Giant

I have been putting off my first viewing of the film Giant for sometime now. The main reason is that the film features James Dean’s final performance, before he died in a car wreck a week or so after Giant finished filming. I knew before watching the film that despite it being an epic “as big as Texas”, James Dean only got to play a smaller role, certainly not the lead caliber he got to play in East of Eden and Rebel Without A Cause. After all, seeing as Dean only got to play a secondary character in Giant, his performance in the film probably wouldn’t even be interesting enough to deserve comparison to the two former lead roles that would immortalize him in celluloid forever. After watching the film, my prediction of James Dean’s performance in Giant as being his worst and least notable of his cinematic career was certainly true. Giant also happens to be one of the most ridiculously melodramatic films that I have even seen in my life, certainly falling in line with the films Anti-Texan sentiment, a cinematic assault on the Southwestern stoicism of the Lone star state.


Giant was directed by American military propagandist George Stevens, director of the Nazi Concentration Camp footage (even helping with the footage used for the “eye for an eye” Nuremberg trials) taken after World War II and the feature The Diary of Anne Frank. To call Stevens a propagandist would be letting him off too lightly, for his films are partly responsible for the passive psychosis that has consumed the Faustian soul since the end of the World War II. George Stevens is one of the principle creators of the Holocaust Mythos which would set the standard for Steven Spielberg and others looking to milk Europe for some good ol’ cash for Israel and of course the millions of Holocaust survivors. Giant has nothing to do with the Holocaust, but it is another film that attacks the Faustian man, the conquer of the world. Giant was one of the first (if not the first) Hollywood film to comment on the “racism” of Aryan Texans against poor conquered Mexicans and Indians, a message that is fairly common with Hollywood today. Pseudo-Injun hack Robert Rodriguez’s upcoming pile of cinematic excrement Machete features a group of poor victim illegal alien invaders wielding Machetes against evil racist law-abiding American citizens. It should be quite the epic and such an artistically-sound picture could not exist without the legacy of George Stevens epic anti-Gringo (anti-Gringo in the organic Gringo sense, not in the deracinated self-loathing "progressive" liberal Gringo sense) piece Giant.


For such a giant Texas epic as Giant, one would expect the most stoic and heroic of cowboys as the lead protagonist. Of course, with a director like George “The Indian (his real-life nickname)” Stevens, the lead protagonist is an “Independent woman” from Maryland named Leslie (played by Elizabeth Taylor). Leslie is certainly the proto-Feminist type that would act as a model for all those “liberated” women to come. Marylander socialite Leslie ropes herself Bick Benedict of the famous Texas Benedict family and heads down southwest to start her new life in Texas. Immediately, Leslie is appalled by the fact the poor whites and especially poor Injuns, are considered lesser citizens. Being the independently minded woman she is, Leslie believes that Texas was stolen from poor Mexicans. I guess being an Independent-minded woman, Leslie doesn’t realize that being dominated means being naturally at the lower end of the totem pole. After all, people should really embrace Marxist metaphysics and feel very bad about being conquerors and winners. One should always look at victims, losers, and the defeated as the most virtuous of God’s many children. After some time of complaining and whining, Leslie eventually convinces Bick to break most of his family traditions in the name of human progress. Giant is certainly one GIANT HEART WARMER!


James Dean plays a degenerate cowboy by the name of Jett Rink. Jett is hated by most of the Texans that know him except for Bick’s sexually ambiguous sister Luz. After trying to prove her manhood by riding a wild black stallion, Luz takes a wicked western crash that results in death. Luz wanted her boy toy Jett to have a little piece of Benedict land, a piece of land that proves mighty wealthy for it’s size due to the oil hidden underneath it. After finding oil, Jett Rink goes from being the gayest Cowboy in Texas to the richest man in Texas. Unfortunately, James Dean did not have the chance to do much as the character of Jeff Rink. He goes from being a pathetic cowturd to a rich arrogant asshole in what seems like a couple minutes. Who cares about character development when you got a film as big as Texas. The one positive aspect of James Dean’s performance is that despite dying young in real-life, he at least got to grow old cinematically in Giant. Too bad that James Dean looks like an elderly toddler in his aging makeup. Dean’s real-life friend Dennis Hopper also makes an appearance in Giant as the weak doctor son of Bick Benedict. The young Hopper’s performance is at the very least entertaining, but it doesn’t save this films epic failure in character development.

Old Man Dean

At the end of Giant, big Bick Benedict is a broken man with a shattered legacy. He states of his mongrel mestizo Grandson, “My own Grandson doesn’t even look like one of us. He really looks like a little wetback.” The last shot of the film then shows an blue-eyed blond-haired child then it cuts to Bick’s swarthy mongrel Grandson. This ending of Giant also symbolizes the new youth of America to come with the Open Immigration Act of 1965 (which opened up America to Third World Immigration and Suicidal Globalization) being in acted not long after the release of Giant. Without the help of sentimental melodramas like Giant, White Americans could not have been as so accepting and stupid to give their country away to people that show the incapacity to buildup (let alone maintain) their own countries. What a nice big national turn for the worst. Giant is a testament to the fact that Independent women and the emasculated American white male have really turned America into a prosperous place of progress and equality, a place where the future is destined to be a great one.

