we've been reviewed by melbourne film critics at screen machine for our screening at sydney underground film festival this past weekend. very honoured to be one of the three films to be featured for the day. thank you whitney, i was very nervous when i realised that we'd been reviewed & during the public Q & A i felt inarticulate and was almost falling off the stage from sleep deprivation having to immediately run off to finish another film to premiere the following night for our art exhibition [tomorrow's blog]. reviews are daunting at the best of times.
Created in a mere 48 hours (with cast doubling as crew), Victoria Waghorn’s latest film Hybristo Honeymooners questions whether serial killers should be exempt from wedded bliss. Ultimately interrogating the idea of hybristophilia- being sexually aroused by people who have committed violent and/or gruesome crimes – the film opens in typical cliché wedding-film style with a shot of a car; its bumper declares ‘JUST MARRIED’.
The twist: these newlyweds are psychopaths. The husband goes into a fit of ecstasy as he sniffs WD-40 before his murderous rampage. The wife, whose rapture is initially misread as fear, gets similar kicks out of being chained up as she waits for him. Their marriage is not consummated with sex as we might suspect, but with the violent murder of a ‘slant eyed’ woman. Through these variations on the idea of wedded bliss Waghorn’s film depicts a literal threat to normative heterosexual marriage.
The most arresting scene: A fairy winged bride masturbating to the sounds of her husband murdering their kidnapped victim. A sheep skull rests on her chest; its hollow eyes return the gaze of the audience. The woman climaxes, the film ends. This film is beautifully perverse.
Polytechnique is a delicately restrained lyrical artwork addressing the nonsensical horror of the historical 1989 Montreal Massacre. It is nothing short of a visual virtuoso of powerful drawn-out imagery in slurries of soft black & white which gently lap on the edge of consciousness, blurring illogical brutality into a shadowy poetic containment simultaneously addressing life and death. And the fine line of perception which divides them. Both the before and aftershocks.
The combination of Director of Photography Pierre Gill and Director Denis Villeneuve is potent, resulting in a tangibly unreal dreamlike state, stark yet lucidly streaming in theta wavelike fashion. The cinematography is exceptional not just in composition and movement but in the inherent subtlety which does not detract from the surreality and first person RPG sense of realtime connection. A multi-faceted viewfinder into the quiet chaotic space. Serial killer meets gamer POV sans sensationalism.
Eerie but not, as some detractors have argued, irresponsible. A potential mass murderer will already self-glamorise the act played out in the instant play/rewind of the mind, it's unlikely - just like marijuana - to lead onto the harder drug. The psychopath comes first, not the cartoons on TV. Or politically current in Australia, the child pornography without an internet filter.
The film is factual but centres on fictionalized characters with detailed attribution to actual events within the massacre. What happened that fateful day when a jaundiced twenty five year old, Marc Lepine entered the Ecole Polytechnique armed with a legally obtained semi-automatic rifle, a hunting knife, several rounds of ammunition and a suicide note, carefully written prior, inside his jacket. All retrospective the what-ifs.
He went on to hunt down and slaughter feminists ie. women, like wild animals within his perceived sacred manly domain which was Engineering School. During his psychotic rampage which he began by systematically separating the "girls from the boys" in a classroom he then executed the nine women after delivering a short anti-feminist tirade. Three actually survived after playing dead.
His insane rampage continued throughout the school targeting women. In twenty minutes he famously killed fourteen women and injured ten before turning the gun on himself. He also shot men but it was clear throughout that these were unfortunate incidentals and not the object of his unfathomable obsession. Countless students suffered extreme post-traumatic stress syndrome and subsequently had emotional distress peppered with a large number of suicides. over the years which followed. His hate crime fallout, immense.
The Montreal Massacre went on to become an incredible totem of violence against women. A terrible symbol of misogyny which served as an illustration of immobilisation and gender paralysis. The anniversary [December 6] is now known as the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. For years after the event police would not release the full details of the suicide note for fear of creation of anti-feminist backlash. The incident resulted in tighter gun controls in Canada.
