On Christmas Night I'm Watching Schindler's List

The famous girl in red who serves as a catalyst in the change within Schindler's attitude, symbolizing every Jew he wasn't able to save. 

Let's put everything aside for the moment; Spielberg's first Academy Award, the event that it was that everyone saw, how important it is not only to the Jewish people, but for the world at large, etc. I want to talk about the filmmaking, because if I talked about absolutely everything, I'd never finish this post. 

Most of all, let's talk directing. Spielberg said his decision to shoot in black and white was because he didn't want to 'prettify' any images of the Holocaust. Apparently the studio insisted for a while that he shoot in color, and he assured them that if that was the case, he wouldn't have made the film. The lights and shadows harken to something out of Orson Welles. His long time DP (Director of Photography for the layman) Janusz Kaminski is truly a paragon of his craft. He made the events of the Holocaust and the events in Schindler's life so seamless as he moves from shmoozing with Nazi's in the first scene, the the chaos of Jews pretending that they have 'essential' factory skills so that they would get a blauschein (a blue card) meaning that they could go to work for Schindler (Liam Neeson) instead of being loaded up into trucks headed for death camps. His fluid camera captures the most aggressive and most intimate moments ranging from the liquidation of the Krakow Ghetto to a conversation between Schindler and his wife. 

Itzhak Stern played brilliantly by Ben Kingsley as Schindler's accountant and de facto right hand man. Their exchanges range from the mildly intellectual comic banter to some of the most harrowing moments of the film. 

As a historical epic (and that's what it is, not just a bio-pic), Spielberg utilized suspense so brilliantly it astounds me even today, considering that I've seen the film way too many times (like there even such a thing). A very iconic example of this is when Amon Göth (Ralph Fiennes) stands atop his balcony with a rifle killing people off one by one. He's aiming for a young Jewish boy who told him that he couldn't clean his bathtub as much as he tried. Amon tells him (as Schindler instructed when he said that power comes from pardon) that he pardoned him, changed him mind and after a few missed shots, as the kid walks away, aware of his fate, eventually gets shot in the back. 

'I pardon you'.

Another suspenful and heartbreaking scene is when a machinist gets examined by Göth, because Göth (like most Nazi's) takes his bloodlust to the extreme, and decides to kill him on the basis that he didn't make enough hinges. He knocks him to the ground and pulls the trigger, but the pistol jams. Through tears, the man tries to explain why his work was 'unsatisfactory' as Amon keeps trying to fire over and over again. Finally, he gives up and pistol whips him. The man survives, and is the one that writes the letter to the Soviets in case Schindler was captured that every Schindler worker signs on his behalf.

One of the most iconic scenes in the film of which I just spoke. It is so compelling, so terrifying, and so brilliantly executed, that it is the hallmark of perfect directing.

Now let's talk about the writing and acting. There is so much more going on than the story itself, and even with characters that have just a couple of lines, it pulls you into this film, this story, this world as if it's almost matter-of-fact. There is small humor here and there, especially with the Nazi's. A good example of this is when his accountant Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley) gets mistakenly put on a train to a camp, and Schindler goes to rescue him, despite his efforts, low-ranking Nazi's won't let him off. Schindler takes down their names and says; 'Thank you gentlemen, I think I can guarantee you that you'll both be in Southern Russia before the end of the month, good day'. Then the film cuts to Schindler walking along the train pass and yelling for Stern, while the low-ranking Nazi's follow him doing the same. Now that's good writing. 

But Spielberg doesn't shy away from the stuff none of us want to see, because we don't want to think that the greatest mass genocide in modern human history happened only 60 some years ago. He does this very subtly. A man sorting valuables, obviously those that Jews who are now in camps had to give up gets handed a burlap bag, inside which are a few handfuls of gold teeth. The man takes off his glasses in disbelief, as do we if we had glasses. But back to this later. 

Making the list.

