Not much new lately? Well, not that I’ve been idle – I just finished off the soundtrack for a film that will open in New York in April. But today, I bring thee, two pieces of rock music!
Down Home Rockin is a sort of guitar-driven 12-bar blues-rock piece with a nice little piano solo. Pretty straightforward.
The other piece, Neolith, is a little harder to put my finger on. It is certainly rock – and fast rock at that, clocking in at 145 beats per minute. The guitar mostly in the right channel has a hard gate effect on eighth notes, giving it an almost percussive drive. The one on the left is extended power chords with a hint of a major mode to them – as opposed to the traditional unqualified (open root fifth) or minor chords that you usually find in hard rock pieces. The effect is striking at times.
Both are interesting. Enjoy!

I should have driven to Chicago. I should have at least called in sick to work yesterday so I could have watched this film that much sooner. Stupid day job. But now I’ve seen it, and I think I can safely say that this may be the best movie I’m going to see in all of 2007.
Clive Owen plays Theo Faron (and plays him beautifully, I might add), an average guy living and working in 2027 London. But there’s nothing average about the rest of the world. It’s been eighteen years since the last baby was born, and no one can work out why women no longer seem able to get pregnant. Great Britain is apparently one of the last bastions of civilization — such as it is. The island is full of “refugee camps”, since any immigration to England is apparently now forbidden, and these are just as bad as you might imagine, summoning up images of Nazi concentration camps. The entire city of Bexhill, real-world population 40,000, is now nothing but a giant, filthy camp full of desperate people. The buses may all run on time, but garbage pickup apparently stopped eighteen years ago as well.
Theo is an observer, moving through the world quietly, trying to forget that there’s anything wrong. Enter Julian, (Julianne Moore), his ex and current leader of one of England’s many rebel groups. Her group, The Fishes, has found what they think may be the world’s salvation: a young West African refugee named Kee (Claire-Hope Ashitey). Kee just happens to be eight months pregnant.

Theo helps a frightened Kee through the Bexhill Refugee Camp.

Julian wants to get Kee to a place called The Human Project, a semi-mythical island outpost where scientists work to reverse the pattern of infertility, and she needs Theo, or more accurately Theo’s cousin, to get the necessary travel papers. Life has become much like living in the pages of Orwell’s 1984; you need your identity card constantly, and it seems as though every other tree has a camera in it somewhere, watching you.
Though he resists, Theo is soon pulled in too deeply to back out. After a slightly rocky start, he develops a sweet, protective friendship with Kee as they fight their way through the chaos, clinging to the faint hope she represents. The mood of the film never quite reaches optimism, but even the cynical, numb Theo realizes what the existence of Kee’s baby might mean. It’s amazing to see the reactions of those who suddenly discover there’s a pregnant woman in front of them — some think “government reward”, or “rallying point”, but most show only sheer astonishment, joy, and sometimes something very like religious rapture.
The film defies categorization. It’s a bleak, terrifying view of the future, but to label it simply a dystopian movie is much too pat. There are several shining moments of genuine humor and hope. It’s an action movie, but far transcends that genre as well. Theo is almost an anti-hero — he’s very much a regular guy, struggling with his self-appointed guardian role, and continually outgunned. He never touches a gun, in fact, and is only able to physically fight back a few times. He almost seems more at home on the edges of a scene rather than the center. (Many important things are shown on the edges of the screen, actually, something which strangely made me feel even more involved in the film.) Theo listens and watches, and quietly does what he can.
I wish I could tell you more, because nearly every scene is well worth discussing. Sir Michael Caine gives a wonderful performance as Theo’s friend Jasper Palmer, an ex-political cartoonist who now lives in a hidden forest cabin, almost a refugee himself. Julian’s compatriots are the epitome of fanatical belief, frighteningly inspiring in their determination. Every extra is exactly right, and every background detail is striking. (Posters everywhere announce with chilling matter-of-factness that skipping fertility testing is a crime, and you know they mean a serious crime. A grafitti artist has scrawled “The last one to die please turn out the light.”) Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography and Alfonso Cuarón’s directing were both amazing. In short, it was all stunning.
I usually sit in my seat with my little notebook, pausing now and then to scribble a few words as a reminder. This time, I wrote almost nothing — I was so quickly wrapped up in the film that I neglected the notebook and nearly dropped my pencil because I forgot it was in my hand. And I’m not one to lose myself in a film like that.
This could only get the full five out of five idols. Trust me, go watch it now. I’m just going to go check on pre-ordering the DVD.

