MONDOmagazine

Tips for moving about the city

By Jenny Bundock
Illustrations by Dara Gold

For those of you who do not know, I am a driver. In fact, I have been driving basically since I was 17-years old, due to growing up in rural Ontario, and a car being my only means of escape. That being said, I am also quite frequently a pedestrian and I understand the woes of trying to get around — especially in Toronto, where the streets were made for vehicles.

Through both of these facets of my transportation personality I have come to understand several things about the way drivers and pedestrians behave, and I have decided to lay down some ground rules for everyone as a sort of mediator between the sides.

J-walking

Here are some basic rules for J-walkers:

1)    If you are physically unable to sprint (people on crutches, people with a club foot or feet, someone in six-inch heals, pushing a baby carriage, 90-year olds, etc) you must use the crosswalk. You see, when you step off the curb, drivers notice, and immediately calculate their trajectory in the car, at current speed, and where you will be at your pace, when their car is parallel to you. We factor into this, if you may or may not sprint to ensure your own safety. If you are visibly not a sprinter, we are naturally going to slow down and possibly stop. If you cause all the traffic on the road to stop, you didn’t just j-walk, you improvised a crosswalk, and, no offence, who the hell do you think you are to do that?

2)    If you are going to j-walk, wait for a break in traffic. A break in traffic is a gap between cars, a red-light, or stopped traffic because of a streetcar. It is not running off the curb on a wing and a prayer that the car coming towards you will break.

3)    Drivers, if you see someone waiting to cross the road, off the curb, and the light ahead of you is red, you can stop five feet back and let them through. It doesn’t make you any less of a driver to not use every available inch of road.

Bikers

It is easy to get along bikers and drivers — it’s all about respect.  

1)    If you are going out on your bike, on say Queen Street East, on maybe last Friday night, and you are, say, shit drunk, try not to weave all over both lanes of the road so that all the cars around you get so nervous you may wipe out that they go 20 km an hour while you and your friend laugh hysterically. It makes people hate bikers.

2)    If you are a driver, check your rear view mirror before you open your car door when you stop on the road. No one likes having to suddenly swerve into oncoming traffic so they don’t flip over you and your door, breaking your body, their bike, and likely some other bones between the two of you.

3)    Bikers, don’t run reds downtown. I realize it’s tempting. But drivers hate that. (I also know that you probably love that drivers hate that) But really, bikes need to be respected as equally valid vehicles, and if that is true, you need to not blaze through the lights when people are crossing the road, or opposite direction cars are pulling through green lights. You just encourage anyone with even the slightest asshole disposition to follow through on it and either be dicks to you, or dicks to the rest of us because they are mad at you. I can’t make the assholes go away, so we all need to work together to keep them from having an excuse to exhibit their douchebaggery.  

Pedestrians

We can work it out.

1)    Walking is great but you need to realize that your simple actions as a person on foot affect drivers everywhere. They are nervous about your safety, and they are always watching what you are doing. I understand that when you are on foot, you are not paying the same amount of attention to drivers, and this may cause you to linger and talk to a friend in the only available parking spot on a street, or to stand off the curb waiting for a walk signal, thus preventing cars from turning right. Most people are not just driving for fun, so they get really stressed out when you hold them up. This is no excuse for anger towards you, but I’m just head’s upping you.

2)    Which brings me to my second point, drivers, do not honk at pedestrians. I don’t care what they are doing. No one put a horn in your vehicle so that you could be an asshole to strangers from the safety of a sealed metal box. I get it, they are standing in the right turn lane, they started crossing on an advanced green, they are taking their sweet time to get across the road. The “beep beep” of a horn cuts through everyone like a dentist drill. It’s like someone yelling “fuck you” through a megaphone in your face, but while sniggering behind a pane of glass about how you can’t get them, it’s annoying and it spikes everyone’s urge to kill. Would you ever scream “Hey fucker! Speed the hell up, I’ve got places to be” at someone on the street? Would you at the grocery store walking up an aisle? So why is it okay in your car. Grow the hell up and calm the fuck down, you’ll live longer.

3)    Speed. This is an issue for both groups. Cars, if it says “30km/h” near a public school, it’s because there are kids walking around, and the slower your car is going, the easier it is to control and stop. That being said, if you are walking around in a school zone, you should rest assured that the cars around you are not drag racing, or going to lose control of their cars and kill you. To the geniuses that I sometimes see walking up the side of the 401 without a care in the world, because their cars are broken down and they are bored, fuck off and stay in your car. Myself I spent a lot of time walking up the highway between the town I lived in and the town some of my friends lived in, the limit there was 80 km per hour people went about 110-120km per hour — I usually wore brighter colours, a reflector and usually walked during the daylight. Also, I walked on the side of the road traffic was on. This is all common sense.

Streetcars and busses

When transit is not on strike.

