Gender studies in funk

I love yearly round up pieces of cultural benchmarks. Last year, I read many accounts that spoke to the resurgence and cultural platitude of R&B in the encapsulation of America's 2012 music love. This year seems to have started off on a more dancy level of funk produced upbeats. Within the past week though, two singles were released that seemed to me both a reminiscent and distinctively apart. 

Of course, my ears were blessed by whatever sound god the Greeks created to hear both the new Daft Punk single Get Lucky featuring Pharell Williams and the new Janelle Monae song Q.U.E.E.N. featuring Erika Badu. 

Both of these songs can be characterized by their swinging, jangling, bass heavy, head-nod-inducing similarities to the dancy funk of the 70s and early 80s. Admittedly, I couldn't stop to listening to either. I was an enormous fan of Monae's 2010 Archandroid album, going so far as to learn the tightrope dance and showing off to everyone that would watch. And more Daft Punk is more Daft Punk; that's always an event. The single has its own Wikipedia page even. 

However, after reading a piece about what Monae's song might say about her sometimes dubious sexuality, I began thinking of the two songs together. Without a doubt, Q.U.E.E.N. is an empowered expression of righteous feminity. I mean, it's in the name. The first word is "Girl." I have a whole cadre of female friends I am excited to see with their hands in the air singing along to "Am I a freak for getting down?" It's naturally taken as meaning working the dance floor and I hope I have the good fortune of sharing that floor with them. 

On the other hand, Get Lucky could not be more of a dude song. "She's up all night for good fun, I'm up all night to get lucky," sing Pharell Williams in my favorite thing he has ever done. You can feel the guy watching the girl taking drinks of beer, wondering if after this one he should try to make his move. There is something predatory and, at the same time, sophomoric about it. As a man myself, those two things are spreken me language. 

Between females swooning over the broken past relationship of Gotye, guys like me having to find the most sophisticated reasons to admit enjoying Call Me Maybe and the near universal rejoice over Frank Ocean, men and women were pretty together with it last year. Is this a polarizing sign or just a call back to basic gender roles? Will pop music drift further away from the synthesis seen last year or was it even there in the beginning? Will we return to a simpler time of 90s comedians building whole careers on the differences between the sexes? What is up with women? Am I right? 

There isn't much benefit in amateur speculation, but I enjoy trying to pick up the pieces that will eventually turn into actual cultural study of a specific time and place, where it came from and what it wrought. 

As things start blooming in this wonderful state of Washington, so too must music start pushing out from open car windows and pollinating the air. It's only been in the last month or so that the big releases of 2013 start making their way onto the iTunes shelves and Spotify playlists. Of course it's much to early to tell if this funk-driven sex war will continue into the sun stroked summer, but if it does at least I can say that I paid attention.  

Illegal Oscars: The Other Three Movies That I Swear I Did Watch

A month after the actual Oscars happened, I still feel like I need to at least summarize my thoughts about the remaining three films that I actually took the time to illegally watch. I was side tracked by a sudden, and so far extremely fortuitous job offer in Seattle, where I am writing this. 

I have a need because I grumpily sat through two of them and laughed as the Internet made a fool out of me with the third. I have a need because I did generate real opinions regarding the films, in one case even taking the time to make notes. I have a need because I started something and I should finish it. Finally, I have a need because I found the time. 

Before anything, this should be read with the understanding that I will probably forego most future attempts at a blog series founded upon an illegal premise. I live in a city now. With movie theaters. They should have my money. 

Life of Pi

Let's just start with the most middling and mediocre of the lot. I watched the whole thing, but honestly, it did not keep my attention. Which I could take on the nose as a lazy critic, but go to hell, I had just been told that I had two weeks to move my life for the second time in a year to an entirely new location. Furthermore, it's also the film's fault. Why couldn't you be good enough to keep my interest, movie? How do you feel about yourself as a failure? Enjoy a best director awards, the Oscars version of third place. 

I could not get over the computer graphics and the feelgoodery. It's ultimately as simple as that. There was a quaint quirkiness that inhabited the movie, which felt neither earned nor honest. Once that dissipated into an impressive boat wreck in the ocean, it moved quickly towards the movie revolving around a good actor and a fake tiger. 

Maybe it's suspicion and avid watching for the slightest valley of uncanniness, whatever the reason, I could see every 1 and 0 on that fake tiger's fur. It yanked me out again and again as it jerkily/ unnaturally moved around a boat. Making realistic motions for fake things is hard enough to trip savvy film thieves like myself, Life of Pi proved that it is even more difficult to make realistic motions for fake things on a rocking dinghy. So I could never fall into the movie's arms because it had two prosthetic hook hands. 