Perhaps the most frightening aspect of the event which is poignantly painted by the film is the reflective portrayal of the accessibility of the moment. It could be anytime anywhere. The killer lurks within us all. With the increased popularisation of 1st person shooter games there's an acknowledgement of power outside of the permitted constructs of civilisation. We're bursting at the seams to marry our inner monster caged by socratic logic to fit the idealised societal code. Which strangely echoes Marc Lepine's own words from his hate literature: "For why exist just to please the government?" Babies need not be thrown out with the bath water.
In understanding any of this, control ultimately cannot be exacted by outside legislative forces but must come from within. As respectively illustrated in the film the power to believe and act is born for all of us there. It must overcome fear [we are not Orwellian Big Brother's children quite yet]. Otherwise life has no meaning, the motions just that. Which is liberating indeed.
There’s a hybristophile in all of us waiting for the right social triggers to release our inner beast...
Reginald Harkema’s much anticipated film, Leslie, My Name is Evil investigates this premise via real life character Leslie van Houten known as Lulu by her friends in the family. The Manson Family that is. Although uncharacteristically Charlie, himself never deigned to give her a pet name.
John Waters slammed it without seeing it which has to be a red flag for those who adore offending camp sensibilities. In retrospective horror he has gone to the lengths of apologising for his infamous comic references in his own past films to the related murders citing irresponsibility in the name of shock value. And that's what this film potentially does. With equal measures of less and more subtlety than some of Water’s notorious graphic asshole acrobatics, and canine faecal sampling [that’s eating dog shit for the uninitiated].
Leslie, a lost disenchanted girl at nineteen teetering on the status quo borderline was arguably seduced by the dark side in a polarized world of 1950s artificial Christianized sensibilities versus the freedom offered by dropping out and drifting into the sexual revolution. Today, she is still incarcerated for her part in the laBianca slayings, conducted when she was still a teenager desperately trying to prove her merit to the all powerful Manson who constantly overlooked her. A wayward princess ironically trying to fit in via the classic gang initiation rite.
A visually juxtaposed film effectively mixing iconic video and audio stock footage with new produces an exaggerated stylized Lichtenstein larger than life caricature effect loosely based on the Charles Manson trials focussing on Leslie, one time cheerleader, prom queen then murdering nymphomaniacal acolyte. A snapshot of her journey and the representation of worlds colliding as she luridly exploits her sexuality and forces one frustrated juror to question his morality in the face of hypocritical demonization.
Despite the camp OTT delivery this film is much more social satire than schlocky pulp but it’s happy to flippantly traverse both worlds. It does ask important questions and raises problematic Hobbes-like contextual comparisons.
Who does have license to kill, in a world where right wing moral crusaders under Nixon’s leadership espouse the mass murder in Vietnam and the protection of the righteous white path? If the nature of man is the nature of war [in search of peace] when is murder wrong when its being publically pimped as socially, politically, and religiously acceptable. When is a person a gook and not a pig?
Leslie, My Name is Evil has its Australian Premiere at Possible Worlds Canadian Film Festival followed by a special "Fight the Power" party this Saturday. A must see/do.
in the world today all culture, all literature and art belong to definite classes and are geared to definite political lines. there is in fact no such thing as art for art's sake, art that stands above classes, art that is detached from or independent of politics. proletarian literature and art are part of the whole proletarian revolutionary cause; they are as lenin said, cogs and wheels in the whole revolutionary machine. - mao zedong [tse tung], 1942
"before you can fly. you have to be free"...
last week i finally saw mao's last dancer. or the li cunxin story.
as an ardent admirer of bruce beresford's work [breaker morant, driving miss daisy] i arrived with shining eyes & dickin's-like great expectation. while the story did deliver in epic human proportions it left me cold & flat despite the calculated beauty & craftsmanship. the dancing [chi cao], the music are unquestionably beautiful. in a word; breath-taking. however i was unsold.
