opposite of sense to me) and that wouldn't work on him. After demanding an appointment with the manager and some money and a blow-job or whatever else it is that he wanted he left in a screaming huff. He seemed to think it was somehow my personal mission to annoy him and disrupt his day - when (ironically) that was his job.

So I cried for a bit and wondered if any amount of money was worth what he had put me through.

My revenge? I'd love to distribuite his email address to the sickest, dirtiest, most depraved pronography websites on the face of the planet. That'd make me feel better. And maybe if I could force his entire business and personal life into unmitigated bankruptcy for the rest of his sweaty, type-a, businessman, jerk-off, unfulfilled, impotent life, that'd be good too.

Good to get that out.

I hate the world

2010-09-26T20:06:00.000+10:00

I hate that my parents have no idea who Ionesco is - but they know Justin Bieber and can recognise his songs.

*Kills self*

Also, Tamuz (my lovely girlfriend) and I had a great idea for a website:

lolsluts.

It's like lolcats, but it's with porn pictures. Try it at home. Quite rewarding.

Also, here is a video about a cat. Enjoy.

Love and sunshine

Jorge

I did a play

2010-09-23T00:02:00.000+10:00

I've written a show for this year's Melbourne Fringe Festival

called 'A + B = ?'

Pretentious, I know.

But something I've learned from producing and acting in this show is that people don't like people. The amount of arm twisting and near begging I've had to do to get people to come to the show has been odious to say the least. Fucking horrific to say the worst. Anal rape from a large reptile - to be specific. It's almost bad enough that it's not worth doing a show.

Everyone is always worried about their privacy. Everyone's always looking at me. How can I change my privacy settings? How can I make sure that that weirdo can't see my photos?

Newsflash: Nobody gives a shit about you.

You could be raping Zelda on Pegasus whist flying over the UN whilst reciting the pledge of allegiance and still nobody would notice your sorry ass.

...Did you just hear something? I think it was the pledge of allegiance... Oh well, sign this ambassador....

Either that or ALL these people genuinely haven't heard of my show. Genuinely think they can just rock up on the door. Genuinely don't want to come. Over 100 people still haven't responded to the event invitation of Facebook. THAT'S A RESPONSE! NO RESPONSE IS A RESPONSE.

I don't know. It's not like I ask for a lot. I'm always whoring something or other but I'm not ostentatious about it. I don't flyer people on the street like I've done for this. I don't know. It's 90 seats and I can barely fill it! That's how much sway my name has. Oh, Jorge wrote a play, but you know what's also good? The Expendables. Let's go see that again.

I'm just scared. I think that's what it is. I'm scared that after all this work I'll turn up and there'll be my mum and some uni friends and NO ONE ELSE! And we'll have to do the entire show to an empty room. My co-star deserves better than that. My girlfriend/stage-manager deserves better than that. I just want it to work so badly that even victory's only feel like not-losses. Aieaieaie.

And now I feel sad. That wasn't the point of this...

Book tickets here

Metafiction

2010-09-21T11:22:00.000+10:00

Fiction which talks about fiction.

For good examples see The Princess Bride and nothing else.

The fact is, even though metafiction is an interesting idea there's an inherent pretentiousness built into it. I'll reference things I've read and know and hopefully other people will get the jokes and understand how constructed language all is. They'll think I've very clever. Which I am.

High five me.

Maybe I'm not really a writer. I mean, I'm writing now, but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about creative writing. It has to be said like that as well, creaaaaative writing. I don't think I've written a single convincing story that is truly outside my real-life experience. It just doesn't work. The words don't come and I feel like a pretentious douche when they do. I write stuff that happened - convincingly, I think - but you can never tell.

But METAFICTION. I think that's different. It's hard to do well, but so is literally anything. Also, I'm kind of concerned that metafiction is going to eat itself. Kind of like a snake that's eating it's tail. You can only feed off your own experience so much before there's nothing left. Assuming metafiction is based off a literary tradition, what happens when that literary tradtion is metafiction,? It's kind of like Inception. Except without the awesome explosions.

I don't know - but I think the answer to the question 'what is post post-modern' lies not in further fragmentation and self-referencing but some sort of new form. Of course I can't name it, because if I could, it wouldn't be new. I think this generation is just going to be the confused generation. In-between two really important events that they'll loose sight of. Like a captain that's out at sea and only see's water behind and before him.

There's a confusing time ahead.

Bad conversation.

2010-09-19T13:18:00.000+10:00

Bad conversation is the worst thing on earth. Worse than cancer of the AIDS of the leukaemia of the eyes. The Worst. Bad conversation can turn a lovely day into the third circle of hell or the normal working week into a Mexican stand-off with your razorblade and a bottle of scotch. What’ll be today? I hope it’s scotch.

Bad conversation can make you want to pull a Van Goh and become an artist – just to fucking get away from it. I bet someone said to Van Goh something like “It’s all the rage in the salons” for the twelve thousandth time and he thought fuck this shit and tore off that pesky ear that allowed that socially transmitted poison into his brain. The box was just him being nuts though.

Bad conversation can strike from anywhere at anytime. It’s more insidious – and far more likely- than any kind of terrorist attack. If You See Something, Say Something, should’ve been changed to If You See Something, Shut The Fuck Up Already.

Here are some examples of bad conversation. Some little signs, tags, flags, if you will, that will allow you to identify bad conversation and realize that you’re time is being fucked with. If ever a story ends: ‘So I was like, what the hell?’ ‘So I said, we’ll just have to do it then,’ ‘What a pussy,’ ‘No way!’ ‘Way.’ ‘There’s no way!’ ‘Fuck this,’ ‘suck this,’ or ‘truck this,’ you know you’re being fucked with. The thing is, you can’t tell a story isn’t going anywhere until it’s over. It’s like Lady Gaga, by the time you realize what you’re listening to it’s too late. It’s already stuck in your brain.

P-p-p-poker face. And then I found twenty dollars.

The worst thing about this, THE WORST THING, is that bad conversation doesn’t even need to involve you – you can walk by three people with two brain cells to share between them and catch their bad conversation. It’s like airborne AIDS, except more terrifying.

‘So I said, “no, just cause you fucked me in the ass, doesn’t mean I’m not a virgin anymore,”’

Enter Oedipus who carves out his eyes with a blunt accessory. Order is restored.

And the terrifying thing is you realize you have terrible stupid conversations all the time. Conversations where you think you’re the next Oscar Wilde. Like that cheeky blonde in the corner is going to come over and blow you because of that last, irresistibly witty comment. Has to, otherwise the world makes no sense. Then you hear someone else say the exact same thing, in the same way, you realize you’re a total idiot, and you deflate like a cock that’s wandered onto the WRONG section of the website.

Please, no more bad conversation. I think I may burst into flames if it keeps happening. Jesus.

Taking you out of it

2010-09-18T18:59:00.000+10:00

There are lots of things. Little things. They 'take me out of it.'

There's a better way of saying it.

Verfremdungseffekt: "which prevents the audience from losing itself passively and completely in the character created by the actor, and which consequently leads the audience to be a consciously critical observer."

But that's boring. Thanks for that, Brecht.

There was this play I saw one time which was presented as realism. With realistic (if a little improbable story-line). It was a decent play, with decent direction but there were one or two little things about it that just took me out of it. Made me remember I was watching a play, not highly-stylised life.

