August Employee of the Month

Kris Kadas

For service above and beyond the call of duty.

Thanks Kris

I Wanted To Belive... in the Russians (The X-Files review concluded)

The X-files I want to believe.

In this update in the lives of Fox Moulder and Dana Scully, two F.B.I. agents who investigate the government’s “X-Files” – unexplained cases that deal with the paranormal, we are faced with a very different dynamic duo than the team we loved all those years ago.

Stating the obvious everyone’s older but still wildly attractive. The two are not agents anymore they are lovebirds in a shack in the middle of nowhere. Moulder obsesses over old x-files and sits in his office taping news clippings to bulletin boards and not shaving. Scully, cleaner shaven; is a surgeon for a Catholic hospital and specialises in brain surgery. Since we are introduced to the two being together already, one of the most enjoyable aspects of the original series is out of the race before it even starts. The almost punishing amount of sexual tension the show had is thrown out the window. In its place are tedious lover quarrels that are constantly reaching the edge of break up. It doesn’t sell because it is constant throughout the entire film and used as a ploy to build tension and character relation but, the filmmakers should give some of us more credit. Those who know Moulder and Scully don’t need to be privy to this inane banter that runs itself in circles and for those who don’t may be thinking “if these two have been together for almost ten years how come in every sentence they refer to each other by their last names?”

The plot (or lack thereof) is a complete paradox. Two Russian men have abducted an F.B.I. woman in Alaska. An old priest, who is also a convicted pedophile (great turn by Billy Connelly), helps the F.B.I. track down the woman because he’s a psychic. Moulder and Scully are called in to see if this priest is the real deal, as they have had some run-ins with psychics in the past. As it turns out the two Russians are a married couple, one of whom has cancer. Turns out in Russia they do these black listed operations where they use other people’s body parts and use them to replace your sick body parts, leaving you with a result that makes you look a little like Frankenstein. Sounds neat in theory only this process is never explained or never really shown to the viewer, and better yet Scully happens upon the evil plot through Google. Where things get grey is who the Russians target to be these new body parts, or rather who the not sick Russian targets. He targets women; the explanation here is they have a rare blood type that his dying husband needs, but still there is something creepy about him being so gung ho about sewing up his husbands head on a woman’s body as he literally whispers to him “soon you will have a perfect body”.

Where everything falls apart for this film is the complete lack of care taken with the story. First off our heroes have been completely stripped of any of their relevance for them to be in the story. Gone are the days of the incredibly smart medical doctor Scully who performed all the autopsies and could administer impromptu surgeries if need be. Now Scully has become a doctor who has to Google stem cell research in order for her to prepare a life endangering brain surgery on a child. Moulder has lost his sly sense of humour and all his detective skills are completely lost. Instead everything falls in his lap, for example he’s at a crime scene and before everyone walks away he looks down and finds a missing woman’s medical bracelet that blows the case wide open. The secondary characters except Billy Connelly’s priest are some of the most annoying background characters in recent memory. The other two new F.B.I. agents are played by Amanda Peet (who wears her shirts way too unbuttoned) and Xzibit (who is devoid of any meaning other than a seat fuller for Pimp My Ride fans). Two amazing thespians who give the script such justice that it drove me to the brink of contemplating suicide or at least asking for a refund.

The one positive thing there is to say about this film is that the photography of it is beautiful. Some of these shots are breathtaking. It’s all shot in Vancouver in the winter, mostly in the mountains and it is because of this that the whole film comes off as incredibly beautiful.

Cinematography is not enough to save a bad film and this one just gets your confidence shaken. This film somehow manages to be invalid to diehard fans of the series, casual fans, and new comers. It simply has nothing for anybody willing to take it in. Which is a shame, it would have been nice to see a good sci-fi thriller that could appeal to the masses while still being a completely enjoyable film for the geeks. I’m not too hardcore a fan, I am currently watching the whole series over and enjoying it immensely and any trace of what was a show that dealt with government conspiracy, fascism, redemption, love, courage, doppelgangers, aliens, bees, democracy, (and in that order I might add) has been smeared in favour of a film with a message that has something to do with confused Russian homosexuals, stem cell research, religion, and pedophiles.