the film felt like an inferior rendition of mao's little red book, a piece of contrived propaganda which condemned the chinese government but then served as a fabled artifice to elevate western principles specifically the US in contrast. all i could think of was that it became what it most sought to separate itself from. the chairman's words haunted me. with a washington accent.
for those not familiar with the successful autobiography of li cunxin, mao's last dancer is a powerful story of an impoverished chinese boy working his tiny toned ass off against all odds in a harsh communist regime buoyed by the love of his parents to become one of the most accomplished ballet dancers in the world. after being headhunted by the houston ballet on a scholarship he eventually defected to the US under dramatic headline grabbing circumstances.
fade to black, back to screen: li cunxin now becomes a capitalist pig, ditches bare-boned morals & humility along with loving american wife who helped secure him legal course to stay in the country. consumed by his need to dance & be centre stage he wins another blonde ballerina who is obviously even prettier than the last. this is how it works in movies. behold the manifestation of the consumerist american dream. PS. li cunxin is now a stockbroker. an east meets west success story.
where had the money come from & who was the intended audience of this film? was bruce selling out to the americans... i mean why were li cunxin's parent's on stage so long for? was that a political commentary, accurate depiction of real events or merely a deliberate ploy to stage emotional overkill with a less than subtle audience. not quite hollywood but close enough.
i felt a stabbing pain but not as a result of the filmmaker's intention. did the houston ballet fund this film... funnily enough li cunxin was greatly involved in an EP capacity sourcing funding [his company financed the film] and "coincidentally" the americans love the political simplicity. like taking candy from a baby.
billy elliot leaves the big bad iron scarlet curtain wolf & discovers freedom, blonde chicks, hot dogs & defects. only in america. land of the free. shame elton wasn't around for the soundtrack. although christopher gordon's soundtrack is wholly brilliant. not quite guoyue but i'm sure mao would approve.
something about: was i the only person on the planet who didn't fall desperately in love with moon & planned to? the wedding invitations had already been sent out before i hit the cinema dammit. district 9, you remain uncontested in my mind no matter how unfashionable my view as top film dog for the year [i will wait for you]. but still we have three months to go...
i was planning on writing something intelligent immersed in devil's advocate mode about the derivative yet overall disappointing nature of moon, although on the whole the positive outweighed the negative, but then i went out for lunch today & drank...
boxes ticked:
duncan jones: incredible first feature direction. the considered exploration into what is the human condition was heroic to the max without the cheesiness of some soft drink to pimp. we won't even bring up space oddity. the minatures, the minatures... kudos bill pearson [well what do you expect when you bring in the alien model sugar daddy from hell?] and also thanks for the non-reliance on all things CGI.
sam rockwell : yes in your designer made role you shone. congratulations, you sold me. nice work with what was essentially a 100 minute monologue.
bang for buck: awesome result for 5 million USD spend. nothing short of outstanding. production value: let me cum on my own tits. BTW. that's the highest possible accolade. the studio creation of that grimy unforgiving alien yet realistically human world of physical & mental corrosion was simply monk porn.
trudy styler -- the producer? those famous family connections certainly did not hurt, and why should they?
blank boxes:
is it alien. is sam ripley? or is it an unreleased cut of 2001... love a bit of homage love but could we please have something more original? this could easily have come from the cutting room floor of kubrick's studio which is high praise indeed but in the end it reads like a single B side. yes the retro vibe is fuck off cool but it was the first time round also. if you're going to borrow could you at least add or improve? please. even if you only have 5 million dollars.
the story: i'm sorry -- i got bored. i just thought that the issues which were broached could have been dealt with in a more interesting way. i dig clones too. it's not an incessant need to supplant that with bells & whistle aliens or apes whacking obelisks but i don't know... frugal austerity is nice. like oak. i fell asleep. there i said it. the last time i did that which i recall was independence day. in my mind a far inferior film with a squillion times more budget [so it's certainly not all bad].