1)    Public transit is a wonderful thing, but too many times I find that people are oblivious as to how to act around these great lumbering beasts. An example is drivers who feel as though the streetcar or bus is going too slow for their liking. They repeatedly try to pass the bus or the streetcar by dodging out from behind it into the other lane, often with no concept of their own order in waiting to go around the transit car (meaning they try to pass three cars behind the streetcar, and the streetcar itself before the light, without considering that perhaps the car right behind the streetcar was waiting for a safe time to pull ahead) These cars that blaze past the streetcar endanger all kind of people in this process. They endanger the cars that have to let them in on a moments notice, when the lane they pulled into is all parked with cars, they endanger bikers who are biking in that lane and but are forced closer to the streetcar by snow banks or parked cars, and they endanger the lives of the passengers of the streetcars and busses, by trying to blaze past before the doors open. This is another way that impatience and selfishness can be dangerous and they make everyone on the road hate you for being a dick.

2)    People on the streetcars and busses just the same often forget that the streetcar and bus can stop whenever they get to a stop, and it doesn’t mean that the light is red, or that other cars are stopped around them. Many times I have had little old ladies with shopping bags step off the streetcar, which is stopped at a green light and immediately cross in front of the streetcar to the opposite side of the road, stopping oncoming traffic in the intersection, and the traffic behind the streetcar while she crosses in front. It is an intersection, if it isn’t a walk signal now, it will be in like 60 seconds. Just chill out for a minute, literally.

3)    Yield to busses. I mean this, and no one likes to do it very much. Recently it was made the law to do so, but still, time and time again I see people trying to get around the bus when it has stopped. Bus drivers in my neighborhood, which is Queen Street East area, are starting to actually hold their place in traffic, by leaving their back end in the farther lane while tipping their front end to the curb, they do this because otherwise they wait three lights for some to let them back in. Busses have like 20-50 people on them around here usually, that is 4-10 times the amount of people in your car. They win. Let the bus back in.

Hopefully these tips help us all keep the peace a little more in our own lives and on our respectable modes of transport. See you on the streets.

Mask and Madness in Macbeth

Runs April 21 – May 10, 2008 @ Joseph Workman Theatre (1001 Queen Street West)
Inspired by Shakespeare’s Macbeth
Directed by Michael Kelly
Set and Lighting by Glenn Davidson
Mask Directing by Sonia Norris

By Chris Harrison

My madness-sense is tingling.

Scene: Queen West. 1001, to be precise – The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health; formerly the Queen St. Mental Health Centre. I’m sitting with the locals by the no smoking sign, in what is clearly the smoking area. A rest-stop on the high toll-road of life. A woman, her face smitten, sits nearby groaning. Others are near, their eyes dark.

Then it’s in through the glass doors. And it’s all suits and swank and lilting laughter. What’s going on here? What does it all mean? Have I wandered into some absurdist tableau where the literati are kept in an asylum, while the derelicts own the streets?

Right, I’m here to see a play about madness.

It seems that Shakespeare loved to write about madness, and also about shifting and false identities. So how very appropriate that Macbeth should be presented in masks. Oscar Wilde is drifting through my mind as I approach my seat. What was it he said about the reality of masks? Something about the mutuality of opposites…

“Remember, you’re a journalist; put the mask firmly into place. Maintain your composure.”

Then I open the press package and flash back to the first time I read Macbeth: tenth-grade English; a hellish slog. The students were intimidated and uncooperative. The teacher resorted to a baffling routine of calling on students at random to stumble through the text in front of the rest of the class. A nerve-grindingly slow process that took over two months. Needless to say, I tuned out after the first week, and first read Macbeth the night before the winter exam.

And you know what? I really liked it. Wow, it’s intense. I wished that I had read it sooner. I realized then that the way they teach Shakespeare to kids is a preposterous shamble, almost designed to be stultifying.

Not to devolve into a full-scale assault on the educational system. We must please the public, after all, and I can feel the icy fingers of my editor around my neck. [Ed's note: my fingers are not that icy.]

[cut to]: Lady Macbeth, wearing an impish mask and a blood-red feather boa, feverishly climbing all over Macbeth who is himself wearing a grotesque baby-faced mask and fantasizing about assassinating the king. You might call it porno for psychotics.

The point I’m trying to make: Shakespeare can be rendered completely boring, or it can be made interesting. This is definitely interesting.

But should you, the discerning reader, wish to go see this play?

Well, darkness and humour are used together in a brazenly anachronistic fashion which skews towards the bizarre. And this highlights the fundamental dualism which seems to lurk in all of Shakespeare’s work. The psycho-sexual dynamics are brilliantly realized, with a highly disturbing and sexually-charged performance from Kate Fenton as Lady Macbeth. The masks are eerily prescient, and they uncover new strata of symbolism. Ultimately, however, you must decide for yourself.

Do you like masks? Do like madness?

Sold.

Sarah Slean
The Baroness
Warner Music, 2008

By Miles Baker

My Dearest Sarah,

After listening to your latest record a handful of times I believe it is time that we marry. I have long thought about “the question” and I have finally come to the conclusion that now would be a prudent time to ask for your hand.

I don’t want you to get away from me.

You see, I had cold feet. Your last record, Day One, didn’t light me on fire, so to speak. I felt that the whole affair seemed to be lacking in some way. The production wasn’t as good as it could have been. The songs could have been stronger. Maybe in the year or two that followed Night Bugs, the album that stole my heart, you lost something.