They went to all the trouble of having fake cigarettes (which smell like the soft underbelly of the week old corpse of a French prostitute) but didn't show their actors how to smoke them. When I'm looking at a Don Draper wannabe smoking a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger whilst taking a big, deep breath into the bottom of his lungs like a deranged hippy, it takes me out of it.

The went to to trouble of having bottles of liquor (specific whiskeys, in fact) but then put nothing in the bottles! People were pouring (and more importantly drinking) nothing. You pour differently when there's nothing. You pause differently if you're swallowing nothing. It just took me out of what was essentially a good play into - why didn't they just put apple juice in there?

Jorge, what did you expect? It's a play. Just pretend.

THEY should pretend! That's what they're doing. Pretending! It seems lazy to me for actors to say, 'oh well, they can just pretend we're drinking.' I can just stay home and pretend a better show and save myself the ten dollars, if that's the case.

Or maybe I should just man up. Nobody else seems to mind. It's a common enough convention. It's just one of those things that 'takes me out of it' and distances me from the experience. I want to be up close and personal with the experience, to get into the nitty gritty of a performance, not to have to stand there and wonder what exactly so and so did with the whatsit.

Like I said, personal preference. Maybe I'm a douche.

Daddy Dearest

2010-09-05T23:54:00.000+10:00

Montana Fishburne. Recognise the name? You will.

She is the 19 year-old daughter of acclaimed (by some) actor Laurence Fishburne.

Ah. Here we go.

Montana has taken it upon herself to start a career in adult film. And by that I mean porn. Dirty, dirty, porn. She is, for all intensive purposes, a porn star. At nineteen. I find this a little disturbing for a few reasons.

One, she’s shat on the hand that feeds her. If my father were a politician, or any public figure, I wouldn’t go and do (for example) heroin in the streets. That would be bad for me in the long run. It would screw my father, which would screw me. Likewise, this $25,000 job and a chance at fame seem to be more than enough for Montana to liquidate her father’s entire career as a springboard for that oh-so-precious fifteen minutes of fame that Warhol was always rabbiting on about.

Bad move.

You’re not going to be real famous. You’re not even going to be porn famous. You will always be Laurence Fishburne’s daughter that’s in a porno. That’s all. But it worked for Paris Hilton! It worked for Kim Kardashian! Sure. You know how Meryl Streep and Jenna James are on the same plane. Everyone respects them the same, right?

Maybe this is all indicative of a shitty culture that values fame above all else. It doesn’t mean more to do something well. It doesn’t mean more to be talented or work hard. NO, I MUST BE FAMOUS. NO MATTER THE COST.

Enter Jersey Shore. But I digress.

Two, she’s nineteen! Is that really the best way to start your sexual escapades as an adult: in high definition video? That could be really bad for your mental stability. People only want to have sex with you because your dad is in the spotlight. People will PAY you for sex because of that. I’m sensing some past missed dance recitals and some future visits to the therapist.

Three, it worked! People are talking about her. So I guess she wins, right? RIGHT? I mean, I never heard of her before. She’s famous now!

On the other hand, who knows? Who cares? Why other people’s daughters and not Morpheus’? It’s already yesterday’s news and I’m already sick of it. I just hope that during the video they have The Matrix playing in the background. The last one. The shitty one.

I’d watch that.

Vampires Suck

2010-08-31T10:42:00.000+10:00

Blood, that is. AND NOTHING ELSE. WINKYFACE.

The film Vampires Suck, merely by its title, seems like a bad film.

No, I haven’t watched it.

Yes, I’m passing judgement.

Like the poets from Evermore tell us: You don’t need to be deceived/to know a lie can be spoken. I can judge a book by its cover. In fact that’s how most people decide to buy books.

So this film looks like another in a long line of Scary Movie-esque-parody-pastiche-pop-culture-reference films that have so sadly dominated the comedic cinematic landscape for so long.

Parody doesn’t have to be shit. In fact, parody can be excellent. It can be a way into seeing rules and social norms in our communities and then laughing at the absurdity of them. It can be very smart. Look at Hot Shots, Austin Powers or Robin Hood: Men in tights. These are excellent representations of what heights comedy (and parody) can soar to.

But notice one thing. None of these films are post-nineties. No, the Y generation have had to put up with the various drunken ramblings and fragmented gibberish of Date Movie, Epic Movie, Year One and the frightful saga of the Scary Movie machine. Remember the tagline to Scary Movie? “No mercy. No shame. No sequel.” NO SEQUEL. This is our Spaceballs? This is absurd.

Vampire Sucks, is just like these other cinematic abortions I’ve mentioned. No need to see for sure. I can tell from the trailer. It’s just a whole bunch of pop-culture references that define the phrase: flash in the pan. Lady Gaga, Jerzy Shore and my favourite, Twilight.

The fact is Vampires Suck will make so much money! The producers will have enough to fund the next shitfest of a film and people will happily drop their twelve dollars on anything that self-consciously references whatever shit is in vogue. They’ve captured the people who hate Twilight and the people who love it – who ironically don’t even realize that it’s them who are being made fun of.

So go, laugh at the cheap baseness of poor parody (with a high budget) and strap yourself in for a shitty ride. If you give them money for making shit they will continue to make shit. Make no mistake that’s what it is. So I refuse to see Vampires Suck because I know it will.

I really hope in fifty, or one hundred years people don’t look at this year’s cinematic releases and think we thought that Vampires Suck was as good as Inception. My god.

Jessica Watson

2010-08-26T19:17:00.000+10:00

Sailor. Teenager. Hero. Legend. Battler. Digger. Other positive descriptive analogy.

In case you were hiding under a rock in Nepal, whilst Sherpas bound you, stole all your communication devices and sold them in the black market in town, you’d have heard about Jessica Watson. Sailor extraordinaire.

Having solo circumnavigated the globe at sixteen in her yacht she’s become the flavour of the month. Awkward teen. Mmmm.

This would be fine if it didn’t spawn some rather un-lovely side effects. For example, a Zac Effron film where the female protagonist is about to sail away to circumnavigate the globe by herself. Sound familiar? I bet Zac gets her in the end though. He always does.

Another side effect is that she’s perpetuating a trend: a tradition where people that are younger and younger are trying to do the same thing. Simply to break a record. A fourteen-year-old Dutch girl named Laura Dekker has just left port trying to do the same thing. It’s worrying.

I hate to get all neo-conservative on you and use the slippery slope argument; but where does it stop? Ten? Eight? Four? Can a foetus circumnavigate? Silliness of course, but at what point can a person truly sail? At what point do the authorities step in and say; actually we’re not going to spend several hundred thousand dollars to rescue you when things go wrong? And let’s be clear, they will, eventually, go wrong.

There is no need to waste taxpayer money on rescuing people who deliberately put themselves in harm’s way. Natural Selection. Google ‘Darwin.’ You’ll see what I mean.

I think J-Wat (I’m starting a trend, work with me) was extremely lucky to get out of that situation unharmed. Good for her for setting a record. Good for her for doing something extraordinary, but be not mistaken: she’s not a hero. She’s a bit of an idiot. She wasn’t dodging landmines, saving Burmese children from genocide or punching AIDS in the face. She went sailing. That’s all.

Also, where the hell were her parents during all of this? Probably setting the record for the world’s largest bong hit.