ultimately it was a believable mysterious cold indifferent world outside & in. the film worked especially for a flatlining vacation accompaniment. it's just that i felt i'd already seen it before. perhaps the planned epilogue will redeem phase one? perhaps jones will come back to earth.
white lightnin' is the shadowy filtered monochromatic biopic of dancing outlaw, jesco white. created by first time feature director dominic murphy, the film is as abruptly brutal as it is brilliant as it is beautiful.
the closing night film at this year's sydney underground film festival, it continued to enrapture a stoic audience as its implied violence had the strongest stomachs & eyes wincing whilst remaining hypnotically steadfast on the screen accompanied by the entrancing beat of the banjo & famed appalachian feet of the psycho hillbilly from lynchian hell.
with demons hot on his toe-tapping heels the fictional account of real life career criminal jesco white is probably not the tourist grabbing PR campaign west virginia will be producing anytime soon. the darkest elements & clichés of psycho white trash is pushed multiple stops within an exaggerated but bleakly sellable inch of itself. a real life horror story which makes stereotypical pulp cinema like wes craven's, the hills have eyes & hillbilly horror look like name-brand pussy fodder for spoilt kitty-litter dependent siamese whilst rewriting the hitchcock's psycho shower scene. refocus eyes. stay away from needles. moonshine bottles. and gas.
with similarly rose-colour stripped shades to harmony korine's [gummo, kids] harsh graphic riposte themes, there's a wonderful narrative curve which provides more than cheap shock value, especially considering visible screen violence is actually minimal, the implication is extreme. the story is delivered with sensitivity & panache.
edward hogg's rendition of the renegade protaganist is mesmerising. carrie fisher's supporting role as older lover cilla is odd but works well depicting both the ostrasization & variable realty perception of both polarized identities.
the religious epiphanies in this film are enough to either inspire martyrdom or life long atheism. with production design which elevated these moments to moments of visionary elevation, white lightnin' s end is as chilling & poetic in an iconographic fashion that it made me feel all angelina jolie. first i just need to work on my dance steps.
[thanks to the ever gracious interwebs for providing pix. i ♥ you]
not all rebounds are equal. some are surely more equal than others. as per animals according to orwell's napolean. peter jackson's risen phoenix which is the reinvented shelved halo vidgame under the inspired direction of neill blomkamp is if nothing else, proof of exactly that. district 9.
shot relatively low budget for the spectacular degree of CGI, creature effects/execution at 30 million USD, faux verite with handheld camera [primarily the red-one] encapsulating the cloverfield/blair witch ethos precedent for capturing mood & elevated drama in a pseudo-documentative style blending archival news footage, and gritty realism for a interpecies fleshfest deliciously remimiscent in the gory scenes of peter jackson's formative meet the feebles, braindead and of course bad taste years.
the story by blomkamp is derived from an earlier short he made called "alive in joburg" which investigated race relations utilising the alien metaphor.this marriage between the more arguably socio-political commentative blomkamp & splatter king jackson is a perfect one.
in a sky above johannesburg dominated for almost 30 years by a spaceship which ran out of gas... the refugee camps beneath an indictment to the continued apartheid separating the non-humans [derogatory colloquialism = prawn]from "the general populace" in rubbled rerouted slums. a new reviled underclass is born. and thus homosapiens finally unite. exploitation & entrepreneurship serve us well in a world emmulating pre ANC political gains post mandela's release where politically correct speak buffered through paperwork/signage chillingly & matter of fact undermines equality.
characterisation is brilliant with a capital B with the weasel-like afrikaan MNU operative wikus van der merwe [sharlto copley] traversing the emotional milieu with such credibility the space between seat & screen completely disappeared. then there were the prawns. who were far more idealistically human than exploitive war-mongering humanity itself... aah, hobbes.
