MONDOmagazine

By Sean Kelly

Steven Soderbergh’s Che is now playing in Toronto at the AMC Yonge and Dundas. Excited? It’s the full version, running at an astronomical four hours and seventeen minutes. Now, I am interested in checking out the film, but I’m not sure if I am willing to spend an entire afternoon doing so.

This got me thinking about the negative stigma that is often attached to films that go past the traditional run-time of two hours. Most folks just don’t have the patience (or the bladders) to see films of such lengths. I admit that even I have to take a couple washroom breaks during such films.

One argument against epic-length films is that the directors could have easily edited the films down to a more conventional length. Did we really need all two hours and forty-five minutes of Baz Luhrmann’s Australia? There is also the case of Peter Jackson’s King Kong. Even though I enjoyed the film, I feel Jackson got a little overzealous when he turned a 100-minute classic from the 1930s into 187 minutes of giant apes fighting dinosaurs.

Then again, Jackson’s Lord of the Rings films were all over three hours long and they were huge hits — people clamored for the extended cuts, even.  James Cameron’s Titanic became the highest grossing film ever at a length of three hours and fourteen minutes (which really limited the amount of times the film could have been shown per day).  Beloved classics, such as The Godfather and Scarface, clock really close to the three hour mark.

I suppose that it all depends on the type of film whether the audience will be invested enough to spend the good part of a day watching it.  I believe people are generally more willing to see a lengthy genre film than a drama of similar length.  A case in point would be the beloved The Dark Knight. That film was two hours and thirty-two minutes.  Not quite epic, but still longer than average.  People flocked to that film, and I am sure that they are going to do the same with Watchmen, which has an even greater length of two hours and forty-three minutes (with reports of a three hour plus director’s cut also coming out).  On the other hand, there are people who accuse the two hour and forty-six minute long Curious Case of Benjamin Button of being a bit of a bore.

One director who’s had many troubles with the lengths of his films is Quentin Tarantino.  The most notorious example is Kill Bill.  The film was so long that Tarantino was forced into releasing the film as two separate volumes.  Tarantino has been promising to release a DVD of the two films conjoined, but that has yet to surface.  Then there was that time Tarantino teamed with Robert Rodriguez for the Grindhouse double-feature.  That film had modest beginnings (both features were originally limited to one hour), but as decisions were made to extend the features and guest directors were brought in to make fake trailers, the whole package ended up tipping the scales at three hours and eleven minutes.  While the result was really fun to watch, I’m sure the length was a factor in preventing the film from being a box-office hit.  I’ve already heard rumblings that there may also be length problems with Inglorious Bastards, but we’ll have to wait and see about that one.

Now we return to Che.  As I said, the complete film is a whopping four hours and seventeen minutes.  The only other film that I can think of that passes the four hour mark is Kenneth Branagh’s full-text adaptation of Hamlet from 1996. Che is so long that the film was actually split into two separate two-hour films (à la Kill Bill) and while some theatres (such as the AMC) will be showing the complete package, most theatres will probably be showing the two films separately.  I do believe that I will watch the film eventually, but I still don’t know whether I will brave the whole package or just see the separate films on separate days.

I’m sure we will never stop seeing those films that break the traditional barriers of run-time.  Some will test our patience and cause us to wonder if the film could’ve been shorter, while others will be wonderful escapist experiences.  It’s up to you to decide which is which.

COBA presents Banta
World premieres of Passage, Maa Keeba, and Inner Voice, plus a remount of Doun Doun Dance
February 20-22 @ Fleck Dance Theatre

By Margarita Osipian

I’m endlessly fascinated by contemporary dance’s beautiful manifestations. I grew up going to classical dance performances, mainly ballets, and the theatre. So I jumped at the chance to attend Banta, a presentation of the Collective of Black Artists (COBA). Rooted in the legacy and storytelling of African history, COBA’s creations address social themes through a unique aesthetic lens. The latest, Banta, was actually a series of four performances broken up with a short break between each piece. I tried not to read the performance descriptions in the show’s catalogue because I wanted to see if I could pull the narrative from the dancers on the stage. There’s something humbling, especially for a writer, to witness a story without words. Banta’s performances successfully addressed the idea of narrative and momentum through time, using music, rhythm, and bodies. But should a marker of success be based upon whether the story that I interpreted from the dancers was the same as the story that they were attempting to tell? In the end, it’s not relevant — because the mark of a good storyteller is the enjoyment inherent in the process of telling and listening.

BaKari E. Lindsay’s Maa Keeba is a tribute to the legendary South African singer Miriam Makeba, who collapsed as she was leaving the stage after one of her last performances in Italy. Opening with a group of dancers in black outfits silhouetted against a coloured backdrop, this was my favourite piece of the night. The dancers worked in beautiful unison, creating a community of dancers that told the same story. The simplicity of their costumes allowed the movements of their bodies to take centre stage. Impressive transitions shifted the story seamlessly from one part to the next, moving from an individual dancer to the reemergence of the group. One of the most breathtaking scenes was at the end of this performance when the dancer playing Makeba falls on the stage, gasping for air. Bathed in a ray of light shining across the stage, her bright orange skirt illuminated, only the sounds of her struggling for breath filling the room. This spectacular image is still deeply engraved in my mind.

