Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world

Stalker (1979) (Andrei Tarkovsky)

Extraordinary film, deep, meaningful and transcendent.

Nominally, a science fiction film, nevetheless it doesn't have any of the usual sci-fi trappings you associate with the genre. No car chases with futuristic vehicles, Schwarzenegger doesn't get cloned and loses his identity, and Ben Affleck doesn't reverse engineer a time travel device with John Woo doves flying about.

No, it's something more fundamental than that. Something dealing with the humanistic values and belief systems we use to get through life.

The Writer, full of self-loathing, wants to reach the Zone for inspiration. He wants people to read what he writes for a 100 years. Not because he thinks he has something brilliant to offer the world. No, because otherwise he feels that he has wasted his life. It's about him, and not them. However, when push comes to shove, he's afraid to enter the Room. He doesn't know what his inner-most desire is. More than that, he's afraid of what it might be. Does he really want what he wants the most? As he says himself, "how do I know that what I want is what I want?" Is his inner-most desire to be remembered and read?...or is it something more sinister. He is too afraid to find out.

The Scientist wants to objectify. He sees the world from what can be proven empirically. What can be measured. What can be quantified. In the end, we discover that brought along a destructive device to blow up the Room. Why?...because anything that cannot be measured and understood with scientific principles is too dangerous to have in the world. In the end, he doesn't have the will to enter the Room either. He is shaken by the end. His function system challenged.

The Stalker represents blind faith...and more than that, he represents the desire to push that faith onto other people. He complains that other people "fail" the test. That they are empty and hollow. But what of him? He doesn't dare enter the Room himself. He sacrifizes the good things he has, his wife, his child, the love they represent, and for what? To prove that other people are not "worthy". He is wretched and miserable, basing his whole life and defining himself by a set of beliefs that he is unable to follow himself. Only at the very end is he reunited with his family and able to see that true happiness lies in loving yourself, loving the people around you, and loving mankind and the planet it resides on.

They all have a belief system, but none of them has any faith. Faith isn't necessarily beliving in a particular God, or a certain way of life, or following a certain philosophy. All of those things can be done without true faith. Faith is the ability to surrender yourself to something without empirical proof or a fear of the unknown. Belief often springs from fearing death or fearing a life without meaning. Fearing the unknown, and fearing to be alone. Faith comes from having the capacity to give yourself freely and without fear to something without expecting something in return.

The Stalker's wife has devotion. She is devoted to a man, who has never given her any reason to. Hers is a kind of faith as well. She has the capacity for true, unconditional love, and is the gateway to the Stalker's redemption path.

However, it is the Stalker's daughter who represents the key point. Like 2001's The Star Child, she represents the next step in the evolution of mankind. Although without the use of her legs, she has paranormal/psychic abilities, triggered by her father's prolonged exposure to the Zone. She represents the next rung in the ladder of human capicity. One who is able to truly believe, have faith, and subsequently change the world.


Now summer is gone
And might never have been
In the sunshine it's warm.
But there has to be more.

It all came to pass
All fell into my hands
Like a five-petalled leaf.
But there has to be more.

Nothing evil is lost
Nothing good was in vain
All ablaze with clear light.
But there has to be more.

Life gathered me up
Safe under its wing
My luck always held.
But there has to be more.

Not a leaf was burnt up
Not a twig ever snapped
Clean as glass is the day.
But there has to be more.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

When it comes to romantic comedies, they just don't make them like they used to.

I usually hate that phrase. It's usually uttered by middle-aged men who complain that no music since the Beatles has been any good. WRONG!

But in the area of romantic comedies, it's true. I've only seen two true romantic comedies made after 1990 that have really pleased me enough to warrant a second look.

The first one is "Notting Hill", and the second is the s-korean romantic comedy "My Sassy Girl" (soon to be remade in Hollywood starring....Elisha Cuthbert...bleeeh). Of course, a lot of films have been either romantic or comedies, or had some element of each, that have been excellent, such as "About a Boy" or "Love Actually". I even have a soft spot for "Clueless". For me though, none of these count as true romantic comedies.

The dreck that is offered as romantic comedy today is stuff like "Failure to Launch". Give me a second while I vomit into my sleeve.

However, if you go back aways in time, you'll find about a million of 'em. Completely loveable, genuine and poignant romantic comedies. They both delight and set the heart a flutter. The thing about romantic comedies is that the formula is well established. They're never (almost never) very original. They don't have to be. The guy/girl either

a) ends up with the guy/girl, or
b) doesn't end up with the guy/girl, but realizes that it:
a) wasn't meant to be, and/or:
b) ends up with someone else who was the right guy/girl.