What’s worst about all this is the MONEY she’s getting. Interviews, book deals, movie offers, a T.V. series. I wonder if she had to be rescued by the emergency services, would she pay them back? Doubt it. But all of a sudden people see the new fast-track to fame, and that’s it. Undo the bow knot (or whatever) and set sail!

All aboard?

Australian Election 2010

2010-08-21T13:26:00.000+10:00

Gillard to the left, Abbott to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with Brown...

Can this election just be over already?

Abbott's won. We get it. All us liberal minded people can hop back into our boxes for the next four years. Him and his swimsuit are running our 'country.'

How ironic that the conservative party is called 'The Liberals'? Very confusing.

I'm putting some money on Abbott. Centrebet. At least that way when he wins, though I'll be depressed about the state of the nation, I'll have $20 bucks in my pocket. Silver lining and all. Not that Gillard is much better. I think the Greens will have a jump in numbers. Just because people are so disillusioned with both the major parties.

It's like the Howard administration all over again. Back another twenty years. Two steps forward, a thousand steps back. Oh hey dark ages. What's up?

It astounds me that the family first party is as big as it is. I heard their representative in an interview "Marriage (hetrosexual, obviously) is the backbone of Australia," and described people who were gay as making 'lifestyle choices.'

People in the future will laugh. In fifty, one hundred years, however long it takes, they will look back on this and laugh. Like we do at the sixties. How ridiculous, how absurd that aboriginals didn't have the right to vote. How black people weren't treated as equals in America. How primitive. That's how they'll look back at now. How could they not have supported gay marriage? It was 2010 and they elected a neo-conservative that would give Regan a run for his precious money.

Oh well. Nothing to be done. I guess I'll wake up tomorrow in the Australia that only I and the people at my university don't want to live in. See you then, I guess.

The art of doing

2010-08-17T14:13:00.000+10:00

I like do-ers.

People who get things done. People who make a list of a thousand things and smash that shit by lunch. Now to fuck the secretary.

I am not a do-er. I have no time for secretary fucking. I get around to doing things after - and sometimes during - playing Red Dead Redemption on my xbox. Sexbox my friend calls it. Ironic I call it.

I reckon it will be impossible for me to gain any sense of notoriety this way. In fact, I'm pretty sure the only way it can happen is if everyone misunderstands me as being profound. Simultaneously. Perhaps I'll have to spike the water supply...

For now I write in this place and try to figure out who exactly who I want to offend.

Prepare for more scribbles.

The Movies

2010-08-16T22:53:00.000+10:00

Pat. Pat. Pat.

It hit my thighs. Twice. Three times.

Jelly beans. For fucks sakes.

In my head. Again.

I took a break from Scott Pilgrim.

I moved up the back. They couldn’t hit me from the side.

Two kids. Jesus. Somebody was about to learn a lesson. I walked up the stairs, almost tripping over a civilian. I was genuinely sorry for him.

I walked up to them. They saw me coming. They hid the jellybeans or whatever. They were only ten or twelve. Still.

I put on my scariest I-will-stab-you face.

“If you keep that up you’ll get my boot in your arse, do you understand?”

The other one asked, very quietly, “What’s he talking about?”

It was laughable. I hope they shat their pants. Like I was born yesterday. I continued to stare at the silent one. I wasn’t going anywhere till I got my apology. Eventually he realized this and managed to eek out a very quiet “Sorry.”

I continued to stare at him just for kicks. He looked down.

I went back to my new seat. The rest of the film was good. Scott got the girl.

I smiled.

The Port

2010-08-09T21:15:00.000+10:00

Pop. Pop. Went the shots. I didn’t know they were shots yet. I was making my rounds.

Like firecrackers. Really far away. A car backfiring?

As the shots continued, I knew it wasn’t a car. My radio lurched to life with unintelligible banter about a civilian. Civilian what? Civilian casualty. All units report to the area. It was close. I drove.

It was eleven fifty in the morning. The air was crisp, if a little colder than usual. It was starting to clear. Maybe. The shots came from Seascape. An apartment complex. Always bad news if something happens in an apartment complex. It’s like the small rooms and thin walls have an effect on people’s sanity.

We walked past the crowd with guns drawn. Standard procedure – we didn’t know that by that time he was at the Bay. There was a couple in a locked apartment. Bound, gagged and stabbed.

Stabbed?

We saw the bullet holes in the walls. He’s a bad shot. That’s good. Nothing worse than a wacko with a good shot. We canvassed the area and waited for the detectives to come. Other units were called down to the Bay. That’s where the real shit hit the fan. I never saw that, thank god. We tagged and photographed all the evidence ourselves. There was no CSI bullshit back then in Tassie. Things changed after that.

I wonder why he snapped? It seems he had a normal morning. Bought tomato sauce they say. Was going to go surfing. Even though it was shitty weather. Such shitty weather.

I fucking hate this job.

Drongo.

2010-08-08T21:33:00.000+10:00

Saturday morning. My girlfriend works at a bookstore. I bring a book and decide to pay her a visit. Keep her company during the shift. You know.

Enter Drongo. Six feet. Big guy. Kewie I reckon. Brown hair. On the phone. Swagger. Drunk.

At least.

“Yeah mate, have you got the capo?”

Musician. Got it.

“I’ll see ya then.”

Then…

“Whoa, how’d I get into this place?”

Here we go.

“Hey there,” to my girlfriend.

“Nice place you got here.”

“I just work here.” My girlfriend.

“But it’s like, really cool. Really cozy, yeah?”

“Yeah it’s nice. It’s a shame I don’t work here more often.”

Drongo had an idea. You could almost see it forming underneath the thick smog of (whatever) substance.

“Would you like a drink?”

Um. Right here. Whatever.

My girlfriend politely declined. Several times. Drongo was hitting on her. In his way. He was harmless. Then he saw the guitar.

“Ohhh, mate, whose guitar is that??”

Here we go.

“That’s Tim’s, a friend of the store’s.” She explained, rather too nicely.

“Can I have a go?”

“No.”

“How come?”

Cause it’s not yours, you fucking drunk asshole.

“Tim’s rather fond of his guitar, and since he’s not around, I’d rather not.”

“But he’s not here.”

“I’d still rather not. It’s not that I don’t trust you-”

I don’t.

“But I’d rather you didn’t.”

“OH, BUT I WANT TO PLAY YOU GUYS A SONG. IT’S AN ACE SONG, I JUST FINISHED IT AND I WANT TO PLAY IT IN FRONT OF SOME STRANGERS. THAT WOULD JUST BE THE BEST.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t.”

Was this guy born in the doorway?

“I’m gonna have a drink. You want a drink?” Drongo gestured towards his bag.

Before she could decline he’d pulled out a -mostly empty- bottle of Jack. He mixed it with some coke in a worn out coffee cup. I checked the time. Yeah, that’s not good.

“Man, I just wish I could play you my song man. It’s so fucking good. It’s just like, fucking, gah!” Drongo made a face.

That good, huh?

“THIS TIM GUY, COULD YOU CALL HIM?”

Please say no, baby.

“I don’t know his number.”

Good.

