So — at last! — the platypus genome has been decoded, and it’s apparently a doozie, much like the duck-billed, egg-laying, fur-covered, milk-producing wonder of nature itself.
Even more interesting for me this morning, however, was the discovery that a baby platypus is called a puggle. And that it looks like this:
Puggle-Aaaaw! Pic from NYtimes.com
May I be the first to cry out “Save the Nature!” at the sight of this adorable creature?
One female anchor is losing her job; another, her clothes
By Leslie Griffith
When Katie Couric was given the title of “America’s sweetheart it was a death knell. America relishes devouring its sweethearts.
If the news magazines and newspapers are correct, Katie Couric’s career at CBS, much like Dan Rather’s, is toast. The last chapters of this complex and revealing human drama are not written yet. But the plot, the sub-plots, the dialogue, the public’s perverse interest, and the motivations are nothing if not Shakespearean.
Two years ago, Couric was the first woman to anchor the evening news broadcast on one of the big three networks. On that day, I was called by local reporters for a quote. My own career in television began 26 years ago, about the same time as Couric’s. “It’s about time,” I told the newspaper reporters.
Couric and I have a few things in common. Bay Area viewers watched as I grew up before their eyes just as Katie Couric grew up in full view of the nation. Wives use to say in various ways, “You are the only other woman I will let my husband bring into the bedroom.” The intimacy of television is still very real, but the truth tellers of old are becoming history.
Jeffrey M. Anderson looks at the latest sinister magic act from veteran auteur Claude Chabrol:
Claude Chabrol’s A Girl Cut in Two is about as good as any of his films, which is to say, it is highly skilled and hugely entertaining. Yet it will probably come and go fairly quickly. Chabrol made his fiftieth film a few years back, and when you make your fiftieth film, no one cares. If the Coen Brothers or Paul Thomas Anderson live long enough to make fifty films, just see if anyone notices. If the quality of their films falls, people will complain, but if it stays the same, they’ll be taken for granted, just like Chabrol. I guarantee it. Look at Ingmar Bergman. He cracked fifty films, and when his last, the great Saraband, opened in 2005, people could scarcely be bothered to even yawn.
Since Claude Chabrol has fewer unlicensed YouTube clips than feature films to his name, this still from A Girl Cut in Two will have to do
In any case, Chabrol’s A Girl Cut in Two tells the story of a love triangle. Beautiful, ambitious television weather girl Gabrielle (Ludivine Sagnier) falls for the much older, but successful, married writer Charles Saint-Denis (François Berléand). At the same time, a snotty, rich younger man, Paul (Benoît Magimel) is swept away by her and is even more intrigued by her utter indifference to him. The strong characters show at least two sides, slyly seducing one another while selfishly scheming. Chabrol moves the story ahead with a deceptively deft combination of humor and suspense. And of course, there’s more. It just wouldn’t be a Chabrol film if there weren’t a murder or something equally sinister.
A Girl Cut in Two screens Tues/6, 9:30 p.m. at the Clay.
Jennique Mason weighs in on Du Haibin’s Umbrella, also featured in Jeffrey M. Anderson’s ‘SFIFF, day ten’ diary:
Director Du Haibin reveals the gap between labor and commodity in his modern-day documentary odyssey Umbrella. Beginning with the actual construction of mass-produced umbrellas in an urban factory, Du traces the product’s journey as it becomes increasingly divorced from its origins. He juxtaposes the tedium and repetition of factory work with the mindless chatter of umbrella merchants’ wives who shamelessly lust after Audis and BMWs.
Can you stand under an umbrella?
Umbrella complicates these relationships with one beautiful shot after another. As factory workers, students and soldiers all attempt to shed their agricultural heritage, they find there are no guarantees in a consumer-based society. In creating a vast societal portrait through his focus on umbrellas, Du pulls off the rare feat of capturing the ephemeral. Umbrella takes modern life to its logical conclusion, succinctly stated by an auctioneer-type host at a job fair cattle call: “You go to school, so you can get a job, so you can make money, so you can buy a home, so you can start a family and send your children to school.”
