Until the Light Takes Us

Norwegian black metal holds a special place in my heart and by that I do not merely mean the music (but mainly the spirit). Growing up watching MTV during my elementary school years, I soon became disillusioned by the messages of peace and tolerance promoted by the majority of white artists I was exposed to. After all, all the Negro “musicians” promoted violence and the will to power (albeit, in a way I could never relate to). For me, it was simply a question of, “Why are all white musicians a bunch of pussy hippies?!?” Of course, I grew older and discovered aggressive music on my own but is was not until I discovered black metal that I realized the power (for better or for worst) a music scene could have. I was first exposed to black metal after watching Harmony Korine’s Gummo about 7 years ago, a cinematic experience that changed my life in more than one way (the discovery of black metal being one of those ways). I soon realized black metal was an expression of an atavistic reawakening in the Nordic countries, the European dream that German Friedrich Nietzsche had hoped for, only on a much smaller (and somewhat degenerate) scale. 

The black metal musicians have done much more than most people that simply describe themselves as “musicians.” They burned down churches, murdered homosexuals, committed suicide and even murdered each other. The little Jewish auteur from Tennessee, Harmony Korine, even stated that the black metal muscians killed their Messiah. As a tribute to black metal musicians and their neo-heathen imagery, Korine even exhibited his photography project The Sigil of the Cloven Hoof Marks Thy Path whilst tap-dancing in black-metal-face. Korine’s project can be seen in the 2009 documentary on the history of Norwegian black metal Until the Light Takes Us. Surely, the greatest and most innovative musician involved with black metal is Varg “Count Grishnackh” Vikernes. Varg is best known for his musical outfit Burzum as well as the killing of his musical rival Euronymous, the man Harmony Korine named the messiah of black metal. The documentary Until the Light Takes Us helps to separate the facts and myths surrounding black metal culture.

Aside from the killings and church burnings, the only other thing most people associate black metal with is Satanism. Of course, the media was behind associating black metal with Satanism as Varg Vikernes makes clear in Until the Light Takes Us. The real motivation behind the anti-Christian sentiment associated with black metal is the reawakening of the pre-Christian Nordic soul. As explained by Varg and various other musicians in the documentary, black metal musicians hate Christianity due to the fact that the Christians destroyed their original cultures and replaced it with the religion of Christ. Not only do the black metal musicians despise Christ but they also hate egalitarian globalism and how it is being spread like cancer in a similar manner they feel Christianity was, destroying what is organically theirs and replacing it with “peaceful” universal internationalism. In Until the Light Takes us, Varg Vikernes describes how as a child, when he saw a McDonalds fast food restaurant built in his town, his immediate reaction was to shoot it with a rifle with his comrades. In fact, Varg and his fellow musicians, although taught lies of equality growing up, felt with their truest instincts that globalization was wrong, hence reacting to it in the most violent manner, whether it was by creating raw black metal or catching a church on fire.

Varg in prison

The black metal musician Fenriz sums up the Norwegian soul as one of extreme individualism and isolation. Surely, the modern internationalized world is causing dissonance in the Northern soul with third world immigrants (who are generally collectivist races that lack individualism) flooding into first world nations. As the world gets more globalized and even more groups of people that have nothing in common (both culturally and racially) are cramped together, one can most certainly expect much more violent and powerful resistances to internationalism in the future, for black metal is only the beginning. Since the events discussed in Until the Light Takes Us happened sometime ago, the documentary mainly acts as a reflection of the black metal movement during the early days of a globalized Norway. Recently, Varg Vikernes has even described metal culture as “Nigger Culture” and is now mainly involved with creating dark ambient synthesizer-based (something he has always experimented with) and folkish music, as well as writing books on Heathenism.