A very important character is Poldek Pfefferberg (Jonathan Sagall) who actually wrote the book that the film is based on. He survived from the start of the Holocaust to the liquidation of Krakow to standing next to Schindler as he says a tearful goodbye to his workers at the very end. He is a rogue character. The first time we see him, he's mad at another seller on the black market for giving him shoe polish in glass containers instead of metal and threatens his co-conspirator. Schindler overhears his tenacity and offers him a job buying things on the black market that will be needed to shmooze with more Nazi's and eventually trade for the lives of his Jews. His mass fortune which was made by profiteering off of free labor from Jews at his company, he eventually gave up to save everyone he possibly could. 'They say that no one dies here, they say your factory is a haven, they say that you are good' a woman tells him who is desperate to bring her elderly parents into Schindler's factory. She dresses up in fancy borrowed clothes and puts on rouge and lipstick to appeal to Schindler. At first, he's furious at the fact that he's considered a Moses among the Jews, but his conscience catches up with him and he trades his cigarette lighter, his cigarette case, ties, pins, suits; everything, for his own humanity, and for theirs. 

Moreover, this is not a film about Schindler, and it is not a film about the Holocaust either. This is a film about history. A history that has been preserved in survival accounts, photographs, testimonies, etc. But someone had to put the pieces together and give us a narrative that not only educated us, but touched and enlightened us. The chaos, the deplorability, the horror, and the sorrow birthed a film that in itself is history, which taught us a very important thing through its fly-on-the-wall aesthetic; That (as the ring that the surviving Jews give to Schindler says) 'He who saves one life, saves the world entire'. 

'It's Hebrew from the Talmud, it says he who saves one life saves the world entire'.

Even watching it now, after so many times I can't even count, there are moments of terror, moments of contemplation, anger, but mostly moments of awe in the worst way. This is our history, not just the Jews, but all of us. A time where survival was more important than any sort of life, where hiding in excrement  meant the difference between life and death, where there was real evil in the world, and eventually the righteous  triumphed over it. This happened, and no one has ever or since brought it to film more comprehensively, with more brevity, and with such a sincere heart. 

Below some related clips: 

I Didn't Need a Reason to Blog About Orson Welles, I Was Just Happy to Get One.

Welles. Ta da!

There are a select few people in film that I can say are flawless, and even less that I can say I admire to no end. One of these lucky people (were he alive I’m sure he’d be so flattered to hear that) is Orson Welles. On the anniversary of his infamous 'War of the Worlds' broadcast, I’d just like to pay homage to him with a blog post (again, he’d be overwhelmed with flattery) about three of the most significant things he ever did.

When he first came to Hollywood they nicknamed him the ‘wiz kid’, the ‘boy genius’. At 24 he had already conquered the fields of theater, radio, what was left for him to tackle but film? Ironically, considering his freshman effort Citizen Kane is considered to be the greatest film of all time, Orson famously said that he doesn’t even like films and doesn’t see many of them. It just so happens that he was such a genius that whatever he touched he not only succeeded in, but became the master of.

He came to Hollywood with a beard and a ‘fuck you’ attitude that infuriated everyone, especially when they learned that he refused to play by their rigid rules. He was the youngest person in history at that time to have a do-whatever-you-want contract with RKO. This was unheard of. Imagine, a studio with thousands of employees and a solid reputation are entrusting everything to this kid who’s never made a film in his life. They banked on the right horse. But as you’ll see, it came with a very serious backlash, for the studio and their golden boy.

As I said, I think there are three significant points in his life that changed it and the world as we know it. All of them happened before he celebrated his 25^th birthday. Do you feel like a failure yet? Anyway, here they are.

Enormous crowd outside the Lafayette theater on the opening night of Macbeth.

First there’s the ‘Voodoo Macbeth’. Quick and term-paper like backstory. In the midst of the great depression, FDR signed for a program called the WPA (Works Progress Administration), to help people find work. A fraction of which went to the arts; particularly the FPA (Federal Theater Project). Orson saw a chance, and at 19 went to Harlem to audition many African American actors to read Shakespeare, the majority of which had never even been on a stage before. But with Welles directing them, he made what’s known in theater circles as one of the greatest theater productions of Shakespeare ever made. That’s ever. It opened before he turned 20. One critic described it as ‘chaos, but very carefully contrived chaos’. Clips of it actually exist and I believe you can youtube them. Somehow, this kid who had never directed anything outside of school could get non-actors to recite the words of Shakespeare like they’d been preparing for this performance their whole lives. After that I don’t have to tell you he was the shining star of the FPA. He went on to direct Julius Caesar, which was more critically and commercially successful than the Voodoo Macbeth, but I think that considering the circumstances, the Voodoo Macbeth is definitely one of his greatest achievements. There are some actors from it that are still alive and when interviewed, are still astounded by what they experiences in working with Welles. Not only did it generate publicity for Welles and give hundreds of out-of-work African Americans jobs, it put a spotlight on the FPA and the importance of the arts even in the midst of a depression. If only we could see that now and not nix arts first when we run short of cash in classrooms.

