Julian Schnabel at the AGO (Exhibit Review)

Last Saturday Alex and I checked out the Julian Schnabel exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario. I didn’t think I would enjoy this exhibit so much. The number one reason why this exhibit is more powerful than anything I’ve seen at the AGO before: context (and the whole film theme, too). A lot of context for each piece. Documented.

Some of my favorite works were the broken plate pieces. I enjoyed the size of the artworks, and appreciated the time that went into creating them. I’ve seen a lot of peculiar and unusual work (like Rauschenberg), but for some reason these ones really struck me. I wondered about the individual past of each piece. I also like the fact that he documented his naming ideas. I just never saw plates on the painting before and I realized that I enjoy the 3 dimensionality there, as well as the kind of recycling of the work. They also made me think of Duchamp and the readymades.

Another positive element of this exhibit was the phone tour guide. You call an 800-number, enter the artwork ID and listen to Julian Schnabel himself explaining the piece. Before I called, I expected a droning tour guide voice to tell me the basics. But instead I got the notes from Schnabel himself. Like!

So, there was another broken plate painting that made me cheerful. It was called “Australia” and if you called in you’d hear a little story about who that was and who that related to. That gave me a better sense of what this was. I liked the multiple layers and multiple tales that the painting presented.

I VERY MUCH enjoyed Schnabel’s surfing photographs that he touched with white gesso (which is water soluble, hence leaves pleasant trails). Gesso gave the photographs this transcendence. Some realistic, yet magical touch that somehow heightened the whole surfing experience to something nearly divine. I felt like I was transported into the scene and that I could get splashed myself. The scale is unbelievable. The wave may just spill over and splash you.

While I wouldn’t really hang most of the pieces, I truly marveled at most of them. For example, look at the Andy Warhol portrait. It’s oil on black velvet. I noticed something was off about that work when I walked into the smaller room in which it was displayed. The background seemed to be made of blackest black. It was velvet. Which made the colors pop with unusual vibrancy. It also made me think of outer space, ghost of Warhol and his legacy. Truly gripping piece.

The Gary Oldman portrait was great as well. I really felt that the portrait was completed by his friend. Schnabel captured Gary’s vulnerable, open expressions really well. The matador costume seemed very fitting.

To summarize, I find the following things refreshing about the Julian Schnabel exhibit (and I applaud the AGO):

• a richer than usual context (with stories, comments, memories)
• some film history or fact related to film (you know I’ve a weakness for that)
• phone-in tour guide with notes from Schnabel himself
• powerful and well-chosen quotes, especially the Tarkovsky one below.
• interesting fascination with the lesser known personalities and stories. I thought of how amazing it was that that Julian Schnabel became interested in the less than famous, less than mainstream personalities. For example, Reinaldo Arenas in Before Night Falls. Then the preoccupation with matadors and the desire to adapt to screen a biography about this famous matador, written by another author in 1st person. Or the Jean-Dominique Bauby story chronicled in the Diving Bell and the Butterfly. That’s unique, that’s different. These are the stories that we don’t hear a lot (unlike Gandhi, Martin Luther-King, Ali and hundreds of others), but that need a voice. So I thank Julian Schnabel for bringing to light the relatively unknown stories and people. I am always curious to come across strong characters and inspiring tales that are also beautiful and poetic, and it’s great that Schnabel brings them to light. (More on that at some point later, I’d like to tie this into literature and music, but I can’t put all of this into words yet)
• Please take a look at the Before Night Falls books and DVDs available for sale, if you decide to plunge into the passionate story that it is.
• Or, if the Diving Bell and the Butterfly is your thing, I’ve sorted these relevant products for you.

Please check out the exhibit. More details are here. I’ll be sure to go again. It’s on until January 2, 2011.

“An artistic image is one that ensures its own development, its historical viability. An image is a grain, a self-evolving retroactive organism. It is a symbol of actual life, as opposed to life itself. Life contains death. An image of life, by contrast, excludes it, or else sees in it a unique potential for the affirmation of life. Whatever it expresses – even destruction and ruin – the artistic image is by definition an embodiment of hope, it is inspired by faith. Artistic creation is by definition a denial of death. Therefore it is optimistic, even if in an ultimate sense the artist is tragic. And so there can never be optimistic artists and pessimistic artists. There can only be talent and mediocrity.” Andrei Tarkovsky

TIFF10: Krai (Край) – Edge (Rus, 2009)

This post is cross-posted to my foreign film review tumblr:

Today I watched an awesome Russian film called Edge (Krai, aka Край) by Alexei Uchitel. World premiere took place at the Toronto International Film Festival on September 9. This movie isn’t even out in Russia yet, hehehe. It is a post-war steam-punk business as Slava put it. It was an awesome and enjoyable film.