The work you did on Night Bugs with one Hawksley Workman, whom I shall first ask to be a groomsman, stands as one of my favourite records of all time. And while Day One was just fine, I wasn’t sure if you were the one I wanted to marry.

But now you’ve confirmed it.

With your new record you’ve returned be be as exciting and dramatic as any of your previous record or live performances. The opening track of your love letter to me, “Hopeful Hearts,” immediately announces our journey together — it’s going to be bitter and sad — and soon you burst into your typically grand orchestration that reminds me of better times. Your single, “Get Home,” with a video which confirms that our wedding night will be a memorable one, shows a strength in lyric writing beyond any of your other songs.

But don’t think that I’m in love with the you who you were. This record is different. You’ve channelled a sad but very sexy muse, and you’ve done it well. I love the woman and songwriter you’ve grown into.

Now, I know you might be thinking, “Will he ask me to give up my career to raise the children?” The answer is no. No, I want you to be barefoot in the living room arranging horns, as you do so well, while the children are left to their own devices in the back yard and I grow fat and grey watching Sportsnet on the television and supporting you from my leather chair.

Yours forever,
Miles Andrew Baker

P.S. Lovely font choices for the album artwork.

The Education of Hopey Glass
By Jaime Hernandez
Fantagraphics Books, 2008

By Sam Linton

So, chances are, you’ve heard about the fabled Hernandez brothers. I mean, you’re reading the comics reviews, right? You seem to be on the ball, so I’ll trust your judgement. On the off chance that the name Jaime Hernandez rings unfamiliar, however, let me quickly run through the tropes that any review of his work invariably addresses, before I get down to reviewing this specific book.

Characterization: Jaime Hernandez has long been regarded as one of the cartooning medium’s masters of characterization. This isn’t just a vague, general kind of “long regarded”, either (you know, the kind that would get marked [citation needed] on Wikipedia). I’ve read academic essays in peer-reviewed journals on the subject. Basically, the consensus is that, when it comes to capturing facial expression, body language and emotion of the moment, Jaime is among the best in the biz. Period.

Economy: Part of Jaime’s characterization skill derives from his economic use of meaning, where he jumps from scene to scene and relies on the reader to create the action (or lack thereof) in between. This economy is also captured in Jaime’s art, specifically its use of extremely stark contrasts between black and white. Jaime flat-out rejects cross-hatching, so everything exists in either shadow or light, never in between; his work often looks Kirby-esque for this reason. The result is that, because he doesn’t use many lines in shading, every line he does use is rendered all the more dramatic for characterization.

Longevity: Both Jaime and his brother Gilbert have maintained a stable of characters for over 20 years. In that time, those characters have changed, aged, grown together and apart, etc. The end result to this is, as cliched as it sounds (I am just slightly cringing as I type it), you really feel as though you have come to know these characters. It’s unavoidable.

Got all that? Good.

Now that we have Hernandez himself out of the way, we can focus on the book proper, though like many Love and Rockets anthologies, it is a collection of stories, reprinting Jaime’s work from issues 11-19 of Love and Rockets, vol. II. By accident or design, however (and I prefer to think the latter), the main storylines complement one another near perfectly. The book focuses on two of Jaime’s most central characters, Hopey Glass and Ray Dominguez. Jaime has spent a lot of ink and effort in covering these two throughout his long Love and Rockets career, to be sure, but almost always in the context of their orbit around Maggie Chascarillo – who is absolutely and undoubtedly Jaime’s enduring “center” to his half of the Love and Rockets universe (which will hereafter be referred to as the “Hoppers cast”, after the neighborhood in which their stories were originally set). In this volume, Maggie appears as much more of a background character (while still figuring heavily in the plot), allowing us access into Hopey and Ray’s lives away from the central character.

And such lives they are! As I said before, having both Hopey and Ray’s stories included in the same volume is an excellent touch, as they contrast each other well. The titular education of Hopey’s story involves her becoming a teacher’s assistant – a far cry from the anarchopunk we were first introduced to in the beginning days of L & R. Hopey’s change in lifestyle is mirrored in a change of look, as she finally gets the glasses that longtime readers will know she has needed since, like, forever. All this takes place in a week and a day, and is chronicled in a day-by-day style. Thematically, this represents a major change in the life of Hopey – one which takes on a large degree of responsibility for both her own life and the kids she helps teach – and it is treated as such. The greatest part of this is that, despite its significant scope, this change still manages to feel true to Hopey’s character. Yes, she was always the more anarchic, rebellious, and maladjusted one in the Maggie-Hopey equation, but she was also clearly the more together of the two. Thus, Hopey’s moving ahead with her life remains solidly grounded in everything that made her great as a character to begin with.