I began to size him up. Drongo was big. Bigger than me, most importantly. She wouldn’t pitch in. She’s little anyway. Girls tend not to pitch in. Plus he had crazy on his side. Crazy always wins in Brunswick. I began to look around for weapons. There was a broomstick to the side of me. No good. Some heavy books. Might be able to piff one. Maybe two. After that I’d be properly fucked. My eyes settled on a rock on the desk. One of those ones they cut in half and polish in jewellery stores. It was shiny inside.

I thought it was strange. All those beautiful colours. All those layers. All those years to form a rock that would land in a junkie’s head. Waste. It was all I could see. It’d do in a pinch. I focused on the rock and readied myself.

Drongo was still talking.

“AH C’MON, I’D BE SUPER CAREFUL WITH IT. I LOVE GUITARS. IT’D BE SAFE WITH ME.”

Doubt that.

This story might be annoying to read, but believe me; it was more annoying to live.

“WHY DID HE LEAVE HIS GUITAR HERE?”

“I don’t know,” my girl answered honestly.

“WELL IT’S OBVIOUSLY NOT HIS BEST GUITAR.”

So?

“IF HE JUST LEFT IT IN A SHOP SOMWHERE, IN A SOFT-CASE, HE CAN’T LOVE IT THAT MUCH.”

It was a decent point. I nonetheless, snapped.

“She said no, mate.” I had my I-will-eat-you eyes on.

“WHAT IF I TOLD YOU I HAD A GUN?” Drongo, asked.

Ah shit. Here we go.

“I would say, you can play the guitar.” Sensible girl.

He reached into his shirt.

Shit. There was nobody in the store. Picked a good time to fuck off, didn’t they?

I eyed the rock, locking for the right time to strike. He put two fingers through his shirt to look like a gun. Oh. Shithead.

After some more pointless banter he decided to pester someone else. He eventually, EVENTUALLY, left the store. And I thought I was going to have to kill the son of a bitch. He smiled and gave us the finger as he laughed and left.

My girlfriend looked up at me and said “Not the usual Saturday morning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.”

Good.

Indie Douches

2010-08-07T15:35:00.000+10:00

That’s how I think of them. Oh, look, there’s another Indie douche.

True story.

What really frustrates me about these people is they insist on being thought of as individuals. If you all dress the exact same way, you are not individuals. You are part of a counter-culture. It is still a culture. One of the most popular genres of music is now Indie music. Remember what that meant? Independent. As in not mainstream. As soon as there are enough people in the same boat it ceases to be independent. It’s almost Pythonesque: We’re all individuals! Yes, we’re all individuals. All together now.

Remember the days of punk rockers? They had powerful social statements. They were pissed off and they were not going to take it anymore. They were a movement of people that believed in upheaval. Now look how watered down they’ve become. Indie douche bags with pants so tight you can tell what religion they are.

Your fringe does not make you unique. Your clothes from high-priced, popular vintage shops are not rare and your music taste makes me feel ill. There is a popular picture of a punk girl with a kettle as a handbag! I love that. Fuck you mum, I don’t need your money for a bag. I’m taking the kettle. Now in Dangerfield you can buy a felt bag in the shape of a kettle. Do you see where I’m going with this? Indie culture is a poor rip-off of the real counter-cultures that preceded it.

To me, it’s a sign of the times. That humanity is just retreating further and further into apathy. It’s sad to see the people who are meant to be the rebels of society paying $300 dollars for fake-old pants. How threatening. Oh you’ve got fake-old pants. Please don’t hurt me. Oh no, you’ve got a spacer in your ear, just take the money, man. I don’t want any trouble from the Indies…

I was in the Apple store in Chadstone the other day trying to get my iPhone fixed. I happened to notice that all the shop assistants were indie douches. I was trying to get one of them to give me a quote for the phone. One of them danced around the topic.

“Uh, it’s like a full body repair man.”

“Which means?” Me.

“It’ll be like the whole phone body needs to be replaced.”

“Right. Which would cost…?”

“It’s expensive man.”

“How. Much. Specifically?”

“Like two-hundred and fifty, dude. I’m sorry, that’s just the way it is, man. It’s not me, it’s the company.”

He all but said ‘The Man.’

That’s the culture. The good people at Apple realize you’re more likely to drop $800 on an iPad (or something equally as retarded) if you’re buying it from your indie pals. But that guy has a spacer in his ear… WHERE IS THE ATM? I say the sooner these fake rebels discover sex and drop this silly charade the better.

Say cheese

2010-08-04T22:52:00.000+10:00

I'm nine.

We're taking a family photograph for some reason. We must have been somewhere worth chronicling.

I was sad.

'Smile,' my father said.

'Why?'

'Because when we look at this later we'll remember how happy we were.'

'But I'm not happy,' I said simply.

'Do it or you'll upset your mother.'

I smiled as hard as I could.

Now all I can think about when I see that picture is the forced smile.

The beginning of the end

2010-08-03T22:53:00.000+10:00

It all started with the iPhone. Smartphone. Blackberry. Omnia.

It was the beginning of the end.

Why have a home-phone, computer, iPod?

Newspapers disappeared. Books became an app. We became born into the Google generation. All hail the great leader. The bringer of increasingly democratic not-knowledge.

We bow before thee.

It was only a matter of time until countries began to be replaced by corporations. The Coke nation. The Yahoo province. Starbucks city.

People exist - if they exist - hooked directly into the internet. They watch The Matrix and laugh. Everything is clean. Everything is white. War continues. As it always has. But openly, corporation to corporation, as it has always really been. Corporate war.

Coke robots fight Pepsi robots for control over no-consumers-land. No-one wins. Robots create jobs. Constant war. Or constant peace. The effect is much the same.

Things that can't feel destroy other things that can't feel because of zeros and ones in rapid succession.

The thin, withered humans know. They see the thin slices of televised not-violence between the regularly scheduled commercial programming. They are excited by the explosions. For a moment. Then they retreat back into their apathy. Like foxes back into their foxholes.

Back when we had foxes.

Anti-social

2010-07-26T14:31:00.000+10:00

People in a room

that I like

most of the time

Some I've fucked

others I don't

one I do

All on their phone

sexting, texting, tweeting

what didn't just happen

while I stare at my food.

And I'm called anti-social

for not talking.

Armageddon

2010-07-23T20:37:00.000+10:00

It comes

not with a bang

a flash

a whimper

Not with fallout

fire

suffering

It will come

It's already here

It comes in

white-washed jeans

pre-aged in a dank room

in India

With shoes that flash

when you walk

with truffles

the iphone

It's come and gone

and we are bored

The Plastics

2010-07-22T22:21:00.000+10:00

It’s a really sad state of affairs out there. Young, attractive girls getting plastic surgery. Doesn’t that say something about our shit world? Think of all the different crap you can get to fix your horrible body: an augmentation, inflation, tummy tuck, eye tuck, neck tuck, any other tuck you can think of, eye lift, breast lift, check lift, removals, reductions, reconstruction, ear-pinning, liposuction, rhinoplasty, colligen, botox. The list goes on. But I’m too lazy to write it down.

All to fill in the little chinks in our social armour. My nose is too big. My ass is too fat. My thighs make a swishing sound when I walk. I’ll fix it with surgery. It’s a really serious problem, and with all the advances in medical technology these changes are only going to become easier to obtain.

