The Conversations #10: Trouble Every Day


The tenth installment of the Conversations is here, just in time for Halloween. In this latest discussion, Jason Bellamy and I turn our attention to Claire Denis' Trouble Every Day, a startling and deeply enigmatic film about vampirism, lust, infidelity and addiction. As usual, our discussion is fairly lengthy and intensive, covering not only the film itself but also diverting into a debate about what constitutes the horror genre. We always hope with this series that our piece will be just the beginning of a larger conversation, so please stop by and weigh in with your own thoughts, either about this film or about horror in general.

Continue reading at The House Next Door

More Halloween Shenanigans...

I'd love to report on some new Black film, but nothing has come directly in my radar. I know there is "Good Hair", but for the life of me, I can't seem to be able to force myself to see it. After being told for most of my life that I have "good hair" by stylists (always making me cringe), I find the subject extremely tired, and wish it would be buried. I wear my hair natural and curly, flat ironed, kinky twisted, weaved, braided--and it has nothing to do with my esteem, just fashion and how I feel like wearing it. Can we just let Black women wear their hair the way they want to and leave it at that? I have met plenty of "natural hair" wearing folks that are perfect a-holes, trust. 'Nuff said (not knocking those with natural locks, btw).

Anyhoo, like I said, I have been on a quest to find some Black film to report. After looking forward to attending the Hollywood Film Festival this weekend, I was extremely disappointed to learn that there were no films featuring Brown people on the program list (at least that I could see). I don't mind seeing all types of film, but I am not down with obvious exclusion. Hey, note to the YT film festivals: do you really still have no clue that your events will be 100 times more interesting and well attended if you have even a smidgen of diversity? Just damn!

So I have busied myself with enjoying the October/Halloween offerings, at the movies and on cable. Along with all of the usual Vincent Price standard fanfare, I went to see "Zombieland". There were tons of plot holes abound, but it was the best fun time I've had at a film in a while...I even bought candy, drinks, and popcorn, something I never do at the highway-robbery prices, cause it was the type of film that made you want to have the full movie experience.

I also saw "Paranormal Activity", the kind of real horror film that Ms. I digs very much. There has been a real dearth of horror films over the past decade...I've said this before--I don't consider slasher films real horror film. How many times can you you see some masked dude use a sickle/ax/knife/whatever to kill stupid teenagers and unsuspecting folks minding their own business? And "Saw" and "Hostel" and it's ilk? Just sick in my opinion.


Real horror films are quieter, more involving, and inspire a great sense of dread...usually based in the supernatural. They make you care about the characters, and are based in realism. "The Blair Witch Project" was great, so was "Signs" and "Cloverfield", cause to me it was how real folks would react in real situations in modern times. "Paranormal Activity" was also a complete and total testament that an excellent film could be made on basically no money ($15,000)....this was the real deal to me as far as what defines horror.

Which brings me to this...a subject that comes up here and in my email quite often is why aren't there more Black horror films? I mean, I don't feel "Somebody Help Me" with Omarion and Marques Houston really counted, cause not only was it completely generic, all of the rest of the cast was non-Black. We have "Tales From The Hood", which was a good try, and slightly amusing, but on the horror scale, maybe about a four. What to choose from? "Vampire in Brooklyn" (which I reviewed here)? Da Hip Hop Witch with Ja Rule, Pras, and Vanilla Ice? Crazy As Hell? Frankenhood?

Yes, pickings are slim for a modern Black horror film. "Blacula", as low budget as it was, was at least involving. It seems like we have go back to the '70's once again to see how it's done. One film I would definitely like to give light to ( I talked about it once before here-please click to see beautiful images) is "Ganja and Hess". This is the synopsis on IMDB:

"Dr. Hess Green, an archaeologist overseeing an excavation at the ancient civilization of Myrthia, is stabbed by his research assistant, who then commits suicide. When Hess wakes up, he finds that his wounds have healed, but he now has an insatiable thirst for blood. It turns out that the knife he was stabbed with carried ancient germs that have turned him into a vampire. Soon after, Hess meets his former assistant's wife, Ganja. Though Ganja is initially concerned about her missing husband, she soon falls for Hess. Though they are initially happy together, Ganja will eventually learn the truth about Hess, and about her husband. Will she survive the revelation? Will Hess?"

In the classic real horror movie vein, this film takes it's time, creates atmosphere, draws you into it's visuals and establishes a real story. My beloved Sergio had this to say on a recent comment:

[To] answer Lenox Ave you ought to check out Ganja and Hess, a very weird vampire film (of sorts) made in the early 70's directed by Bill Gunn, who died 20 years ago. I saw it many many years ago with Gunn in attendance (UH OH! Must Love Loves here I go again showing my age) It was recut and butchered in various forms to make it more commercial but it's been restored to its original version and now available on DVD from Image Entertainment. Thanks for reminding me about it. I've been meaning to get a copy myself.

I encourage all of you that are thirsty for Black horror film to see it--buy the video or rent it online and view on your computer for $2.99 HERE at Amazon. And to to read more about Black Horror Films from the '30's to the present, click HERE for Black Horror Films.Com--probably the most comprehensive online.

