greg – Page 276

But HBO is still the gig to get

While looking at film directors who are more than dabbling in television, the Village Voice’s Joy Press puts the current trend into context. Turns out indie-types like Miguel Arteta (Six Feet Under) and Neil Labute (The L Word)(What’s that? Sorry, don’t have Showtime.) aren’t the first, just the latest.
It seems film auteurs have been happily trading “total creative control” for “a job that actually pays” at least since Robert Altman’s days on Bonanza. No news there. And with the networks turning to blockbuster hacks, the only creativity seems to be on HBO. And Showtime. Again, no surprise.
What IS interesting, though, could be called Six Degrees of Barry Levinson. Turns out a whole crop of indie vets, including Arteta, Lisa Cholodenko, Mary Harron, and Whit Stillman (speaking of whom, where is that guy?) all got to work on Levinson’s series Homicide in the early 90’s.
So how’s about letting a crop of indie punks loose on the set of Law & Order, then?

Now THAT’S a Scion, or The Influence of The Toaster on Japanese Cars

Even in the remotest backwater of Japan where we’ve been for the last two weeks, the popularity of tiny, square city-friendly cars is startling. Easily 25-30% of the cars on the road here in Shikoku are what’s known as ‘1-box’ or ‘2-box’ models. 1-boxes have plenty of room for four people, and not much else, while 2-boxes often have decent storage/luggage space in the back. A couple are even minivan-like in their spaciousness.
I started calling these things toasters, but their shape–especially the 2-boxes–is more accurately described as bread-like. Loaves of Japanese bread are unsettlingly perfect cubes, with the heels removed.
The 1-box cincept isn’t new, or even limited to Japan. 20 years ago, the Honda City started a micromini boom in Japan, and the excellent Mercedes A-class has been selling well in Europe for five years or so (and which I’d buy in a second). [The beautiful-to-me all aluminum Audi A2 hasn’t done as well, but I used in my first short film anyway.] And of course, there’s the Smart Car, which Trent Lott mocked on the Senate floor. [There are so many Smart-like cars now, it’d make Lott’s blood run cold, if he had any, that is.
Still, except for the Honda Element and Toyota’s new Scion/b,none of these cars will ever make it to the US, which is too bad. A surprise to me was how well designed the Daihatsu and Suzuki boxes are. Daihatsu’s a 5th tier failure in the US, with their boring, personality-free, cookie cutter compacts, yet they’re apparently pursuing a differentiation-through-design strategy at home. Why not become a quirky-cool alternative brand and leave the me-too Toyota-chasing to the Koreans?
I’ll throw up some more pictures when I can. In the mean time, here’s a quick spotter’s guide, with links to the Japanese manufacturers’ sites:

Continue reading “Now THAT’S a Scion, or The Influence of The Toaster on Japanese Cars”

Plotting Jonah Freeman on the Matthew Barney — Gabriel Orozco Axis

OK, do I shoot down that comparison in the first sentence, or later on? Starting with his sculpture and environmental pieces, and later with his video and photography, I’ve been a fan of Jonah Freeman’s work for more than six years. But with The Franklin Abraham, his current exhibition at Andrew Kreps Gallery, I think he has reached a synthesis, a new mode that has implications beyond just his own work.
I put Gabriel Orozco and Matthew Barney on a rather arbitrary spectrum (Orozco because I just wrote about his documentary and videos a few posts ago, Barney because he’s the apotheosis of something, at least). Actually, the comparison’s not that far-fetched; all three artists, including Freeman, move easily between mediums, although at least Barney and Orozco consider themselves sculptors first. The two old mens’ videos have something else in common; they can be controversially tedious to watch, especially if you’re not in the mood.