Seriously, the whole play was recorded. The sound kind of sucks and picture quality is sub par, but the content is worth it.

The second was a year later. 20-year-old Welles was already an established radio actor with that baritone bellowing voice. He was so popular that he actually hired an ambulance to drive him around New York City so he could make it to every recording no matter where because he figured out that there was no law that said you had to be sick to travel in an ambulance.  He finally decided to take this a step further. As a child, he loved magic, and was a skilled illusionist. Now, he was ready to drop his biggest magic trick on the world. He chose the classic H. G. Welles story 'War of the Worlds' as his source material, he decided that he would broadcast it, with all of the showmanship and drama that only Welles could manufacture. He did not broadcast a disclaimer before it saying ‘this is just a reenactment’, but went full force with the story, landing his Martians right in the middle of America’s dinnertime. He knew that the most popular radio show at the time was one that would cut away to some commercial every now and then, and used those intervals when people were changing the station to put the whole nation into a state of panic. He stood in the middle of his radio actors with a long conductor’s stick and cued everything with the precision of a surgeon. If you listen to the broadcast (you can buy it on iTunes), it’s unbelievable. You can’t blame anyone for actually buying the fact that they were being invaded by aliens and the world is in a full on panic. He plays a newscaster that narrates a horror he sees in front of him with people screaming in the background. ‘People are flocking to the East River, thousands of them’ he would report as the chaos continued and just when it reached its zenith, he went silent. 

The infamous pause that Welles held, and everyone in the studio as well as across the country held their breath.

Everyone was literally glued to their radios at that point because they thought that the broadcast had been discontinued and the employees eaten by Martians. People who participated in this broadcast remember the image of Orson standing there with both hands in the air, holding that silent pause as long as he could. Even they were relieved when he finally started speaking again. Welles later said of the incident that ‘most people would have been thrown in jail for that, and I got a Hollywood contract’. After the truth came out, and Welles had a press conference where he played dumb saying that he had no idea that the nation was taking the broadcast seriously, everyone in Hollywood understood that this is a man who could put on a serious show and get everyone’s attention. With two amazing achievements under his belt, his next logical step was to conquer the movie world.

Welles directing Kane, smoking a pipe which Hollywood also inexplicably hated.

Ergo his third greatest achievement. At 23, he arrived in Hollywood with a contract that no one had ever heard of; total creative license and access to whatever he wanted. Hollywood vets like John ford and Cecil B. Demille hadn’t ever seen such leeway, and they gave it to a kid who’d never made a movie in his life. Fortunately for him, he had a lot of help. A wealth of seasoned professionals helped this cinema neophyte create what we now consider to be the greatest film of all time; Citizen Kane (1941). Gregg Toland came into Welles’ office one day, plopped his Oscar down on his desk and said that he would be honored to photograph the picture. His childhood friend Joseph Cotton was already a respectable actor when he was cast as Kane’s best friend Jedediah Leland, but there was no question who would play Kane himself. At that time, Welles began hanging out with renowned screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz; a talented, shrewd writer with a huge alcohol problem. 

To achieve those iconic low angle shots that accentuated the figure in the frame as being incomprehensibly tall and powerful, Welles and cinematographer Gregg Toland tore up the floor of the set and mounted the camera in the hole. 

