Saturday, February 8, 2014

That Awkward Moment: Notes on Ms. 45, The Act of Killing

"Shame on you for laughing at a rape victim!"  This line is not heard in Ms. 45, NY cult director Abel (King of New York) Ferrara's second feature; it was spoken by a young woman in the front of the theater, chastising the very packed crowd at The Brooklyn Academy of Music screening of (God bless the) Alamo Drafthouse's new restoration last night during the end credits.  People were just finishing their ovation and were so jazzed up that many asked the woman to speak up and repeat herself above the din.  Once the statement was made clear, a strong murmur erupted, everyone starting to wonder if they'd all seen the same movie and/or reacted shamefully or inappropriately.
     A tone is set for Ms. 45 from the get-go -- scene one introducing a buffoonish male boss at a garment factory as he shows off sherbet-colored, "only in the '80s" patterned wares to a client; scene two, the team of women who work for him filing out from work for the day, last being our mousy-haired, mute heroine Thana (a wonderfully observant performance by 17-year old Zoë Tamerlis Lund, resembling Anne Hathaway from certain angles and who later co-wrote Ferrara's infamous Bad Lieutenant) patted awkwardly on the head like a child.  These scenes are where most of the chuckles in the crowd began.
     Not long after this introduction, she is made to withstand a harrowing assault in a requisite back alley, followed by another sexual assault in the very next scene in her broken-into apartment, which sets the rest of the film in motion.  Nobody laughed, and the shift in tone speaks to the mechanics of exploitation filmmaking.  Ferrara clearly took the time to distinguish between these catalytic scenes, the ones at the very beginning, and the rest of Ms. 45.  At no point are we made to feel insensitive to the terrible circumstances that befall Thana.  Ms. 45 does not lewdly linger over her traumatic event(s); rather, the exploitive elements are saved solely for the revenge plot of the movie.  The audience laughs with her, as she picks off one man after another at the first sign of offense or insult (the use of No Wave guitar & saxophone to cue her awakened wrath is period perfect).  The running gag of Thana having to parcel bags of "trash" out of her apartment throughout the movie is especially satisfying.  The "laugh at" moments seemed more to do with the cheesy '80s setting and the general over-the-top yet just-right piggish behavior of just about every man we see onscreen.  The basic irony and subversion of guys getting killed because "they were asking for it" probably garnered the most audible laughter among the crowds.
     Yet was the statement made by the audience member wrong?  It's an interesting moral implication and gets at the heart of what revenge movies are meant to do -- create a fantasy that gets you rooting for the antihero beyond rational points of order and lawful reciprocity (it's telling that not a single cop shows up in the movie until the nosy landlady everyone-who's-ever-lived-in-an-apartment-building-knows calls them in towards the end).  Most citizens of society would immediately say they would not condone such behavior in the real world, and Ms. 45 (which also contains dashes of Psycho, Repulsion, Taxi Driver, Carrie, plus a notable upending of a famous shot from Manhattan, to name a few of the movies directly alluded to throughout) serves as a gold-standard for wish-fulfillment.  Unlike other movies with similar drives (especially from the '80s), where the heroine is either killed soon after her ordeal (Death Wish) or completely fades into the background for the rest of the movie (The Last House on the Left, Unforgiven) to make way for strong, vengeful men, Ms. 45 permits it's female victim to seek her own revenge, succeed, and be protected from any further violation by men.  She's not even judged for enjoying her role as angel of death.  It's a testament to the movie's ability to speak to a 2014 audience who seemed more shocked by the filth, garbage and fashions of 1981 than by the politics and reaction of female characters to the atmosphere of male violence implicit throughout the New York City of Ms. 45.  But maybe all this is irrelevant where the subject matter is concerned.  Spike Lee stated at the end of 2012 how he would not see Django Unchained because he felt applying a spaghetti western form to a slave narrative was offensive.  Slavery is slavery, rape is rape, and no amount of fantasy wish fulfillment will be able to make that OK for everyone. 