Continue reading “Plotting Jonah Freeman on the Matthew Barney — Gabriel Orozco Axis”

I went to the Hiroshima Memorial and all I got was the chance to unload on the Pakistani Ambassador

Took a 3-hour tour, a 3-hour tour to Hiroshima yesterday for the anniversary of the US dropping The Bomb on them. While I’m sure it was much hotter in 1945, the wide-open, stone-paved memorial park seems designed to recreate the inferno-like aftermath of that oh-so terrible morning; there’s not a shade tree in sight, and the most-sought-after Anniversary souvenir is a fan.
A memorial to a violent incident apparently needs a focal point, something concrete enough for visitors to connect with, latch onto. With the World Trade Center, it is (wrongly, I believe) the footprints of the buildings; with Hiroshima–and Oklahoma City in its wake–it is the moment of impact. A wristwatch, stopped at 8:15AM, holds pride of place in the Memorial Museum, and I overheard several people throughout our visit asking directions to “the watch.”
As I was leaving the first floor of the exhibition area, I saw a distinguished man with a posse of expensively-but-poorly suited minions, talking through a translator with a Japanese guy. A couple of reporters hovered around, not asking questions, just taking notes. Turned out to be the Pakistani Ambassador to Japan.
Pakistan? Seeing as how they’re next, he’s got a lot of nerve coming to Hiroshima on the anniversary of the bomb, I said to one reporter, who nodded grimly. I stood and eavesdropped for a while, as the Ambassador ran through platitudes of defensive deterrents (nationalist pride-infused inferiority complex), developing country unable to afford a war (yet able to divert money from education and economic development to the bomb; offsetting costs with wholesale exports of nuclear technology), &c. Finally, when he talked about praying for the souls of those killed, I couldn’t take it anymore.
As the group turned, I said, “Excuse me, but how can you talk about sorrow when, if the world sees another bomb used–whether by your military, Islamic terrorists, or North Korea–it’ll have ‘made in Pakistan’ on it?” He didn’t register at first, but a couple in the posse were surprised, and the Japanese guy froze. The ambassador stumbled for a bit, muttered no, no, and, looking toward a minion who was gesturing toward the elevator, gave me an ignoring nod and moved away quickly. A reporter trailing asked me my name and where I was from, and then I went to give the kid her bottle.
Just like when you think of the funniest comeback later that night, I spent the rest of the afternoon and my hydrofoil back to Shikoku thinking of what I should have said. And wishing I’d shaved, so I didn’t look so much like a peacenik bum, peddling my way across southeast Asia.
Sure, you can speak truth to power, but more than likely, power will ignore your over-emotional, impulsive, sorry-looking ass.

2004-08-09, This Week in The New Yorker

Issue of 2004-08-09
Posted 2004-08-02
The Talk of The Town
COMMENT/ CONVENTIONAL WARFARE/ David Remnick on John Kerry’s acceptance speech.
CONVENTION DIARY/ COMERS/ Ben McGrath on the moving and shaking at the Democratic National Convention.
THE WAYWARD PRESS/ BOSTON TERRIER/ John Cassidy at the conservative Boston Herald.
THE FINANCIAL PAGE/CASH KILLS/ James Surowiecki on the dangers of corporate savings.
DEPARTMENT OF ENTERTAINMENT/ Adam Green/ Standup for the Lord/ The career of a Christian comedian.
SHOUTS & MURMURS/ Andy Borowitz/ New Year’s Resolutions, Seven Months Later
ANNALS OF WAR/ Dan Baum/ Two Soldiers/ The last journey home
FICTION/ George Saunders/ “Adams”
THE CRITICS
A CRITIC AT LARGE/ Louis Menand/ Nanook and Me/ “Fahrenheit 9/11” and the documentary tradition.
THE THEATRE/ Hilton Als/ Talkers and Togas/ Revivals by Arthur Miller and Nathan Lane.
POP MUSIC/ Sasha Frere-Jones/ Mother Tongue/ The Streets and Dizzee Rascal break free of American hip-hop.
MUSICAL EVENTS/ Alex Ross/ Nausea/ A new “Parsifal” at Bayreuth.
THE CURRENT CINEMA/ David Denby/ Thrilled to Death/ “Collateral,” “The Bourne Supremacy,” and “The Manchurian Candidate.”
FROM THE ARCHIVE
ANNALS OF COMEDY/ John Lahr/ The Goat Boy Rises/ Profile of comedian Bill Hicks, who, along with Jesus, Brad Stine cites as an influence?/ Issue of 1993-11-01
A CRITIC AT LARGE/BRAINWASHED/ Louis Menand/ Where the “Manchurian Candidate” came from./ Issue of 2003-09-15
PROFILES/ Calvin Tomkins/ Good Cooking/ A profile of Julia Child/ Issue of 1976-12-23

