Escape from Elba
Exiles of the New York Times
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pugetopolis
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« Reply #1860 on: September 11, 2007, 06:19:55 PM »

I'm not saying that Lynch is the "lone weirdo"; far from it. On the other hand what better time to live in, (right?) to experience conditioned acceptance of the trite and banal. It is just the right "pablum" to redirect attention away from extreme political alterations.  It's just one of the sacrifices this generation has to contribute to "accomplish the mission." Just how much is believable? How much is delusional? How much is ersatz which you can tolerate? 

Hey, Mad...I couldn't have said it better myself...

You rule, baby!!!
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« Reply #1861 on: September 11, 2007, 06:46:52 PM »



Eraserhead (1977)

“Oh, I don’t know much of anything.”
—Henry Spencer in Eraserhead


Yes, my dears, just call me Eraserhead—I got it real bad.

Call me lone weirdo, call me trite and banal, call me ersatz and delusional...

I just can't help myself dontchaknow—I like being Eraserhead, baby.

Let me tell you why...it’s a crummy dreary drive back home along Airport Way East. But it’s better than the crummy insane freeway. The gloomy old decaying brick warehouses sadly leaning against up each other—they’re so gaunt and lonely and desolate-looking. All those desolate passing years—the same old depressing dreary industrial zone-noir going all the way back before WWII…

The dumpy depressing apartment buildings—with curtains blowing out the windows. Fluttering desperately like delicate gone angel fingers—trying to escape the Dreariness and Despair. The schmaltzy crummy ennui of whatever happened inside those cheap dingy old living rooms and skanky ho bedrooms. Dirty old rooms with beat-up old sofas up against the walls—yellowing nicotine lamp shades stinking like lost dreams from Nowheresville USA…

Creepy old red brick walls decaying and groaning all around me on way my home from work—rotting window sills with dead geraniums drooping over the edge. Looking down at me—like sicko graveyard gargoyles trying to tell me something. And those slanting old telephone lines overhead—silhouetting the dirty industrial sky like cobwebs. Fumes and dirt pouring down off the freeway—down onto shabby forgotten Georgetown. Tell the story good—or tell the story bad. But for gawd’s sake, baby, tell the story like it is…

I don’t have to watch Fox News or CNN when I get home—I have other more domestic Americana ways to get depressed. Like all I have to do is look in the crummy bathroom mirror—that’s more than enough for a modest case of Total Disgust & despicable Self-Loathing. After having a nice cold slice of left-over Domino pizza and a couple of Silver Bullets for dinner—I can at last kick back and relax to watch Eraserhead in the privacy and comfort of my own dumpy dingy depressing straight-from-hell neo-noir bungalow…

Henry Spencer is my Avatar—he tells the Story for me. That long dreary walk home that “Henry Spencer” makes through all that endless debris of his shitty industrial park neighborhood—it always reminds me of my drive home through dingy depressing Georgetown. That continuous throbbing industrial noise in the soundtrack—is it for real or is it just in Spencer’s head?

It reminds me of the throbbing industrial background noise in Fritz Lang’s The Testament of Dr. Mabuse (1933)—drowning out everything with its horrible menacing neo-noir clunking and banging away. No wonder Spencer is always jumpy—looking over his shoulder. His dreary Expressionist industrial neighborhood so full of threatening noises—emanating from dark railroad tunnels, sullen belching factories and snarling mad dogs.

Poor Henry Spencer’s existence—it’s definitely a lot worse than mine I suppose. That’s why I watch Eraserhead religiously every night—Henry Spencer wants to tell me something. Everyday is SSDD—everyday is a lucky chance to Erase everything and start again. It’s Eraserhead Day, baby—for all the dumb rubes and carnival freaks out there. One day you can be Olga Baclanova the beautiful Trapeze Artist flying high—the next day you end up The Chicken Woman groveling in the carnie saw-dust in front of all the leering smirky cute dumb farmboys.

“Squawk on, Chicken Queen—Squawk on, Madame Baclanova!!!” Tell the story, girl—tell it good…

Some know-it-all Film Critics whose names I won’t mention don’t like Eraserhead—they say it’s a despicable crummy real sicko movie dontchaknow. But that’s why I like to watch it—I’m kinda sicko myself. Like I play this little game with myself—it's called Who’s More Sick? The NYTimes or me? Who’s more sicko? That self-righteous pro-family right wing Tea-Room Queen senator—or coy little ole abstinent cineaste me? And what about that crazy fucking guy in the attic—or that sicko woman hanging out in the radiator? C’mon, whose more sicko, ladies and gentlemen of the jury…them or me?