Umbrella screens Thurs/8, 8:30 p.m. at the Kabuki
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
Last night, Maria Bello accepted her Peter J. Owens award and hosted a screening of her new film Yellow Handkerchief. I haven’t seen that film yet, but Bello will always have a place in my heart for her fearless performance in David Cronenberg’s A History of Violence (2005).
If you saw Buena Vista Social Club at the festival in 1999 and Calle 54 at the festival in 2001, then you may be familiar with the music of Israel ‘Cachao’ Lopez, the great Cuban songwriter and bassist who helped bring the mambo to popularity. The new Cachao: Uno Mas arrives just in time, given that Cachao passed away two months ago at the age of 89. It would be great to report that this 68-minute documentary was a worthy farewell, but it’s far too brief and it breaks the cardinal rule of music films: it interrupts the songs with talking heads.
Cachao: Uno Mas talk at SFIFF
By Justin Juul
Attention all aspiring American Apparel models! Stop eating this very moment and get yourself a one-way ticket to Downtown LA because your dreams are on the verge of crumbling. The rumors are true. As announced earlier this year, Polaroid, the world’s only instant film manufacturer, has officially announced that it will no longer be making instant film, which, of course, means that the low-fi, borderline racist, pseudo-amateur photographs American Apparel has built its legacy on will no longer be possible to produce and that the AA empire will soon crumble too. Yes, hipsters, the whole world is coming to an end.
But wait. Maybe I’m being too hasty. There is one niche market of highly influential people who, in all likelihood, will never let instant film die: art gallery curators. Their lives are about to become a whole lot easier. Soon, all they’ll need to do to guarantee a crowd is to find some random dude with a Polaroid collection and let him loose on their walls.
The End of Polaroid with Tod Brilliant is the first of what is surely to become a Bay Area tradition: The Polaroid Retrospective. Join Brilliant as he reminisces about instant film, talks about his photographs, and shares his vintage camera collection.
Artist’s Reception: May 9th from 6:00 – 9:00pm
Micro Gallery
602 Wilson St. Santa Rosa.
(707) 570-0128.
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
I love the festival’s crazy Late Show selections, but sometimes I miss them. Luckily, Abel Ferrara’s Go Go Tales screened for a third time on Wednesday afternoon. It’s very reminiscent of John Cassavetes’ 1974 The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, but not as focused. (Ferrara’s style is even more rambling.)
Willem Dafoe plays Ray Ruby, a man living his dream by running a strip club. The trouble is that the club is failing, the girls haven’t been paid and Ray loves to blow all his money on lotto tickets. A series of miniature dramas play out over the course of one night. Old friends stop in, new customers come and go, strippers dance and complain, and a man tries to sell organic hot dogs! A tanning booth explodes, nearly burning down the joint. The abrasive landlady (the great Sylvia Miles) shows up, threatening to let Bed, Bath and Beyond move in. A stripper called Monroe (Asia Argento) brings in her dog, which gets in the way. (She uses the dog in her act, and more or less makes out with him on stage.)
Bed, bath and beyond, baby!: The peerless Sylvia Miles with Go Go Tales director Abel Ferrara
By Vanessa K. Carr
First Fridays aren’t just for Oakland anymore: D-Structure now hosts art openings the first Friday of every month at their boutique in the Lower Haight.
After a successful show last month with painter Aaron Nagel, D-Structure is launching their latest exhibit, The Antique Roadshow, this Friday, 5/2. The launch party also celebrates the addition of San Francisco-based clothing line Correct Clothing to their stock.
According to Correct Clothing co-founder Thomas Lerou, “Correct Clothing is a lifestyle brand, which means we draw inspiration from the music and art that create the lifestyle. Our clothing will always be linked to music and art.”
Coming Correct
The line keeps it simple – t-shirts and hats only – that they design to be more classic than trendy.
D-Structure’s Antique Roadshow features more than 40 pieces of artwork by local artists Ian Hill, ZenTen, and TenFold, who together are known as the Swedish Milk Toast Collective. In his own way, each of these artists re-envisions the past from a futuristic perspective through the lens of urban and pop art.
Ian Hill’s “Skeptic”
To make the event “a true antique bazaar and roadshow,” says D-Structure’s Cassidy Blackwell, the store will have “antique trinkets displayed all over the gallery space.”
Tenfold takes it on the road
Music will be provided by local DJs Bogle, DJ Centipede, and Citizen Ten (a.k.a. artist TenZen).