this brilliantly constructed film rendered me speechless till well after the credits were done rolling [a wingnut production houses an endless plethora of magic-making love on the roll credits] & still almost does in awe & reverence on multiple levels. it's time had come.
district 9 is the rome which all the yellow brick roads were leading to; in strategy, story and style. and oh how the well met paths deliver [the romans had extremely distinct sub-classes interwoven into the fabric of their much revered society. women and slaves as one]. it is undoubtedly the film of the year. it is most definitely a defining film of the sci-fi genre. as a chilling xenophobic commentary it is disturbingly accurate. and much much more.
this is a film to fall in & out of lust with in rapid succession. on the heels of another apparent more fitting contender. try it at a cinema near home. so much more splatter to love. i'm doing it again. and again.
[images ripped with love from the ever obliging interwebs. merci.]
the unexamined life is not worth living – socrates
there can be no higher & intrinsic ideal than this sentiment uttered by socrates at his heresy trial when faced with death for his practise of philosophy questioning the status quo. the greatest pursuit in life is the quest for truth. it is worth dying for. the father of contemporary philosophy did just that despite/because of the magnitude of his public service of enlightenment.
director, astra taylor takes this 5th century BC premise & applies it to a couple of handfuls of the cerebrally gifted: big thinkers taking on a myriad of macro to micro questions all interwoven into a metaphysical matmos related to the human condition on more than an existential plane. this is her new film: examined life.
philosophy for the people marches onto the streets out of the cloistered institutionalised academia which renders it inaccessible for many, giving it real-time practical application: it need not be an intangible outdated concept. free thinking is as current & as integral to fundamental societal principles now if not more so as in even socrates’ time. arguably the tools which can be used to control it, also serve to liberate and share. the democratisation of thought: if we have the courage to do so.
cultural relativism: a modern day ethos of responsibility of values/care given extra bent in light of the enormous amount of inhabitants this world now has. where does one draw the line? recently released sci fi film district 9 effectively raises this issue [review pending] & goes all interspecies/intergalactic which isn’t so fantastic in the responsible relativist debate.
in the question of being & the quest for personal identity & truth sometimes people get stuck before they even get to one, i.e. themselves. the places we run to, in order to shield us from ourselves & the politics of the money we used to hide with when surrounded by trash as treasure when the converse might be more fitting.
despite having an affinity with all the celebrated minds this documentary features as they move & shake with their own distinctive beat amongst their surrounds, i spent the duration of this film developing a major love affair with two of the celebrity celluloid identities during the many ebb & flows which occur throughout the film. being a long-term lover of the social sciences as a political science/philosophy major & a fledgling filmmaker, i was thoroughly engaged from start to finish but still felt the tempo unnecessarily waiver at times. in a perfect world i’d have liked to see welcome limelight thieves cornel west & avital ronell engage with one another before running off with their DNA & promptly popping out their babies like ping pong balls.
the reverence which astra justifiably has towards her brilliant studies also partially limits the equality in engagement as who can not help but be dwarfed by the lyrical conversational prowess of cornel west as he spits out intellectual rhetoric like a master jazzman casually touting a trumpet from the back of his new york drive as astra successfully manages to concentrate on the road. she drives him around the manhattan peak hour bottlenecks before cornel directs her to “just pull over here” as he waltzes out dancing to his own irrepressible beat engaging with all those in his wake. he personifies wakefulness.
the mind is undoubtedly the most erotic organ, and a powerhouse of uncontained chemicals once the right combination of buttons is pushed & wires are connected. this examined life may not be the opiate of the masses but it’s definitely my kind of porn. fellow anti-pornographer femme, andrea dworkin might just [posthumously] approve.
recently premiered in sydney at possible worlds canadian film festival. EP'd by the lovely ron mann.
