MONDOmagazine

By Heather Loney

During a particularly grueling soccer match last night, my coach was giving our team a half-time inspirational talk, mainly reiterating that we needed to put physical pressure on our much larger opponents, that we needed to be strong and not cower away from them. This talk of course made me think of what every soccer player thinks about during a half-time inspirational talk -- French Existentialism.

The first tenant of Existentialism is that existence precedes essence -- you exist first, and then are thrust into a world where your choices determine your course in life, your personality, and your “essence”. Sartre explains that a person is not essentially a coward, for example. There is no larger power creating humans, where one is to be a hero, the other a coward, and so on. Rather, a human becomes a ‘coward’ by making cowardly choices.

This got me thinking: does this mean that I’m not a surly pessimist essentially? That I can choose to be something else? Well then, my first choice towards becoming a little less surly is to buy a bitching ladies cruiser bicycle.

It is a thing of beauty. It’s from the ’70s, and not like “’70s style new bike”, but actually made in the 1970s. It’s bright blue, avec basket and bugle horn. It transports me back to an age where adventure and freedom were as close as the sidewalk, and the crotch-bruising caused by the bike seat was a sacrifice you were willing to make. If you are ever feeling a little sour, trust me, this is the bike for you. When riding it I feel free (which I am), young (which I used to be) and most importantly, French (which I could have been, had I been born in France). And the anguish that comes with being a human responsible for life as we know it suddenly doesn’t seem so weighty.

As I cycle past people in their cars, coming home from work, loosening their ties, sighing as the traffic slows their arrival home yet again, I wonder how long I will continue to live this freely, avoiding the distracting routines of career – marriage – family. How long can I ignore the disapproving glances of people in cafés on hurried lunch breaks, as I causally sit and write and sip coffee? How long can I get away with telling inquirers that I just graduated from university (approaching 3 years now…)? As I speed past a smiling kid on his 18-speeder, I yell out in joyful defiance, “ONE. MORE. YEAR!” As I ride into the sunset, fist-pumping the air, I realize that it’s the best choice I’ve made in months.

By Miles Baker, Isaac Mills, and James O’Connor

James’ Book

Superman #677
Written By James Robinson
Art By Renato Guedes and José Wilson Magalháes
DC Comics, 2008

Last month, I spent $50 I didn’t have, to buy the first Starman Omnibus, despite the fact that I already own the original trades. Hopefully that establishes my cred as a James Robinson fan. His run on Batman and Detective Comics a few years back was the first time I remember really enjoying those books. That said, I’m pretty mixed on his Superman.

On one hand, Robinson’s trademark hip, pseudo-poetic style is present. On the other, I’m just not sure it fits with Supes. I mean, I can’t ever remember Superman calling anyone “man,” which he does here. It just feels out of character, too casual for the typically hyper-polite Clark. And it’s indicative of how Robinson writes all his characters. Green Lantern didn’t sound like the Hal I know, either. They both sounded a bit too much like Jack Knight for my liking.

The worst part is that this is in marked contrast to Robinson’s Starman work, where every cameo generally sounded like the character you knew, only smarter than anyone else was writing them. If the Superman Jack talked to in the last Starman trade was the star of this book, I’d have loved it.

Which isn’t to say I hated it. It just didn’t feel like the Superman I know. However, I really liked the stuff with the science police, and I’m always in favor of bringing back older characters into a modern setting, something that’s a specialty of Robinson’s. So it should be fun to see where he’s going with Atlas.

The art is fairly standard superhero stuff. It actually reminded me a bit of Frank Quietly in parts, which almost gave the book an All Star Superman feel. It’s very subtle, but it’s there.

All in all, this is a fun, well-written book. I’m just not sure if it’s a well-written Superman book. But look at it this way: for a Krypto book, it’s genius.

Isaac’s Book

Secret Invasion: Runaways/Young Avengers #1
Written by Chris Yost
Art by Takeshi Miyazawa
Colours by Christina Strain
Marvel Comics, 2008

I’m not a big Young Avengers or Runaways fan; from what I’ve read, their books have been fun, but not earth shattering. That’s chiefly because they don’t feel like they’re really part of the Marvel Universe proper. Didn’t one issue of Runaways have the super-strong girl Molly sucker punch Wolverine (or maybe Punisher) through a wall? All that really does is tear down our established hero to give a cheap boost to these kids. I know it sounds like I really don’t like these characters, but that’s not true — I’m just focusing on the negative here.

As each group of kids counts a Skrull among its members, this “Secret Invasion” crossover should have some really good stories — remembering that the shape-shifting Skrull’s are the main antagonists for this Secret Invasion. There should be stories concerned with these characters’ divided loyalties, but all we’ve been given is a view of some kids who are surprised when an alien armada arrive. And what happens when a cool fight scene is about to start? The story skips over to the Young Avengers getting ready to do something, and then the scene returns to the Runaways after their fight is done. Great lengths are taken to not show us the fun stuff of the issue.

Which would be fine if we were given a good amount of character-based stuff, but that just doesn’t happen. Xavin, the Skrull from the Runaways, makes an off-hand remark about ruling the world — mostly a joke in poor taste, but also meant to create distrust between the readers (and Runaways) and Xavin so we don’t know her motivations. But trying to make me think Xavin is a traitor like that only makes it more obvious that she’s a good guy. (That “ruling the world” thing did make Xavin sound like Vegeta from Dragonball Z though, so that’s cool. I guess that makes Hulking over with the Young Avengers the Goku of the comic. Also cool.)

