lyrispect:

To sleep with anger

means only one thing you know

… killer sheep

E. King makes everything better. Get her The Seven EP; you won’t be sorry. What a songcrafts(wo)man she is!!!

Emily King’s Down Remix - Live clip - Rockwood Music Hall, February 28th 2012

Aural Loveliness…

apsoul:

APSOUL: The Demo Sessions. Here is a snippet of a song on the upcoming album.

“To my father”

melaniecharlesmusic:

PAt YO AFro…

My current series fixation: THE PECULIAR KIND, a pretty fascinating unscripted webseries where queer women of color talk about themselves and their lives.

Jimi…musing.

The uber-talented, MS. SASHA ALLEN, musical theater veteran and go-to touring background singer for Xtina and Babyface, to name a few. Whoaaa! Thank God for all of ‘Whitney’s children’ (those saaangin’ divas-in-training whom she inspired to really hone and develop their chops). Their existence make losing WHITNEY on FEB 11, 2012 hurt just a little bit less.  Sigh…

Starring: Salma Hayek, Alfred Molina, Geoffrey Rush, Mia Maestro, Valeria Golino, Edward Norton, Antonio Banderas, Ashley Judd
Directed by: Julie Taymor
Screenplay by: Clancy Sigal, Edward Norton, Gregory Nava (among others)

Mention the name Frida Kahlo these days, and chances are the person you are addressing will know to whom you refer. Recognition and appreciation of Kahlo, though, is a relatively recent (last 30 years or so) phenomenon here in the US. Her ascent in esteem can be attributed, in large part, to the positive revisionist efforts of the women’s movement. In particular, Hayden Herrera’s 1983 biomythographical (to borrow a wonderfully rich literary neologism coined by Audre Lorde) book-length treatment of Frida’s life went very far in introducing the world to a woman who is arguably Mexico’s greatest painter. Madonna and J.LO’s mad rush to be the first to bring Kahlo’s life to the big-screen also fomented interest and visibility for Mexico’s gran artista feminina. All of the renewed interest paid off for me in a personal way when I got to see Kahlo’s work up close when The Philadelphia (my hometown) Museum of Art mounted an ambitious exhibition of Kahlo’s work in 2008 on the 100th anniversary of her birth. Still, given that human beings tend to be guilessly (mostly, I think) reductive, Kahlo’s personage and heady artistic contributions have  often been boiled down to “uni-brow, mustache, and bloody self-portraits.” Clearly, Frida was so much more. Iconography can be such an unforgiving and restricting beast! Thankfully, actor Salma Hayek’s decade long filmic labor of love reveals layers upon layers of this most complicated and truly modern woman. This film certainly bolsters Kahlo’s icon status, but, to its credit, it does try to tell a more complete story.

Frida, as a biopic, follows the familiar storytelling trajectory for that kind of picture. That is to say, it adheres to a kind of temporal linearity. There are, however, a number of whimsical and highly imaginative divergences that upend the roteness of the genre. (more on that a bit later…) In the opening of the film we meet a young Frida circa 1915 who is impish, strong-willed and clearly charmed by life. That little girl morphs into the university art student who is still making mischief, but who now exudes a kind of earthy sensuality, fearlessness and restless intelligence. This Frida is outspoken, attenuates boundaries through sartorial gender play and is uncowered by the perceived headiness of the theoretical writings of the likes of Shoeppenhauer and Hegel. In the midst of a heated debate with her then boyfriend about the influence of Marx on these and other critical thinker, the bus transporting the two crashes into a building. As a result of this collision, Frida suffers a crushed pelvis and left foot and a twisted spine. Her injuries leave her bed-ridden for months and necessitate dozens of painful operations over the course of her life. Frida would never fully recover from the accident, living with chronic, often unbearable pain, walking with a limp for the rest of her life. In her the last years she was pretty much confined to either a wheel chair or to her bed. Some of Frida’s most anguished and poignant paintings convey the physical and mental devastation she suffered as a result of her post-accident body.

SEE AN EXAMPLE : La Columna Rota (Broken Column)

The first indication that this biopic will not exactly be “paint by numbers”, as some critics have suggested it is, is the way in which director Julie Taymor chooses to dramatize the post-accident surgeries needed to put Frida’s torso back together again. Here there are some wonderful animated effects with what look like x-rayed, skeletal Day of the Dead figurines operating on Frida. The effect is both surreal and absurdist and it underscores, I think, the tenuousness of our physiology and reduces it to its barest element, the carbon of our bones. In addition, this scene seems to communicate the medical community’s dialectically comedic and often diabolical hubris with respect to its (in) abilities and right to reshape the human form. The skeletal figurines and their hyperactive motions in this scene invest it with far more ensanguined enormity and horror than just seeing the familiar operating room trappings and gore. Well done, Julie Taymor!