During one of their drinking binges, Mankiewiecz spilled the beans about his frequent trips to San Simeon. San Simeon was the home of newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst. It was literally a castle; the property on which it sat (also owned by Hearst) was half the size of Rhode Island. There was a veritable plethora of juicy gossip Mankiewicz disclosed to Welles and a light bulb went off in his head. After sitting on his ass in the hot California sun for months at that point, Welles finally figured out what the boy genius would do for his first film. He’d make the story about a gargantuan figure; the embodiment of the American dream; a man who has everything, except a soul. He was smart enough to thinly veil the story by giving his main character a different name and setting the castle in Florida instead of in San Luis Obispo where San Simeon was, but that was basically all he changed. You’ve seen the film probably so I’m not going to get into plot or anything…if you haven’t my god what’s wrong with you? Anyway, what happened in the aftermath was something not even Welles could run from. Gossip columnist and devoted slave of Hearst, Louella Parsons, demanded an early screening and was livid by the end of it. She immediately told Hearst that it was all about him and painted him as a bitter old lunatic, alone and alienated in his giant palace full of ‘stuff’. But what really stuck in Hearst’s craw was the depiction of his then mistress, later wife actress Marion Davies, whom they painted as a gold digger and a whiney floozy; a party girl without much of a brain. Hearst knew how much power he had and showed up in every studio head’s office with a thick folder of scandalous news that he had kept out of his papers as a favor, threatening to reveal all of it if they dared release Citizen Kane. He wanted every single print burned, and the studio heads had a meeting where the general consensus was to comply with Hearst’s demands. After all, they didn’t want orgies, hit-and-run accidents, and the fact that they were all Jewish to come out. That last part isn’t even a joke. Hearst literally threatened to expose that fact, which apparently back then wouldn’t be so great. Oh the blatant racism of those times.

Hearst and Marion Davies at one of their many costume parties at San Simeon. Apparently if you were a movie star and invited up there and didn't go, the order would go out, and your name was kept out of every Hearst paper. Enjoy this ridiculous party, I command you!

It was 1940 and Europe was engulfed in the Second World War. With Hitler and the Nazi party being the constant diet of the newspapers, Welles used this to counter their decision. He made the argument that at a time where there is no freedom of speech and blatant persecution of races, religions, and political groups in Europe, that they couldn’t possibly do the same thing in America. After all, we stand for something…even the studio heads. They couldn’t deny he was right and RKO released the film in 1941. The critics loved it, the public loved it, but it didn’t matter. Hollywood still hated and resented Welles for being so arrogant (considering he had total license to be) and the film was completely overlooked. It had a regular run in theaters and really didn’t gross that much. At the Academy Awards that year it won only one Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, which was really an award for Mankiewicz even though it was shared with Welles. It wasn’t until Andrew Sarris and other critics, particularly from Cahier du Cinema and the general French New Wave, started mentioning it as their favorite film that it became relevant again and now we all know it to be that really amazing film that we just haven’t gotten around to seeing because it’s black and white, long, and dated. Fuck you, watch it.

Well there’s the three. After that, Welles’ career became somewhat of a black hole. No one wanted to neither hire nor work with him. His ego preceded him and everyone basically said; ‘thanks but no thanks’. By the time he was 30, he looked about 50, was about 100 pounds overweight, and totally box-office poison. He had played by his own rules his whole life, and everyone allowed it, everyone except Hollywood. Then and still, they have a ‘it’s my way or the highway’ sensibility. And Orson chose the latter. He died miserable and alone, because being Orson Welles, he couldn’t even make a marriage work considering that in his life, it was always Orson Welles who came first. But that doesn’t matter. Even though the majority of his life was a decline, this is a man who had accomplished things we can only dream of doing perhaps once in our lifetime. He did 3 before he was old enough to rent a car. The legacy he left behind remembers that. We didn’t hear much about Welles after he turned 30, because we remember him as that ‘boy genius’ that turned everything he touched into gold. Yeah he was difficult, yeah he was self-obsessed, yeah he was probably an asshole…but above all, he was perhaps the greatest genius of the 20^th century; a renaissance man who could take on anything, except his own demons. In my life, I don’t think anyone has influenced me more than Welles. He didn’t set any new standards because his standards are totally unachievable. But he did gift us with his talent, which is literally incomparable, and even 70 years after his golden age, there has been no one that has come anywhere close.

Below, some stuff. 

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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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.

Dear J.J. Abrams: Bring Back Lost!