And all of you aspiring screenwriters--what's up? How about the horror thing? If you really have it as writer, then guess what? You can do it on a shoestring...just do your research and look around even just a little bit. It's time to redefine the genre--we should not have to back 35 years to find something decent, yes?

Speaking of Sergio, we will be on the infamous Afronerd's podcast tonight (10/24) talking about what else? Black Cinema, after Michaela Angela Davis is on. I will be listening, as Michaela got into an online beef with one of my favorite bloggers that I very much stan for. Sergio posted this:

I know that Tyler Perry will be profiled on this coming Sunday’s 60 Minutes, but do you really think anything is going to be revealed about Perry that we don’t know about already? (But then if he was finally to come out on the show that’s a different matter altogether) However I wanted you folks out there to know that Invisible Woman of Invisible Woman Cinema and I be on tomorrow’s podcast of DBurt’s Afronerd Radio from 7:-8:30PM Eastern time – 6-7:30PM Central . The first half of the show her of the wild wild hair (and I love it) cultural and social critic and fashionista Michaela Angela Davis will be the guest for the first half of the show and IW and I will be on the second half to talk about the state Black cinema in 2009. Hope you can take a listen and of course the show will be available for playback anytime after that broadcast on Afronerd’s website, www.afronerd.com

Feel free to call in at: 646-915-9620 or via email/IM-afronedradio@yahoo.com.

7 Questions With Actress Jazsmin Lewis....

OK, Ms. Invisible is the first to admit she can be a bit critical at times (but that's why you love me right?). I have made light of this young lady's talent with the flat iron a couple of times...she is definitely the master of 100 hairstyles.

But what Jazsmin Lewis is (besides an excellent hairstylist) is a thoughtful, down-to earth, ambitious, and focused Black woman, who definitely seems to have her head straight and in the right place. She is a lover of classic film, which I'm never one to be mad at, for sure. And, even more importantly, she seems to be the first female that I have interviewed (lol), but certainly not on purpose. So here is Miss Thing letting you know where she's coming from, the first lady of interviews on Black Cinema At Large:


Question 1

You seem to be everywhere lately; stage plays, television, and film. Which is your favorite medium and why?

I love all forms of acting. They all serve a different purpose to me and in my life. When I do a film, I get the chance to spend a month or two getting to know and grow a character. I get to take the time to develop the nuances of human characteristics. So, Film is a immersion into humanity and who doesn't love that. However I also love Television. TV shows your skill as an actor because many times you only have minutes to bring a character to life and deliver an interpretation of what you feel. It's fast and sometimes frenetic but always fun. And stage plays are the closet you can get to an audience and feel that energy with transforms every night into something new and many times beautiful. So, it would be hard for me to choose just one form of acting. I love them all.


Question 2


I have read that you've started a production company. What projects can our readers look forward to?

I started my production company the same year I started acting back in 1995. I knew I had to create projects in order to get to play the characters that I wanted to play. I have quite a few films in development now and have already produced other feature films. But keep looking out
in 2010 and you'll see Feline Entertainment in the forefront.


Question 3


There are many very pretty Black actresses in Hollywood not getting enough work, which doesn't seem to be a hindrance for women of other cultures. Do you think that being considered a Black woman that is beautiful can sometimes be a detriment in being taken seriously in Hollywood?

There's always someone willing and able to discriminate in Hollywood against women of color. Either your too beautiful or not beautiful enough. Beauty is subjective. I've been told that I was "too pretty" for some role that I really wanted but all it did was make me more determined to control my own destiny. I think being a woman of color can be a frightening thing for some
people in our industry. Our strength can be scary.. So, I don't allow anyone to use that excuse with me. It just makes me more driven.


Question 4

What are your top 5 favorite films?

Wow, there are so many. But I love the old ones: "All about Eve", "Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte", "Boomerang", "Lord of the rings" movies and "Mildred Pierce".


Question 5


A subject that comes up here quite often is the dissatisfaction with what "The Hollywood Machine" is producing in the way of Black Cinema. What, in your opinion, can the public at large do to change things? (Everyone gets asked this question, btw)

I think the public has to get involved with what they want to see. Write your Studios, stop paying money to see what you don't like just because Black people are in it if you don't believe in it, and support the actors making the films that you approve of. Don't wait till it comes out on DVD to support it. Show the numbers for the movies that you like.

Question 6

I have a few readers who have emailed me about the TV show "Brothers". They feel that it is positive step in Black television. Will you be a regular on the series?

I was a guest star on the show and as far as I know, that's about it. Although I never close a door... But I have a series that I will be a series regular on starting in November and will release all the info to the press as soon as the ink gets dry on the contract. I have 4 films that I'll be
working on between now and March 2010 along with the series so I'll be busy. Best way to stay up on all that I'm doing in find me on Twitter/@Jazsminsworld. I give constant work and personal updates for films, tv and appearances.


Question 7

Any thoughts or advice you would like to leave for the readers?

