Category: Film

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KBV.2, MoIV

Kill Bill Volume 2 last night with Victor. Uma Thurman has an impact on me similar to the way Marilyn Monroe, in her more serious roles, affects me. Both are stunningly beautiful, but I think that I want to like their acting more than their skill warrants. Marilyn’s comedic roles are brilliant–her timing, delivery and body language superb–but when she screams “Murderers!” in The Misfits, I just cringe. Same with Uma, I’m just too aware of her acting. Think of someone like Meryl Streep–one’s certainly aware of her artifice–yet she so inhabits her characters that I’m taken in by her transformation. So anyway, Uma is Quentin’s star, so I’ve gotta love her. And I loved the movie. The tone was a little less frenetic than the first Volume, with references more specific to the spaghetti western and the Hong Kong Action flick than than to the myriad sources culled for the first film. The scene where Uma is buried alive had me squirming in my seat, opening my shirt collar for air, and about to race from the theater screaming. And then we suddenly cut to a scene of Uma’s training, all the while thinking of her suffocating in that box, under all that dirt, as we meander slowly through her learning to punch her fist through a block of wood, the crucial skill that will save her.

Earlier in the week Big Chrissy and I were treated to Charles Ludlum’s The Mystery of Irma Vep at Berkeley Rep, which I saw Everett Quinton, Ludlum’s lover, perform solo in New York in ’93 or ’94–or maybe it was Camille? The play was a real fun campy Rebecca meets Wolfman. The audience, oddly, was mostly blue-haired ladies–and us.

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Laptop Batteries Out of Juice

I just watched Shakespeare In Love, which I last tried to watch on one of the nights when D and I ended our affair a few years ago, but we ended up boinking, as one mostly does in an affair, so I never got to finish the film. I really liked it. Actually I drank a bottle of wine with it, and so I’m all giggly and weepy. Manny and I rented Misery the weekend he died, but we never got to watch it, either. I mean, he died. Regardless, I paid something like $50 to Superstar when I finally returned the video, after the burial. I told them, “My lover died, I didn’t get to see it.”  They charged me anyway. I will watch that movie someday. The narrrative of my love life is linked to films–mostly missed. Between lovers, I am getting caught up on the mound of Italian neo-realist, French New Wave, and Korean horror films that I wouldn’t subject anyone else to but myself. Will my next love share my taste in film? Or lack thereof? I was really nervous about my presentation at the library. It was actually fun, and I pulled it off, mostly, although in my nervousness I forgot Piero della Francesca’s name, and had to skip over most of the reason behind my series Ideal City because of it. Speaking of narrative, man, am I having a rough time with Bob’s complete exploitation of his experience with me. I remember him scribbling notes on his yellow pads while I was still post-orgasmic groggy, but I never imagined that he was taking notes about what had just transpired. The more I read of his latest book, the more resentful and angry I become, primarily because of his partial absence from the relationship and simultaneous denial of responsibility for its end. The details are fun, though. Today Peter and Luis and I went to see the Deco show at the Legion, and they confirmed my anger–Bob’s wonderful and brilliant, but he’s a cold distant fish and I am a live hot tomato. A successful entree we do not make. I’ve told him he could have everything, pretty much, I just want him to leave. I don’t want to be as materialistic as he is, although I do get to keep the Wormley sofa, if only because it’s too big to fit in his house. I’m now just another character in his autobiographical fiction–Ed, Denny, Kathy, Bruce, Nayland, L, Mack, etc… I wonder if he believes the fiction that he’s contextualized us all in? I don’t remember what the theme of this paragraph was supposed to be, but I’m sleepy, so forgive my lack of coherence and structural integrity and sleepum tightums.

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Cuchi-Cuchi

Last night while watching the remake of Dawn of the Dead, I thought of Charo. I was thinking of what a beloved presence she once was in popular culture. Her persona was that of a jiggly big-haired bimbo–remember her “cuchi-cuchi”?–but she spoke something like 6 languages and was a brilliant classical guitarist, a former student of Segovia’s. I love her, and that combination of genius and airhead. Where is she? When I was studying in China, a girl in my group, Wendy, reminded me of her. She was in a rock group and had really big blonde Charo hair, a guitar over her shoulder, and a cigarette always dangling from her lips. The Chinese loved and feared her. Everywhere we went a crowd formed around her, and she’d belt out a mournful tune. When her bike was stolen–this was the day after she lost her wallet–one of our Chinese friends took her by the shoulders and said “Wendy, Wendy, you lost your money, you lost your bike–don’t LOST your mind.” Anyway, the remake wasn’t so hot. But thank heavens for Charlie Kaufman–what an inventive and keen observer of experience. Hi ho, hi ho, off to work I go.

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Bertolucci and io

Greetings from down under, not that fair land on the other side of the world, the one on the other side of heaven, my little house, Dante’s temporary inferno. Burn, baby, burn! I associate much joy and many wonderful times with my house, but it’s very hard to be here right now, with Bob so completely consumed by misery. I’m stuck on the couch, FOR 3 MORE MONTHS, with cute little Davide tucked away downstairs in my studio and Elin coming from Vinalhaven tonight staying in Bob’s office.

Please, someone, invite me to a pajama party.

I did see Bertolucci’s new film yesterday, and liked it. And I really hated it. But I can’t stop thinking about it. The opening credits were dynamite, and set a groovy tone for the film, and the first half hour or so was a rich and fun-to-watch romp through a film lover’s soft-porn psyche. Now I’m completely set on being seduced by a set of French twin Maoist cineastes! Oui, oui! The unbelievable and almost unwatchable parts of the film were made interesting by their significance in the underlying allegory, the parents representing some out-of-touch and absent authoritarian structure, the American boy the voice of reason, etc…

So no work this morning due to rain–off to the movies!