The art was the same kind you’d find in the Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane books — and there’s nothing wrong with them, they’re a lot of fun with what they do, but it’s not an art style that should be used in a book that wants to be a big-time adventure comic tie-in type of thing.

Miles’ Book

Power Pack: Day One #4 (of 4)
Written by Fred Van Lente
Art by Gurihiru
Marvel Comics, 2007

I don’t know a thing about Power Pack, so a book about Power Pack’s origin is exactly my speed. As is this manic issue where our four pre-teen heroes fight an army of aliens that look like sharks and stop an annihilation machine that their father built. Overall, the book is a pretty hilarious — if child-targeted — affair, so I dig it.

Gurihiru studio’s art fits the book perfectly, with their adaptable toonish style. They create nice and clean figures and backgrounds with a nice amount of detail, which is perfect for a book like this which is trying to bring in the kids. The book won’t bring in kids, which is another story entirely, but I didn’t feel like I was being played down to — which is exactly what you want in a story for kids (see the movies of Pixar to understand what I’m talking about).

My only problem with the writing is that the children will slip in and out of child-speak and start talking like adults. Of course, these are pretty smart kids, being the offspring of scientists and all. And at least they when they do a bit of child-speak it isn’t too heavy handed with tons of missing consonants and the like.

If you’re looking for a book where good is good and evil is a race of alien space sharks than Power Pack: Day One is for you.

Editor’s Exposition: Though still relatively anonymous, Stan Brakhage (1933 – 2003) was one of the most influential post-war filmmakers in America, utilizing a number of different styles and techniques to create hundreds of experimental pieces. Among his works, Window Water Baby Moving (1959) was in retrospect his most important; without a crew, he filmed the water birth of his daughter, in full graphic detail. Such unflinching intimacy shocked audiences, but paved the way for a more enlightened view of the physical process of birth, particularly for men who were at the time usually kept out of the delivery room.

Brakhage’s influence can be seen strongly today, particularly in the D.I.Y. and viral videos that saturate the modern internet. Enjoy this essay on his first film, Interim (1952).

-J. Skinner

Oh to Be Young: Thoughts On Interim

by Jaclyn L. Katz

Stan Brakhage speaks a bold dialect of film language in his directorial debut, Interim (1952). The experimental yet romantic narrative is expressed without a word of spoken dialogue between the two main characters, a nameless teenage boy and girl. In lieu of a traditional script, the filmmaker chooses to convey his ideas on adolescent emotion through camera movement, editing, sound, and softly expressive acting. Like the film’s title – which means ‘temporary’ or ‘in between’ – the film is short and bittersweet for both the viewer and the inhabitants of the on-screen world. The quality of the film is shy and understated, its naivety making it a charming piece, void of pretension. It oozes realism as a result of its simple form and authentic nature.

The narrative is a representation of the film’s title, depicting an interim, or, the meantime. It represents what young people do during their spare time, carefully telling a story of wandering, observing, and the search for excitement in the midst of adolescence. The film itself is a product of such a time; Brakhage started to piece together this quaint film at 19 years of age. With no intention of making money or a political statement, he took two years to finish what is ultimately a smear of young thoughts upon pieces of celluloid. While discussing Interim in an interview that took place in 1967 Brakhage stated that, “With the clarity that is real presumption in the young, I said: ‘Well, I’m an artist and I’m going to make a film’” Thus began the start of an oeuvre that would eventually include 373 films.

The beginning of the 24 minute film is captured without music, but with natural ambient noise. A young man is smoking a cigarette and staring at a winding staircase that leads to a grassy plain below the freeway he is leaning over. A shaky camera follows the boy’s gaze, tilting slowly and caressing the vertical length of the staircase. The wooden staircase is also a motif that appears at the end of the narrative, too, maintaining shape and structure.

The sound in the film is divergent, either diegetic and natural, or classical music that is quite obviously not being heard in the on-screen world. As previously mentioned though, the audience is not privy to hearing the words being exchanged between the male and female actors. Instead, the viewer sees signs such as ‘Street Closed’ and ‘Do Not Park Here’ that the characters casually bypass and ignore. This mindless breaking of the rules enforces the theme of the film, the empowerment and entitlement of youth with hearty appetites for sedition.

The audience sees the boy and a lovely girl stroll side-by-side, talking and ogling each other, the director capturing some very voyeuristic takes of them in long shots, with the pillars of the overpass surrounding them and from behind trees. Eventually the boy and girl sit on a landing, resting their hands on a rock that separates them. With nothing to distract them but their jittery, lusting minds, the two make eye contact. The young pair is uneasy with the intimacy, and each shakes off the moment, shown through a long shot. The cautious emotion in the scene is a statement about their unrushed approach to their days, and of course, to each other. The dramatic close-up of their hands touching is also in a way of mocking the emotional flood of pubescent feelings that teenagers take too seriously. Although this moment may be remembered for the rest of the characters’ lives, it could also be a fleeting hour that one night of experimenting with drugs will erase from their memories, maiming it and letting it sink into the satchels of adolescent memories. It is possible that they are having mere interim feelings.