In contrast, we have the story of Ray and Vivian the Frogmouth (don’t ask about the name). Whereas Hopey seems to be, for lack of a better term, growing up, Ray seems to be regressing, getting involved in shit he damned-well knows he’s too old for. Ray, Maggie’s former boyfriend, appears much more lost than Hopey, descending into the periphery of some seriously heavy shit, not least of which is the murder of his new girlfriend Vivian’s ex. Ray, who seemed so comparatively stable when he was first introduced to us in Jaime’s classic “Vida Loca” storyline, has hit a rough patch. Going to rough parties, getting involved in situations he wants no part of, even growing a bad teenaged mustache, Ray provides a distinct counterpoint to Hopey’s storyline. But not a hopeless one, mind you.

Of course, no Hernandez work would be complete without its supporting cast, and Jaime populates his world with a strong showing from the Hoppers cast, some of whom have not been seen in some time. Longtime characters such as Doyle Blackburn, Terry Downe and Julie Wree (whom we all hate) mix with some fresher faces, such as Grace, Hopey’s new guy on the side and “The Angel of Tarzana”, a young jock girl living in Maggie’s building. As always, Hernadez’s superb characterization makes these new characters stand out as welcome additions to the cast, rather than as intrusive bothers (except for a character called Elmer, one of the few true scumbags Jaime has depicted). If this cast sounds imposing for new readers (and yes, there is a lot of history), don’t worry. The “slice of life” style of the comics makes it easy to jump into the middle of these characters’ lives without too much fuss.

In relation to Jaime’s other Love and Rockets work, The Education of Hopey Glass serves as a kind of reflection on the aging of his characters. Ray’s situation reminds us of the gang struggles in which his character was introduced back in “Vida Loca”, while also recalling the rough punk world of the book’s early years. Hopey, meanwhile, shows us how far the characters have come, for better or worse. For fans of the series, The Education of Hopey Glass is simply a must-have, for the simple reason that there’s no way that they could possibly turn it down. For non fans, the book is still good, but there are better places to start. With earlier stories now being released in new anthologies, as well as the coffee-table sized Locas and Palomar books, better options are available to start one’s Love and Rockets collection. For us diehards, however, there’s really no excuse not to have this one.

Miles’ Comic

Batman #675
Written by Grant Morrison
Pencilled by Ryan Benjamin
Inked by Saleem Crawford
DC Comics, 2008

This is one of those weeks where I really wanted to like the comic in front of me. I like Grant Morrison. I’ve not read enough of his backlist, I’ll admit, but his stint on New X-Men is some of the best super hero comics I’ve ever read. I’ve been following what he’s been doing on Batman by reading reviews and I generally like the idea of what he’s doing with Batman. But I can’t say that this was a very good issue.

In terms of excitement, there isn’t a lot of it: the incidental villain is more hilarious-looking than menacing, Bruce Wayne’s latest conquest complains that he’s not around, Robin and Nightwing pontificate if their boss/father is okay, and some other distant villains decide that maybe they should come up with a plan and stop playing with bows and arrows. There’s a pretty good ending, but it doesn’t make up for the 20 pages that come before it.

I just wanted more, especially from Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend. She just treads very well-worn ground from the girls of Bruce Wayne and all you hear is, “wah, wah, wah.” I know Morrison can write really good female characters, so why isn’t she better? Yeah, at the end she figures out Bruce is Batman, but he basically had to tell her. Also, Talia is all, “The boy is mine,” about Bruce, which is disappointing for a formerly strong character.

It doesn’t help that the inker seems to be trying to sabotage the penciller’s career. It’s like Joe Quesada and Francis Yu had an even uglier love child: unnecessary lines on faces, making characters look old and tired; overly button noses that disappear in some panels; and limbs that would make Mr. Fantastic say, “Wow, those are stretchy.” Bruce Wayne looks like a shaved gorilla that’s been boxing for 20 years but has lost every match.

Seriously, STOP WITH ALL THE LINES.

Isaac’s Book 

X-Force #3
Written by Craig Kyle and Christopher Yost
Art by Clayton Crain
Marvel Comics, 2008

The premise behind this new X-Force book is of a team of black ops X-peoples that are willing to take it to the edge, play by their own rules, followed by various degrees of being extreme. And are led by Wolverine.

So, yes, it would seem the 90s have returned but with a disappointing lack of Ben Reilly’s.

Unfortunately, this issue is very “in between” in the story arc, I can piece together any cool stuff that has happened, but obviously that’s not the same as, for example, actually seeing the fight scene they allude to in the previous issue.

A bunch of people are recruited for the evil team, and I think are animated (or re-animated if they were recruited from a grave) by a techno-organic life form, like the aliens that have been the big threat in recent issues of Nova, or, if you haven’t been reading Nova, like the black and yellow crazy looking alien from that one episode of X-Men from back in the day.

It’s kind of hard to tell because of the art is a kind of painty/computery looking thing, kind of shiny and technically very good, but I just don’t care for. I’m looking at two “Chok!” sound effects on the page, and they just look plastered on the page, they don’t fit with this kind of look in a book. This type of art also looks very static in my opinion; it could just use some speed lines so things look like they’re moving. It’s amazing, when I stop to think about it, how important those movement lines are, how important the information of movement is to translating what is supposed to be happening.

It’s a pretty series of pictures that is done too quick, but with all the other parts of this story line it will probably be a pretty fun read. And hey, I forgot to mention Bastion is in this, so yes, more 90s references. Haven’t seen him in awhile.

