Wallace Berman (LA-Based Experimental Filmmaker) at Home at the Anthology.

His wife was the posterchild (literally) for the Semina movement

Back in the day, when dinasaurs romaed the earth I had a gig at the Washington Square News as a staff writer. So I'm doing what I do every morning and lookin up birthdays/anniversaries and it turns out that it's one of my favorite influences' birthday; Wallace Berman, more of an artist than a filmmaker, his 'Semina' movement was quite unique. Anyway, I tried to find that article that I wrote when his films cames to The Anthology Film Archives back in 2007 and I went to review it, in the archives of the news paper, but notices that I had saved it as a word document on my computer just in case I might every need it for anything...like this. So here it is:

Berman at home with hi children.

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Berman art at home at Anthology

Vera Ryzhik

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Published: Thursday, February 8, 2007

Updated: Saturday, September 6, 2008

Ginsberg, Kerouac and Cassady - it's difficult to disregard the artistic legacy left by the Beat Generation.

Although those names are associated primarily with the New York Beats, an autonomous beat community also existed in Los Angeles: Photographer, filmmaker and poet Wallace Berman was a key figure. In conjunction with NYU's Grey Art Gallery and the exhibition "Semina Culture: Wallace Berman and His Circle,"

Anthology Film Archives is running "Semina Cinema," a series devoted to Berman and his contemporaries.

Like most films of the Anthology, the series contains rarities and treasures of the avant-garde movement that are unlikely to appear anywhere else. Works by counterculture figures such as Bruce Conner, Stan Brakhage,

Andy Warhol and Taylor Mead provide a window into the times and art of a complex bohemian movement.

Berman himself, though famous for his photography and collages, had a strong connection with the avantgarde film movement of the '50s and '60s.

Andrew Lampert, film archivist for the Anthology and programmer for this series, calls Berman a "causal link" between the different mediums utilized in the movement. The series becomes a link in itself between

Berman and his contributions to filmmaking - his only film, "Aleph," is the centerpiece of the series. It's accompanied by a collection of 28 minutes of lost footage that didn't make it into the film, brought in by his son and appropriately titled "Artifactual: Films from the Wallace Berman Collection."

Never officially released, Berman would run this footage for friends, projecting it on his refrigerator. Screening exclusively tonight for the premiere, a new negative of "Aleph" will be accompanied by a live performance from prolific jazz composer John Zorn and his band. Friday, prominent beat artist and "Warhol superstar"

Taylor Mead will introduce the companion pieces "My Home Movies," shot by Taylor, and the film "Tarzan

and Jane Regained ... Sort Of." If you're looking to try to fathom Warhol, this series is a great way to start.

Every generation needs to reflect on its predecessors. And for a generation lacking an artistic renaissance, this series should be a revelation. Berman remains one of the most important figures not only in the L.A.-based beat community, but also in the history of counterculture. Aside from his art, he founded Semina (literally

"Outsider Art"), a privately run publication he headed to generate interest in his and his contemporaries' art.

Still from one of his films called 'Her', yes there is another film by that name. And it's better. 

An artist's artist, Berman worked outside the marketplace, considering art a personal pursuit rather than a business - an ideal Lampert claims has faded in today's culture.

"He provided a social, artistic and literary space in California for these innovative and unusual people to meet each other, to mingle with experimental artists from elsewhere and to express ideas not common in America during those years," said Shelley Rice, a Tisch photography professor. In addition to his photography, Berman pioneered collaging, which became the essence of the art Warhol would later popularize. As part of Semina culture, Berman's work should fit in perfectly at the Anthology.

"It makes sense to have it here," Lampert said of Berman's place in the series. "It's about time." • Starts today and ends Sunday at Anthology Film Archives. Live musical accompaniment by John Zorn tonight at 8 p.m.; Taylor Mead introduces his films at Friday's program, also at 8 p.m.

Future Sex Pots to Watch Out For

As Vanity Fair usually does, I've made a really short list of up and comers (no pun intended) that are sure to make both men and women swoon pretty damn soon, if they haven't already. Move over Skinny-legs McGee (Kristen Stewart) and Jockface Thick-neck (Channing Tatum), it's time for a new crop of sexy bitches to waltz over the silver screen and prove they've got the goods in more ways than one.

Claire Julien (age 19). She's already made a name for herself as a supporting player in both The Bling Ring (2013) and The Dark Knight Rises (2013) whilst continuing a very successful modeling career. She looks like a healthy version of Kate Moss heroin chic from the 90's, and now she's proven she has acting chops. I'm excited to see what she does next.

