Join The ACPO

Originally posted on September 01, 2006. I had forgotten all about this silly bit of nonsense until just now 🙂 Sadly, you can no longer buy a bumper sticker or join Frapr (whatever that was.)

acpo-copy.jpgThis is probably a little more information than any of you will want about me, but that’s what you get for allowing me to post anything I want.

My first couple of years in college I lived in a dormitory on the outskirts of campus. It was set up motel style, with the room doors each leading directly outside. My room was on the backside of the dorm which opened up to a big, grassy field.

Being boys, for reasons I can’t quite remember (other then being boys) me and a bunch of pals would often go into the field and urinate. In fact we did it often enough that we developed a little philosophy about the whole thing. In our prime we got political and ecological about it deciding that it was a waste of energy and water to urinate in a toilet. Sometimes we even got religious determining that man should pee amongst God’s creatures and not in some cramped, smelly, room.

Eventually we formed a club, The American Coalition for Peeing Outside. To this day my college buddies in I will get together periodically and espouse the glories of outdoor urination, and take a celebratory pee.

My dear friend Jamison, had taken the pee to heart and even created bumper stickers and a frapr page.

So I urge you dear brethren, throw off the shackles of indoor urination. Remove thyself from the tyranny of the toilet, and pee outside. Join the ACPO, buy a bumper sticker, sign up on Frapr, and for gawd’s sake, pee outside.

Blog Type Announcements

Originally posted on August 15, 2006.  Almost everything I talk about in this post no longer exists – Blogcritics is a shell of its former self, The Mondo Project only lasted a few months, I deleted Bootleg Nation, and all of my old writing buddies no longer write or have a blog.  For a brief time, I also did some gossipy news-type writing about celebrities misbehaving.  I mention that here, but I couldn’t stomach that work for very long and I’ve decided to never make it public again – Mat

The few of you who regularly read Brewster’s Millions (This blog used to be called Brewster’s Millions – I can’t remember when I changed it to The Midnight Cafe). have probably noticed a few changes. I’ll now explain why.

Some Bblogcritic writing buddies of mine and I have created a brand new super-cool blog, The Mondo Project. We were all lamenting the fact that our own personal blogs get very little in the way of hits, and that a big part of this is our inability to create regular content.

This has always been my number one problem with my own blog. I think I do a very good job of writing interesting pieces, but I am only able to once or twice a week – a very small amount for your average blog. Blog readers are used to daily updates, with brand-spanking new information all the time. Time constraints have always kept me from being able to do this.

So me and the boys, plus one gurl, decided that with the eight of us, we should be able to do regular updates if we pulled our resources. Thus we created the Mondo Project.

A little history on the name. My good friend, and writer extraordinaire, The Duke de Mondo created a little Yahoo group ages ago. This was a place designed for him to be able to let his fans know when he had published a new piece. It was also a cool place to hang out and talk pop culture.

The group, like the Dukes site, was called “Mondo Irlando” having something to do with the pseudo-documentary style gore flicks of the seventies and the Dukes homestead in Northern Ireland.

I joined about a year and a half ago and have immensely enjoyed hanging out with a diverse group of folks able to discuss everything under the sun. We dubbed ourselves the Mondo Gentlemen’s Club, that is until a girl was introduced into our midst, one Mary K. Williams.

The group has changed over the last many months, with only me, the Duke, his UK compatriot and NME writer Greg Smith, and Sir Eric Berlin lasting through it all. To balance out the UK side of things the Duke invited his friend, Aaron Fleming to the game.

Keeping up with the Americas, our long lost lover, Bennett Dawson invited Mark Saleski who in turn brought with him fellow music lover DJRadiohead. Together we brought total coolness and a mutual cultural extravaganza called The Hot Topic.

Amongst our many discussions was this concept of creating a single site where we could both write extraordinarily awesome essays on pop culture, but also banter about whatever crosses our mind. See, the cool thing about Blogcritics is that we can fine-tune our excellent writing and get a big stinking audience. But at the Yahoo group we often had a conversational thing going about on all sorts of gnarly subjects, but ones that wouldn’t quite fit into your typical professional blog type deallie. Thus with the Mondo Project, we have created a place where we can both display the most professional of pieces and righteous convos and what pleases us most.