Okay, here’s a freebie for y’all. Though MONDOmusic probably won’t be one of the new spiffy Friday-update sections, I thought I’d toss something its way this week. And lo, it’s time again for the spring mix! You know, I only do winter mixes and spring mixes, never summer or fall… I should find this intriguing, but I’m too lazy. Here, have some music.

1. Half-Handed Cloud – Out of Crudeness; Healing (from Thy Is a Word & Feet Need Lamps, 2005)
2. Cloud Cult – Hurricanes and Fire Survival Guide (from Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes), 2008)
3. Amon Duul II – Archangels Thunderbird (from Yeti, 1970)
4. Aislers Set – Hit The Snow (from The Last Match, 2000)
5. Rentals – Move On (from Return of the Rentals, 1995)
6. Can – Turtles Have Short Legs (from the Turtles Have Short Legs/Halleluwah single, 1971)
7. Dirty Projectors – Obscure Wisdom (from Slaves’ Graves and Ballads, 2004)
8. Helio Sequence – Lately (from Keep Your Eyes Ahead, 2008)
9. Chopin – Minute Waltz (I’m partial to Dinu Lipatti’s versions on Chopin: Waltzes Nos. 1-14, from 1999)
10. Field Music – In Context (from Tones of Town, 2007)
11. Glorytellers – Awake at the Wheel (from Glorytellers, 2008)
12. Marshmallow Coast – Shimmering in a Bulb of Glass (from Marshmallow Coasting, 2000)
13. Deep Dark United – Down With Peacock Rock (from the Fools! EP, 2002)
14. Global Goon – Glory B (from Family Glue, 2004)
15. Sackville – Gold Dust (from Principles of Science EP, 1999)
16. Hauschka – Gingko Tree (from The Prepared Piano, 2005)
17. Jackie-O Motherfucker – Something On Your Mind (from Liberation, 2001)
18. Left Banke – I’ve Got Something On My Mind (from Walk Away Renee/Pretty Ballerina, 1967) 

Allana Mayer
Music Editor

(Cute spring-leaf-y cover image stolen from the Hilton Pond Centre at www.hiltonpond.org.)

So you want to get into comedy, eh?

By Ben Robinson

Hello. My name is Ben Robinson, and I’m a failed comedian. I have a passion for comedy that dates back to before I can remember. In grade seven we were given a class project with the title, “What kind of job do you want to have?” I took that project more seriously than any other assignment that year, which is to say I spent about 15 minutes on it the night before. After much soul searching, I decided that I wanted to be a comedian.

Here were my reasons. I did not spend much money at the time, so I figured money would not be a factor in my decision. As most of you probably know, comedians do not get paid very much. Another factor was the desire to do good. Even back then I knew I would never be a doctor. But I did seem to have the ability to make my friends laugh. Finally, I thought it would be really fun.

After high school, I went to The Humber School of Comedy. There I met many fine young adults who wanted to be famous, but who did not want to do anything that would make them famous. I also met several excellent students who were merely trying to escape university. With the field clear of any real form of competition, I was able to manage a one-on-one dinner interview with Mark Breslin, owner and founder of Yuk Yuks — the largest chain of comedy clubs in North America.

My mother gave me money to pay my part of the meal, but I needed that money for pot. We went to a very fancy restaurant on Bay Street, and I refused to order any food. Mark would have paid, but I couldn’t tell my mother that. I was a very honest hustler. Mark insisted we order some bread and I acquiesced. Although all we had was bread and water, the meal ended up costing about $20.

Mark could tell I was destined to become a successful comedian by the way I kept asking him why someone of his stature would lower himself to have dinner with me. I asked him what the secret of becoming a good comedian was; he said to have a group of friends who laugh at everything you say. When these friends REALLY laugh hard — then you have a joke. I told him I knew people like that, and they were a real drag to be around. He recommended keeping two sets of friends.

Later that year I got myself kicked out of Humber and dove into the open-mic scene full time. At my height, I was doing nine shows a week. I will tell you what it is like to do amateur comedy: a man never truly knows what it means to be depressed until he has started doing standup.

Open-mic nights can be found in the Entertainment listings of NOW Magazine. But if you really want to be hardcore, you gotta network. Comics run open-mic shows so they have an opportunity to get more stage time. Comics are lazy, soulless people and often do not advertise their shows. At all. Situations like this create the ultimate hip-hop style of “realness” that I have come to associate with open-mics.

Eight people are in the audience. All of them are comics. All of them have heard all of your jokes before. None of them have ever laughed at anything anyone has ever said and never will. If you are lucky they will be drinking beer with their backs turned. If you are unlucky they are in the front row staring at you with their dead eyes. The judgment of God does not compare. Then again, after doing enough comedy, God is the ultimate punchline.

You become one of them. You are on last. This does not mean you are headlining. This means most of the other guys get to go home before you. Every word of what is said by the man before you fills you with hate. You wish it was true that open-mic-ers got free beer. Mmm, beer would help you cope. But you don’t have a job. No beer for you.