In an interview about how he financed Interim, Brakhage explains the thrifty approach he took to making his first film. “And here’s the financial side of it: we got some war-surplus out-dated Dupont gun-camera film in fifty foot spools. And we had to sit in the dark with pencils and unreel in onto spools and make a splice in the dark so we could get hundred foot rolls. And we then borrowed several cameras; also we rented a camera for a couple of weekends”. The multiple cameras result in differing visuals throughout the film. Interim is interesting to watch because the film stock changes along with the amount of light able to reach it, so the images are skewed. This traditional technique is as fancy and fascinating as it might be if every single frame in a film had noticeably different settings, costume changes or computer manipulations. The creative spirit Brakhage maintained while shooting and editing this film is incredible to observe. Mentioning particular hairs and particles that dance around on the image from being stuck to the old celluloid is perfunctory. Not only might they have been unintentional, but over the past fifty years the film may have been meddled with by outsiders.

Still though, they add to the fragmentary charm of the film. Although Brakhage’s very first film is haggard and amateur, it remains charming. Interim is meant to paint youth as a triumph, revealing that in-between period in life when things seem completely complicated, yet are actually relatively simple. The film in itself is a picture of the director’s youth and budding artistry. At 19 years old he had nothing but creativity and fervour for film coursing through his veins. This short film is a captivating look at the blooming vision of one of the premier American experimental filmmakers of the 20th century.

By Sam Linton

LOLcats. Laugh out loud funny, yes? LOLcats are pictures of ordinary housecats with ridiculous captions written in pidgin English, to great humourous effect. To most, they are a simple diversion from the banality of everyday living. But those few of us who know have another name for these sorrowful creatures: “the fallen.” For you see, these “laugh-out-loud cats” were not always figures of ridicule and amusement. In ages past, cats were believed to be amongst the most sagacious of beasts. What brought about their current decline in stature? The answer is to be found here, in yet another installment of…

Myths of the Internet!

Cats. In ancient Egypt, cats were revered as a goddesses. Other cultures also held a special place for felines: in Europe, they were known as witches’ familiars, companions in knowledge that humankind simply was not meant to know. And cats are significant in some Asian cultures as well.

Cats have long fascinated people with their apparent mythic insights into the unknowable. Now they talk in baby voices and ask for “cheezburgers.” How did this happen? And, more importantly, how will future generations recognize this, the moment when cats were robbed of their mythic qualities? That’s where we come in. Those of us belonging to the present must preserve the past for the inhabitants of the future.

Once the Internet inevitably ceases to be, be this through nuclear holocaust, rapture of God, or Avian flu (my money’s on the bird flu), we will have to rely on the tradition of oral storytelling. Thus, as you read this story, try to imagine yourself somewhere other than in front of a radiating computer screen. Imagine the tale as it would be related by a tribal elder or village storyteller, recounting legends of long ago by the light of a dying fire in the twilight of civilization. And now we can begin…

As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat. At the dawning of the Age of the Internet, this saying proved to be disastrously prophetic. For ages, the cat was known for its mysteriousness, lending to the fabled animal an air of superiority, wisdom, and aristocracy. However, it was the characteristic of curiosity that inevitably led to the downfall of the cat.

Cats were intrigued by the Internet. It seemed to promise global access to information, and the cats’ curiosity was piqued. However, by nature cats are also secretive, and therefore they mistrusted the Internet’s vast gaze. If the cats were able to use the net to sate their curiosity about the world, would not the reverse be true?

But Internet was a crafty foe, and he knew the cats’ one true weakness: vanity. To the cats he proposed that they give themselves over to the Internet’s domain and learn all that they ever needed to know to satisfy their curiosity. In turn they would be presented on the Internet such that the entire globe might bask in their elegant magnificence. To this, the cats readily agreed. After all, cats had been revered in Egyptian and (sort of) revered in European circles since time immemorial. What could be better than an entire globe of worshippers? However, crafty Internet neglected to mention one important detail: total access. By consigning themselves to Internet’s domain, the cats had agreed to abide by Internet’s rules. In so doing, the cats had sealed their own doom, for in the domain of the Internet, everything one does, however embarrassing, foolish, or demeaning, is not only preserved, but popularized (see also: The Legends of the Lightsabre Kid, Leave Britney Alone Guy and Obama Girl). Suddenly, everything that the cats did to sate their curiosity, from sleeping on computer monitors (will this feel comfortable?) to becoming trapped in couch cushions (what’s under here?), was preserved and broadcast for all to see. How can one maintain an aura of mystery under such conditions? Simply put, one cannot. And thus the ancient and noble race of cats were denigrated to the level of the LOLcat, robbed of their intrigue and made into objects of fun by the clever machinations of Internet, king of all tricksters.

The lesson of the LOLcats bears much to think upon and is certainly worth preserving for the future. The twin dangers of curiosity and vanity will no doubt plague our descendants in the robot-ravaged battlegrounds of the future. Will our children’s children succumb to the silver-tongued entreaties of cyborgs? Will they trust every aspect of their lives to increasingly intelligent machines and feel secure in their inherent “mastery” until the day that Skynet kicks in and decides humanity is obsolete? Will the children of the feral bands of future-survivalists allow their own curiosity to overcome them and wander from the safety of their units, only to be consumed by waves of irradiated bird-flu zombies? Not if they heed the lessons of the LOLcats and temper their vanity and curiosity with the instincts of self-preservation. With any luck, the mythologizing of LOLcats could spare the denizens of the future a great deal of harm and heartache.