The story line is relatively simple. August 1945. A former war frontliner and eventually a war hero (Vladimir Mashkov) – formerly concussed, hurt, injusticed, pardon the creation of a new word – is sent to a far away outpost and a village of people who used to be the prisoners of war. This is a settlement of Russian people who were caught by the Stalinist regime and sent to Siberia (actually, the Ural mountains – where I was coincidentally born – to keep building railroads and such) because they were traitors. One of the characters said, “Who knows what secrets they were passing on to Germans? You never know if thanks to them a bomb explodes in Moscow”. Something along those lines. Our war hero is a very manly and stern guy. Gets a local chick (Yulia Peresild) real fast. He is obsessed with steam trains, and finds out that on a nearby island there is a train guarded by an “undead girl”. He ventures out to uncover it, in the process meeting the “undead girl” who is actually the daughter of a German engineer who was arrested and shot before the war broke out. She spent the whole war in the forest, living in the steam train. They build a bridge over the river and get the train back… More happens, then some more. Watch it!

Oh, I forgot to mention. There are bears too!

Now, onto the details I really enjoyed. I found the dialogue to be silly and witty. Moreso witty than silly. There was a lot of action. There was sincerity. A lot of Russian expressions that made me laugh. Stereotypes. The stern Russian nature covered by the fuzz of the home-brew vodka (moonshine). It was a pleasant movie, a feel-good flick typical of the Hollywood. I think it was made with a specific global audience in mind: it was meant to largely please and to put the best foot forward on behalf of the Russian cinematographic community. It struck me as a sort of a reconciliatory extended arm on behalf of the formerly communist country. This film renounces communism (although that may be a bit of a strong word). Stalin is not a fun guy. People suffer. Moreover, the good and suffering guys get a chance to punish the authority.

It was fun. There was a lot of tension. Some of the most fascinating scenes (and displays of the creativity and human spirit) were those of the German girl and our war hero building the bridge for the “Gustav”, our steam train. Another fascinating scene was the bear feast (you’ll get it when you watch it). The frenzy that followed was a bit repulsive, but understandable.

It was a great film. I really hope it gets the Oscar next year. I enjoyed watching it, I enjoyed laughing at the jokes and stereotypes and I loved appreciating where Russian cinema is going. I hope they produce a lot more interesting stuff.

Ten Dollar Tales Premiere in Toronto

I dig up my WordPress log-in credentials to tell you that you should come to Revue Cinema this Saturday. You will have an opportunity to witness virtuoso independent film-making and have a few laughs. You will have a chance to meet the visionary director and a prolific artist, Christian Aldo. Don’t worry, we have an after party planned three doors down from the Revue Cinema. Come and bring friends!

The Ten Dollar Tales (2010)

(C. Aldo, M. Sfalcin, J. Doherty, N. Ramaswaran, J. DeMarco) PG, 75 min

TEN DOLLAR TALES, the critically acclaimed, low budget, cult TV series from Windsor Ontario, has now come to town to contaminate the minds of Toronto film goers. Still cranking out their usual brand of zany, offbeat science fiction and horror, The Revue CINEMA is proud to unveil three, never before seen episodes, guaranteed to dazzle and delight. Who, is crazy enough to create a ten million dollar science fiction trilogy with a mere budget of $10 dollars? The TEN DOLLAR TALES movie group, that’s who! Featuring the usual cast of hacks and slackers, catch all the action -

Saturday March 20th, Doors at 9:30pm, Feature begins at 10:00pm!

Admission: $10

Strigoi Strigoi

I watched this film during the After Dark film festival in Toronto. At first, I was very, very excited about the following description: “Strigoi is  Vampire movie that defies categorization. Shedding a fantastic light on a post-communist Romanian village, the film introduces us to an ancient myth: Strigoi, the souls that rise again after death to seek justice if they’ve been wronged, their appetites intensified by a hunger for blood.”

Sounds good, right? Add the appeal of post-communist countries, heavy color correction, Eastern European demeanor, handsome lead (Catalin Paraschiv) and you’re set.

Wrong. Directed by Faye Jackson, Strigoi is a slow, slow, slow film with droning, repetitive and not particularly humorous (nor scary) dialogue. It could also easily lose 30 minutes of footage and not risk losing any major points of the story. I was so surprised. Moreover, I feel the movie was mis-marketed as a vampire horror. Nothing particularly horrific happened, there were no fangs either. Save yourself some time and don’t bother actively watching it, although it would make an okay background soundtrack.