The Antique Roadshow
Reception May 2, 8 p.m.
D-Structure
520 Haight, SF
415-252-8601
By Justin Juul
I once lived with a girl whose bedroom looked and smelled exactly like a landfill. Stained panties, pieces of trash, and soup-bowls-turned-ashtrays were strewn from one corner of her private hellhole to the next. The strange thing was that if you had never seen this girl’s room you would have thought she was normal and nice. She dressed well, spoke eloquently, and never did anything too crazy. But I knew the truth. She may have looked nice on the outside, but I knew that somewhere deep down inside there lurked a slovenly beast with no regard for order or cleanliness, a heathen with dirty underpants. That’s the thing about bedrooms. The way we decorate them can reveal something about who we really are.
Bay Area photographer Andrew McClintock certainly understands this truth. He recently spent about five years documenting the living habits of young San Franciscans. So if you’ve ever wondered what all those waiters, starving artists, and late-night-computer nerds are really like, you should check out his show at the Bluesix Acoustic room. Prepare to be shocked.
Opening reception for Andrew McClintock’s Bedrooms Series
Friday, May 2nd. 7:30 PM.
Bluesix Acoustic Room
3043 24th. SF.
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
Well, I wasn’t able to catch up with Errol Morris this time around, and I’m bummed, but I secured an interview with screenwriter extraordinaire Robert Towne, which I will share with you later in the week.
I did catch up with Touching Home, the feature debut by local twins Logan and Noah Miller, and after watching it I suspect that their future may lie more in the realm of producing than directing or acting; their meetings may be more interesting than their movies.
Touching Home touches upon Christmas
Apparently the Millers accosted Ed Harris outside the Castro Theater in 2006, when the actor received the festival’s Peter J. Owens award. They pitched him their project and even showed him a trailer. The movie itself shows similar marketing smarts. It’s the story of twin brothers, both baseball players, who dream of making the big time. One loses his scholarship and the other is fired from his bush league position, so they slink home, get jobs in the local quarry and hope for a chance in the spring in Arizona. Meanwhile, one brother reconnects with their alcoholic, gambling-addicted father (Harris) and finds a cute new girlfriend, leading to fights between the brothers.
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
The SF International Film Festival has always been open to Iranian films. Festival-goers have been able to see Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s 1996 A Moment of Innocence and 1998 The Silence, Jafar Panahi’s 2000 The Circle, Jazireh Ahani’s 2005 Iron Island, and a whole batch of Abbas Kiarostami films (he was given the festival’s “achievement in directing” award in 2000). But lately the output of Iranian films has slowed. The unfriendly Bush-era climate could be responsible for fewer Iranian films being imported to the U.S. Or it could be that the burst of new cinema from the 1990s has run its course.
This year’s SFIFF only has only one Iranian film and it’s a decidedly minor work, though still difficult to pinpoint. Mania Akbari was a painter when Kiarostami cast her as the driver for his experimental digital feature Ten (2002). The filmmaking bug bit her and she embarked on her own directorial debut, 20 Fingers (2004), a solid, if sentimental look at different facets of men/women relationships. Now, with Kiarostami’s blessing, she’s returned with the official sequel to Ten, entitled 10 + 4.
10+4, good buddy
Akbari was diagnosed with cancer and decided to make 10+4 about her disease (and about her chemotherapy and resulting baldness). I don’t like disease-of-the-week pictures anyway, but when the disease is real, forming a critical analysis is doubly hard. And when the filmmaker is prone to overreaching (Akbari is), it’s triply difficult. Perhaps making 10+4 helped Akbari come to terms with her illness, and perhaps it will do the same for someone else who watches it. At the very least, some of the film’s segments have a power of their own, hinting that the Iranian New Wave hasn’t entirely dissipated.
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
The first Saturday of the SF International Film Festival is usually loaded. This year, the broad array of movies included some disappointments: the documentary Glass: A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts showed that Phil’s a genius with wide-ranging talents and interesting friends, but it lacked drama; Ermanno Olmi’s One Hundred Nails was a letdown from the director of the masterpiece The Tree of Wooden Clogs (1978).