-Ty E

Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl

As I run with themes in tow, I will review yet another Japanese film as my hard drive recently crashed resulting in a massive loss of data. How I came to acquire the films I've currently been watching is all thanks to a friend who let me borrow several Asian films for me to watch while I squander some data while I attempt to recollect films to review. In this assortment of films came the title Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl and if you've ever provided a blind-to-cinema friend with a list of possible watches and the aforementioned title is in the mix, surely they're going to pick this inane title as films are always best when they're "so bad they're good." This speaks for the standards of so many gorehounds nowadays as companies like Asylum produce films like Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus or even how filmmakers whose only credit are films like Tommy Wiseau's The Room or the clip-art endowed Birdemic. It's incredibly dreadful that these people are garnering fans like Jonah Hill and Kevin Smith while getting interviews as they nervously lie about their films not being "serious."


Some time ago I reviewed the cinematic schlock known to Western fans as Tokyo Gore Police. This appalling mix of try hard dystopian themes mixed with a prosthetics/CG mix of action of violence only granted me a massive migraine and very little confidence in the creators future. Well, they return with their tail tucked in between their legs to produce a film of better quality and that quality is offensiveness. Like most of their other projects and the related sort, (Robogeisha, Machine Girl, Meatball Machine, etc. etc.) I got sick from the amount of unrestrained assortment of absurd overkill these Japanese pump into their lifeless films. What they do to film is like giving a blood transfusion to someone who has been dead for months. The end result is normally a product so lifeless that even I don't grieve for another wasted opportunity. It's just expected. Imagine my surprise when I my stomach came to terms with the film after the opening scene of grue and arterial spray. I actually came to approve of this amateur production and I find myself at equal with the humor presented.


The summarize the plot of VGvs.FG would be callous of me as the plot is wafer thin. As this has been redundantly taken, this is not a bad thing for a versus film. Keep in mind the various clashing of titans Freddy vs. Jason or Alien vs. Predator. These weren't versus films and that was their doom. Some random Jap was forced into dating some random Gothic Lolita chick whose father is vice principal. After a mysterious exchange student registers under his class and gives him a chocolate from her own blood, she is revealed to be a vampire and now he is too thanks to her evil, conniving confectionery treat. When the Gothic Lolita dame finds out her father is a mad scientist and subsequently dies from falling off a building while confronting the stealing vampire whore, her father recreates her as a Frankenstein(?) girl. From there on, they duel with awkward results. Thus equals the equation of mediocre absurdity. Thank god this film has it's own brand of condiments to spice up the plate.


I consider myself a hateful person and I don't waste any time at ridiculing actions and decisions made by the average banal human. In VGvs.FG, many things are discussed visually with the appearance of scenes demonstrating the after school activities of several high school clubs - two to be exact. First there is the Cutting Club in which the Japanese girls moan about how life is a black void of depression as they systematically slash their wrists to a hilarious effect. After dating several cutters and just being clueless as to why someone would do something so stupid, this scene really lightened up the tone of damaged women and made me laugh aloud. The second and my personal favorite - the Ganguro Club. The Ganguro Club is based off a disastrously popular fashion in Japan that is basically a hybrid of Jersey Shore and Blackface. In VGvs.FG, the ganguro girls are led by more of an exaggerated pickaninny Negro with the big wrinkly lips, afro, and talk of her awesome Kenyan legs that will help her run for miles. While this may offend the weak willed, it turns a sub-par film into something that Troma would appreciate.


Apart from the hilariously "offensive" racial humor of the film, VGvs.FG is still the same film of explicit and illogical gore but at least placed within a proper context of setting and fashion unlike the abysmal Tokyo Gore Police which took place during the future with a "modern" backdrop. While the characters are slightly likable and the Vampire Girl's face is a tad bit attractive, I just don't have yellow fever like most American males do. With a surprising twist near the end of the film and several tantalizing characters, VGvs.FG remains a watchable film that finds itself to be curiously entertaining while being entirely politically incorrect. To be completely honest, I could probably get used to the gothic lolita fashion sported by Frankenstein Girl in her previous evolution. Not so much the disgusting crane monster. I still can't get over the fact that I slightly enjoyed this film. I deserve a drink for accepting this film.

-mAQ

Love Exposure

While discussing Sion Sono with a friend, he inquired if I'd seen his newer film Love Exposure. I meekly responded with a "no" and as he begin to tell me tales of a near 4 hour long film with satirical and over the top qualities, my interest was peaked with barely a mention of the synopsis. After viewing the scrapbook style trailer, I decided to let my instinct take the reigns and promptly found the film available for viewing. What unraveled over the course of four hours is not just what has been called "epic" or "a masterpiece" but a film that defies the very notion of time. With such a daunting run time of 237 minutes, the film seems to play for an average running time of 2 hours. With that considerable amount of time on hand, the delving into specific characters wields a remarkable level of detail that really sparked within me as I begrudgingly counted down until this outstanding achievement had finally reached its unwanted end.


If you, like me, wish to have this dazzling array of absurd culture in an untouched virgin form, cease reading this following summary of just some of the events transpiring in a religion-torn Japan. Yu Honda is the devout son of a priest who has recently lost his mother. Before her untimely death, she told her affable son to find his own "Virgin Mary." With that, he remained entirely devoted to the idea of a single woman. After his father converts a homely whore, she arouses a faltering faith as he begins to slowly fall in love with this mysterious woman. As Yu's father begins to slowly deteriorate following her eloping with a younger man, he begins to call Yu ritually into the confession booth to purge the sins from his innocent mind. As Yu realizes he never really sins, he decides to rig his life with pain and mischief as to make his father happier. This involves joining a gang, learning to fight, and with the recommendation of his dear friend, totatsu (aka the art of peek-a-pantie voyeurism.) After becoming the apprentice of a lonely master of acrobatic totatsu, our lovable Yu now employs rather wacky methods of getting pictures of panties in a search of both acceptance from the shell of his father and his search for his "Maria." What eventually becomes of him is madness, a brainwashing evil cult, lesbianism, incest, castration, and most importantly, drag queen slaughter.


