Your Eyes are Liars

Album Review : CULTS - S/T

2011-06-07T23:33:00.007-04:00

Recalling the days of late 50s/60s Pop and R&B, the NYC band CULTS have released their debut album - it should sell relatively well, since the idea that Little Eva and The Crystals crossed with indie rock is pretty tempting. But to me, after listening to the full album, its an idea that sounds better on paper and will likely only go over well with the Pitchfork crowd in this embodiment of the style- CULTS is just too one-note for my tastes and there's no much as far as simmering-to-a-boil ideas and musicality to entice the ears for multiple listens and hitting the repeat button. "You Know What I Mean" is easily the best song on the album - and thankfully it doesn't overstay its welcome at a brisk 2:32 (the shortest track on the album). Though more obvious pop-y tracks like "I Wanna Go Outside" seem destined for nothing more a brief appearance in a commercial or movie trailer. I'm reminded of Au Revoir Simone and Hearts of Palm UK, sans being stuck in a tunnel. They're not necessarily better bands though - its just that CULTS have yet to meet their potential in this album, but they surely will have a future set out for them thanks to the current musical landscape.

♥♥1/2 / ♥♥♥♥

Every picture tells a story.

2011-06-06T21:24:00.005-04:00

I swear, Rep. Weiner, if you sent any images to women who did not ask for them... you're a despicable human being.

A despicable human being who stood up for abortion. 9/11 first responders.

WHAT THE F#$% IS WRONG WITH YOU?

If he did, however, send those pics 100% solicited and to women of legal age... I don't care about any of this nonsense. Then this scandal is no worse than the general habits of a lot of normal human beings. He's never pretended to be some kind of moral compass, and his efforts on policy and representation obviously have nothing to do with sexting, etc. So he maybe did some of this online flirting while married. So what.

There are worse things happening in this world. Worse things than some moron with a mic not understanding 4th grade history. Worse than ... well, just today, I found out that Louisiana's governor hates women/is not really a fan of small government. Mexico's drug war is better described with pictures. etc. etc. etc.

New things. Same old blog.

2011-06-05T17:49:00.007-04:00

It's a sunday evening in early June. Project Runway season 2 reruns or Golf seems to be all that the television is offering at this hour. And I've decided to start blogging. Hmm. Why? It's something to do. I haven't been watching movies the same way as in the past - I've been too occupied with myself, focusing on examining my sleeping habits and wardrobe and diet to really just get in front of a computer or television and sit still for 90+ minutes.

Anyway, what's with that image. American Apparel sells things on Amazon.com, making it too easy for me to just point and click and buy their basic but totally desirable intimates and basic ass threads. I have a skirt they sell that I bought to wear as a skirt, though according to their website, it also doubles as a dress. Hmm that's just what I'll need if I ever lose my top.

I have one of their basic ass hoodies too, that originally had a price of about $50, but I got it for $20, thanks to some secondhand seller that had it available. It's pretty much the same basic hoodie that a Champion store in a plaza outside of Binghamton, NY sold in the late 80s (where my family got their sweats). Sigh. This is what kids these days call fashion:

Hey, look. You went to the overpriced, bright 70s inspired version of The Gap. That doesn't mean you're fashionable nor exuding any style. Also, ladies, you look ridiculous in leggings that are neon and/or shiny. And the owner of the company Dov Charney is an accused rapist (they say forced sex but I'm pretty sure that's rape - journalism fail). So congrats, me and the rest of us all trying to keep our youth through this bright, basic/minimalistic approach to fashion. We're pieces of materialistic shit for supporting this company.

Anyway...

Nicole Holofcener's Walking and Talking, an ode to 90s singles in NYC is now on NETFLIX instant watch. Starring Catherine Keener and a seemingly sane Anne Heche, Keener is the single woman with a cat who isn't sure what kind of man she wants in her life. Or what kinds of sex she wants to have. Or what it says about a man when he's into horror films. But her best friend Heche has just gotten engaged, so she goes into crisis mode fearing that they're never going to be besties the same way they always have been. Skip the uber popular/not funny Bridesmaids and watch this instead. It says more about women, friendships, and how we really feel about commitment - plus, no going to a theater filled with annoying people.