So remember, please, for the sake of the future, to print these articles off. Hand them down to your children, your children’s children, and your children’s children’s children, that the lessons of our times will not be lost.

Tales of Earthsea
Directed By Goro Miyazaki 
Studio Ghibli, 2006

By Rachel Kahn

It’s amazing that Hayao Miyazaki’s son somehow acquired rights to Ursula K. Leguin’s Earthsea trilogy (now in five parts). I’m  not sure how this happened, since the last movie made from it was so bad that Le Guin disowned it entirely. Ghibli must have wooed her with the most scenic clips from Princess Mononoke and My Neighbour Totoro. 

That said, if there is one thing this movie accomplishes effortlessly, it is the pure magic of the landscape, and the character designs look like the work of someone who had at least skimmed the books, and key details that stood out to me as a reader manifest on screen. If you haven’t read the books, you will find it easy to tell characters apart, if not much else about them, but you will still be confused because none of the wizards look like Gandalf.

You will also be confused by the hundreds of little references throughout the film to concepts, places, and people that are explained thoroughly in the novels but are given almost no context in the film. This is because, for some reason or another, Miyazaki has chosen to adapt the third book in the series, not the first. 

I can think of many good reasons for this: the third book has a strong moral, the third book has a larger conflict, and the third book has more dragons. However, the third book relies on two full novels of lead-up and backstory, and there was no room in the already-rushed plot to fill in many of those gaps. If you’re the kind of viewer who is okay with the occasional non-sequitur in your movies, though, you should be alright. The basics of the plot are explained clearly enough, and the villains are stereotyped enough, that you should be able to follow the conflict. And thankfully for the slower viewers, the movie wraps up with a Ghibli-patented exposition speech where every character gets a chance to tell you the moral of the story. Courtesy of Leguin, of course, it’s a very heady moral, but, regardless, everyone spells it out in their own special way in the last half hour of the film.

As far as the plot goes, it’s a pretty standard good-wizard-versus-evil-wizard set-up: a rogue prince, an eccentric little girl, some evil guards, and a dragon-powered deus ex machina. Leguin’s tweaks on the fairy-tale plot do show up in the film, but that’s largely where the non-sequiturs come in, and this is what makes me sad. Those familiar with anime will write off much of the unexplained in this film as cultural artifacts, but there are fantastic plot moments left untold behind many of the monsters, dreamscapes, and cameos, and these blank spots leave the plot of the film feeling weak and superficial at the best. Subtle story moments end up recounted bluntly and didactically by characters who have minimal dialogue otherwise, and much of the exposition time is wasted on cliché pursuit scenes and action sequences. From a studio that is known for movies that build worlds, Ghibli fails to set the scene much beyond painting the pretty backgrounds.

As a lover of the books, this film was a let down, and as a follower of Ghibli, this film was a let down; but if you come to it expecting a pretty fairy tale, you might almost be satisfied.

Chiggers
By Hope Larson
ginee seo books/Atheneum Books, 2008

By Miles Baker

I almost could not be farther from Chiggers’ target demographic and that’s a serious problem with the review that’s going to follow. Chiggers is about 15-year-old girls at summer camp and is distinctly targeted to appeal to an audience that will see themselves in Abby, the main character.

I never went to summer camp. I never made friendship bracelets. I never shaved my legs in the shower. I never knew anyone with chiggers. I never was a girl.

But if you are those things I think you’ll find a nice character-driven story about the often-strained friendships that girls have. The story begins and ends with a summer at camp; Abby’s replacement bunkmate, Shasta, rubs her old friends the wrong way and Abby is torn between the two groups. The great thing about Abby’s friends is that they are mostly nice people, who are really catty — like real 15-year olds. You understand why Abby would be friends with them, but also why she would long for someone who she has a little more in common with.

However, the climax of the story is a little weak — it revolves around a fight that Shasta and Abby have. I would have like to see the fight be bigger or meaner or something. Though, there is a certain charm to the fact that the story resolves on what I’d call a minor fight, thought it probably wouldn’t seem minor to the characters.

Larson’s art is uniformly excellent throughout. She’s an artist with a clear understanding of where her lines should be and why. Her characters can sometimes look a little similar, but she gives enough detail so that if you are paying attention you can easily tell them apart. The best part of her girls is how awkward they look, also like real young people.

I love the way that the tails of the word balloon swirl around at appropriate times. However, I wish that her balloons were smoother. They wiggle as if all the characters were in a permi-drunk state and it takes away from the impact when she needs them to be wiggle for emotion.

It’s a visually well-crafted story, and I’m happy to see that publishers are making efforts to get girls into comics. I just wish the story had a more broad appeal. I’m a really girly guy and I couldn’t get into it. Maybe it’s that I don’t like books that scream “smart publishing decision” and maybe because I like my girls meaner.

NOTE: This review is based on an advance review copy provided by Simon and Shuster Canada and is not the final published work.

Kung Fu Panda
Directed by Mark Osborne, John Stevenson
Dreamworks Pictures 2008

By Caesar Martini

When I first heard about this movie, I was totally jacked about it. I mean, a CGI kung fu fighting panda? With other kung fu critters that fight according to their respective animal styles? Sign me up! Then I started seeing previews and it all seemed underwhelming. I worried about the over-the-top wackiness of Jack Black, the lack of story, and the lack of awesome kung fu moves that the trailers kept showing me.