The cast of Lost, most of them household names because of the series

I know you are circling heaven in Richard Branson's spaceship right now with your movie career but let's admit it, your crowning achievement and what they will probably engrave on your tombstone is: Here Lies J.J. Abrams, creator of Lost (2004 - 2010). Now, let's give credit where credit is due, although you were the co-creator and exec producer we all know who the two people were that made Lost basically the best thing to happen to television ever, since perhaps the Twlight Zone and Doctor Who (in the TV Sci-Fi cannon at least); Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof.

Cuse and Lindelof, the masterminds behind Lost

Save for the 6th season, Lost is a show that you seriously marathon until your mind is muddled with all kinds of questions and no answers and yet you still can't get enough, as far as human brains are concerned it's probably up to par with black tar heroin (not like I know) but everything else, Battlestar Gallactica, Fringe, and non-sci-fi shows have been more or less incomparable.

To this day, if I'm feeling down, I'll go to my Netflix queue for a good old Lost episode (from Season 3 preferably, because that's the best one in my opinion) and settle in for some seriously weird shit that I enjoy immeasurably, even though I can probably recite it as a one woman show verbatim, though that would be slightly weird. 

Promo still for the 6th season, which admittedly was extremely bad because the writers had basically written themselves into corners and realized they had to end a show quickly and had left too many doors opened.

It was the first show to have it's own Wiki page (Lostpedia), and the formula of having a cast of over 20 principal characters and more questions than answers worked like a charm. Even people resistant to the franchise got addicted after the first sweet hit of that meticulously woven web of Polar bears, four-toed statues, hatches, and hot, sweaty, and tan people stranded on a mysterious island.

Admit it, you miss it. And it's unfair that it can't go on forever just because actors wants to 'focus on their careers or whatever' I would be more than happy to cuddle up with a never-ending array of crazy and inexplicable occurrences that I would never believe can actually happen and are only appropriate in this idiom. In my opinion, at least in this genre, nothing has been as good before or since and I bloody well miss it. So, J. J., please I'm begging you, send the entire crew back to Hawaii, and resume principal photography.

This is basically how I watched Lost

Trailer for Season 1. Oh the memories.

One Day Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Hollywood

Frances Farmer as a glamor girl. 

Last night I was feeling very shitty. One of those days you know, we've all been there. Instead of drowning headfirst in a tub of crappy no-real-strawberries-in-our-ice-cream strawberry ice cream, I decided to do something I think we all indulge in. Pick a movie in which the main character is in like a million times worse shape than you are. One such film is about one of my favorite actresses/hot messes Frances Farmer. The film is aptly titled Frances (1982) and stars a very young Jessica Lang who actually looks like the spitting image of Frances Farmer back in her heyday. Now she looks like someone left a plastic version of herself near the oven for too long. 

Frances in her fuck-it-all moment. Waiting in court to give a big finger to the judge.

Here's some background on Frances Farmer, the original. She was never a Hollywood player. She was a major bank draw and obsession of the studios for a while but never did she play by any of their bullshit rules. She drank, she smoked, and she never played the lady elegant. She talked to men like they were her equals; something pretty unheard of back in the 30's, and never shot the shit with anyone or kissed ass to get what she wanted. What she wanted was to be a serious actor, and in the middle of her height at the studio she made a midnight run to Broadway to be a 'serious actress' and fuck the shit out of her playwright Clifford Odettes (at that time, the darling of contraversial and relevant theater in New York). He dumped her so she was forced to come back and degrade herself for money, not as a hooker (which came later) but a different kind of prostitution; being the glamour girl to thousands of adoring horny Hollywood nuts. Eventually, she started going off her rocker, and was eventually institutionalized where she was sexually assaulted on a regular basis and then lobotomized. Her life was indeed a tragic one. Needless to say, it's one of those uplifting films where you can think to yourself 'hey I've got my problems, but I'm not that girl'. 

The late great.

The story of Frances Farmer is one of the most notorious and secretive in Hollywood because people don't want the world to know that sometimes this is what happens when you're reluctantly part of the machine. I think in a way, I love her. She took no shit, and she paid a very heavy price for it. We can all take lessons from it, and I hope one day we all will be able to. 

Below, Hollywood was patronizing enough to let Frances have her own This is Your Life moment, and she for some reason went along with it, though post-lobotomy was not exactly herself anymore. 

Below, trailer for the film based on her life, which is as accurate as I've ever seen a bio-pic be. 