In the world of music... recently, thanks to Starbucks, I found out that an early 2000s band I used to like named Elefant broke up - and their lead singer wrote some music. Diego Garcia. 'You Were Never There.' It reminds me of... other indie music... but not Elefant themselves. It's tender, a little sad, and kind of catchy but you'd never hear it on the radio (unless you turn that dial to 92.5 The River... soft rock mmm).

It was a rainy night in a quiet town in Florida. I stayed awake all night, couldn't sleep at all, so I sang to her.

You might like this song: If you like Kings of Convenience - and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes (no, not just their songs you've heard in commercials).

127 HOURS

2011-01-14T02:08:00.007-05:00

Danny Boyle is best known for being an Academy-Award winning "edgy" British filmmaker. When I think of Danny Boyle, I think of over-stylized bullshit that is hit or miss. 127 Hours... now this would be a miss according to my taste in film, though its not a total failure. I'd say its more a missed attempt at a good film- what it likely could have been in the hands of a more patient creator. It goes something like this... one man. one boulder. five days. DUN DUN DUN. But instead of getting-to-know the character of Aron Ralston (James Franco), we get a 90 minute music video with a few bits of Man vs. Wild in-between. Franco does his best to give us a sense of the live-or-death struggle that Mr. Rolston went through - pinned for those days, trying to survive hour-by-hour, drinking ones own urine, and trying to keep sane while slowly losing grasp of the situation. Cast Away with a rock is all this film really is, as Boyle attempts some flashbacks to let us "inside" Aron's mind while he assessed his few options and eventually chipped away at himself. Though the moments of realization about ones self- how disconnected Aron is from his friends, his family, a lover, etc. is nothing more than by-the-numbers musings that feel superficial. A filmmaker more seasoned in minimalism would have been better suited for this arduous situation. But instead, it's flash-flash~struggle~flash-flash~survival story via Hollywood that is sure to gain even more praise post-theatrical release with the masses. Meh.

Sex and the City 2

2010-05-27T16:47:00.007-04:00

Where the fuck do I start. Originally, this series was mostly about finding independence, romance and (unfortunately) perfect designer duds while trying to keep up with the big city. I've never been a fan of Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker)- instead, I enjoyed the storylines about the more grounded career woman Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and the always aging and always horny comic relief Samantha (Kim Cattrall). These two women always stuck up for themselves and never compromised for the sake of getting laid and trying to please their detractors. Their triumphs came when they did what was right for them over the time of the series and in the previous film, be it moving to Brooklyn to start a family or leaving a comfortable monogamous relationship on good terms because of off timing. Plus, the general non-competitive and supportive friendships between these four women has mostly been satisfactory as far as television goes.

But no, we can't have anything resembling a slight glimmer of modern feminist values here.

Instead, for nearly two and a half hours, we get Carrie being the same old same old fashionista who makes the same tired mistakes in her back-and-forth relationship with Mr. Big (Chris Noth). Carrie is unable to accept that her husband likes to watch old movies before bed? Carrie kisses her ex-boyfriend (who's also married) who she just so happens to run into during an all expenses paid trip to Abu Dhabi? Also, Ralph Lauren catalog princess Charlotte (Kristin Davis) cries when her child ruins vintage Valentino and is afraid her husband will cheat, all because their new nanny doesn't wear a bra... so she spends the entire movie with her iPhone glued to her hand trying to check on him but unable to find a signal because of all that sand? Really, that is literally all that happens here, besides the most overdone and cliche gay wedding (featuring Liza Minnelli) and oooing and aahhing at the excess of the Middle East. There's some sex too, but of course Samantha- the woman caught in the sexual act- gets arrested for offending the locals while the man she was getting it on with gets away without any charges against him. Surprise - nobody questions it.

Sex and the City in its current form has reduced these women into bland femmes who pace around worrying about their men, not because of actual relationship problems, but because these people are too invested in what they're wearing tomorrow instead of asking the right questions and confronting the possible issues when matters of trust and sound mind are in jeopardy. Every episode of the television show would end with some kind of conclusion, one that would be in favor of learning from mistakes and situations and doing the right thing. The only thing this film can tell you is that its pretty tough being (so-called) fabulous, passive and nearing/over fifty years old, though its all worth it as long as you find a good deal on shoes.

If any woman you know says she likes this movie, walk the other way.