Although the film did receive the Best Film award at the Toronto After Dark Festival,  Eerie Horror Film Festival, South African Horrorfest and the Maelstrom Film Festival, and the Best Director at the Fantastic Film Sydney, I don’t think anybody really heard much about it. Who bought the distribution rights to the movie? It didn’t go mainstream.

Frank O’Hara & A Photograph

Yes, Frank O’Hara was featured in the last episode of Mad Men, season 2, and that’s how I first heard about him. Recently I acquired “Meditations in an Emergency” collection of poems, and to my delight, found that he’s an exceptionally talented poet. He mixes nuggets of pop culture with vivid images and aptly coiling phrases that project sly, sticky pictures in your head. If you follow the link at the beginning of the post, you will learn a lot more about him, and perhaps, be surprised. Frank O’Hara is not an obscure name in American literature, it is I who’s been an obscure mind in the dark about him! Bonus: he also loved Mayakovsky, and even wrote a poem to him.

Since I’m on a movie bend this week (and generally, too), I’m sharing his “To the Film Industry in Crisis”, below:

Not you, lean quarterlies and swarthy periodicals
with your studious incursions toward the pomposity of ants,
nor you, experimental theatre in which Emotive Fruition
is wedding Poetic Insight perpetually, nor you,
promenading Grand Opera, obvious as an ear (though you
are close to my heart), but you, Motion Picture Industry,
it’s you I love!

In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again whom we love.
And give credit where it’s due: not to my starched nurse, who taught me
how to be bad and not bad rather than good (and has lately availed
herself of this information), not to the Catholic Church
which is at best an oversolemn introduction to cosmic entertainment,
not to the American Legion, which hates everybody, but to you,
glorious Silver Screen, tragic Technicolor, amorous Cinemascope,
stretching Vistavision and startling Stereophonic Sound, with all
your heavenly dimensions and reverberations and iconoclasms! To
Richard Barthelmess as the “tol’able” boy barefoot and in pants,
Jeanette MacDonald of the flaming hair and lips and long, long neck,
Sue Carroll as she sits for eternity on the damaged fender of a car
and smiles, Ginger Rogers with her pageboy bob like a sausage
on her shuffling shoulders, peach-melba-voiced Fred Astaire of the feet,
Eric von Stroheim, the seducer of mountain-climbers’ gasping spouses,
the Tarzans, each and every one of you (I cannot bring myself to prefer
Johnny Weissmuller to Lex Barker, I cannot!), Mae West in a furry sled,
her bordello radiance and bland remarks, Rudolph Valentino of the moon,
its crushing passions, and moonlike, too, the gentle Norma Shearer,
Miriam Hopkins dropping her champagne glass off Joel McCrea’s yacht,
and crying into the dappled sea, Clark Gable rescuing Gene Tierney
from Russia and Allan Jones rescuing Kitty Carlisle from Harpo Marx,
Cornel Wilde coughing blood on the piano keys while Merle Oberon berates,
Marilyn Monroe in her little spike heels reeling through Niagara Falls,
Joseph Cotten puzzling and Orson Welles puzzled and Dolores del Rio
eating orchids for lunch and breaking mirrors, Gloria Swanson reclining,
and Jean Harlow reclining and wiggling, and Alice Faye reclining
and wiggling and singing, Myrna Loy being calm and wise, William Powell
in his stunning urbanity, Elizabeth Taylor blossoming, yes, to you
and to all you others, the great, the near-great, the featured, the extras
who pass quickly and return in dreams saying your one or two lines,
my love!
Long may you illumine space with your marvellous appearances, delays
and enunciations, and may the money of the world glitteringly cover you
as you rest after a long day under the kleig lights with your faces
in packs for our edification, the way the clouds come often at night
but the heavens operate on the star system. It is a divine precedent
you perpetuate! Roll on, reels of celluloid, as the great earth rolls on!

 

 

And to start the week on a friendly foot, here is a September picture of me, taken by Slava:

Book/Film Re-Runs

Catholic guilt is the term used to identify the supposed excess guilt felt by Catholics and lapsed Catholics. The term catholic guilt is controversial as it is not clearly differentiated from the guilt felt by members of other religions or moral codes. Says Wikipedia. This term is too strong for this post, but I use it when describing my feelings towards other things. Moreover, I’m not even Catholic.

I have a problem with watching the same film, or, worse, reading the same book, over and over and over because I’m acutely aware of the lack of time in a life (add to that the daily-changing probabilities of a sudden, tragic or freak death, accident or a negative surprise; life gets even shorter), and I feel that spending time re-reading the best book in the world will handicap me in my quest for self-development, entertainment and the general betterment.