David Lynch is always fucking me over—and it feels good, baby. Satire is an Art—like when there’s nothing else to lose. Like I’m always asking myself—“Is there something he wants to tell me? Is there something I should know?”

Tell me a Story, baby—that’s why I watch Eraserhead every night. I need a good Fractured Fairy Tale bad—Henry Spencer’s my all-time Number One Guy. He’s my Jack and the Beanstalk Kid—he’s the One that climbs the Sky. He knows where the Action is—he knows where Mother Goose lays the Golden Egg. Think about it—but don’t think too much. I wouldn’t want you to burn-out your single neuron—that gimpy one down there between your skinny-ass legs… 

Yes, your Honor and all my esteemed leering Lolitaesque jurors—like who’s really beyond-a-doubt more sicko? Henry Spencer repeating his sicko existence every night on TV just for me? Or me living & breathing & sleeping & dreaming it? Erasing my whole sicko Existence down the sicko drain? I can feel it happening—like I don’t have to do anything.

No time anymore for Weimar cabaret—no time for tacky Neocon Gotterdamerung drag. Industrial music turns me on—neo-noir is ultimate el supremo sicko satire.

Like yesterday driving home from work—there under the dark dreary overpass. Moiling about down there in the gutter—Lordy Lordy shut my mouth!!!  A horrible scene—right out of Black and Blue Velvet. There it was staring right at me—a grotesque horrible greenish fly-infested rotting penis lying by the road…

I blushed like Kyle MacLachlan...I pulled over to the side of the road....
« Last Edit: September 11, 2007, 07:25:37 PM by pugetopolis » Logged

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« Reply #1862 on: September 11, 2007, 10:24:22 PM »

Speaking of noir, how about that 13 Tzamati? Anyone seen that yet? The idea behind the movie gets to me more than the movie itself. This is a first time director and a first time leading actor and I think it showed a bit. But probably better than if Hollywood ever gets hold of it.  One good thing is that the story was understated. One bad thing is that maybe too much so. I watched it a week ago and I’m still undergoing a lingering fascination. Not that I would ever participate (if any recruiters are reading this, don’t bother). The Special Feature interview with a survivor was fascinating. If you want to see this, don’t read a plot summary. (New Release) 
« Last Edit: September 11, 2007, 10:27:17 PM by peloux » Logged
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« Reply #1863 on: September 12, 2007, 02:51:42 AM »

I share your admiration for Eraserhead, pugey, although I don't watch quite as often as you do.  It was fun seeing Jack Nance again in Twin Peaks.  I believe he has pitched up in just about all Lynch movies.
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« Reply #1864 on: September 12, 2007, 02:54:35 AM »

I think Lynch was indeed a big fan of The Fractured Fairy Tales from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.  But, then who wouldn't be.  Getting those shows on DVD has been a real treat,

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« Reply #1865 on: September 12, 2007, 02:55:08 AM »

"Sean Penn to play gay icon
GAY rights icon Harvey Milk  is to be played by Sean Penn  in a biopic about the first openly gay man to hold public office in a major US city - if and when the director, Gus Van Sant, can find a distributor for the film.

Milk, who was elected to the San Francisco Board of  Supervisors in 1977, served less than a year before a vengeful fellow politician named Dan White shot him and the city's mayor George Moscone to death.

Matt Damon is lined up to play White, who received a controversial seven-year jail sentence for the crimes, successfully claiming that he was mentally unstable due to eating too many sugary junk foods such as Twinkies. White committed suicide shortly after his release from prison.

