MONDOmagazine

This is an effective visual metaphor for Jess's point.

..and I have many adjectives to prove my point.

By Jess Skinner

Author’s note: With the unprecedented public approval of The Dark Knight in mind, if you wish to comment on my derision please focus your reply with your own thoughts about the film. I’m not interested in hearing about how you think I can’t write.

Possible spoilers ahead.

The Short: The Dark Knight is ugly, and depressing. It is sadistically violent but shamelessly hides that fact through editing, to milk as much high-school money as possible. It continuously refers to the concept of morality but never talks about the subject in a way that is intelligent or challenging. It’s an hour too long, bloated by endless disposable characters and red herrings.

The Long: There’s a rule in superhero movies (or at least the ones that I have seen) that I like to call “the falling paradox.” It relies heavily on audience expectation and desire. Some explication: we expect our hero to deliver justice, to prevail, and we expect our villain to fall — to inevitably, as a symbol of evil, cease to exist. There are many moments in countless action films where either hero or villain could just shoot the other in the face and be done with it, but that can’t happen. Obviously the hero cannot die, and alas although the villain can, he cannot be directly killed by the hero. So the inevitable conclusion is hand-to-hand combat (always from a great height) until said villain loses his coordination and goes pathetically tumbling to the distant ground. Splat, end of fight, no blood on hands — ours or the hero’s. After all, no one threw him off. He just fell. This was demonstrated in the climax of Batman Begins, when the titular crusader let enemy Ducard (Liam Neeson) ride a monorail car to his pavement doom. As the thing fell from its great height, Batman slyly remarked “I won’t kill you, but I don’t have to save you” and flew away.

On to The Dark Knight, which suffers horribly because it adheres to the falling paradox at all times. In plainer English, it never steps out of a PG-13 sense of morality. Batman is “good” and does exactly what the audience wants and expects of him at all times. At a key moment, he spares a villain from the falling death, apparently because doing otherwise would be immoral. Huh? What about what happened to Ducard? The scenario is pretty much the same at the end of both films, but for the sake of philosophical contrivance, Batman cannot allow himself to do…what he already did.

His new (or, old?) foe The Joker shares this flip-flopping path of logic, alternately motivated by whatever will make the best set-piece. One minute he’s robbing a bank (an admittedly strong opening sequence), the next he’s burning a pile of money. One minute he’s making a speech about how his malevolence is instinctive, anarchic, and unplanned; the next he’s orchestrating an unbelievably contrived scheme to force one boatload of people to blow up another. If he was really as psychopathic as the film sets him up to be, or if he really just wanted to “watch the world burn” as Alfred the butler puts it, why doesn’t he just blow up both fucking boats in the first place? Because he is simultaneously disordered and meticulous. Because the filmmakers are having their cake and eating it too, substituting thematic laziness for complexity. That, my friends, is a textbook definition of pretentiousness.

Everything about The Joker — his appearance, performance, dialogue — suggests that he wandered in from a far more interesting movie. He seems capable of violating our expectations (and does so at least once, to be fair), and overcoming the confines of a summer blockbuster. His interaction with the other characters, his avoidance of clichés while the rest of the film carries on as if they’re in style, makes the performance of good and evil disturbingly lopsided. It’s like an episode of Lois and Clark co-written by Rob Zombie. Heath Ledger creates the only element of The Dark Knight that is unlike all the other Batman movies. But of course, stuffed into a box by people trying to sell Happy Meals, the true potential, the haunting evil, of both character and performance only sporadically come to the surface.

In its heavy-handed plot and dialogue, The Dark Knight continuously presents itself as a morality tale. To study such a lofty topic well would require a challenging of norms and expectations, in terms of superhero mythologies. No challenge here: Batman is always good, The Joker is always bad, and Harvey Dent is good until he gets horribly mutilated (which apparently is a lot less physically painful and inhibiting than I would have guessed) and then he’s bad.

In my consideration, I’m reminded of a proverb: a full stomach likes to preach about fasting. The Dark Knight preaches about denying the appetite for expectation, but feeds it every step of the way.

By Jess Skinner

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Jess Skinner

(all release dates are tentative and Toronto-centric)

88 Minutes (Al Pacino, Leelee Sobieski)

In a logical stretch worthy of Ripley’s, Al Pacino plays an obscenity-shouting cop who is targeted by an assassin, I imagine because they paid to see Gigli (zing!). This cop has 88 minutes (feature running time plus credits?) to figure out who is after him, or he will take one in the head. Why he doesn’t lock himself in a closet somewhere and wait this thing out, I haven’t the foggiest idea, but then again I haven’t seen it yet. I am sure the ignorance of that conclusion will be explained. Director Jon Avnet is perhaps best known for helming another explosion-fest, Fried Green Tomatoes, so if you’ve seen that one, I assume you will know what to expect. Or maybe not. (April 18)

The Forbidden Kingdom (Jet Li, Jacki Chan)

It’s kind of ironic that they would call anything you have to pay 12 dollars to see forbidden, but I digress. Chan and Li team up, in lieu of just kicking each other’s asses, to help an American teenager who has — I kid you not — traveled back in time to ancient China and is now entrusted with a magical quest or something. Seriously, didn’t they learn anything from A Kid in King Arthur’s Court? Does anyone remember that movie except me? (April 18)

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (Jason Segel, Kristen Bell)

The guys who brought you Knocked Up and Superbad present their 858th film of the year, though their formula of broken hearts and discomforting obscenity somehow shows no signs of wear-and-tear. Leading man and screenwriter Segel plays a musician dumped by his actress-girlfriend, trying to recover whilst sharing a Hawaiian hotel with her and her new man. This seems like one of the lamest set-ups imaginable, but no doubt the gutter-brained scribes will be able to pull it off something fierce. It’s a movie you and your significant other will both find appreciable, and you know only Judd Apatow and his ilk are capable of achieving that with such consistent hilarity. (April 18)

Where in the World is Osama Bin Laden? (Morgan Spurlock)

Spurlock is the guy who made Super-Size Me, and he may just be one of the most likeable personalities to hit the big screen in many a day. In his follow-up, he travels about the middle-east searching for that elusive terrorist who has so fiendishly evaded American capture. Though Spurlock is no political scientist, and critical opinion may tag his picture as inconsequential, he doesn’t overexert his role as a friendly schlub, and the trailer makes it look downright hilarious. In any event, it’ll still be far less excruciating than all those other vacation slideshows you’ve had to sit through. (April 18)

Baby Mama (Tina Fey, Amy Poehler)

