Director Alison Murray embarks on an utterly engrossing Kerouacian odyssey across the U.S and Canada, along with other Twenty something, 21st Century Hobos.
“Oh God. I was just a boy.
I saw him in my dream.
He said he wanted to play.
He opened me and I invited him and he came inside me.”
~ Leland Palmer
The red curtains of my bedroom do just enough to shield the dying summer sundown from the screen of my portable TV. There’s nary a hair on my balls and a Teenage Mutant ‘Hero’ Turtle poster beams at me from each of four walls. It’s entirely likely I’m wearing white High-Tops and a T-Shirt depicting Bart Simpson ‘hanging ten’ upside down in a “tube”. Through a blizzard of static I stop tuning as I suddenly discover a man in a beige trench coat stepping delicately through a pitch black forest, before being caught in a spotlight with no logical point of origin and confronted by the impossible manifestation of softly swaying red drapes among the sinisterly lilting boughs. He approaches the curtains cautiously, then quickly, inquisitively slips between them whereupon they both vanish completely, leaving only the heavily populated desolation of those introductory dark woods.
Its detractors bemoan that this ‘future’ is merely an amplification of now, that Gilliam is showing his age, and his criticisms are too on the nose. As a champion of this film, I laud it for the same reasons. – See more at: http://joup.co/joup-movie-review-the-zero-theorem/#sthash.TVPlryPO.dpuf
So I’m watching the Oscars Sunday night… Nah, I’m not. For one, I live in England, so I’d have to stay up until midnight just to see what ridiculously price-tagged fabric some people who ‘play pretend’ for a living decided to adorn their gorgeous torso-with before dawdling on a red pile tongue. Secondly, no one starts winning anything significant until 2am GMT, then it’s about 4 before I get to see the people I think are moderately deserving of an anthropomorphic golden dildo get overlooked… – See more at: http://joup.co/your-fucked-up-childhood-mark-twai/#sthash.ql2OV4xx.dpuf
The spandex-in-Manhattan ‘Man of Steel’ of modern memory imagined by Mario Puzo and realized by Richard Donner managed to reaffirm the incandescence of his legend (when the United States’ ethical integrity had never looked more suspect) in the aftermath of the Vietnam War and Watergate scandal. Superman somehow thrived in Seventies America, played – with all the goofiness of unabashed underpants and purity of heart – with a straight face, save for the odd wink shot in the direction of the fourth wall by Christopher Reeve’s masterful comic/pathos portrayal of a Clark Kent out of his depth among (but ultimately showing-up) the Objectivist denizens of Metropolis…
Whole article: http://joup.co/does-the-world-want-superman/