monochromatic poetry of death

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. 

Australian Premiere TONIGHT [Friday August 06] at Possible Worlds Canadian Film Festival.

Dendy Opera Quays

9/2 East Circular Quay

Sydney, Australia

20:30 - 22:30

social satire or schlocky pulp?

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.

turning on minds

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 5^th 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]

blue mountains blown

last week i headed to the blue mountains on what was a tentative mushroom foraging/KINO filmmaking expedition with my two most favorite recent discoveries - canadian filmmakers: ron mann & darryl gold. we became friends while they were in town in fast furious film festival mode for possible worlds.

the best laid plans of mice and men were thrown out when we ended up dodging the consulate general and standing up tea & scones once we were halfway out of town.

like errant kids playing hooky we stole into the mountains on our slow hill-winding train & enjoyed a lazy day of food, hiking and conversation, where i inadvertantly almost violated my duty of care and killed them both [forcing a vertigo suffering ron, deep into the three sisters stair incline & feeding an allergic darryl nuts cleverly hidden in a flour-free cake]. it could have all ended so differently... *nervous smile*.

these few photos of our time in the blue mountains ironically enough are blown out blue because i'd somehow left my canon camera on a TV auto setting mode for most the day until belatedly discovered and yeah... this is the result.

we look like blue meanie magic mushrooms. quietly animated forest fungi were we. the only ones in sight that day.

the necessities of life

seal. caribou. geese... everything you need; all the necessities of life.

this is tivii's [natar ungalaaq; atanarjuat; the fast runner] world in ce quu'il faut pour vivre [2008] as explained to young kaki [paul-andré brasseur]. 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.

[film photos courtesy of the wonderful interwebs]

two snow buntings

"grandmother, tell me a story..."

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.

[images courtesy of the film website]

pink bits

pink bits en masse & one enormous heat wave. this was the glory of tongue in, err, cheek; darryl's hard liquor & porn film festival playing in sydney in conjunction with the festivalists' incredibly successful 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.

porn. Porn. PORN [now hit me with your spambots]!

a very sneak preview of the naughtier side of the possible worlds canadian film festival. two nights of sexy mayhem went down when darryl's hard liquor & porn film fest swapped toronto for sydney over this past weekend.

the more colourful version will be up in the next 24 hours or so... this is merely appetite whetting stuff.

rattling convergent realities

so... still rendered almost incapable of speech & motion by my chocolate alchemy skills for last night's punk monk propaganda mushroom party at possible world's canadian film festival screening of ron mann's "know your mushrooms" & the incredible fusion of forces led by punk monk producer, kate taylor as she led our wonderful tribe most notably clare, dermot, ky, davey, alex, michelle, raen, andy and barry on a magical mystery sensory adventure through the red rattler playground for the night.

an incredible spectacular featuring a street carnivale & magical enchanted spaces the immediate entry vibe of the event was infused with a warm technicolor chill. specific events to note: liquid light show, street projections, fluro hoola hoop girls, fire twirlers, handmade zines and that minature luminescent world... not to mention the wonderful film AND the 'shroom crepes.

i am still at the fireplace in space warming my marshmallows slowly. but am happy to remotely post these pics by fellow punk monk, andy finn after he went happily AWOL with my camera into the pulsing red & yellow womb of the night.

the chocolate tin is now empty. but the hole in the roof of the corner shop [punk monk HQ] remains.