For those of you who feel the comedy oilfield that is pregnancy has not yet been fully tapped, one-time SNL saviour Tina Fey would care to disagree. She stars here as a single and successful businesswoman who finds out she is unable to conceive, and enlists the help of a working class doofus (Poehler) to act as a surrogate. My crystal ball tells me the road to birth will be bumpy, the hijinks will be wacky, and it will probably make you laugh more than the last eight years of that ubiquitous late-night sketch show. Abandon that ship while the abandoning is good, Poehler! (April 25)

Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay (Kal Penn, John Cho)

The concept behind this movie seemed to me to be offensive to the poor suckers actually locked up in the titular prison, but then I realised they probably don’t get Cineplex Odeon passes included in their sentencing. Penn and Cho reprise their roles as roommate stoners, but this time their problem goes far beyond severe munchies. Aboard a flight to Amsterdam, they are mistaken for terrorists and sent to that oh-so-regrettable judicial Cuban wasteland. Expect more cameos than you can shake a roach clip at. (April 25)

Cassandra’s Dream (Ewan McGregor, Colin Farrell)

Woody Allen emerges again with his annual trek to the big screen in Dream, a dramatic follow-up to the pleasant but critically derided goof-off Scoop. Perhaps he is attempting to emulate the surprise success of Match Point, way back from 2005 (with the benefit of hindsight, still one of his best films), with this tale of violence and intrigue. The dual leading men play brothers embroiled in troubling, criminal plans – though how twisted and absorbing this plot may reveal itself to be has yet to be seen. The fact that, at his age, Allen is still making films with hints of intrigue should be enough to draw us to the show. (April 29)

Mister Lonely (Diego Luna, Samantha Morton)

Okay, I’ll admit, this entry may be closer to my heart than any in this article. America’s most underappreciated auteur Harmony Korine returns after an eight-year absence to craft this predictably offbeat tale of celebrity impersonators finding home and love in Paris. After helming dual masterpieces Gummo and Julien Donkey-boy back in the 90s, Korine should return on the scene to easily and politely show other art-house filmmakers how it’s done. Plus, we get to hear Werner Herzog and that delightful drawl of his again! I cannot get enough of that. (April 30)

Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr., Terrence Howard)

Downey Jr. may be one of the most respectable actors of his generation, but that won’t stop him from whoring his talents in another conventional comic book adaptation. Now, I don’t read comic books, but I’ve gathered many MONDO readers and editors do, so perhaps it would be best to leave the judgments on this one to them. All I know is, the dude from Swingers is directing, so maybe Iron Man will get wasted on cocktails before he kicks ass, PG-13 style. (May 2)

Son of Rambow (Bill Milner, Will Poulter)

After gaining considerable buzz at film festivals, director Garth Jennings (Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy) brings his sleeper hit in-the-making to our shores this May. It’s the story of two English kids who happen upon a pirated copy of First Blood and decide, like many of us, that they must translate their inspiration into the next big action epic. This is the kind of flick that lives or dies on word-of-mouth, so let’s hope the absurd concept and trailer – both of which get my approval – turn out successfully at feature length. (May 2)

Speed Racer (Emile Hirsche, Christina Ricci)

The knuckleheads who brought you The Matrix and then savagely dragged their own franchise into the ground return, with this adaptation of the animated ’60s Japanese crossover hit. Looks to be the logical conclusion of the green-screen buffoonery that has run so rampant over the past several years, with a colour scheme probably not unlike what it would be like to plunge your face into a bowl of Lucky Charms. (May 9)

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (Harrison Ford, Shia LaBeouf)

The mass appeal that Harrison Ford has garnered over the years has always remained a mystery to me. Sure, he’s been in some of the biggest movies of all time, but why does he always have to look so goddamn bored? Even on the poster, which I assume is a drawing, the concept of another archaeological quest appears to be bumming him out. Plot details are thin, though as this comes almost 20 years past the last installment in the franchise, don’t expect Indy to have to square off against Nazis anymore. (May 22)

Sex and the City: The Movie (Sarah Jessica Parker, that chick from Porky’s)

Lord help us. (May 30)

Funny Games

Directed by Michael Haneke
Warner Independent, 2008

By Jess Skinner

Michael Haneke’s Funny Games is a perverse thesis, a test with goals, and an experiment. All those, but not quite a traditional movie as the average viewer would recognize. Its surface is as abrasive as steel wool, with a core that is dark as night. Not since Godard took us on a Week End (‘67) of car crashes and cannibalism has a respected European auteur sought to give his audience such a forceful push towards the theatre exit. No self-respecting member of polite society would enjoy watching this picture in the traditional sense. If you’re looking for a good time, stay away.

That being said, I believe there is intrinsic value in such alienating displays. Haneke is a cinematic miscreant, but he has no interest in making violence seem satisfying. Here, it is real and hideous and alive. He has copied from his original Austrian film of the same name (circa 1997) almost beat-for-beat, so he obviously has faith in this obscene material — and maybe we need it now more then ever.

Ann (Naomi Watts) and George (Tim Roth) are an affluent, witless couple with an equally uninteresting child, George Jr. (Devon Gearhart). They arrive at their summer home for a vacation of golf, sailing, and I would imagine, blank-stare contests, until they are interrupted by Paul and Peter (Michael Pitt and Bradey Corbet). Dressed in pale shorts, tennis shirts, and gloves, the young men go from polite to intrusive to violent without missing a step. Eventually, the family is trapped at the mercy of their hostility. The unwelcome duo’s sadistic plan (whatever it may turn out to be) cannot fail, you see, because Paul knows he is in a movie, and thus is able to manipulate time and space to suit his whims. He also likes to talk to the audience, and we are indirectly asked to wager on the fate of the characters.

The game is more against the audience than the family. As we are real and they are not — which Paul would seem to acknowledge — we are the direct victims of his violence. The sacrifice is our empathy, and our expectations, which are continuously subverted. Paul knows what the audience wants, namely to see someone get out alive, and he consciously and consistently takes that away from us. If Funny Games was just a horror film where the villain wins (as many critics have postulated), then it would be asinine shock-theatrics, a domestic Grand Guignol show. However, the choice to give Paul an eye through the fourth wall reiterates the falseness of it all, numbing the shock (a touch) and making — what do the theorists call it? Oh, yeah — a point. This is how violence feels, kids, and it is nothing to scoff at. I could feel Funny Games viciously poking my soul.

What fails to impress me is critical opinion that praises slick, digestible violence (which found an apex in the Tarantino years), but derides having to sit through something that really gnaws at you. Of course, Funny Games is borderline unwatchable — that is what the material demands, and an accurate representation of what victims of violence truly experience. It is tailor-made for the desensitized, the apathetic. A desire to make us feel like decent, moral humans again is its purpose.