Love Exposure is really, in every sense of the word, a sprawling epic. I had my doubts as its main recurring theme is love and religion. With the two topics in each hand as if being judged by my divine authority, I can't decide which one is more widely regarded as a myth. As Yu struggles harder for the love of his soon to be sister, Yoko, he's eventually driven over the edge and is faced with innumerable obstacles that most people wouldn't dream of approaching. This paired with the fact that this film is based on the life of director Sion Sono's friend really makes you scratch your head in an effort to discover which is fact and which is fiction. What Yu faces in his quest for supreme love is only so much an exaggeration. Their fateful meeting was all because of a bet on who could take the best pantie photo. After losing to his own pupil, Yu struts down the street in a black trench coat, black wig, and a large hat. After aiding and abetting the volatile woman, he kisses her and adopts the moniker of "Miss Scorpion." Soon there after, he discovers that everything that has happened in his life as of recently has been orchestrated by a sadistic sociopath named Koike who has been pulling the strings with a larger scheme in mind.


In debt to the impeccable job that Sion Sono had performed at establishing characters from the rawest roots possible, I found myself becoming increasingly more and more distressed as Yu's life spiraled into mad turbulence. So I did what any panic stricken male would do; begin drinking. After hitting several shots of 99 Black Cherries and 99 Grapes, I was finally at ease and could relax my tense and sore muscles. Love Exposure is that sort of film; the one where you are vulnerable from the same oppression as the lead absorbs like a magnet for everything evil in the world. What really drives the film in an already incredible direction is the masterful soundtrack and where the irony lies is that there is no soundtrack. It's composed entirely of eloquent pieces of classical works (with the exception of the theme track) ranging from Ravel's Bolero to various works of Taize. The fact of the matter is that within two hours of watching Love Exposure, I knew that this was one of my favorite films of all time. Now I've always been partial to the works of Sion Sono but after seeing so many of his films and highlighting a trend of consistency, I have to say that he is one of my favorite auteur's. I mean, just look at his script for Love Exposure (see below).


With Love Exposure recently in mind, It appears that I've reached a level of cinematic enlightenment. The pure replay value of this film is retarded and there is no other way to put it. With just the mention of Tak Sakaguchi directing the action sequences, my hard-on soared just as that of Yu's whenever he sees or thinks of his darling Yoko. Never has a film made me want to run out and kick ass except that of Die Hard and other various Bruce Willis films. The innocence in Yu's eyes always remains true, even after he is knighted the "Prince of Perverts." I can really grasp the feel of this epic as I've witnessed first-hand the insanity that plagues the female species and that's what these films all seem to be about. You take near any film and deconstruct it just far enough, and you'll find the fault of a woman. Take the recently viewed Park Chan-Wook masterpiece Thirst. Once the abused and damaged woman is given just a little power, she loses her shit and becomes damn near a psychopath. It's literally painful to watch the damage Yoko commits to Yu's entire existence due to her stubbornness to understand anything other than her hatred for all men. The very idea of her being duped into being a lesbian says a lot for the standards of gays all around the world.



As for the definitive evil bitch role, Koike does marvelous in her ability to turn an innocent "high school voyeuristic photo-maniac" into a simple "maniac." After stealing and manipulating everything he loves, our Yu would do what any other would - punch a woman in the fucking face. While Sion Sono does superb in the field of wringing your very soul of any positive emotion, he is also skilled at re-inflating it, instating a feeling of euphoria, if you will. As Suicide Club dealt with issues concerning subliminal messages and brainwashing, the very common ground between these two films is one of many reasons that I never wanted this film to end. I stand ground with each and every individual character. I love, I spite, and I cry at each turn of events. I have equally been assimilated into the universe of Love Exposure and for once, I found a home comfortable enough to revisit at any time. I never use this phrase with an exception of a small handful of films but Love Exposure has charmed, captivated, and horrified me. This will go down as one of my favorite films of all time. Other than that, I don't really know what to say that hasn't already been said about this grandiose pièce de résistance. You owe it to yourself to delve into Love Exposure and I cannot wait to view this elusive six hour cut.

-mAQ

Suicide Club

After being very impressed by the deranged oriental sexual surrealism of Sion Sono’s Strange Circus, I had to view the film that brought him international acclaim; Suicide Club. I was more than pleasantly surprised by the independent feature Suicide Club, a film best known for little Japanese schoolgirls jumping in front of moving trains whilst holding one another’s hand in a giddy manner. Unlike a lot of Japanese horror and gore flicks which seem to have wacky gore for wacky gore’s sake, Suicide Club is an excellent satire on the vile destructive subliminal messages contained within the popular mass media and Hollywood. Unfortunately, I think the message(s) Sion Sono’s was trying to convey was lost on most viewers. After all, the sight of tiny Japanese girls wearing cutesy schoolgirl garb while killing themselves senselessly can be overwhelming for a lot of people.