The Mondo Project is now my place to hang out, write, and wax poetic. It is also an opportunity to write a little more personal stuff, like my recent escapades with the iPod.

Not to be outdone, I have also started a new blog called Bootleg Nation. In my research, I have come to realize that to have a successful blog you need a pretty narrow niche. Being diverse is actually a sure way to drive people away unless you are super prolific. So I started a niche blog all about my obsessions of live music. It has just started going, but it should be a very cool place for bootleggers to hang out.

Also, with my recent unemployment (Oh I haven’t mentioned here that I was recently laid off) I realize I now have more writing time on my hands. One of the producers of Blogcritics has asked that I write some fresh news stories with a fun bloggy bent. I’ve started writing a few (as you can see from my recent postings here) and am finding it a fun thing to do, and it brings a lot of traffic to Blogcritics. It’s the least I can do for a site that has helped me so much.

All of these things are now also converging here at Brewster’s Millions. I’ve decided to make this blog kind of a melting pot of all the things I write. That will make it a little mismatched, but you’ll learn to love it.

The Continuing Adventures of Me and My iPod

Originally posted on August 8, 2006.

It’s just that I know the smaller-sized iPods would only frustrate me, as 512 megabytes is simply not enough to cover a fraction of the music in my collection. And who wants to constantly be deleting and adding in songs? The larger 40 gig pods are more to my liking, but I just can’t talk the wife into letting me spend the hundreds of dollars it takes to purchase one.

For my birthday I finally talked her into letting me buy an iPod on eBay. After looking for weeks I finally found an older model 40 gigabyte pod for the low price of $118. I researched the company (it was one of those companies that only sells things on eBay). They had hundreds of positive reviews with a nearly impeccable rating. I laid down my cash and received it in the mail shortly thereafter.

Upon unwrapping my self-bought gift, I realized that my oldish laptop did not have a firewire connection, and the iPod did not come with any USB cables. A quick trip to Best Buy and $30 later, I had a new USB cable and immediately hooked my iPod up, nearly salivating at the thought of uploading all my choice tunes.

Headed to the local bookstore I had my laptop set to transfer hundreds of songs over to the iPod. Upon our return, I noticed a slight problem – the iPod was off. After fiddling with the nobs and controls I realized the batter was dead. Hmmmm, I thought the USB cable connected to the computer also charged the battery.

Another quick trip to Best Buy and another $30 bought me a direct iPod battery charger. I plugged it in and went to bed frustrated over a day with the iPod and not a single song listened to.

Waking the next morning I rushed over the my charging batter only to find that there was still no juice. Frustration had turned to anger and I ruminated my troubles over with a coworker. We decided that the battery must be completely dead, so I ordered a new one online. Another $30 was spent on an increasingly expensive device.

Many days later the batter came and I nearly broke the dang thing trying to get it open. New battery, dead iPod. Curse, don’t they charge these things before they send them? Another night of charging my battery. Another morning awaking to find a dead iPod.

Not knowing anything else to do I complained to the company that sold me the iPod. No response. A week later I sent another letter to the company this time demanding they refund my money or send me a new iPod. Days later they responded that it had been 30 days since they sold me the device which eliminates their responsibility in the matter.

I have now spent nearly as much money as I would have for a new one, and I still have not heard a single song. A friend of mine thinks he might be able to fix it. Having nothing to lose I’ll let him try. While I wait I think I’ll curse Apple, Ebay, and sob into my morning cereal.

Happy Independence Day

dsc05611.jpg

Originally posted on July 2, 2006.

Yeah, I know that’s the Eiffel Tower, which isn’t exactly the picture most choose for American Independence. It was taken last year for what is essentially France’s Independence Day, and it’s the only picture I have of fireworks. Plus it’s really cool looking.

We’re headed to the wife’s folks for the Holiday. All of her brothers and families are coming up too. Should be fun.

Sorry for the lack of updates. Work kept me busy this week. I’ve got a couple of Bootleg Countries cooking for next week, so look out for that.