Haneke is conscious of genre clichés like cheap suspense, plot twists, and predictably sympathetic outcomes. He takes them apart casually — the biggest shock of all in the story is finding out who bites the dust first. Again, despite the title, there is no attempt to make this game a fun one — though almost all of the violence and nudity is off-screen, so even people seeking exploitation will likely be disappointed.

How does this academic thriller hold up in technical terms? In overall quality, I would recommend going with the original Austrian version — although “recommend” is an inaccurate term. I wouldn’t really ask anyone to see this unless they already knew what to expect, of course. The acting here is weaker than it was previously — Pitt, Watts, and Roth are good, but pale in contrast to the originators of their roles. I suppose not being able to tell if the couple was intentionally meant to seem charmless and moronic could have been another twisted trick at the hands of Haneke, who — if nothing else — is modern cinema’s master of provocation.

You’ve been warned.

Taxi to the Dark Side

Directed by Alex Gibney
THINKfilm, 2007
by Jess Skinner

Afghanistan, December 2002: a taxi driver known as Dilawar is hired to drive a trio of men out of Yakubi into the desert. Northern Iraqi forces stop him, and the quartet is sent to American controlled Bagram Air Force Base, on somewhat spurious accusations of possessing material for detonating bombs. Taxi to the Dark Side uses his detainment and eventual murder (explicitly labelled as such by a coroner’s report) at the hands of American officers. In contrast to the Lynndie England case, in which prisoners at Abu Ghraib were subjected to surreal, sexually perverse assaults, Dilawar’s fate involved nothing less than primitive brutality. No arguments about “severity” and “nature” of abuse can hold water; he was quite clearly beaten as far as his body could stand. The film follows his fate as an exemplar for the current state of US policy towards overseas detainment. The nation’s visible history of xenophobia and racism has, in the new war zones of the 21st century, led to a chilling attitude. If something does not happen in our land of the free, human rights need not apply.

The institutions and environments in Taxi to the Dark Side have a notably Orwellian quality; the bureaucratic subversion of language and policy is leading to isolated, borderline fascist facilities of incarceration. The definition of torture probably should have been established from the outset. The most bewildering moment in the film (or possibly of any I have seen in the Iraq War documentaries) comes when an interrogator, having been instructed bluntly to “yell” at a prisoner for two hours, admits he berated and ranted at the man with the topic being Elvis Presley. This is a film mostly involving anecdotes, but a thesis comes to rise: despite this being the information age, disturbances in communication and language have led to a breakdown of humanity. We practically cut our soldiers lose on the other side of the world and expect them to behave with civility and decency?

The film allows the “abusers” — those in charge of the military facilities — their own words. They do not defend themselves as such, merely try to illustrate the overwhelming nightmare they were placed in. This is no excuse for what happened to Dilawar and others, but these soldiers are not rednecks getting their rocks off on assaulting poor foreigners. More accurately, they are scared young people, in a land they do not understand, reacting savagely in the clusterfuck.
It is hard to argue with the brutal images here, some of them shown publicly for the first time. As a polemic, Taxi to the Dark Side is often angry and righteous, but undeniably composed. Therefore, it achieves its collection of goals. Its construction is typical; talking head interviews in place of narration, quotes keeping a steady flow of point-counterpoint. However, despite winning the Oscar for Best Documentary, it is not extremely innovative or significant in cinematic terms. The subject matter is incendiary and relevant, of course, but director Alex Gibney’s previous film — Enron: the Smartest Guys in the Room (2005) — left a greater impression on me and is more deserving of recognition amongst the post-Michael Moore wave of political docs.

By Caesar Martini, Jess Skinner, Eva Bowering, Sam Linton

Edited by Jess Skinner

Editor’s note: What follows is my attempt to bring independent and unique writers together under a common subject. Each contributor was asked the general question: what does the future look like for the film medium? What technological and cultural trends are ruling and/or influencing our popular movie entertainment? I would like to extend a thanks to all of you who contributed to this piece! Enjoy.

***

I think that there are typically two main sides of cinema. These two sides go hand in hand when it comes to recruiting different kinds of viewers, but in a sense they are also in conflict with one another, since they are complete opposites. On one side of the cinematic coin, you have the big, loud, action/comedy/romance blockbusters — films that sacrifice a certain degree of substance (e.g. quality acting or directing) for a level of broad-market mass appeal. Concerned with quantity, these are the movies that rake in tonnes of money at the box office and keep the lifeblood of movie-making (ie. money) flowing through Hollywood. These are the movies that keep the industry healthy and successful.

On the other side of the coin are original, thoughtful, artistic films. Films that more often than not feature risky subject matter, unique presentations, incredibly skilled actors and directors, and that defy the conventional formula for raking in wads of cash upon theatrical release. This type of film catches the of audience that is typically disgusted with the more mindless fare of blockbuster films — viewers of these movies are tired of movies with big action and stupid dialouge, and see the latter as a sign of the imminent downfall of humanity. Thankfully, the production of these artistic films renews faith in the value of cinema as a creative medium.

These opposite sides of the coin need each other. As much as the artistic moviegoer hates them, big blockbuster movies keep Hollywood in business. It would be nice if artistic films shovelled in profit by the truckload, but they don’t and they never will; the average person just isn’t compelled to pay money for films like that on the same scale that they are for blockbusters. For example, No Country For Old Men — one of the most critically-acclaimed movies EVER — has only pulled in a worldwide total of 70 million dollars since November, which is a relatively modest sum compared to Spider Man 3’s 890 million.

A studio can have a succession of horribly unprofitable bombs, but one Transformers later, and they’ve made 700 million dollars. The studio can use this revenue to stay in business; and the same studio that pumps out a mindless, testosterone-filled orgy of a film can be the one that produces thoughtful and mind-blowing cinema. Several actors have even admitted that they do big, dumb blockbuster films so that they can make the money they want or need in order to make their own smaller, more thoughtful films.

The point in all this is that this year, both sides of the cinema coin have been moving along quite nicely. The future of cinema is looking fairly bright at the moment on both fronts. More people than ever have been motivated by word of mouth to check out truly amazing films like No Country For Old Men and There Will Be Blood. The artistic, quality-driven side is flourishing, but it is a monumental time for blockbusters as well. The quantity side of the coin have had money-makers Shrek the 3rd and Transformers. The top eleven box office gross films of 2007 each have made over 200 million dollars and well over 27 billion dollars combined — and that’s not including overseas totals. It’s been a banner year.

As long as both sides of cinema can thrive like this, filmmaking as an industry will continue to prosper.