It is during her post-accident convalescence that a bedridden Frida’s passion for painting as self-expression becomes palpable for the audience. Frida, in interviews and the like, often commented that she would simply “paint her reality.” Confined to a full torso cast and relegated to being mostly horizontal, Frida uses whatever is in her purview as artistic subject, even her own feet. As her body heals, she is able to use a mirror to paint her own visage and then graduates to portraits of her family members. Needing to make money to help support her family, Frida begins to see art as commerce as well. She seeks out Mexican muralist, Diego Rivera, for his opinion of both her creative and of her commercial viability as an artist. Rivera is impressed with her gift and tells her so. Frida wants to be mentored by Diego, but makes it clear from the start that they are to be compadres only. It is not long, however, before Frida begins to see her twin soul in the unkept, lumbering, unsuccessfully posturing and rapaciously sexual muralist.

The lionsshare of the film chronicles the tempestuous open marriage between Diego and Frida. Both had many lovers during their marriage. Frida, though, did a better job of being discreet about her liaisons with both men and women. To the film’s credit, Frida’s bisexuality is frankly related in this film. Kudos to Hayek for being fearless about this aspect of the artist’s life. One of Frida’s more famous female lovers, Chavela Vargas, even has a cameo in the film singing in a bar scene. Diego didn’t care to successfully hide his dalliances, including one with Frida’s sister, Cristina. Although Frida’s relationship with Diego is interesting stuff, I think the film privileges it a bit too much. What suffers, as a result, is any real exposition of Frida’s relationship to her art. What did the brush feel like in her hand, what did the paint smell like, what physical sensations accompanied the motion of putting brush to canvas? Did she theorize at all about her art? Were her obvious influences studied ones? Whom else did she admire artistically, aside from Rivera and Picasso? I don’t feel the film does an adequate job of concretizing her genius, nor her artistic process. I’m not sure, though, how one would successfully do all of that cinematically for Frida. I think Julian Schnabel (despite some of the issues I have with that biopic) did a much better job with a few of these intangibles in Basquiat with Jeffrey Wright in the title role. I also found Ed Harris directing himself in the Jackson Pollack biopic to be slightly richer in that regard. What director Julie Taymor does infinitely better with this film is to capture the whimsy and hyper-reality of Frida’s paintings. Many of Frida’s most famous paintings are historicized and brought to life in the film. These touches of magic realism inventively delineate how Frida’s life was her art and vice versa.

Hayek’s performance is such a soulful one. We don’t, as a matter of course, see these kinds of performances much anymore, with the exception of Meryl Streep and Jeffrey Wright. Streep’s turn as the titular character in Sophie’s Choice, her truly transformative realization as Italian-born, Iowa-moored housewife, Francesca, in The Bridges of Madison County, Wright’s feral performance as Dr. Martin Luther King in Boycott and his heartbreakingly fragile, deeply human & mercurial portrayal of Basquiat are the yardsticks by which I measure degrees of soul on screen. Film performances of late have become too “actory-ly.” By that I mean that many of the so-called great actors of the last 25 years or so constantly employ a stable of expressions and bodily ticks that pass as craft, but which evince nothing of the chi or the anima even of the actor nor of the character/person being portrayed. I hate to say it but Tom Hanks, De Niro and Clooney are all guilty of this. Julia Roberts stays in schicht-ville these days with the hair tossing and horse laugh in her go-to arsenal, but I wouldn’t say she belongs on any ‘best actor” list. Anyway, I digress… In Frida, Salma seems to have inhaled, imbibed, and channeled the very essence of her subject. I’m not at all sure of the nuts and bolts of how she accomplishes this, but she delivers an emotional, affecting, self-aware and intimate performance the likes of which I did not think her capable. Certainly, her work in From Dusk ‘Til Dawn, Time Code, The Velocity of Gary, Fools Rush In (all of which I’ve seen more than once) in no way pre-sages this level of intelligent, measured and impuriently sexy craftsmanship. It probably helps that she is playing opposite Alfred Molina (The Man Who Knew Too Little, Chocolat) as Diego. Molina’s portrayal elicits such sympathy from me. For years, I have so strongly disliked Rivera the person while still remaining awed by his creative output. Molina and Hayek together make me wish I could buy into the diluted storybook trappings of the film romance, but I know better.