Some of my biggest Filth Influences

Gore Vidal. Playwright, social commentator, and general threat to polite society extraordinaire.

Elinor Glyn. One of the first female scenarists who never held back, and paved the way for the next two waves of feminists.

Adrian. One of the film industry's most prolific and daring costume designers.

Barbara Stanwyck. Always told it like it was, before it was even legal.

Alexander McQueen. His designs and contribution the the fashion world elevated sex into an art form.

David Bowie. Nuff said.

Sam Fuller. The man who said 'fuck you' to the Hollywood censors and got away with it.

Quentin Crisp. The Naked Civil Servant.

Otto Dix. Perhaps the most explicitly controversial painter of the 20th century.

Gus Van Sant. A master of sensuality and subtext.

Joan Crawford. Fucked everyone in her path to get to the top and never apologized. Why would she?

Marilyn Monroe. If she hasn't taught you a thing or two you're doing it all wrong.

The Marquis de Sade. Banned, condemned, imprisoned, institutionalized. His writing was that saucy.

Paul Verhoeven. Extremist is his middle name.

Vladimir Nabokov. His greatest novel 'Lolita', which was banned in most countries upon release, influenced my writing the most.

Edie Sedgwick. Warhol's most beautiful of superstars.

John Waters. The filthiest filmmaker of all time.

Anaïs Nin. Made biographical writing all about sex.

Tennessee Williams. The most controversial and brilliant scenarist of ours or any time.

Andy Warhol. The great voyeur.

And of course, Oscar Wilde. Who spent ten years in prison for his work, his beliefs, his loves, and his brilliance.

House of Cards. Filthy, Naughty, Politics

Kevin Spacey sitting in the same style as the Lincoln memorial. Rather offensive no? But I suppose that's part of the show's Caché.

If you haven't noticed, I've been in quite the creative lull lately, but I've had two cups of coffee in a half hour so let the inspiration rain down. Also, as it seems I have had nothing to watch unless it's either Real Housewives of Beverly Hills or Downton Abbey and I usually choose the latter because klonopin can only go so far, and Housewives always gets me so darn riled up. It's basically the only thing I have time for because I have what in the soft sciences is called a 'a job'...it's something you apply for and they pay you, nevermind I don't want to spoil the surprise. Anyway! 

I smell a lot of hate sex in their future.

The big buzz around my office has been the Netflix exclusive House of Cards (2013) The newest Aaron Sorkin show not written by Aaron Sorkin. It's a little bit of Game Change (2011), a little bit of Recount (2008), through the Richard III filter comes a story that Kevin Spacey constantly breaks the fourth wall to tell you about, kind of like a mean Woody Allen. But the big scene stealer is alpha male incumbent Peter Russo (Corey Stoll) who's first scene is him basically tearing apart some poor young Washington player who THINKS he's in love with her. Oh to be 22 and stupid out of your fucking mind. Washington is Washington people, lest we forget is the worst town ever. Covered in red tape and richeous indignation bullshit coated in dirty games and backhanded backstabbing, there's a reason why the word 'politics' is used as a pejorative. So anyway, first scene is him destroying this girl with his penis so immediately I liked him. Then the second scene was him being arrested for driving drunk, and at that point I was wondering if he was single. My kind of guy. Not that I condone driving drunk, but everyone knows I love a badass. And in a city of phonies that would make the most plastic of Real Housewives jealous, he's a real bitch baby. 

Coley Stoll as US Representative Peter Russo. Don't fuck with him, but if you do, make it messy.

Clearly I've only seen the one episode but don't worry dear readers, I plan to continue, just give me some fucking time! I have a feeling there's going to be a wildly graphic scene involving Robin Wright because it's been a whiiiiile since she's been let out of a constricting dress so I'm sure she's begging for it. Anyway, you're probably watching House of Cards already so I won't even bother recommending it. Let's all tune in to see what happens next shall we? 

Kate Mara as Zoe Barnes. Don't fuck with her or you'll end up in her blog...same goes for me too.

PS Rooney Mara's less hot and more annoying younger sister Kate Mara is on the show as the hipster blogger wants-to-stir-up-trouble next-Woodward or Bernstein low-level journalist who's probably going to have a few affairs and bunny sex scenes of her own so, tune into that!