The Castro had the day’s best films, starting with Carlos Saura’s magical Fados, so far one of my favorites in the festival. Fado has recently come back in a big way and Saura does little more than stage several music videos back-to-back with no commentary. But each segment overflows with its own narrative and emotional power, aided by Saura’s expert staging and cinematography (the screen fills with huge squares of bold colors).
Carlos Saura’s Fados completes a trilogy by the director
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
I found it vaguely irresponsible, and perhaps even cruel, that the festival programmed its two most high-profile horror pictures on the same night at around the same time. Dario Argento’s Mother of Tears and Paul Wegener’s 1920 film The Golem both played Friday night between 9 and 11 p.m. I managed to see the Argento film in advance: Mother of Tears is the third in a trilogy that Argento began with Suspiria (1977) and Inferno (1980), but unlike those two this one is laughably awful. Written and performed in stilted English, it’s filled with continuity gaps, logic holes and otherwise unmotivated behavior. But its use of gratuitous nudity, gratuitous gore (much of it actually done with latex rather than CGI!) and gratuitous random acts of cruelty make it a hilarious, MST3K-style cult classic keeper. Not to mention that Asia Argento, though not exactly deserving of an Oscar, manages to inject enough sheer animal presence into the movie to make it worth sticking around.
Mother of Tears is supposed to get a theatrical release in June, while SFIFF’s particular version of The Golem was a one-time deal. The screening boasted a live score by none other than Black Francis (once again going by his Pixies-era moniker, rather than Frank Black or Charles Thompson). The good news is that it was a great Black Francis show, but the bad news is that I’m not sure the songs actually synced up with or enhanced the movie in any way. For the most part they actually rubbed up against the movie, competed with it for our attention. In 2005, American Music Club’s score for Frank Borzage’s Street Angel (1927), was pure genius, absolutely mesmerizing. Francis’ The Golem played a bit more like syncing up Pink Floyd to The Wizard of Oz (1939); sometimes something magical happened, melding music and film, but other times, you were trapped in some netherworld between the two forms.
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
Tonight, I’m off to see Roy Andersson‘s You, the Living and then Frank Black‘s live accompaniment to 1920’s The Golem. Three years ago at SFIFF, I saw Frank Borzage’s 1927 Street Angel with a live score by the American Music Club, and it was one of the great movie nights of my life. I hope this one comes close.
Word has it that Roy Andersson’s You, the Living blows — in the best possible sense
The Golem will soon be hit with a wave of Frank Black’s sonic mutilation
By Justin Juul
Broke Ass Stuart is a travel writer, an SF cult hero, and one of the luckiest sunzabitches you will ever meet. Not only does he get paid to travel the world and write, but he also gets to do it as himself. Most travel writers have to water their stories down for those crappy airplane magazines or they just write thousands of fact-of-the-matter-reviews designed for hurried tourists. But not Stuart. He doesn’t have to do any of that shit.
His first book, Broke Ass Stuart’s Guide to Living Cheaply in San Francisco, which he originally published himself as a zine, helped him carve a niche as a new voice in an industry overpopulated by impersonal clones. Since releasing his first book, Stuart has gone on to write a second SF edition and he recently spent ten months in New York doing research for his newest book, Broke Ass Stuart’s Guide to Living Cheaply in New York City. Sounds like a dream come true doesn’t it? Well, apparently travel writing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. After four years of writing Broke Ass Stuart books and doing odd jobs for Lonely Planet, Stuart’s life is in shambles. He’s homeless, disoriented, and still broke-as-fuck.
The Guardian caught up with Stuart recently to remind him that his job is awesome and that other financially challenged writers (ahem) would kill to be in his position.
SFBG: So what’s up with your New York book? Did you make tons of money off it?
Stuart: No dude. Let me tell you, writing books is not the way to wealth and fame. I blew through my New York advance pretty quick and wound up waiting tables the whole time I was there. The book’s not coming out till November so I won’t be getting any royalties for a long time. I can’t even think about that money, really. I mean, I’ve been waiting tables for nine years.
SFBG: Shit. Yeah. So have I actually.
Stuart: It’s like a fuckin’ bad habit. It’s such a weird subculture, you know? Like people in the restaurant fucking each other, tons of drugs. And then you get out at night and you’re all revved up from dealing with assholes all night…
SFBG: So you take all your tips and go blow it another bar.