There are some other glaring elisions and gentle contortions of truth that I find curious in this film: After Leon Trotsky’s assassination, for which both Frida and Diego were suspected conspirators, the two of them repudiated their once fervent Trotskyism and turned, instead, to Stalism. They did so even in the face of the overwhelming evidence that Stalin was a mass murderer. In addition, Frida, as evinced through the style of art she committed to canvas and through her body art (meaning her affinity for really ornate native Mexican dress), was extremely nationalistic. Nothing wrong with that on the surface, but the other side of that coin is that she was rabidly anti-American. She truly disdained gringos. That worldview is readily apparent in her diary. The absence of these and other truths from the film do not make it any less of a beautiful piece of life art, but I would have been very interested to see how these revelations would further complicate an already complexly reticulated biographical subject. I dislike the filmic tendency to engage in hagiography of real life figures. Frida was extraordinary in her gifts and the beautiful hyperrealism and surrealism she was able to capture on canvas. But what is equally fascinating were her faults and moral ambiguities. But, you know, that’s just me.

Frida, as film, works on many levels: it’s a solid biopic; it’s a wonderful entrée to Frida’s work; it’s a love story of the epic and operatic kind; and it’s a love letter to a Mexico that no longer exists and to a native daughter who adored her homeland, its people and its indigenous cultures. Rent it today!

This year’s best in films were very brown, very queer and happily not US-dominated and I, for one, loved every second of it! Women of color directors released fantastic, deeply emotionally resonant and self-assured pictures this year (Ava DuVernary, Maryam Keshavarz, Dee Rees and documentarian Sonali Gulati). Films with substantive and thoughtful queer themes abound in my list this year, as well. There are 3 films in my list that qualify as brown girl bildungsromans. That’s shocking to me and wonderful because historically only eurocentric stories of that kind (usually male) were deemed universal enough to warrant films. All of these trends are especially satisfying to me as a hungry cineaste who is brown, queer and female.

But let’s first get my biggest disappointments out of the way:

1. Casting of Daniel Craig as Bloomkvist in GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO. That character in the book had a tangible physical fatigue, dysthymia and obliqueness that Craig’s portrayal just didn’t communicate well. Also, there was an overall torpor to the entire narrative of the film. The film looked really stylish but its pacing was too slow. They also failed to imbue a major reveal from the book with the proper gravitas in the film version. (dir: David Fincher)

2. Casting Owen Wilson as the romantic leading man in MIDNIGHT IN PARIS. That should never happen! Wilson really only has one note as an actor. The only time I’ve seen him successfully reach beyond that single note was his affecting portrayal of a lonely, successful writer with low self-esteem and a drug problem in one of my favorite comedic satires, Wes Anderson’s brilliant Royal Tenenbaums. (wr/dir: Woody Allen)

3. The undergirding transphobia & troubling multiple sexual assaults in THE SKIN I LIVE IN. I adore Almodovar and appreciate his impulse to discomfit and shock, but this film was troubling in parts. I read the lead character’s forced physical and psychological transformation in this way: the most monstrous and punitive thing that can happen to a sexually predatory, misogynist man is to become a woman. SMH! (wr/dir: Almodovar)

4. all of the very 80’s Latin American stereotypes in COLOMBIANA. The villains were one dimensional, drug-dealing, wantonly homicidal ‘bad latinos’. Also, there was a lack of a resonant emotional through-line in this film that Besson and company had in spades in Point of No Return and in The Professional, films very similar to COLOMBIANA with respect to overarching themes, deeply emotionally damaged female leads and stylistic imprimatur and tone. They simply didn’t build a good film around the ever capable Zoe Saldana. (wr: Luc Besson; dir: Olivier Megaton)

5. The uninteresting story, truly un-engaging villain and lack of cool science (which was ever present and just delightful in the 1st film) in SHERLOCK HOLMES: GAME OF SHADOWS. RDJ & Jude Law gave cheeky, wonderful performances, though.  (wr: Michele Mulroney & Kieran Mulroney; dir:  Guy Ritchie)

And now my best of the year…

KEY- (Q)=has queer content

1. (Q) CIRCUMSTANCE (wr/dir: Maryam Keshavarz)

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2.  (Q) PARIAH (wr/dir: Dee Rees)

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3.  THE ARTIST (wr/dir: Michel Hazanavicius)

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4.   I WILL FOLLOW  (wr/dir: Ava DuVernay)

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5.  (Q) WEEKEND (wr/dir: Andrew Haigh)

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6.  (Q) GUN HILL ROAD (wr/dir: Rashaad Ernesto Green)

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7.  BEATS RHYMES AND LIFE: TRAVELS OF A TRIBE CALLED QUEST   [documentary] (dir: Michael Rapaport)

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8.  (Q) I AM [documentary] (dir: Sonali Gulati)

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9.  LIFE ABOVE ALL (wr: Dennis Foon;  dir: Oliver Schmitz)

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10. (Q) WISH ME AWAY [documentary] (dir: Bobbie Birleff &  Beverly Kopf)