The spiritual backbone that underlines the whole experience was nice, perhaps even refreshing, but by the time it was uncovered, I had lost too much patience to wikipedia articles on Seattle and celebratory whisky. 

Les Miserables

 Now, my mother and sister have sang these songs for most of my life and I never knew why. They sounded nice growing up, but never nice enough to take the time and actually watch the quasi-revolutionary based musical that revolved around one unlucky man's utter refusal to leave the town that kept finding trouble for him. 

SERIOUSLY. WHY DIDN'T HUGH JACKMAN JUST LEAVE FRANCE? NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF HE JUST MOVED LIKE 40 MILES AWAY. SERIOUSLY. 

Instead, is a rather dreadful tale of jail, TB, brothels and fraternité. One thing that I could not get out of my head was the severely morose tone that was explored in the cinimization (which may not be a word). For truth, it is a sad story, however in the stage production, I'm sure the slight levity that is expressed in the songs went some way to cut that sadness so it didn't feel like it was so existentially crushing. For one: they are singing. This film wanted to take the Requiem for a Dream approach and try to destroy whatever good could be found in the audience. And it didn't work, because they were singing. 

But whatever, it was pretty sometimes and the songs were simply lovely most times. Anne Hathaway was pretty good, Hugh Jackman was decent and Russell Crowe was OUTRAGEOUSLY awful. It lasted forever, but never spent enough time to explain what was happening. 

At the end, I just wanted to read the book, because I bet it's really pretty good. The movie, on the other hand, was bombastic, self-indulgent and didn't work on most fronts. 

Amour

Here is where the Internet gets its last laugh. It was, indeed, the final movie I watched for Illegal Oscars and proved the rule about the dangers regarding pirating. It was the last few days that I still had access to the means to watch the film and I knew I wanted to before the Oscars broadcast (which I did not watch at all). 

The problem was apparent from the beginning when my French movie file did not contain any subtitles and I had no time to download another one. Illegal Oscars is serious dammit! Not about the law, but about the process!

So, I watched the whole movie in French. 

This was not too terribly bad because 1) I am semi/slightly/kind of proficient and 2.) It's certainly not a movie that relies on the dialogue for its substance. 

I feel a little silly and unqualified to say that I loved it. I mean, there was a whole sub plot that I just did not understand in the slightest. I couldn't find one known mot a la Francaise que je comprends in what comprised at least a quarter of the movie. 

Still, I really loved what I understood and saw. It's no secret or spoiler that it centers around the ailing wife in an octogenarian couple as she slides slowly towards death. The brutal reality of its expression and unflinching attitude echoed down my heart. It was frank and honest and the best life I can hope for still ultimately will lead towards that end. 

In its sterile standoffishiness, it still felt closer, more humane and more personally affective than any other best picture nominee. Harrowing, difficult yet brave and stunning. Just a breathtaking movie. 

•••••

And so Illegal Oscars ends. I had a marvelous time watching movies that I mostly did not enjoy for the sake of joining in a cultural conversation a month too late. There are many things I hope never to forget about the eight months I spent in the hollowed out desert of eastern Oregon, Illegal Oscars is among them. 

Illegal Oscars: Lincoln

Having moved to an unbelievably remote part of the country where the only theater in a hundred miles is a single screen movie house showing mostly family fare for three screenings a week, I have not had the best film going year. So, as a way to catch up and leech what little culture I can from my unsteady internet connection, I will watch and review all of the Best Picture nominations as the Oscars approach. Due to the above limitations, readers should understand that I will view these movies from sources of dubious legality. Please don't inform the authorities and ENJOY!

My first initial analogy that I would like to make with Lincoln is the obvious one. 

It's like an absolutely delicious cookie cake, maybe one of those generic ones at a grocery store that some how tastes way better than the gourmet brand. Unfortunately, it is one that is covered with that nasty, fluffy frosting on sheet cakes that is sold next to the delicious cookie ones. Globs of it. 

Ruminating on the Steven Spielberg directed movie, the first one I've probably seen since War of the Worlds, it is the worst moments that point to him standing at the helm. It is the telling of the Lincoln's fight to push the 13th Ammendment through a contentious House of Representatives and it is mostly beautiful. 

Not usually a fan of biopics, this broke something of a mold. It lasted through the middle of the civil war and passed the Amendments passage on up to his inevitable assassination. I found it refreshing in that it told the story around him, not relying on Lincoln as the zoomed in point. It revolves around the backdoor dealings and inner turmoils felt by the congressional leaders and those that support them. This is very much to its credit. Most were probably not nearly as bombastic in real life (looking at you James Spader) but it lent tumultuous, entertaining character to the story as a whole. 