Xavier Samuel (age 29). This Aussie hunk of man-meat has actually been in the game for a while, but mostly in Australia, ornly garnering notice since he appeared in one of the Twilight films, and if I tell you which one you would lose respect for me for knowing so I'm not gonna. So far he's been called the best thing about the upcoming film Adore (2013), and when your co-stars are Naomi Watts and Robin Wright that's quite the feat. He'll also be starring in Catherine Hardwicke's new film opposite Emily Browning called Plush (2013).

Marine Vacth (age 23). This stunning French exotic beauty is already making good choices by making her first starring role in a Francois Ozon film where she plays an underage prostitute. The film, her, and her filmmaker all won praise for their efforts at Cannes, and she looks like she could be taking Eva Green's place as reigning hot bitch of France pretty soon. I smell Bond Girl all over her.

Dane DeHaan (age 27). With that junkie charm, and a real talent for sensual expression, he's making waves in what's bound to be the definitive indie film of this year; Kill Your Darlings (2013) where he plays Allen Ginsberg's (Daniel Radcliff) lover, Lucien Carr, while also getting notice for his role in A Place Beyond the Pines (2013). He has that Pete Doherty/River Pheonix dangerous element to him, with talent to boot. Bad boys are always sexy.

Below some trailers: 

Dear James Franco: Stop Everything! Sincerely, The World.

A picture worth a thousand words.

I don’t even understand the appeal here. He’s not even fun to look at, he might have been in the beginning when he was on that whole matinee idol next River Pheonix skew back in the early 00’s, but then he decided to go the pretentious artist route and become a full-fledged laughable academic all at once. And I do mean laughable. He started doing two masters degrees at the same time one at NYU and one at Columbia. And if you’ve ever done 1 Masters (ahem) you know how grueling and time consuming it is, so he was basically trying to show off, and didn’t do a half decent job of it. My cohorts and I would see him around Dodge Hall (School of the Arts in Columbia University, what what!) droning around staring at his blackberry and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth like he was the reincarnation of James Dean, too cool for school; as it turns out he was just too stupid for it. And when he got into Yale, and I didn’t for a PhD program, I had realized people had seriously lost their effing minds...not that I deserved to get into Yale, but he sure didn't! I mean seriouslaaaay. 

Finally realizing that he’s a total joke in academic circles, he decided to go the pretentious artist route and scathed by with a whole series of garbage films, both acting and directing them, the newest of which, a bastardization of the William Faulkner novel ‘As I Lay Dying’ which is unbelievably going to open in Un Certain Regard at Cannes this year, and putting in a piss poor performance in perhaps one of the most interesting films of the year; Harmony Korine’s Springbreakers (2012), James Franco should get a universal 'F' for failing in life. 

Pretentious ass. Franco in a still from his new film in which he stars and directs (of course) As I Lay Dying (2013)

He once said the reason he’s so ‘productive’ or as I like to call it scattered in a clusterfuck is because his mind is so active, which I translate into ‘I’m on Adderall all the time’ which is basically what it seems like. I remember in 2008, he took over for Gus Van Sant’s absence when we screened Milk (2008) at Columbia for the film program and a subtle sighs of ‘awwwww’s’ echoed through the audience. He seemed totally stoned (of course) and couldn’t tell us anything interesting. Not about the film, not about his career, not about anything in particular because he was so mentally befuddled, like words were confusing him and hitting him at the face and grabbing at his brain. 

Franco in Milk (2008) probably the only good thing he's ever done.

And now it’s just getting ridiculous, you are not a renaissance man, James Franco, you will never be the next Kerouac, Orson Welles, or Dostoevsky, stick to what you know how to do best; rolling fatties and making teenage girls squirm in their panties. Just stop, for the love of god, stop everything. Now. Much love, Vera.

Road Rage: A Persnickety Analysis of: On The Road

 This film screened earlier today in the competition at Cannes, and I for one found it one of the worst things that's ever happened in the world of Cinema, that's ever. John Ford, Orson Welles, and D.W. Griffith should like form a ghostly coalition of the willing and beat Walter Salles to a bloody pulp. If I could punch this film in the face I would do it. But instead, I'm making a corn husk doll of Kristen Stewart and punching that in the face. It's healing some of the wounds.

First thing's first. Do not adapt Kerouac in the 21st century. Why the hell did you wait so long to where it's not even remotely relevant anymore. Who in their right minds could give two fucks about some hipster without a job meandering around, having pretentiously mediocre thoughts about the uselessness of existence whilst drinking and smoking a lot. Because, that's all the film is! I understand that that's what Kerouac wrote about, but it's considered 'unadaptable' for a reason. You can't just do that to your film audience i.e. have nothing happen for two and a half hours whilst people philosophize about said nothing in the voice over. Kerouac is dead folks. Oh and by the way, he died because his liver exploded from drinking so much. 