Last night's unique retort stayed with me and called to mind my favorite movie of 2013, The Act of Killing, a documentary (up for an Academy for Best Foreign this year and, coincidentally, another Drafthouse Film) which presents Indonesia almost as an alternate universe where the bad guys won and are treated as national heroes.  As the title implies, most of the movie is spent describing in detail the way hundreds of thousands of people were killed during the anti-communist purge in the mid '60s, told by the very individuals who performed the mass killings.  Our main "character", Anwar Congo, personally killed (by his own admission) as many as 1,000 of these people.  The movie does a magnificent job of mixing fantasy and reality, allowing the revered murderers to not only tell their own stories but be given the opportunity to revisit and playact them in their own films within the film.  It's sick, twisted, truly horrifying, and one of most surreally amazing movies I've ever seen.
     But the most absurd part of the experience of watching this was the gentlemen sitting two seats next to me, who kept chuckling at scene after scene.  I was mortified -- did he not understand that what he was watching was a genuine documentary?  It took everything in my power not to slap this guy in the face and convince myself that this was the nervous reaction of someone not prepared to believe what was happening on screen (and/or maybe he was on the most ill-advised first date ever).  It made me think way back to seeing The Celebration with a friend, my first and, shamefully, last seen film that was part of the official Dogme '95 movement.  During the famous scene (spoilers, I guess) where a son, established in earlier scenes to have been working up the nerve to this moment, exhorts the guest of honor by speaking of his father raping his sister, my friend erupted in laughter.  I was embarrassed -- how could someone laugh at such a statement?  Again, the absurdity of the moment took control, and I understood that it was a reaction to discomfort, much like the way people laugh at jump-out-of-your-seat moments in horror movies.  I loved Ms. 45, but some horrors are not so comfortably consumed.

Ms. 45 is playing at BAM through Sunday, Feb. 9.  The Act of Killing can be seen on Google Play or YouTube.  The Celebration (Festen) is widely available online.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

"Her" and "Sunrise"

When I studied film in college, there was a great deal of emphasis on the role of film as both a chronicler and example of modernity.  And when I say modernity, I mean the twenties and thirties, the railroad, telephones and large art deco skyscrapers.  Film, this new medium, was both a great symbol of modernity (moving pictures! Talkies!!) and also the way that this modernity was captured for all to see.  Some of the best films of all time, F. W. Murnau’s Sunrise with its contrast of city and country life and that amazing shot of the wife running across the trolley filled street, and of course Fritz Lang’s Metropolis are part of this conversation about and obsession with “modernity.”  See also: anything by Charlie Chaplin.

Her, the latest by Spike Jonze, explores our new digital “modern” age and what it means to be awkwardly and painfully human within it.  I know he is not the first director to do so.  Just as Chaplin and Lang were part of a greater dialogue about modernity, other filmmakers are exploring our own modern age.  A film that always comes to mind even though it has nothing to do with computers or anything “digital” is Millennium Mambo by Hou Hsiao Hsien, which to me has always perfectly captured the bright neon look and pulsing house beat feel of the early 2000s. (Side note:  My favorite film in this vein, of course, is and always will be Hackers.  And I feel the need to point out that during Her there is a shot that was pretty much stolen from Hackers at which point the guy in front of me said, very loudly “Cool shot!” and I wanted to smack him.) 

 I can't find the shot I am talking about.  So this will just have to do.   YAY HACKERS!!!

So what does Her contribute to this larger conversation about the self in a digitized society?  I think it is tempting to simply look at Her as a fantastical story.  As a kind of future world more akin to Minority Report or A.I.  One of those films that shows us that terrible things happen when we give our lives over to computers.  It is tempting to see the reality it paints as a cute, funny, and yet completely implausible story about a man who falls in love with his computer operating system.  Granted, the look of the film is fantastical.  Jonz creates world of hazy primary colors, high waisted tweed pants and an always perfectly curated soundtrack where hundreds of people are employed writing fake handwritten letters and operating systems have souls.  Most fantastical of all is the presence of a Los Angeles fully accessible by subway! From beach to downtown Joaquin Phoenix travels via a pristine subway (OH IF ONLY SUCH A FUTURE WERE POSSIBLE!!).  But behind the impeccable art and design is a very simple question.  “In the digital age, what does it mean to be human?” The cartoonish scene that Jonz paints disguises an exploration of what it means to be alive right now: In present day earth.  In present day Los Angeles where I never once took the subway because in the 70s Santa Monica said there were some kind of methane of sulphur deposits or something and squashed plans to extend the subway to the sea.

