The film history class that I’m teaching at a local college is arranged, roughly, chronologically, so we started back in late August with the works of W.K.L. Dickson and the Lumière Brothers. By this point in the semester, we’ve reached the mid-1920s, quite possibly the single most exciting era in film history. The half-decade before the advent of sound saw an incredible explosion of narrative and stylistic innovation; as I teach the class, those achievements are represented by works such as F.W. Murnau’s The Last Laugh, Carl Theodor Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc and Alexander Dovzhenko’s Arsenal, all of which still have the power to astonish me, and I’ve seen ‘em all a dozen times.
But it was last week’s films that separate the true cinephiles from the film enthusiasts from the not-yet-ready-for-prime-timers. We just completed “Avant Garde Week,” and I showed my students films that, despite having been made nearly 90 years ago, haven’t lost any of their power to induce strong reactions.
In a recent email to Seven Days, Wright notes that the band has been keeping details of its Halloween set close to the vest. But as All Hallow's Eve draws nearer, members have started dropping some hints. It appears the band is planning a Star Wars theme. (That sound you're hearing is local drummer and supreme Star Wars buff Frankie Zee giggling like a schoolboy. Settle down, Frank.)
Fittingly, Wright will be dressed as Princess Leia — in a costume sewn by her mother, no less. And the rest of the band will be similarly decked out in Star Wars regalia, including Storm Troopers and robots. We have no other inside info here, but guitarist Bob Wagner pretty much has to be Chewbacca, right?
Local dance pop-phenoms Madaila are playing a big Halloween gig — dubbed Madaila: the Scream — this Saturday, October 31, at the ECHO Lake Aquarium and Science Center in Burlington. In advance of that blowout bash, which also includes performances from Alpenglow, LuxDeluxe and Disco Phantom, the band recently released a new video for "I Don't Want to Rest." And, much like their previous forays in celluloid, it's a hoot.
Directed by Mike Mooney and shot by Tim Bradley — with some magnificent aerial footage by Total Production Designs, to boot — the woodsy vid boasts the highest production value of any Madaila short to date. It also has the strongest narrative thread of any of their previous videos. Think Lord of the Flies crossed with Monty Python & the Holy Grail, add a hint of old-time Baptist revivalism and you're in the neighborhood. Also, neon face paint. And glow sticks.
All hail the BERN-KIN! 'Tis the season for crunchy leaves, pumpkin spice lattes and combining political iconography (read: Bernie's face) with beloved Halloween traditions.
As far as carving jack-o'-lanterns goes, some people can only manage the classic "triangle eyes" design, or prefer not to wield knives at all. But Ashley Campbell of Campbell Carvings is not one of them. This year, the co-owner of Shelburne's Rustic Roots restaurant has put her prodigious carving skills to work creating an ephemeral masterpiece of socialist portraiture.
A pre-fame Michael Richards as Stanley Spadowski in UHF.
“Weird Al” Yankovic has created and maintained his star image with unusual savvy, cultivating the persona of a clever, good-natured goofball who never has an unkind word to say about anyone. Since 1983, he’s released 14 studio albums (and plenty of other musical ephemera); made 50-odd music videos, including some classics of the form; and appeared in an array of productions that includes “The Drew Carey Show,” Rob Zombie’s horror remake Halloween II and even “My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic.” Yet he’s only starred in one film: 1989’s comedy UHF.
UHF was a key feature of “The Rotation,” a group of a few dozen films that my high school friends and I would watch again and again. (Most of the others on that list were similarly goofy comedies such as Fletch, the various Monty Python films and the Naked Gun films [in all three of which Al plays a small part]. What can I say? We were nerdy.) UHF is highly quotable (“I’m thinking of something orange. Something ORANGE!”) and contains exactly the right amount of silliness to stand up to multiple viewings — whether the person doing the viewing is 16 or 42.
Pop quiz, everyone! In each of these groupings, choose the sentence(s), if any, that use the bolded words correctly.
A1: Cathy honed her charcuterie skills working at L'Epicerie du Bordel in Manhattan.