This brings me to my second point; it's a pet peeve of mine when people are shown CONSTANTLY drinking and doing drugs, but no one ever seems to get high or drunk, it's like I know you're in your early 20's but if you ingest that much Benzedrine and that much Vodka at the same time, I'm dropping your comatose ass off at the emergency room and making a quick getaway.

Neal Cassady on the left with Jack Kerouac on the right, the inspirations behind Dean and Sal in On the Road. Did I mention both died before they were 35? from alcoholism? Oh I did? well doesn't hurt repeating.

Point three. No one in our generation, who's never 'burned burned burned with the fire of a Roman candle' but plays 'Draw Something', talks to Siri like she's an actual person, and blogs blogs blogs all day long gives two fucks about the beat generation. That shit burn burn burned out real fast, and it's not even nostalgic anymore. It's taking us to a place none of us want to be, and around people none of us would be friends with. You're not watching it thinking 'oh these people are really unique and interesting, they have thoughts man, ya dig?' You're sitting there, thinking; 'wow, they are all dirty and useless. Grow up and get a fucking job...and where exactly do they get the money for all this weed?'

'Oh look at me with my silk blouse rocking out to spontaneous jazz medleys. I am soooooo of the period and don't stick out at all'

Point four. Casting. What the fuck were you thinking? Garrett Hedlund as Dean Moriarty? He looks like the moron jock from every 80's movie. Sam Riley as Sal Paradise (who is just an avatar for Kerouac himself) gets a pass. But Kristen fucking Stewart as child bride Marylou? Are. You. Kidding. Me. She stands out like Winona Ryder in a period costume drama, like totally. She's so not 'of that generation' that it makes me infuriated that everyone is taking her seriously just because she does half of the movie naked. I respectfully disagree! This is worse than Keira Knightley pretending to be a Russian intellectual who likes to get spanked in A Dangerous Method (2011). Ya should have made it back in the early 90's when people still gave two shits about Neal Cassady, Jack Karouac, and reading in general, cast Brad Pitt as Dean, Ethan Hawke as Sal, and Juliette Lewis as Marylou. Sidney Lumet should have directed. Side note, that British dude who's Sienna Miller's baby daddy as Carlo Marx? So bad that it went past good and back to bad again.    

Tom Sturrige as Carlo Marx in one of the many ambiguous posters made for the film, caption reads 'we're alive?' harkening back to a question this motherfucker brings up constantly because he's on too much Benzedrine to disassociate reality from sleepy time. So the answer to your question you pretentious fuck is 'yes...but that can change. go buy a gun'.

Also, stop peppering films with big stars that just want to prove that they read Kerouac and are thereby intellectuals like Steve Buscemi and Viggo Mortensen. You guys are established stars you do not need to associate with such garbage. Also, again, why exactly are you naked? 

If you want to walk out of a movie this year and be like 'hmm, I didn't give any fucks the whole time' then this is a film you should see. I kept rolling my eyes so much I think they started making a noise. Bright spot at the end of the dark tunnel lined with human excrement is that the films about beatniks genre might not be violently dead from massive head wounds which I personally inflict on it quite yet. Kill Your Darlings (2013) with Daniel Radcliffe as Allan Ginsburg actually seems pretty promising. I anxiously await for it to cure the cancer that I got watching this.

Basically, this sums it up beautifully:

"Many have speculated that 'On the Road,' Jack Kerouac's seminal beat novel, is unadaptable for the screen, and Walter Salles' game attempt suggests that this may indeed be the case. Despite its pretty cast and sun-ripened colours, the film quickly settles into a tedious looping rhythm of Sal Paradise (Sam Riley) experiencing some kind of beatnik debauchery with co-wanderers Dean Moriarty (Garrett Hedlund) and Marylou (Kristen Stewart), before retiring to a shady corner and scribbling wildly in a notebook. Neither the journey nor the destination seems to matter a jot." — Robbie Collin, The Telegraph

Read the full article here: Cannes 2012 Review of On The Road

Here's another really interesting article called Kerouac retold as 'Bro-Retry'
Every Sentence of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, Retold for Bros

Which is basically what this film is. It's a dumb-it-down bro-mance road movie. And it's long as fuck. No pun intended.  

I realize that all I'm doing is making you watch it more, so fine. Here's the trailer. I hope you enjoy contemplating murder-suicide for two and a half hours.