Always follow your dreams. Even when it feels like nothing is happening, that just means work and believe harder. Keep God before you and let faith be the gasoline in your engine of life.


From IW: Co-sign!





big up to the folks on "grapes on a vine" a blog about indy Black film...check it

For Halloween: "The Black Exorcist"....

I've heard of this movie, "Abby", aka "The Black Exorcist" (not to be confused with "The Blaxorcist") for years, but have never been able to find it. I've learned you can watch some very classic and rare Black films online (though I can't say where, I don't want them to be taken down). If you snoop even a bit, I'm sure you can find them.

So I watched "Abby", and it is an absolute miracle that they did not get sued by anyone and everyone associated with "The Exorcist". Made in 1974, it was snapping on the heels of the original. But maybe once they saw the film, and how horribly ridiculous it was, they probably just sucked their teeth and kept on stepping. Carol Speed's laughable demonic "possession" and preschool lip-syncing is source of hilarity, as well as making the viewer indulge in much lip twisting and head shaking at the scenery chewing performances.

William Marshall, better know as "Blacula" (who would have absolutely been my husband had I been of age in the 70's), tries to keep the proceedings above middle school stage play level, but unfortunately, fails miserably. The 4th rate acting, paper thin plot, mangled editing and cinematography, and rip-off storyline are beyond saving. But I say watch it anyway, just to see what Black horror films were about back in the day. This is the synopsis from IMDB:

"A possession film about a marriage counselor who becomes possessed by a Demon of Sexuality, when her father in law, an Exorcist, freed it while in Africa. He returns home, along with his son and a policeman to perform an African Exorcism on her."

Alrighty, then. Here is a sampling:



UPDATE: Just read this from You Tube...

Obscure 1974 blaxploitation "Exorcist" rip-off flick from Kentucky-bred zero budget auteur William Girdler ("Grizzly"). Warner Bros sued over the similarities, and the movie was quickly withdrawn from circulation shortly after its release. Jesus, what a bunch of killjoys! Starring blaxploit regular Carol Speed as Abby, and co-starring William Marshall - esteemed African American stage actor, Mr. "Blacula", and future "Pee Wee's Playhouse" King of Cartoons (one of 'em, anyway). The movie may be no great shakes, but it beats the hell out of 99% of the leaden Italian "Exorcist" rip-offs that followed and where were the damn lawyers then, huh?

The Gingerbread Man


A John Grisham potboiler would seem an unlikely subject for director Robert Altman, who nevertheless made Grisham's The Gingerbread Man his own, mapping the familiar Altmanesque casual pacing and loose aesthetics onto this lurid thriller plot. The film opens with a lengthy aerial shot of a Southern delta on an overcast day, suggesting a storm about to come. Indeed, the entire film is building towards the not-so-threateningly-named Hurricane Geraldo — not the TV personality, as one character wryly points out. Altman is essentially telegraphing the Short Cuts-style ending that he so loves, writing the internal anguish of his characters onto the landscape itself, into nature, which grows more and more ugly and sinister as the central character, the lawyer Rick MacGruder (Kenneth Branagh), spirals into confusion and despair. From the beginning, we know that a storm, both emotional and physical, is coming, and its threat hangs over the whole movie, even when the sun briefly breaks out.

This tension and moody build-up adds some much-needed heft to the film's rather silly and convoluted story, built on a series of genre clichés and reversals of expectations: the dark-haired, sexed-up damsel in distress (or femme fatale?) and the sinister, crazy hillbilly. MacGruder's downfall begins when he gets wrapped up with the waitress Mallory Doss (Embeth Davidtz), who strips off her clothes at the slightest provocation and quickly embroils MacGruder in a tale about her crazy father, who's been stalking and harassing her. The lawyer, who normally wouldn't think of doing anything not on the payroll, is suddenly convinced that he can do a good deed for this woman he wants so badly, and he helps her commit her nutty father, the unruly wild man Dixon Doss (Robert Duvall, communicating menace with his clear blue eyes and language of grunts and muttering). This is only the beginning, of course, as Dixon quickly escapes from the mental institution with the help of his hillbilly posse, and goes cavorting off through a graveyard in a wonderfully silly/creepy night scene, wisps of fog hanging over everything, white and fluffy in the darkness.

The film's plot takes some increasingly loony twists and turns from there, but it's clear that Altman isn't so much interested in delivering a satisfying genre experience so much as just riffing on all these unlikable characters. Certainly, MacGruder is an astonishingly rotten protagonist: a self-centered jerk, a womanizer, and of course that oldest of crime fiction archetypes, the high-priced defense lawyer who keeps getting "scum" released back onto the streets. He's divorced from Famke Janssen's Leeanne, who's taken up with the couple's divorce lawyer now; another genre cliché fulfilled. When MacGruder gets his kids for visits, he's so inattentive that he lets them wander off everywhere while taking cell phone calls, even when he starts receiving threats about them, presumably from the missing Dixon. All this lazy parenting sets up the wonderfully handled late scene where MacGruder is making a call at a phone booth, with a visual line of sight to his kids through a hotel room window across the way, when a truck pulls up right in front of him, cutting off the view; it's a great sight gag and also a piece of formalist visual suspense worthy of Hitchcock.