The two middle performances, Charmaine Headley’s Passage and Lindsay’s Inner Voice, were slower in their execution. They featured subtler storytelling and didn’t capture my attention the same way Maa Keeba had. They were slightly repetitive and far more aestheticized. The focus on the body and its subtle movements stood out in these pieces. Inner Voice, comprised of a group of female dancers circling around one male dancer, was unique because the dancers were disjointed from one another in their movements and choreography.

The final performance, a remount of Sis Robin Hibbert’s spirited Doun Doun Dance, woke up the audience with high energy hand drumming and singing. The colourful costumes illuminated the darkness evoked in the previous performances. I could see the rhythms and sounds moving along the stage as the drummers communicated through music to one another. A spectacular end to an array of storytelling through dance.

Miles’ Book

Unknown Soldier #5
Written by Joshua Dysart
Art by Alberto Ponticelli
Colour by Oscar Celestini
Vertigo, 2009

This is why I love “Random Comics of the Week”: for those weeks where you find a gem. A gem you have never even heard of. A gem soaked in blood and anguish. A gem called Unknown Soldier.

In a church in Acholiland, Northern Uganda, circa 2002, Moses Lwanga beats the walls just to feel the adrenaline. I don’t know what happened to make the man covered in bandages mad, but it seems to be something big. He’s approached by an old CIA agent, and that’s where this story of civil war and personal horror begins.

What I find most impressive is how much character I was able to get from everyone in such a short period of time. Especially from the main character, Moses. His flashbacks are short, comprising maybe four pages of the issue in total, but their economy of character is impressive. You get an amazing sense of who this man was, a shocking contrast with who he is now.

What happened in between, I’m not exactly sure, but I’m going to buy the trade to find out.

The CIA agent also comes across as a fully-realized character and he only has about 10 lines. That’s good writing. I love his exit line (to a small boy asking him if he made Moses leave) of, “Look, I figure he’s going back to the IDP camp on the road to Gulu Town. If the army asks, tell ‘em that. Just don’t mention me if you can help it.” I love how ambivalent that is. It makes me want to know more about him.

Ponticelli’s art can be a little uneven at times, but he makes up for it with incredible expression, and his shocking violence. He doesn’t shy away from the horrors of war but he also doesn’t glorify it. It’s terrifying and rips people apart.

To make the violence even more real, the issue includes Part 3 of a history of Uganda, written by the author.

Apparently, Unknown Soldier will wrap up with the next issue, so I urge you to please, pick up the trade. Pick up all the issues. Something. I’ll be there with you. This small taste has me convinced the meal will be worth it.

Isaac’s Book

Hack/Slash: The Series #20
Written by Tim Seeley
Art by Dexter Soy
Devil’s Due Publishing, 2009

I’d heard about Hack/Slash before, and knew the premise well enough: girl survivor of basic slasher movie plot goes off to hunt the Jasons and Freddies of the world. It’s a really good idea — especially to someone who hates how inept people are in those movies — to have a character running around exploiting the “rules” of the slasher movie.

It’s unfortunate for me then that this is very much an in-between issue; the characters are all making references to how awesome/traumatic their last adventure was, while the bad guys are setting their nefarious plans in motion for the future.

We open up with our heroine Cassie Hack sitting in jail, before immediately flashing back a couple hours to when she walked into a police department without being aware of the federal warrant out for her arrest. The dialogue is pretty funny here, but then it’s ruined a page later when this other woman in jail says, “You went to go talk to the police, but ya didn’t even bother to see if there might be a warrant out for your arrest? That is stupid.”

Really? Is it really that stupid? I think it depends on the circles you run in. Maybe for you, who’s comfortably sitting in a jail cell, that would be stupid. Do most people have warrants out for their arrest?

Okay, I have to talk about something else, because the more I think about that line, the angrier I get about it.

There’s the other main character: Vlad is a hulking, scary-looking sweetheart of a guy, talking to Cassie’s girlfriend (maybe) whose name I’m never given — which is a problem — about how she’s Yoko Ono-ing the team dynamic.

There’s some pretty emotional dialogue here, but the art just doesn’t match it up. There’s not enough expression in the character’s faces — which would be fine in the understated reality we all live in, but for a comic book, particularly a comic set in the hyper-reality of a slasher movie, I just expect a little emoting here.

Speaking of the art, the cover for this book is amazing. It’s sold with two different covers, A by Erik Jones, and B by Shane White. I got the B cover, but they’re both great.

Cassie is assigned a public defender who looks like he’d be terrible, but who actually sounds pretty competent. I guess it’s cool that they’re subverting the convention of having a terrible public defender? Otherwise,  it’s just a mixed message that I totally don’t get the reason for.

By the end, Cassie has been abducted by some nefarious characters, and we get an okay action scene, but it seems kind of half-hearted.

I can’t really recommend this issue, but I think it’s just a fluke. Once things get rolling it’ll probably shape up. They keep mentioning how this series is being made into a movie, and that seems like the ideal medium for this story — I’ll keep my eyes open.