At the end of the day, Her is just as much as story of a divorce from a human being as it is a love story about a man and his computer (Slight spoiler: the scene in which Phoenix and his wife (played by Rooney Mara) sign their divorce papers is really heartbreaking and wonderful).  Yes, there is a commentary on how much we are relying on our computers at the expense of our relationships with other people.  But it is also simply a celebration of the part of being human that transcends technology and whatever “age” we choose to live in.  That part of us that is awkward and flawed and wonderful at the same time.  That part of us that is so lonely and looking for a connection that we do fall in love with our operating system.   

Similarly, Sunrise, can be viewed as a commentary on the dangers of a modern world.  The husband (George O’Brien) is tempted to kill his wife (the Oscar winning Janet Gaynor) by the evil woman from the city (her character is literally called "the Woman From the City").  And the troubled couple are thrust out of their country life into the scary big city.  There is a warning in the film: do not give up what makes us good people in this rush to modernize and move to the city!  But Sunrise is also a simple love story about a couple who have disconnected and fall back in love.

Both Her and Sunrise are about periods in time that will probably be looked back at soon as antiquated and quaint (trolley cars…hah!  Operating systems…hah!)  And they are both part of larger conversations about the dangers of losing one's humanity in those time periods.  But I think just like Sunrise, Her is one for the ages, because it is also about something fundamental that does not seem to change with the height of one’s waistline.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

"The end of you."

Shutter Island / The (old!) Wicker Man: Final Cut

     Happy Halloween, everyone!  Let's start by talking about the great Dante Ferretti, Italian production designer extraordinaire who currently has a beautiful exhibition of his work on display at The Museum of Modern Art here in NYC (through February 9).  This sweet little old Italian man (at least that's how he came off when he introduced the first film screening at the opening ceremony) began his career working on Pier Paolo Pasolini's later work, including the notorious Salò, or 120 Days of Sodom (hell, all Pasolini's later movies were pretty notorious), and has since made several movies for Martin Scorcese, starting with The Age of Innocence.  If you live in the area and are a fan of movies, take a look.  Along with great big portions of set pieces arranged through the museum showcasing his work, MoMA is screening many of his best realized movies (still on deck:  Interview with the Vampire, Casino, Hamlet).  It is so worth your time.
     Also worth your time is the little movie Scorcese released in 2010 between his Oscar winning The Departed (yawn) and the well received (and among the more engaging 3D features made thus far) HugoShutter Island is just shy of being anomalous among the works of Scorcese:  It has nothing to do with NY, does not involve a single made-man, and does not star Leonardo DiCaprio (hahaha, just kidding -- of COURSE it stars Leonardo DiCaprio).  I initially dismissed it as a thriller with a [ I have to stop right here for the spoiler announcement.  OK?  I'm gonna go ahead now.  You've been warned.] twist you can see from miles away (you will, too) and didn't bother going to see it in the theater.  When I saw it later that year on video, I felt foolish, because the so-called "twist" was somewhat superfluous -- the story told was still rich, heartbreaking and maybe one of the few Scorcese movies I've found genuinely moving.  As such, I took the opportunity to see it again at MoMA on the big screen.
     In terms of visual style and building a sense of dread, its closest relative might be Cape Fear, arguably Scorcese's weirdest and most disturbing movie to date.  I don't think Shutter Island is as operatically bizarre (although there is a drowning scene that rivals the one at Cape Fear's close), but the tone and atmosphere call back to that strangeness.  Shutter Island, written for the screen by Dennis Lehane ("The Wire", Mystic River) from his novel, evokes an interesting mix of prior Scorcese pictures you may not expect -- Cape Fear for sure, but also the visual texture of Kundun (full disclosure:  I am that asshole that sincerely likes Kundun) and, maybe strangest of all, the warmth (a rarity in his movies) and sympathy for characters not seen since The Age of Innocence (though one does later feel the "hug" in Hugo, too).
     Shutter Island opens in mist and fog, a shot held eerily long with no immediate music cues present until one sees something of a ghost ship emerge from its cloudy depths.  This opening is only one of the first metaphors for fractured memory that haunts the rest of the story.  No sooner are we introduced to our primary characters, U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his new partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), then are we thrust into a series of jarring shots, cut with such speed (and alarming, freaky freeze frames thrown in for good measure) that we're immediately as disoriented as the seasick marshal.  [Nerd alert:  It took me a little while to figure out that what was throwing me off in this scene was shot after shot of total 180º rule breakage; nice one, Marty & DP Robert Richardson!]  Following some brisk exposition we move to the action proper:  An investigation into the disappearance of a violent patient (Emily Mortimer) on the eponymous prison island.  Ostensibly a floating asylum for the criminally insane, the island leads our hero, already dealing with Dachau liberation-level PTSD on top of a tragically dead wife (Michelle Williams in fever dream sequences), to spars with head shrinking medical professionals (including a pitch-perfect as always Ben Kingsley) and psychotic patients alike for the duration of the story as he pursues his missing quandary (along with "Prisoner" style clues -- "The Law of 4", "Who is 67?", et al.).  As the spectre of his wife warns "this would be the end of you" while he walks through the facility's wards and rocky terrain (which include portentous, persistent images of smoke and water), so too do we move along Daniels' broken psyche, until it finally intertwines inextricably with the island and the inhabitants therein.
     It's a credit to Lehane's writing and Scorcese's direction that, whether you figure things out immediately or not until the end, the story still manages to satisfy, never completely misdirecting from what it completely hints at from the get go.  It benefits from relying on our main character's subconscious obsessions -- memories of his wife's death by arson (and as he specifies, "not the fire, but the smoke"), an SS officer he would not grant a final mercy to, the deaths of countless Nazi guards punished for their acts -- and consequently establishing that the viewpoint we're most privy to is unreliable at best.  Some of the most truly terrifying horror comes from realizing you can't even trust the person telling the story.