Van Sant, one of Hollywood's few openly gay directors, has wanted to make the movie for years. Once a distributor is landed, shooting could begin in San Francisco in December." firstPost


Personally, I'm looking forward to completion of:
Love in the Time of Cholera

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Dzimas
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« Reply #1866 on: September 12, 2007, 03:03:46 AM »

The Harvey Milk movie has been in the works for a long time.  It will be interesting to see Penn in the lead role.  The documentary got an Oscar as I remember,



Penn's gotten too serious for my taste over the years, case in point his taking offense to Chris Rock dishing Jude Law, but I thought he was great in Dead Man Walking.
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pugetopolis
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« Reply #1867 on: September 12, 2007, 03:32:28 AM »

Chris Rock Explains Jude Law Joke

HOLLYWOOD—Oscars host Chris Rock made a point of making a friend of actor Sean Penn backstage after the Academy Awards on Sunday after the two men appeared to fall out over Jude Law.

Rock poked fun at the British star during the ceremony, quipping, "Who is Jude Law? Why is he in every movie I have seen in the last four years. He's in everything?"

And Penn seemed to take offence when, before handing out the Best Actress prize, he berated Rock, stating, "He's (Law) one of our finest actors."

But Rock insists he made peace with Penn and still has no regrets about mocking the Alfie star. He says, "I talked to Sean backstage and we're cool and what I said was the truth.”

"It's just a joke. Jude Law probably made a scillion (sic) dollars this year. I would never hit a person

http://www.hollywood.com/news/Chris_Rock_Explains_Jude_Law_Joke/2435645
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« Reply #1868 on: September 12, 2007, 03:34:44 AM »



Love in the Time of Cholera (2007)

“Marquez is - more than any other author - known for his talent in the genre of magic realism; he requires that the reader suspend their perception of reality while still depicting universal human experiences. Yet Mike Newell was quoted with saying that he wanted to "strip away the magic realism off the story" as it "could not translate into cinema". First of all, is it really an impossible task?? I'm not very familiar with Newell but it seems he pulled it off in Harry Potter. Not only that, do you think there are other directors capable of such a feat? More importantly, however, will this even be the same story without that dreamy, imaginative aspect of the story? Obviously we all have our own perceptions of the novel and therefore cannot expect to be fully pleased by another's version of it. But to just "strip away" the very element which defines Marquez's work seems absurd. But who knows. Maybe this really is just too great of a novel to be fully captured on the big screen. Either way, I expect great things from this film. How can it be bad with such an amazing story line?”

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0484740/board/nest/78162526
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« Reply #1869 on: September 12, 2007, 04:03:07 AM »

My Favorite 10 Neo-Noir Movies

SECONDS (1966) with Rock Hudson

BRAZIL (1998) with Jonathan Pryce & Robert De Niro

THE FEARLESS VAMPIRE KILLERS (1966) with Roman Polanski

MYSTERIOUS SKIN (2005) with Joseph Gordon-Levitt

PARTY MONSTER (2003) with Macaulay Culkin

BROTHERS OF THE HEAD (2006) with Harry & Luke Treadway

LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM (1988) with Hugh Grant

THE MAN WHO WASN’T THERE (2001) with Billy Bob Thorton
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« Reply #1870 on: September 12, 2007, 08:35:20 AM »

Speaking of noir, how about that 13 Tzamati? Anyone seen that yet? If you want to see this, don’t read a plot summary. 

I did read the plot summary though...and it sounds interesting.

I like the imdb line: "Sebastian falls into a degenerate, clandestine world of mental chaos behind closed doors in which men gamble on the lives of others men." I'm sure the reviewer meant "other men"...but "others men" does ramp up the mystery and suspense somewhat for me.  Smiley  Tell me more about it and I might get it.
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« Reply #1871 on: September 12, 2007, 08:40:10 AM »



Eraserhead (1977)

“Oh, I don’t know much of anything.”
—Henry Spencer in Eraserhead


The sheer deadening monotony of it—dead meat in the gutter by the road. A dead penis with dead eyes—lying there in the deadest industrial zone in town. Down there in that dreary labyrinthine lair—full of dead empty streets and trash everywhere. Old newspapers—cigarette butts. Down there in the dreary gutter-heart of the city—the deader-than-a-doornail City of the Living Dead…

I must have driven by it for a couple of days—I’m surprised no curious enterprising amateur detective like Kyle MacLachlan hadn’t picked it up yet like in Blue Velvet. Of course, MacLachlan picked up a dead Ear—not a dead Dick. It’s all dead meat isn’t it? What difference does it make? We’re all going to end up that way—so what’s the big deal?