Love at first... Bite. Yeah, we went there. The Southern Emo Pair get down to business in True Blood. Image courtesy of HBO.

By Jayvibha Vaidya 

*Spoiler alert — Anna Paquin is called cute once more. Bits and pieces of show revealed, too.*

She’s a cute blonde and he’s a dark mysterious stranger that happens to be a vampire. No, it’s not that ass-kicking vampire slayer this time around. She’s hung up her stake and cheerleading outfit in Sunnydale, California. Our current Adorable Miss is a resident of Bon Temps, Louisiana. Sookie Stackhouse (Anna Paquin) is a resident waitress, loyal granddaughter, and conveniently, an attractive mind-reader. Burdened by the unwanted thoughts of others, she finds relief in a mysterious stranger who’s the strong, silent type. Literally. She can’t hear his thoughts.

From Alan Ball, the creator of critically acclaimed Six Feet Under and based on the books by author Charlaine Harris, True Blood follows the moment when Sookie Stackhouse, (Golden Globe-winner Paquin, The Piano, X-Men) meets Bill Compton, (Brit Stephen Moyer, Lilies, The Starter Wife) an outed vampire who arrives in Bon Temps just as the small Louisiana town is plagued with a wave of suspicious murders.

Surrounding this ill-fated couple is an amazing smorgasbord of character profiles. They’re all deeply damaged, holding on to their secrets and insecurities for dear life. Sookie’s elder brother Jason (Austrailian Ryan Kwanten, Home and Away, Summerland) is a classic all-around fuck-up, and the first to be implicated in the series of murders, with evidence that he has coincidentally slept with each victim previous to their deaths. His quest for carnal satisfaction mixed with homoerotic undertones makes for a complex and ambiguous character that is a pleasure to  watch.

Another intriguing character is Sam Merlotte (Sam Trammell, Going to California, Judging Amy), a bar-owner and all-around decent guy who is deeply in love with Sookie. But like most mortals, this poor bastard is no match for a vampire. Tara (Rutina Wesley, How She Move, Numb3rs), Sookie’s foul-mouthed, prickly best friend, juggles her drunken mother and perpetual loneliness while watching out for Sookie, the only person she trusts. Lafayette, played brilliantly by Nelsan Ellis (The Inside, Veronica Mars, The Soloist), is the openly gay, openly awesome cook at the restaurant who seems to know what everyone’s vice happens to be.

You might ask who our adorable Sookie can trust with so many of her Louisianian friends and family being in their own dumps? Enter Grandmother Adele (Lois Smith, ER, Hollywoodland). Strong, stable, and wiser than anyone in Bon Temps. That is of course until poor Sookie comes home one day to find the bloodied body splayed on the kitchen floor.

Like all conventional vampire stories, this show deals with death, life, sex, and power, and includes the appropriate amount of humour, violence, and romance. This is all the while poking fun at the legends of vampires and the damsel in distress, shifting perceptions and setting aside convention. Through the use of traditional mythology, this show comments on social injustices, sexuality, power, and human (or vampire) rights while retaining, you know, the entertaining factor.

The sweltering heat, the twang of Southern dialect, the strong code of respect and hospitality all give life to a world you can taste and smell. It draws you in then surprises you, while forcing you to ask questions about love — not just about who you love, but how you love.

True Blood returns for its second season to HBO, summer 2009.

Travesties
By Tom Stoppard
Directed by Joseph Ziegler
Featuring Diego Matamoros, Jordan Pettle, David Storch
Runs until March 21 @ Soulpepper Theatre at the Young Centre for the Performing Arts

By Matt McGeachy

Stop me if you’ve seen it: Lenin, Joyce, Stoppard, and Tzara walk into a bar in Zurich…

No?  Well, you should. Tom Stoppard’s Travesties, season opener for Soulpepper Theatre, is an intellectual triumph that, despite some theatrical shortcomings, is an engaging and entertaining evening well worth seeing. A witty mixture of limerick, vaudeville musical numbers, and allusions to Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare, Travesties is Stoppard at his best and most intelligent. It demands much from its audience, but its rewards are vast.

The show is based on the largely false memories of British consular official Henry Carr (played by Diego Matamoros), an actual historical figure of no significance or renown except that he played Algernon in a production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest James Joyce produced in Zurich.  The two were subsequently involved in a lawsuit over the price of a pair of trousers. Matamoros’s Carr is a stereotypical British conservative-type who, we are led to believe, fell into relationships with three of the twentieth century’s greatest revolutionaries by accident of location. Of course, his historical timing is off even as his comedic timing is quite on. Although James Joyce, a modernist literary revolutionary; Vladimir Lenin, leader of the Russian Bolshevik revolution; and Tristan Tzara, founder of Dadaism, were all in Zurich at one time, it was not the same time. And so the challenge and fun of grappling with Stoppard’s seemingly inexhaustible knowledge and wit begins.

Jordan Pettle’s Tristan Tzara is every bit as outrageous as the historical figure is reputed to have been. Donning a monocle and sanctimonious self-righteousness, Pettle grasped perfectly his character’s absurdity and embraced it. Unfortunately, his Romanian accent was quite suspect and more reminiscent of a Slavic accent than Romanian. Despite this, the sparring matches between Carr and Tzara over the meaning and justification of art represent some of the best dialogue in the play. It is clear that Stoppard grapples with these questions himself, and the triumph of this show is that it allows the brilliant writing to shine through the performances.