— Caesar Martini

***

Novelty is always welcome but talking pictures are just a fad.
— Irving Thalberg (1929)

Predictions are bullcrap. In particular, calling the shot before the play in technology and media is liable to make your predictor look like a world-class fool — and in the future, young people will see your fool quote and wonder how, with such incorrect foresight, anyone thought it was a good idea to ask you anything about anything. Sorry, Mr. Thalberg: maybe you were qualified to do whatever it is that you did, but according to the above epigraph, you didn’t know jack. And neither do I, truthfully; being one very aware of the shortcomings of predicting the future, shall I go about it anyway?

The first movie I saw this decade was probably Magnolia — which, in perspective, is as important an element to the outcome of my cinematic brainwashing as any. At the time, I took it very seriously, but only now does it more or less resemble a neo-Biblical farce, with all morals and values skidded off into a thousand differing directions. What Paul Thomas Anderson was trying to say with this movie I have not the foggiest inclination. Much more important is its position as the boot that kicked the door open into the aughts, the decade in which I have existed, and will continue to exist, submerged in an art form.

One of the last movies I saw in 2007 was Anderson’s There Will Be Blood — just as farcical and over-the-top, just as infectious. Its destiny was never to be considered the year’s best picture in the immediate sense, just to provoke attention for its perverse style, and perhaps be seen years later as a turning point. The point is that patterns are emerging. Those who follow this medium of entertainment may be inclined to agree with me (or not), but the emerging new talents must, to stay relevant, have an awareness of their own age and how it can be contrasted with the years past. I focus on Anderson because I believe he has a particular understanding of how modern cinema should appear. Contrast There Will Be Blood and its maker with obvious predecessors like Orson Welles or John Huston; our’s is an age where violence rules and defines, often in very interesting ways. However, I don’t want to spoil the ending.

In terms of technology, what have we seen so far? On February 19th, 2008, HD-DVD manufacturers Toshiba laid down their arms in the battle of the high-definition formats, effectively finalising one of the more amusing technological trials of the 21st century. The amusing angle, to me, is that the standoff was over a piece of equipment that I do not think anyone cared much about, least of all me. When the VCR/Betamax rumble went down back in the ’80s, the market did not have an acceptable videocassette player for public consumption. The battle between technologies was, how do you say, essential in transforming the following 18 years or so of film entertainment. Call me a cynic, but is it indicative of the aughts that this new confrontation was between two superfluous formats? I have understood the necessity of high-definition technology only in regards to massively visual films, your Die Hards, Matrix’s, etc. I understand HD from that perspective, like piling sugar in your coffee, but I doubt Citizen Kane could become a superior viewing experience if Orson Welles’ face was made enormous and unbelievably detailed. I have always said that I would love a video player that actually made the movies better, not just more realistic-looking. At what point does the realism stop? Do I want it to seem as though Bruce Willis is actually shooting motherfuckers in my living room? High-Definition, like IMAX, is one of those things you notice for about five minutes before you are caught up in the material of what you are watching, and size, realism, and so on are forgotten.

My point is that either emphasis is being put in the wrong place, or the emergent new technologies that will actually transform entertainment are hidden below view.
What I believe to be the most important emergence of the new age is pirating, and it is being fought off by the industry with torches and pointy sticks. What the young people of our time see that the generation in charge does not, is this: unless a single governing body takes over the internet (which will not happen for a long time, if at all), pirating is not going to go away. Once one pathway, such as Napster, is closed, another adaptation, like Torrents, is going to open. This will continue ad nauseum, the truth being that the supremely computer- and internet-savvy are not running the RIAA, et al. and thus will always be one step ahead in the bootlegging war.

My supreme prediction is that at the present moment, expensive technological formats are irrelevant, a distraction from the truth. The truth is that more and more people are learning how easy it is to obtain copy-written material for free. Is my echoing of this a support of the idea? Not necessarily, I just believe that no other change in the medium deserves as much attention and analysis — because believe it or not, internet pirating of material is not going to go away. Pirating will, I hope, allow the overwhelming influx of repetitive trash to be weeded out of the multiplex. My favourite victim thus far has got to be Hostel 2, which rode atop a wave of fanboy anticipation and hype only to be squashed by a work-print (pre-final) leak into the torrent community. After millions of viewers got to see how shitty it was without paying a dime, a sixth place box-office opening became fate. The internet got the best of the studio, as it is going to again, and again.

— J. Skinner

***

I hope that in the future of film there will be a focus on independent or unique films. I believe the popularity of these films is growing, as can be seen with the hype that has surrounded films such as Juno. As cliché as it sounds, I would like to see more low-budget films receive the recognition and acclaim that they deserve. As well, I hope that the general public will come to open their eyes to that genre more often, instead of to the typical blockbusters that continue to dominate the industry.

If the fate of film lay in my hands, I would happily eliminate the popularity of so-called comedies like Meet The Spartans, and Epic Movie. Or anything that comes from the writers of Scary Movie 3. I truly believe these are the types of films that tend to cripple the industry, yet they remain popular. I suppose I wish they’d go away, but do I think that they truly will? Most likely not. If anything, there will probably be a billion more of them made to satire comedy after comedy, with pop culture references after pop culture references.

I believe that actors such as Michael Cera and Ryan Gosling will continue to rise in the coming years. These two actors increasingly amaze me in the films they are involved in, and they are among the first names that came to mind when thinking about personalities that will be prevalent in the future of film. What doesn’t hurt is the fact that they are also Canadian. I think the film industry manages to balance art and low art in a way where it’s necessarily on it’s way out. Much like other media surrounding it, film has it’s typical stories and genres that are made and reproduced in every shape and form which appeals to a grand audience. Then you also have those hidden gems, the films that lie just below the radar that people seek out; I don’t believe there will be much change in that for the future. Certain genres that I think will become more prevalent in film are live action, like in Spike Jones’ upcoming adaptation of Where The Wild Things Are, as well as comedies, based on the continued success of Judd Apatow. Remakes of past films will probably also continue, for better or for worse — as will sequels, prequels, and so on and so forth. Though even now, some might say that this trend is wearing thin. We’ll see.

— Eva Bowering

***

I was initially hesitant to give my input into this film discussion. After all, I’m no filmmaker; what business do I have trying to predict trends in this alien medium? Then again, I’ve written my fair share of movie reviews, and lord knows I’ve posted on enough of those God-awful IMDb forums (side note: I will defend Maggie Gyllenhaal to the death against all detractors; she just has the misfortune of having a brother who’s prettier than her, is all) to offer my input on a place where everyone isn’t a complete dick. (By the way, shouts out to the MONDO staff and readership for not being complete dicks!) Bearing that in mind, take what I say with a grain of salt, as I may well be wrong.