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***BEST LEAD PERFORMANCES BY AN ACTOR (MALE OR FEMALE)***

1.  MERYL STREEP  in IRON LADY

2.  ADEPERO ADUYE  in PARIAH

3.  KHOMOTSO MANYAKA in LIFE, ABOVE ALL

4.  MICHELLE WILLIAMS  in MY WEEK WITH MARILYN

5.  LEO DI CAPRIO  in J EDGAR

6.  JAVIER BARDEM in BUITIFUL

7.  GLENN CLOSE  in ALBERT KNOBBS

8.  SARAH KAZEMY   in CIRCUMSTANCE

9.  JEAN DUJARDON  in THE ARTIST

10. ROBIN WRIGHT in THE CONSPIRATORS

***BEST SUPPORTING PERFORMANCES BY AN ACTOR (MALE OR FEMALE)***

1.   PERNELL WALKER in PARIAH

 2.  JANET MCTEER in ALBERT KNOBBS

3.  CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER in BEGINNERS

4.  KEAOBAKA MAKANYANE  in LIFE ABOVE ALL

5.  HARMONY SANTANA  in GUN HILL ROAD

6.  KIM WAYANS in PARIAH

7.  VIGGO MORTENSEN  in DANGEROUS METHOD

8.   LUDIVINE SAGNIER in CRIME D’AMOUR

9.   RYAN PHILLIPE  in LINCOLN LAWYER

10. PAUL GIAMATTI  in IDES OF MARCH

THE MANY FACES OF MERYL STREEP

I adore Meryl Streep! That isn’t a secret. I’ve loved her since she broke my heart and nearly stole 1979’s Kramer vs Kramer away from Dustin Hoffman while playing a critical role in the film but one with few scenes. Streep is one of top 10 best things to happen to film in the last 50 years.  Huge statement…? Yes, but I stand by it. I saw her as Thatcher in Phyllida Lloyd’s (director) and Abi Morgan’s (writer) IRON LADY (<—see trailer here) this past weekend and was riveted by the story unfolding on-screen and enchanted by Streep’s performance (spot on British accent and all). Yes, the film itself made a few mis-steps: 1) the film spent way too much time showing Streep as a doddering, elderly Thatcher interacting with her long-dead husband. That was a poor editing choice that negatively impacted the story’s pacing and clear narrative temporality. 2) the film’s lack of exposition about how a 24 year old Thatcher moved up the ranks as the first female member of the Finchley House of Commons was a huge misjudgement. It would have been fascinating to see those day-to-day political machinations (both the innocuous and the significant) with which a naive Thatcher had to contend. 3) I would have liked to have seen more of her diplomatic meetings (as prime minister) with leaders from other countries…a more bird’s eye view. I loved her Falklands War meeting with then US Secretary of State Alexander Haig that was included in the film.  It is said that Thatcher enjoyed a collegial and relatively close political relationship with Ronald Reagan. Getting a slightly more substantive snapshot of the leaders of the #1 and #2 super powers would have been gold to me.  4) I think Jim Broadbent was woefully mis-cast as Thatcher’s husband.  I’ve seen Broadbent give great character actor performances, but Streep outshined him so acutely here. I thought the young Denis Thatcher (actor Harry Lloyd) had a lot more charisma than Broadbent did as the older incarnation of Denis. Moreover, I never understood Denis Thatcher as a mind nor as a personality. Why would he stick by her for all of those years when he clearly felt neglected and thought her ambition bordered on reckless narcissism at times? (Here I mean exposition beyond the marriage proposal scene where he promises never to try to make her conform to the mold of a “tea cup washer” type of wife and mother.) It never became clear to me, either, what Margaret first saw in a young Denis to make her think, “now here is a man who can shoulder my prodigious ambition and not feel diminished by it.” In any event, what did work for me in spades was that every single second Streep was on-screen she commanded and got my rapt attention. Her Margaret Thatcher portrayal was steely, calculating, charming, intelligent, vulnerable, human and imbued with a kind of humor I never thought the real Thatcher possessed. I really cannot deconstruct how Streep wove those complicated and sometimes incongruent layers of Thatcher’s being together into such a reticulated and fascinating patchwork, but she did it…like she always does it. Frankly, I don’t think I want to know how she makes her magic; I just want to watch and listen to her do it over and over again. This film and Streep’s performance made me re-think what I thought I resolutely knew (and perhaps disliked) about The Iron Lady and her policies. That’s the sign of a good film and a stellar lead performance.

My top 5 favorite Streep performances:

1. Sophie’s Choice (Won Best Actress in a Leading Role Oscar-1983)

2. Silkwood

3. Iron Lady (Won Best Performance by an Actress-Drama Golden Globe-2011)

4. Bridges of Madison County tied with Devil Wears Prada (DWP Won Best Perf by an Actress in a Motion Picture-Comedy or Musical Golden Globe 2007)

5. Kramer vs Kramer (Won Best Actress in a Supporting Role Oscar and Golden Globe-1980)