The Incredibe True Adventures of My Grandma

Originally published on June 1, 2006.  Sadly, my dear grandmother passed away several years ago.

If you looked up “little old lady” in the dictionary, you’d probably see a picture of my grandma. She’s as tiny as a tack and just as sharp.

A few nights ago she was robbed.  While sitting on her couch watching TV a young man broke the glass on her door and barged in.  He laid a pistol against her temple, laid her down on the couch, and asked for all her money.

“You can have all the money I’ve got,” she said, “but I only have $2.50.”

The robber grabbed her purse, rummaged through her wallet, and found that she was telling the truth.  Disgusted, he took the $2.50 and moved her to the bedroom.  He threw my grandmother onto the bed and covered her head with a blanket while he began looking around for valuables.

She began screaming as loud as she could for help.  The dog began to bark loudly.  The thief went to the other room hoping to find something of value.  When he left, Grandma got up quickly, found her jewelry box, and hid her more expensive jewels.

Jumping back into bed, throwing the covers over her head again, she asked the thief as he walked back into the room,

“Son, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?”

He said he didn’t want to hear nothing about that and told her to lie still.

Grandma returned to her screaming for help and began to pray for safety.  The thief found the jewelry box and took a handful of the leftover cheap costume jewelry.

He then asked my grandmother if she had a car.  When she answered in the affirmative he told her that she was going to drive him to an ATM so that she could take out some cash for him.

“An AT…what?” she asked.  “Son, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sure enough, as the thief looked through her wallet again, he saw no sign of any bank card.

Exasperated, he left the house and fled to safety, with $2.50 and some cheap costume jewelry.

Gardening At Night

Originally posted on June 1 2006.

The city of Bloomington has a community garden project. They have two pieces of land that they have plotted out for local residents to garden in. One is a more elaborate plot that communities can rent out each year, the other a little less glamorous, free chunk of earth located in the middle of a city park.

Having missed any opportunity to garden over the last year and a half, Amy and I signed up for a free plot. Unfortunately, we have been too busy to get out there over the last several weeks and so the ground that was nicely plowed for us became overgrown with weeds.

We were a little embarrassed going out there last week and seeing our weedy rectangular plot sitting next to all of these finely tuned vegetable gardens. A local not-for-profit business has taken over the majority of the plots so that they might bring homegrown vegetables for the poor. They have a large number of volunteers all who can spare time to come out each day and make their gardens look wonderful.

So there me and Amy were, next to these beautiful gardens, sitting in a plot of tall grass and well-established weeds. The hippy girls were all very kind to us and were very excited to see our plot being used.

Several hours and a lot of sweat later and we had hand pulled and raked nearly all of the major weeds. As the sun set, we packed it up and headed out for the day.

It was a few more days before we were able to make it back to the garden spot. What we thought was a lot of progress previously, now looked like a whole lot of work still until we could actually plant. We toiled until well past sunset, with large street lights guiding our way through the moonless night.

The plot looked about as good as we expected to get it and we planted some nice tomato and pepper plants.

This morning we headed out again, blocking off our plot with string, making nice squares in which to plan our garden. We planted squash, onions, and carrots before we ran out of seeds. Amy bought some garlic, beans, and herbs today and we hope to get back out tomorrow evening.

I anticipate many more hours of sweating, weeding, and toil before our hard work sees harvest. Yet it brings me a great deal of joy to look at a well-sewn garden, knowing how good those vegetables will taste having come from my own hand.

A Freak Happening

Originally posted on April 28, 2006.

On my way home from work today I’m stopped at a red light at an intersection between 2nd street and Highway 37. Both streets are always very busy, and on Friday afternoon just after 5 o’clock, they are crammed with traffic.

So, there I am waiting at the red light amongst all the other saps trying to get home for the weekend when out of nowhere this big, fat tire comes flying out of the sky. It was a good twenty feet in the air at its peak and came crashing down right onto the back windshield of this little silver car.

SMASH!

The window went out with an explosion of shattered glass and panic. The tire then leaped back into the air, crashing down onto the trunk of the next car then rolled across the rest of the road resting at a curb.