As you can see, I couldn’t stomach the idea of Black Christmas, which must come as no surprise to my dozen or so loyal readers. So it was a blast from the past today, in more ways than one, as I went to the second run theatre to check out this film. On the plus side, with only six other people in the theatre, I have absolutely nothing to complain about there. On the other hand, the movie has been out for some time. Instead of a very late theatre review, though, how about we call this a very early DVD review? Okay, I can’t really discuss the extras, but the word is that there’ll be deleted scenes, a making of documentary, and something called “Cribs with Louis XVI”. Sounds opulent.
I try to avoid reading too much hype before a film, especially a historically based one like this. I like history a lot, so I generally have a good idea of what’s going to happen anyway. In this case, I even read the book the film was based on (Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser), not to mention several others on the ill-fated queen as well. So I thought I knew what I was in for.
Then the credits started — hot pink credits on a black background, showed to the strains of “Natural’s Not In It” by Gang of Four– and I realized that I was in fact watching A Knight’s Tale: 400 Years Later. The title itself was in a banner style that would have looked more at home on the cover of a 1930’s pulp crime novel. During a scene featuring extravagant clothes, cakes and dainties, “I Want Candy” was played. Just as I was starting to be relieved that at least no one was dancing to the anachronistic music like in A Knight’s Tale, there was a ballroom scene with Marie spinning around giddily to the strains of Siouxsie and the Banshees.
And yet the movie was, strangely, more accurate than not. Events were skipped over and smoothed out for the sake of drama, as always happens in historical films, but for the most part, everything was there. (The only anachronisms that kept bothering me were the constant appearance of boom mikes at the top of the screen.) Granted, had they showed a little less of Marie frolicking in her country retreat and playing at being a peasant, they could have fit in more actual history, but whatever. It was only a two hour movie, but during the frolicking, I started thinking I must have misread the length and it was actually three hours. Not a good sign.

Marie Antoinette after eating one too many of those suspiciously pink bonbons.

Don’t get me wrong, Kirsten Dunst was great in the part. I think had it been anyone else, I might have gotten extremely annoyed with the character at times. But historically, poor Marie really was in completely over her head (sorry), and Kirsten did a good job portraying that. She got the same look on her face that I get whenever anyone starts discussing politics. And, sadly, she was allowed to ignore all the problems until they were completely out of hand.
Jason Schwartzman (Max Fischer from Rushmore, though he looks much better here) showed King Louis XVI as being equally out of his depth; a quiet, well-meaning, but ultimately helpless sort of man. He was pretty helpless in the marriage bed, too, which caused even more problems all around — he was sort of an eighteenth century nerd, I guess. It wasn’t too surprising, though; the scrutiny undergone by the likes of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt today pales in comparison to the observation Marie and Louis went through. After a ten-second wedding and a rather longer bedding ceremony, he was expected to perform with a complete stranger, and the poor guy was just too shy for that.
The opulence and formality of the court was wonderfully portrayed; all the rituals were incredibly detailed and complicated — and completely ridiculous, as Marie herself pointed out. The rooms dripped with gold trim, and Marie and her ladies filled them with rich fabrics, wigs, and some of the most ridiculous shoes you can imagine. Speaking of wigs, there were, unsurprisingly, a great many people listed as hair stylists and wig makers. There was even one person listed as a “hair driver”, which is the most fascinating job description I’ve seen for a while. I can’t find anything on the net about it, though. I’ll just have to picture someone ferrying wigs around in a little wooden cart.
By the end of the film, I was starting to think that maybe Versailles really had been like that — full of overbright colors and impossible looking food, maybe even the sounds of the eighteenth century equivalent of Bow Wow Wow and The Cure. I guess what I mean to say is that whatever its historical flaws might have been, it gave an excellent sense of the feel of that place and time. Marie became a friend of yours, struggling to fit in, and Louis was the boy next door, playing very seriously at being King. I give this one three idols, though that’s mainly for Kirsten and Jason’s acting, and those wonderfully rich sets — totally over the top, but glittering and gorgeous. Overall, the pacing was uneven, and the flash overwhelmed the substance so much, it was like eating one of those infamous cakes: sweet, delicious, but ultimately a lot of empty calories.