The villain responsible for the series of suicides is a blond bukkake beast by the name of Genesis, a “man” who loves to sing pop songs while women are being beaten and raped in front of him. It is pretty obvious that Suicide Club director Sion Sono modeled Genesis after real-life “aesthetic terrorist” Genesis P-Orridge, a deranged man who has breast implants and considers himself a S/he. With his musical groups Throbbing Gristle and Psychic TV (among other projects), Genesis P-Orridge has committed his life to shocking and destroying the senses of his victims/audiences. Director Sion Sono has paid Genesis P-Orridge an exaggerated compliment with the character of Genesis in Suicide Club. Aside from maybe a couple drug overdoses and accidental sexual death mishaps, Genesis P-Orridge cannot be credited for many real-life deaths and certainly not the joyous extravagantly brutal deaths featured in Suicide Club.

Genesis

Genesis P-Orridge

If one were to credit someone in real-life with implanting destructive subliminal messages in the popular media like those seen by the girly pop music Dessert in Suicide Club, it would be Sigmund Freud’s nephew Edward Bernays, the Freudian psychoanalyst who started brainwashing the American public subconsciously during World War I. President Woodrow Wilson helped to create the Committee on Public Relations, an independent agency of the U.S. government which was able utilize all media formats to their advantage in promoting enthusiasm for American citizens to enter World War I, a war that was never in America's interest. Bernay’s played a pivotal role in the hidden propaganda campaigns of the Committee on Public Relations and in his arrogance stated "the essence of democratic society" was "engineering of consent (AKA brainwashing)" as he felt propaganda was the best way to gain public support for government policy, even if it was vicious lies. The Committee on Public Relations made sure to portray the Germans during World War I as Huns who impaled babies on their bayonets. Hollywood has no doubt kept this legacy of lies and mass public manipulation going ever since.


Interestingly enough, the pop music of Dessert is similar to that of which you would see on the Disney channel nowadays, only a little less risqué. Thankfully, Walt Disney is not around today to see the complete and utter destruction of the moral family values he sought out to promote. Now at Disney world, Gay marriage couples can have lovely pink Mickey Mouse honeymoons. One also cannot forget how the Disney channel pimps out elementary school children by having them do jungle dances for other little girls to see on their Televisions around the United States that they can erroneously emulate. When they graduate on to middle school and High School, they can watch MTV and impersonate the whores fondling Ebonics-literate Rapper’s legs in “music” videos. Bolshevik mass murderer Leon Trotsky was a Freudian and helped promote psychoanalyst schools in the Soviet Union as he realized if you sexualize children at a young age, they become slaves to sexuality for the rest of their lives. Anglo author Aldous Huxley realized the same thing with his masterpiece A Brave New World which features a sexually promiscuous girl with the extra special surname Trotsky. The three super cultural distorters and media moguls Steven Spielberg, Jeffrey Katzenberg and David Geffen (who share something special in common with Michael Eisner of Disney) have also have done their part in sexualizing children with DreamWorks and the Shrek films, films full of Freudian sexual quips and innuendos for grade school children to enjoy.


A scene I found especially important in Suicide Club is when a group of High school kids are playing on top of their school’s roof. Jokingly, the teens imitate the schoolgirls that committed suicide by jumping in front of a train. The teens eventually stand with their toes hanging off of the edge of the building and soon the majority of them jump off with their guts soon hitting across the school like a Tsunami from the beaches of Genesis P-Orridge’s own personal hell. The suicide scene does the best job in conveying the subconscious influences of the media, expressing that the teens start acting before they know what they are even doing, riding on a wave of destructive subconscious influence that they do not even realize is influencing them.


The brilliance of Suicide Club lies in that the film can be enjoyed by both brain-dead gore fans and those film fanatics looking for a little more to think about than what you would typically expect from Hollywood. Where Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers fails in it’s attempt at satire in regards to the media, Suicide Club succeeds for all the right reasons. Oliver Stone made a film commenting on how the media glamorizes serial killers while his film did the same, actually inspiring copycat murders across the United States. When it comes down to it, Oliver Stone is no different from Steven Spielberg or Michael Eisner as they are all implanting infectious seeds into the naïve minds of the trusting public. Suicide Club is one of the very few films that gets at the very root of the destructive forces of the media and Hollywood. Who could ever quantify how many deaths have happened as a result of the influence of the media on both World Wars to the late 1960’s “counterculture’ to the present and all the subversive culture distorting filth that came with it.

-Ty E

Perth

"Singapore's answer to Taxi Driver" boasts the snarling cover of a DVD copy of Perth that I picked up at Blockbuster for a mere $3.99. Surely this film should be worth the price of an overpriced 40 oz. of your favorite malt liquor? Such as point-of-subject Harry Lee's life designed of squalor, Blockbuster is too feeling the effects of a dissolving structure of which nothing can be done about it. To try as I might to not juxtapose with relative ease of both the video rental market and Harry Lee's pointless aspirations to be a "simple man," Perth isn't so much an "answer to Taxi Driver" as it is a film undoubtedly inspired but during the climax of the film's somber moments, it's nothing more than a kind nod with meticulous moments of glory mixed in conservatively with instances of poor directing. Besides, isn't it a bit too late to have an "answer" to Taxi Driver? Martin Scorsese's break out hit is almost 30 years Perth's senior.