Looking around I couldn’t see any car crash or anything else that would indicate where the tire came from. It wasn’t like there was some wheeless auto lined up on the exit ramp, or a big truck hauling tires. Absolutely nothing around that could have lost a tire.

The lady in the car was unhurt and pulled to the side of the road. The rest of us drove off quietly, stunned into silence at the sheer oddity of it all.

Calendar Movies: North by Northwest (1959)

north by northwest movie poster

This was originally written and posted on April 27, 2006.

Recently, I had lunch with the human resources director at my place of employment. Both she and the chief operations officer were down to my office for the day and I invited them out to Cracker Barrel (it was a cheap maneuver as my boss was out of town, and I knew they’d pay for the food.) I needed the COO as a buffer between me and HR because last time I had lunch with Human Resources I got drilled on my opinion on everything from our company values to how the janitorial staff is doing.

It worked perfectly, I got a good meal paid for, and the COO kept us distracted by trying to win that little triangle peg game all Cracker Barrels leave on the table. It’s quite a thing to see your boss’s boss’s boss cursing at a children’s game because it says he’s an “ignoramous.”

The toughest question I had to field from HR was about my favorite movie. I chose Casablanca much to the surprise of my questioner. Now, at 30, I’m not anywhere near a young whippersnapper, but I guess I’m still pretty far removed from an ancient classic like that.

The thing is, I really dig the old movies. I’m the kind of guy who goes to Blockbuster and heads for the center rows, not the outside aisles with new releases. I suppose this is a strange thing, where kids today haven’t even seen Star Wars much less The Third Man.

Seriously, the first time I found out someone at work had never seen Star Wars I nearly fell out of my comfy office chair. It is as bewildering to realize that a film that means so much to me and my generation could be a relic to a new generation.

But maybe this is just me. I prefer Turner Classic Movies to HBO. I’d rather watch Humphrey Bogart than Tom Cruise. Black and white is much sexier then high definition super color.

Watching a movie like this month’s Calendar Movie, North by Northwest I’m struck by the notion that it’s not so different from your summer Hollywood blockbuster these days.

You’ve got one of the biggest stars working at the time, Cary Grant, working with an A-list director, Alfred Hitchcock; that’s like Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg working together. The story is full of big action, lots of laughs and brimming with sexuality. It would play perfectly in today’s multiplexes

It’s the sex that struck me in this viewing. No, there isn’t any nudity, or hard core action. There isn’t even any soft core action, or anything more than some kissing. But the dialogue is boiling over with innuendo and double entendres. And if you’re going to have double entendres, who better than Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint to do it?

Beyond the sex there is more action and twists than a porno staring Gumby and Pokey. The famous crop duster scene still excites beyond what most CGI adventures can muster in an entire film.

So I ask myself again, why do brilliant, solid pieces of filmmaking like this get left on dusty shelves to be replaced by boring, repetitive, unimaginative showcases of mediocrity? Is the movie going public so stuck on adrenaline pumping, computer generated eye candy, that the classics are above their threshold of understanding?

Partially I think that it is part of our cultural existence to get the newest, freshest product. We buy the new models of cars even though our old one rides just fine. We purchase the top of the line, brand new computer products because our 6 month old lap top is “outdated.”

No one stands around the water cooler talking about Hitchcock or Billy Wilder. We talk about box office receipts, and the new weekend releases. Hollywood asks us to. They can’t afford for an audience to sit around watching worn out VHS copies of Ninotchka when they just spend 100 million dollars on the new Vin Diesel picture.

Kids don’t get hip credibility by wearing t-shirts with Peter Lorre on them. That’s not the kids fault, for if they had the chance to watch Lorre in M his picture would be right out there like Al Pacino in Scarface.

I can’t help but think if more people were exposed to classics like North by Northwest there would be no surprise when a young man stated his favorite movie was Casablanca.

How Did I Get So Fat?

Originally posted on April 23, 2006.

Planning to ship a couple of boxes to some friends in France, my wife asked me to help her weigh them to get an idea of how much this would cost. Having only a bathroom scale and the boxes being too big to fit on it; we decided I would weigh myself, and then I would hold onto a box – the difference between me and me with the box should be the weight of the box.

