nicked from imdbI found Red, a 2010 action comedy, an amusing diversion. Good actors, decent script (based on Warren Ellis source material), nice soundtracking and editing. Bruce Willis plays a retired CIA agent who stumbles on a series of murders and ropes in John Malkovich, Morgan Freeman, and Helen Mirren to get to the bottom of the case. Done successfully, with a nice bad guy flip at the end.

The movie did, however, hit three of my sore spots regarding movies in general. I’d like to say these problems are limited to genre fare, but they’re not.

The first is relatively minor, but I think it’s astoundingly common. Take the one really cool special effect – the one about which the effects department is most proud – and put it in the trailer. No! Let it actually astound the audience in its proper context the way it was supposed to.

Note: Spoilers below. Read the rest of this entry »

How is that supposedly respectable journalistic organs like the BBC and the Telegraph still can’t get it right? A couple of weeks ago, there was a great satire about a recent celebrity wedding involving an accomplished lawyer and an actor. Alas, it was satire, because the press still can’t help saying that George expletivedeleted Clooney’s wife is doing something interesting and important. Not that Amal Alamuddin is leading a new battle to return the parthenon marbles to Greece, but that The new wife of Hollywood star George Clooney, lawyer Amal Clooney, has had talks with Greek PM Antonis Samaras as part of a campaign to return the Parthenon sculptures from Britain.

Yes, that is the opening paragraph.

Nothing about her extensive accomplishments as a barrister, an activist, and human being in her own right. No, first she’s someone’s wife and then she’s off doing something as if her husband is the key to her accomplishing anything.

Much as I enjoyed Clooney in Ocean’s 11 and South Park, his CV doesn’t hold a candle to hers.

And the Telegraph is racing the BBC to scrape the bottom of the Daily Mail’s barrel: ‘Hollywood actor George Clooney’s new wife, human rights lawyer Amal Alamuddin Clooney, made an impassioned plea on Wednesday for the return of the Parthenon Marbles to Athens…’ To the Telegraph’s credit, they manage discuss the topic at hand for four paragraphs before injecting: ‘Clooney, who married last month in a glitzy, star-studded wedding in Venice,’ as if that had anything to do with anything.

It’s damning with faint praise to indicate that neither the Telegraph nor the BBC mentioned her clothing. They left that to the Daily Mail which headed its story on the matter, ‘Hard at work! Amal Clooney looks elegant during Acropolis museum visit in Greece… ‘

I don’t consider that progress, however.

In 1985, the band Coil released a cover of the song Tainted Love. In the booklet for the Scatology CD on which it appears, there was a photo of the two core members, John Balance and Peter Christopherson and text indicating that at publication some relatively small (but shockingly large if you knew them) number of people in the UK had died of AIDS. 184, if I recall correctly.

In the early 1980s, when it was obvious that the vast number of westerners dying of HIV were gay or drug users, the religious right could point at the victims and claim it was divine punishment for sin. What had yet to name itself the Reality-based Community saw this demagoguery for what it was, and fought hard to get some recognition for what was actually happening: a health crisis of vast proportions. The fact that President Reagan would not utter the name of the disease until it was well past time that a concerted effort could have eradicated it. (In a 1982 press conference, White House spokesperson Larry Speakes laughed about it when a reporter asked about the 600 cases then diagnosed.) And now (though we don’t talk about it much), millions of people are still infected with it, with numbers growing primarily in Africa (for a variety of well-researched reasons), but in the west as well.

The BBC yesterday morning indicated that in the latest outbreak of Ebola, 4417 people had died of the disease. Most of them Black and most of them not in the West. The Onion ran a headline to the effect that ‘we’re only fifty white people from a cure for Ebola‘. If only. Papers yesterday ran editorials pointing to slashed medical research budgets in the US being key to our not having an effective and mass-producible treatment for Ebola. Shocking as fuck, that one. As is the fact that the US doesn’t have a surgeon general because the NRA of all groups objected to President Obama’s nomination.

Rachel Maddow reported two nights ago that new cases are coming up in Africa at a rate of 1000 per week and are on track to increase to 10,000 per week in the coming months. And how does the US react to its first case? The family of Thomas Edward Duncan were quarantined in the house where he fell ill for, what, a week? With his sweat and vomit soaked bedding, and no one would step up and take them in. Christian charity finally came in the form of a Dallas county official who secured them rooms in a private home. In all of Texas, *no one* else stood up? Big fucking state to have so many cowards. Would I step up? I don’t know. When Ebola comes to NL, we’ll see if our infrastructure is up to the task. I wish I could say ‘If Ebola’, but given the current spread, I think it’s unlikely to stay in small African countries about which the rich countries couldn’t give two farts.

I’m not sure when I last wrote a poem – for a few years I wrote about one a week and have a bit of a trove. I started this one several weeks ago and came to the last few lines last night…

Poetry, I’m told, is a young person’s game.

I gave it up, as old men give up war and the battlefield of love,
I gave my pen to the deeper pursuits of failed novels, epics of
Unemployed suburban youth.

The anger between the wars, I could mould it in my hand,
Infidelity, injury, and muddy marching boots took command
Of my inkpot and pen.

My voice soft, as if speaking with neither guilt nor pride,
“This decade will surprise me if we get to the other side
Without a world war.”

Does shame lie, in the conflict of Sapphic stanzas,
Mining, as of old, those coffee house bonanzas,
Polite applause, and smoke?

Mars and the muse call me up as if indignation
were a ready schoolboy’s infatuation
This object first then that.

The horror expands as a fast receding ocean
Constructs of itself a wall fast in motion
Towards my hovels.

I don’t fear so much the wall of water,
But those who on great signposts totter
That read ‘New beachfront property.’

The last movie I saw in the theatre was Magic in the Moonlight which confirmed for me that Woody Allen has little or no use for women (or at this point character development). I’m about 90% sure it didn’t pass the test. The last movie I saw that did pass the Bechdel test? Frozen. That was a surprise.

Yes, the test was originally part of a satire, but it’s still not a bad starting point when creating a movie. Damn sad that it still seems to be a point to change when taking a script from paper to screen.

On the other hand, Bechdel was just awarded a MacArthur fellowship which is really bloody cool.

Sabina's avatarVictim to Charm

Think about the last movie you saw. Were there two or more female characters? Did they talk to each other about something besides men?

The Bechdel test, created by Alison Bechdel, examines female roles in movies by asking three questions:

  • Are there two or more women in the film?
  • Do they talk to each other?
  • Is their conversation about something other than a man?

alison bechdel, dykes to watch out for From Alison Bechdel’s comic strip “Dykes to Watch Out For” (1985).

The test seems simple—women talk to each other about things besides men all the time in real life—yet a surprisingly high number of movies fail to represent this basic activity.

5540832_origThe test is so basic because it’s a standard that should be easy to pass. The fact that so many movies fail to achieve one, two, or all three of the test’s clauses highlights the rampant misogyny of the film industry. If a movie can’t…

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