There are many other pleasures to be found here as Altman lazily meanders through this story. There's a great shot where Mallory lights a cigarette and Altman syncs the flash of the lighter's flame against the cigarette tip with a crack of thunder outside, making a simple gesture seem epic. At the finale, all this sturm und drang pays off in the fantastic hurricane sequence, which makes suspense from missed cell phone connections and the flickering of lights, where everyone is silhouetted in windows, framed against the stormy perpetual night outside. MacGruder goes running around through the storm like a lunatic, always missing the obvious, always thrusting himself into danger — he's a totally incompetent thriller hero, but the film's arc is about him realizing what a lousy guy he's been, deciding at the end to stop fighting, that he deserves what he gets, that he shouldn't try to wriggle out of it even if he probably could. Meanwhile, Altman's camera is as busy as ever, using zoom as a device to make right-angle turns within a scene, unexpectedly pointing out details of interest, as when a slow zoom into a meowing cat foreshadows its grim fate.

Altman also has some fun with the character of MacGruder's private detective, Clyde Pell (Robert Downey, Jr.). Downey is always a blast to watch, and his leering, drunken private eye is a welcome presence in this film that so thoroughly mocks thriller conventions: just as the hero is a jerk who's blind to what's going on around him, the detective is sloppy but also strangely effective, always seeming to know exactly what's going on. In one of the film's funniest scenes, while Mallory is taking a call from MacGruder, Clyde lurks outside, pressing his ear against a window, listening in. Altman is frequently composing in depth like this, shooting with windows revealing crucial information or sight gags outside, like the spectacle of Downey exaggeratedly listening in, his whole body leaning in towards the phone conversation. Even funnier are the scenes with Downey hanging out in a bar with a couple of trashy-looking girls; when he's pulled away for a case, the girls shrug, look at one another, and kiss, as though with him gone they'll just have to settle for each other tonight. These little throwaway touches are so obviously Altman's work, infusing some quirky eccentricity into a film that could've been a paint-by-numbers thriller.

On the whole, The Gingerbread Man is a rather slight and goofy offering from Altman, a film that finds the director dabbling once more in the thriller genre. It lacks the self-assurance and thematic depth of his better genre deconstructions like The Player or The Long Goodbye, but it's nevertheless a fine example of Altman playfully mixing together noir and legal thriller conventions into an off-kilter confection. The film is more satisfying for its textures, for its small touches, than for its actual plot.

An Open Letter From The Invisible One...

Hello my wonderful and very, very appreciated readers:

Maybe it's the fact that I am wearing a dashiki today, or maybe it's the Ciroc cocktail, or maybe it's because I have been listening to The Beastie Boys "Ill Communication" all day that I feel the need to let this out. I tweeted about this the other day, but I don't feel satisfied that it was enough. Lots of folks aren't bothered with the Tweet thing, and I want to make sure my feelings are known. My blog sis said that when you engage in things like this you are seen as petty. Unfortunate, but true. But Madame Invisible has to be petty at some point; everybody's allowed at least one.

When I very first started blogging 2 years ago, I was stunned to find out that people would repost, or take an idea of mine, and write it as their own, with not even a smidgen of acknowledgment to me. And some of the sites were very big and well read. I didn't know whether to be flattered that people were taking notice and imitating, or be pissed off. What can you do anyway, as the internet is not like the bookworld, with copyrights and things?

Well here it is 2 years later, and people are still plagiarizing, and now I am pissed when it happens. It's not as bad as before, cause most people have the good sense to realize that Ms. Invisible has a style all of her own that is very recognizable. Except for one blogger, it seems, that should definitely know better by now.

I put great thought into what I write. Even if it's an idea that I came up with quickly, it came from my brain and my heart, my intellect and experience. I also think about things like is it funny? Is it informative? Will my readers find it interesting?

So much of ME goes into what I write, that it is tired, tacky, lazy, trifling, and honestly downright f*cking disrespectful to take my ideas, not even change the freaking labels of them, and pass them off as your own, as if it was public property and you have the right to do so, with absolutely no thought whatsoever. WTF?


I don't believe in burning bridges, as Black Hollywood, and especially the Black blogging world regarding it, is too small. Plus my mother taught us to be unfailingly polite, which can sometimes be the bane of my existence. I noticed every single time, but grinned and bore it in silence. But there are times in life where folks put the dynamite down, and then light it or push down on the detonator themselves. They leave you no choice. This is a person I bigged up on this blog, even through their envy, and this person was also the target of my one other rant besides this one. I am sick and tired of this person using my ideas and (not so) secretly hating on me. Hey, try this, hater. Come up with some amusing/readable/original stuff of your own! And if you can't? Wait till you f*cking can!

I'm not telling you all to choose one blog or the other, like in a divorce, cause there is room for everybody. But what I am telling you is that any time I see somebody using my sh*t like it's theirs, with no credit and absolutely no respect,
I WILL call you out, and I WILL ROAST YOUR ASS! I am a QUEEN, o foolish hateful one, and if you don't have any inkling of that by now, then you have no right to even a smidgen of space in my universe....be gone, parasite!