I stood on the scale and looked down.

200 pounds!

How can I weigh 200 pounds?

It’s true I have been weighing in at about 190 pounds for the last several weeks, but where did the extra ten pounds come in?

Like so many others I have a job that keeps me sitting sedentary for most of the day. The hours of sitting are moved along with mouth fulls of junk food: carbonated soda, salty chips, chocolate bars, and doughnuts.

I have a moving and rather odd shift that doesn’t allow for too many daylight hours in which I can be active. By the time I do get home, I’m often so exhausted that all I want to do is sit on the couch and vegetate.

Even on a day like today when my shift gets off early and I start the day with plans of eating right and maybe hitting the gym on my way home I am sabotaged by the local vending lady and her pies.

As a way to say thank you for using her services, she brought in a dozen or so lovely, delicious pies. Chocolate pies, lemon pies, and scrumptious, coconut cream pies.

How could I resist?

It’s like this all the time. Folks go to Steak and Shake and pick me up a caramel vanilla milkshake. The boss brings in pastries for a Friday morning meeting. One of the supervisors orders pizza for her meeting. On and on it is a steady stream of sugar, salts, and fats paraded in front of my useless willpower.

I used to live on the other side of town and so would bring my lunch to work. I’d spend the rest of my lunch hour taking power walks down the sidewalk. I now live about a mile away and take the five-minute drive home for lunch. This means I go home, check my e-mail, and play a quick game of Zuma ending my hour with a quick meal and absolutely no exercise.

200 pounds of this and I have got to find a better way. I have vowed to take my lunch to work each day, a sandwich or a salad. I’m ordering an iPod which I plan to fill with good tunes and some audiobooks which will motivate me to walk again. Then I’m swearing off sodas (again.) Sodas are killer. I despise coffee so soda has become the method of choice for my caffeine addiction. If I can manage to get over the three-day hump of no caffeine and convince my body I wake up better, and healthier with a glass of juice or some herbal tea.

I’ve always known I’d never make a good muscle-bound stud. I don’t have the personality for it. Seeing that scale tip the 200 mark has punched me in the solar plexus. If I can’t be on the cover of Muscle Magazine, I hope I can at least lose a few pounds and become healthier.

The Hot Topic: Foreign Language Films

From the ardent minds of loudish gawks comes the suddenly fairly often meanderings on the current topics of the day.

Sharpen your pencils, and sprinkle your thoughts with lighter fluid, for this is the Hot Topic.

From: Mat Brewster
To: The Hot Topic Team
Re: Foreign Language Films

“I don’t want to read a movie,” said my mother.

“But it’s a Kurosawa marathon,” I replied. “They’re showing the Seven Samurai, The Hidden Fortress, and Throne of Blood. That’s like the greatest movie ever made, the movie that inspired Star Wars, and a bloody Shakespeare adaptation!”

“I don’t care if it is Jesus nailed up on the cross, I don’t want to read a movie.”

“Jesus nailed on a cross? No, Mom that was The Passion of the Christ which by the way was in a foreign language with subtitles, and you saw it.”

“Oh, whatever,” she replies, “that movie was all blood and guts and birds pulling out eyes. There was hardly any talking in it, just a lot of screaming. And it doesn’t matter what language you’re screaming in, it’s all the same.”

“Fine, what do you want to see?” I ask.

“How about that Pink Panther movie? That looks funny, and you like Steve Martin.”

“Fine, we’ll see the Pink Panther.”

I have had this same argument with my mother countless times. She refuses to watch any foreign language movie because of the subtitles. She says she doesn’t want to read a movie and all the writing keeps her from watching the action on the screen.

Repeat this conversation with literally dozens of coworkers, friends, and acquaintances.

I continually ask myself why this is, and I cannot come up with a reasonable answer. Sure, it’s true that by reading subtitles you do miss some of the visual imagery of a film; you might miss an important bit of action. But that’s why god invented the rewind button.

Sometimes I want to mention that most foreign language films are dubbed into English. But that’s just sacrilege. Dubbed movies are crap. The voice actors are about as good as porno actors.