Stuart: Exactly. It’s definitely, uh, special.
By Jeffrey M. Anderson
This year, it’s Asia Argento‘s festival, and we’re all just invited. I’ve heard through the grapevine that Asia will not be in attendance at the 51st San Francisco International Film Festival, but her diva-ness will exude throughout. She’s in no less than three festival films this year, a feat I can’t remember ever having been duplicated (if you were quick enough, a fourth one, Boarding Gate, recently opened and closed in San Francisco).
Asia Argento picnics in The Last Mistress
Asia has always struck me as an unholy fusion of Uma Thurman and Rachel Weisz, but far more daring and alluring. In her father Dario Argento‘s Mother of Tears, she looks unbearably sexy striding through the streets of Rome in a black raincoat. A raincoat! She’s not so much an actress as she is a force of nature; she explodes rather than performs. None of her films can be categorized as trifling, bland or boring, and she sets the bar for guts at this year’s festival. Among the rest of this year’s films one can find elements of psychotronic cinema: dangerous marginal ideas like time-travel, ghosts, murder, martial arts, gore and sex. This is no shoe-gazing, hand-wringing fest. We’ve got some of the strangest films since Harmony Korine’s Gummo turned up in 1998.
Events kick off tonight with Catherine Breillat’s The Last Mistress — starring Asia — and the big opening night party. I’ll talk more about the film tomorrow. After that, I’ll do my best to prowl around the festival front lines, and report back on what I see. I’ll be here every day, unless I somehow fry my retinal nerves in the meantime…
Five random early picks: Bela Tarr’s The Man from London, Peter Chan’s The Warlords, Jia Zhang-ke’s Still Life, Alexander Sokurov’s Alexandra and Craig Baldwin’s Mock Up on Mu.
Tonight seems to be the time to check out that storefront marked Fecal Face Dot Gallery – you know, right where Go-Ugh tears into Market, near the delish Brazilian meats playzone, Espetus Churrascaria. Tonight, “Kottie Paloma and the Daily Strangers,” the space’s first solo show, opens from 6 to 9 p.m. The Guardian rhapsodized former Low Gallery honcho and Fecal Face impessario John Trippe way back when (and we dug the art-opening photos he’d contribute to the paper), so get out and support his latest project. He e-mails:
“Featuring over 250 5-by-7-foot graphite portraits that San Francisco artist Kottie Paloma produced over the last 2 years (each titled A Daily Stranger), the work forms a survey of the strangers in Kottie’s life.
“The Daily Strangers series is based on the idea of seeing the same person on a daily basis without ever getting to know that person. They are just a face in one’s life. An interesting individual kept at a safe distance. To get to know these particular strangers could possibly ruin whatever fantasy one has made up in their head about these people.
THURS/24
The Last Mistress (Catherine Breillat, France/Italy, 2007) Catherine Breillat steps back from one of her bluntest provocations — 2006’s Anatomy of Hell — to deliver this barbed, intelligent adaptation of Jules-Amédée Barbey d’Aurevilly’s 1851 novel. Asia Argento is heroic as the titular courtesan, a seething, powerful woman working outside bourgeoisie bounds. On the eve of his marriage to a suitably chaste maiden, the entitled, Mick Jagger-lipped Ryno de Marigny (Fu’ad Aït Aattou) narrates his decade-long affair with the magnetic mistress to his fiancées grandmother (she’s rapt). Locked into place by an attraction at once destructive and indestructible, they’re not star-crossed lovers so much as fatal accomplices. An intriguing cocktail of classical framing and modern malaise, The Last Mistress is Breillat’s best work in years — not least of all because of her clear affection for the material. (Max Goldberg)
7 p.m. Castro
FRI/25
Alexandra (Alexander Sokurov, Russia, 2007) Alexandra’s seventy-something title figure (Galina Vishnevskaya) takes the laborious journey to Chechnya, where the grandson (Vasily Shevtsov) she hasn’t seen in seven years is stationed at a large army base. This latest by Russian master Sokurov isn’t exactly narrative-driven — Alexandra wanders about the vast compound and war-torn nearby town, trying to re-instill a little humanity between weary, wary occupiers and occupied — but it’s one of his least abstract, most emotionally direct works. In her first film role (and a non-singing one), veteran opera singer Vishnevskaya etches a character whose long-suffering indomitableness is Mother Courage as Mother Russia. (Dennis Harvey)