As James Joyce, David Storch worked magic, both literally and figuratively, and the seething relationship between Joyce and Tzara was amplified to its full comedic effect. Sarah Wilson as Carr’s sister Gwendolen and Krystin Pellerin as the communist librarian Cecily are an amusing direct homage to Earnest and have a wonderful bit performing a version of the vaudeville number “Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Shean.” Kevin Bundy’s Bennett, the communist-sympathizer butler, is also quite funny.

Christina Poddubiuk’s set, with the clearly defined four-post fantasy space and the massive clock reminiscent of the tower of St. Peter’s Church in Zurich, was truly amazing and worked very well to enhance the story. The fragmented Shakespearean sonnets and the Cyrillic letters on the clock face reminded the audience that we were truly within the muddled remembrances of a senile man.

Despite the tremendous wit and fantastical allusion to some of the most important works of art in the twentieth century, director Joseph Ziegler remains unable to keep up the pace for the entire show. The second act lags a bit, and one has the sense of being broadsided with Stoppard’s formidable intellect with nothing to show for it. The gimmicks become more, well, gimmicky, and the timing becomes predictable.  Whether this reflects poorly on the direction or on the audience is open for debate, but two-and-a-half hours in Stoppard’s head, no matter how talented the actors presenting it, is exhausting.

Nevertheless, this show remains a treat intellectually and theatrically, and it radiates admiration of art and revolution.

Dr. Strange: The Oath
Written by Brian K. Vaughan
Art by Marcos Martin
Colours by Javier Rodriguez
Marvel Comics, 2007

By Miles Baker

Just before Brian K. Vaughan swore off work-for-hire comic writing and dedicating his time to LOST, and before Marcos Martin rocketed to prominence for his work on Amazing Spider-Man, the pair created one of my favourite comic series.

Dr. Strange: The Oath follows a particularly stressful couple of days in Dr. Stephen Strange’s odd life. After Strange’s assistant, Wong, reveals that he has terminal cancer, the pair go in search of a magical solution and eventually find it: the cure for cancer. However, before they can use it, the pair are robbed of the cure by a new foe who shoots Dr. Strange with Hitler’s handgun. Strange and Wong seek medical attention from the Night Nurse, a GP who gives medical aid to the superhero community. Still recovering from his gunshot, Strange, along with Wong and the Night Nurse, hunt down the cure.

And that’s just the first issue.

I don’t have the words to express how much I enjoy and respect Marcos Martin’s storytelling. Martin thinks harder than most other artists; he makes subtle but effective choices that make you love his work even more, because you really only noticed them the third time around. Choices such as, when Dr. Strange enters other realms, all the panels sit on top of a main image; or Dr. Strange’s flashbacks have rounded corners to them, while Wong’s are square, and Nicodemus’s are arranged in a semi-oval. Or where he inserts a musical note as a transition. These are small touches, but they add up to so much more. 

I even love his enormous gutters because they free the page. As you can see, I’m a man in love.

See, a Doctor-turned-magician can be bad ass.

Vaughan is one of my favourite writers. Period. I have a serious man-crush on his writing, and this work solidifies those feelings. His version of Strange might differ from other characterizations, but I like it a lot. He’s smart, with a wry sense of humour, and feels totally at home living outside the normal laws of man. One of my favourite exchanges is:

Night Nurse: Wait, you’re going to lock him inside his own mind? What about, you know, due process?
Strange: Sorcerers have little patience for the laws of nature and even less for the laws of man.

It’s a nice little touch of dark on Strange, a man that you should feel you can’t get behind, but at times do anyway. One of my favourite moments —where I get all, “I love you, Strange” — occurs when he turns a handgun into moths while saying, “Ghastly. Last time I touch one of those things.” 

If a genie ever grants me wishes, it would be more Dr. Strange stories with this pair at the helm. Or maybe I could make a deal with Mephisto. Either way, more please.

Mountains
Choral
2009, Thrill Jockey

By Allana Mayer

Mountains’ third release, and the first not on their self-started label Apestaartje, reminds me of my grandma’s house. Choral is thick, warm, like a stew that’s been simmering for a week. The press release insists it’s “largely live and performed in real time”, which is a welcome change from the mental picture of guys perched in front of laptops, obsessing over panning and balance. While it’s impossible to make work like this without those moments, there’s yet a comforting sense of handmade craftwork, layering patiently and methodically, like making candles.

The first and title track is a soft fuzz, a gentle panning of samples with cyclical amplitude changes, a soft high note that bounces around the landscape, and one long-held chord — all it needs to fit perfectly on a Stars Of The Lid album is a wordy title. “Melodica” and “Telescope” are similarly stark, though not to that extent. These tracks contrast with more structured songs; the slow guitar picking in “Map Table” is perfectly offset with aleatoric sounds, sounding like a missing track from Six Organs of Admittance’s School Of The Flower.