This argument is senseless to me anyway. By not watching the film you miss all of the imagery, you do not see any of the action. You are missing some of the greatest films ever made.

By not watching foreign language films, you’d never see The Seven Samurai, my all-time favorite movie. What with the stunning action, the comedy, the romance, the Toshiro Mifune, it’s really freaking brilliant.

No foreign language films = no 400 Blows, no Wild Strawberries, no Seventh Seal, no 8 ½, no Band of Outsiders, no…

Is this an American thing? An English language thing? Is this just something with the people I know? Why are so many afraid of subtitles?

What do you guys think? Do you watch foreign language flicks? What about you fellas across the pond think about this? Is the UK more enlightened when it comes to foreign language flickery, being so close to foreign languages and all?

From: Bennett Dawson
To: The Hot Topic Team
Subject: Foreign Language Films

I’m really with Mat on this one. If you refuse to do subtitles, you miss a lot of great films. It works for me because I’m a speedy reader, and quickly fall into a mode where reading the text is just part of the experience. It stops bothering me about two minutes in.

That said, my wife is French Canadian, and English is her second language. She would love it if the films with heavy English accents or Irish accents (Snatch) were subtitled in English so she could figure out what the hell everybody is yacking about.

I vote ‘Yes’ on English subtitles for anything from Scotland, Boston, or New Jersey…

From: DJRadiohead
To: The Hot Topic Team
Subject: Foreign Language Films

Books are work, movies are easy and I am a lazy cunt.

I don’t want to work hard when I watch a movie. Two hours and I am done- that is the appeal. Movies are, in that sense, like poetry. Condensed. Tell the story of a man’s life in two hours. Tell the story of 12 hours in two. Great films stick around with you longer than that but still only take two hours to revisit.

That movie-watching is so easy makes me even less willing to put any kind of effort into watching one. If the movie is two hours and the first 30 minutes blow, I am probably out of there. I have little invested and the chance for redemption drops with each passing minute. Fuck a lot of that noise. I will go do something else.

It might sound to you like I don’t like movies. Not true. I did, during the dark days of college, work at a video store. For a few years, I got to see everything. I guess I got burned out on it all. I still watch more than a few each year but I generally get less and less excited about them. You will probably be able to guess what I think of foreign film viewing.

Movies are moving pictures. Every picture tells a story. I don’t really want to try and read and watch the movie at the same time. I admit it. I have been told by people all my life I am terrible at concentrating. I can’t focus. Ever. I mean, let me tell you about this time when I was in a play in college and- see what I mean? Do remind me to tell you that story sometime. Anyway, I do find it disconcerting to watch a film I also have to read. I have done it. I have seen some Kurosawa and a few others in my life. I just do not enjoy the experience.

Movies are also sound. They are aural experiences and I apologize in advance to the denizens of hypersensitive PC fucks everywhere: foreign tongues sound foreign. Sometimes they even sound funny to my ears. It can be really hard to let myself get sucked into an intense scene when I hear those sounds. The dramatic use of facial expressions, other visual scenery, and the score in the background cannot always overcome the fact those sounds can sometimes make me laugh. Even when they don’t, there is something lost in translation.

Harkening back to my college days, I learned in my nonverbal communication class 93 percent of meaning is transferred by nonverbal means. I guess the 7 percent I have to read rather than hear is the difference between loving foreign films and waiting for Hollywood to take them and fuck them up in English.

From: Mark Saleski
To: The Hot Topic Team
Subject: Foreign Language Films

The whole foreign film/subtitles thing seems to be a love it/hate it phenomenon.

Personally, I’ve always loved foreign movies. And while I don’t love subtitles, I’ll put up with them because the films themselves resonate with my inner-directed self.

Kurosawa being one exception, most of the foreign language movies I love are full of dialogue and not much else. Subtitles? Ah, I don’t care. There are just too many great films out there to allow some text on the screen to make the decision (to watch or not) for me.

Interestingly enough, my favorite foreign movie—indeed, my favorite movie of all time—combines moments of highly nuanced character development with segments of heart-stopping action. It’s a French film called Diva. A Parisian courier’s love of a particular opera singer gets him wrapped up in a white slavery and drug ring, plus some other creepy underworld types. The characters are so interesting, the plot so engrossing, and the music so beautiful, that I completely forget about the subtitles.