     It was during the moment where the ship approaches the dock of the island that I shuddered and realized how much it reminded me of another creep fest (tis the season) I'd just rewatched on the big screen for its "final cut": The Wicker Man.  Please, not the one with Nicolas Cage!  The ORIGINAL one with Christopher Lee, Edward ("The Equalizer") Woodward and, uh, the songs.  Sergeant Neal Howie (Woodward) is also called to a remote island in pursuit of a girl mysteriously vanished, only to be faced with his own personal demons and a potentially malevolent patriarch with ulterior minded islanders.  Both our heroes also bear witness to their original purpose evaporate into smoke right at the moment it's too late for them to turn back, bricking themselves into their own emotional prisons along the way; both movies have emotionally devastating ends.  I'd originally watched The Wicker Man as a double feature preceding Don't Look Now, which in turn had it's own grief-soaked protagonist whose perception of the world had been warped beyond self-preservation.  This new cut of The Wicker Man disposes of a tongue-in-cheek intro text thanking "the people of [the] island", restores the original order of scenes, adds a sequence mid-way to provide another cohesive clue, a shot or two added to a montage of Howie making further investigations into his missing person, and a chilling coda to the finale.  While these changes create greater narrative cohesion, something is dissatisfyingly lost  -- while they help in making better sense of character development throughout, it stifles the rhythm of the picture and takes away from the overall feeling of disorientation, weirdness and dread the viewer experiences; for example, meeting Lee's Lord Summerisle sooner in this version gives greater credence to his having pulled strings all along, yet defangs the impact of not seeing him until almost half-way through the shorter version.  Much of how one follows the previous version relies on picking up bits of business as you go; having this version be more explicit takes much of the fun out of keeping up with the narrative.  This intended version is still worth seeing whether you're familiar with the material or not, but like both Marshal Daniels and Sergeant Howie, it leaves you pondering so much for the best intentions.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

There will be blood.