7 p.m., Kabuki. Also Sun/27, noon, Kabuki; May 4, 4:15 p.m., PFA
Black Belt (Shunichi Nagasaki, Japan, 2007) Hai karate! Ably armed with authentic martial arts aces in lead roles and a stripped and ripped discipline that allows for only one or two evil cackles from warlord villains, auteur Nagasaki transforms his masterful piece of genre filmmaking into a brink-of-WWII parable about the uses of power and the wisdom of passive resistance. The year is 1932 and an imperialist Japan has just invaded Manchuria. The next takeover: a peaceful Kyushu karate dojo where the students — arrogant and aggressive Taikan (Tatsuya Naka), dutiful and gentle Giryu (Akihito Yagi), and peacemaker Choei (Yuji Suzuki) — are not quite ready to go quietly into the armed forces. Black Belt trounces typical CG kung fu: the fact that the actors are karate masters gives the film a texture of authenticity unseen since the days of Bruce Lee, Jet Li, and Jackie Chan, lending weight to thoughts and deeds. (Kimberly Chun)
8:45 p.m., Kabuki. Also Sun/27, 1:30 p.m., Kabuki; Tues/29, 1:30 p.m., Kabuki
Brick Lane (Sarah Gavron, England, 2007) Adapted from Monica Ali’s novel, Brick Lane — which takes it’s name from a London street on which many immigrants reside — is a clichéd, romantic, finding-one’s-home story. After her mother commits suicide, Nazneen (Tannishtha Chatterjee) is forced to leave Bangladesh in order to marry Chanu (Satish Kaushik), who lives in London, England. There, she submits herself to the unexciting life of pre-arranged marriage until she meets Karim (Christopher Simpson), who sweeps her off her feet. One of the most aggravating things about the film is that Nazneen finds the power to take charge of her life through her affair with Karim. Apparently her daughter’s constant plea for Nazneen to start verbalizing her will was of secondary importance. (Maria Komodore)
7:15 p.m., Kabuki
“The Golem with Black Francis” (Paul Wegener and Carl Boese, Germany, 1920) An original score composed and played live by the Pixies’ leader is a mighty enticement, but even without it, this classic 1920 German silent would be worth seeing in a promised beautiful archival print. Drawn from medieval Jewish folklore, it tells of a rabbi’s creation of a clay man to protect the ethnic ghetto from a Christian emperor’s heavy hand. Co-directed by Wegener, one of the masters of cinematic German expressionism (who also plays the Golem), it’s an impressive, strikingly designed mix of horror, history and political commentary. (Harvey)
9:30 p.m., Castro
By Vanessa Carr
Aaron Koblin’s Ten Thousand Cents
It’s hard to believe that San Francisco, the very birthplace of Web 2.0, has lacked a gallery space dedicated to new interactive media arts – until now.
Tomorrow, Gray Area Gallery, whose space closed last year, celebrates the launch of what is, in effect, its 2.0 rebirth – Gray Area Beacon (GAB) – which claims to be the first San Francisco gallery space to focus exclusively on the intersection of art and technology.
“This is the moment in time for the Bay Area to celebrate and appreciate technology-based art,” said GAB co-founder Josette Melchor. “[GAB] is trying to provide a home for exhibits, ideas, and interaction.”
GAB’s launch party on Tuesday, 4/22, coincides with the first day of the Web 2.0 Expo and features four pieces by local artist Aaron Koblin in his first ever San Francisco show.
Aaron Kiblin’s New York Talk Exchange
Recently featured in Wired Magazine and the New York MoMA, Koblin’s work creates visualizations of large datasets and human systems that explore some very Web 2.0 themes:digital labor marketplaces, online collaborations, and global communications.
“I thought [Koblin] was perfect because of [his] Sheep Market and Ten Thousand Cents pieces,” Melchor told the Guardian. “He’s used online means to get people to collaborate to create a large scale installation.”
Koblin’s Sheep Market features 10,000 sheep drawn by online “workers” from around world, each of whom were paid two cents to draw “a sheep facing left” using the Amazon Mechanical Turk marketplace.