In Perth, a chart of disgruntled humanity is slowly chalked out as the camera unabashedly follows a little over a week in the life of ex-security guard Harry Lee. What unfolds next is an arbitrary tour into why he bludgeons his wife silly, why she deserves this cruel treatment, and why this film has been hailed as "Singapore's most violent film." The answers to these questions are both complicated in narrative and fairly mundane. I like to view Perth as a response to whores across the world. It doesn't require culture shock to plainly realize that race doesn't necessarily hamper in any way womenfolk's shortcomings as they are designed to be lyrical tormentors. Lim Kay Tong does an impeccable job at portraying the sneering "misogynist" Harry Lee, a man driven over the edge in part to combat flashbacks and a cheating, gambling wife who I believe deserves every fist planted into her frail, oriental body.



Harry Lee dreams of being a simple man who wishes to immigrate to Perth, Australia. Having recently been laid off, he'll have to escort call girls around for that extra cash. While the build up and eventual connection he makes with forced prostitute Mai recalls heavily of Taxi Driver, the film couldn't have a more separate taste in theme. Mai and Harry Lee aren't so different - after Mai's family got in debt deep, they apparently sent her off to hook off her body to earn their family's keep. It's this recurring theme of gambling and unfaithfulness that sets the tone early for this slowburn of rage cinema. Unlike most films bordering on the same topic of bottled contempt and forays into copious amounts of alcohol, Perth is frightfully slow. So creeping in fact, that you become anxious waiting for the violence to kick in. We're teased at first with spousal abuse but then that teasing becomes petting with a broken bottle jab. If Perth does one thing right, it's keeping your attention without expunging any of the glory so early.


When this scene of violence finally explodes into a machete fight, my initial reaction was a resounding "fuck yes." Given the scenes regarding Harry Lee's past combat experience as a commando, I was sure to see some incredible display of career prowess that had might returned to this man with nothing to lose. However, what I received is a scene only comparable to watching a blind man attempt to bust open a pinata. Harry Lee can not wield a machete for the life of him, literally. This scene did feature a couple of satisfying kills but nothing too abrasive for me. Asia Extreme Underground noted that Perth is "Singapore's most violent film" and on that note, I would have to believe this is the only Singaporean film with violence. Perth is a very engaging display of the ole' "descent-into-madness" character drama that every director attempts to make but capturing anarchic behavior that seems fluid and perverse isn't as easy as these directors wish. I happened to enjoy Perth for many reasons and none of these included the feeble finish. As much as I hate to admit it, I think Perth only deserves a single viewing, if you even have the attention-span to watch an Asiatic Harvey Keitel travel around with aviators and bitch about "loyalty."

-mAQ

Basquiat

I am very weary when it comes to critics as well as the masses celebrating any type of “exotic” colored art as some type of real revolutionary artistic achievement. Due to the lack of cultural accomplishments from the Third World, it seems that anything that resembles “art” is considered a piece of profound artistic achievement by self-loathing white art critics. To be honest, I cannot really think of any colored art that has ever truly caught my fancy. I will have to admit however that after seeing the film Basquiat, I believe there might be exceptions to my view. Jean-Michel Basquiat was apparently the first black painter to ever become an international art star. Mr. Basquiat was considered a Neo-expressionist painter and with his paintings it is obvious he created a hybrid of European expressionism and Afro-Caribbean aesthetic, a true Neo-Creole painter if one were to ever exist. As dramatized in the film Basquiat, Jean-Michel was criticized by agitating critics for what they saw as “exploiting” black urban poverty due to his middle class upbringing. I guess Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s paintings should also be discredited due to the fact that the Dutch painter did not live up to the same pathetic reputation as the peasant subjects he painted, even though he helped to immortalize their meager existences.

Like most real artists, Jean-Michel Basquiat led a fairly pathetic and tortured existence and like Adolf Hitler before him, Basquiat made a meagerly artistic living by selling hand painted postcards for sympathetic patrons. It was not until Andy Warhol started promoting Basquiat that the artist started receiving the international fame that he reluctantly craved. In the film Basquiat, David Bowie plays an extra spacey and faggy Andy Warhol, a successful performance no doubt. Although I very much enjoyed Crispin Glover’s cameo as parody-like version of Andy Warhol in Oliver Stone’s The Doors, I think David Bowie did a better job expressing the true character of American’s favorite Pop “Artist.” The chemistry between Jeffrey Wright (who plays Basquiat) and David Bowie is no doubt believable but also notable. Other excellent performances include a cameo by the disgusting rock-slut Courtney Love (who plays Madonna, a former girlfriend of Basquiat) and loveable burnt out weirdo Dennis Hopper as Swiss art collector Bruno Bischofberger. In general, most performances in Basquiat were excellently cast with the right actor for the right job.

Basquiat was the cinematic debut of Neo-expressionist painter Julian Schnabel, who was part of the same art movement as Basquiat in real-life. I believe this gives the film a feeling of authenticity that could not have been accomplished by a director who had not known Basquiat personally. For a first film, Schnabel certainly accomplished more than most novice directors. Of course, Basquiat has its weakness like most bio-pics do. After the film is over, it feels that segments of Basquiat’s life were brushed over (which they no doubt where), but director Julian Schnabel was able to makeup for this with the unconventional assemblage of the film. The real power of Basquiat lies in the power of each scene, for the film is truly the sum of all it’s parts just as Basquiat’s paintings are.