There’s no doubt in my mind that cinema is in a state of transition. Time was, you’d turn to the cinema for your epics: your Godfathers, your Star Wars and (depending upon how you want to stretch the term “epic”) your Matrix’s. However, the rise of TVD (or “TV on DVD”, if we must be crass) has changed all of this. The increased availability of show seasons at a time of television has changed the entire mediascape, and now television has come to be the dominant medium for all our truly epic productions. The Sopranos, Dexter, Dr. Who; hell, even The Venture Brothers — everything I’ve truly invested time and money in recently, has been on TVD, and that’s because of the sheer amount of time one can spend in their worlds. There is simply more of a connection forged to the characters, to the story lines, and to the overall sensibility of the shows.

In the face of this increasing serialization and availability of television — and they DO go hand in hand — film simply has trouble keeping up. Where it used to be that television would provide us with the more ephemeral bits of pop culture while film gave us the more “weighty” material that would stick with us after we were finished watching, it almost seems as though these two poles are beginning to reverse themselves. Rest assured, film still has the potential to resonate in the imagination; it’s been at least a month since I saw it, and I’m still talking about There Will Be Blood. But the same thing held true for Deadwood, Battlestar Galactica and even Arrested Development.

The fact is that, in terms of visual media, film no longer holds a monopoly on epic-scale narratives, and it is going to have to explore new territory in order to compete with serialized television. Because of this, my predictions for the future are those of clashing: the clash of adventurous directors and conservative studios, competing to decide on the coming face of film in an epic battle for tomorrow. As the saying goes, may we live in Interesting Times.

— Sam Linton, Lifestyle Editor

Sons & Daughters
This Gift
Domino, 2008

By Jess Skinner

According to my vast cultural knowledge, Scotland is a country full of comically angry janitors and hipster heroin addicts. But, with native group Sons & Daughters’ newest album, I can add skilled pop troubadours to that list. This Gift may not be the best release of the new year, but it might compete for the catchiest. Here’s a group quite content to eschew experimentation in favour of speed and agility, at times effortlessly implanting melodies and hooks into the listener’s brain. How appropriate that the debut single is called “Gilt Complex” (sic) — it’s so jumpy and happy that it can’t be cool, can it? (I remember coming across the video accidentally and repeatedly denying to myself its inescapable hold on me. But I gave in.) Whether they admit it or not, critics hate music like this: it’s easy to like, but damn near impossible to write about. What exactly is going on in “Gilt Complex” that makes it so irresistible?

Sons & Daughters are very much like good food, in that they satisfy with no questions asked. Sure, I could find benefits and flaws, ups and downs — all of which are present throughout the album — but to do so would be to deny its nature. I could break it down for you, but that would be like scanning my chicken dinner. Like a ’60s relic, This Gift has an almost solitary focus: making you fuckers dance, and dance quickly, ‘cause we haven’t got all day. “Darling” shimmies and shuffles around words that may or may not qualify as nonsense, as does the near-perfect “House in My Head.” Nonsense, when done correctly, leads to a pleasant rumble. Both of these songs are supreme highlights, by far the most appreciable on the disc.

The sound, produced by Bernard Butler (formerly of Brit-pop pioneers Suede), is electric but smooth; there are no fuzzy, eardrum-kicking solos or blasts of noise. Frontwoman Adele Bethel has an unassuming voice, slyly peppered with touches of her natural accent – think “‘ouse in my-ed.” You might say that it channels the natural tones without exploiting them. Without her, the band probably wouldn’t be worth half of what it is. It’s been a while since rock music forgot how to be sexy, but there are still a few bands capable of pulling it off.

The best thing I can tell you is that in its 40 minutes, This Gift wastes no time. Like all pop, it bears you no ill will; give it a couple good spins and it’ll service your immediate needs. Underneath those hooks may be intelligent words and complexity, but for the most part, This Gift is something to chew on, not digest.

Thoughts on Canadian Film

By Jess Skinner

The concept of “genies” arose from pre-Islamic-Asian-Mid-Eastern folklore; “djinni,” as they were called, were spirits defined by their invisibility or penchant for seclusion. In America, the concept was most recognizably bastardized (i.e. Americanized) as a cheerfully offensive vehicle for Robin Williams. In Canada, our home and native land, the name has been awkwardly tacked onto our annual film awards. Okay, jokes aside, I did try to uncover the origins of the name to bring some clarity, but any semblance of an answer is unavailable from their website. So I am convinced they just do not want me to know.

Just because the ceremony creates more curiosity than impact doesn’t mean that it is irrelevant. We need to realize how many decent and memorable flicks have been produced in this unforgivable climate. You have your cult freak-outs, Scanners, Black Christmas, etc. Idiot comedies — Porky’s, one of the very best in the genre. Thanks again, Bob Clark.

Now aware of this, you can begin to understand that rarely does the nominating committee have to scrape through obscure titles to fill its ballot. In terms of elitist tastes…Meatballs made the final five in 1980. Nevertheless, this year’s Best Motion Picture category boasts international hits Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg) and Away From Her (Sarah Polley), as well as genuinely notable productions The Age of Darkness (Denys Arcand), Continental (Stéphane LaFleur), and Shake Hands With the Devil (Roger Spottiswoode). I can confess to having seen only Eastern Promises and Age of Darkness and having liked neither, although purely in matters of taste. There are two kinds of bad films, right? The ones that just don’t do what you’d like, and the ones that are bad. It is clear from the nominees that at the very least our national film award givers do know their asses from any hole in the ground.

Free from the shackles of having anyone really give a damn, the committee can create a ballot with actors occupying broad degrees of fame. This range peaks with Viggo Mortenson and slides down past The Guy Who Was in that Movie I Saw, finally halting at I Have No Idea Who That Is/How to Pronounce His Name. The benefit? The same goddamn people do not keep getting nominated over and over again. Meryl Streep gets nominated almost bi-annually now so you know if she wins it will mean jack. Give the hard-working semi-nobodies a new, oddly-shaped trophy to add to their collection. I am sure Danny Glover, this year up for best supporting actor (in Poor Boy‘s Game), appreciates the attention. He sure isn’t getting any love south of the border for The Shaggy Dog.

Other curiosities include Ellen Page up for The Tracey Fragments instead of Juno, or for that matter Juno being disregarded altogether. This despite its Canadian cast (which includes Michael Cera, meaning I lost a $10 bet pertaining to his nationality) and director, Jason Reitman. If they need to differentiate themselves from the American critical flock I would suggest shutting out the unpleasant Eastern Promises, but that’s just my opinion.

Really, the Genies are a good way to create organization in this our country’s somewhat muddled film canon. Pivotal masterpieces like Nobody Waved Good-Bye (Don Owen, 1964) and Les Ordres (Michel Brault, 1974) exist but are rarely seen or talked about outside academia. At least the academics are sticklers for preservation. I believe there is value in recognizing the (admittedly scattershot) history of quality Canadian cinema. Not quality in that Goin’ Down the Road, aren’t-we-adorable kind of way, but films that buffs can really sink their teeth into. A lot of people loved Eastern Promises and good for them; our miniature industry can be held in the same mentioning any forward-thinking critic cares to emit about the future of the medium.