The best source for the history of black metal is the book Lords of Chaos written by Michael Moynihan (with the help of Norwegian Didrik Søderlind). Much like the documentary Until the Light Takes Us, Lords of Chaos is fairly objectively done, allowing for the main creators of black metal to tell their own stories. I had already read the book before watching the documentary Until the Light Takes Us so I didn’t really learn anything new by watching it (but at the very least, I was once again treated to the fantastic aesthetic package of black metal). Apparently, Japanese auteur Sion Sono (Suicide Club, Strange Circus) will be directing a film based on Lords of Chaos. For now, treat yourself to Until the Light Takes Us. 

-Ty E

Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

David Bowie has played various film roles during his career where he has magical and supernatural powers, probably because he is known for being a space oddity of sorts. That being said, I do not think he has ever seemed more powerful than he does in the film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence directed by Japanese auteur Nagisa Oshima. David Bowie has been an ambiguously queer fellow his whole life (I think he fancies black women now), no doubt the British heir of Oscar Wilde’s dandy boy legacy. In Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust powers reach their full potency in a film that Yukio Mishima would have probably (secretly) described as his favorite romance movie had he not committed ritual suicide via Seppuku before the film was released. Despite the film being fairly aesthetically normal (or many times, even boring), Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence is a certainly film like no other, a demented forbidden romance between  Anglo male and Japanese male, a song of subversive ultra-nationalistic Samurai sexuality. 

Colonel John Lawrence is a charming British fellow, a man that looks after his fellow British POW comrades and attempts to form a somewhat positive relationship with his Japanese captors. Lawrence has no tolerance for Japs giving his fellow Brits slaps (on top of much worse physical punishment), thus resulting in being beaten many times whilst coming to his comrades rescue. Like the cultured Brit that he is, Mr. Lawrence also prefers chatting (as opposed to physical barbarism) with his Japanese captors in a respectful manner, attempting to instill reason into a group of Japanese men who still live by a strict and many times irrational spiritual Japanese Samurai code. One Japanese chap asks Mr. Lawrence, “Is it true that all English men are Homosexuals?” I consider that a fair question as I wondered the same thing for the longest time but then I realized I was just used to American-style barbarian manners and a less refined (and bastardized) form of the English language. Mr. Lawrence is no doubt offended by the Japanese man’s question regarding Anglo sexuality and assures the silly Jap that wartime is just a time for extra special male bonding. Somewhat shockingly (to me), the Japanese man states, “You all fear homosexuality, a Samurai doesn’t fear it.” The great Japanese Samurai writer Yukio Mishima probably feared it (or at least was ashamed of it), but that may have also led him to be the last famous figure in Japan to commit Seppuku, a poetic honor like no other, a feat that truly proves that the sword is mightier than the pen. 

Aesthetically, aside from the films wonderful (if not somewhat dated) soundtrack, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence is not exactly the most innovative film. The power of the film lies between the chemistry of the actors, most notably David Bowie (who plays Jack Celliers) and Ryuichi Sakamoto (who plays Captain Yonoi). Captain Yonoi is an uptight authoritarian figure who seems to follow a strict Samurai code; that is until he first sees Jack Celliers. Any fellow Jap that attempts to harm Celliers, Captain Yonoi punishes in an almost reflex-like manner. Immediately, Mr. Lawrence becomes perplexed by Yonoi’s obsession with Jack Celliers but soon realizes it is of a homoerotic nature. In fact, it becomes fairly blatant to everyone at the POW camp that Captain Yonoi has a homoerotic obsession with Celliers, so obvious that Yonoi's ADC attempts to kill Jack in hopes that it will free Yonoi-boy from his gay love. David Bowie’s flower-eating super-homo powers are far too powerful for Yonoi, so compelling that Mr. Stardust prevents the execution of a man by kissing the Captain and causing him to lose all of his sexually repressed Samurai discipline. This simple kiss scene is possibly the gayest scene I ever seen in a film despite how seemingly innocent it may seem. In Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence David Bowie’s lifelong crusade of extra spacey ambiguously gay power finally reaches it full peak with a mere peck on the cheek. 

Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence is a film that caught me by surprise for I expected another boring American POW World War II film and received a rainbow roller-coaster through sexually-repressed Samurai hell. No tour through Stalingrad or South Africa could prepare a viewer for a film like Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence nor could a Rainer Werner Fassbinder cinema marathon. I fear that the blond rebel beast David Bowie will now haunt my dreams, staring at me with his heterochromia eyes, chewing on his flowers for what would feel like hours. Near the conclusion of the film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence Jack Celliers suffers a tragic end buried from the neck down in a Japanese torture garden. Still, by the end of the film one feels content knowing Captain Yonoi salutes his comrade one last time. 

-Ty E

Pornostar

 

Titled Pornostar with little explanation and no visible connection to pornography in the slightest, Toshiaki Toyoda's debut feature finds an inexplicable script defining allusion towards the revolting youth of our Eastern brethren. Redubbed Tokyo Rampage for a US distribution seemed to be the only logical choice concerning the ill-kept and illogical titling of Pornostar but as quickly as the film begins, we're thrust into a story relying heavily on symbolism of unexplained hatred and prejudice against the Yakuza. Arano appears to be of mental deficiency, stalking the bustling streets with little to no human contact. Only with the appearance of a Yakuza does he resemble a human, and a violent one at that. Unexplained and unkempt are the only two traits this film abides by as it breaks all preexisting boundaries of film by offering no explanation and no mercy from the belligerent "storytelling" and sometimes shockingly beautiful scenarios. But not even raw ore can fulfill the needs of a cinematic miner as he/she struggles to find something more than rabid hatred to embrace.

Briskly acquiring speed via a narrowing view of a high-traffic crosswalk in Shibuya, the camera eventually centers on a coated figure with a blank expression of terminal sincerity. Arano is established first-and-foremost as a generic vision of troubled youth in Shibuya with modern "punk" sensibilities but a taste for bleeding the Yakuza as they are "not needed." These two words make up most of the muttered lines sprinkled across the film as he stabs and slices his way through criminal ranks until he happens across Kamijo, a Yakuza "tough guy" archetype who is troubled with the idea of stripping one of the their life, which mixes beautifully with the tense brotherhood that Arano and Kamijo create. Within this bond of fluctuating intensity lies a deep-seated fear of grievous injury, seeing as how Arano was created with the intention of psychotic tendencies which even leads him to stabbing a child upon the discovery of his enrollment in Yakuza Youth. Later on during the events of alternatively titled Tokyo Rampage, a murky pretense of plot is discovered when a woman decides to hitch Arano along for a ride by skateboarding and stealing a ghetto blaster loaded with LSD, to which is later applied to a humorous context as she nearly overdoses and is repeatedly kicked in the stomach as her gaze fixates on the ceiling while her tender body lurches on the bathroom floor, creating an oddly erotic effect.

Strangely enough with the lack of non-violent confrontations, the bizarre symbolism abroad finds a way to redeem the film's lacking efforts with zeal. Scenes of somber, ritualistic killings are followed by a torrential rain of knives, clattering to the streets avoiding the body of Arano and his compulsive and brutal nature. With his psychosis immortalized on the screen, one must wonder if he is the hero or the villain of this tale. After all, Kajimo has been personalized with the sad weight of his father's funeral on his shoulders which commits heavily to his reluctance to murder. The quickness of which Arano's moods shift is exhilarating and repulsive as demonstrated during a scene of drug trade. Refusing to lower the prices for a weighty amount of LSD, Arano and Kajimo's underlings engage in a laughing fit which prompts for a bracing stature the moment Kajimo mutters "Not these guys. Don't shoot." Contrary to his request, Arano's bloody and gashed face contorts to an expression of pleasure as he pulls out a gun, shooting both dealers in the head. Further possible scenes of symbolism revolve around Arano's catatonic nature on the couch of Kajimo's loft as he continuously lights matches to watch them burn out, then throwing them to the floor preoccupied by a large amounts of tomatoes. Kajimo's worrisome nature kicks in as he steps on the matches but in the process squashing tomatoes which can be taken as heavy foreshadowing to the amount of red we will be treated to later.