Viewing Basquiat was kind of a wonderful surprise to me. I expected the film to be some sob story about how a persecuted Negro rose above his urban ghetto limitations and proved that he could be part of the international white art world. Instead, the film shows how a bunch of lame white people kissed Basquiat’s ass because he knew how to hold a paint brush which seemed to ultimately push him towards self-destruction. Basquiat is not a feel good crock of cultural Marxist vomit but an expressive tribute from one Neo-expressionist to another. Certainly a film that does not romanticize the life of an artist like most that come out of Hollywood.

-Ty E

The Woodsman

I have been waiting for a while to see Hollywood release a film empathetic towards pedophiles and similar ilk. Unless I am mistaken and they have done it before, it seems that The Woodsman is a new all-time low for the Freudians of Sunset Boulevard. Unsurprisingly, the star Pedo of the film is Kevin Bacon, a role he has played before in Sleepers, although this time he seems he enjoys little girls instead of little boys. Not since Patrick Swayze’s role in Donnie Darko has there been a actor better suited for the role of scum of the earth. A film like The Woodsman just makes me wonder what Hollywood’s ultimate goal is with their undermining of traditional values and Western social norms. They have already brainwashed most American’s into thinking flooding America with uneducated savages as the height of humanistic altruism. They have already convinced white women it’s best to abort their own child because nothing is better and more important than a career. Most importantly, Hollywood has taught us to always use animalistic empathy and sentimentalism instead of the intellect. After all, how else could any thinking person swallow the crock of cultural Marxist scheiß that Hollywood is selling? With The Woodsman, Hollywood wants you to know that not all child molesters are bad guys.


Of course, The Woodsman was directed by a female director, Nicole Kassell, who probably felt the film to be an exercise in female empowerment. The lead anti-hero (or whatever he is supposed to be) Walter, played Kevin Bacon, is a pathetic man who gives the appearance of being a victim more than being a victimizer. Right from the beginning, director Kassell wants us to sympathize with this kiddo-phile ex-con. After all, he was probably a victim of more than one experiences of prison sodomy. Walter’s only friend (Carlos) when he gets out of prison is a Latino, a member of a group especially known for their enjoyment of their own daughters (or at least according to a Cop I know in a certain Latino infested area). Carlos also happens to be married to Walter’s sister. Walter was the only person in his family to promote his sister partaking in miscegenation with his beaner best friend and for that Carlos owes him one. Walter’s own sister won’t see him, but the Mexican banging his sister (who shot out Mestizo half-castes) like a piñata, does. Talk about family matters.

A Member of the Concerned Black Men of America

Who are the are the heroes of the urban wilderness of The Woodsman? Try a noble a Negro and Negress, who have a special knack for protecting the world from white pedophiles. Rappers Mos Def and Eve play the roles of the most concerned individuals in the fight against Walter and his knew found freedom. Mos Def plays a cop, who despite his flimsy build, likes to make threats at the even flimsier Walter. Eve plays a co-worker/secretary who has a super Negro spiritual ability of sniffing out stinking pedos. Hollywood truly is a place of dreams and fantasy where upside down casting is begotten just right. But then again, a morally dubious mulatto messiah is supposed to save the world in real-life. I guess “art” really does imitate life, but I think in the case of Hollywood it’s the other way around. Hollywood defecates out an image and expects the naïve public to accept those destructive ways as normal, desirable, and ideal. If the Hollywood studio system was wiped out and replaced with something of value, the Western world would no doubt start healing instantaneously.

The Woodsman in the Woods catching Wood

By the end of the film, Walter becomes a “hero” of sorts. Due to his child molester psychology, he is able to sniff out others like himself. Walter decides that it is one thing to molest little girls, but molesting little boys is just going too far. Mos Def makes it known subtly that he approves of Walter’s criminal justice and by the end of The Woodsman, the world is a better place. Looking around online, it is apparent the majority of critics see The Woodsman as a spectacular piece of groundbreaking social cinema. Of course, it is obvious the reason for the great reviews is that The Woodsman offered the public an emotional rollercoaster of triumph in the name of “prejudice” and a promise of hope. Surely, not many people that viewed the film actually took the time to think analytically about what they just watched and what message it gives. The American public would rather stay in the childish woods of sentiment and fantasy.

-Ty E

Xtro

This theme of extraterrestrial life has sprung up on several occasions recently. After hearing rumors for the new J.J. Abrams teaser to be anonymously attached to all Iron Man 2 prints, speculation abound with the rumor mill churning at full speed. With a wild spinner pointing towards Cloverfield canon, Super 8 turns out to be another Abrams cock-tease trailer effort with an exaggerated train accident and an unidentified creature beating at the inside of a heavily armed door. Mentions of Area 51 led me to finally visit the strange world in which Xtro takes place. Xtro is particularly notorious for it's brief stint as a video nasty after a scene in which a woman gives graphic birth to a full grown male. While this scene does not fear reproach in extensively detailing on afterbirth and gore leaking out of her vagina, it's nowhere near as bad as many of the other acts of violence depicted on celluloid at this current place in time.