Right before your act, the local celebrity comic waltzes in and does a 10-minute set. Everyone loves him. You can tell he’s good because you don’t hate him quite as much. He blows everyone away. Then he goes out front to smoke a cigar and the sycophants join him. You are left to yourself and the bartender. You can’t remember anything you wanted to say, so you just make monkey noises and go home. Sleep is your reward.

The next day you have to do it again.

Paul Lacey knows very little about comics, but he’s always willing to learn. Between tutoring sessions with MONDOComics’ Tom Kerr and scouring the back issue bins for Runaways issues, Paul has made time to be shown pictures of two comic book characters and he will decide who would win in a fight. His answer may not be the popular one — or for the right reason — but hey, it’s Paul’s call.

This month’s matchup, Darkseid Vs. Molly Hayes (from Runaways).

Paul says: now look, I know very little about comic books. Still, generally speaking, I can tell the difference between Superman and Mr. Fantastic (in that Mr. Fantastic is the one that sucks ass). What I do know is this: Molly Hayes once punched Wolverine through the front door of a church and where I come from that automatically makes her fucking awesome. From what I understand, Darkseid appears to be Magneto but with a rock for a face. If you can punch Wolverine through the door (which, by the way, automatically makes you fucking awesome), then you can sure as hell punch a Magneto/Thing crossover wannabe and make his face explode into pebbles. Look at this guy. Is that a skirt?! Back into obscurity with you Darkseid — Princess Powerful for the win.

Dare we dream of a two-chip future?

By Owen Craig

Now, I’m not normally the type to deem a new flavour of chip a “must try,” but come on, two flavours in one bag! No longer shall I have the arduous task of pouring chips from two seperate bags into a bowl and mixing them with my hands or some sort of salad fork. Any fan of eating chicken wings (like me) will surely be drawn in by the promise of the two flavours being “Hot Wings” and “Blue Cheese.” In theory, when I eat these chips together it will taste like I’m eating hot wings with a delicious blue cheese sauce. But how do the chips fare in a taste test?

Pretty well, as it turns out. The hot wing chips have a bit of generic spiciness remeniscent of Doritos’ own “Spicy” flavour, but as far as generic spicy flavours go, it’s a tasty one. The blue cheese chips, however, are pretty darn close to the real thing. The taste is a little toned down — presumably for a more universal appeal — but still enjoyable. Together, however, the chips really thrive, and the whole experience reminds me of the scene in Ratatouille where the rat eats the strawberry and the cheese together and bright colours flash while cool jazz music plays. This is a satisfying taste which makes for fun snacking.

There is one problem that needs to be addressed, however: the price. For a 250 gram bag of chips, the price was over $4.00, as opposed to the $2.00-$2.50 that most flavours run you. The single-serving bags are 99 cents each. Now I can’t imagine that the labour is so much more intensive that the price needs to be jacked up that heavily.

When it comes down to it, the chips are good but I can’t imagine buying them again until they’re a little cheaper.

By Jess Skinner

No genre in filmdom has proven itself to be as prolific and critically-derided as horror. Applying what is known as the syllogism method of logic, in which a statement can be proven as true if the preceding statements are also true, then a) most movies are crappy, b) most movies are horror movies, thus c) most horror movies are crappy — and by most I mean almost all. If you count yourself as a fan of the genre, you have to have a high appreciation of exploitation, camp/kitsch, and bottom-of-the-well production values. Long ago, some powerful douche decided scary noises that turn out to be cats and serial killers gallivanting around in clown makeup were the most frightening things imaginable, and we movie watchers have been suffering for it ever since.

Since I myself do not have much tolerance for C-grade productions (because I’m pretentious like that), I do not like very many horror movies. However, I count the ones that I do like amongst the most valuable cinematic experiences I have had, precisely because they provide what most of us avoid in our day-to-day routines; that is, fright, fear, panic, apprehension. All of these negative emotions become positive when delivered through the laboratory-like setting of the theatre, but it’s notoriously hard to pull off. So when you find a horror flick you like (a genre orphan), then champion it with great ferocity, at the expense of seeming like a lunatic to your social circle.

No one makes horror movies these days like the French. Filmmakers from the land of mimes and race riots have effectively monopolized the market on psychological disaster movies, in which civility and bliss are bludgeoned by domestic intrusion. All of the films I discuss here share a weariness towards the unknown, personified by the malicious individual whose explicable motives fall to the side of their pathological brutality. Xenophobia be damned; from these perspectives you’d be advised to barricade your door to any stranger, let alone take candy from them.

I would be hard-pressed to elaborate on where this consistent approach to horror comes from, or why, more specifically, few of the modern French works that have been distributed internationally contain fantastical elements. No monsters, no ghosts. These examples have neither the banality of American horror movies, nor the dual obsessions of technology and the spiritual realm of the Japanese. They are, in a relative sense, striving for realism. As I continue to elaborate in no particular order.