How Billy Baldwin would protest at the Republican Convention

from an ongoing series:
If his behavior on my flight to Ozaka is any indication, Billy will dress like a 40-year old cop trying to go undercover at a high school.
He will sport long, greasy hair, with a ponytail on top, a la Patrick Rafter circa 1998, and a t-shirt that reads BUllSHit in foot-tall red letters. The t-shirt will be tight enough to reveal that he hasn’t been back to Equinox 76th street since he used to hit on my friend there in 1993.
He will emerge from first to walk repeatedly around the business class cabin, presumably so that we can all read his shirt. He will be careful to avoid entering the coach cabin. At customs, once he’s thrust back into gen pop, he will don a giant pair of sunglasses and keep his head down and arms folded (over his oh-so-rebellious slogan).
He will not wait for any checked luggage, but take his carry-on and disappear with a Japanese handler, presumably to shoot a pachinko commercial or some other mortgage-paying gig.

greg.org summer vacation starts 8/1

I’m going to be traveling in Japan for a couple of weeks, with no computer (^o^) that’s a Japanese shocked emoticon. If they have the “internet” over there, and it doesn’t involve a lot of phone-typing, I’ll keep in touch.
In the mean time, keep reading and re-reading the Gabriel Orozco thing, I guess.

Art, Movies, and The Heisenberg Effect

Last Sunday at the Hirshhorn, I saw a great documentary about one of my favorite artists. Juan Carlos Martin followed Gabriel Orozco around the world for three years, filming and taping the meandering artist’s creative process, his installations, and the art world’s reactions to his work.
To my eyes, apparent slightness is one of the most powerful aspects of Orozco’s work. Martin’s film reveals the intensely sustained effort Orozco’s effortless-looking art requires. Weeks of tedious fabrication in a small Mexican hamlet translates into an unassuming beachscape in a German museum. The objects exhibited in The Penske Project turns out to be the tip of the iceberg of searching, alteration, and driving in the rental truck that gave the show its name. “When I’m enjoying the process, I know the result will be OK,” Gabriel’s voiceover explains.
With palimpsest voiceovers and interviews, raw camera movement and editing, and a marked lack of self-importance, Martin’s film is a standout in the deathly boring artist documentary genre. (Think talking academic heads, the artist walking on cue, and endless tracking shots through an empty museum.) But this light-n-lively touch has its drawbacks, and they still bug.

Continue reading “Art, Movies, and The Heisenberg Effect”

Hey, So Did I

I first came across Jay Rosenblatt‘s short film in March, as I was surfing across the Silverdocs site, getting ready to submit my own tape.
It wasn’t just the title, but the combination of title and picture. Rosenblatt was holding his daughter up in the air. The one sentence-synopsis read, “Video cameras come with an owner’s manual and babies don’t, so documentary filmmaker Jay Rosenblatt uses the first to understand the second.” The title: I Used to Be A Filmmaker.
In the first few weeks after our own kid was born, when even dubbing a couple of screeners felt like a major accomplishment, I saw my entire life in Rosenblatt’s title alone. I read some reviews (all very good) and thought, the guy spent two years on one short? I am cooked.
Actually, what Rosenblatt did was construct an interface between two worlds: his own as a documentarian and film instructor, and his new daughter’s. Or more precisely, he bridged his own two worlds, his passion/profession and his family. All in about 10 minutes. 10 minutes over the course of two years.
In I Used to be a Filmmaker, Rosenblatt uses scenes from the first 18 months of his daughter’s life to illustrate various film production terms. The still above was from “pickup shot,” for example. A scene where he gets her to stop crying is called MOS. It’s sometimes corny, but usually very funny, and it works. Rosenblatt takes some of the most unrepentantly self-indulgent imagery known to mankind–a smitten new dad’s home movies–and by giving it structure and context, makes it not just watchable by others, but actually entertaining. No small feat.
Unlike most shorts, which directors use as calling cards for the coming feature, I Used to be a Filmmaker is what it is, complete. Which made it stand out on the festival circuit enough for Shiela Nevins to buy it for Cinemax, the Sabrina to HBO’s Samantha. It premiered on Father’s Day, and will have its last scheduled broadcast is tonight, Thurs. 7/29, at 6:35PM east coast, 9:35PM west coast.