To simply chalk up my opinion on Xtro would be for me to explain that it is by far one of the greater science-fiction horror films that I've ever seen; not to mention Event Horizon, as that film contained trace elements of a different horror caliber. Xtro is a film about a father who was abducted in front of his son while vacationing up at "the cabin" some odd years back. Wistful wife, Rachel, firmly believes that Harry ran out on her leaving young Tony at the cabin to fend for himself. But Tony knows the truth for he's haunted continuously by terrifying nightmares of the ominous light effect that Harry Broven Davenport uses to great effect as it blinds both the characters and the audience. It's not long before his father returns with "black magic from deep space" as the trailer defines it and he wants Tony. If you know nothing of Xtro before viewing it, the greatest surprises of all will be a vast reward. Pockets of bloody surrealism are tucked under many corners of this film with excruciatingly painful-to-watch prosthetics and bubbling pod-skin and other miserable body-horrors.


What Xtro borrows from the genre isn't much to it's own avail. With the alien arc in tow, it builds layers upon this story creating both sublime surrealism of daunting clown entities and layers of emotional and terrifying depth which leaves for one of the most serene and silent endings in science-fiction history. At the moments of the credits rolling, I found myself silent and respectful for the characters fates and that is simply something I don't do unless we are talking about Martyrs. One thing about Xtro that startles me is how frequently this film is panned; one reviewer even stating that the film "falls flat." Now I realize the existence of personal subjective classification but Xtro takes a stale tale and re-wraps the lore of an extraterrestrial entity and encrusts itself in a manic-depressive cocoon of extreme violence, sadistic psychological warfare, and a beautiful french woman who gets eaten out like the dirty tramp she is. In all the films I've seen, I don't think I've seen anything quite like Xtro.


If I had to pick the source of Xtro's power I'd circle the soundtrack of what Davenport called "screaming synthesizers." During the scene in which the "father" silently rediscovers his earthly rights off a backwoods road, his startling appearance marks the start of an increasingly delirious soundtrack that will appease any fan of avant-garde or sharp noise. Imagine Factums at the basic, stripped of it's rock core and the only thing left is the space synth with bleep twerps and the grinding ambiance of which I can only describe as looming. Xtro is an incredible sci-fi experience that makes up for what it loses in it's inexperienced (at the time) directors hands with it's broad perspective of the black beyond and relentless finale. Davenport doesn't care about your feelings towards his characters. He created these people and as a tactful god of his own fiction, he bestows upon whomever with whatever fates he desires. Xtro is merely his puppet and he works the strings fairly damn well. Say what you will about the film but in the end...

Xtro > You

-mAQ

An Odious Ode to Horrorist Hanns

Esoteric Mythmaker of Uncle Adolf's Minute-Long Millennial Reich

Defender of SINema, the novice art of Mass Communal Phantasmagorical Rite



International National

Voyeur of Vodun Island Sacrifice

Participant in New Orleans Necro Nacht


Aryan Degenerate

Warring Aesthetic

Kamerad of Satan

No Enemy of THY

-Ty E

Devil’s Playground

I happened to catch Peter Weir’s Witness the other night starring Harrison Ford, who is easily one of the most overrated and emotionally dead of actors ever to walk the candy ass halls of the Hollywood studio system. Witness got me thinking about the Amish and their commitment to a life of banality where pride is sinful and where collective conformity is a must. In Witness, director Peter Weir makes the Amish seem like a bunch of pacifistic yet noble folk who have no time for lollygagging. Unlike the rest of the German-Americans (who make up the largest ethnic group in the USA) that immigrated to the United States, the Amish have retained their native German tongue, at least for church and other special occasions. When I saw the Devil’s Playground, a 2002 documentary about the Amish rite of passage Rumspringa (where the Amish leave their homes at age 16 to decide whether they want to be baptized in the Amish church), sitting on a public library self not long after seeing Witness, I felt that cinematic fate caught me in a way. Despite featuring an Amish girl smoking a cigarette on the cover, little did I realize I would be watching a film about 16 year Amish teens dealing and doing crystal meth on top of banging ugly “English” chicks with greasy zit-covered pizzafaces. Despite the somewhat poor production values of the documentary, Devil’s Playground would turn out to be a revelation of sorts.


I guess growing up in the United States and watching trash cable TV just like everyone else, I did not realize how criminally dangerous the material was. Of course, I noticed a good percentage of the kids I knew growing up would watch untermensch Rap videos and decide (sub)consciously to adopt the linguistic styles of ill-literate Negroes. It was also obvious that pseudo-rebellious idealistic teens would become pro-gay marriage and pro-illegal immigration because they would be told they were evil racists (gotta love wearing that "Good Guy Badge") if they thought otherwise. To put it simply, it was very obvious to me in my younger years that TV was poison and that it turned people into slaves with their own personal mental-gulag, more so than any fascist or communist government ever could. Not until I saw Devil’s Playground did I realize how fast the virus of TV and “pop culture” could spread to a TV-Virgin, someone naïve and unfamiliar with the degenerate ways of the internationalist "American" media.

Faron is the main subject of Devil’s Playground and it did not take him long to get hooked on Crystal Meth after leaving his Amish life for Rumspringa. Although he may be as skinny as a Holodomor survivor, Faron is one of the top teenagers in his Amish community. His father is an Amish preacher and Faron knows how to quote from the good book better than anyone he knows. When he leaves for the world of the “English” (the non-Amish world), he starts quoting Tupac and speaking with a Negroid speech impediment. All of his fellow Amish buds idolize Faron and also start parroting his new MTV-inspired ill-literate-lingo. Faron is no doubt completely naïve to the complete and utter degradation of American society. Like a person of honor and virtue, he probably expected those things of popularity, like in his own Amish community, to be of the most highest moral standards. Due to his life of being “sheltered” by discipline and morality, he has no defense against the decay of the “west.” In our mixed-up and backwards American world, the person that would come out on top in the Amish world, ends up being the most criminal of all, selling Crystal Meth just to support his $100.00 a day habit while strutting around in his much beloved Wal-Mart baggy threads.