By Jess Skinner and Doug Nayler

Most people are aware that receiving an Oscar isn’t simply a matter of being the best in your category. There are endless other considerations that enter the mind of that small group of Academy Award voters. Often a director or actor will be recognized for an inferior movie because the voters feel guilty for overlooking them in the past (see: Martin Scorcese). People would argue that some years have more than a little to do with tokenism. And then sometimes, nobody has any clue what happened. But at any rate, there is one thing that is for sure: the Oscar selection process is so strange and weird, it’s impossible to predict them accurately. That said, we’re still going to try.

Best Picture of the Year

Nominees: Atonement, No Country For Old Men, Juno, Michael Clayton, There Will Be Blood

Jesse’s Thoughts:

Probable Winner: No Country for Old Men - This movie went a lot further than I thought it would. I expected quality, but not such a great wave of hype and praise. It arrived certainly.

Personal Favourite: There Will Be Blood - Daniel Day-Lewis eats everything alive and spits it back out in PT Anderson’s epic. A cynical melodrama it is, but also a truly bizarre slap in the face.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable Winner: There Will Be Blood – While I see the race this year as a dead heat between this and No Country, I’m going to give the edge to this one because the director prize is most likely going to the Coens.

Personal Favourite: As long as it goes home with There Will Be Blood or No Country for Old Men, I’m happy.

Best Director

Nominees: PT Anderson – There Will Be Blood, The Coen Brothers – No Country for Old Men, Tony Gilroy – Michael Clayton, Jason Reitman – Juno, Julian Schnabel – Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Jesse’s Thoughts

Probable: The Coen Brothers – Up-and-coming has nothing on long overdue, and Anderson still may have to crank out a few more deserving attempts to win.

Personal: Jason Reitman – You know, they say comedy does not get enough respect, and their right. Reitman doesn’t do anything flashy, but his is the invisible guidance holding everything together.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: The Coen Brothers – Agreed. They took the DGA prize, and it seems like everyones’ consensus is that there time is now.

Personal: PTA – Yes he’s still very young, etc., etc. However in pure quality of work the man has outshone most of his peers and each film just seems to get better and better. If he keeps it up, this prize is as good as his, but I think he deserves it now.

Best Actress in a Leading Role

Nominees: Cate Blanchett – Elizabeth: the Golden Age, Julie Christie – Away From Her, Ellen Page – Juno, Laura Linney – The Savages, Marion Cotillard – La Vie En Rose

Jesse’s Thoughts

Probable: Julie Christie – Getting old and dying is something the Academy voters can probably relate to, not to disparage Christie’s performance or anything which I haven’t seen so I should just stop talking about.

Personal: Laura Linney – In The Savages, Linney perfects the kind of role she has been trying for a while. That is, the befuddled intellectual facing reality and all that. It’s an admirable achievement in what will probably be another loss for her.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: Laura Linney – A wise, sage friend of mine has informed me that in the Best Actress category if there’s only one American actress, she always wins it. He’s pointed out to me countless examples where that’s been true in the past, so I didn’t argue; and this year Linney is the only American actress in the category. And besides, after The Squid and the Whale, Kinsey, and You Can Count On Me, I think Linney’s now in the overdue category, even if this role wasn’t as worthy as those two.

Personal: Marion Cotillard – Believably playing Edith Piaf from her teens to her 40s-which-looked-like-her-90s, Cotillard completely disappears into the role. It’s an extremely impressive display of acting.

Best Actor in a Leading Role

Nominees: George Clooney – Michael Clayton, Johnny Depp – Sweeney Todd, Daniel Day-Lewis – There Will Be Blood, Viggo Mortensen – Eastern Promises, Tommy Lee Jones – In the Valley of Elah

Jesse’s Thoughts

Probable: Daniel Day-Lewis – A fairly sure bet, if you are the kind of people who bet on the Oscars. I know who you are. This Irishman, previously seen in Gangs of New York, continues to display a knack for playing crazy fucking Yankees.

Personal: George Clooney – Clooney gets trashed by people I know. I go to his movies because it’s refreshing to watch an actor with that profile and reputation barely even try. I mean that in the most positive way. He just walks out, half-asses it and gets away with it. I admire that.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: Daniel Day-Lewis – Are you kidding? This is the only sure bet of the night.

Personal: Daniel Day-Lewis – Part of the reason Lewis is a sure bet is because nobody else in this category has done a performance anywhere near the same league.

Best Actor in a Supporting Role

Nominees: Casey Affleck – The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Javier Bardem – No Country for Old Men, Philip Seymour Hoffman – Charlie Wilson’s War, Hal Holbrook – Into the Wild, Tom Wilkinson – Michael Clayton

Jesse’s Thoughts

Probable: Javier Bardem – However silly he may look, Bardem is positively spooky as the shuffling killer, another in the Coen Brothers’ long line of stoic and implacable maniacs.

Personal: Tom Wilkinson – Giving the best acting performance onscreen in 2007, Wilkinson is so good he deserves to be the guy who should have won the award, sure to be robbed by hype and bad luck. Even more proof of how good an actor he is: after watching movies with him in them for years, it was only like two months ago I found out he’s English and not American.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: Javier Bardem – He took the SAG trophy both on his own, and as part of Best Ensemble Cast for No Country. And with very good reason. If he hadn’t been as terrifying and fascinating in his role, the whole film would’ve potentially fallen apart.

Personal: Tom Wilkinson – For one thing, Michael Clayton is mis-titled because Tom Wilkinson’s role is what really gives the movie heart. And for another, from his roles in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind to Normal and In The Bedroom, Wilkinson is one of the best actors in Hollywood today.

Best Actress in a Supporting Role

Nominees: Cate Blanchett – I’m Not There, Ruby Dee – American Gangster, Saoirse Ronan – Atonement, Amy Ryan – Gone Baby Gone, Tilda Swinton – Michael Clayton

Jesse’s Thoughts

Probable and Personal: Cate Blanchett – Androgynous is the new retarded when it comes to Oscar-nominated acting, but Blanchett does a damn good job here and deserves the award. That having been said, I’d make a case for Amy Ryan, who was the best thing I could care to name about the otherwise forgettable Gone Baby Gone, managing to remain convincing despite everything going on around her not making an ounce of sense.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: Amy Ryan – Don’t ask me why, but I think Ryan’s won enough of the other pre-Oscar awards to be credible as the night’s first big upset.