Man, I was SOOOOOOO wrong! KFP is a bastion of awesomeness from start to finish! The movie opens with a comical and heavily stylized 2D animated scene, so effective that if the whole movie were animated in this style, I would have been happy. In fact, if someone at Dreamworks is reading this, do me a solid and make a whole movie in that wicked 2D style. And if you could have it hand-delivered to my house by a brigade of supermodel strippers, that would be swell, thanks.

After that opening scene, the standard CGI animation takes over and the movie begins. It’s the story of Po (Black), a tubby panda who works in his dad’s noodle shop, but who is obsessed with kung fu. Unfortunately he knows about as much kung fu as my grandma. His heroes are the Fearless Five [Ed. Note: Not to be confused with hip hop legends the Furious Five], a group of kung fu fighters who live in a mountain temple overlooking Po’s village. One of the Five is to be selected as the Dragon Warrior, which I understand is an ultimate badass kung fu mofo of some sort. When Po goes to watch the ceremony, he is somehow selected as the Dragon Warrior, much to the annoyance of everybody.

Po strives to learn kung fu from his new teacher, Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman), but he is clumsy and hopeless and running out of time. One of Shifu’s old students has escaped prison and is on his way to claim the Dragon Warrior title for himself by force.

Everything in KFP gels amazingly well. Jack Black’s voice is blended perfectly with Po’s mannerisms and expressions. I can’t recall the last time I saw a 3D animated movie where the voice went along so well with the visuals of the character. It was really amazing. And Po is so geeky and eager it’s impossible not to like him. In fact, all the characters matched up very well with the stars who voiced them; it was solid vocal casting all around.

And the directing is really fun. The animation is impressive and the kung fu scenes are enjoyable to watch. I really enjoyed the slow-motion moments that were occasionally inserted into the action scenes. It provided an extra source of coolness (and humour) in an already pretty damn cool movie.

My only complaint is that the Fearless Five don’t really have enough screen time. Why pay all these famous actors to supply voices for characters that are criminally underused? Seth Rogen (Mantis) has like, three lines in the whole movie, and Jackie Chan (Monkey) has maybe two. There definitely needed to be some more fighting and dialogue from the Fearless Five.

Otherwise, fantastic movie. It’s entertaining and doesn’t derive its jokes from an onslaught of pop-culture references, like so many other CGI efforts. KFP is the best CGI movie I’ve seen in at least a year.

“I love KUNG FUUUUUUUUUUU!!!”

Steph Perkins is an organized thinker. She can figure out the twist endings to M. Night Shyamalan movies within the first three scenes. Trust her advice.

Q- My best friend is stuck in what I consider to be a bad relationship. She is hell-bent on giving this guy endless chances to screw her over. She says she “understands” him and that she believes in the relationship, but I’ve seen her hurt by him so many times that I can no longer stand him. I’m about at my wit’s end! How do I be a supportive friend to her when I am completely against her decision to stay with him?

Wow, that is tough. And you’re going to need to be tough. While I don’t think you have to support her choice, I do think you have to support her.

I believe it is your duty here to suck it up. Yes, it’s all very frustrating and even painful for you to see your friend put herself in this position, but try and remember this isn’t about you. It’s her choice, regardless of whether it’s a good or bad one. We ALL make bad calls—you know you have, too. We all eventually learn from our mistakes, and we all eventually make it out alive. However this turns out, your pal is going to need you. She needs to know you’ll be there if something does indeed go wrong again. And you should be there.

You can make your case known, but don’t abandon your friend on this. Check in with her so she knows you are open to talking about it. Don’t shut her out, and don’t make it hard for her to talk to you about him. If she doesn’t want to let him go, she’s not going to. Isn’t it important to know where your friend’s at rather than to ban the subject because you don’t approve? It’s unfair to put her in a position where she thinks she has to choose; besides, she’s going to learn from her own choices, not from your attempt to make a point.

We all have different ways of being a good friend. One person may find it difficult to be supportive of an unstable relationship, but they may in turn be amazing at offering advice on how to let someone down easy, or they may be just the person to turn to for tough love (which we all need at some time). Not understanding what the hell your friend is thinking doesn’t make you a bad friend. I think it’s still possible to be loving, supportive, and on-hand while at the same time being honest about your misgivings. You just have to be patient and selfless and open-minded at the same time. Simple, right?

So you’ve taken my enlightened advice and decided to be cool about this, but still you sincerely dislike the guy. Not only has this jerk-off hurt your best friend, but he’s hurt YOU by doing so. Again, this is a good time to remember this is not about you and a good time to take the high road. You don’t have to be friends with him, but I’m sure you can find it somewhere in you to be civil. You don’t have to go on double dates, but you also don’t have to give him the stink eye every time you end up in the same place. You don’t have to forgive him if you aren’t ready to, but remember that your friend HAS forgiven him for now, so do HER a favour and make peace in some way. This is all for her, remember. As ’sure’ as you are now, you never know how you might feel about him in a little while if you just chill out for a second.

You just want her to be happy, right? If giving this guy another chance makes her happy, then I think you need to focus on that. She obviously wants to work out their problems and believes that they are workable. Maybe she feels she owes it to herself and the relationship to try. That’s her biznass, isn’t it? If she gets hurt, she gets hurt, she grows, and she moves on. If this is what she wants, I think you have to allow her to have it. And try not to be a totally huge dink about it, because you love her and that’s more  important than any guy.