As passionate as I am about the beauty — the brilliance — of this album, it’s very difficult to write relevant words. There’s little to describe because nothing happens — layers of ambience, static, or single tones play simultaneously, barely growing, rarely changing, never detailed. While entire books can be filled with words about John Cage’s “4′33″”, they concern his political and philosophical statement, not the tone and amplitude of his silence. When someone analyzes a minimalist piece, much the same situation occurs. With so little to describe, what left but to discuss but the intention behind the work? But so often ambient work has no ideal anymore; it’s merely an aesthetic, a mimickry of artists gone before. The theoretical intent of any musical genre during its inception is in no way guaranteed to be shared by later waves of its artists. But what’s theory when it sounds this good?

I’ve reviewed several albums that don’t seem to contain any tension, that don’t begin with a problem and certainly never find a resolution. While tension is often a requirement for a pop song, and is the motif of choice for any elementary composition, somehow it’s perfectly acceptable for groups like Mountains to work outside that formula. It’s important to note that they do it without fading into the background, without losing their poignancy. Choral is a retreat to a cabin in the woods, a warm fireplace and a bearskin rug, where you can live and think free of distraction. It’s the contentedness we all hope hibernation can be, minus the boredom it probably is.

By Leo K. Moncel, Sean Kelly, Rachel West, and Shane McNeil

Rachel: It’s the most wonderful time of the year: Academy Awards season! The big day is fast approaching and it’s a tough competition in some categories, while others have a clear front-runner.

Sean: Forget the Superbowl, the Academy Awards are my big television event of the year. There is always something unexpected that happens during the awards show and this year the stage was set after Slumdog Millionaire’s sweep of the Golden Globes.

Adapted Screenplay:

More hardware for Beaufoy?

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button — Eric Roth
Doubt — John Patrick Shanley
Frost/Nixon — Peter Morgan
The Reader — David Hare
Slumdog Millionaire — Simon Beaufoy

Leo: Got to be Slumdog Millionaire. It’s got its implausibilities, but it’s consistent within its fictional realm. Screenwriters may cringe at some of the dialogue that made the shooting draft, but it’s structure first and foremost they’ll be looking at, and this script succeeds in some really difficult games with timelines.

Sean: This is the first time I can think of that the majority of the Best Picture nominations were adaptations. That said, I’ll stick with the formula that the Best Picture winner usually also wins for its screenplay, and bank on Slumdog. However, I have to say that Benjamin Button also had a good story.

Rachel: In a year of some very respectable adaptations, Slumdog Millionaire should continue its Oscar dominance in the Adapted Screenplay category. Writer Simon Beaufoy has picked up a trophy for the Slumdog screenplay in every major awards ceremony this year and there is no reason to believe he won’t be adding the prized Oscar statuette to his collection.

Shane: Slumdog Millionaire… I think it’s inevitable.

Original Screenplay:

The great Mike Leigh.

Frozen River — Courtney Hunt
Happy-Go-Lucky — Mike Leigh
In Bruges — Martin McDonagh
Milk – Dustin Lance Black
Wall-E — Andrew Stanton, Jim Reardon

Leo: Wall-E. My God! I often feel that Pixar flicks are overrated, but I was positively losing it during the first 40 minutes of this one. We are introduced to a whole world that at first appears to be one thing, then another, then another. Writers will have immense appreciation for this kind of silent work — they know better than anyone how difficult it is.

Sean: Forget Best Supporting Actress, THIS is the toughest category to call. I would just love it if either Happy-Go-Lucky or In Bruges won. Milk is the safe bet and Wall-E winning would also be wonderful. That leaves Frozen River, which is a film I haven’t heard much about. I guess I am just going to cross my fingers and pick Happy-Go-Lucky.

Rachel: Milk picked up the award for Best Original Screenplay from the Writer’s Guild of America, but Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky could take home the prize. While the film’s star, Sally Hawkins, failed to capture an acting nomination despite her win at the Golden Globes, Leigh’s 4th nomination in this category proves that the Academy likes him.

Shane: Happy-Go-Lucky. It’s often more about WHO than WHAT and the Academy looooooves Mike Leigh. Conventional wisdom suggests Milk, but I’m following a hunch on this one.

Achievement in Directing:

Danny Boyle: rascal par excellence.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button — David Fincher
Frost/Nixon — Ron Howard
Milk — Gus Van Sant
The Reader — Stephen Daldry
Slumdog Millionaire — Danny Boyle

Leo: Unlike some folks, I thought Slumdog Millionaire looked amazing. I didn’t always think the performances were up to snuff, but for the sheer intensity of certain moments, and for his ability to unify discordant times and settings into a highly cohesive picture, they’ll give it to Boyle.

Sean: This category corresponds exactly to the Best Picture nominations; as such, I think Slumdog is a natural in both. I have this to say about Danny Boyle, though: it is very interesting that a director whose best known works have involved heroin addicts in Edinburgh and zombies in London, gets nominated for a film about a boy in India who appears on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? It’s amazing how diverse some directors can be.

Rachel: Danny Boyle has the Best Director Oscar just about locked up with Slumdog Millionaire. A solidly-directed film, Boyle outshines his closest competitor (David Fincher) as Slumdog continues to please both critics and audiences.