In David Moreau and Xavier Palud’s Ils (Them) (2006), an intellectual couple settles down for a normal night of dinner and television. After heading upstairs for bed, the set suddenly turns back on. Then the lights go out. Then the phones calls start…you get the idea. Their abode is under attack by a mischievous and malicious group of something. There are minimal clues as to the nature of what exactly “they” are before the curtain is lifted in the climax; though the reveal comes eventually, the build-up is almost unbearably exacting. Some may find it a cheat, if you’re looking for garish effects or make-up, that is. If you can find horror in simplicity, Ils is one of the most effective little thrillers of our time.

The directors pace their slim 74 minutes to a rhythm of chase and failure, speed and claustrophobia. We follow Clementine (Olivia Bonamy) and Lucas (Michael Cohen) almost every step of the way in their ordeal, and through this Ils remains consciously free of superfluity. You may not get what you expect, as a viewer, but let it cook in your brain for a while and your eventual examination may improve upon any immediate reaction.

Simplicity finds no such love in Alexandre Aja’s Haute Tension (2003). It’s explicitness is already legendary (and was cut for American distribution). Notably strong and intelligent heroine Marie (Cecile de France) chases a truck-driver (Philippe Nahon) who murdered her family across the highways, in a game of cat-and-mouse that provides something like an even playing field, for once.

Like Aja’s criminally misunderstood Hills Have Eyes remake, Haute Tension is a complete exercise in style so superficially dedicated, that it almost pulls off a firm recommendation — until it hits the brakes before the third act and does a complete turnaround on everything that has come before. The asinine plot twist is almost as notorious as the gore; it comes close to making Shyamalan’s The Village seem sensible. Both of these aspects nudge it in the direction of Americanized taste, so it’s a shame it had to be neutered for their eyes.

À l’intérieur (2007) (or Inside, as it has been blandly translated) concerns itself of course with the proverbial lonely house, but additionally with the interior of the womb; widowed protagonist Sarah (Alysson Paradis) is about to give birth on Christmas, but a mystery woman (the credits call the character “La Femme”) will have none of that. She insists on spoiling the season with activity that reaches far below jolly.

Before it gets down to the ooey-gooey details (whatever happened to subtle suggestion?), À l’intérieur sets up a brooding back-story. Sarah is a photographer on the verge of delivering her first child, sometime after the father was killed in an auto accident. She is understandably depressed, and moodily rejects the attention of her mother and editor. In the evening she retires to the isolated comfort of her home until La Femme (Beatrice Dalle) comes a-tapping at her chamber door. Hidden in shadow, this woman seems to know much about the pregnancy. Too much. Sarah is spooked, and that’s only the beginning. From there, À l’intérieur uproots visuals and narrative from any perceivable departure point and keeps on running.

When the motives and methods of La Femme become increasingly clear, the film abandons logic and tact and slams headfirst into a brick wall of depraved violence. To say it goes too far would be selling it short; La Femme wants Sarah’s baby, and her passion goes into the red zone of taste and then further still. It’s sheer admirable quality lies in its cleverly successive game of swapping the upper hand.

Shamelessly leaving their characters to die in the proverbial bear trap is where films like Hostel fail, but Inside is a battle, between good and evil, between poor Sarah and the stranger. Inside her house, she fights the good fight for 80 minutes, and there is no abandonment of suspense in favour of shock to speak of. This flick is successful because — despite its thoroughly modern approach to violence — it has that old fashioned hero vs. villain showdown. To elaborate on the plot would be to spoil the game; suffice to say Inside works effectively on its own terms, plunging the two main characters farther into hell than any human being could be imagined to go. See it with an audience – their cheers and audible signals of shock make the whole thing worthwhile.

At 105 minutes Frontier(s) (2008) is not quite as lean but no less mean; instead of the solo Femme we get a whole clan of Nazi cannibals. You read that right, but the flick is no grindhouse garbage. Director Xavier Gens may have the steady hand of an epileptic on top of a washing machine, but he has the practical confidence to make his horror show elegant. Yasmine (Karina Testa) and a small pack of lowly criminals, after looting during a Parisian riot, hole up in a seedy motel on the side of the road. You know the kind of motel, where no human being would ever consider staying if they were not in a horror movie that required it. Like Haute Tension, Gens’ films is a survival story of severe bodily harm, and achieves success through the eccentric, gruesome imagination that fuels its images.

Imagination, style, and a keen sense of pace are all present in these films, and each element provides examples of the genre that, in this 21st century age of brutality over intelligence, prove miraculous. No nation has proven itself more capable of producing quality scares, and finding horror where audiences would least like it to reach them — in your homes and gardens.

The X-Men are Both Divided and Standing
How are those wacky mutants doing these days, anyway.

By Miles Baker.

Because I’m a chump I bought every issue of the recent X-Men crossover Messiah Complex. I was impressed to be honest. It’s how you should run a big-time comic event — weekly. It ran for three months and it kept me pretty excited all along. By the time Civil War ended, 10 months after it began, I couldn’t care less about the epic battle in issue seven. It just didn’t hold my interest for 10 months.

So, because (as stated before) I’m a chump, I decided to buy all the X-Men books after Messiah Complex. Just to give them a try, you know. So here is my round up of the first couple issues of the brand new world order of mutants.