If I get my mittens on a much beloved DVD, I don’t watch it right away (unless I’m trying to educate fellow bright minds during their visits to my pixie palace). I set it aside and feel torn between it (the personally approved) and the unseen latest and greatest (at least critically acclaimed or much-recommended, or “really important as per some weirdos” works). It’s not so difficult with films. I end up plowing through the cinematic world with no problem, catching both old and new, but rarely on repeat.

I have never re-read a book. I have absolute favorites, with highlighted passages, scribbles, smiley faces and comments in the margins, but I never read them again. I covet them, place them on display, and recommend left-right-center, but that’s it. Time is too precious. On top of that, I do remember the story line and have selected quotes written in my secret book.

I also rarely read contemporary fiction, because there is a higher probability that I won’t like it. Would I rather spend time on something that’s received a Nobel prize in Literature (check out the list, if you’ve got no author to read), something that inspires a dozen+ of other cultural pieces, or something that’s recently become a NY Times bestseller (which, by the looks of it, is every fiction book at Chapters). I pick 100 Years of Solitude over Life of Pi; I will sweat and labor over William Faulkner than surrender to Dan Brown. Does this make me some kind of a psychotic nut? Hey… I can just wait and give all this contemporary stuff 50 years and see where it gets them

In the dark ages of the past, I have been guilty of watching Titanic (I said it! I was twelve!), The Fifth Element, La Dolce Vita, 8 1/2, Hercules (Go Disney!), Coraline, The Hole very frequently. These movies are only 5% reflective of my favorites. My favorite movie of all times – Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, – was probably watched thrice in my lifetime. That’s it. What is the correlation between favorite films/books and those that I actually watched many, many times? Probably has to do with young age and having a lot more time dedicated to havoc and idleness (although I read!) vs now.

PS. Last contemporary book I’ve read was Pride & Prejudice & Zombies (hey, it was featured in episode 1 of Heroes, Season4). And it was awesome. Can we please have more remixing of old and new? I do like some light beach reading (poetry, Lewis Carroll), don’t get me wrong.

Tetro

I still have the images from this film in mind. What an excellent work of art. It’s Francis Ford Coppola’s first original screenplay since The Conversation. It is  a beautifully told story of the two brothers and the unveiling of the family secrets. The writing is absolutely fantastic, complemented by outstanding performances of Vincent Gallo and Alden Ehrenreich. Maribel Verdú (from Y Tu Mama Tambien) as the wife of Tetro (Vincent Gallo) does an amazing job, too.

I have never seen Vincent Gallo on screen before, and this film has put him into my favorite actors pool. He’s absolutely mesmerizing, the writer on a perpetual writing sabbatical, a not quite failed genius. And his eyes transmit a lot of emotion. The part where he stares at the blinding peaks of Patagonian mountains carry all the emotion of the subsequent ballet scene (which is also five stars).

Speaking of the ballet – Francis Ford Coppola created some of the most amazing dance scenes in this film. Some of them filled my eyes with tears. Apparently many of them have been shot in the studio only to be decorated with memorable and beautiful backgrounds in post-production. The whole film is actually in black and white – the present is in black & white, whereas flashbacks and scenes from memories are in color. In other words, for Tetro, the present is pretty bleak and not as vivid as the shaky past. I was wondering why the choice of black and white, until I hit the mid-peak of the film. My oh my.

I recommend this movie. It is now in my top 10 favorite movies of all time, filled with fully developed characters that undergo shocking changes as the story unveils. I’m still in a mild coma, and a sea of emotions that I can explain, but won’t. I don’t think it’ll be a stretch to say that Oscar nominations are due, but who knows. Go and watch it. Here’s the trailer:

Harvard and Realities of Unrealities

There is something unreal about Harvard, yet it pinches you with an overload of reality. What does that mean?

Every person, who is conscious enough, knows about Harvard, heard about its excellent programs, 340+ year history, accomplished alumni and, most importantly, the hefty price tag of the brand name degree.

But not everybody gets a chance to visit the campus, or has the desire to. I won’t preoccupy myself with those who don’t want to visit, but those who do. I’m one of those people. I haven’t had a lot of prior images of Harvard before I showed up, neither did I really research the school. Actually, little did I know that Transformers 2 boasted a stint on Harvard campus, involving some massive destructions inside the Widener Library, until I went and checked myself.

Being on campus, though, was certainly real. Yet the whole time I felt like Harvard was still this imaginary place that exists in this unapproachable world. A lot of people never think they’d come to the best educational institution in the world. And those who do, are probably in awe. One can only imagine what an enrolled student feels like. Or should probably feel like.