So I really want to see Children of Men. It was listed online as going into wide release this weekend, and I almost squealed. It’s got Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, a nice, dark future storyline, and it’s based on a book by P.D. James — in other words, it showed every sign of being an excellent, intelligent sort of film. I immediately started making plans to go see it.
Except I can’t.
“Wide release” generally means that a movie is playing within five miles of my house. A week ago, I would have said always instead of generally, but now my optimism has been cruelly dashed. I don’t live in a major metropolitan area, but I don’t live in Upper Nowheresville, either.
I started doing more research. In a few places, it was still listed as being in limited release, but most agreed that it was, in fact, in wide release. So why wasn’t it playing any nearer than Chicago? Chicago is at least a three and a half hour drive under optimum conditions, and conditions are never optimum. I vaguely started calculating gas costs, but that was just too depressing.
Then I looked up the definition of wide release.

A nice still picture from Children of Men to look at longingly

Wikipedia (very cool site, go try it if you haven’t already) informed me that “wide release” meant only that a film was showing on at least 600 screens nationwide. Another source claimed 650 was a better number, while others implied that 1000 was the minimum for a true wide release. Apparently even the movie industry itself isn’t quite sure of its terms.
But that still didn’t seem right. Even at the minimum six hundred screens, that was twelve screens per state. Obviously California and New York are going to be greedy and claim more than that for themselves, but places like New Mexico and Montana wouldn’t use up all twelve of theirs, would they? Or am I just being unfair to New Mexico and Montana?
Finally I looked at imdb.com, wondering its opinion on wide release. I couldn’t find that, but I did find a handy, if undetailed, map of all the cities where Children of Men is currently playing in the U.S. as of 29 December 2006. All eleven of them.
Wait, eleven?
There’s one somewhere in Washington state, two in San Francisco, and two in L.A. One is the listing I found for Chicago, one is somewhere in Texas (Dallas?), and one looks to be in Atlanta. The other three are scattered along the eastern seaboard at regular intervals — maybe Washington, DC, Boston, and New York City?
Suddenly I feel very fortunate to have to drive only three and a half hours. But if this is wide release, than each of those eleven cities is, at a minimum, showing the film on fifty-four and a half screens. I’m pretty sure even L.A. isn’t that greedy.
This is where I give up. Something’s wrong somewhere, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll just start working up the courage to check again next Friday. In the meantime, I’ll go see Perfume, even though I suspect that one isn’t nearly as good.
Perfume: The Story of a Murderer
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*contemplates Black Christmas*
*sobs*

This piece came out of a piano sketch I did a few days ago, but really took flight during the orchestral arrangement. The very low English horn line brings a lot of character to the piece. It is supported by bassoons, and later, a bass clarinet.
Unlike last week’s Bach Sinfonia, this piece has a lot of potential for film. Animators out there, you listening to this?
Behold! The Scheming Weasel! (available in 2 tempos!)