Shane: Danny Boyle here, Slumdog in the next column. Don’t even argue, this one’s so in-the-bag it’s not funny. I’m having a hard time remembering the last time a win was this inevitable – if it wasn’t “American Beauty”, it was probably “Titanic”. Even the hobbits had a shadow of a doubt at this point… this race, on the other hand, is done.

Best Picture:

It was written.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon
Milk
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire

Leo: Slumdog again. True, it’s got problems, and is by no means perfect, but it has those edge-of-your-seat-oh-shit-what-am-I-seeing moments that are so precious that having a few of them has burned this movie into the hearts and minds of so many audiences. Can’t stop it now.

Sean: This is the first year I saw all five nominated films before nominations were announced. A few months ago, I would have filed Slumdog Millionaire along with Little Miss Sunshine and Juno as films that were well-liked, received a nomination, and…that was it. But after sweeping the Golden Globes, Slumdog is in prime position to take the big prize. However, I have to say: if The Wrestler was nominated, I would be rooting for that film.

Rachel: No competition here, expect Slumdog Millionaire to win Best Picture. While upsets aren’t unheard of, Slumdog has won nearly every award it has been nominated for in the Best Picture category. An uplifting tale with heartfelt comedic moments, with thrilling suspense and a love story to tie the whole film together, Slumdog is an audience and critics’ favourite.

Shane: (See above.)

P.S.

Shane: I’ll be crushed if Waltz with Bashir loses Best Foreign. For a film that had a shot at Best Animated AND Best Doc and was snubbed in both, this is their one and only shot to get this one right.

Answering the questions you purposefully didn’t ask!

By Sam Linton

Every so often, the language-using community gets itself up in a snit over some new issue in our beloved English language making waves in the pools of those who actually take all this seriously. Remember truthiness? That was a good example of what I’m talking about. Anyways, since the English language lacks an “Academie Français”-style central regulating body, these things usually just get tossed around from columnist to columnist until some basic consensus is found. So what’s the hot-button word that has the armchair linguistic community up in a tizzy now? Douchebag! Or, at least, it was several months ago. I tend to be a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to covering these things. But, as the world keeps spinning, I eventually find my way to writing, and the problem with douchebag has not gone away. So what’s the issue? Well, that’s a bit tricky, but it basically boils down to the fact that, while it’s one of the most commonly used insults flying off the tongues today, it has no real “definition,” per se. Ask any average person what constitutes a douchebag, and you’ll get a different response. Go to Urbandictionary.com, and you’ll be swamped with seven pages of differing defs. Even Wikipedia can only offer that douchebag is definitely pejorative, and somewhat associated with arrogance and/or malice. But we can do better! Can’t we? Read the rest of this entry »

Miles’ Book

Uncanny X-Men #506
Written by Matt Fraction
Art by Terry and Rachel Dodson
Coloured by Justin Ponsor
Marvel Comics, 2009

This review might not be fair as a “Random Review” because I’m following this book and the X-Men line in general. However, random.org commanded I review it. So, here we are.

As a one-off issue, this would not be a great place for a new reader to start. Even as a follower of the series I’m not sure I’d recommend it.

Uncanny follows the main events that happen to the X-Men in their new hometown/base in San Francisco. Which is good; it’s nice there’s a sort of “main” book, but there are so many characters and not enough issues that it feels like nothing is happening.

In this issue, we follow Cyclops and Emma as they deal with their mutant embassy (though I’m not sure why they feel unequipped to deal with this crisis: they just had 200 mutant refugees living on their lawn); Colossus taking down a Russian mutant prostitution syndicate (just because. And to help him get over Kitty’s “death”); and Beast and Angel’s continuing mission to recruit the smartest, craziest scientists in the Marvel universe (who have all set dangerous traps for them (so you might think that they would have sent some more powerful mutants on this job (I know that they are both original X-Men but all Hank can do is scratch them while Warren moults on them (unless he has the metal wings he’s sporting in X-Force under the organic ones (also, what’s up with that? When do these stories take place relative to each other? (That’s the problem with having so many X-Books.))))). However, with only 22 pages of story, each part moves in baby steps.

I go back and forth on the Dodsons’ art. It’s well put-together and clean, which I love, but it’s embarrassingly cheesecake at times. I think Emma might have brought up a little more of the sheets when she bolted out of bed (also, what girl wears a bra to bed?). That said, they draw some awesome B movie-style giant crustaceans that are worth the cover price alone.

The biggest problem with this series, so far, has been that every issue is all build-up and little-to-no pay off. When the omnibus comes out and collects all this in a tidy package, these stories will probably all read fine, even gripping, but month-to-month it can be a little hard to love this title (with the exception of last month’s annual — which was an absolute pleasure to read. So there is hope, I guess).

Isaac’s Book

The Great Unknown #1 of 5
Words and Art by Duncan Rouleau
Lettered by Francis Takenaga
Image Comics, 2009

Your first impression of Zach, the hero of this story, is one of extreme defiance in the face of doom. Beaten, lying on the floor of an alley, Zach mocks his attackers, and sounds pretty cool in the process. His narration then explains that he has gotten ahead of himself and needs to tell the beginning of the story, okay, some humility in the face of cliché. Not a bad-sounding hero so far.