[photos pilfered from the ever gracious interwebs]
seal. caribou. geese... everything you need; all the necessities of life.
this is tivii's [natar ungalaaq; atanarjuat; the fast runner] world ince quu'il faut pour vivre[2008] as explained to young kaki [paul-andrébrasseur]. extracted from it unexpectedly & thrust into a culturally polarised world in a TB sanatorium in 1950s quebec far from where his value as a family provider in the tradition of the great hunters of his arctic people who run with the migratory birds is virtually castrated.
isolated in an alien place where language & custom provide inpenetrable walls, tivii's decreased desire to live gradually supercedes even the severity of his physical illness as returning home becomes increasingly less tangible... until in spite of the ironic god-fearing inanimity of the sterile environment one woman finds away to reach through.
this is a story of hope couched in enormous beauty. probably one of the most powerful intercultural demonstrations of acceptance of the similarities and differences which bind not just the aboriginal peoples of canada with whites but all creeds/colours, i've seen.
i had the great pleasure & honour to meet natar ungalaaq while he was in sydney for possible worlds canadian film festival to present both this film in which he stars and also before tomorrow as a representative of the arnait video collective. his performance on and off screen is incredibly inspiring with the gentle subtlety of a master painter.
an incredible amabassador for his inuit people on the back of two incredible films, i am proud to now call him friend & look forward to building an igloo with him in 45 minutes, and sharing the sights, sounds & stories of his breathtakingly beautiful people & country. someday soon.
and so the wrinkled wise inuit woman begins yet another tale within a tale contextualised in the story-telling tradition of indigenous matrilineal societies with her young grandson, a captive audience. within the fleeced sanctity of a tundra tent, a cave offering shelter in the eye of a storm, or whilst searching for breathing holes in which to spear seals, the crone's spoken words, the handover of a long spoken custom of narrative knowledge hungrily feasted on in the realtime luxury of time & space the story takes to tell.
"an old woman shared a story with her grandson, they were alone much like us: there were baby lemmings.. and having no fur... their arms folded in for warmth harboring the life essence of their bodies... until off-balance they start to fall.
the boy was so startled by the story that he turned into a snow bunting and flew far out of the cave into the bright blue sky beyond. the grandmother cried until her eyes turned red but she could not find him no matter how hard she searched the sky, for her eyes could no longer see. with her magic ptarmigan around her neck she was able to cast a spell with her oil lamp and then flew off to join her grandson flying right out after him. they were no longer human but they were together. two snow buntings."
the transmogrification of the two snow buntings is metaphorical of the plight of the two central characters of the arnait video collective's [an inuit womens filmmaking tribe] breathtaking cinemascopic experience before tomorrow. this story is about diginity in the face of extreme social & environmental adversity and ultimately a journey of survival of the body & soul. the non-linear nature of the cycle of life.
to date the most powerful film i've seen this year in a similar vein to rolf de heer's, ten canoes but infinitely more beautiful. see it for the incredibly artic scenery which traverses all four seasons if not for anything else. another outstanding australian premiere at possible worlds canadian film festival.
over the two nights that darryl took over bobbi's pole dancing studio, the sold-out crowd was treated to the handpicked finest that this infamous fun film festival offers audiences in toronto & montreal where humour and sex are fused into the ultimate light cheese package.
incorporate a bunch of local invited KINO filmmakers [featuring a couple of punk monks, me included] contributing risqué films on a similar theme, throw in some limbre talented performers on superlative search & seduce mode with the crowd in the burlesque tradition utilising steel pole phalli, giant feathered fans, an oversized martini glass, mix with an open bar featuring wine & never-ending bottles of canadian club whisky, DJs something 4porno, pole-dance-offs & you have yourself an evening cocktail which threatens to blast the mercury through the roof.
creative dysfunctional colour child + renegade fringe dweller of possible worlds. a bonafide cinephile + lover of magic. founder of punk monk propaganda: an active mutating experimental film tribe + socio-political art collective spawned from sydney's industrial fringe.
all images/content copyleft punk monk propaganda 2005-2012 unless otherwise stated. if you wish to repost or use anything from this website please credit me & pass on with love/respect. creative commons is the future. thanks!