I see both sides. I mean, how harmless is it to put a bit of concealer on to cover a pimple? There’s no shame in looking presentable, right? But then we’re jumping to Heidi Montag getting a back scoop and nine other procedures at the age of 23; then it starts to seem ridiculous. It starts to seem obscene.

Personally, I don’t give two shits what you do to your body. It’s not my place to decide. What I can tell you is what I feel about things. Right now I’m feeling a little grossed out. The funny thing is, most of the time these women aren’t even more attractive after the surgery! They spend tens of thousands of dollars getting rid of anything they find unattractive (god knows why) and then they look like Barbie dolls. Let me tell you, I’ve never look at one of those polycarbonate princesses and thought, too bad. They look fake-hot. Yes it’s a thing. Like some creep who draws manga in his spare time was asked to create his perfect woman.

They’re weird looking.

The sad thing is, this collective self-consciousness is beginning to affect those around me. I have a friend who has come into quite a lot of money at a young age. Rather than invest, or do anything sensible with that money she’s blown a large amount on plastic surgery. This was a beautiful girl. Now she’s almost unrecognisable to me. It’s devastating. But she’s in the public eye now and feels she has to live up to these ridiculous expectations.

The media isn’t solely to blame. Nor these spoilt stars doing unthinkable things to their bodies to remain some person’s idea of beautiful, long past their prime. Nor the mothers and fathers of these children. At some point you have to take some responsibility for yourself. If you don’t like your nose, DEAL WITH IT. There are plenty of people worse off. You have a real nose. There are very few people in this world who are downright ugly. Most people are just normal looking and with a little self-confidence could look -and more importantly- feel good.

If you have this kind of dosh to loose, put it into a healthy lifestyle and regular counselling – it sounds like you might need it.

I'm a sexist.

2010-07-20T19:04:00.000+10:00

A big fat one. Apparently.

I submitted an article into my university paper (in good humour, mind you) about stripping being banned in Iceland a month or two ago. I disagreed with the decision and stated that it was a person's own decision to strip and most people are driven to it out of desperation. You take away stripping, you're reliving a symptom, not the problem. The Women's Group at my university decided that I was a big fat sexist. All they read in my article was 'I like tits. I'm a neanderthal. Women belong in the kitchen.'

So they wrote an article. They HAD to write an article. They saw my ignorance and had to correct me in print. Not through direct contact with me, which is easy enough to achieve. Google my name. I'm probably the only one that comes up. Whatever.

My article is the biggest bane to women's liberation. Not sex slavery. Not female castration. Jorge Tsipos isn't pleased that they banned (BANNED) stripping, we must rectify this. This is top priority. What bothers me is that the Parliament took no steps to try and regulate and improve the conditions of women, they simply banned stripping (For MEN also) for money. How can you ban stripping, and not smoking? Not alcohol? I'm sure tits have caused fewer deaths over the years. Even if there was no desperation in the world there would still be strippers. Never-mind the pole-dancing story I saw on A Current Affair this week saying how great the whole thing is. For fitness. Right.

The main-point of the article was based on something that I DIDN'T EVEN WRITE. I assume when someone reads the subtitle "Jorge Tsipos worries that McDonalds isn't the only meat to leave Iceland" they would assume I'm not talking about myself in the third person. A reasonable person would think about a particular person whose job it is to do that. Some kind of person who edits articles before they're printed. I don't know what you would call that person... Some sort of edit-person. Hmm.

Never-mind. He's a man talking about women. SEXIST! SEXIST!

I guess I'm just a person who lives in the real world. I suppose we should live in a good world, not a bad one. I didn't realise I could just flip a switch. It's as simple as that. Ban stripping and men will all of a sudden stop disrespecting women. Everything will be fine. Ban porn. Ban it all. Good. Just another system in place to make me feel guilty about being attracted to women. It all makes sense, I mean, I am a sexist after all.

- jt

Car. No car. Taxi driver.

2010-07-17T01:33:00.000+10:00

That seems to be the spectrum of my experience in the last week. From the accident to right now.

The car has been written off. Tomorrow has been cancelled.

In any case, my parents were in a rush to leave the country and really (understandably) had no faith in me to drive either of their cars. In this way I have inadvertently fast-tracked my getting a new car. It's nice. Very nice.

Smaller. Less petrol consumption. Red. All good things. I can't complain. I understand exactly what my father had to go through to get it all in such a short time. Insane. Have you fucking dealt with these insurance people? It's so bad it's almost worth not having insurance. Well, not really. Not if you fuck up a-la-Jorge. Then it's worth it.

There was something sad about letting my old car go. Even though I knew it was ruined and it probably wasn't coming back, I didn't realise how sad that was until I saw my new car in front of me. My old car that I had been driven to school in. My car that I'd driven all over Melbourne. My car with the vinyl armrest that had cracked and would pinch my arm every now and then. Tiny details. The family photos of us, in front of, near, or on the car. All gone.

The family car that had managed to remain relatively unblemished for over a decade in my family is now something that doesn't exist. After only ten months of me getting my licence. It's being taken apart and sold for second hand parts to be put in dozens of other cars that are slightly damaged. Whatever's unusable will be crushed into a small, dense cube and tossed away like all the other junk in the world. Something that was intimately a part of me.

I know it's just a thing. Things come and go. But it was also a symbol of something. Of an innocence, maybe. An invincibility that can never live again. How can it after an accident? It's just part of realising we're all just born astride a grave. Out of one and into the other.

Now I have to give my sister a lift everywhere because I'm the only one who can drive. From car, to no car, to taxi driver.

I hope I can do it.

- jt

Lindsay Lohan convicted

2010-07-13T23:01:00.000+10:00

Lindsay. Lindsay. Lindsay.

As of the 20^th of July, Lindsay Lohan (recently dubbed LiLo, which I think is just rude) will be incarcerated for ninety days for violating her probation. The probation was for a driving offence in 2007.

Good.

GOOD. She deserves that and more. Here is a little news flash: You are a celebrity, you are not God. You can’t do whatever the hell you want and just expect the seas will part for you and everything will be okay.

This seems to be a rich kid problem. Oh, did I run that poor gentleman over? I’ll have father give him a Mercedes. Oh, I wrote off my car? That’s fine, I didn’t really like that one. Oh, I got busted with a pile of cocaine that would give Scarface a hard-on? Just pay off the judge. Hey where are you taking me..?

As corrupt as the system is, fortunately, justice is occasionally done. Here’s the deal, and let me know if you disagree: you do bad things, you go to jail. No exceptions. I don’t care what horrendous films someone had the misfortune of casting you in – you don’t get off. If she was Lorena the Mexican dishwasher she wouldn’t have even gotten the probation. Bye Lorena. Back you go to Mexico, along with reasonable doubt and justice and equality for all.

But no. Lindsay gets the expensive, consumer brand of justice – available only to those with oodles of money. She had house arrest. She had meetings. Rules. Don’t get loaded for a bit and we won’t put you in jail. Sure thing. Pass the whiskey. Wait, where are you taking me...?

Then she’s SURPRISED, not surprised, OUTRAGED that the law actually does what the law says. I know you said I’d go to jail if I did that again, but I didn’t think you meant JAIL. Like with bars, and like, shit? I thought you meant the nice jail, where they send accountants and CEO’s.