But then you turn the page and find Zach on the floor of a bar two months earlier in exactly the same position, and it becomes clear that this kid has a bad habit of getting on everybody’s bad side.

It turns out that Zach is a certified genius that wants to find his fortune through his inventions, except every time he’s got a good one made he sees an infomercial or a billboard that advertises the very thing he’d just created. I’d be pretty bitter too if that kept happening to me, but instead of filling a garage with plans for devices that keep getting made elsewhere, maybe I’d give up and become a lawyer or doctor like Zach’s brother suggests.

But here’s the thing: this is always happening to Zach. He even relates to us the story of Elisha Gray, ostensibly the true inventor of the telephone who gets shafted out of fame and fortune, yet Zach never suspects his ideas are being stolen too. He just goes on being angry, stealing food stuffs, and newspapers off of people’s lawns, and mocking others’ attempts to work and be happy.

Zach is so infuriating that when this one moustachioed-guy who is in on the whole conspiracy wants to help Zach out, he almost decides not to go through with it because ultimately Zach doesn’t deserve the help.

The narrative framework of starting the story a little later was a good idea, because otherwise I’d have nothing to do with this guy. But if you have to trick us into getting invested in the main character, then there’s a problem.

The art is really well done, with excellent composition of shots, backgrounds, and Zach’s design. But other people look a little sloppy. It’s like every third person has something way off about his proportions. It’s a weird thing to do.

Ghost World was done all in blue colours, right? I think so, and that’s how this book is coloured as well, with some beige-yellow thrown in as well. As ever, the effect is of a dystopic suburban wasteland, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Well, I wouldn’t want to live there, but it’s a good setting for the story, is what I’m saying.

If there was even a moment of softness for the character, like helping a kid cross the street or something, then I would happily recommend this book. As it stands though, Zach is too self-involved to be a hero, and too dumb to be a villain.

By Leo K. Moncel, Sean Kelly, Rachel West and Shane McNeil

Preamble:

Leo: So here we go folks, we’ve got four writers weighing in on our picks for best bets this Sunday night. This two-part spectacular promises to be longer than the ceremonies themselves!

Shane: Sometimes handicapping the Oscars is about as challenging as spotting steroid-inflated home-run records. Luckily this year has some more surprises up its sleeve with the acting races (yes, all of ‘em) still without a guaranteed winner.

Enough preambles… on to the main attraction.

Best Actress in a Supporting Role:

No grey day for Tomei.

Amy Adams – Doubt
Penélope Cruz – Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Viola Davis – Doubt
Taraji P. Henson – The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Marisa Tomei – The Wrestler

Leo: Marisa Tomei. Other than Penélope Cruz, I’m asking “Who are the rest of these people?” Maybe it will go to Taraji P. Henson, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see Button get shut out of everything except some make up or costume awards.

Sean: This is probably the toughest category to call. I’m going to go with Marisa Tomei to get her second Oscar for her role as, what can only be called, a “stripper with a heart of gold.”

Rachel: Spanish spitfire Penélope Cruz should hear her name called on February 22nd for her work in Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona. She’s been criticized for her work in English, but this film allows her to work in her native tongue as well. As Maria Elena, a disturbed ex-wife, Cruz effortlessly runs the gamut between the darkly comedic and genuinely dramatic.

Shane: Taraji P. Henson for Benjamin Button. It has to win somewhere. Woody hasn’t fared well over the last decade and I don’t think Viola Davis had enough screen time. However, beware of Marisa Tomei.

Best Actor in a Supporting Role:

Michael Shannon doesn't need a pound of makeup.

Josh Brolin – Milk
Robert Downey Jr. – Tropic Thunder
Philip Seymour Hoffman – Doubt
Heath Ledger – The Dark Knight
Michael Shannon – Revolutionary Road

Leo: Unlike some folks who we may soon hear from, I felt we saw an exceptional performance, O.D. or no. While it’s Nolan and company who deserve the bulk of the credit for deciding where to psychologically “plant” the Joker, Heath Ledger gets full points for selling him as detailed person.

Sean: The question here is not whether Heath Ledger will win, it is rather does he deserve to win. I’m not saying that his role as the Joker was bad (it wasn’t), I just think that posthumous nominations may result in sympathy votes (then again, James Dean received TWO posthumous Oscar nominations and never won). If I had to pick an alternate, I would say Michael Shannon, who was really good in his small role in Revolutionary Road.

Rachel: For Michael Shannon, it should be an honour just to be nominated, while Philip Seymour Hoffman’s role in Doubt is overshadowed by Meryl Streep, and Josh Brolin’s role in Milk is brilliant, but underwritten. As the shining light in an abysmal film, Robert Downey Jr. should take home the trophy for his role as a dude playing another dude in Tropic Thunder over the sentimental favourite Heath Ledger.

Shane: Robert Downey Jr. I think I’ve made my reasons clear enough.

Best Actress in a Leading Role:

It's a racy Nazi movie.