I stood there looking at it. I was surprised the rats hadn’t got to it yet—gangs of rat-packs roamed the grimy back alleys down there. I stood there looking at it—thinking about something weird Ed Barber my barber once said to me.

“Your hair keeps growing, for a while after you die, and then it stops.” I thought, "What keeps it growing? Is it like a plant in soil? What goes out of the soil? The soul? And when does the hair realize that it's gone?"

I know this will sound vulgar—but I got down and looked at it more closely. It’s just like Ed Barber said—the pubes were still growing. Whoever it was—it was a redhead. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. It was the least I could do—showing a little respect to a man’s best friend. Surely I’d get some forgiving good-vibes penis karma for such a good deed. I’d take it home and bury it under my hydrangea bush. Poor thing—I felt sorry for it. But not everybody thought that way…

A lady waiting at the nearby bus-stop was giving me the Evil Eye. She must have seen it too—but obviously didn’t care about such a minor little human  tragedy. She wasn’t your typical Georgetown skanky ho—hanging around the biker bars for some action. She was the hoity-toity type—her thin little nostrils twitching nervously in sheer disgust. It made me feel somewhat self-conscious—as I got back in my car.

Was I a pervert or something? Had I done something wrong? She was probably right—only a sicko pervert would pick up a dead decaying penis out of the gutter…

Well, I said to myself—driving away leaving her there at the bus-stop. I could see her in my rearview mirror—deeply contemplating the neo-noir necrophilia horror of it all. Surely if it had been an ear—well, that would have been a different story. Passerby nobodies and do-good drunks—they’d probably jump at the opportunity to grab that ear right away!

Dead decaying ears are very popular these days—quite the quite with the hip-hop in-crowd. They make fascinating conversation pieces—dead ears are the life of the party. In fact, thousands of movies and vast Hollywood filmographies—revolve around dead ears.  Just look how Blue Velvet—revolves around that strange anonymous dead ear that Kyle MacLachlan finds in the grass along the road.

But nobody cares about poor Wayne Bobbitt’s you-know-what—or whoever it belonged to. Besides what can you do with a greenish fly-ridden decaying dead dick? I know what you’re thinking—it’s all so terribly tacky & disgusting. I probably should stop talking about it—but I can’t help myself. I know it sounds sicko—so full of neo-noir incredulity. So full of Gogolesque satire—and weird Marquez magic realism…

For all I knew—it could be a very important person’s penis? It could maybe even be Tricky Dick himself? Or should I say “itself”—the sneakiest trickiest Tricky Dick of the World? Surely there are other tricky dicks just as tricky though—one sees them all the time on Fox News. Modern variations of the Wizard of Oz—hiding behind the Curtain. Some of them quite lovable and handsome—like Burt Lancaster playing Elmer Gantry (1960). How many men & women like Jean Simmons playing Sister Sharon Falconer have fallen for such smooth nefarious attractive characters?

« Last Edit: September 12, 2007, 08:57:11 AM by pugetopolis » Logged

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« Reply #1872 on: September 12, 2007, 08:45:48 AM »

so jude law then fires his agent. i don't get it.

http://www.hollywood.com/news/Jude_Law_Sacks_Agent_Over_Chris_Rock_Jibes/2435987

two actors walk into a bar...
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« Reply #1873 on: September 12, 2007, 09:02:15 AM »


Love in the Time of Cholera (2007)

But to just "strip away" the very element which defines Marquez's work seems absurd. But who knows. Maybe this really is just too great of a novel to be fully captured on the big screen. Either way, I expect great things from this film. How can it be bad with such an amazing story line?

But the amazing story line is what without the magic realism?

Great cast though. Reminds me I need to get out and see "No Country for Old Men".
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pugetopolis
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« Reply #1874 on: September 12, 2007, 09:10:44 AM »

so jude law then fires his agent. i don't get it.

I don't get it either...

All I know is that Sean Penn was cute in Bad Boys...love that scene where he puts a couple of Pepsi cans in a pillowcase and gets ready for the bullies. And Jude Law is nice too...something about a cute guy with a British accent that turns me on... Hollywood's full of cute guys though. Like Brad Pitt said on the Oprah Show..."all these talented people fighting over this tiny little stage." Lots of male ego involved. Plus you gotta be a show-off...like Brad Pitt in the back of the car making love to his girlfriend with his leg hanging out the window in Kalifornia...
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