     [Spoilers.]  I wasn't especially excited for a remake of CARRIE, a movie which is easily one of my top five favorite Brian De Palma movies of all time, but I was intrigued when I found out it was to be directed by Kimberly Peirce.  I ultimately had not loved BOYS DON'T CRY (for much the same reasons I didn't enjoy PHILADELPHIA the first time I saw it -- too "importantly" preachy and compromised), but I'd found it a very strong debut for a first-timer.  Only the third feature Ms. Peirce has made in 14 years, I thought of another director just as prolific and got even more interested.  [I'm gonna stop right here and mention this other director -- Jonathan Glazer -- because have you seen the teaser for his new movie?  You should see it now.  I'm not even sure when this comes out, but it must be amazing, right?  How can it not be?  If it's not as good as I'm hoping, I may have to stop watching movies.  Maybe.  Sorry for the digression.]  The new remake of CARRIE hews closer to De Palma's vision than the source material of Stephen King's, apart from one scene towards the end where a formal hearing is conducted regarding the events of the prom-night conflagration, alluding to the narrative structure of the original novel.  While Peirce is to be commended for trying out new things in this version, particularly in conceiving a story in which we have much more sympathy for Carrie White than with the townspeople in prior tellings, remaining so close to De Palma's take may leave you missing the bits he did so well the first time.
     What Peirce does get right and in some cases improves on deserve noting:  A better sense of Margaret White's (Julianne Moore, just a tad heavy-handed) mental illness (nice, albeit excessive touch having her be a cutter) instead of simply being a Bible-wielding nutbar; the mercy shown to Ms. Desjardin (Judy Greer), despite her fruitless efforts at being a surrogate mother for Carrie White (Chloë Grace Moretz, playing the role with more self-protective suspicion than Sissy Spacek's gawky, guileless weirdo); and a greater emphasis on the tragic weight of Carrie's circumstances -- urgently, clandestinely learning all she can about TK and magic, she comes off as a stray mutant sadly undiscovered by the school-as-sanctuary of the X-MEN stories, or a Harry Potter that took a wrong turn for the worse adult guardian.  Speaking of which, there are definite "origin story" elements that dovetail appropriately with this century's glut of superhero narratives (possibly owing to co-writer Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, a notable major comic book writer), but those remain subtle as the horror beats accumulate throughout the rest of the picture.  There are wisps of commentary on the proliferating arsenal of instant bullying methods via social media, along with echoes of class and self-worth a la THE BLING RING, but seem quickly abandoned for overstating Sue Snell's (Gabriella Wilde) guilt over the opening group assault on Carrie's unfortunate public discovery of her womanhood (there's even a late-story reveal of a blessed event, almost completely and awkwardly unnecessary to the story).  You also see this in the dimension given to Chris' (Portia Doubleday) bad-little-rich-girl character (with an uncredited Hart Bochner as her dad), further evidence of the director and writers' attempts at giving every character just a little more depth and motive.  
     It may help not being overfamiliar with the screen's original version; one can't help keeping a running tab of all the scenic snapshots this version stops to take note of and reminisce over how they've been done better (many of the sardonic notes of the original are thrown over for standard, hamhanded horror ones; the moments of pure ecstasy many of the characters experience just before death, sadly excised for overburdened demises; the wonderful shock of the ending of the original (though probably best left untouched); John Travolta).  You may say this is endemic of remakes in general until you stop to consider at least two this century which managed to transcend their predecessors -- both VANILLA SKY (derived from Spain's ABRE LOS OJOS) and LET ME IN (from Sweden's LÅT DEN RÄTTE KOMMA IN) took approaches that, despite other flaws they may have, made me forget (almost) all about their prior and at least equally brilliant incarnations (the latter was also based on a sprawling, multi-perspective novel).  Both also managed to tell thoughtful, personal versions of same and additionally placed them in a unique, American context, a telling contrast to a CARRIE remake that plays merely as horror movie of the month.  Perhaps doing an American remake of an American classic is ill-advised (yes, I'm definitely thinking of THE BAD NEWS BEARS).