The Losers

2010-04-26T23:46:00.006-04:00

Sylvain White's The Losers is almost exactly what it seems to be. A fast-paced action film starring a mostly recognizable cast of actors who do their best to be "special forces" of some sort in the face of their enemy. What the story entails is this: The "Losers" are tricked into carrying out an attack that paints them as evil doers responsible for the deaths of a few dozen children (ouch). But they were set up- framed! (dun dun dun) So revenge leaves them eager to seek out Max, the bad guy in a suit (Jason Patric, remember him? He was in Speed 2... lol) who has a taste for money, technology, and explosive devices that can do major damage to any kind of land mass. Cliches upon cliches are executed. Baddie bad girl (Zoe Saldana) who the men lust after but only one of them nail. Tough guy leader who's hunky and broody but not too broody and hunky (Jeffrey Dean Morgan). Wise-cracking tech geek (Chris Evans). Etc etc etc. (Latino sharp-shooter who looks like Justin Long in a cowboy hat, however, I was not expecting).

Why even bother with this film though? At the end of the picture it has nothing to offer, except a lot less ridiculous carnage that is typical of the genre (how? HOW? I dunno. It's just not dumb as it could be). Joe Carnahan's The A-Team comes out next month and if its anything like his last film, Smokin' Aces, it'll be a giant piece of shit. Wet your palette instead with this film, since it's mostly fun, well-made, and to the point without going full-retard in the process.

***while I find this film somewhat worth your time, it has however been noticeably edited (heavily I assume) to achieve a PG-13 rating- so waiting for DVD instead of seeing it in the theater might even make you less of a loser yourself.

Hot Tub Time Machine

2010-03-29T17:39:00.006-04:00

The latest cinematic "bro" comedy HOT TUB TIME MACHINE is one that should not be taken seriously, as obvious by its title- though this is less Snakes on a Plane in its ironic focus- it's a straight comedy with lots of raunch and other expected elements of the R-rated comedy genre. It goes like this: a group of friends get together and are somehow transported back in time via magical workings of a bubbly tub of water. John Cusack, Rob Corddry, Craig Robinson and Clark Duke are the central dudes who reminisce of their past at a beloved winter getaway, far from their now ordinary and seemingly unsatisfying lives. Between heavy drinking, relationship problems, and addictions to second-life, the guys together decide to get away from it all in order to help their alcoholic buddy Lou (Corddry) who needs some adult supervision after a suspected suicide attempt. Far off to hills and into the tub they go, magically transporting them back to 1986. Because youngest dude Jacob (Duke) wasn't even a zygote in that year and his human form starts to flicker, the guys have to retrace the steps of their past to set the universe in balance, as they wait time machine to be fixed, thanks to the ghostly repairman played by Chevy Chase.

Much of what Hot Tub Time Machine tries to say to its audience is that the past should be the past - moving forward with your life after heartache and suffering is the right thing to do. The guys concede that, despite hot ex-girlfriends and other forays in debauchery, they'd much rather be back in the present with their older- though not much more wiser- selves. As a plot point, this is a more realistic and admirable direction that other recent raunchy R-rated comedies have attempted. Though in execution, the film comes up short in being anything more than a wacky trip to their younger pasts.

John Cusack's Adam unfortunately has to find a way to break up with his first love all over again- something he regrets, though only to find out that even though he misses her more than a day-glo wardrobe, she's really not the best person for him at all and that their breakup was inevitable and the right thing to do. Craig Robinson's Nick has to engage in intercourse with a random snow bunny- now married in the present, he cannot perform without weeping about his wife, even though he suspects she may very well unfaithful herself. Worst off, Corddry's Lou not only has to be beaten up by a well-dressed ski patrol asshole in popped collars all over again, he's prone to engaging in questionable behavior that harmed him and that has shaped his current pathetic self. While it seems that HTTM is asking us and these men about their past, in which "who am I/who was I" comes into question, the film would rather throw on some leg warmers and insert random 80's entertainment references instead of treading deeper philosophical waters. Think "I love the 80's" meets Harold and Kumar. Same brand of humor, same nostalgic drive, though with overly familiar territory and less biting results.