During the film’s production its plot was kept in complete secrecy. Fake photos were leaked on the net including ones of a bad ass looking werewolf. It was kept so secret that those in anticipation thought they were in for something fantastic. Why keep something so secret right? Not like you could keep something so bad so secret. Well with I Want to Believe Chris Carter has done something quite impressive. He has made a film that is such a paradox to me that it is its own X-file.

Remember Trust No One especially Chris Carter.

aesthetics

I have to say the blogs layout this month is the best yet.

I Wanted To Believe... Chapter One

The X-Files: I Want to Believe.... holy smokes, where do i start?

I want to believe this film never saw the light of day.
I want to believe I didn't waste two hours of my life and ten bucks out of my pocket.
I want to believe that there is still intelligent life left in Hollywood... somewhere.

This film tops the list of one of the most god awful, inane, pointless moving pictures i have ever seen.

Holy hell, i would take Meet The Spartans over this mess. I'm not asking for action or little green men to run around but i am asking for something, anything that resembles an X-File.

You don't sit on a cult series for almost ten years to resurrect it for one last hurrah that slugs across the screen in a whimper. Holy... holy. I honestly don't believe it. Wasn't there one person who looked at the wreckage and said "Maybe we should go back to the drawing board."

Reading critics reviews and forums of what people thought about this film reveals that there is some positive takes on it. Did we honestly see the same film? It's not even good in that you lowered your expectations way. It's not even a guilty good, a shameful good. This is like getting a hot iron poked up your ass. This film hurts. It has the power to depress. I can't even talk about it right now because i'm so fucking depressed. By far... worst movie of 2008 easily.

Stick to renting the show.

I wanted to believe...

(to be concluded)

A bunch of good ones

A veritable cornucopia of cinematic wonderment is washing in from far and wide these days, led as always, by a stellar collection of new and upcoming Criterion releases. I'm therefore going to attempt a little round up of the most interesting of these titles and make all the staff newbies' continuing employment conditional of viewing and answering snap quiz's about them at the time of my choosing.

Barring these DVD's ending up at Drop Kick's or Nikki's place only to see the light of the FBW months later, after all the publicity has died and no one cares any more, the cream of the crop are....

24 Eyes (Nijushi no hitomi) ... A haunting 1954 Japanese epic about a young teacher with 12 pupils (pun intended, though accidental) over 30 years. I'm guessing it will bore most of you A.D.D. iPOD cellphone sufferers to death, but this is a beautiful, nuanced piece about the tragic arc of a young woman's life and worth the effort. It's stayed with me for years.

While not out yet, a Chinatown burn of Johnnie To's new Mad Detective is kicking around and remains one of this year's best films. To is Hong Kong's top film maker and he reimagines the detective film in a way that breathes new life into a much-worked genre. A must see.

The Small Back Room... A movie that I had mixed up with another British film from around the same time known as The Hidden Room (also excellent, but it has nothing to do with this one). This is a Powell/Pressburger film about a post WW2 bomb-defuser that I saw years ago and remember liking. As with all of their films, this one is taut, well written and beautifully shot.

Brand Upon the Brain.... Guy Maddin's middle film in his life-series (the other two being Cowards Bend the Knee and My Winnipeg) is interesting, a little daunting at 1 hour and 37 minutes, but wholly unique in a completely un-Hollywoody way. It's a Lynchian narrated-memory piece about growing up on an island where a boy's loony parents run a weird orphanage. It's shot in frenetic jiggling black and white with stream of consciousness editing and has a cool sound track. Completely original. Now that we're neighbours I bought too many copies in a veiled effort to impress him if he happens into the store. How sad is that?

Two on the horizon.... Last year, Criterion's fall release of Army of Shadows probably saved me from driving a pair of scissors into some snivelling middle-aged Roncey-mother's forehead (who was likely complaining that her little demonoid offspring was traumatized by the intense magic-violence of a Harry Potter film) and the subsequent prison sentence that would have inevitably followed. Notwithstanding that fact that I have retired to a kind of self-imposed exile at Casa Segredos to combat these homicidal urges, this autumn looks good for the ongoing health of Roncey-Yuppie-Bombers with the release of two more Melville masterpieces, Le Doulos and Le Deuxième souffle. It strikes me as strange that watching existentially grim French neo-noirs that inevitably end in the death of the protagonist at the fickle hands of fate puts a little extra spring in my step and brings a smile to my face. Bring on the little bastards and their parental basket cases. I'm immune to your blather and crass, self-indulgent ways. You want a baby scoop with 3 flavours in waffle cone? Nope. Next! You broke your third DVD in as many rentals and want to rent more but not pay because it wasn't your fault? Fuck off. Next! The lesson here? Jean-Pierre Melville saves lives. I'm really hoping for a release of Melville's nearly unseen Magnet of Doom next fall.