It also contained a one-two punch that really sent me into its arms.

Of course, I have to mention Daniel Day Lewis and what could I say that so many other already have? Remember, this is Illegal Oscars and I'm coming at this late. I could summarize my echoing, point thusly: Obviously, I've no idea what Lincoln was like and I have no clue if Day Lewis mastered it. What I do know is that Day Lewis played a complete, intensely layered person. Seriously, I thought it was a little breathtaking. 

The second part of that punch hit with the screenplay. I've seen a number of playwright led movies in the past year and always got a little irritated with how it all sounded so damn dramatic. Lincoln screenwriter, playwright Tony Kushner, takes what I imagine is a tad romanticized tone of elegant 18th century speak and wraps it tightly around this movie like an intense girdle. It's a little stifling and uncomfortable, but it looks great. 

All of the above is the cookie cake. Delicious. 

Unfortunately, many bites are just covered in that frosting. The baker thought it needed it and that you would like it, but he was really wrong and didn't give near enough credit to the cookie cake. 

It's a pretty plain analogy. 

Starting at the very beginning with a purely NAUSEATING scene, what Speely Berg thought as the most tender and heartfelt moments of the movie, he layered with stupidly staged camera work and rising, triumphant music. 

All told, it's a pretty quiet movie. These Dr.-Grant-sees-the-brachiosaurus-for-the-first-time moments stood out like a dinosaur in the present day. They distracted my attention and stopped my emotion.

It was fluff, plain and simple. Unnecessary as sheet cake icing on a wonderful cookie cake. 

There have been other examples of this phenomena that I have mention in movies for this series. Both Silver Linings Playbook and Argo pushed and pushed me until I pushed back. (I won.) These moments in Lincoln are noticeable and irritating, but they didn't detract much from my opinion of the movie. 

It helps that I hold a degree in Political Science/History, as this was written for idiots like me. Even so, from the atmosphere, writing, acting, story and romantic respect in which it was presented, it was easy to love. 

Just do what I did and mentally scrape off that gross icing. 

Illegal Oscars: Argo

Having moved to an unbelievably remote part of the country where the only theater in a hundred miles is a single screen movie house showing mostly family fare for three screenings a week, I have not had the best film going year. So, as a way to catch up and leech what little culture I can from my unsteady internet connection, I will watch and review all of the Best Picture nominations as the Oscars approach. Due to the above limitations, readers should understand that I will view these movies from sources of dubious legality. Please don't inform the authorities and ENJOY!

There is one movie every year. 

Look, I don't mind if other people like Argo, I really don't. 

Movies are a subjective thing, sure. I mostly enjoyed it myself. It was a neat story of the Iranian-American hostage crisis, dealing with a time and history in which I have a true interest.   With an incredibly true story of a CIA fake sci-fi movie to extricate secret hostages, this was born to be made into a movie. It was well presented, well directed, containing respect for the material and a desire to tell an intriguing story. 

But surely, this doesn't deserve to be a Best Picture nominee, whatever that means to whomever. If Illegal Oscars has any integrity (which I think is a hilarious thing to say) then I should judge Ben Affleck's directorial effort by where I think those standards should fall. 

I offer three reasons why I didn't like Argo as much as you. 

First, and I suppose most broadly, for all of the grittiness that it tried to inspire, it was a mostly light, unchallenging movie. For all of the intense danger that it strove to exhibit, there was a clear, constructed pace to the story that felt so familiar that I personally stayed far away from fearing for these people (more on that later).

They did inspire true fear only once, in a sea of crowded others as the shouting escalated. But even then, I felt the hands pulling strings behind the camera. Beyond that, it was by rote scenes of disruption and panic, met later with laaaaaaazy redemption and obvious character changes. 

Even worse, in between the scenes of implied yet never apparent danger, was some of the heaviest comic relief they could have found out of John Goodman and Alan Arkin. It was an extremely Hollywood movie, heavy on the light and light on the heavy. 

Secondly, and most angrily, whenever there is the slightest bit of suspense within the movie, they milk more out of it than octuplets.  

While watching, I kept thinking of the word 'manipulative.' Through exaggerated direction and LUDICROUS story invention Affleck attempted to heighten the mood to an ungainly altitude; think the tower of Babel but with far less stakes, consequences and gibberish. (Persian isn't gibberish, exactly.) Uh oh, the bus won't shift. Uh oh, customs has questions. Uh oh, they're filming some scene and none shall pass. Even in what may have been the best scene amid the loud bazaar, the camera gets all shaky and the tight shots get all tighter. It was unbelievable, especially towards the end, how much sheer effort is expended to raise the suspense. I felt directed. I felt specifically pushed towards emotion. 