The magic is in the moments and performances. And golly, that's what lacking in today's films. I'm sorry, but whoever decided that Sandra Bullock and Matthew McConaughey had the charisma to rival the royalty of old Hollywood was WRONG.

Let's look back.

Cary Grant is THE KING of romantic comedies. He was not only incredibly handsome and fun to look at, but he was truly a terrific actor who knew what he could do, and what he couldn't. He stretched, but never further than he knew he was capable of. He wasn't above making fun of himself, but never tastelessly. There isn't a single embarrassing moment in his whole career. And it was a long one. He was never very young, but he never grew very old either. He aged gracefully and bowed out of the spotlight with his image still intact.

Notable films include:
The Philadelphia Story (with Katherine Hepburn, THE QUEEN of romantic comedies..more in a bit)
His Girl Friday
Bringing Up Baby
My Favorite Wife
The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer

and a great many more. Many of these are considered (and rightfully so) to be among the best romantic comedies of all time.

Katherine Hepburn is THE QUEEN of romantic comedies. Not only is she generally considered to be one of the finest actresses of all time (nominated for 12 Academy Awards, winning 3). Made 9 films with the love of her life, Spencer Tracy, almost all of them excellent.

Notable films include:
The Philadelphia Story
Woman of the Year
Adam's Rib
Bringing Up Baby

Let's not forget THE PRINCESS of romantic comedies, the love of my life (outside my wife of course), Audrey Hepburn.
Beautiful, serene, delicate and a truly incredible actress.

Notable films are:
A Roman Holiday
Paris when it Sizzles
Sabrina
Breakfast at Tiffany's
Charade (with Cary Grant..but of course)

And not a single one of these films is made after 1964. How about that?

If somebody can point out a true romantic comedy that has not been mentioned in this article and is made more recently, I would be grateful. And please, don't give me "When Harry Met Sally" or "Sleepless in Seattle", 'cause that's not gonna fly.

Otherwise, I'm going to conclude that the sixties was the last decade that yielded any real results in this genre. And that's a shame, because if there is one thing I absolutely adore, it is a good romantic comedy.

Thou art more fair and more temperate

So...Superman Returns

I don't think I've ever seen such a big, expensive movie that is as far from being a crowd-pleasing summer blockbuster as this one.

When walking out, I heard snippets...."boooooring. Two hours of drama, and only a half hour of action"..."It was so LONG"...."Wow, that was gay"

This will probably be the general concensus.

However, the movie is brilliant. In my own humble opinion anyway.

The thing is, it's really a very adult film. Always a dangerous proposition when the vast majority of the film-going population breathes through the mouth. The film is issue laden and relies much more on mood and character building moments than on the next big action scene. Not to say that there aren't any, just that the film doesn't fall back on them because it doesn't have anything to say.

Far from it, it has a lot to say. It deals with abandonment, owning up to your mistakes, facing the past, doing your own part in bettering the world whether you have superpowers or not. And most of all, it deals with loneliness.

Superman is ALWAYS alone. He's the last of his kind. He'll never fit in anywhere. Despite the adoration of millions, his innate desire to do good, to be the shining light for mankind he was meant to be, he can never truly connect with anyone. They'll always be in danger, and more than that, no matter what he tries, he'll always be an alien. An outsider.

Lex Luthor quips in the film that Superman is a selfish god, one with both power and technology he isn't prepared to share with the world. However, it's painfully obvious that mankind isn't prepared for that kind of power and technology. It has to be earned, and cannot....should not....be given. That's one of the things that sets Superman apart. The painful realization that he has to make a judgement call on the whole of humanity. Be the judge of what they are capable of.

The film is big and filled with iconic imagery. Shots that are just lyrical and beautiful and poignant. However, it's also one of the most intimate films I've seen this year, and one of the most personal. It never feels to me that Singer is making the film for a huge audience. It always feels that he is making it for himself. As all art should be made, it's made from the desire of one man to express himself. To make a statement about something. To tell the world how he feels.

Superman Returns makes a statement. Unfortunately, it's not the one that people want to hear right now. I suspect that it will take many years until people slowly begin to realize the subtle genius of this film. It is this years Blade Runner.

In conclusion, I can only say...."KNEEL BEFORE ZOD". Kneel indeed.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May

I was watching a film last night with a friend, "The Nun's Story" starring Audrey Hepburn as a young woman who decides to become a nun, her subsequent training in the spiritual and physical life of a nun, and her eventual decision to leave the order.

