At the movies: MaXXXine

 Dip a toe in the neon slime, everybody.

Catching up with Jason Shawhan.

Greetings, and my unlimited love to y'all.

So there's several things going on, and let's just bullet point this and get a move on (I have to go get some CD-Rs, Orange Mango Pineapple juice, and an iridescent sharpie from my local 24-hour emporium of stuff).

1) I had an amazing conversation with Jonny Gowow for the Scene. He's got a show coming up this week, and an album called Wide Stance that is worth your time and dollar$.

2) The VVitch opened this weekend, and I reviewed it over at the Scene. I've been getting a lot of attention for this review, which is always a good feeling, and if you're thinking about going to see it, or if you already have and are looking for some discussion, give it a read.

3) The Belcourt Theatre is currently closed for renovations, but has an amazing array of offsite events for the whole city of Nashville. The theatre has been closed since December 25th of last year, and its absence is like a thousand papercuts every day. I never feel its absence more than around midnight on the weekends, because I miss hosting the midnight screenings more than anyone can possibly know.

4) The Agents of Fortune, the comedy extravaganza I've been writing for over the past fourteen months, had its last live episode performance tonight, and I'm completely bowled over by it. It was never easy, but I'm proud of it, and look forward to its next incarnation and events. Yes, I am part of its tasteful underwear calendar, because I believe in art, and it's very rare that you get a chance to pay tribute to Tono Stano in print.

5) I'm going to Los Angeles at the beginning of March to visit some friends, take photos of revered locations, have some adventures, and maybe a few meetings on the industry side of things. I love being creative and funny, and am a big fan of making a few dollar$ as such. If you're a reader in the L.A. area, say Hi and show me your favorite parts of the city.

6) This is rumor control; here are the facts. There is no 100% reliable test for EoA (early-onset Alzheimer's), and the options available are pretty expensive and not easy to come by before a certain age. So I'm taking that aspect of things slowly. Until I hear back from the government regarding my appeal on my tax credit situation, I'm not interested in pushing the insurance envelope. So I'm just trying to be observant over the next few months. Though if you, or anyone you know, are a neurologist, I'm very interested in participating in research involving EoA linked to damage caused by/as a symptom of Klippel-Feil Syndrome. So feel free to help do a signal boost on that end.

7) As always, you can listen to a bunch of my clubmixes on my Mixcloud page. There's thirty-five different mixes currently, ranging from twelve minutes to 2 1/2 hours. As well as the first eighteen episodes of my weekly mixshow, Erase; Rewind (that Facebook page also has the tracklistings for every episode, so if there's one you like that hasn't been set up for streaming on Mixcloud, you can submit a request and I will do so), minus those awful commercials. Please do give a listen.

That's all for now. Be well, and be excellent to one another.

At the movies: Tangerine.

A unique film with a lot to say.

At the movies: Greenberg.

Greenberg is the titular subject of Noah Baumbach’s new film, played by Ben Stiller in a way that aims to reaffirm how great he can be as an actor when he wants to be. But Greenberg is also a state of mind; a quasi-narcissistic, neurotic life paralyzed by not only the process of aging but by the way that language, expectations, and alienation have cut us all off from one another.

Stiller’s Greenberg, specifically, is a carpenter who once was an almost-rock star, recently released from a mental institution. He’s come to L.A. to keep an eye on his hotel developer brother’s palatial house while their family takes a several week excursion to Vietnam. He’s not completely on his own, though. He has his brother’s assistant, Florence (the magnificent Greta Gerwig), to rely on, and from this springs an awkward and deeply resonant kind of relationship.

Baumbach builds on the foundations he’s been trafficking in since 1995’s Kicking and Screaming, following the masterful one-two punch of The Squid and The Whale and Margot at the Wedding, and with the input of his wife Jennifer Jason Leigh, who produced and helped develop the story, he’s been able to distill something amazing onscreen.

Nothing I’ve seen all year rings truer than an altered Greenberg talking to a bunch of twentysomethings about the meanness that drives their interactions; “The Chauffeur” in the background, party favors all about, and one man facing the void of modern courtesy.

It will haunt you, even as Stiller gives his best performance in ages and Gerwig shines like a supernova in her first big film. You take joy where you can, but that’s not what drives you. It’s the regret, and the confusion, and yes, the hope.

At the movies: The Exiles.

Kent Johnson’s 1961 film The Exiles is finally receiving a proper theatrical release, and it’s thanks to filmmakers Sherman Alexie (Smoke Signals) and Charles Burnett (Killer of Sheep) that it’s happening. A jazzy (music by The Revels) and mournful trek through twelve hours in the lives a dozen Natives-turned-Angelenos, the film is steeped in vital, kinetic slices of life and pieces of interior monologue, and the disconnect between ideal and actuality is a sharp and serrated gulf. The visual sensibility on display here is astonishing, using high-contrast black-and-white photography to make the streets and sidewalks of Los Angeles into Caravaggio paintings, chiaroscuro portals into absolute darkness next to glittering prizes and ‘open all night’ signs.

The film is a time capsule twice over, documenting both the stories of countless Natives (though that aimless alienation that comes from living in the big city can be quite universal) and providing a visual history of a part of Los Angeles that simply doesn’t exist anymore. As the first, the film can’t help but suffer for its attention to the anomie and alcoholic cycle which most of its characters are stuck in; happy stories don’t normally drive insightful film. But as the latter, The Exiles is a marvel. There is a rawness, a swinging and suppurating energy to its scenes that threaten to break out of the screen, and in its way, Los Angeles itself is as much a character as any of the Native principals.

The Exiles doesn’t claim to offer any solutions to the travails that Native Americans face, nor should it be required to. But there’s a question floating in the ether, one that has been there since the film was made and which has not become any less relevant in the near fifty years since; what can be done? There’s a film coming out next week called Frozen River that also tells some Native American stories, stories of human trafficking, casinos, and crippling poverty. Both films are going to be difficult sells, because most people don’t like to think about Native American issues.

Maybe it’s unresolved guilt, or, as most usually say, the desire for escapism and entertainment at the movies that feed this impulse. But The Exiles is not a lecture. It is an experience, one that resonates long after the film has unrolled and the lights come up. And its ultimate sequence, as sunrise finds a group of young Natives leaving the hillside site of a drunken gathering/dance/council/brawl, echoes that perspective. The cars drive away, the participants creep home, and other than some debris, a little blood, a lot of cigarette butts, and a few tears, there’s nothing left to mark the land. But they were there, and for a little while, at least, it was theirs.