Pakistan: ‘If you need me, I’ll be in my trailer’

Steve Martin said it best: it’s all in the ti-MING. ti…MINGming.
It’s always risky shooting with locally cast talent. But after five tense days, the White House screening room erupted in fits of backslapping and high fives as the rushes showed Pakistan nailing its mark like Meryl Streep with a mustache and the bomb.
The interior ministry just announced–at midnight local time, which is 2pm in, say, Boston–the capture of a major Al Qaeda terrorist, his entourage, and his fearsome arsenal of weapons.
True, the guy’s name is “Foopie,” his entourage was his wife and children-with whom he had been living for some time in Pakistan, and his arsenal consisted of “two AK-47 rifles, plastic chemicals [huh? like caulking?], two computers, [and] computer diskettes,” and the arrest actually happened Sunday. But Scott can fix all that in post.
Besides, all they needed was an “Al Qaeda bigwig netted” hed stepping on the “Kerry slams Bush on terror ‘war'” lead this weekend; it could be any one of the terrorists in Pakistan’s Rolodex, really. And if the guy’s story’s really got legs, they can just get the nets to call him the Tanzanian Devil. [Note to self: contact TW/CNN re licensing and permissions.]
Related: White House Production Notes: Summer Blockbuster Edition

Pakistan: ‘If you need me, I’ll be in my trailer’

You mean Rem Koolhaas rides a city bus??

At least that’s how I read this anecdote on Defective Yeti.
By the way, the Tall Buildings show at MoMA looks great. Excruciatingly sexy models, tons of other information and context. You could spend 10 minutes or half the day.

You mean Rem Koolhaas rides a city bus??

From the Metropolitan Diary “Yow, did I just hear that?” dept.

To be filed under P for Playah Hatah:
Setting: the downtown 6 train, 59th – 50th street.
Dramatis Personae: a shapely 20-something woman of a certain race with a JPMorganChase totebag, two 30-ish gentlemen of a certain race with knee-length T-shirts, sitting three occupied seats down from the woman. A 30-something white guy standing in front of them all.
The young banker studiously ignores numerous gestures and pleas from the playah: [waving across 2 people] “Miss, Yo, miss!” Playah hatah, meanwhile, pulls on his friend’s arm, trying to get him to stop.
Finally making eye contact, the playah mouths something about a number. “you a model, right?” “No.” “Awww, you should be. Now–”
The train pulls into 50th st and begins to slow. The banker grabs her bag and moves toward the door. She’s decided to walk the last 8 blocks to Grand Central, or wait for the next train. She disappears.
Playah [loudly]: “Yo, why you messin’ with me while I’m workin’?”
Hatah [louder, exasperated]: “Damn, bitch ain’t gonna give any shit up. Why you embarass yourself like that?”
Playah: “You see that ass and don’t even try nothin’? What, you a faggot? Damn.”
Same train, same car 42nd-33rd st.
Dramatis Personae: two seated whitey white white office casual guys behind a 30-something white guy.
WWWG1: “A thousand bucks?? You can’t expense that!”
WWWG2: “But it was client development.”
WWWG1: “There is NO code for a lapdance [pause] Dude, a thousand bucks??”