It was an good film, spiritual in nature, and raised some interesting questions.

What is it that makes a person able to totally deny the self as nuns do?

They are almost totally stripped of any individuality. They are not supposed to stand out in any way, are discouraged from reaching real achievement, "singularizing" themselves as it was put forth in the film. Any one nun is supposed to be like any other, sort of like black-clad Happy Meals.

They are not to take pride in any accomplishment, and in fact Sister Luke, our protagonist, is asked by a mother superior to deliberately fail a subject in which she excels, as a test of humility. She is unable to do so, as she still retains a pride in her intellect.

My friend sat there next to me and told me that he would never be able to do that, and couldn't fathom what would compel a person to such a life.

However, I can quite easily see the attraction. Although it's a constant inner struggle to perfect themselves in the ways of the nun, the spiritual struggle, it makes a lot of the external struggle much easier. They are released from any expectations of how they are supposed to look, dress, behave, think. They don't have to worry about where the next meal is coming from, they don't have to compete in anything, try to excel in anything (except excelling in not excelling). They are turned into neat little drones, and life becomes so simple. Their biggest worry is not being late for the next prayer session. Life becomes a series of little moments, day by day doing the same thing, and not making any longer term plans.

It's also the desire to do good. Nuns do a lot of good, and I can certainly understand the desire to dedicate yourself to your fellow man. Although few of us can let go of ourselves enough to be able to do so, almost all of us admire those who do.

Sister Luke however was unable to function in the long run. She still took pride in her accomplishments, she was unable to achieve true humility by debasing herself and eventually left the order.

I was happy when she did.

I admire Mother Theresa from the bottom of my heart for her selflessness and willingness to work with lepers and others nobody else wanted to get close to.

However, one of these days, an exceptional person or a group of exceptional people will find the cure for leprosy.

We live in an age that celebrates mediocrity. When everybody gets a medal for participating, it diminishes the accomplishment of the one who won the race. When everyone is special, nobody is, as the Incredibles put it succintly. Let's celebrate those who truly are exceptional. Those who push the rest of us to greater hights by showing us what is possible.

“In all nations an exceptional man exists that compensates the deficiencies of the remainder. In those moments, when humanity is found collectively in a state of decadence, there always remain those exceptional beings as point of reference.”
- Augusto Roa Bastos

And summer's lease hath all too short a date.

The man locked the door quietly so as not to wake his wife. He walked to his car and drove to work. It was about 6 o'clock in the morning, and there was no-one in sight. He had the road all to himself. It was not often that he enjoyed driving. Usually, the traffic and the lights and the anxiety of other drivers robbed him of any potential pleasure.

This morning though was different. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the city was decked in her finest summer clothes and there was no-one on the road to ruin it. Joy was in his heart and Wordsworth on his mind.

"For oft when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye,
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."

He whistled as he parked the car.

Wow, nice to see you again!

I haven't posted in more than 6 months. "Why??" the hapless visitor asks, "your blog is superlative and read by thousands". "True that, double true", I respond non-chalantly, "however, I'm lazy, disorganized and forgetful. Mostly I forgot it was there."

What has happened in the blessed life of Thricedamned since last he spake?

Well, I've been abroad a few times. I'll begin by telling a little bit about that.

Went to New York in October/November for a couple of weeks, which was unbelievably great. My first time in the States. Had a total blast. New York, shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Beautiful city, so alive. Great food, great people. Best pizza I ever tasted in my life was to be found in abundance at John's on Bleeker St.
Jeebus weeps but that was something to remember.

Milan in February. My second visit there. Gorgeous old-european, sumptious city. Right next to the Duomo (main Cathederal) is an alleyway, where a bakary called "Luini's" is situated. Been there since 1850 or so. They serve something called "panzerotti", which is probably the best thing I've ever tasted in my whole entire life. I dream about it at night and wake up crying.

And last, but definitely not least, Shanghai in march/april for about 2 weeks. Had an unbeliavably good time there. Most Blade Runner-esque place you can imagine. Futuristic, bustling megapolis of 18 million people. Just splitting in half with energy and synergy and every sort of -gy you can imagine.
Sitting on top of the Jin Mao tower, on the 87th floor, in the Cloud 9 club, drinking a really bad White Russian and looking over the lights of Shanghai is something that I'll never forget.
Unbelievable food. Ate snake, turtle, lotus, jellyfish, donkey, cow stomach, pig's ears, cactus, all sorts of things. Funny thing is, it all tasted great. Well, not the jellyfish.