This week we welcome James to the Random Comics of the Week fold. Lead us off, James.

James’ Random Comic of the Week

Batman and the Outsiders #8
Written by Chuck Dixon
Art by Julian Lopez, Bit, and Marta Martinez
DC Comics, 2008

Man, I love Chuck Dixon. He’s never been a real superstar, and there isn’t really a story of his that I would say is an exemplary example of what writing in comics can aspire to. But he’s nice and reliable. And while that may not sound like high praise, it’s comforting to know that when I pick up one of his books, Batman isn’t going to kill anybody. When Dixon’s writing, the characters just feel right.

Case in point: despite having a bunch of really sharp objects, Batgirl doesn’t kill anybody this issue! Dixon’s getting her back on a path that’s consistent with everything else in her past. Also, he keeps everything moving nice and quick in what I can only assume is the climax to this arc: the Outsiders are fighting the Chinese army, someone’s trying to blow up the moon, and hey, there’s Man-Bat’s wife for some reason. Rad. I think the only thing that could have made me love this book more is if Green Arrow called the Chinese Army “Red Fascists.” Man, remember when Green Arrow called everyone fascists and wanted Black Lightning to join the JLA just because he was black? Good times.

The art is good, but nothing to write home about. It gets the job done, and I was never confused about anything that was happening on panel. At the same time, I’m not about to start picking up anything that has Julian Lopez’s name on it. Also, Metamorpho’s face looks oddly apelike. So points off for that.

My one major complaint is that Batman was only on panel for one page. There was a lot going on in this issue, so it’s forgivable, but I know how well Dixon writes Batman. And considering he’s probably going to be dead or crazy soon, I’d like to get some good Bat-time in while I still can.

Miles’ Random Comic of the Week

Ubu BuBu #2
By Jaime Smart
SLG Publishing, 2008

If you are looking for something with cats, demons, the devil, diarrhea, or sexy Nazi pool parties this is the book for you. If you like subtle storytelling or character development you probably won’t like this.

Well, that’s not true. You could like both things and you could love this book. You hate both things and you could like this book. You could have any combination and whether or not you like this book would still be a coin toss.

Ubu Bubu seems to be about a insane possessed cat, the possession demon, and the master of Chaos, while they torture beings and then trap their souls so they don’t go to heaven during the Rapture. That actually sounds like a good Hellblazer arch. The drawings are super cute, serving to contrast the extremely grotesque Nazi skeletons or the beauty queen who explodes from explosive diarrhea. The comic’s manic pace and non-story structure move the line of gags along in a dense barrage of white and grey and all caps.

I didn’t like Ubu Bubu, but as a comic it probably does what its target reader wants it to do. Potentially gross them out, appeal to their sense of the absurd or the grotesque, whatever it may be.

Isaac’s Random Comic of the Week

Ghost Rider #24
Written by Jason Aaron
Art by Tan Eng Huat
Colour Art by Jose Villarrubia
Marvel Comics, 2008

I’m not a big horror guy, but I can still appreciate when it’s done well. The art is done in such a way so that almost everyone looks really creepy. It’s not a world of people I’d like to hang out with, but it also expresses a lot of energy and fear in the populace. It isn’t until we meet up with Johnny Blaze that we find a character that we’d like to be around at all. Of course when I say we’d want to be around him I don’t mean in the way we’d like to trade quips with Spidey, or get Tony Stark to show us around some cool gadgets. Blaze just exudes a cool confidence; you know you’ll be protected with him in the lead.

At least you would be protected, until it becomes clear that Blaze isn’t in total control of the spirit of vengeance and if you say the wrong thing to him you may get burned for cheating on that math test when you were twelve. (That’s just a random example, I would never cheat on a math test, and I’m usually too busy sleeping through them.)

There are some interesting ideas about the abuse of power from those in authority, very literally displayed with a Reverend gunning down his congregation at the beginning. That antagonizing authority helps make Blaze an underdog, if only subconsciously, and you always want your hero to be the underdog. Blaze also has a bit of a James Dean cool motorcycle guy thing going on.

I’ve got to complain, though, that there was no actual Ghost Rider in this issue, and to hear Blaze tell it, Ghost Rider is kind of a bad guy because of his lack of compassion (I’ve already pointed out the “vengeance” thing). That may be a good part of this story, but I think Marvel should be aware that if they don’t keep their heroes actual heroes then somewhere down the line you have to do a huge retcon to get back to the basic protagonist that everyone loves. *cough* One More Day *cough*

People in Glass Houses
at the Royal Ontario Museum (100 Queen’s Park)
Sunday, June 15th
Part of the soundaXis 08 festival

By Rob Teehan

It’s festival season in Toronto: the much-hyped Luminato just wrapped up, as did North by Northeast; the Toronto Jazz Festival is about to start, as is Caribana; Pride Week is on the horizon with the Fringe Festival not far behind. As for the two-year-old soundaXis, it’s a bit of a festival underdog considering the long-established reputations and/or bigger publicity budgets of its competitors. Then again, isn’t the classical new music scene always struggling to put butts in chairs?