Aftermath – When the Idiots are Gone. National Geographic put this wet-dream of mine on DVD and while it spends an excessive amount of time on what would happen to poor Fido if everyone just up and disappeared one day (ie: he would be torn apart by nuclear-irradiated super mice or just die of loneliness and starvation – you need opposable thumbs to work that pesky can-opener ....dontcha boy!), it's pretty darn good. By the way, camels are looking good because they eat anything (even McDonalds) so if you really care about having a pet that would survive this eventuality, look no further. You barely have to water them, but I digress. Imagine... no people... I get goosebumps and giddy all at once! Imagine...silence... no Portuguese gangbangers driving around in lowered Honda Civics with their subwoofers set on “earthquake” listening to bad rap. No one in any of the 47 espresso bars on Roncesvalles. Nobody at City Hall calculating how to rework the roads so that they don't work and everyone has to take the non-existent transit system. No one at Walmart buying shit they don't need that they'll have to replace in 3 months because it broke...again. I just quiver with joy when I think about it. I think I need therapy.

The Band's Visit.... I'll end here, on an up-note. What a terrific film this is. An Egyptian police band takes a wrong turn on the way to Ben Albuquerque and ends up in Ben Nowhere, some back water Israeli town in the middle of the desert. There, they meet a woman (who might just be the sexiest person on the planet) who runs a local restaurant and a beautiful story of cultural exchange and human interaction unfolds over the next 24 hours of their lives. This is a film that you can recommend to anyone (except if she has scissors sticking out of her head and is holding a traumatized 2-year-old). It was a complete treat.

postscript....

Last night a pleasant/spacey womyn of about 30 ambled up to the counter and asked if we had Ram Dass/Fierce Grace. Yup. I looked it up and said it was rented - due back a week ago - but that that wasn't a huge surprise given the type of person that typically rents Ram Dass/Fierce Grace lives on a higher plane and doesn't much go in for the little stuff like returning their movies on time or feeding the cat. I wish I had a camera so that I could have caught the look she flashed. It was that rare perfect combination of a marginally forced smile, uncertainty as to whether I'd just insulted her or not, despair, disappointment, and annoyance with a hint of smug indifference and an uncertain air of quasi-superiority that she didn't quite pull off. Did we have any other films that details the spiritual journey/transformation of someone to a place of perfect transcendental bliss?, she asked. What about Batman Begins? I suggested. The look again...only better this time.

I imagined that most of the conversations Joe has ever had....ended with a variation on that look.

Made Connections

Back in the early/mid 1980's PBS reran a 10 part 1978 BBC history documentary written and presented by James Burke. It was one of the most engaging and informative programs that I'd ever seen. Connections did just what it's name implied – connecting us with the past through a series of seemingly unrelated steps backwards in time to the genesis of an idea. Each episode followed a modern (at least by 1978 standards) technological advance that we all took for granted and deconstructed its evolution from a simple idea to a intricate part of a much-larger present-day system. What sounds boring was anything but. Each episode was mesmerizing. Two subsequent series were produced much later, Connections 2 in 1993 and then a third and final series in 1997, but the first one remained the best.

30 years on, I finally coughed up the $500 for the complete Connections series. I don't know why it's so damned expensive and I wondered whether it would hold up all these years later (or whether I would be staring at the screen in utter horror as I did with another film fav from that era – Remo Williams). I watched the first two episodes of Connections 1 tonight and was stunned by just how well it's aged. If anything, Burke's research and the yarns he spins are more relevant today than ever before. This is a must see documentary about our world and where it (and by association - we) came from. The opening episode, entitled The Trigger Effect, is a haunting cautionary tale about the vulnerability of our massive and complex cities. In an early scene, standing on top of the then-much-taller World Trade Centre, Burke explains that all the people below are virtually unaware of their exposure to danger and chaos if even one small part of the system breaks down. He uses the eastern seaboard blackout of 1965 to show how a tiny electric relay in Niagara Falls tripped and plunged the entire eastern seaboard into darkness. 200 planes were scheduled to land in and around New York that evening and a Scandinavian plane was on final approach when the runways went dark. The flight number?.... 911.