Director Steve Pink's first theatrical feature since 2006's Accepted may have some decent laughs and sound aspirations for its band of brothers, but as a film it fails in almost all areas beyond shallow laughs. I suspect the film will be a modest hit with its audiences and overall a success, but as a totally solid comedy, Hot Tub Time Machine lacks some much needed memorable bubbly good times.

The Ghost Writer

2010-03-20T10:55:00.012-04:00

Based on the book THE GHOST by Robert Harris, Director Roman Polanski's latest work is a dramatic thriller that will likely be overlooked, due to his reputation and criminal activity outside of his cinematic resume. Although he's had a few missteps along the way, Polanski has always been one of the most polished, refined filmmakers in cinema with his own distinct qualities, that's not only been present in all of his work, but also evolved as needed through the decades since he first stepped behind the camera.

That said, The Ghost Writer is similarly about a man who is possibly anything but a saint - set around present times, Former Prime Minister Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan) is being accused of war crimes during the current Middle East crisis, just as the ghost writer for his soon-to-be published memoir dies. There's still some editing to be done on the manuscript, so an English writer played by Ewan McGregor is hired to finish up the details in a timely fashion for the publisher. Before the controversial accusations about Lang, his memoir was suspected to be a bore. McGregor has to rewrite the portrait of Lang so that the book has potential to sell- away to Martha's Vineyard he goes, to finish up the book at the gloomy concrete compound Lang calls home. Ruth Lang (Olivia Williams) is a miserable sort, brooding around as her husband's reputation is destroyed and protesters sling mud outside their property gates. Keeping things together is Lang's assistant Amelia Bly (Kim Cattrall), guiding the Ghost through the controversy as it unfolds daily on CNN and elsewhere. As McGregor's Ghost interviews Lang and begins to edit the manuscript, he begins to suspect something is wrong with the hoopla surrounding the politician and the words on paper describing his past. Could he not be who he seems - and is the death of his predecessor possibly related to the suspected criminal activity Lang is being accused of?

What unfolds on screen is the stuff of brilliance - Polanski paces the film masterfully, with McGregor perfectly mirroring our own concerns and interests. Olivia Williams' Ruth Lang is a tightly wound, possibly unstable cog in the wheel of the story- even when Brosnan's Lang is away, her presence on screen drives the film in ways that the best of Hitchcock's femmes did in years past. This film overall has some of the best performances you'll ever see from the respected cast. Polanski's direction aids this familiar blend of politics, drama, and investigative thrills in ways that puts other filmmakers to shame- Germany is a surprisingly decent substitute for Massachusetts, as its gloomy atmosphere compliments the intrigue of the film well. Although recent politics between the United States and Britain seem like an easy target for an international filmmaker, what this film adds to the dramatic genre is a well-needed boost of classic style, top notch filmmaking and damn good storytelling. Polanski doesn't need flashy filmmaking when a script this solid has all the meat needed to create interest for the viewer- over his career, Polanski's thrillers redefined well-known genres, such as with psychological horror for Rosemary's Baby and drama of the 1970s with the throwback stylings of Chinatown. While it may not be a cutting edge, game-changing genre film, The Ghost Writer is no doubt one of the best and most entertaining dramatic thrillers in recent times. Check your reservations at the door and see this film before it disappears from your cinemas.

Bland Zone

2010-03-18T06:32:00.008-04:00

IN CASE you were around the last six-seven years or more, you already know that there were no WMDs found in Iraq at any point during Bush's 2003 and still ongoing war campaign. But lets say you were actually comatose and just woke up to see American forces overseas, long after "Mission Accomplished" was said by the previous administration. Zuh? What's the story here? Well Paul Greengrass' GREEN ZONE hopes to paint you a sandy picture of why no WMD's were found. SPOILER ALERT: fucked up behind the scenes American Government bullshit, including shoddy intelligence!

Chief Army Office Roy Miller (Matt Damon) is our central camo-clad hero, aimed with the ability to question the not-so-intelligent intelligence he gets- why exactly did we search toilet factories expecting dangerous explosives and find nothing? Well, as you might assume, it's because... well, there's a joke in there somewhere. Let's see: the Pentagon was full of shit, so Miller wants to expose this problem ASAP before Pentagon Villain Greg Kinnear (miscast and about as evil as Wonder Bread) and his D.C. henchmen destroy his plan to save the day. Still awake? Amy Ryan shows up as a WSJ reporter who's hot on the trail for the "source" behind all the bad info that Miller has to deal with, and Brendan Gleeson is a CIA official that conveniently shows up to give Miller some help, only to get bitch slapped by Kinnear and procedural regulations that forbid him from advancing the case against Bushie's lies. Zoinks!