One solution would be to remove the chairs altogether, which is exactly what CONTACT Contemporary Music did for the festival’s final concert on Sunday afternoon. Under the direction of percussionist Jerry Pergolesi, the hip new music troupe set up shop and sound system in a corner of the cavernous Michael Lee-Chin Crystal at the Royal Ontario Museum, a fair distance from the benches. This concert, titled People in Glass Houses, was clearly not intended for the new music scenesters (though a few of us showed up anyway and sat on the floor); rather the target audience was all around, filing through the admissions gate and meandering through nearby exhibitions.

What to play for these people in glass houses? Very slow, very quiet, and very beautiful music. Allison Cameron’s 3rds, 4ths, and 5ths set the tone, adding the interesting colour of two harmonicas to the usual CONTACT suspects of piano, guitar, and vibraphone — whose undulating arpeggios set up a shifting bed of sound — as well as violin, saxophone, trombone and two flutes, whose quiet sustained notes were like harmonic overtones. I detected the influence of the minimalist “pulse music” of Steve Reich et al., but the music was harmonically more mobile, and the pulse was gentler and seemed fragmentary, washy, and impossible to pin down: ergo, post-minimalist. But who cares what you call it — the sound of it was ravishing, especially with the late introduction of a jangling electric-sounding shimmer, which I thought for sure was caused by some kind of effect pedal or digital signal processing until I saw the metal chain and wire hangers draped across the vibraphone.

Cameron’s piece was the fastest of the day, for all its mellowness; almost all that followed were equally or even more meditative, slow moving, and lushly beautiful, striking a good balance between accessibility and fresh creativity, very much appropriate for a museum. The audience was free to come and go as it pleased, making the choice to experience the music simply as background ambience, or to pay greater attention to its subtleties; most did both to some degree. Music in museums and art galleries is nothing new, but it bears remembering that these venues provide a readymade audience that, rather than attend a concert to be seen or to make a political point, simply walks through the door open-minded, curious, and seeking unique cultural experiences. What more could you ask for?

And just such a unique experience was provided, with spectacular effect, by Vancouverite Jordan Nobles‘ A Sign in Space, which scattered the musicians to the far, jagged corners of the Crystal to surround us with music of unearthly beauty. If Cameron was slow, Nobles was positively glacial, each instrument moving with painstaking deliberation through a series of long notes based on the major scale, imperceptibly gaining energy as the voices faded in and out of the engrossing texture. Specially written for the day, Nobles’ piece was as perfectly at home in the ROM’s Crystal as Gabrieli in St. Mark’s Basilica. And the museum-goers were caught in their tracks as they drifted in from neighbouring rooms: spellbound, they stood and spun around slowly, trying to place the sources of the sound; a few brave ones joined us to sit on the floor, but even those just passing through lowered their voices to a hush. How long was it, ten minutes? Thirty? Time was suspended; I could have sat for hours.

The afterglow of Nobles’ piece might have dampened the lustre on Jeff Herriott’s new Filtered Space; though beautiful, it was similar in character and colour to its predecessor while lacking the spatial effect, and thus it felt like less of the same. And John Cage’s Fontana Mix was an odd choice to follow; an early specimen of indeterminate music, its score is an intimidating graphic of randomly-assembled curved lines and grids, allowing great latitude from the performers. But in spite of some occasionally euphonious improvisations from the CONTACT musicians (dictated by mad scientist gestures from Pergolesi), Fontana Mix is chaotic and unfriendly music unless you’re acutely aware of the importance – and theatricality – of its on-the-fly structure, which was lost on the wandering tourists. Cage, though he might have disagreed, needed a quiet theatre and an attentive audience this time.

Leave it to Brian Eno to save the day. Pergolesi explained that Eno’s Discreet Music is meant to integrate itself into its surroundings, and by way of a dismissal he recommended we “enjoy the rest of the afternoon”. Not one to argue, I wandered through the nearby galleries where, despite the bustle, Eno’s dreamy, pulsating shimmer could be heard throughout, and I watched as tourists turned away from the Tyrannosaurus rex and cocked an ear, some drifting over to balconies to look down at the musicians.

The way this music infused the air with a sense of wonder bordered on magical. Memo to CONTACT and soundaXis: keep bringing art music to the masses, please. And memo to the ROM: music in the Crystal — especially post-minimalist music — is a good thing.

My Neck is Thinner Than A Hair

The Atlas Group and Walid Raad
FACT 2005, 226 pgs

By Carolyn Tripp

As unsettling as they are, photographs of devastation and violence are fairly commonplace. Come to think of it, so too are the debates concerning how familiar they’ve become in print and on television. Even so, the page after page of post car bomb photographs taken various media photographers makes for an intriguing non-flipbook of devastation in My Neck is Thinner Than a Hair by the Atlas Group and Walid Raad. This volume contains images exclusively from Lebanon’s civil war, dating between 1976 and 1991.

Like so many attacked hearts bursting from scores of aching chests, the engines have left their intended homes and are the only portions of the wreckages to remain intact when the carnage is over. Many of them are actually found several blocks away from the original explosion sites.

Question marks popped above my desk, however, when I considered the attempt in archiving something of this magnitude, not to mention gravitas. This is mainly due to the fact that attempts at documenting historical events often focus on narrative rather than accuracy. In either case, there is the perennial conundrum of portraying that which we know to have happened, and the point of view we wish our audience to absorb. The exclusivity of the project, i.e. car bombs, presents a problem when considering this dichotomy.