Similarly, Ten Thousand Cents, Koblin’s collaboration with artist Takashi Kawashima, is a digital representation of a one-hundred dollar bill made up of one thousand tiny squares reproduced by anonymous online laborers who worked without knowledge of the overall picture. Each worker was paid one penny for his or her work, which amounted to $100 in total.
By Justin Juul
Perhaps inevitably, long-awaited doc Ghostride The Whip: The Story of The Hyphy Movement screens this Thursday, April 24th at UC Berkeley. (It’ll be available on DVD this July after it makes some rounds. )
At first glance, it’s a movie about riding around on top of and outside your car while listening to goofy music, dropping e, and acting tough (duh). I was all set to write about how tired the film sounds and how played out the ghostriding phenomenon is, but I decided to do some research before opening my big mouth.
And now, well, what can I say? After spending an hour on Ghostride The Whip director DJ Vlad’s MySpace, I have become a full-blown fan. I still think ghostriding is ridiculous, and I can’t say I like hyphy music (or wasting gas), but holy shit, have you seen all the video tributes this Bay Area ghetto pastime has spawned? Maybe this is a perfect time to immortalize this movement onscreen. Here are a few of my favorites:
Ghostride the Granny
Extreme Ghostride!!!
At the Femina Potens gallery, oil painter Alicia DeBrincat, photographer Rocksusto, and paper cut artist Lex McQuilkin take a fresh look at gender, sexuality, societal expectations and ethics in Neu Wave Feminism, a group show that opened April 5.
DeBrincat’s “Cultural Corset” series examines how women’s identities and societal expectations play out on the terrain of the body. She is interested in how American culture is simultaneously obsessed with the female body and repulsed by its natural form.
Her huge oil paintings portray female nudes with a stunning realism – breasts small and large, thighs puckered with cellulite, rounded bellies.
“The paint is applied with an attention to anatomical detail that both celebrates women’s bodies and references the leering voyeurism and minutely critical gaze that the female body encounters,” she writes in her artist statement.
Photographer Rocksuto has also taken a thematic approach to her work. In 2007, she embarked on A Photo a Day project, which explored a range of themes, such as population, foreclosures, sexual ethics, trust fund nihilism, and chickens.
This year, she’s embarked on A Photo a Month project, where she’s limited her thematic exploration to gender roles, sexual ethics, and religion.
Lex McQuilkin’s swirling, delicate paper cuts explore gender and masculinity from queer perspective. Her latest series, Good Old Boys, explores the precariousness of masculinity and its portrayal.
Gender and sexuality — not tired!
Neu Wave Feminism
April 5 – 27, 2008
Gallery hours: Thurs-Sun, 12-6 p.m.
Femina Potens Gallery
2199 Market, SF
415-864-1558
By Justin Juul
Snazzy!
My birthday’s coming up in May, so for all of my fans out there, here’s what you should get me: A Brew Holster. And don’t just get one for me. Get one for yourself too. Just imagine all the BBQ’s you’ll be attending this spring and summer. Don’t you want to be the freshest dude/chick in the park? Yes you do. But what exactly is a Brew Holster you ask. It’s a gun sling for beer, but the awesomeness doesn’t stop there. Brew Holsters are made by two members of SF’s very own all-girl AC/DC tribute band, AC/DShe, so they’re extra-extra cool.
Nici and Sara, the guitarist and bassist from Ac/DShe, came up with the idea when they realized that double-fisting cheap beer, while simultaneously jammin’ out with their clams out, was not as great as it sounded. Following a few close calls with drenched t-shirts and wet amps, the girls hit their backyard chop shop and The Brew Holster Cult was born. All you need to do to join the cult is to buy one of the things, so go visit their website and prepare yourself for the biggest balls of them all: backyard BBQ’s, outdoor concerts, and Bay to Breakers. Springtime in SF just got a whole lot cooler.
Get ’em here, suds-slingers: www.brewholstercult.com
Passover’s around the corner (starts Saturday, as a matter of fact), so what better way to celebrate than with a bit of Jewtube humor?
And don’t forget to buy your last minute seder supplies at popjudaica.com. Where else will you find a “Let My People Go” toilet seat?