Only to add insult to injury is the usage of gnarling and dreamlike guitar as a backdrop into the mind of a youthful killer. Pornostar is a bizarre debut picture from a director who later establishes himself with films entirely unlike Pornostar which circumvents the illusion here that more is better. Perhaps the stringy substance of narrative is entirely unnecessary given the right techniques and social hamstrings to sever. Or maybe this is all an experimental facade to see how far the audience is willing to accompany Toyoda on his nihilistic stint with cruel rebellion. Regardless of intention, Toyoda has created something born into the world with a fervor to live. Instead of questioning the filmic biology of life and whether or not Pornostar should be, one must embrace the existence of such a film to turn shoulder and dodge the bullets of formulaic cinema processing. For these and many other reasons, Pornostar is a film that I grow more fond of the longer I ponder about the rampant anger that Arano has distilled upon me and all who view, regardless of opinion.

-mAQ

The Killer Inside Me

I did not have much expectation when going into The Killer Inside Me as I assumed the film would be the typical absurdly romantic portrayal of psychopathic killer that Hollywood is so fond of. The film is based on a fairly popular pulp crime novel of the same name that was written by Jim Thompson (who worked with Stanley Kubrick on his script for The Killing) and published in 1952. One writer nicknamed author Thompson "Dimestore Dostoevsky" and with the author's dark psychological insights into human nature (set in backwards rural southwestern United States), I consider that a fair title for the author of The Killer Inside Me. The Killer Inside Me is a fun little film, featuring a hot twat prostitute, the banality of small town socio-political living, and what happens when a group of town folk come to realize one of their own sons is a saint of sadism.

The lead of The Killer Inside Me is played by Casey Affleck, the younger and less impressive (yet less annoying) brother of hack Hollywood star Ben Affleck. Casey Affleck plays Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford, a man who loves platitudes and seems to be a competent yet somewhat mentally slow officer of the law. Underneath the seemingly normal and typical exterior, Lou Ford is a depraved sociopath who seems most alive whilst punching beautiful women in the face. I almost would have liked to have seen Ben Affleck play the role of Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford but his brother Casey does a good enough job. Casey’s Texan twang combined with his soft-spoken monotone voice make for a disturbingly effective auditory signature for a sociopath killer.

One has to wonder whether or not sociopaths can love/find love and if so, with who? Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford seems to find love in a hot tamale prostitute played extra erotically by Jessica Alba. Apparently, Alba is one of those annoying Feminists in real-life but in The Killer Inside Me she does a superb job enjoying being beaten during sex, especially in a super sensual scene involving her bare ass and Lou Ford’s belt. Alba’s prostitute characters acts like a super big cunt when Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford warns her to leave town due to her illegal prostitution, so the officer makes sure to give her a little corporal punishment in response to her disorderly behavior, a kind of chastening that eventually results in a deranged sort of true love. If only Jessica Alba’s character in the hatchet-job spickploitation film Machete were to have also received the same kind of punishment from a white man of the law. According to mestizo comedian George Lopez, a DNA test showed Alba to be 87% European and 13% Injun. One can only assume that her beauty in general is the result of her European ancestry but the Amerindian genetics helped to add a little extra meat to her delectable derriere.

The Killer Inside Me is certainly no motion picture masterpiece but a worthy way to waste about two hours. After all, Hollywood films about killers are generally highly repulsive and full of more platitudes than Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford could ramble off after an all-nighter drinking Southern Comfort. The Killer Inside Me is a film about the struggle it takes when dealing with the nonstop addiction of sadism. Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford is a somewhat interesting anti-hero that challenges ones thoughts in regards to going beyond good and evil. He may lack the charm of Alex from A Clockwork Orange and charisma of Ted Bundy but one cannot help but find him likable, at least to some degree. After all, Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford was able to drive Jessica Alba to “the congress of a cow.” 

-Ty E