Oh…as for the sometimes proposed “solution” to subtitling: dubbing? That’s more distracting than subtitles. That I hate.

From: Aaron Fleming
To: The Hot Topic Team
Subject: Foreign Language Films

Ah the old `foreign films with those word things on screen’ topic, an
area close to my sensitive parts for sure. A subject worthy of many
fucks flung, as they often are, but perhaps this time with a
fuck-catapult built out of the flaming phalluses of a group of
Mahavishnu Orchestra-obsessed Pharisees.

But with a slight restraint in the flinging, maybe some put aside for
the time when the new Paul W. Anderson flick slides out his back
colon. This is due to our good fellow DJRadiohead’s comments regarding this here discussion, which are quite antithetical to my own views, albeit at the same time being very honest and pleasant.

Of course, it doesn’t matter where the film’s from, what the hell
language it is in, or whether the characters are speaking in the finest
and most expressive of the queen’s English, or in something more akin to Microsoft Word’s Wingdings font. It doesn’t matter. Plenty of crud-encrusted French movies out there. And best remember, not all foreign language movies are the high-end of culture, where’s the art-house praise for Banlieue 13? All that Parkour and elbows to groins not
titillating the pretensions of bereted and bearded critics? I guess
not, I thought it was fun though.

But to restrict yourself to only English language films is to miss out
on so much brilliance, not just the aesthetically glorified cinema of
a Tarkovsky or a Bergman, but great entertainment pieces like Ong Bak. I’ll admit to emitting a plethora of sneers towards the “subtitles? Fuck that, I’m going to watch rugby and get drunk” crowd, it’s a shame.

My occasional moonlighting as a video store clerk has brought me
many painful moments related to this very topic. Like that time
someone brought back Ong Bak complaining it was in “Chinese or some ol’ gibberish” and demanding nothing short of a refund. I of course corrected his erroneousness by blasting back with a negating stare and mouth movement forming “it’s actually Thai, cunt.” Then I told him to fuck off and how my day would have been better if he had been born still.

What can you do? Only attempt to spread the good word of Chan Wook Park by recommending his flicks at every opportunity; maybe, someday, one person might say, “by Mike Patton’s very beard thing! This is actually quite brilliant, now I must track down every Godard I missed while I was watching the latest mass-produced offering featuring The Rock, what a fool I have been.”

From: Mary K Williams
To: The Hot Topic Team
Subject: Foreign Language Films

You know, there is SO much good art out there – be it music, graphic (oils, watercolors), literary, or film – that what I’ve experienced could fit in a wee thimble. Sure, now I blame my lack of art exposure on trying to raise a family and all, and well that’s as good an excuse as any I guess. But lately, I’ve felt so deprived – so lacking. I know my life is continually being enriched through my home life experiences, and as much we can all cram in as a family. Yet, I hear tell of these interesting quirky films or offbeat but breathtaking musicians – and I think – ‘Wait, stop, the world is going much too fast, I’m going to miss it all!’

I do know that in the imaginary perfect world of not having to earn a living, not having anyone depending on you, a person would still be hard-pressed to go out and manage to ‘do it all’.

A thought occurred to me today – that I consider foreign films complete with subtitles like delicious fancy food. A little intimidating at first, but then quite delicious if prepared well, and if you have the right attitude.

But you have to be in the proper frame of mind for the likes of Crouching Tiger, Hero, or The Passion of the Christ (These being the few I’ve seen and enjoyed). If not. you may not be able to really appreciate the subtleties of flavoring or the magic of lighting and direction.

Sometimes, when you feel like I did today, exhausted after a very busy week, and with a cold on top of all that – sometimes you just want comfort food. And sometimes too, you just want comfort flicks. A movie that you don’t have to have all eight cylinders cranking for – like my picks of the day, Lethal Weapon 2, Scary Movie 2, Sixteen Candles, and Two Weeks Notice.

From: Duke de Mondo
To: The Hot Topic Team
Subject: Foreign Language Films

Ah, the old “Balls! It’s subtitled!” hollering.