 Trailer below. 

Based on the Half Hour of Liz and Dick That I Watched Here Are My Thoughts

I think from the side, Lilo's lips look even more hideous.

Oh where to start where to start, I imagine dear reader that you believe someone like myself reviewing something as gloriously cheeseball as Liz and Dick (2012) is like a kid on a field day after smoking the best crack he's ever had and drinking 13 red bulls. Alas, it's all rather depressing. There are so many points I want to make, yet all of them seem redundant. I mean let's talk about the veritable truths that bind together all of mankind. Lindsay Lohan is an awful train-wreck, made-for-tv biopics are the kiss of death, no one compares to Elizabeth Taylor nor should ever try to play her period, and gaudy costumes and breathless delivery do not make a movie. How many times do I have to say this before people actually listen is the real question. Unfortunately the answer is forever...or I develop rheumatoid arthritis in both hands. 

Cut, print, shit.

So why did I turn on the TV? Well I had just completely an arduous 7 hour drive back from the Bay Area to Los Angeles, unpacked and turned on Lifetime enough to catch LiLo as Lizzy getting Richard Burton (Grant Bowler) drunk in her dressing room because he was way too hungover to perform ANYTHING on one particular day in the Roman heat dressed to the nines as Mark Antony, and her rather dowdy and frumpy, and so not nearly as fabulous as Elizabeth Taylor was back then, extra weight and everything. She calls him the 'Welsh Don Juan' and expresses her fears of being 'just another notch on his belt' like that phrase hasn't been done to death, thank you writers. 

Eventually they fuck and all is well in spouse-cheating land. That is until this new phenom enters the picture, these mosquito-like buzzing photographers that squat in bushes and jump out in front of cars. They mention how Fellini coined the term for the little fuckers called 'paparazzi', thanks for that impromptu film studies lesson idiots. Fellini is crying in heaven that you dare mention his name. Moving on.

Aside from everything else wrong with this picture, did anyone else notice how 'glazed over' LiLo seemed to be the whole time? I mean, I've heard of method acting, but I don't think that's what this is.

 There's a montage of fucking, which is highly gross considering even made up as Liz Taylor LiLo is beyond undesirable. She's definitely an 'if-i-had-to' kinda girl, but even then I could almost see the Hep-C being transmitted as Grant kissed her with the most faux passion he could muster without gagging. 

Oh and beyond that, they have to dumb it down by having the two leads sit in directors chairs and talk about each other in the third person basically explaining what just happened in the previous scene to us like we're all completely retarded. The only piece of method acting that LiLo is able to apply to this travesty is how well she smokes her cigarettes. For some reason I hate it when you get a non-smoking actor to play a chainsmoking character. They always go at the cig like they're performing fellatio on it...so I guess good job there, LiLo. 

Right as the Ambien was taking effect and I was about to rid myself of this shitshow, a drunken Burton makes the startling announcement that would destroy dear Liz's 4th marraige to Eddie Fisher in front of Eddie Fisher; they are in love, and fucking like a lot, so uh if he wouldn't mind getting the hell out of the way everyone would really appreciate it. 

Playing dress up is always fun, so is recreating iconic photos, but this is people's lives here, not Halloween k folks?

Then LiLo runs her pretty head off outside in tears; 'oy the mess i've gotten myself into again' certainly permeating through her head. And then there's another fuck montage. As I have actually read bios on Elizabeth Taylor and just finished 'Furious Love' (2011); the definitive account of Burton-Taylor crazyballs shenanigans, I knew what was going to come next and I was not in the mood. Fucking and fighting seem to go hand in hand in the story of Liz and Dick, but in this film, each is equally as displeasurable as the other. Also, just like Meg Ryan, Lilo's lips had become a fixture. I was tired of looking at them. They seemed to overwhelm the screen and there was little else I could pay attention to. So I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and woke up the next morning with a bitter taste in my mouth. It was not the bitterness of disappointment I assure you, as I had prepared myself for this for months. It's hard to be disappointed at something you knew was going to be stanky garbage to begin with, but I felt it unfair that people had to be subjected to it, though I knew no one would ever take this seriously. It happened, and now we can all move on.

Trailer below. 'Are you convinced?' ....never was.