Creepy.

These technological “traps”, as Burke calls them, have grown exponentially since the original broadcast of this program way back in 1978 and our increased reliance on, and belief in, technology makes us ever more vulnerable to a simple system crash. In the 1965 blackout, at least the phones still worked – they didn't a few years ago in our big blackout. What's astonishing to consider is just how quickly a society collapses when technology fails and as we continue to increase the complexity of the systems around us, how we become further ensnared by it.

Don't get me wrong, Connections doesn't dwell on end-of-days doom and gloom. It's mostly an engaging and often humorous exploration of the odd associations between everyday things and the fascinating role historical coincidence, fate and even blind luck had in their eventual arrival in our time. This might be the best historical documentary the BBC has ever put out. Do yourself a favour and give the first couple of episodes a try. Jesus Kadas... you've seen The Dark Knight enough times right?

Missed Connections

I saw your front half through the one-way mirror Saturday evening while sitting alone in my apartment...you glanced up for a moment, teasingly smiled, then turned away for good...

I loved the music you were playing, and I was envious of your friends, but I still felt there was some distance between us.

I became frustrated by your petulance, so I put on some music of my own - George Jones and Tammy Wynette - to try to mimic your soundtrack, but to no avail.

All my friends who have seen you have called you a masterpiece, but I guess I still can't see it - do I need to look closer? Let me...

This is the 6th or 7th time I've tried to connect with you, but it never seems to be the right time. Once, I had had a bit to drink, and I glimpsed you - I thought for sure that it was the right time, but when the music started you just slipped away...

Is it me? Is it you? I want to love you, but I just can't do it. What's wrong with me?

I don't care how stubborn you are, I know there's something great deep down there...right???

Aching to see you again, but scared to even try...
Robert Altman's Nashville - 7 times I've tried, 7 times I've failed...

Doomsday (2008)

I have seen the future of genre filmmaking, and the future is Neil Marshall. With his latest film, Doomsday, Marshall takes great steps forward from his previous two efforts - the technically flawed but immensely enjoyable Dog Soldiers (2002), and the claustrophobic and nerve-shreddingly taut (easily forgiving a few plot-necessitating lapses in logic) The Descent (2005). With Doomsday, Marshall takes us out of the tight sets that marked the first two films and places us within the confines of a country gone horribly, horribly wrong....Scotland?!?!

The story here centres around bodacious, bad-ass babe Rhona "don't call me Kate Beckinsale" Mitra's Maj. Sinclair, 25 or so years removed from her rescue from the festering, plague-ridden Scotland. You see, all those years ago, a virus - the Reaper virus (with alarmingly similar symptoms to that other big, bad British virus, the Rage virus) to be exact - broke out in Scotland, and spread at such an alarming rate that Britain was forced to quarantine the entire northern half, eschewing bagpipes, haggis and kilts in favour of a relative sense of security. What, Mad Cow isn't scary enough anymore? A massive metallic wall was built encircling the Highlands (in the amount of time of time it took for the virus to spread? I digress...), and the diseased were left to die, or to fend for themselves after the gate was shut. Sinclair's mother pleaded with the occupants of the final army helicopter leaving the zone for her young daughter to be lifted to safety, and after some hesitation, up she went. Flash forward 25 odd years and the Reaper virus has reared its ugly head again, this time on the "safe" side of the wall, and begins to spread like yuppies in Parkdale. Sinclair, now an elite commando, is recruited by a somewhat shady government branch and asked to re-enter the now barren Scotland in search of the mysterious Dr. Marcus Kane (Malcolm McDowell), the touchstone for all research on the cure for the virus, and whose whereabouts are currently unknown. She is given 48 hours to succeed or be left behind the wall for good. So, with this rather protracted, but necessary, setup (the first 25 minutes of the film), we are brought behind the wall.....