Don't do that, Affleck. Lead me there gently or let me find the damn drama myself. I get angry when I'm pushed. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. 

I turn into a smaller, white, far less destructive Hulk. 

The third reason, and the one that I've heard the least about, is the boring, with a capital YAWN, acting job that Affleck performs as the main lead. Half way through my viewing, I admit that I kept laughing because I couldn't stop thinking of him saying, "This is my serious face." 

And that's what it was. It was his serious face. If there is no break or texture to that tone, then it is just a two dimensional character wearing his seriousest facey. Like I so smartly said, boring.

There is a scene where he is confronted with his largest decision which could have grave consequences either way and I could barely care. What's he going to do? Get seriouser? Oh, then he drinks, and when he drinks he gets (surprise) MORE seriouser. 

Look. Like I said. It was an enjoyable movie. I'm glad I watched it. It contained enough truth for me to be momentarily interested. But as a contender for the best movie of the year? I'm afraid the levity, the manipulation and the lead actor keeps it well away from that distinction.

It's fine. 

I know you loved it. 

Illegal Oscars: Zero Dark Thirty

Having moved to an unbelievably remote part of the country where the only theater in a hundred miles is a single screen movie house showing mostly family fare for three screenings a week, I have not had the best film going year. So, as a way to catch up and leech what little culture I can from my unsteady internet connection, I will watch and review all of the Best Picture nominations as the Oscars approach. Due to the above limitations, readers should understand that I will view these movies from sources of dubious legality. Please don't inform the authorities and ENJOY!

Obviously everyone knows how Zero Dark Thirty ends. Seal Team Six killed Osama Bin Laden. Fact. Beyond that, large details of finding and killing him are available for anyone with the interest to dig. Apart from that, watching the movie a month an a half after it was released, I felt like I knew beat by beat what Director Kathryn Bigelow included in her Hurt Locker follow up. With my regular consumption of culture content, I heard so much discussion as the passive receptor, that I did not have a great deal of enthusiasm to watch the movie for my heralded Illegal Oscar series. 

It bested those flattened expectations to such a great degree. What I did not see coming was the terse, distant main character of Jessica Chastain standing in for the watcher. I really like miss Chastain and found her a powerful force in last year's indomitable Tree of Life as well as the goose bumping Take Shelter. I suppose I thought she would play a similar, motherly character in Zero. No, she played a blank slate. 

For the first half of the movie, I found it a little off putting. I wanted to know who this person was that we followed so closely. Where were her connections with the world? Where was her past? As the quick pace of the movie barely let you get your balance, I began to understand the singular focus kept Mia from from connections or a past. 

More that that, the cold distance with which she took on her tireless role to track Bin Laden down and eventually orchestrate his death was the same vengeful numbness that America itself had to adopt post 9/11. There is no direct link given between her Mia character and the events of 9/11. It is only personal to her in the same way that it was personal to most directly unaffected Americans. As the opening twenty minutes deal with the torture of a captured terrorist, she shows the slightest bit of weakness. However, immediately she steels herself on up. A job's a job and she can't be weak about it. 

After those twenty minutes, the characters stop their torturing ways. From all of the brew ha kicked up around the plot point, I  thought half of the movie would involve red hot pokers and bamboo shoots. I will go on record to say that I don't think the movie endorses torture. I don't think it condemns it either. It was challenging to watchEven though the use of yarn and cork boards was severely, questionably limited, this movie was pretty fantastic. and a part of me felt unsatisfied with the results. I'm not pointing out a film flaw, rather I felt complicit with the movies actions and as it ended, my ethics felt fringed as I suspect was the intended result. 

There is a larger question than the torture. The use of torture in the film is a fact, requirements to complete a job. That job was to kill Osama. If A then B, if B then C; A, therefore C. The movie carries with it a presupposition to kill Bin Laden and it carries it with a bowed back. Rather than the parts that make up the whole, by the end as Mia reacts to the end of her decade long mission, it is the whole that is ultimately challenged with no hint of answer in sight. 

That I feel is the real toughly fought challenge of Zero Dark Thirty. The complicated relationship with revenge and closure, obsession and duty tangled the characters, the viewers and by figurative extension the country into such an unwieldy knot that I didn't know where to even begin to untie myself from it.

Art!

Every once in a while, the script would veer into coincidental theatrics, breaking my connection with the plot. It is a small complaint but a noticeable one in such a dedicatedly effective movie. I had to mention it. 

So yeah: Zero Dark Thirty carried a weight that swept me into it with a stern, relatable gravity. It wore the zeitgeist around its neck like a Flava Flav doomsday clock, ticking down to atomic midnight. 

That simile might have gotten away from me.