Natty Ice also seems to give me awesome dancing abilities, as you can see in the video below:
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Playing with BAM @ the BBC
Sometimes I just take a sip of Natty Ice and see where the buzz takes me. In this case, I found myself onstage with BUILD A MACHINE at the BBC Walpole:
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
"Beginning Filmmaking": a film by Jay Rosenblatt
"Beginning Filmmaking" is a neat little documentary (23min in length) about a dad (Rosenblatt) who buys his five-year-old daughter (Ella) a digital video camera and attempts to teach her filmmaking over the course of a year.
Although Rosenblatt takes a text-book approach to the teaching process, Ella prefers to use the camera in a more original manner. Rosenblatt wants her to come up with a clever idea for her film and then use medium shots, extreme-close-ups and proper composition. But Ella prefers to film herself talking into the camera (like one would do with a web camera), telling stories about fairies and singing songs and doing other silly things that only kids would do.
Over the course of the film Rosenblatt grows frustrated with Ella's incorrigible "disobedience". He inadvertently plays the role of the antagonist, forcefully imposing the limited text-book approaches to filmmaking upon his daughter. He is not unlike the conventional studio-head who represses the unconventional vision of the independent filmmaker, which is an ironic role for him to play, seeing that he has been an extremely unconventional filmmaker his whole life.
In fact, this role reversal (i.e. the repressed becoming the oppressor) can be viewed as a microcosm of the general situation that occurs when a child becomes an adult and inadvertently becomes everything he/she disliked about their parents. Rosenblatt is like the Peter Pan who has grown up and become one of the narrow-minded adults without even knowing it. And, as a filmmaker, he has become everything he was rebelling against when he was a younger filmmaker trying to be original.
But perhaps this is all unavoidable. Maybe this film is a realization that the only way to teach filmmaking (or anything for that matter) is to set certain rules and it's up to the student to break them when he or she is ready. As the saying goes, one must learn the rules before they can be broken. Unprecedented originality can't exist without unoriginal precedences. Somebody NEEDS to set rules in order for an independent to be born.
Although Rosenblatt takes a text-book approach to the teaching process, Ella prefers to use the camera in a more original manner. Rosenblatt wants her to come up with a clever idea for her film and then use medium shots, extreme-close-ups and proper composition. But Ella prefers to film herself talking into the camera (like one would do with a web camera), telling stories about fairies and singing songs and doing other silly things that only kids would do.
Over the course of the film Rosenblatt grows frustrated with Ella's incorrigible "disobedience". He inadvertently plays the role of the antagonist, forcefully imposing the limited text-book approaches to filmmaking upon his daughter. He is not unlike the conventional studio-head who represses the unconventional vision of the independent filmmaker, which is an ironic role for him to play, seeing that he has been an extremely unconventional filmmaker his whole life.
In fact, this role reversal (i.e. the repressed becoming the oppressor) can be viewed as a microcosm of the general situation that occurs when a child becomes an adult and inadvertently becomes everything he/she disliked about their parents. Rosenblatt is like the Peter Pan who has grown up and become one of the narrow-minded adults without even knowing it. And, as a filmmaker, he has become everything he was rebelling against when he was a younger filmmaker trying to be original.
But perhaps this is all unavoidable. Maybe this film is a realization that the only way to teach filmmaking (or anything for that matter) is to set certain rules and it's up to the student to break them when he or she is ready. As the saying goes, one must learn the rules before they can be broken. Unprecedented originality can't exist without unoriginal precedences. Somebody NEEDS to set rules in order for an independent to be born.
Email to Vincent Gallo
Dear Vincent:
My name is Matt Burns, a writer/filmmaker from the Boston area.
Just thought I would drop you a line and say how much I like your work, especially THE BROWN BUNNY. I heard that you had an initial cut that was three hours long or something like that. Is there any way one can see that version? I imagine that it may go deeper into the character and maybe even answer some lingering questions about him.
But, yes, awesome film. To me, Bud is a portrait of the typical (Los) Angeleno: a man constantly on the move, unsuccessfully trying to outrun a past that relentlessly haunts him. Or, to speak in more general terms, I guess he is a portrait of the typical American -- a person migrating westward, running away from something...but always unsuccessfully.