     After the disappointing returns of CARRIE, it was just a hop, skip, and a jump from Kaufman-Astoria to the Museum of the Moving Image (ain't Queens magic?) for the brand new 35mm print of TROUBLE EVERY DAY.  I remember originally looking for this at Mondo Kim's in the East Village years ago and finding their copy with one of their classic, written-on messages in the margins of the box:  "Not that it matters, but this copy has no English subtitles!"  Indeed, much of the movie's dialogue is kept at a minimum, and much of what's said in Claire Denis' cult classic is spoken in English by the film's protagonist, Shane Brown (Vincent Gallo, with his usual eerie, "I haven't slept in days" presence), or heard briefly in the lyrics of the soundtrack, provided by Tindersticks (a regular collaborator of Ms. Denis).  Many of Claire Denis' movies have focused on human desire, and TROUBLE EVERY DAY is no exception.  What sets it apart from the rest of her work is the full dive into a sci-fi/horror genre presentation (my apologies to the director, for I know she's taken pains to avoid this too-obvious association), where bloodletting very literally becomes the organizing priniciple of the main characters -- Coré Samuels, as played by a dialogue-free Beatrice Dalle, and the aforementioned Mr. Gallo, on honeymoon in Paris with his new bride June (Tricia Vessey) and in search of the former for reasons kept satisfyingly mysterious (insert DRACULA allusion here).  With the lack of dialogue, the human sounds you hear most are sighs -- arguably the most universal sound of ache and longing, heard here when characters are at rest, exhausted from sexual intercourse, or tired simply from some existential malaise (how very French).  All consuming need, lust, desire, and what in modern parlance has come to be referred to as sex addiction all come to the fore in TROUBLE EVERY DAY, as it forays into a not-quite vampire/cannibals story.  Shane and Coré's inevitable reunion (they are familiar with each other in 16mm flashbacks) is also offset by a subplot concerning Coré's doctor husband (Alex Descas), searching desperately for a cure to his wife's "affliction".  Shot in the usual, beautiful low-lit style of Denis' regular DP Agnes Godard, there are images of the Seine at dawn/dusk, wonderfully imagined shots in and out of an airplane as it flys over Denver (!), surreptitious views of a recurring chambermaid (Florence Loiret-Caille) washing her legs at a sink after a day's work, and blood, so much blood everywhere.  After this and CARRIE, one may become queasy over the slightest sight of anything red and wet for some time.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Ken's Double Featurette Awards, 2010

Best Double Feature 2010: Let Me In/Toy Story 3

Runners up to the above: Winter's Bone/Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1

Best Cage Match Double Feature: Kick-Ass/The Sorcerer's Apprentice

Best Complete Nonsense Double Feature: Alice in Wonderland/Hot Tub Time Machine

Best Directed: The Social Network/Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

Best double feature score heard in the same weekend: Let Me In/The Social Network

Best First Feature: Banksy, Exit Through the Gift Shop/Lena Dunham, Tiny Furniture

Best Harris Savides makes L.A. look inhabitable Double Feature: Greenberg/Somewhere

Best non-American double feature: Un prophète(A Prophet)/Io sono l'amore(I Am Love)

Best Liam Neeson can make anything watchable double feature: Clash of the Titans/The A-Team

Best inadvertently seen this year double feature set in the same state (New Mexico): Charley Varrick/Let Me In

Best non-Pixar double feature: Despicable Me/Tangled

Best Pepsi Throwback double feature: The American/The Romantics

Best use of pop songs: "O Children", Nick Cave, Harry Potter 7a/"1 Thing", Amerie, Somewhere

Favorite male supporting performances: Pierce Brosnan, The Ghost Writer/Maximus, Tangled

Favorite pair of totally different scores by the same composer: A Prophet/Harry Potter 7a, Alexandre Desplat

Most perpetually anticipated double feature I can't seem to see: Dogtooth/The Fighter

"OK, bored now" double feature: The King's Speech/Never Let Me Go

Overrated double feature: Black Swan/Inception

Still bringing it: Michael Douglas, Solitary Man/Woody Allen, You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger

Underrated double feature: Shutter Island/The Ghost Writer

Sunday, December 12, 2010


From today's Economic Times: How to finance your film via The Social Network.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

A Double Feature 5 Years After Katrina

Soft Cat - It Won't Be Long from Friends Records on Vimeo.

My friend Fred posted this amazing music video animated by his sister Miranda Pfeiffer. So firstly, a big congrats to her. I am not sure if she meant the release of the video to coincide with the anniversary of Katrina but the images of the water swelling and engulfing everything + all the news coverage there has been of late about the Hurricane got me thinking.

In particular I thought about The Music Room (1958) by Satyajut Ray. Which I programmed a long way back in a series about Crumbling aristocracies. It's a wonderful mediation on the end of an era, as the lord of manor entertains his friends one last time in his famous music room even as the river threatens to take back the land his castle sits on. Hopefully in the next few days I will think of a double feature about rebirth and rebuilding... so that this Katrina anniversary can end on a slightly more hopeful note.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Linkage: For the day (possibly the week or month).

(Maybe) Something on Scott Pilgrim vs. the World vs. Fatih Akin's Soul Kitchen pending, but first: From this past Sunday's NY Times, we have a piece from Arts & Style reporter Ms. Melena Ryzik on an interesting development regarding film distribution, "D.I.Y. Music Labels Embrace D.I.Y. Film":

Read and be merry.