I was in Comox moving heavy things around in a hospital for the weekend. Now I'm stuck 30 bucks short for rent and without money until the 3rd of September. August has been one nutty ride. Got wasted with my band last night, drinking white Russians and watching "the Big Lebowski." I can't believe I bought vodka when I was already behind on rent. My life is like one of those comic books with too many characters and no end. Then again, this is a small place to live in, so that's what it'll feel like. Up north in smaller towns the books are shorter and the people more redundant, though there's the tendency to get spoiled. My guitarist has some sort of half-grandmother, or is it a step-granny? Anyways, there're three grandchildren: Guitar boy, Guitar boy's brother, and some other wanker. For Christmas, Guitar boy and his brother get really bad sweaters from Sally Ann while the wanker 14-year-old gets like 500 dollar presents -- new snowboard, new this new that. The step-granny doesn't buy good presents for the other two because they're arrogant and shop at Ikea, while the 14-year-wanker is a total nut case, who, when he doesn't get his way will slip his shit underneath couch cushions and throw rotten fruit around.
Storytelling - ***.5 - dir. by Todd Solandz -- a two-part movie (go ahead). "Fiction" the first part takes place in a writing workshop and there's the general hoo-ha: the good religious girl, the snobby hot writer girl, the alienated girl, the black prof. The protagonist is dating someone with Cerebral Palsy, who writes a story about someone having CP, but when he was with "her" he was a Cerebral Person. The prof calls it trite. The second part, "Non-Fiction" is about a total loser documentary filmmaker who makes a movie about some kid in highschool, ends up ridiculing them all at their expense, and people like the movie. Though the second part isn't about the documentarian's rise to this position, it's more about the protagonist of his film. There's a little kid who's evil for once. Usually little kids in American movies are little angels. This kid hypnotizes his father (played by John Goodman) and tells him to fire the maid and to love him the most.
Bubba Ho-Tep -- *** -- featuring an Elvis impersonator who thinks he's Elvis, and a black dude who thinks he's JFK. They're both in an asylum and find that there's a mummy walking the halls, sucking souls out of people's anuses. "Elvis" is totally apathetic to whatever happens, always saying, "what do I can, man. I got a growth on the end of my pecker." Standard horror movie, but with enough twists, humour, and slick editing montages to make it more than worthwhile.
If there were more hills and less grass in the city there would be a minor flood. The rain is back and that's fine by me.
So for my volunteer hours for the cinesociety that I need to fulfill are revolving around discovering who this dead cinematographer was. He was from Victoria and when he died somebody dropped of a box of photos, postcards (blank), and loads of 16mm, Super 8mm, and some 8mm film canisters. I thought it would be a hotbox of cinema, estranged drugged out short movies from the seventies, but I think I got something better: commercials. One for Island Farms circa 1975, and other educational footage. There was this really strange clip that was spliced together with masking tape. The footage came in upside down, and it was in this classroom with all of these 70s children going crazy. The footage was sped up, and there was this little girl on a desk and she appeared to be giving the heil signal, and in the background there was the teacher, complete with afro and large moustache. He looked like professor farnsworth in the episode where they all start getting younger. Very strange.
The idea was for this guy to get a posthomous gala. . . I think the folks at the cinema society thought the box would be filled with art. The photography is art, but so far the movies are just commercials. Something you can't really force people to watch in an art gallery. At least watching old movies is a good way of volunteering.
the shadows of happiness
the voice of doubt
the makeup of shame
busy square in the morning, people people people meet to chitter away. protag starts going. morning goes to night where everything dwindles.
doubt - m hustoon
shame - retired clown
shadows - r mcrae
Last class for the summer is over. Grade-wise, my previous classes didn't pan out as expected. Pretty crap mark in Advanced Piano Techniques, and a mildly favourable mark in Environmental Journalism. But for this Film Class, the class that just ended I got an A on the midterm, and I had the opportunity to make a short-documentary called Schimpact: An Afternoon with Pete, which satisfied my creativity and some of the film snobs in the class.
In other news, the band I'm in has a CD coming out, and the CD will belong to a label. One of my goals during my education in Victoria was to get onto a label, and now it's there. On the plus side the label has some very talented and or dedicated artists that I can now associate myself with, though that sounds like scenester talk? Right now I don't care. Right now, there' s nothing to do except have some rye (impulsively bought with little to no money -- needed to celebrate the competion of my documentary, which almost fell through) and play Civ III.
I've got all of the documentary footage done, and I've got a place to edit it. The only problem is, is that I'm going to need around 75 dollars to do it. I have no money until sept 8 (excluding rent). The documentary needs to be completed tomorrow. It's either that or write two 2500 word essays over today and tomorrow. Not a chance. In either of my choices?
Saturday, almost noon, nothing to do. Maybe I'll chirp with the birds, then eat some eggs. That way they won't smell it on my breath. I wonder if the birds flying around the house are in solidarity with the enslaved chickens, and that's why the birds fly away when all I want to do is hug them, one by one.
I'm listening to my own music far too frequently. I wonder if this will bring me closer to Yanni, which happens to be every musicians closeted dream. Now, if only I could get Kim Deal into the closet with Yanni, then we'd have a press conference.
Frequently, during the era of construction, especially when focused on oil and concrete, the architecture stylings fade into other genres. It's easy to forget that architecture is an art form, and often influences people more than music does. After all, do we not all try to embody our talents into tight little boxes? And doesn't most fiction take place in rooms? During the seventh decade of the last century, achitecture wasn't so hot, and that's when there were many free stylists. Same with the fifth decade of the past century.