It’s not even going to be the real jail experience, she’ll be in solitary or she’ll be kept away from the general population with guards. It’s like being grounded. For ages. How terrible that the pop royalty of our generation must be subjected to the laws of the land! It’s not like the porn-biopic she’s doing of Linda Lovelace will have any trouble recasting. We can find a mess pretty much anywhere in Los Angeles.

I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Good and good riddance.

http://jorgetsipos.com

Oh, I feel sick

2010-07-12T20:40:00.000+10:00

I feel sick in my belly.

Had rehearsals today. Everything was going fine. As fine as it can when you have to schlep all the way to uni on public transport. God-damn I envy those Melbourne Uni kids sometimes.

Sometimes.

It was one of those days where you're really hanging out for lunch. Where not only you're quite hungry, but also you just need a break. A little respite from the thing you're doing for eight hours a day. I'm sure even porn stars get sick of fucking after a while. Sad really.

Pizza, I thought. Pizza would be a good reward. How wrong I was. It was not delicious AT ALL. Nearly all pizza is. Just by virtue of being pizza. You chuck shit on bread and put it in the oven. Hard to screw up. You would think.

In any case, I ate the damn thing. I had paid for it, after all. It wasn't good. Low and behold, two hours later I'm rolling around like a retard trying to impregnate the carpet because of the pains and nausea. Not nice. A passing medical professional - or at least he presented himself as such - assured me that the food couldn't have done that in that time. I don't need a degree to show me bad cheese. That was bad cheese. My gut was screaming it.

If cheese was as terrorist and my gut was an oppressive regime all the signals were going off just as they should've. Ouch.

So, the moral of the story is: Stick with sandwiches. It's even harder to fuck up a sandwich.

Not my week, is it?

- jt

jorgetsipos.com

Reconstruction

2010-07-11T22:30:00.000+10:00

Yes I'm making a parallel between me recovering from a minor accident to the period after slavery was abolished in the US.

They were both very stressful.

Though my ears has stopped ringing and the hyperventilating had ceased THE ACCIDENT was far from over. I slept well that night. The combination of bath, beer and extreme disappointment put me out like a light. I dreamt. I don't normally dream. When I woke, I had forgotten that I didn't have a car. It was nice. It didn't last long.

My mum.

"Jorge, dad needs you downstairs."

Of course. Of course he does. It was the insurance people. Person. Lady. She sounded sympathetic, sincere and hot. She sounded like someone I'd like to fuck. She sounded like she'd let me. Shame.

She asked me a whole bunch of questions. Specifics that Simon, the victim, had recommended that I note down. Dad kept asking me what she was saying, like I could really break from the conversation to give him a running commentary.

It was done. But the day was not yet over. My cousin had her 21st and I had promised (well, i had been promised) to edit her birthday video. Though I love my cousin, I was, understandably not in the mood. For some magical reason the computer refused to work. Then there was a power outage. I curled up in the lounge-room and cried until it came back on. Then, after my parents yelled at me for a bit, everything magically worked. It was an intensely disappointing afternoon. I went to my cousin's birthday.

It was an open bar. It turned out well.

- jt

I had a car accident

2010-07-10T01:44:00.000+10:00

It had to happen. I had a feeling it would happen. Eventually.

Every time I pulled out of my driveway I would look both ways. Every time I indicated too early and made sure I had room to move. I didn’t expect it. But some little, rational part of my brain – back there in the subconscious – told me something was coming.

The day started out like any other day. Stories often say that. But what’s important is expressing the banality. How normal and regular everything was before THE EVENT. Whatever that may be.

It was normal. Very. I got up early. I set my computer to download spyware updates. I had rehearsals. I was exhausted. I was still alert. I dropped my girlfriend off at the train station, deciding not to stay at her house with the notion that I needed a little solo time to write, read and (ironically) relax.

That’s the frustrating thing. It’s the ‘what if’s’ that fuck you. What if I’d stayed at her house? What if I’d taken the tollway instead? What if I’d changed lanes? Or not changed lanes? Or gone up a different street? That’s destructive thinking.

Then it occurs to you. How many times HAVE I taken those ‘what if’s?’ How many times have I gone up a different street, without knowing I would’ve died on the other? How many times has not taking the freeway saved my life? How many times have I almost died based on a simple, insignificant choice? It’s like Sliding Doors, but with a better-looking protagonist.

I was on the road. Driving as per usual. I was wary of other drivers. Alert. I was listening to a podcast. Normal. The dusk was starting to settle and I still had a ways to go. I was only halfway home.

I was in the back of him. I had been punched in the face by the airbag. Kicked the shit out of me. High-school flashbacks. There was this mist. Dust. Something. In the air. It smelled like air that had been trapped in a steering wheel for fourteen years. Appropriate. It smelled appropriate. I’m only thinking this now.

You always imagine a car accident. We see so many on TV and in films. It’s kind of like that. In a home cinema. With Dolby surround sound. And a large black man that punches you in the face and takes $6,000 (or more) in repairs. I hit the back of the guy. I may have blacked out for a second. It’s hard to remember. I remember seeing the guy in front who I had hit roll onto the nature strip separating the two directions of the highway. I tried to do the same. The car surged forward a foot or two and then decided it didn’t want to live anymore.

I put it in park. Though it took a couple of seconds to remember how exactly that was done. Even simple tasks seem mountainous when you’re in shock. My bonnet was steaming. He had a toe-bar. He’d fucked me something special.

Debris covered the road. From my no-longer-bumper-bar to the place the headlights where. It was gone. Exploded into a thousand tiny pieces across the road like bits of steel and plastic confetti. I picked up a piece. I don’t know why. Or exactly when. After the important stuff. I assume.

I got out of the car. Everything about me was vibrating. Like I’d come through a wormhole into another dimension and my atoms were still finding their proper place. Good old sympathetic nervous system. BAM. I was ON. I mean ON. I could not have been more conscious.

I didn’t begin to cry right away. I locked the car after a short, but successful battle with my keys. There didn’t seem like much point – it’s not like someone could steal it. I walked over to the other guy. Simon I found out. His name was SIMON for Christ-sake! I bet he worked in a fucking box factory or something equally as suburban. Shit. I am quite possibly the worst person alive.

He was nice. He didn’t yell. I think he felt sorry for me. I think there was even part of him that wanted to console me for ruining his car. Or maybe I just needed consoling right then. Either way, he didn’t yell. I got the feeling he might be religious. He may have flinched when I swore. Slightly. He didn’t touch me at all. Seemed to make a deliberate effort.

“You are so calm,” I said, between gulps of air.

He proceeded to get my insurance details. Maybe because he knew he was covered. He had a mobile phone holster. He was that kind of guy. He was calm throughout the whole process. Guided me through taking details, calling a toe-truck. Well, two. He even gave me some tips for filling out the incident report for the insurance people. He was so nice I actually felt bad for hitting him. Not for destroying my car – but actually just for disrupting this guy’s day. I kind of hoped I’d at least hit an asshole. No such luck.

There was only one couple that asked me if I was okay. Lots of people slowing down to look at the rubble. People, I guess. It was someone I wouldn’t have expected. He looked ethnic. Had one of those ‘fully sick’ cars that only people of a certain age drive. Black. Next to him a girl with too much make up.

“Hey mate, you all right?” he asked. He could see the anxious tears flopping down my cheeks.

“Yeah,” in my most manly voice.

“Ego’s a bit bruised, but I’m fine.” I felt it was convincing.