Where Green Zone goes horribly wrong is in its ability to be anything but tired, boring and cliche. We all know what happened overseas in Iraq and how the Bush administration sent our military on ludicrous tasks simply to oust Saddam Hussein for his benefit- Greengrass is a talented guy with the camera and production; he's not completely to blame for this disaster, nor are any of the actors (Damon is convincing and intense in his own ways). Instead its Brian Helgeland's script, a by-the-numbers government/international conflict for dummies manual, that doesn't make this film seem fit for anywhere except TNT on a late Friday evening, nor even try to do something new with the material (which is what SHOULD have happened, but nooo why would Hollywood tool like him do such a thing). It's almost embarrassing to have to sit through this film as the story goes through the motions, each scene more obvious than the last- Damon surely deserves better on his resume. I'd try and attempt a more biting, well-written review, though I'm unable to do so because Green Zone just left me... red.

Sex with Tom Ford is probably meticulous

2010-03-05T17:40:00.005-05:00

I say that because his latest film (the directorial/writing debut by the fashion giant), A SINGLE MAN, is as tightly wound up as a nun in a red light district. But in a good way. Referencing a time now past- that you can only really see visualized fully in cinematic works of Hitchcock, Godard, and Kazan- Ford manages to connect his main character George Falconer (Colin Firth) with the stylized suffocation brought on by grief of a gay man living in 1960s California. Unable to deal with the loss of his long term partner Jim (Matthew Goode), George decides that he is ready to die. He is so devoid of love and happiness that banging a frozen loaf of bread on the counter is literally his only form of release. Firth saunters through the film like an English Marcello Mastroianni- sexy and exuding confidence but largely as a defense mechanism. Although he is totally in control of his destiny, he finds little things here and there that give him pause- either the facial details of his office secretary or the eerie sadness of his young neighbor in braids. There is beauty around him but its fairly evident that, due to the fog of his sadness, he is unable to recognize it until this day.

Fucking up George's inevitable suicide task is the perfectly tanned student Kenny (Nicholas Hoult). He can see there's more to his professor in lectures, as his interest is less about materials and more about the man behind those fine suits and sharp eyeglass frames. He hangs out with a Bardot-a-like and stalks George- even buying him a pencil sharpener (let's face it - George's existence is like dull #2 pencil- ho ho). Also present is the embodiment of lust in Carlos (model Jon Kortajarena), a Spanish drifter whom Director Ford signals to us as a gay James Dean. George's reaction to Carlos is half of what he had/misses in Jim, and he certainly would consider having a meaningless hook up. But George knows what he needs pleasure from and its anything but a pretty boy with a sexy stubble. The entire sequence with Carlos is exactly what Ford does best. Exuding eroticism with the camera in desirable ways that many have tried but cannot bring into full realization on the screen. I can imagine the future blu-ray disc release of this film being something similar to pornographic brilliance for any film fan, even with its total lack of penetration.

Making an obvious side appearance along the way is Julianne Moore as Charly, another English transplant wasting away in Cali as well. She pines for George because she feels, after an ex-husband or so, that he's the only one that loves her. But we know its their sorrow and love of alcohol that binds them rather than true friendship. Fag hags have never been so tragic. Moore plays Charly wonderfully and the best she can, but its Ford's inability to dress her anything but a lush in fine fashion that makes her feel slight.

Ford's conclusion for his film is an affirmation of living. The past, lost love, and grief are all nothing new in the movies, but they sure are pretty by the pen/under Ford's lens. Based on the book of the same name by Christopher Isherwood, what likely makes the film tick better than a seemingly well-oiled machine in couture is what it all means in the grand scheme of things. Firth embodies George and this journey with exquisite strength, grace, and vulnerability in ways that many leading men cannot. I don't want to spoil the exact manner of closing for the film and George, but its one that is ripe for younger and older audiences alike who are into this brand of cinema. Fragile existence, romanticism and all that stuff. And its goddamn gorgeous.