[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Because two weeks in New York is too long.
Anyone know of blogs/message boards/communities that would be interested in analyses of S&M (both literal and implied) in classic film? Like this, this or this? We’re looking to get a conversation going as much as attract traffic.
lefindumonde:
so i recently noticed cigarettes now cost a whopping $9.25/pack in nyc
this means if you smoke a pack a day you’re paying
$64.75/week
$277.50/month
$3376.25/year
This is truly a tragedy…for thise of you who don’t travel regularly. I smoke more like a pack a week anyway so I’m not that badly affected, but I also regularly drop into regions where a pack still costs $5 or less.
youngmanhattanite:
If you spent the afternoon watching VH1’s History of Rock ‘n Roll (given the stock Sunday options you could have done plenty worse) and specifically the Bob Dylan mid-60s, then Ian Svenonius’s “Eat the Rocument” essay is a must read. Fortunately I have scanned and uploaded it for you. It’s included in The Psychic Soviet, a book I am now re-reading for the 78th time. I suggest you search the Internet hi and lo for it. Going direct will help. Here’s a favorable review that reaffirms my advice so you really have no reason not to trust it. Your effort will be rewarded, for once. [Previously: Searching for Eternal Truth]
I met Ian when I was at SilverDocs, for the second time in 11 years. He claims he remembers the first time––which was when some friends of mine and I ended up going out for coffee with him, Michelle Mae, Calvin Johnson and Erik Erlandson (yes, seriously) after the last Jabberjaw show in 1997––but I’m sure he was just being polite. Anyway, he said two things last week of note:
1) Complaining about the current state of independent film, he said, “It’s like in the punk rock days, when there was a fear of melody––now there’s a fear of narrative, like god forbid we make it too easy.”
2) He then complained about Standard Operating Procedure (as well he should), and asked me what films at SilverDocs (an all-non-fiction festival) that I would recommend instead. I suggested My Winnipeg, which he hadn’t heard of. I told him a little about it, and he shook his head sadly. “The Canadians are just killing us right now.”
It’s a third world dictatorship, and the strong man has a list. On it are the names of every known American film critic, from the blogs to the Chicago Reader to Ain’t-it-Cool to The New Yorker to the two wiseass Koreans who used to man the cult counter at DVD Palace on 44th and 8th. They’re already on the road, the death squads. Your door bows in, storm of boots, and before you know it you’re lined up on your knees alongside J. Hoberman and 3 Black Chicks.
I saw it coming a long ways off, so I dressed in militia rags, became a scout helping round up all those poor bastards. I did my best to drown out the whimpering as I double-checked restraints and supervised the digging. But something tugged at my conscience during the second or third corral. It gave me an idea of how to save the critics.
I told the local chieftan that we should spare this particular batch of vermin because their skills might be of use in the propaganda effort. “How do you mean?” asked General Taharqa. “Well,” I began, my heart skipping a beat at the prospect of seriously pissing him off. “We want the people to be more squarely behind our movement. We want to do this with less bloodshed, not more. We know that our filmmakers are instrumental in shaping the public will, and that they have been failing us with their crude, transparent methods.”
“Okay, wrap this up. I’m ready to kill these motherfuckers.”
…an excerpt from a short story for film critics.