That is all. Now back to our show, and enjoy the post below from Madame Invisible's original series from Soul Sis-Star Reviews....thanks! Love You! -Ms. Invisible

Movies Revisited: CB4



This is a cross-post from my resurrected blog "Soul Sis-Star Reviews":

Do you remember a time when people still wore Jheri Curls? When women loved Allen Payne with a passion? When Chris Rock had his original teeth and crack body, and looked like he had 15 cents to his name? When Stoney Jackson was still occasionally working (Theresa Randle too)? When Charlie Murphy was not even close to being as funny as Eddie? When Khandi Alexander looked 20 years older than she does now? When no one knew who Deezer D was (nothing's changed on that one, btw)?

girl6

Well I do. And all of that comes together in the 1993 hip-hop/rap spoof "CB4". When this first came out, I was totally unimpressed---it starred Chris Rock , who I thought was unbearable to look at the time, and was directed by Tamra Davis, whose ghetto pass has always been a constant source of wonder and disappointment to me. People were still completely enamored with the South Central phenom Dr. Dre ("The Chronic") and "Doggystyle" by Snoop Dogg was still absolutely HUGE and a must have and play in everybody's car. It was also written by Nelson George, whom I still till this day don't understand why was deemed the voice of hip hop culture.

So of course, no one was tryna see or hear a project that dissed that whole genre. Everyone was buying into into it, so if you were going against the grain, you were instantly wack. And I think that is the exact reason it did not do well on all fronts at the time...it was too soon to make a satire of the scene. It just seemed like a weak, uninspired diss (but probably not to those who knew better). Like I said, no one was trying to hear that, only Dre's beats at maximum bass and treble capacity.

But not having seen it since it came out, I realize that is was an amazing statement on the fakeness of gangsta rap, and the whole concept of the "South Central" culture, which, if you are truly living that life, is absolutely nothing to be glorified. There is even dialogue alluding to that in the film. But it also skewers commercial sell-out rappers (a la Hammer), video hoes, slimy record execs, so-called hip hop early staples like 40 ounces, and so-called "militant" rap (a la Public Enemy and it's offshoots).

deadmike

It is the story of a group of 3 buddies, toiling in their ordinary dead end lives, decide to form a rap group, going through several different transformations (one a hilarious PM Dawn-like riff), until they hit pay dirt with a not too thinly veiled imitation of the ghetto super-group NWA. They go through their breakup and eventual reunion, learning life lessons along the way, with the inevitable YT groupies hanging on to every detail.

This film was ahead of it's time, and I actually laughed out loud a few times, something that definitely didn't happen the first time around. Some of the ideas were just so absurd and funny to me; Wacky D and his parachute pants and one leg in the air dancing, the musclebound sidekick talking through a voicebox, the heightened sleaziness of Khandi Alexander's Supahead-like groupie. It was all so ridiculous and on point all at the same time.

khandi

This is a spot on spoof of what was really going on in that scene in the early nineties, but we were too mesmerized by the head nodding to notice. I hope films such as this have a chance to come back in a real way, cause they actually have a sharp eye for human comedy and tragedy melded into one-- it's all the same parts of the pie, and what lies beneath in Black love and culture is much more than meets the eye.

Madame Invisible is presently lamenting all the Black writers, directors, and projects that were given visibility in the 90's, and seem to have disappeared of the face of the planet. Can someone please help?

I couldn't find the trailer, so here is the scene of Dead Mike in his pseudo-Chuck D video "I'm Black Y'All", and that's all he says, over and over again...hilarious!

I Heart Bokeem Woodbine....

Yes, I never, ever, ever thought I would actually have that phrase in my life in any capacity, but after reading his Twitter page, and LMMFAO for about 20 minutes, he just may have to replace Terrence Howard as the beloved to warm the cockles of Ms. Invisible's semi-cold heart.

Perusing his love for such fine cuisine as steak-um burgers, White Castle, spam and eggs, hot dogs and eggs, fried eggs and Carolina sausage, and hot dogs and cheese whiz, I came upon gems like this (sorry so low-tech can't do screenshots):

I just ate a mayo sandwich and kool-aid water. We dont have no sugar n shit. I took a Now and Later and put it in the bottom of the glass

From IW: Love it! He is real with his, and I am now, and forever will be, a stan. Check these others out--I almost choked on my Chardonnay....