He nodded in an understanding way and drew the window back up into his private world.

The toe-truck arrived. The guy’s name was George. He looked ethnic too. Had an earring. Unshaved. He was pretty nice to me too. Probably part of the job description. He offered me a seat in his truck to calm down. I politely declined. I was still breathing heavy at this point. He got me to give my details – not easy to do. I misspelled my own name on the fucking thing. I got my stuff from the boot. Luckily I had the laptop I’m writing this on wrapped in a blanket, so there was no damage to it – or the rest of my obnoxious cargo, for that matter. Things had been shaken around in there, but they seemed mostly intact. Simon’s wife was there. Talking to me. ME. I felt she was going to yell. She didn’t.

“Are you okay, love?” Me? Shit.

“Seen better days.” I said with a weak smile. To show her I was trying.

“Yeah, my daughter in law-“ Daughter-in-law. Jesus.

“She had something like this a while back. Happens every now and then. Don’t be upset.”

Then she was gone. Kind of incredible. George got my car onto his truck and made me sign something I didn’t read. I’m sure he was a good guy. Even if he did overcharge. A bit. Soon my car was gone. It was sad. All that was left was the rubble that the cars that passed by crunched underneath them or avoided on their way past, to their own private destinations. I had called my mum at that point. She was on her way. I just stood there. On the nature strip. Staring.

At every car that went past. Waiting. Peering through the growing darkness for her black, zippy car. No way she’d let me drive that sucker again. Shame. After an hour. Or more. Hard to tell. She still wasn’t there. After a few phone calls we managed to establish that the intersection I was at, didn’t exist.

I suppose I was making it all up.

With some direction from dad she managed to find me. I hugged her. I hugged her because I was happy to be in the arms of someone that wanted me there. Someone who was glad I was alive. It was rare.

I didn’t listen to what she said in the car. I heard the phrase IN A SPLIT-SECOND a lot – but beyond that, I didn’t absorb much. I preferred the activity of staring at the steam rising from my petrol-station hot chocolate that she insisted on buying me. We were home. My car was not in the driveway. Unusual. Better get used to it. And rising earlier. I still had shit to do and the Melbourne public transport system was not a close friend.

I walked in the door and ran a bath. Fairly happy to be alive – but still around, regardless. I got into the warm, forgiving water and felt myself melting into a human again. I even smiled. It was odd. My face felt like rubber.

Computer-illiterate.

2010-07-08T22:03:00.001+10:00

This term has plagued me for a while. Yes, plagued. Like the plague. This term refers to people who are incapable of reasonably navigating through basic functions of the average computer. But you know that. I don’t understand how a person who functions in current society can really be computer-illeterate. But it is interesting how society, in absence of real illiteracy, creates another form of it in people who can’t use computers. Hey there random person, feel pretty good about yourself? Not anymore, you’re a kind of illiterate!

Illiterate carries certain connotations, doesn’t it? It makes it sound like you’re too stupid to work a computer. Some people simply never learned how to use one – that doesn’t make them illiterate, or stupid. If you have trouble with words with more than two syllables then you’re illiterate. Just cause you can’t put together a spreadsheet does not make you illiterate. Oh look at Johnson over there, he’s having trouble with the power-point presentation, how illiterate of him!

Chortle. Chortle.

Why does there need to be a term for it? Why can’t you just not be good with computers? But no, the tech-savvy, people-toxic residents of nerd-land decided to mark their territory. Here’s my metaphorical urine – in the form of annoying speech. You got me, you sons of bitches. Now you can’t not know how to run a disk clean-up without being called a ‘noob’ or something equally ignorant that’s been unnecessarily abbreviated.

What’s funny is it’s an incorrect use of the word illiterate – but even better than that, I like the idea of commercials years from now, with black and white scenes edited together with poignant piano music: For only ten dollars a month you can help Jorge – he doesn’t know how to run a virus check. Make sure this kind of devastating illiteracy becomes a thing of the past. This message brought to you by computer vision: ensuring human contact is kept to a minimum.

Computer-illiterate? I say life-literate.

And yes, I know I’m writing this on my laptop. Fuck you.

- jt

jorgetsipos.com

Writers.

2010-07-04T23:36:00.001+10:00

There are only two ways to be a writer. One, you’re an asshole and you drive away all the people that care about you, or, two, you become a reclusive wanker hermit and you drive away all the people that care about you. Oh my. Tell me Bukowski, would you recommend writing as a career? You don’t chose writing, writing chooses you. Such bullshit.

Every writer makes a conscious choice. You can be a writer and never be published. There is no compulsion. There is no impulse. You think it’s something you like to do and you do it. Simple.

There is nothing as noble as a ‘calling,’ there are no born poets. Eventually you get sick of not writing it down, so you do. Big fucking deal. Now it’s art. Excuse me, literature. Literature! People who can’t actually write anything good write about other writers and then they’re ‘academics.’ Good. Enjoy your shit life.

Oh, but he has talent. What a cop out. Way to dismiss someone’s hard work. They’re just talented. I can’t do that. Sure you can. If you had a thousand hours just doing that you could do it just as well as the next person. I don’t think our non-existent god took us all aside and decided “you there, you’ll be excellent at bowling, you can write well, and you have a fantastic time jerking off. Off to lunch.”

Why try anything then? No, you’re not Tiger Woods the first time you pick up a club. You’re not Picasso the first time someone hands you a brush. You’re not Ron Jeremy the first time you fuck. You get better at it. I bet old Ronny boy was a fucking mess the first time he banged a girl. Sorry ma’m, I didn’t mean to get any in your eye, dreadfully sorry… Then after thirty or forty he knew how to rip them in half. That’s the way to do it – you get some practise and then you can fuck that piece of prose till it bleeds from the ass.

I’m a writer. A shitty writer, but a writer nonetheless. I’m angry. I’m sad. My computer’s low on battery. I’m tired and I wish I was drunk. Fucking waa. There are worse things in life then being unfulfilled – in fact, it’s how you know you’re living.

Stop kidding yourself.

- jt

jorgetsipos.com

Fame.

2010-07-03T20:03:00.000+10:00

I'm gonna live forever.

But not really. Nobody does. No matter how famous you are.

Fame seems to change people. I know someone who is considered to be famous. Someone who makes a product that is consumed by thousands of people and who makes many thousands of dollars doing this. It has gone to this person's head.

Seeing as I am in a similar field, being acting (well, entertainment. well, whatever.) it is something that really concerns me. Should I actually have the good fortune to become famous (even if only internet famous), how would I respond to that? Would my personality be so weak as to give into the vanity and egotistical trappings of fame? Impossible to know until I got there. I'd like to think that I would keep my baseline. That my friends and family would still remain important to me and I would not resent them for not understanding my situation.

But then again...

How can someone who is totally anonymous, despite being an exhibitionist, know how they would respond to that attention? Maybe I would become a prick. Lord knows if you get your dick wet too often you're bound to get a big head. Look at everyday people who are allotted even insignificant power. Everybody has a story of a superior in the workplace who abuses their power. Some more severe than others. What can a supervisor really do? Correct your work? Mock you? Fire you? The options seem rather pathetic, but with that small amount of status people wreak havoc on each others lives. Now, imagine that, plus money and fame. The results would be horrific. It would be like the final showdown of Godzilla. Not pretty.