Okay, I have to say this first: Matt Damon is absolutely wonderful. I rarely get all girly, but something about Matt just makes me want to sigh and bat my eyelashes. Ah, if only I was a real movie critic — I could have seen this movie days ago in a lovely private screening. Instead, this time, a middle-aged couple reeking of onions sat down at the end of my row just as the film started, and the male half of the couple apparently wasn’t used to paying attention, because the whole last half of the movie was peppered with questions like, “What does that mean?” and “Is he a spy, too?” I may have to stop mentioning the annoyances of the theatre; it’s nice to vent, but it eats up valuable review space.
The wonderful Matt Damon plays super-spy Edward Wilson, a character very loosely based on real-life CIA founder James Jesus Angleton. The film traces decades of real-life history, beginning in 1961 with the Bay of Pigs invasion and flashing back often to Edward’s early career, like his indoctrination into the Skull and Bones Society. I thought that this was made-up, actually. The initiation rites shown here are so bizarre that I was sure it had to be fiction, but apparently it’s real, and Junior (or W, or President Bush, or whatever you want to call him) was a member, as were many other powerful men. Personally, I’m not sure it’s such a good thing that any men in power once thought it was a good idea to strip naked and mud wrestle each other while being urinated on from above.
As a member of an upper-crust family, Edward always associates with the movers and shakers of Washington, and he slowly becomes enmeshed in the growing intelligence network. Always tight-lipped, he becomes more and more contained and controlled as he rises through the ranks, and his cool stares are almost frightening at times. But, because he’s Matt Damon, women still throw themselves at him. Angelina Jolie throws herself at him (and she’s pretty scary herself in that scene, though in the opposite way) and he ends up having to marry her, because that’s just what you did in the forties when the girl got pregnant.
Now, Angelina is a good actress. She holds her own with Matt (did I mention he’s wonderful?), and that’s especially impressive because I have to say that I didn’t think her part was developed as it should have been. But there’s something about her that keeps me from forgetting that she’s Angelina, no matter how well she acts. I had the same problem watching a movie called The Grey Zone, which is based on the true story of a group of Hungarian Jews in Auschwitz, being forced to assist in gassing fellow Jews. It’s a horribly bleak chapter in history, excellently portrayed, but every time Steve Buscemi was on-screen, I kept thinking, “Okay, there’s Steve,” and completely forgetting the fact that he was supposed to be a Hungarian Jew. Again, it was fine acting, but I just couldn’t forget he was acting. It’s the same here with Angelina. Maybe it’s the lips.
Anyway, Angelina has a little boy, who I decided was a demon child from the first moment he appeared on screen. He was nearly as distant as Edward in some ways, but somehow, much scarier. I kept imagining what the neighbors would say about him after they heard he went on a shooting spree. Edward’s father committed suicide when Edward was six, and Edward Jr. grows up almost equally fatherless. In later years, as so often seems to happen in such cases, he grows to idolize his father, and tries his best to be like him. Edward Jr. finally ends up being much more open, though, so you know he’s pretty much doomed in any sort of spying-related profession.
There are plenty of places in the movie where, if you’re paying attention (or perhaps listening to the middle-aged woman down the way explain things to her husband), you know exactly what’s going to happen. It’s a catastrophic car crash happening in slow motion, and you’re just aching to try and stop it, even though you know you can’t. A couple of carefully chosen words (as nearly all the words in this movie are), a certain look, and you know someone’s about to die or be betrayed. Both happen a lot in the movie, unsurprisingly.
Things do sometimes get a little confusing as the plot jumps around choronologically, though probably those who lived through the fifties and sixties, or at least studied them (unlike me, who gets lost quickly after the end of WWII) will do better. Even aside from the helpful captions giving the dates, though, Matt himself was a good way to tell what year it was. He has a youthful enough face that he never really looked as old as the character should have looked, but if you were to string all the scenes together in pure chronological order, you’d see him getting more and more careworn. His eyes grow old, even if the rest of him doesn’t.
I’m giving this one three and three-quarter idols. For myself (for Matt’s sake), I’d give it more like four and a half, but I’m trying very hard to be impartial. Though the machinations and twists are fascinating, and the acting first-rate overall, the film does get heavy at times, even ponderous under the weight of its explorations of morality. I tend to like that sort of thing, but it can get a little complicated, and even a little dull. If you think you’ll need someone to explain it all to you, though, please make sure that you both talk very, very quietly. I’m begging you.