I suddenly notice how much I judge places by how good the food is. Goddamn gluttonous nature of mine!

So, yeah. Been seeing the world a little bit. Had a bit of a change in the workplace, which was definitely for the better. Been loving my woman, my friends and my life. I'm as happy as a clam, if clams can happy be.

Envy away, as it rules to be me. Updates to follow.

Movie Sequels III - Attack of the Fools

Let's talk about;

1) A few of the worst, most offensive sequels/spinoffs ever made, and;
2) A few of the most stupid sequel names ever.

1) Just off the top of my head;

a) Ewoks: The Caravan of Courage and Ewoks: Battle for Endor.
Cashing in big time on the success of the Star Wars trilogy, George Lucas agreed to go ahead with these two TV movies, spin-offs from the Return of the Jedi , focusing on the most unpopular element of the film, the fucking Ewoks. There is nothing that really connects these movies to the Star Wars universe, but the really hard-core fans remain convinced that they belong somewhere in the canon. Fools! George Lucas feeds off you from his lair like a pshycic pudgy vampire.

Plus, CARAVAN OF COURAGE!!!!

b) Highlander 2: The Quickening
It should have been called "The Sickening", since its utter vileness is beyond comprehension. Totally ignoring the first movie, the only thing that kept the director (whose name I curse) from having the Immortals fighting with dandilions, and having a good cuddle with one another was an animal tranquilizer. The movie has been re-edited a couple of times to try and make it look a little better, but to no avail. You can reshape a piece of poo as many times as you like, it will always remain a piece of poo. Just differently shaped.

c) Supergirl (or Supergirl: Das Mädchen von den Sternen, as it was called in Germany. In itself, one of the funniest titles of all time)

Quite possibly the worst movie ever made (I'll probably tie it with Krull). One friend of mine unbelievably owns the directors cut of this travesty, running additionally 30 mintues longer. AS IF WE NEEDED IT! I borrowed it from him, and me and another friend decided to watch it and try and laugh at it.

It's not possible. It isn't so bad it becomes good. It isn't even bad. All such words do not apply. It simply is. And what it is, is pure writhing-in-agony torture, so foul, so vile, so unbelievably crappy that it bends the very fabric of the time-space continuum. 2 hours turn into eons. Every minute is an age. Every 10-15 hours you look up, and you find that a couple of seconds have passed of the movie. You start to despair. You feel the breath being quashed from your chest, and your will to live being sapped from your bones. Death stops being a future event, and starts becoming a very real possibility in the near future. You start to wonder if it's better to hang yourself or swallow your own tongue. You wonder if repeatedly punching your liver will cause it to disrupt and deliver sweet oblivion. You also wander what's for dinner, strangely enough.

Faye Dunaway gives perhaps the worst performance seen this side of Ed Wood, and the great Peter O'Toole just stands there, wondering how he got there and what would be the best way of murdering his agent. Helen Slater as Super-Mädchen is so bland, so horrible, so SWEET, that pouring a vat of honey all over yourself near a hive of african killer bees would be vastly preferable to using your eyeballs on her in this "film". No words can express my vast, empire-spanning HATRED of this titular pomposity, but that didn't stop me from trying.


2) And now for some really bad fucking sequel names.

a) Rambo III
"But that's just a regular sequel name isn't it?" somebody might ask. Ahh, but that means they haven't studied the names of the first two movies.

First Blood the first movie was called.

Rambo: First Blood Part II the second movie was called.

Don't you see the quandary the producers put themselves in? Logically, the third movie should have been called;

RAMBO II: FIRST BLOOD PART III

Which would have been the funniest sequel title of all time.


b) Howling II - Stirba: Werewolf Bitch
What the hell do I need to say about this title? That it tells me that the producers were too busy fornicating with farm animals to actually bother looking at the title before releasing this rancid turd. That in no capacity whatsoever, should the word "Stirba" EVER grace any title. That I hate the fact how few good werewolf movies are made. Fuck, now I'm all depressed.

c) Beastmaster II - Through the Portal of Time
Just the cheesiest title of all time. Just pure fucking foul smelling, gouda imitating, stomach churning, nose wrinkling and bowel loosening cheese. Making the poor Beastmaster go to LA is one of the worst ideas in movie history. Who the hell wants to see a barbarian strolling around LA, looking for a zoo so he can actually master some beasts? Horrible title. Horrible movie.

d) Neverending Story II
Just think about it.