I was at Jimbos last night and I seen Tommy Davison tweekin out. Being loud and sweating all nasty. He was rubbing his nipple and shitI scowled at that fool and he yelled at me in his Sammy Davis voice. Lay off the drugs. Tell Rosie Perez that shit too. She a bag lady on41st. She be out there holding doors askin for change. I told her ass to get a job. No one wants to hear her talk though she sound likeAn episode of the nanny dubbed over with that SAP telemundo shit. Ondelay your ass to an agent and do some work. No I can't spare changeJust for jokes I called Jada P and asked to be on Hawthorne. She hung up on me. That's why her shit is tanking. I could save that shit.Call me cap'n save a show. No one wants to see her in that bad hair track and her 90 degree angle chin "acting". I got skills dammitMan screw Chris Brown and his nations of Islam bean pie ass bowtie. He's not a real man. You're told from jump not to hit girls. You knewI cant stand these damn skinny jeans guys are wearing today. I dont need to see your ball sac in 3D nigga! 1 cat had on pants so tightI think i saw the hair on his balls as well. That's some nasty shit. Making me feel all unsure about myself because I couldnt take my eyesOff of that shit. He gonna ask me for an autograph next. I gave that mothafucka the scowl of death. I been working on that shit likeZoolander. He backed the hell up off me, him and his balls. I think i could actually see the sperms swimming around and shit.I'm finna call up Allen Payne and see if he wanna use some of that house of Payne money to take a nigga to Tavern on the Green.

and finally this:

I just searched my name on here and I/m mad as hell. Scowling so hard my lips hurting and shit. People got nerve.

Judex (1963)


Georges Franju's Judex is an arch, playful tribute to the serials of the influential silent filmmaker Louis Feuillade. Franju shuffles through the plot of Feuillade's lengthy serial of the same name, about an adventurer named Judex (Channing Pollock) whose revenge against the corrupt banker Favraux (Michel Vitold) unleashes a complicated series of schemes. The film is defined by its complex twists and turns, its melodramatic indulgences: a wronged father (René Génin) who's searching for his missing son; the fiendish femme fatale Marie Verdier (Francine Bergé) who faces off against Judex; the plots centering around Jacqueline (Edith Scob), the daughter of Favraux; the incompetent detective Cocantin (Max Montavon), who seems more comfortable as a babysitter than an investigator. The film opens with Favraux being blackmailed by Judex, who threatens to expose the banker's many crimes if he doesn't give his ill-gained fortune back to his victims.

Fittingly, Franju opens with an iris-out, and will close the film with an iris-in, only the most obvious of his nods to his inspiration. Franju sets his film primarily in the same kinds of gritty, realistic locales favored by Feuillade, who loved shooting on the streets and in scenic exteriors. The texture of the image here is grainy and dark, tending toward shadowy nighttime scenes where cloaked figures skulk through the abandoned streets, framed against the moon, heading out on mysterious errands. Franju is riffing on the magical, playful qualities of Feuillade's classic serials, and the imagery is lush. Judex's grand entrance in particular is stunning, set at a costume ball where he arrives in a massive bird mask, his outstretched, upturned palm holding a seemingly dead bird before him as he weaves through the revelers, with Franju's camera bobbing behind him. He then proceeds to perform a series of magic tricks for the assembled guests, pulling scarves from his sleeves and turning them into doves, which then flutter around the room. And, foreshadowing one of the film's central twists, he even brings the dead bird back to life with a gesture, allowing it too to fly off his palm into the audience. It's an amazing introduction, establishing the film's basic theme, its tribute to the magic and mystery of the cinema, the sleight of hand by which the filmmakers can divert the audience's attention and create startling effects.

This scene establishes the sense of low-key fun at the film's core, its predilection for toying with genre elements. This is especially true of the gleefully evil femme fatale Marie, the film's best character — and its best performance in Bergé, who really projects the slinky, haughty evil of her versatile seductress/criminal. Stalking through the night in her tight black jumpsuit and domino mask, she seems like a master criminal, which makes it easy to miss the fact that all of her schemes actually don't go so well. In one of the film's most delightful inventions, when she's breaking into Favraux's house, her henchman is snared by a handcuff trap that unexpectedly pops out of a desk, right at the spot where the crook had his arm resting to pick a lock. Marie is actually foiled at every turn, often by the unflappable Judex, who drifts around with his black cape flopping behind him and a black hat on his head.


Franju's approach to this story is inherently anti-logical, infusing Judex's adventures with a laidback, drowsy surrealism. The spectacle of the bird-headed hero performing magic tricks is absurd enough, but more subtle is the way the film utterly rejects the idea of death, allowing characters to pass fluidly between states. Characters are constantly being declared dead, sometimes even buried, only to suddenly come back to life, as though they had merely fainted and were able to recover: the convention becomes so familiar that when the villainess actually seems to remain dead after falling off a building at the denouement, it's startling. Franju's characters defy death, not because of any narrative logic — these resurrections are never explained — but simply because the magic of cinema and the strange anti-logic of this film allows it. Similarly, Franju creates complex shots where the camera starts from the distinctive Feuillade static camera angle, at a medium distance from the action, only to begin flowing into the scene, creating new compositions. This fluid camerawork suggests the technological limitations of Feuillade's cinema only to replace it with the more sophisticated possibilities available to Franju. At other times, he achieves striking effects with the editing, as when he cuts from Jacqueline walking up a staircase in her home to Marie walking up one as she schemes against the other woman.