Personal: Cate Blanchett – One of the few truly fascinating things to watch in the nearly unwatchable clusterfuck that was I’m Not There is Cate Blanchett’s complete dissappearance into Bob Dylan circa Don’t Look Back.

Best Original Screenplay

Nominees: Diablo Cody – Juno, Nancy Olivier – Lars and the Real Girl, Tony Gilroy – Michael Clayton, Brad Bird – Ratatouille, Tamara Jenkins – The Savages

Jesse

Probable: Diablo Cody – A cinematic hipster icon for the modern age, Cody deserves some kind of award just for pulling off a movie like Juno and not completely missing the point.

Personal: Brad Bird – Ratatouille was the best reviewed movie of the year but somehow got nudged out of most of the important awards. Give them some sort of recognition, and I won’t get angry.

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: Diablo Cody – Despite my constant misunderstanding as to why Juno is such a big thing, there is no denying that it is a big thing. And the screenwriting category is often where the more out there films that deserve more recognition get it. So, even though Alex Huls and I are apparently the only two people alive who don’t think so, everybody else thinks Juno fits perfectly in that category.

Personal: Tony Gilroy – I don’t think Michael Clayton’s going to get much on the award front anywhere else, so I think it should get it here. Gilroy deserves some real props from taking a very tired, boring, worn-out genre and bringing it back to life.

Predictions for the 81^st Academy Awards, 2009

Best Supporting Actor

Doug’s Thoughts

Probable: Heath Ledger, The Dark Knight – I obviously have yet to see the movie, or any other film that could possibly be nominated, but this is just a hunch of mine. Mix the existing huge buzz and interest in Ledger’s turn as the Joker with the almost universal feeling that he passed away before he was able to reach his considerable potential. Add to that a related, new-found guilt amongst the Oscar crowd for not giving him a statue for his turn in Brokeback Mountain, and I think there’s already a very good chance that Ledger will get a post-humous statue. But, we’ll have to wait a year to see.

Bug
Directed by William Friedkin
Lions Gate, 2007

By Jess Skinner

There is no great sense of ambiguity in most horror movies. The audience, in the end, wants to see what is supposed to be frightening them, unobstructed. How many went to Cloverfield just to see the monster? Exactly. The monster in William Friedkin’s Bug (2007) is more concept than visible creature; it is forever under the skin of the two main characters, who claim to see an invasion of aphids but find no support among those in their immediate social perimeters.

It is a story about the abandonment of reality, of two people falling apart, seemingly of their own accord. We begin with Agnes (Ashley Judd), living in a motel room on the eve of her husband Jerry (Harry Connick Jr.) returning from jail. That night, her only friend (Lynn Collins) introduces her to Peter (Michael Shannon), a stoic drifter who claims to be seeking nothing but companionship. The audience’s impression of this fellow may vary from eye to eye; he obviously hides shady deeds but seems physically harmless. These people are drawn to each other. Agnes seeks attention without judgment, Peter wishes for someone to tell his story to. As he tells it: he is an Army guinea pig on the run, the patient of a particular doctor, which seems a fabrication until said doctor shows up at their door and makes no attempt to appear benevolent. At mid-point the characters have disintegrated into a savage paranoia, self-consciously over-the-top. They are convinced bugs have invaded their room, and eventually coat everything in blue tinfoil. The confrontation with the enigmatic Dr. Sweet (Brian O’Byrne) is a perfect sequence, as its tense-beyond-belief execution belies other more ridiculous segments. Watching the showdown between these three characters, I see the actor’s recognition and comprehension of just how fucking mad things have gotten. In their great performances, they keep the black humour and the horror in balance.

In conjunction with a highly idiosyncratic script, Judd gives her character a particular arc. When the film begins, Agnes is wounded by the past – an abusive marriage and a missing child – and perhaps waiting for something to take the worst of life away. She is smart and strong, but up against a wall of emotional turmoil. Insanity, in many ways, provides that kind of safe harbour. Despite the strange gallows humour in the story, the performers approach the material with relatively straight faces. This decision allows Judd to give some of the best screen acting I have seen this decade, with conviction and dedication giving a sense of pathos to the absurdity. Peter is probably the only person in however many lonely nights who has shown genuine interest in Agnes. Their attraction also makes sense, even in its final stages of co-dependant alienation.

Although based on a stage play, Bug is conscious of (and perhaps even exploits) the drawbacks of theatricality. The reality of being in a single setting for 100 minutes is that the outside world must be avoided. There is little effort to illustrate the “big picture,” as the point is that to these characters it is becoming less and less important. Here is horror of the interior: physical and mental. Here is a film that, unlike many in its genre, does not require suspension of disbelief to be effective. It is inarguably daring, scary, subversive, and a provocation of the withdrawn – a cautionary tale for hermits.

What makes Bug such a disturbing display is its microcosmic staging – Agnes’s abandonment of reality mirrors any societal de-evolution you could care to name. The result is a general flushing of logic, reason, and stability. The characters’ psychosis is a self-conscious mishmash of fantasies – encroaching government bodies, human experiments, invading insects. At no point is there any palpable indication that all of this is not just going on in the characters’ minds. The physical and emotional violence, therefore, is self-inflicted. Or is it? Who is this Dr. Sweet, and what is he hiding? And what of the noise of helicopters?

Because my taste is narrow-minded.

By Jess Skinner

Eels – Useless Trinkets (January 15 )
Some people probably can’t believe this band is still around, but old man E keeps it coming, and reached a rare kind of late-period creative awakening with that Blinking Lights album. He’s evidently amassed a great enough throw-away catalogue to fill a full release, rivalling Tom Waits in a prolific ability to dig up remains. He’s also writing a book about his life, which I guess will be like his albums – only longer and quieter. Look!

Black Mountain – In the Future (January 21 )
This clan from Vancouver is set to unleash its second full-length, and it’s apt to be the first great album of the new year. It’s a bit of an indulgence, to be sure, both for artist and listener: they’re unapologetic about taking ideas from the classics. You can either accept it or not. I do, and they are a great homeland group.

Sons & Daughters – This Gift (January 28 )
This Scottish band writes strange and addictive songs, pop with some biting sarcasm, all giddy and inebriated. I don’t know how this will go over with some people, but the melodies are sure stuck in my head.

Xiu Xiu – Women as Lovers (January 29 )
Taking a break from being the best live band in the world, angry Jamie Stewart and Co. drop another (probable) proto-art-rock marvel on us. What to expect? Adding a fourth member (Devin Hoff on bass) may expand the sometimes-claustrophobic style Xiu Xiu has so deftly held on to. First track “I Do What I Want When I Want” has been out for a while, and it recalls everything fans expect: hushed hostility against a pulsating, technological beat. I doubt this will be the one that gets them on the TV, if that was ever going to happen.