Anne Hathaway – Rachel Getting Married
Angelina Jolie – Changeling
Melissa Leo – Frozen River
Meryl Streep – Doubt
Kate Winslet – The Reader

Leo: Has to go to Kate Winslet. This is her year. Jolie and Streep got at least as much flack as they did praise for their performances, with the accusation against Streep being she was just chewing up the scenery and Jolie that she couldn’t sell the period piece. Go Kate!

Sean: Wouldn’t it be funny if there was a repeat of Marion Cotillard’s surprise win from last year and Melissa Leo wins? I doubt that will that happen and believe Kate Winslet will follow her Golden Globe double whammy with a win here, though the nomination should have been for Revolutionary Road.

Rachel: A tough category to call as the nominated ladies all delivered stand-out performances, but it’s Oscar’s perennial bridesmaid Kate Winslet who should finally get to collect the award. In The Reader Winslet humanizes the monstrous Nazi guard Hanna Schmitz in what is both a sensuous and sorrowful performance.

Shane: Kate Winslet, The Reader. It’s about time. La Streep is one of the all-time greats, but with this being the best chance to honour her heir apparent, she has to lose another squeaker.

Best Actor in a Leading Role:

Tape-jacketed Rourke.

Richard Jenkins – The Visitor
Frank Langella – Frost/Nixon
Sean Penn – Milk
Brad Pitt – The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Mickey Rourke – The Wrestler

Leo: Busted up and broken down, the big comeback about a comeback. This one is too perfect for Mickey Rourke. Sean Penn is the only serious contender here, and everyone hates him for thinking he’s so cool.

Sean: This category is full of first-time nominees (and Sean Penn). The build-up has been over Mickey Rourke’s comeback and I have to agree. Though, I have to say I was also impressed with Langella’s performance in Frost/Nixon. While I don’t think he will win, I am sure Richard Jenkins (Six Feet Under) is probably enjoying his nomination for the underrated The Visitor.

Rachel: Mickey Rourke may be the favourite, as the underdog both on-screen and off, and although he emerged victorious at the Golden Globes, Sean Penn’s performance as Harvey Milk was one of the most affecting performances of the year and is likely to add another Best Actor Oscar to his 2004 win for Mystic River.

Shane: Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler. If Sean Penn hadn’t won an Oscar this decade and wasn’t one of Hollywood’s biggest douchebags, this race would be closer. Rourke is the kind of underdog Hollywood loves.

By Matt McGeachy

In its third and final week, the 30^th Rhubarb Festival at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre is as interesting, shocking, and experimental as always.

The Festival is dedicated to new and interesting works from queer artists, and many performances push the boundary of what theatre can be. As festival director Erika Hennebury highlights in the programme, “Rhubarb is an invitation” — not only for enjoyment but also for critical reflection on theatricality. Oh yeah, and there’s a pretty nice party every night, too.

I spent some time enjoying several performances at the festival and came away interested and refreshed. Lex Vaughn’s hilarious one woman/one puppet show Graham & Diane was creative and irreverent as Vaughn switched voices between a foul-mouthed bisexual puppet, Graham, and a timid, closeted lesbian admin assistant, Diane.  The inner conflict of a lonely woman with no one but her puppet as a friend coming to terms with her sexuality was a delight — even moreso as the “two” of them got drunk on straight Kahlua and talked the night away.

Amos Latteier’s A History of the Cage was actually a lecture on the history of the cage in zoos across the world.  Reminiscent of Trampoline Hall, where non-experts talk about something they find interesting, he spent some time enlightening us on this peculiar topic.  Don Simmons’ and Gale Allen’s Sweet Ecstasy: Plans for an Escape Route was also a performance art piece — not everyone’s cup of tea, but an interesting addition to the festival lineup.

Jon-Paul Khouri’s assalaamu ‘alaykum (peace be upon you) and David Bateman’s What’s It Like? brought some serious political dimensions to the first weekend.  Khouri’s piece about an Arab man who moves to Toronto, was an important reflection on the state of our multicultural city.  Bateman’s show touched specifically on the plight of HIV/AIDS in the queer community and highlighted the need for the respectful treatment of people living with the virus.

For a take on Bohemian Paris in the roaring ’20s and some exquisitely tasteful yet daring nudity, Maev Beaty’s and Andrea Donaldson’s Montparnasse was a treat. The intelligent literary references, including Joyce and Sylvia Beach (plus a reference so someone I suspect is Gertrude Stein) and the conflict of unrequited lesbian love was absolutely compelling.

The main stage event, The Be(a)st of Taylor Mac was drag performance at its best.  A highly sought-after performer from New York, Mac refers to his performances as plays, and his challenging notion of what a play is fits perfectly into the festival’s mission.  Mac is a consummate performer, and responded to his audience with such gusto that it was difficult to gauge who was having more fun: him or us!

Mac’s message of optimism and irreverence reminded us all that despite the hard times and difficulties in the world now, everything is going to be all right.  (Check out his Youtube video about Lynne Cheney’s lesbian romance novel: F***ing hilarious!)

30 years on, Rhubarb is still bringing cutting edge and controversial work to the Toronto theatre community.  Everyone who is anyone should catch what they can in this final week of performances.

The 30^th Rhubarb Festival runs at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre until February 22.