A2: Scientists are trying to hone in on the causes of premature balding syndrome.
B1: His hands were calloused from his work restoring historic Vermont gravestones.
B2: The zombie apocalypse has not made Rick Grimes callous about human life.
B3: If you get a callous from snow shoveling, you know you're a true Vermonter.
There has been no shortage of funny Sen. Bernie Sanders videos throughout the early presidential primary season. There was the "Bernie Sanders Is Not Boring" sketch for Funny Or Die. There was the "Bernie Damn Sanders" mashup. And, of course, there was the cold open segment with Larry David as Sanders last weekend on "Saturday Night Live." (BTW, Bernie responded to SNL's sketch with his own impression of David on "Jimmy Kimmel Live!" last night.) But yesterday, while everyone else was getting their Back to the Future on, the folks at the Huffington Post quietly raised the bar for bizarro Bernie bits with what might be the funniest Sanders video yet: Sanders playing the bongo part to Ben Harper's "Burn One Down" at last week's Dem debate on CNN.
Obviously, the title of Harper's earnest stoner ballad makes the song rife for a Sanders parody. And that proves doubly true given the weed legislation segment of the debate, which HuffPo video editors Oliver Noble and Ben Craw handle masterfully. But the real brilliance of HuffPo's video is that it tweaks a key Sanders trait that most parodies have thus far overlooked: his emphatically percussive gesticulation. Brilliant.
Everyone in Burlington seemed to know Kathleen De Simone, who died on Monday, October 12, at her Old North End home; she had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Kathleen's ever-present rose scent, her brassy laugh, her determined stride and rose topped cane were a fixture in town. She babysat the neighborhood kids, invited people into her cozy home and welcomed new artists to the area. Kathleen constructed fanciful hats for the Fools' Gold Art Auction, designed costumes for the Spielpalast Cabaret and sewed many intricate wedding dresses. She was a gifted artist, a talented seamstress and someone who loved beautiful things.
When Kathleen spoke to you, she really seemed to see you. She looked directly into your eyes, dispensing with artifice. She was genuine and strong-willed. Despite her petite height, she projected the glamor of a movie star; her personality was larger than life. Kathleen loved you madly and left lipstick kisses on your cheek and the scent of roses on your clothes after an embrace.
Last night, Take magazine's Northampton, Mass.-based publishing squad took Burlington by way of an official launch party at ArtsRiot. The show was headlined by And The Kids (see their rad National Public Radio Tiny Desk concert here) with the Villanelles, Henry Jamison and DJ Disco Phantom. Branded as "New England's New Culture," Take is a booster for regionalism that offers stories about "people in New England who are making culture happen in the fields of visual art, music, design, literature, dance, food, fashion and theater."
Free copies of the magazine's first two issues — for September and October of this year — were in ample supply. Just after the table of contents, there's a map. The six states that make up New England are dotted with the subjects of the issue's stories, from a successful Massachusetts sex toy entrepreneur (njoy) to a smattering of circus schools in multiple states. The magazine's social handles are printed over Maine, roughly just northeast of Baxter State Park. I should not admit it, but I immediately honed in on Vermont — an impulse, I believe, thatfounders Lauren Clark and Michael Kusek are striving to work against.
Phil Silvers, Art Carney and the titular star of Won Ton Ton: The Dog Who Saved Hollywood
This weekend, I watched a movie that was so hopelessly square, so tone-deaf, so inconsequential that it’s barely conceivable that it was released by a major Hollywood studio.
Granted, Won Ton Ton: The Dog Who Saved Hollywood came out in 1976, at a moment when Paramount Pictures was far more willing to take chances than any big studio would be today, but that doesn’t excuse a film that is just barely coherent and was directed with the minimum of competence. For that, though, Won Ton Ton is a somewhat intriguing film, as are most of the others by its director, Michael Winner, who was probably one of the most consistently weird of all mainstream film directors.
It’s probably neither fair nor relevant for me to beat up on a 40-year-old movie, but, hey, the mandate of this column is for me to write about what I’m watching, and what I recently watched was a big old pile of cinematic dog doo-doo.