How many times have I heard this? Far too many to be bothered thinking about.

…The lass in the video-store who, with rather lovely yap all twisted up the jaw, handed me Amelie with the cautionary aside; “This is subtitled, y’know. Is that alright?”

…The copy of Irreversible tossed back at my mug, fella tutting, “Watched five minutes. Fuckin’ all that writin’ an stuff, the hell kinda shite’s that?”

…The ex-girlfriend lamenting my choice of viewing material for the evening. “The Seventh Seal!” I cheerily announce. “For God’s sakes!” comes the anguished reply. “Can’t we watch somethin’ normal? Somethin’ without subtitles!”

…The mate all high on the beery-brew, eyes all uncertainty couple minutes into Funny Games. “Is it like that all the way through? With the subtitles?” (He did watch it mind, and quite enjoyed it. I thought it was shite and threw a shoe at the telly.)

Aye. Who knows why, or for what reason, but plenty folks who wanna be sat front the screen for a couple hours, most likely they wanna see something doesn’t piss all o’er their ears wi’ some gabble they can’t understand and a buncha text they can’t be arsed reading. This isn’t to say that folks who don’t like subtitles don’t like film, that right there is a horrendous misconception. I know people got the damn house comin’ down with 1940s comedies, for example, but it’s rare they’ll bother with anything ain’t got English as the primary language.

It’s easy to get all sortsa snobbish regarding viewing types who’d puke their faces raw if’n they had to sit front a Bergman for any length of time. But it’s also incredibly easy to get ones own perspective fucked just as bad.

There is, whether or not we care to admit it, a consensus among certain flickology types that runs along the lines of; A foreign film is inherently superior to a Hollywood number.

This is bullshit, of course.

I remember a conversation with a lady way back when, was asking her if she’d seen Pale Rider.

“No” she said. “I don’t watch those kindsa films. I only watch World Cinema.”

There are, of course, a number of reasons for why a fella might wanna claw his own ears off after hearing such a statement. For one thing, it’s fuckin’ Pale Rider. For another, fuckin’ Pale Rider was made in America, which, last time I looked, was part of the World. Also, World Cinema? What horrible ghettoised mindset has done gone soured your very arse, m’dear, for to have you using terms like World Cinema. Like “World Music”, World Cinema ain’t nothin more than a wretched, patronising, elitist-yet-incredibly-ignorant half-arsed nonsense.

Bein’ the kind of fella who cums himself in five at the thought of a couple extra minutes of Manhattan might be hidden away in a vault someplace, i.e, a Flick Geek, I’ll watch anything, and if it’s good, it’s good. Subtitled or otherwise, horror or romantic-comedy or documentary about some goof made a record one time and some folks liked it, whatever, if a fella wants to find the gold, he can’t go lingerin’ round a handful o’ rocks.

Wonderful flicks are a universal phenomenon, as is guffy ol’ shite.

Also, it ain’t necessarily the fault of the audiences that they don’t watch these flicks. Time and again, it’s been proven that a subtitled flick can be incredibly successful provided the studio flinging it screen-wards puts the effort in. The Passion Of The Christ, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Life Is Beautiful. Three flicks right there that proved enormously popular theatrically and on video / DVD. If folks could see, say, Paradise Now as easily as they could see Munich, I’d wager they would. They have done.

Studios tossing brilliant films into horrible ghettos like World Cinema, marketing them to select audiences and ignoring everyone else, well, they’re as much to blame as the fella sat front the telly choosing Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels over Ikiru, or Anchorman over La Cage Aux Folles. More so, in fact, because most likely the fella would go with Ikiru, had he ever heard of it.

A flick they’ve heard about, they’re more likely to watch. Stands to reason. How many flicks do we ignore, us enlightened cinema-fiends, on account of we don’t know shit about them? Plenty manys, is how many.

Market these things right, and it’s more likely folks’ll take the chance.

Folks take the chance with that one, there’s more chance they’ll opt for La Cage Aux Folles next time.

They’ll probably still enjoy Anchorman more, though. And they’d be absolutely right to do so. Anchorman fuckin’ rocks.