Fortunately for the Amish, there is about a 90% retention rate of those young people that decide to stay in the community. Personally, I would never want to be Amish but I can certainly say that the Amish people are better off in their small world of family and serious commitment. Modern America is full of vices that are constantly put in people’s faces via Television with the intent of enslaving the individual. I can’t count the times I have had to hear every moron I know verbally regurgitate the same stupid Hollywood comedy line over and ever again yet never realize their Hollywood induced psychosis. Devil’s Playground is almost a religious documentary in the sense that it truly shows the hellish world America has become even if one where to step into American “culture” and “society” just for a second. The mark of the cultural Marxist beast is libel to be ingrained forever.

-Ty E

The Chocolate War

While I was attending an American public High school, students were required to read a couple books over the summer. Of course, it seemed very few people actually did this. After all Tyrone and Dervon could never even get close to reading a mere page, let alone a full-length novel. Most of the honkies could finish a book if they wanted, but that would require much more effort than reading text message slang and whatnot. Literacy is just too Eurocentric and should be looked at as crypto-racism. It would be against America’s dire commitment to equality if white students were actually pushed to their full potential and forced to read the great works of “dead white men.” It is much more important to read the fantastic works of half-literate Negress Zora Neale Hurston as it makes whites realize the true quality of Negro Kultur. Me, being the naughty bigot that I am, found most of the Negro Novels to be completely and utterly unintentionally hilarious. Despite not being Catholic, I decided to read the book The Chocolate War, a novel about the inter-politics of an elite Catholic Boys school. Sure, maybe I could not relate to the Catholic school system, but I could at least relate to a group of white boyz who know how to use big words like “education” and “institution.” With the novel The Chocolate War, I also decided to watch the 1988 film based on the book.

How many Negroes attend the Catholic school in The Chocolate War?!? ZERO! How could a film be called The “Chocolate” War without a B-Balling brotha’ or a blunt blazin’ blackie? The film is about as white as they come featuring a group of well dressed gentlemen who display self-control and can use complex words beyond two syllables. I was surprised for such a book to make the reading list in High School, but because of the obvious message against the “system” of the Catholic School makes it appropriate subtle Cultural Marxist propaganda for those committed culture-distorters out there. Still, with all the corruptness of the Catholic school, I found much more quality in the school then say a public multicultural sewer (AKA American public school). After all, as the good Brother Leon says in The Chocolate War, “Boys will be Boys” and the boys in the film have a little conspiratorial fun not for destruction, but just for a little wholehearted power play-action. In The Chocolate War, one realizes there is a big difference between in-group games and out-group alien subversion such as that which has been plagued American public schools since the late 1960s.


The Chocolate War was directed by Keith Gordon, the fellow that played the automotive-obsessed nerd in the cinematic adaptation of Stephen King’s Christine. Due to the low-budget of The Chocolate War and Gordon’s keen business sense, the director was able to have virtual free reign over the creative process. Mr. Gordon cites auteur Nicholas Roeg as one of his main influences for the film and it shows. The Chocolate War has some interesting editing techniques that add to the film's fluidity and it does not get as masturbatory as Roeg’s films sometimes do. With the unique and sleek editing of the film also comes an 1980s synthesized soundtrack that puts the works of John Hughes to shame. In fact, The Chocolate War is kind of like a John Hughes film had the recently deceased director taken his cinema a little more seriously. The Chocolate War lacks all the silly melodrama that made many of the dramatic scenes in The Breakfast Club embarrassingly unwatchable.


Being an experienced actor, Keith Gordon was able to cast the right actors for the main roles in The Chocolate War. Lead protagonist and High School Freshman Jerry Renault was played excellently by Weird Science star Ilan Mitchell-Smith. Renault’s mother has just died and now he has a Catholic school student “secret society” known as The Vigils request him to do the dirty deed of not selling chocolates for a school fundraiser. The sinisterly suave leader of the Vigils, Archie, is played brilliantly by Wallace Langham. Despite Archie being the man of Renault’s torment, the two characters rarely communicate with one another in the film. Director Keith Gordon was able to quite nicely direct the lead characters of The Chocolate War and their relative worlds. Jerry Renault maybe a Freshmen nobody, but Mr. Gordon was able to get a performance out of the character that fully resonates the characters introverted world. Although “enemies,” both Jerry Renault and Archie are not the most different people in the world, quite the contrary actually. Their differences mainly comes from the system and hierarchy of the school more than anything with the Catholic system being the most dangerous element in the film, certainly much bigger than any one person.


The Chocolate War is a film that makes one realize how big of a joke American public schools are. Yeah, maybe the Catholic school system might have an “evil” power contained within it, but it is certainly no joke like the American public school zoo. I would have much preferred wearing a uniform in a serious private school instead of attending an American public school full of people who should have never been in school in the first place. There is a reason that less than half of students in America’s third world cities are graduating from High School. Even with all the low and pathetic standards of your typical American public school curriculum, the dullards aren’t passing anything but the crack pipe and scabies. I would not have minded partaking in a Chocolate war, but I would never have tolerated being part of an American public school urban Guerrilla war.

-Ty E