I really don't understand it. How can the Lindsay's and the Paris' complain and bitch about their fame when they keep striving to be in the spotlight? I don't see Gorge Clooney or Robert Downey Jr, portrayed in that way - despite the fact that they might be equally as flawed as the previous two ladies. I think it's a matter of graciousness. At some point these celebs must forget what it is to be gracious. To be happy and grateful for the bounty you have received. Once you lose sight of that it's too easy to get caught up in yourself. If you have fame (which I'm not even sure is something I want anymore) simply count yourself lucky. You are not special - you are fortunate. Make the best of what you have and treasure the people who knew you before you became that way - only they will tell you the truth.

These musings are getting rather sombre aren't they?

- jt

jorgetsipos.com

The Burka.

2010-07-01T22:41:00.000+10:00

Ah yes, despite all the silly talk about wanking, Jorge, you were bound to stumble onto a real issue. During the production I am currently in we started having a discussion (god knows how) about a particular part of Australia trying to ban the Burka. People were, in their very sensitive and politically correct way, making their arguments on either side.

Personally I could give two fucks about what someone wears around - if you're not afraid of looking silly all the more power to you. What I do not like is people telling other people what to do. Now, that may sound like a pro-burka statement, but it's not. It's a (forgive the choice of words) pro-choice argument. People have every right to wear what they want; if you don't like the burka, don't wear one. By the same token, if you are an outsider coming into a different culture, you can't make any demands of that culture to suit your needs. You have, of course, the choice of the kind of country you want to live in.

For example, I couldn't hop in my thongs (or flip-flops, you finicky fucks) with a Foster's and go over to Dubai and assert my civil rights. Go to Holland if you want to drink that bad. Similarly, I don't believe any Islamic people can hop on over and try to get Sharia law put in place. There is a delicate balance.

Sure, Australia can be multicultural, but we have also proved that we can be really racist too - Cronella riots not withstanding . What I'm saying is, these cultural practises, these delicate milieus take time to form - and they need to form organically. Not through legislation. Having this whole disagreement over banning the burka isn't constructive - it stigmatises those who are in the centre of the argument; many of whom wear the burka out of choice.

So, again, my message is: chill the fuck out!

Why is everything a half-hour motionless discussion with you people??

-jt

jorgetsipos.com

Julia Gillard

2010-06-28T19:37:00.000+10:00

Australia has a new prime-minister. Julia Gillard. She is a she. That is to say, a lady. Which is to say female. Yes, that's right folks, a femaleladyshe who is in charge of important things. So naturally the sexists come out of the woodwork. 'How is she going to run the country from the kitchen?' they ask. 'How can we be sure she's not going to press the button once a month?.' 'How can we be sure she's not going to round up people who tell 'ranga' jokes?' The answer, you idiots, you mob of sexist pricks, you impotent narrow-minded fools is that she'll do it like ANY OTHER PRIME-MINISTER! Badly.

I don't understand why this is such a big deal. Why it took so long to get here in the first place. England is at least thirty years ahead of this point - and they can't even get their teeth situation sorted! Fuck. Are we really so backwards as to call a leadership challenge (Not unlike many leadership challenges of the course of Australia's schizophrenic political history) the actions of a back stabbing cunt? I quote those words from a status update I saw on Facebook. Word for word.

If it was Peter Garret, I guarantee there would be no issue. But, since it's Julia Gillard and she's a woman, she's somehow betraying her gender by making a deft political move. Sorry Ruddy, but if you don't play the game right you get pulled off the field. That's what happened. Gillard had to get the support of the party, she had to find a direction she had to take it. This was not unforeseen for Rudd. If he wanted to avoid a challenge he should have listened to his party. He proceeded anyway, because he was the boss and this is what happened. People are fickle, it's not breaking news - but for my mum to compare this situation to the fall of Caesar seems a bit dramatic to me.

I think it's good. I think she might be sensitive, and familiar with feminist issues and may be in a situation to change things for the better. That is her prerogative, IF SHE CHOSES. Just because she's a womanladyshe doesn't mean that she is obliged to do so. Everyone, at ease, for Christ's sake. She's a politician, just like any other politician, who is just as prone to failure (or success) as the thousands before her.

I swear, if I hear one more person make a dumb sexist joke because of this, I'll lose my shit. I will literally punch them in the mouth. And then whisper sexist jokes as I pee on them.

Too much?

- jt

jorgetsipos.com

Party

2010-06-27T01:18:00.000+10:00

I like house parties.

I like the idea that everyone arranges to meet at a pre-ordained house to have a good time. There is a very different vibe to a house party rather than a bar. The fact is, despite the significant markup on booze at a bar, the option gets increasingly attractive when your consider the alternative. A house party needs preparation. A house party needs drinks, food, ice, tidying. All things which consume time/money. When you go to a bar all you need is your $30 and you're good for the night.

If someone throws up, not your problem. There's no danger of gatecrashers because there are bouncers and nobody gets too drunk because they get cut off. The whole idea of a bar over a house party seems infinitely better. (Aha! That was a trick! A sting mission - now for my real position on the issue.) But any day of the week I'd prefer a house party. For one, everyone there is a friend of yours. There are no awkward introductions and there's no travelling from bar to bar like there's something wrong with each one and we're very discerning patrons.

No, house party has a good vibe. You can just hop into a chair and just chat with whoever happens to sit next to you. You can be comfortable in your own skin. You don't have to elbow fat drunkards in their (probably) ribs to muscle your way to the bar. You don't have to sweat balls or sit at a cramped table. You don't have to listen to whatever shitty Lady GaGa song is currently in vogue. No a house party is chilled out. Beers with friends.

It makes me sad to see people having their birthdays at clubs. Usually I want to see the person, to talk to them. When there's electro, or house (or whatever the fuck they're calling it now) music blasting in your ear it's hard to say much other than 'I'm so fucking drunk right now!' which doesn't really inspire enchanting discussion. It's good to see friends, but I wish they'd see me in the place they lived, rather than the place they drink.

Porn Actresses

2010-06-23T23:54:00.001+10:00

They are not actresses. They are not playing a part. They have not done research. There is no focus on motive or story. They are fuck-dolls that dance for our amusement.

What really annoys me about porn stars calling themselves 'actresses' rather than 'brave prostitutes' is that it brings down the standards and perception of acting. Acting is performance. Acting is art. Yes, art. Like making a sculpture is art. Like painting is art. Like fucking Kylie Monogue is art - so is acting. But when someone who pretends to like fucking gets captured on film that is not the same thing. Anyone can pretend. Anyone can lie. It's not the same as acting; otherwise I would be able to put 'acting nonchalant when I get a good parking space,' on my resume. It's not the same thing.

And here's why. If they are called 'actresses' rather than 'whores' than it is not technically a breach of the American judicial system to pay people for sex. They are highly trained actors after all. I can just see Jenna Haze rehearsing the lines for her next film: Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh God Yes!

Well done Jenna, but I don't think you were playing your objectives strong enough. What's really at stake here? Make different choices. Roll tape.

They are actresses as much as I am a Swahili drug lord - which is to say, only on weekends. I've got bills to pay. Not to say I have any less respect for the sex trade - I just call a spade a spade. The spade, in this case, being the sex clowns that jiggle for our entertainment on our computer screens nightly.