I feel that this visit has influenced a change in my middle-term strategy, a change that’s going to flower in the next 5 years or so…

81 Films In 4 Months

Ever since I purchased my MacBook Pro, thus starting fresh in the world of personal computers, I set out to manage my data properly and responsibly.

After organizing my files, I set out to expand my media vault. Below is the list of films (in alphabetical order) I have acquired over the past 4 months; some – dearly loved, others I have never seen (or even heard) before. My collection is significantly populated with art house/independent films, and I love it.

What do you say?

1    2001: A Space Odyssey
2    400 Blows
3    A Short Film About Killing
4    A Woman Under The Influence
5    Aguirre, the Wrath of God

YES

“Approximately 91.9% of respondents have a lower extraversion raw percentage than yours. From the way you answered the questions, you seem to describe yourself as someone who is constantly energetic, exuberant and active. Your answers describe you as someone who aims to be the centre of attention at social occasions, asserts yourself when in groups, and usually says, “Yes!” ” <- Bingo, the Karin!

PS. Needless to say, I am looking forward to Yes Man with Jim Carrey. The poster alone is worth some serious consideration. Check the trailer:

Product Placement

Product placement works. Like magic. It is also one of the cheaper and more effective ways to reach the consumer – show the product in action and worry less about the PVRs. In fact, how about more collaboration with television series and what not on putting products into the hands of actors? How much more/less would that cost? And how certain can you be now that the audience will certainly see the product in action?

The first effect of product placement that I remember in my short life involved us, 16- or 17-year olds, watching one of Michael Moore’s (yuck) documentaries. I believed it was Bowling for Columbine (or another one) with my Law class. If memory serves right, there was something about McDonald’s. While the movie bashed it, a whole bunch of us got hungry. Guess where we really wanted to go after the movie was over.

Mad Men. Those folks smoke and drink non-stop. For every misfortune, the remedy is to drink. For every great thing – more drinks. Whereas I don’t drink more frequently, I definitely seem to grab my favorite Djarum Blacks more often than not. Ooops!

PS. Happy December. In two weeks I’ll be in Vancouver! Wee!

15 years old again

Here is how it is: I laugh at the audience of preadolescent gals – or adolescent? Heck, let’s just say, tweens, – frenzying it up for some teenage vampires. Oh, and I don’t even know what the movie is about, and what sort of hilarity we are destined to see. And hilarious it is. Except that on the 55th minute you rapidly start swaying towards the gentlemanly Edward Cullen. Later on, one clues in that no 17- or 25-year old would ever act so nobly; it takes approximately 100 years to figure out how to treat a woman (girl in this case) right.

And yes, I remember how I used to love, love, love Anne Rice’s novels (that, last time I checked, still held the top of mind place in consumers’ minds), and vampire Lestat, and vampire Armand. I gave up on all of that. Ad then True Blood sucked me back into it. And so did the Lancome Piha Black lipgloss over their red lipstick a la Louboutin sole of a shoe.

And then this Twilight thing came out. I don’t mind admitting that I appreciate Robert Pattinson’s exterior, thank God for our same-agedness. If he was a tad bit younger, I would have to reconsider. All right, Edward Cullen, take me away! I am, too, a fan of Debussy’s.

PS. This review made me laugh so hard, I nearly had to rush to the washroom. Bagels, doom, and proletarian demands. I say, get them while they’re young!

On Batmans

Jeremy, Ian, Elia and I went to the 12:50am screening of the latest Batman affair. It nearly sold out, too.

Right after I purchased my advanced tickets at work yesterday, I announced that I was going to spoil the movie for everyone in the office. Obviously, that was a joke. My coworker took it to heart, however, and seriously uttered: “You better not spoil the movie!” I said: “Yeah, yeah, I better NOT indeed” in a manner that was rather saying, “what are you going to do about it?”

It’s a great movie – it’s intense, dark, shocking, unrelenting in the distance it’s willing to go. Very effective.

But there is nothing to spoil! Don’t tell me you don’t have the slightlest clue on who’s going to get caught, who is going to die, who should die, who doesn’t die, who ends up worse than before. In fact, everyone ends up in a worse state than they originally started with. I thought of Prisoner’s Dilemma when the movie ended, although the two are not directly related. The only way I’d spoil things is if I outlined particularly effective action scenes. But I wouldn’t do that! :-p

Go see it in IMAX if you can. I probably will.

PS. Yes, Joker is amazing. Amusing fellow, in fact.