Cable — After a semi-promising first issue of a solider and his baby, the follow-up was so boring that I am considering not buying a thrid. The art is nice looking, but very stiff. Also, I thought Bishop was a hero and that Forge was very smart. This series seems to ignore both of those things. Because for the second time this year Bishop hurts his close friends to accomplish a goal he won’t explain to them and Forge gets knocked out by Bishop. Both of those things have happened this year twice. Forge should get Alarm Force for his lair or something.

X-Factor — Out of the gate this was the best book that followed in the wake of Messiah Complex. However, the two issues that came out after that were a little lack-luster. I just want to see all the members of X-Factor solve mysteries and fight with each other. When they fight super-crime, I find it less interesting.

X-Men Divided We Stand (1 of 2) — Since this is a collection of short stories I’ll run through it quickly. Cannonball: I now like this character less than I did before. Sam is being a big jerk about this, it’s not like the X-Men haven’t quit before. They ALWAYS quit. Nehzno: great story about belonging. I like this character and hope that someone follows up on. Anole: I really like Skottie Young’s art and his writing is sharp here too. I also hope somone follows up on this story because Anole is in a really interesting place. Hellion: Go Magneto! Nightcrawler: Since when does Nightcrawler hunt people down to kill them? Wasn’t he, like, a priest two years ago?

Uncanny X-Men — Uncanny seems to be asserting itself as the new flagship X-book and that’s okay with me. Brubaker is finally finding his feet in the X-world after a pretty rough start. Finally he gets to write Cyclops and he’s doing a great job with it. Also, Wolverine, Colossus and Nightcrawler’s road trip to Russia has been a lot of fun and very cathartic. If you only buy one X-book it should be this one.

X-Men Legacy — I’m actually surprisingly interested in this Xavier solo book. He’s due for a good redemption and I’m really interested to see it. Mike Carey has really impressed me with his Xavier and his writing in general — I wasn’t a huge fan of his Rogue team. I’m definitely going to keep picking this up.

Young X-Men — I don’t get why they cancelled New X-Men for this. It seems like a far less interesting team, and just when New X-Men seemed to be finding its legs. I’ll give the second issue a shot, but only because I like Blindfold — she’s has no eyes but can see, that’s cool.

X-Force — I’m pretty impressed so far. I didn’t think I would be. The preview art looked kinda lame, but the writing is fantastic. This is the best Wolverine I’ve read in a long time. To my knowledge he’s never lead a team before, and it’s really interesting to see him in that role. The ensemble of this book is also coming together really well. Craig Kyle and Christopher Yost are just good writers.

Wolverine — I don’t care about Wolverine when he’s not on an X-team.

There you have it.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Directed by Nicholas Stoller
Universal Pictures 2008

By Caesar Martini

Forgetting Sarah Marshall is another film to spring forth from the loins of Judd Apatow’s relentless cinematic production machine. Man, give the guy a critical hit and he just goes nuts with it. FSM joins the like of 40 Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up, Walk Hard, Superbad, and many other R-rated comedies that have torn up the silver screen with sharp and brutal humor. Let’s take a quick look at its lineage:

FSM stars and was written by Jason Segel (who appeared in Apatow’s Knocked Up and Freaks and Geeks), directed by Nicholas Stoller (who wrote episodes of Apatow’s Undeclared ) and is produced by Judd himself, who evidently is ultimately responsible for everything funny in Hollywood these days.

The story revolves around Peter (Segel), who is absolutely devastated by his breakup with his TV star girlfriend (Kristen Bell). He strategically retreats to a resort in Hawaii, unaware that his girlfriend is already there, and she has her new rockstar boyfriend with her. But hark, perhaps that ridiculously attractive hotel clerk (Mila Kunis) is looking to mend his broken heart?

I’m pleased to report that Segel did a great job — the talent pool for the whole Apatow extended family seems to be getting deeper and deeper. If you’re familiar with this emerging comedy sub-genre (dubbed “Apahilarity” by experts), it plays and feels pretty much like you’d expect, though I noticed that Segel likes to showcase a few different cinematic elements. And they are:

1. Abrupt comedic scenes that come out of nowhere, brutally assault you with some random and shocking scene and then disappear just as quickly
2. His wang
3. The ass-flanks of his male actors
4. His wang some more

Seriously, there was a fair bit more cock in this movie than I was expecting. And I was expecting some. But there were far fewer boobs! Hardly any, actually!! What’s up with that? I mean, come on Segel, we all know breasts are where it’s at. I think even girls would prefer seeing boobs over trouser-meat. And I’m not just saying that because I felt cheated by the lack of aforementioned mammaries, or because after getting a look (a good long look) at your junk I feel like a poor excuse for a man. I am somewhat consoled by the fact that Kristen Bell is super-hot and that Mila Kunis is sweet-baby-Jesus-hot, but still.

Anyhoo, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the movie. Well, it’s great. It’s a little more streamlined than other Apahilarity films, though I don’t think it flows quite as well. I think the last time I enjoyed a comedy that much in the theater was when I saw Superbad. FSM is awkward and shocking in the best possible way, and induces gut-wrenching laughs. I guarantee you’ll be busting quotes out on your friends for weeks after seeing it.