Hot Chip – Made in the Dark (February 8 )
I got on the Hot Chip bandwagon late; I still haven’t digested The Warning completely. But, here is their third effort of the decade. Their energetic white-boy approach to dance music continues. Expect at least some of these songs to nest in your cortex for a while: that’s what they’re there for, after all.

Pete & the Pirates – Little Death (February 18 )
Although I would go for another LP from front-man Tommy Sanders’s other band, Tap Tap, P&P will do. It’s jumpy and catchy and all that jazz – very English rock that everyone should appreciate. This is technically a debut after a couple EPs, which both had greatness underneath that inevitable wall of bad quality. Little Death will hopefully get them over that hurdle into a perfect sound.

Crystal Castles – S/T (February 19 )
Upstart youngsters Alice Glass and Ethan Fawn like to make a lot of noise. They may dress like hipster caricatures and possess an unsavoury love for the 1980s, but this duo makes something of a quality racket, and they’re from Toronto! So, bonus points for that. Pay attention.

Destroyer – Trouble in Dreams (March 18 )
One-man band Dan Bejar is one of those musicians doing four things at once all the time, it would seem. With time served with The New Pornographers, Swan Lake, etc., he goes solo for Trouble, at least in principle – he still sees the project as a band, despite its indefinable lineup. His brand of folk has always been unique, if off-putting. His voice is akin to Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips, still a fanciful, half-joking tone, evident on first preview “Foam Hands.” Like Bejar’s mass output, it consciously avoids a grand dramatic lift, choosing to coast along comfortably instead.

A Silver Mt. Zion – 13 Blues for 13 Moons (March 25 )
A new one from this Godspeed You! Black Emperor offshoot, now firmly established with their own identity. One of the most idiosyncratic acts in Canada (known to change their band name for every release), Silver Mt. Zion eschews sloganeering and accessibility for an “epic” approach to song writing; 13 Blues changes tracks only four times, every 13 minutes or so throughout the record.

Sun Kil Moon – April (April 1 )
No indication that this is an April Fool’s joke just yet, unless it turns out to be crap. Highly unlikely as, despite what some people say, Mark Kozelek’s moniker of the aughts is still putting out fairly great music. His last effort Tiny Cities attempted to traverse the catalogue of Modest Mouse with some success, losing its way when transforming some songs that were kind of half-baked to begin with. But April’s first single “Moorestown” is a return to his recognizable quality.

The Breeders – Mountain Battles (April 8 )
I agree with Kim Deal’s avoidance of new Pixies material. Frankly, that band was much too ingrained in its time and place to start writing songs for the current youth. Instead she’s sticking with The Breeders, as their six-year gap in material ceases and they let out Mountain Battles, their fourth album. She should give this act up, let’s say, when she turns 50?

Animal Collective – Water Curses EP (April 8 )
Didn’t get enough Animal Collective in 2007? If you like them at all then you probably love them, which is why a brief EP can count under a “new albums for the year” list. We do know it will include Strawberry Jam outtake “Street Flash,” which will hopefully not be a song chronicling a man running around in a trench coat.

Thoughts on the WGA Strike

By Jess Skinner

The chilling, pathetic grasp at relevance that is the Golden Globes has been tossed into the can this year – which does not bother me, as award ceremonies were getting close to being culturally disruptive. The only one who should be upset is 90-year-old Ernest Borgnine, nominated in something called Grandpa for Christmas. What a crappy gift that would be. Borgnine and his ilk will have to stay home Sunday night, or perhaps create their own awards ceremony to fill the void. That is, I think, how all these things get started.

The cause of this cancellation (or the cause of the cause) would be the ongoing strike by the Writer’s Guild of America, divided into East and West. This strike means that all union members are barred from creating new written material for television and film. After having reached the beginning of a new cycle of contracts with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, a stalemate has arisen. The increasing profit from home video sales being received (gained almost entirely from DVDs) is ostensibly archaic, recalling a time when the market was dominated by VHS tapes. DVDs and a similar residual conflict in Internet content signal the desire for a movement into a time where what is outdated is no longer practiced. I am glad we are starting with award shows. Patrick Verrone, the President of the Writer’s Guild West, has said that the issue is primarily one of pay, in which residuals given to producers should also apply to writers.

What constitutes new written material remains to be seen. Outside of award shows, causalities of the strike still seem to be grappling: late-night personalities like Jay Leno have come under fire for writing their own monologues. Some, like Stephen Colbert, have resorted to scraping through material written just prior to the strike. In Hollywood, Da Vinci Code prequel Angels and Demons has already been postponed.

What would a long-term strike mean for the viewer? I imagine possible scenarios in this fallout. The first I imagine, and something that has been seen already, is a steadily increasing repetition of content circulating in our multiplexes and on our television screens. What should be realized is that something akin to experiencing this repetition is practiced by many of us. It’s called going to the movies, or watching TV. Truth is, they do not really need writers to make money. What makes money is more a cobbling together of old ideas, abuses of technology, and spastic energy. Do we think it reasonable that a cultural niche like film could survive if its authors are shoved out of the equation? To see ourselves further entrenched into display, that is, drawn into spectacle in content, would be to see our arts devolve into sideshows.

This leads to my second imagined scenario, in which new filmed content is created by its producers. Imagine the process, through which a television show would be created based entirely on what is believed to be most desired by the viewer. Would it compare to someone trying desperately to be liked but never succeeding, or would it be capable of influencing and dominating the tastes of the masses? The relationship between Hollywood and its audiences is often bait-and-switch, in that the former offers new content but reveals something substituted – but who is really in power? The reality of this content-and-material void has nothing to do with the general audience, the people who have – through some kind of will – decided what stays and what goes, what is canonized and what isn’t. It is possible that producers would learn to satisfy an audience’s unquenchable thirst for new ideas, or else wither and die like Ernest Borgnine.

The third possible scenario is that entertainment could become completely improvised. Imagine it: movies that are thought up on the spot, and based entirely on the subconscious reactions of their creators. Eliminate the entire process of writing, and give us something that is in complete defiance of narrative logic.

Something has to break first, is all I am saying here, and maybe once content backlog will run dry, going to the movies or watching television will become baffling ordeals. I myself am curious as to what kind of material can be produced under these conditions. Whether repetitious or incomprehensible, it sheds a lot of light on how the business side of Hollywood views its product, as well as its audience. Movies that fall under its heavy influence tend to follow a slow trend of stylisation, in that nothing aggressively alienates the audience in its presentation; tastes change too slowly for it to work any other way. In the end, content may be disposable but the audience is not…it stays in the seats or the industry collapses.