The film's pacing is languid despite all this plotting, allowing plenty of time for Franju to explore the texture of the images, the vibrant characters, and the subtle jokes embedded in the mise en scène and performances. Perhaps the best sequence is the denouement, which keeps escalating as Judex and Cocantin engineer a showdown with Marie and her lover. It's a rich scene, though the action is less important than the whimsical touches, like the way the detective acquires a young sidekick who imitates his idol's every move, parroting his shuffling gait, the way he folds his arms behind his back, the way he nervously paces while waiting for Judex to save the day. At the scene's climax, a circus suddenly pulls up, owned by one of a Cocantin's friends, an acrobat (Sylva Koscina) who thrusts herself into the middle of the action by climbing up a sheer brick wall to the top of the building, where she rescues Judex from the clutches of the villains. Before she does, however, she pauses at the top, smiling and waving as she looks down at Judex's masked henchmen clustered below, looking up with the white eyeholes in their masks seeming to glow in the dark. She finally winds up stealing the show from the titular hero, even getting the final battle with Marie. The villain in her tight black jumpsuit and the acrobat in an equally form-fitting white outfit: light and dark, white hats and black hats, good and evil, all the movie conventions about heroes and villains inscribed in the clothes of these two women.

Franju's Judex is a compelling tribute to the silent cinema and the conventions of classic, pulpy genre storytelling. This film takes what might've been a straightforward story and infuses it with a moody visual sensibility and a subtly surrealist perspective that really locates the magic and mystery in these well-worn genre archetypes.

Now THIS Is What I'm Talkin' Bout!

Usually it takes my beloved Mr. Howard (aka Terrence) to wake me out of my blogging beauty sleep, but even his laughable "Cleanse And Protect! You Gotta Wash Your Hands!" public fuckery campaign in Philly that takes his love for baby wipes to the next level couldn't wake me this time. I love you guys to death, and have wanted to share a bunch with you, but could not seem to put fingers to keyboard.

Until the very lovely Jez at "Shook" Magazine from in UK sent me this amazing 2 CD masterpiece "Can You Dig It? The Music and Politics of Black Action Films, 1968-75".

Oh. My. God. Let me tell you this--I was in a Radiohead stupor for the past 2 weeks--literally I have listened to nothing but Radiohead very single solitary day at home, at work, and in the car. Only a small miracle could have moved me from Radiohead and my blogging slumber, and that is what I consider this compilation--a small miracle. The gatekeeper of this blog, Pam Grier, graced the cover of the CD, piquing my interest, and I was absolutely hooked from the very first song--Roy Ayers' "Coffy". Need I say more? Well, maybe for the young folk I do, lol. But I don't think I can ever say enough about this spectacular collection.


Blacula, Black Belt Jones, Trouble Man, Cleopatra Jones...you name it, all the classics are here repped by some of the finest jewels in music; James Brown, Issac Hayes, The Impressions, Joe Simon, The Blackbyrds, Marvin Gaye...by the time I got to "Brothers Gonna Work It Out" by Willie Hutch from the classic Blaxploitation "The Mack", I was completely, thoroughly, and absolutely in love, lol. Did you know Sweet Sweetback's Theme was by Earth, Wind and Fire? I might have, but forgot--it's tidbits like that that make this even more of a treasure. All of my memories of these films came rushing back, and I was very grateful to the people behind this project for having the amazing foresight and what must have been a good deal of patience for licensing. I even loved the fact that they called it a homage to "Black Action Films" as opposed to Black Exploitation, or Blaxploitation, two terms I never really cared for.

I wish I could print the entire site here, but I can't--it might take you a while to read, plus it would take up about three pages of this blog...here is a bit more info (trust me, it will be the best gift to yourself you can possibly get all year, for reals!). Purchase and have one of your best parties ever!:

Can You Dig It?’ charts the rise of ‘Black Action Films’ from 1968-75. As well as featuring a double-CD collection of the stunning music from these films, ‘Can You Dig It?’ comes with a 100-page booklet, mini-film poster cards and stickers. For images, more info please call Karen or Angela on 020 7734 3341. Or email us on angela@soundsoftheuniverse.com or karen@soundsoftheuniverse.com

Here is the opening segment to the song "Brothers Gonna Work It Out", taken from an actual scene in "The Mack". Loves it.

Some announcements


I've got a couple of updates here, for those who are interested. The first is that, as some of you may have noticed, my brief attempt to start a calendar to keep track of film blog events was quickly aborted. The fact is, I underestimated how much work it would take, I couldn't settle on a good format for updating, and when you get right down to it, I'd much rather be doing actual writing — or watching movies, for that matter — in my free time instead of working on a project like that. I do really apologize for not following through on that site for longer, and I thank everyone who supported and helped promote the idea after my initial announcements.

In somewhat better news, I've started writing about comics for the online comics community and shop Poopsheet Foundation. I'll be writing about small-press and independent comics and minicomics there, at a fairly regular pace. My first review, of the anthology Ghost Comics, has been posted already, and I'll have much more to post there in the coming weeks.