The past always catches up, no matter how much we try NOT to face it. And perhaps this is one of the key issues comprising the American tragedy: instead of dealing with our problems, we try to run away from them, either by physically escaping west like Bud, or by mentally escaping to things like spectator sports and Hollywood entertainment and politics and religion etc. If Bud is any indication, the more we try to escape like this, the more we just end up torturing ourselves.
Another thing I like about the film is how there is some question as to whether Bud's perception of reality is totally reliable, as there are too may elements in the film that don't seem to add up. Like when Bud visits Daisy's mom...she's never heard of him, and doesn't even remember him living next door to her. Then there's the brown bunny, which was supposedly Daisy's, but should have probably been dead long ago (we learn from the pet store owner that bunnies only live five or six years).
Maybe the relationship between Bud and Daisy was less serious than we are lead to believe. Maybe she was just a girl he had a crush on (either recently or during his childhood). Or maybe she was just a girl he met at a party, took a liking to, but then got insulted when he found another guy having sex with her. And this makes him feel rejected and insecure. It is a blow to his ego. And such a rejection is impossible for him to shake. It follows him wherever he goes. No matter how fast he goes in that bike of his, he just can't escape these feelings that haunt him.
I guess the fact of the matter is that we can't quite trust Bud as a reliable "narrator", simply because there are too many things that don't seem to make sense in the film. He seems to be delusional and maybe even hallucinatory. He's probably lying to himself and, in turn, lying to us. Maybe he's trying to convince himself that Daisy's death wasn't his fault. Or maybe Daisy is still very much alive somewhere, but he just wants to pretend she's dead because it hurts him too much to think that she's alive and rejected him. Maybe the entire back-story of the film is just a bunch of bullshit born out of a neurotically insecure soul. Who knows???
Anyway, just thinking out loud. Really like the film. And if there's any way I can see the longer version, PLEASE let me know.
Best,
Matt Burns
The next day after sending this email I had a response in my inbox. The following is Gallo's (one-word) response:
yawn
Yes, he's an asshole, but you gotta love the guy.
My name is Matt Burns, a writer/filmmaker from the Boston area.
Just thought I would drop you a line and say how much I like your work, especially THE BROWN BUNNY. I heard that you had an initial cut that was three hours long or something like that. Is there any way one can see that version? I imagine that it may go deeper into the character and maybe even answer some lingering questions about him.
But, yes, awesome film. To me, Bud is a portrait of the typical (Los) Angeleno: a man constantly on the move, unsuccessfully trying to outrun a past that relentlessly haunts him. Or, to speak in more general terms, I guess he is a portrait of the typical American -- a person migrating westward, running away from something...but always unsuccessfully.
The past always catches up, no matter how much we try NOT to face it. And perhaps this is one of the key issues comprising the American tragedy: instead of dealing with our problems, we try to run away from them, either by physically escaping west like Bud, or by mentally escaping to things like spectator sports and Hollywood entertainment and politics and religion etc. If Bud is any indication, the more we try to escape like this, the more we just end up torturing ourselves.
Another thing I like about the film is how there is some question as to whether Bud's perception of reality is totally reliable, as there are too may elements in the film that don't seem to add up. Like when Bud visits Daisy's mom...she's never heard of him, and doesn't even remember him living next door to her. Then there's the brown bunny, which was supposedly Daisy's, but should have probably been dead long ago (we learn from the pet store owner that bunnies only live five or six years).
Maybe the relationship between Bud and Daisy was less serious than we are lead to believe. Maybe she was just a girl he had a crush on (either recently or during his childhood). Or maybe she was just a girl he met at a party, took a liking to, but then got insulted when he found another guy having sex with her. And this makes him feel rejected and insecure. It is a blow to his ego. And such a rejection is impossible for him to shake. It follows him wherever he goes. No matter how fast he goes in that bike of his, he just can't escape these feelings that haunt him.