And really, not much more can be said, other than HOLY SHIT, there is more adrenaline -pumping action packed in the final two-thirds of the film than I can recall ever having seen before. It is relentless, it is brutal, and it really opened my eyes to the general anemia of the modern day action film (barring Rambo, which is virtually unmatched). The action literally does not stop for a good hour, and by the end I felt exhausted, bruised, and oh so good. There is really far too much to describe, but description would not do the high-octane action justice - it must be seen to be believed. The film has had dissenters, most of whom have labeled it a cheap rip-off. Certainly, while there are very obvious reference points here - the entire Mad Max trilogy (particularly The Road Warrior), 28 Weeks Later, The Warriors, The Cars That Ate Paris - Marshall puts it all in a blender, amps up the violence, adds a unique sense of subtle British humour and a particular political message, that, while not profound, certainly gives the action a bit of weight. And compare Sol's (Craig Conway) post-apocalyptic dystopian family, Kane's medieval fiefdom, and the supposedly safe zone of ersatz PM Canaris' (David O'Hara) Britain and you'll realize that though they differ on the surface, they are altogether identical underneath. Some food for thought there. While the finished product touches on those that have come before, it takes off from there and becomes its own unique, hybridized creature, all sinews and amphetamine rage.

So while Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer keep pumping out PG-rated MTV inspired drivel, I'll keep looking to Marshall to surprise, excite and entertain (and keep on making films that begin with the letter "D"). Good on you, Neil - nice to see the little guys finally win one...

Four garments and a ladder do not lead us to a corpse - Peter Greenaway's The Draughtsmans Contract Kreviewed

Peter Greenaway’s Draughtsman’s Contract is one little odd piece of filmmaking. This is the director’s first picture and also the first picture of Greenaway’s that I have seen.

The film is set in England in the year 1694 and the costumes, locations, characters and the over all feel of the film are all over exaggerations of the period. Mr. Neville a somewhat renown Draughtsman is asked by a woman to draw pictures of her estate to give to her husband as a gift. A contract is written up between the two that includes times and places the draughtsman will be drawing, room and board, compensation, and of course the details of the Draughtsman and the wife’s private meetings which for lack of a better name are bone sessions. This is the basic plot of the picture; along the way there are hints at a murder mystery that are played here so subtle and in passing that it makes it the loudest thing of the picture. The film is not long and its final scene is the only moment where something of immense consequence is thrust upon the viewer. Fortunately before you have a chance to start caring the film cuts itself off and fades to black leaving you a little dizzy but happy that you took the trip.

From the opening scene I found it difficult to keep up with the dialogue. So sluggish I felt with the slick pace and lightening quick wit that within forty five seconds I opted to watch the picture with subtitles. After about twenty minutes of the film being captioned I felt a little more awake and able to keep up with the characters so I shut it off. The films dialogue is its strongest suit and for a second there you feel like you’re watching a film that is an accurate portrayal of history. It’s not until you stop thinking that this picture is smarter than you then you realize that it really isn’t. It feels like someone blindly poking in the dark and guessing what it must have been like. What saves the picture is that it is blind fun and you’ll find yourself just watching the actors play with each other and with the wordy dialogue. Most of scenes with dialogue are played out in one shot, a testament to the talented cast.

The film is also shot beautifully and the long one piece shots that make up the film are moving drawings themselves as you can tell the camera’s placement was very important to the director. Things like shadow, the contrasting of colours, and symmetry are obviously taken into painstaking consideration, which explains the long shots and blocking of the actors. Many of the shots in this picture should be framed and hung on my wall immediately.

One honourable mention must be given to the obscure character the “Statue”; A naked man who is seen in the background of many shots acting as various statues and sometimes just spying on the guests of the estate. He is never given proper explanation but he is a great distraction and fun to spot. You can probably cut him up and say he’s a representation of you, the viewer, or he’s a device to show how blind all the characters are or something along those lines. I, however, just like watching the guy because he’s surreal and weird.

Greenaway`s Draughtsmans Contract is overall a fun picture when taken not as seriously as it pretends it wants you to. Make sense?

If you do take it as seriously as it pretends to be taken than you will be sadly let down because the film is just pretending such to make you believe to take it seriously and that sir, is the farce of the picture. Pretending the picture is stupid is just to be left as the horse’s arse while everyone else is enjoying a picture that they pretend to be taken seriously only to fulfill the pictures needs but in actuality they are really looking at the picture from another angle, seeing it’s true colours and finally yes, sir, laughing at it in disgust and arousal. Sir.