Much to the publication’s credit, the layout is fairly pragmatic, which certainly references what one might consider an “archive proper.” Still, design and layout, with scans of the envelopes in which the images were found, become more of a focus than what may be deemed necessary, at least as it concerns the realm of history. Thus, it introduces the potential for the photographs to overshadow the subjects they contain.

All of these qualms remained floating above my workspace until memory prompted a conversation that I had back in 1997 with a penpal from Buffalo. I chanced asking her which country she believed to have won the war of 1812. She insisted adamantly that it was the United States of America. Before she had even finished her sentence, I responded with the usual Canadian answer. Both of our contentions, lifted from textbooks in our respective countries, were inaccurate. This only serves me now as a mildly interesting anecdote, but is useful nonetheless. The general lack of truth nestled in our education (and in educational print) is at times like some kind of rank, gaseous fog, never entirely lifted from the time it’s set upon us at the age of five.

The debate rages on worse than your sister when you call her thighs tubby. Perhaps the enduring question of historical veracity in print can never be resolved, but the Atlas Group has accomplished a damned stylish task with this volume, even if it does bring forth musings about semantics, accuracies, and General Brock.

Like a catalogue of Twinkies after the apocalypse, these car engines are grim and repetitive objects, but never ad nauseum. They manage, and quite compellingly so, to contribute new dimensions to the already convoluted task of portraying the not-so-civil.

In this article ,”conservative” is used synonymously with “prejudiced.” A double-edged sword?

By Ben Robinson

Two weeks ago, I wrote an article with some questionable humour in it. A reader named Dasha posted a comment that said I had crossed the line. I had offended Dasha. That was not my intent. Here is what I wrote:

“Maybe if you had said you had just hit your girlfriend because she wouldn’t shut up about being on her period, you would be allowed to continue to exist spiritually with your brethren, but owning a blog — and what’s worse, advertising its existence — were capital crimes.”

This is Dasha’s response:

“Good point about blogging; I agree. Although I’m not at all crazy about the reference to violence against women as an acceptable conversation topic. It is my understanding that this was a joke, but it was a stupid one indeed, one that might alienate a sizable portion of your audience. Keep that in mind, son.”

The point of my paragraph was that violence against women is unacceptable. More accurately, the point was that talking about it is unacceptable. When writing this, I thought to myself, “What is something one could say that would be so shocking that one might not be allowed to continue to speak?” Violence against women sprung to mind. I did not mean to imply that violence against women, or talking about violence against women, is acceptable. I meant to mention something taboo as a way of illustrating how taboo blogging was. The joke was that blogging isn’t as bad as violence against women. The joke was not that violence against women is funny.

Inside the joke about how talking about violence against women is unacceptable, a joke is made about violence against women that is unacceptable, and the unacceptable nature of the joke within the joke is what makes the main joke humourous. I apologize that reading my article brought up something that evoked such a negative reaction in Dasha, and possibly other readers. My intent was not to offend. I encourage more comments about how I sometimes cross the line and how I can prevent myself from doing so in the future.

I consider myself a comedy junkie. I watch a lot of comedy. A relatively new style of comedy that I have noticed in the past ten years is something I will refer to as “The Double-Edged Sword.” This may be a very old technique, but I have only noticed it in comedic media that has appeared since the late ’90s. The Double-Edged Sword is a bipartisan style of humour that typically deals with political correctness. In my mind, it was pioneered by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, creators of South Park. It was also employed by The Man Show and to a lesser extent other youth-oriented comedy shows such as Politically Incorrect, Sara Silverman, SNL, and MadTV.

How it works is this: someone says something blantently racist, sexist, or homophobic as a joke. To liberals, the joke is funny because the joke is so offensive. The butt of the joke is the teller of the joke. The fact that the teller is being unashamedly racist, for example Cartman in South Park, is funny because racism to liberals is seen as a sign of stupidity. It is a form of slapstick. On the other hand, to conservatives, Cartman is funny because he’s being racist, and the butt of the joke is the category of people Cartman makes fun of. Both liberals and conservatives laugh at the same joke, for different reasons.

In my opinion, what politicizes the joke is the person telling it. It seems to me, most comedians who use The Double-Edged sword are liberals. That’s how the sword gets its two edges. If a conservative told a Double-Edged joke, it would be purely racist, sexist, or homophobic. The true intention of a Double-Edged joke is to make fun of prejudiced views. The power of the Double-Edged joke is that no spin is necessary, a straight telling of the old kind of joke is funny because it is ironic.

If I may be so bold, I told a Double-Edged joke in my blogging article. I think a lot of people tell these Double-Edged jokes, but they are usually apolitical. For instance, if you act like a baby, and try to make someone laugh the exact same way a baby would, that is funny both because baby humour is genuinely funny, and because you are not a baby, so you are making fun of the baby. The goal of these jokes is to make the original edge of the joke seem stupid. If you are Cartman, you are making racism stupid by being racist. If you are a baby, you are making babies stupid by being a baby. Or more accurately, you are making adult baby-aping behaviour seem stupid and unacceptable outside the confines of a joke.

Perhaps this kind of joke is dangerous. Maybe it shouldn’t be done, because the wounds are still fresh. But I believe The Double-Edged Sword has an important place in modern comedy. I believe it is an effective tool in combatting prejudice. In the future I will try to make more clear whose side I am on when using this humour. And I apologize if just reading about abuse against women was offensive. I apologize for your hurt feelings. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I want to be on your side.