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Overgrown Calves

I’ve been singing Carpenters songs today. Unironically. Not just humming, but tossing my imaginary brunette locks from side to side as I sit on top of the world looking down on creation. Last night Teddy Bear and I saw I Vitelloni, which was a bit of a disappointment, but interesting to see themes and characters that Fellini would later develop more fully and imaginatively. Character development and plot were subdued to the point that when Fausto eventually does get the beating that he’s been asking for, we’re just not interested. And he should have gotten the shit kicked out of him anyway instead of that namby pamby spanking. I felt stuck between wanting more harsh neo-realism or, well, Fellini.

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Fingers and Messes

So I was a little out of control last night. Just a little, and hopefully not all that noticeably so. I vividly remember a finger in my mouth and the smell of soap and the exquisite sensation of arm hair against my cheek. I was at BC’s, watching the finale of Angels in America with some swell Live Journal dudes, only one martini down, but intoxicated by the nearness and warmth of sweet and handsome comrades.

Jack and Steve, let’s play bridge!

Remember Marlene Dietrich’s observation of the bloated and disheveled Orson Welles in Touch of Evil? “You a mess, honey.” I’m feeling a little better today. Thanks for putting up with me, everybody.

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Neo-Benshi Tonight Only!

Tonight Bob and Jocelyn will provide narration (see below) to a silent porn film from the 30’s, with a sound piece that I designed to accompany their narration. Hope you can come! Here’s an exerpt from the press release…

Neo-Benshi, or, Voice over Video
Saturday November 29th, 8:30PM
at Craig Baldwin’s Other Cinema, 992 Valencia, San Francisco

Though at one time thriving in Japan and Korea in the era of silent films, the art of the Benshi, or film narrator, has been all but lost. Under the inspiration of Japan’s Midori Sawato, whom we have seen perform in Berkeley, California, and who has maintained the tradition almost single handedly, we would like to revive this art, with a twist, of course, because we are twisted after all.

To this end assembled:

Brent Cunningham
Roxanne Hamilton
Jocelyn Saidenberg & Robert Glück
Scott Stark
Suzanne Stein + 2
Melinda Stone + Bucky!

who each have written a text to narrate, describe and/or accompany a scene of their own chosing. Genres will run the gamut from Cronenberg to home movies to documentary to 30s porn. Almost everyone will be catered to in some degree.

We hope you will come out to Other Cinema during your Thanksgiving recess and allow us to decorate some time for you.

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Good News and Bad

One of my favorite films from the 30’s is coming out on DVD next week–Rouben Mamoulian’s Love Me Tonight, one of the most delightful and inventive films of the period–and I’m so excited I could scream. Now if only When Ladies Meet and The Animal Kingdom would come out, 2 surprisingly adult films, also from the 30’s, that deal with sexuality very candidly. It’s a miracle, truly, that somebody decided to release Mamoulian’s film on DVD, for it’s so not geared toward the 20-something male demographic, towards whom most DVD releases seemed geared. There is still hope that someone other than Quentin Tarantino will reach that demographic.

In other news, it’s no longer possible to get a type-R print made in San Francisco. Type-R prints are positive to positive prints–the medium of all of my editioned color work. Labs now scan the chromes and make digital prints from the scan. I can actually see the difference between my older type-R prints and these newfangled digital prints, which produce a very slight banding to differentiate slight color shifts in, say, SKIN, the subject of all of my photographs. Since I print my editioned work as it sells, I can no longer be assured that the new digital prints will match the earlier type-R prints in the edition. “I hate modern photography.”

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Birthday Weekend Update

I bumped into Nayland this morning, on the way to Andy’s with BC for pancakes. I hadn’t seen Nayland for a few years, experiencing his visage only through his art and videos. As he crossed the street I paused for a moment as if I were about to see a video, but then it hit me that it was the 3 dimensional Nayland. Great to see you, Nayland, and sorry to have missed your panel Thursday.

Last night I took in two Ozu films at the Castro, and am looking forward to spending most of the next week there for a retrospective of his films. Watching his films is like meeting these people and spending 2 intimate hours with them in their homes. Last night I saw Late Spring and Tokyo Story, and was too moved to do more than say hi to David W, whom I adore, wiping a tear from my cheek as I passed and blew a kiss. In between films I watched the humpy bear dude in front of me, engaged in a singular sensual experience. His hair was cut very close to his head, almost shaved, but not quite. Slowly he ran a finger from the back of his neck forward over his head, feeling his stubble, over and over. Every so often, he’d slowly draw a finger through the crease between his ear and head and then bring his finger to his nose. His enjoyment of his own surface and smell moved me, like watching the stones at Ryoan-ji in Kyoto, imagining the feel of moss on stone.

My video has steered into a different direction, so I’m following this new path, and will re-shoot (D) North by Northwest in December.

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Kill Bill and North by Northwest

Kill Bill was terrific. And the soundtrack was fabulous. Tarantino is the perfect post-modern director, appropriating and translating material as diverse as sounds from Ultraman to the actual stars of Hong Kong action films. He reminds me of a geeky Martin Scorsese, although drawing from overlooked instead of acknowledged masters.

Speaking of drawing from the masters, I had a vision of my next film tonight. I’m going to remake the cropduster scene from North by Northwest, shot by shot, edited exactly the same way, but with completely different imagery–close ups of Dean’s fur. Of course. It makes sense, really, only I’m too exited to tell you why. I want to shoot it now. Dean and I are going to see Love, Actually tomorrow, so perhaps we can get started right away.