I guess the fact of the matter is that we can't quite trust Bud as a reliable "narrator", simply because there are too many things that don't seem to make sense in the film. He seems to be delusional and maybe even hallucinatory. He's probably lying to himself and, in turn, lying to us. Maybe he's trying to convince himself that Daisy's death wasn't his fault. Or maybe Daisy is still very much alive somewhere, but he just wants to pretend she's dead because it hurts him too much to think that she's alive and rejected him. Maybe the entire back-story of the film is just a bunch of bullshit born out of a neurotically insecure soul. Who knows???
Anyway, just thinking out loud. Really like the film. And if there's any way I can see the longer version, PLEASE let me know.
Best,
Matt Burns
The next day after sending this email I had a response in my inbox. The following is Gallo's (one-word) response:
yawn
Yes, he's an asshole, but you gotta love the guy.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
MJ's Death: the Religion of Celebrity
Like everyone else, I am saddened by the death of Michael Jackson. I spun my old "Off the Wall" vinyl in my record player just a little while ago. I couldn't help but get a little misty in the eyes knowing that the amazing talent that was Michael Jackson (especially during the "off-the-wall"/"thriller" era) was no more. Jackson was an amazing dancer. An amazing musical artist...
But the attention the story is getting is, I think, a little too over-the-top. I was watching "World News" with Charlie Gibson on Friday and it struck me how weird it was that the death of
Michael Jackson headlined the half-hour time slot. Nothing about Iraq. Nothing about Afghanistan. The most news-worthy story of the world, in the eyes of the ABC network, was the death of Michael Jackson. I mean, out of all the stories that could have headlined the world (yes WORLD) news, the "gatekeepers" chose the Michael Jackson story. Why? Because they knew this was what the public wanted, and I guess the main objective of ABC is not unlike that of any other business where the consumer's wants take precedence over the consumer's needs. (Whether this objective is an ethical objective for a news network is a different subject altogether.)
Anyway, on the front page of The Boston Globe this past Saturday I noticed a photo of a man kneeling beside Michael Jackson's Hollywood Blvd. star and saying a prayer. Surrounding him were candles and bouquets of flowers: a shrine dedicated to the deceased "king of pop". It was this image on the front page of the daily newspaper that made me realize the extent to which our culture values celebrity. I mean, I had obviously always known that our culture was obsessed with celebrity, but this image of the man kneeling in deep prayer at a shrine dedicated to Jackson made me realize that, in America, celebrities...are gods. And I almost mean this literally. It's like the death of Michael Jackson was the death of a messiah [notice the blatant Christ imagery in the above photo, which was also on the front page of the Globe].
America prides itself to be a land where we practice all sorts of religions and show reverence to all sorts of gods, but I think what nobody realizes is that there is a common religion in America that transcends all other religions: that of celebrity. This is a religion where people like Michael Jackson are so important that their deaths headline "World News" with Charlie Gibson and newspapers like The Boston Globe. Never mind the handful of soldiers who died overseas on the same day Jackson died. We don't hear about them. We only hear about Jackson. The religion of celebrity is a religion where those who are rich and famous automatically deserve more attention than those who have fallen in war.
But at least Jackson had talent, which means he is at least somewhat deserving of all this attention (although he most likely molested children and took a lot of drugs). Take somebody like Anna Nicole Smith's death, though: she didn't really have any talent...unless figuring out how to become famous for being famous is a talent. But even her death headlined the news (footage of the teary-eyed judge comes to mind). And another day went by where we overlooked the deaths of soldiers, not to mention other newsworthy stories far more deserving of our attention.
The fact of the matter is that the religion of celebrity is a religion where we show reverence to people who are not necessarily talented, but to those who have somehow figured out how to become rich and famous. I mean, it would be wishful thinking to say that celebrity is ultimately about talent; after all, somebody who is extremely talented isn't usually worshiped until they somehow figure out how to turn that talent into something that yields riches and fame.
Perhaps this is just the American way. Maybe in a land where the ultimate goal is to "make it", it makes sense that we deify those who have, indeed, "made it". And because "making it" is usually measured in terms of financial success, the real value here is on the money, not the talent. And that's the problem.
To put it simply, the celebrity-worship we see in our culture is a reflection of a culture where money is a god. When stories of a celebrity's death headline the world news (again, emphasis on 'world'), our culture is kneeling to the ground and showing reverence to the 'almighty' dollar bill.
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