Rock and Roll.
there's a new link. Click it. It's in the "links" section, though you probably knew that, lol. Anywho.
Such is the working title of my latest documentary film, which is still in the works, but for once I have it somewhat figured out in my head. I've got all the music done, which I've either composed or have had a hand in performing. I got about 35 minutes of footage, some of which took place on a Kabuki cab. They make great dollies. I met with P. downtown by accident and I just stuck the camera in his life for a while. True documentary. This is like real life. Next I have to get in a car with other friends and somehow document that. And I need another piece to the puzzle. What of, I'm not sure. Maybe I'll record Joy and I having really great conversations.
S-L has been booked for a show up at the University in early-mid September. For this, I am stoked. We have many half-completed songs booting around, and we need to finish them. My views on songwriting have sort of changed of late. I want longer, more lucid songs. Most of the songs on the EP are very tight, following the pattern type of song, which is great. But now that that's done, it's time to change. Always change. It's good to go back and forth between spontaneous and constructed art. Following only one or the other is a dooming, self-indulgent road to glory and fame.
The Conversation - Directed by Francis Ford Coppola. **** - It's one of those good oblique 70s movies where there're nothing but puzzling pieces that don't necessarily fit together. Gene Hackman plays a surveillance expert who records a conversation, and soon after, Harrison Ford wants it. There's a scene where Hackman plays tenor sax to a jazz record.
The weekend is here! I want to take it easy this weekend. Bars are bad scenes if you have no monies in your wallet. Which I don't. I'm so poor.
Piano is officially the best artform known to humans. And every single derivitive are instruments of no accord. I say this because the piano has most things you need to nourish yourself and your children, especially if you live without electricity. They can be loud, and quiet, expressive, or dominated. Yes, pianos are remarkably adaptable to the hand of the wonder-holder.
This day has been unbelievably tired. The man of Steele was over today and somehow got my computer up and running, though there's a large group of bad things that still remain locked in secrets waiting to be expelled. Damn internet! Give me back my freedom!
Celebrity - ***** - Directed by Woody Allen. I usually don't like the postmodern approach to movie making, where the film is aware of itself. It can be too much like a story that ends with the character realizing it was all a dream. Though I love the idea if the story is focused on people. Modern thought is definitely the scope in this film exploring loads of facets of Celebrity, from celebrities, to non-celebritites, to the cult of celebriy, etc. Kenneth Branagh (sp!) seems to be emmulating Woody Allen's cariacature of himself. The ending to this movie is what moved me the most. I was moved. The TV got smaller.
Bullitt - *** - Starring Steve McQueen, this movie is a slow mover, but is renowned for the car chase scene between a Mustang (driven by McQueen) and a Dodge Charger (driven by bad men with guns). It's one of those oblique 70's movies where they try to make things as vague as possible hoping that the viewer will piece together the "puzzle" at the end.
Lost in Translation - ****.5 - 2004. I thought it was brilliant at first, but on the third viewing I saw the movie as a bunch of mumbo-jumbo montage scenes interspersed with sentimental moments between strangers. Though it isn't like that at all. Terrifically acted, very free mise en scene (extras are "real" people on the street), which ads to the themes of alienation and being a real person in a techno world. In older movies in the similar vein, such as "Beathless" the people existing outside of the film, the extras, are everyday people on the street, not actors. In "Breathless" the extras are constantly looking into the camera, surprised to see one. In "Lost in Translation" however, people just don't care. It only took fifty years, and people don't react to having themselves captured. Directed and written by Sofia Coppola. Her second movie, and a force. I'm looking forward to her futher endeavors.
Breathless - ***** - 1959?. Basically created the French New Wave cinema. It has a documentary feel, while being a fiction. Apparantly the director (Jean Luc Goddard) would call out the dialogue to the actors minutes before shooting. Best line in the movie, "When we were together, I talked about me, and you talked about you, where as we should've talked about each other." A flim critic said that the camera moves around as if it were an impatient friend, waiting for the characters to finish their business so they can move on. The film is about a French gangster who shoots a cop in the country side, then runs away to chase girls, killing being the furthest thing from his mind.
Citizen Kane - there's a billion reviews already. 1941. Directed and starring Orsen Wells.
Man With a Movie Camera - ***** - Watch this one with the music. Otherwise you may be in for a boring ride. Directed by Dziga Vertov. An adventure in editing. Truly amazing. 1928. I have to make a documentary in the similar style as this. I hope I can do it. I already have ideas in mind, shots planned out, and I will be able to write all the music myself.
Farenheit 9/11 - **** - 2004. An indictment against Bush. It really riled me up when I watched it. Great footage of Bush being an idiot. One scene in particular: A dinner style event, W. Bush, delivering a speech says, "Looks like we got the haves, and the have-mores." Everybody claps. "I've always called you my base." Everybody claps. If you don't know much about Bush, then see this movie. My main complaint about Moore is that I get too riled up watching his movies, then feel slightly over-manipulated hours afterwards. It's a great documentary film, and it's important to remember that documentary filmmakers are not journalists. Journalists spend too much time hiding in objectivity and playing both sides out so evenly, that the reader either gets too bored, or him or herself feels nothing but a "I think that it's racist, but I do believe in free speech" attitude. There is less of Moore's presence in this one, his celebrity figure imprinted in the film, rather than as a character.