Upside Down - Small Retailing in T.O.

The Globe and Mail recently ran a piece about the collapse of traditional retailing strips in the city (The Downside of Up, Saturday July 19th, 2008, T.O. Section). The article focused on the Danforth, Queen St West, and several other corridors where indie retailers were leaving in droves due to the high costs of rent and the soaring municipal tax burden. What the writer failed to point out was the role that the consumer plays in the viability and livability of their own neighbourhoods. Real communities are built around a variety of things. The mix includes residential dwellings, commercial enterprise, public spaces, transportation, social good will, private and public services and government. The glue that holds this all together is the responsibility that each stakeholder has to the greater good and strength of the community. Taxes pay for public services, retailers provide other goods and services, residents maintain their properties and utilize local providers, restaurants, hardware, book, toy and grocery stores. Those commercial businesses in turn employ local people, contribute to local schools, and play a role in the viability of the neighbourhood. An unwritten contract of sorts is struck between these parties and community strengthens or falls apart depending how many opt in and out of their obligations. At least that's the way it once worked.

Retailing has completely changed during our lifetimes. Giant corporate interests have undermined the traditional small local retailer, drawing away an increasingly larger percentage of consumers to vast mazes of concentrated retail conformity literally miles from where they live. These massive retail camps allow corporations to focus, control and manage how people shop by removing them from their communities and recreating the illusion of public spaces in a tightly controlled sales environment. They are designed to sell things and they work. The consequences of this shift is the focus of the Globe's article. Local retailers are left to provide coffee, lottery tickets and cigarettes and slowly die off as more and more storefronts sport either “For Lease” or “Cafe”signs. Less than 10 years ago you could buy a television on Roncesvalles Avenue, a concept that seems almost quaint now. At last count, there were nearly 30 places to get a cup of coffee though and couple more set to open. Community retail has devolved into a nickle and dime industry surviving on scraps of proximity/convenience - resident's buying a coffee on the way to the Rona. Think about it, you can't buy an iPod, a computer or a 2x4 on Roncey.

Unfortunately, this is a lost fight. It was over the better part of 15 or 20 years ago. Community retailing cannot (and will not) recover and a significant rethinking of what constitutes local commerce needs to be undertaken. The corporates have succeeded for two reasons; 1) they are better at marketing and retailing in the 21st century and 2) municipalities & citizens don't connect the viability and livability of their community with sustainable and small-scale supply of goods and services. The ramifications of these facts have not played out quite yet. A lot more “For Lease” signs are coming and traditional urban retail areas will continue to decline. Sooner or later, the City of Toronto's municipal tax burden will overwhelm even the most fortunate of the remaining indie retailers. The Film Buff's municipal tax bill for 900 sq feet in a dank basement is closing in on $13,000 per year and growing almost exponentially. Street parking rates have tripled on Roncey in 4 short years. While Canadian cities have not experienced the hollowing out of their downtown core's residential population to the extent that many American cities have, the same cannot be said about the community retail sector. That exodus has, and continues to happen. Entire blocks of small urban community retail centers now stand virtually abandoned – just drive along stretches of Dupont, Dundas, Bathhurst, St. Clair or any of a hundred other formerly vibrant strips in the city. They're gone, replaced by Home Depots, Walmarts, malls and power-centres with huge free parking lots, 5 or 10 miles away.

Next year, the TTC will replace the streetcar tracks on Roncesvalles, basically closing the street for the better part of the summer. Existing businesses will fail as a result, pushed over a financial cliff that they sit precariously close to right now. When the street is beautified and the tracks silky smooth, the first of a series of corporate stores will pop up, driving rents skyward and surviving indie retail tenants out. 5 years later, Roncey will look like Bloor West Village does now – a vapid Disneyland of corporate retail conformity and blandness. Most people won't care. The Roncesvalles BIA's annual Polish festival will be called a resounding success with 50,000 visitors partaking in a carnival of trucked-in street concessions and merriment. I wonder if anyone will notice that the independent shops are all gone. Probably not.

That's progress for you.