If you're interested in following my writing about comics, take a look at my newly revived other blog, Disorder & Its Opposite. Over there, I'll be putting up links to all my Poopsheet reviews as they're posted, and will also likely be doing other sporadic posts about comics and music. Since this blog is exclusively focused on movies, I'll be using that site for anything else I want to write about. Check it out.

The Conversations #9: Pixar


The ninth of my conversations with Jason Bellamy has now been posted at The House Next Door. This latest installment of the series is a contribution to the Pixar Week event, which is running from October 4 through October 10. Our conversation focuses on some of Pixar's recent output — especially WALL-E, Ratatouille and The Incredibles — in order to evaluate the animation studio's place within contemporary cinema. As with most of this week's pieces at the House, this conversation is an attempt to challenge some of the conventional ideas about Pixar and to take a more serious, in-depth look than usual at the studio's acclaimed films. It's also an opportunity to air some of my grumpy contrarian rebuttals to the commonly accepted wisdom about the quality of Pixar's films.

As usual, we hope that this piece will spark a larger conversation, so please stop by, read what we have to say and offer your own thoughts and reactions in the comments.

Continue reading at The House Next Door

Blue, White and Perfect


Blue, White and Perfect is the fourth film in the Michael Shayne mystery series, starring Lloyd Nolan as the hapless private detective who's always down on his luck, and who often bumbles through his cases on pure luck and the intervention of others rather than his own sleuthing skills. That's the case here as well, though this film puts the focus more on Shayne himself than the earlier films, with their great casts of character actors, did. Nolan has a lot of fun with this role, playing Shayne as a comic figure rather than an actual good detective: it's only in the film's increasingly less interesting second half that the film really settles into the mystery mold. It's much more fun when the script gives Nolan some comic business to do, like the great series of gags involving a convenience store that Shayne stumbles into, shocking the proprietor and his wife with his odd, plot-motivated behavior. First, he makes a call to his girlfriend Merle (Mary Beth Hughes, who played a different part in the earlier Shayne outing Sleepers West). She thinks he works in an airplane factory, so he accompanies the call with improvised industrial noises using a fan, blender and various metallic banging sounds. Of course, he's really on a case, trying to route out a gang of Nazi diamond smugglers, so when he next returns to the store, he's hiding from the bad guys by trying on a series of scary masks. Finally, he nearly lands on the store owners when leaping through their awning from a second-story window. It's all played for humor, with Nolan's broad mugging matched by the deadpan reaction shots of the store owners, who look on in amazement at all this buffoonery.

Equally fun is the gag where Shayne keeps returning to the office of a printer (Charles Williams) to get new business cards printed out, each time with a new name and a new occupation, and sometimes a horrendous accent to go with it — it's not clear if Shayne's hapless lack of talent as a master of disguise is an intentional part of the joke, or if it's simply a result of Nolan's limits as an actor. Probably, the filmmakers are in on the joke, especially since when Shayne disguises himself as a distinguished Southern gentleman, he tells the printer to "throw a 'Colonel'" in front of his assumed name, and opts for Lee rather than Sherman as an appropriate surname. This is the level of the film's corny humor, and only Nolan's laidback persona and sly wit can bring across the film's low-key pleasures.


Of course, in the film's second half the mystery itself comes to the forefront, though as usual in this series calling it a mystery is something of a misnomer. Because the film doesn't strictly follow Shayne but also spends time with the villains, the audience is ahead of Shayne in knowing what's going on. So there's no mystery, only the question of when (or if) the detective is going to catch on to the plot. The German smuggler Vanderhoefen (Steven Geray) is bringing stolen industrial-strength diamonds to Honolulu on board a steamship. (Never mind why the Germans are shipping things through Hawaii; don't look to these films for any kind of sense.) To help with his scheme, he enlists the lovely, crooked Helen Shaw (Helene Reynolds), who turns out to be an old friend of Shayne's. The onboard shenanigans are complicated by the presence of the absurdly named Juan Arturo O'Hara (George Reeves), a Latin/Irish playboy whose role in this plot is ambiguous, and the courtly steward Nappy (Curt Bois), who seems to be working for everyone and keeping an eye on everything from his inconspicuous vantage point. The action on the ship is largely static and circuitous, moving at a slow pace that defuses any real potential for suspense or intrigue. The mysterious gunshots that ring out periodically, always just missing any potential targets, only add to the pointless confusion.

The only real fun here comes in the interaction of Nolan with his supporting cast, especially the lively Reynolds, who's a far better romantic/comic foil for the leading man than his actual girlfriend, who's mostly reduced to stock throwing-objects-at-the-cad humor. Reynolds gives her character some real femme fatale frisson, casting electrically charged glances at Shayne as she covers her scheming with thick layers of playful banter. Director Herbert I. Leeds, taking over the series from Eugene Forde, who directed the first three films, proves himself just as anonymous and inconsequential as his predecessor. The staging is flat and sometimes awkward, and scenes drag on for too long with no real point. Leeds' one real saving grace is a modest feel for comic timing in some of the earlier scenes. No one would ever call the Michael Shayne movies great cinema, but they're fun enough for a light diversion, and Blue, White and Perfect encapsulates both the series' minor charms and its limitations.