Brandeis University announced last week that it would close its Rose Art Museum and sell its entire collection in response to the school's deepening financial problems. The liquidation of the collection, which is worth about $350 million, has caused a great deal of controversy and sent shockwaves throughout the art world and the Brandeis community.
The director of "American Beauty" (1999) has once again successfully crafted a movie about disillusioned suburbia. "Revolutionary Road" never falls into its predecessor's shadow, and its disintegrating couple, the reunited Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, perform their roles with stunning artistry.
There are many sides to Andrew Bird, the musician behind "Noble Beast." He is a classically trained violinist who studied at Northwestern University's prestigious conservatory, a singer with an enchantingly smooth voice, a very good whistler and a normal guy from Chicago who loves music.
After witnessing what passed for dancing at Winter Bash, the Daily Arts Department got nostalgic for the good old days. There was a time when getting down on the dance floor didn't mean having sex with your clothes on, when rhythmic expression wasn't limited to grinding up on someone's naughty bits, and when one could go to a dance and not be subjected to soft-to-hard-core porn all night. Here are the Top 10 dances we'd rather see at next year's Winter Bash: 10. Chicken Dance: Even if you don't want to be a chicken, don't like chickens, or have a rare poultry allergy, you probably still want to shake your butt if you're at Winter Bash or anywhere else you may be expected to "bring it on." And what better dance than the Chicken Dance? Even Marty "Nobody calls me chicken!" McFly loves the Chicken Dance. 9. Soulja Boy: While this is the most recent dance on our list, the crazy sensation that swept the hip-hop world last year has easily and sadly been forgotten. Besides, it's always funny watching middle-class white kids trying to dance hip-hop moves. 8. Middle-school Slow Dance (a.k.a. "The Frankenstein"): Drunkenness can lead to uncomfortable encroachments on personal space. It may be time to remember that we always need to leave room for the Holy Spirit. As it turns out, the Holy Spirit has put on some weight recently, which would require both you and your partner to hyper-extend your arms in front of you and lock your elbows in a Frankenstein-esque manner. 7. Thriller: First popularized in 1983 by the eponymous song and subsequent short-film music video, this dance is best known for Michael Jackson's groundbreaking "swinging-raptor-arms" move. No one can ever really remember the rest of the dance, so this move usually suffices for both tearing it up on the dance floor and fending off potential muggers on the walk home afterward. 6. Cotton-Eyed Joe: Who doesn't love this middle-school throwback? We all know the tune and secretly love the chance it gives us to show off our inner-cowboys. And, who knows? If this dance gets brought back, we may finally be able to answer the immortal words: "Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?" 5. The Can-Can: Yes, we can-can. 4. Macarena: The Macarena, Latin sensation and Bar Mitzvah staple that it is, makes anyone look like an expert dancer. If you've got the hand thing, the little waggle and the turn down, you're a dance machine. 3. Electric Slide: A dance that is composed of so many slides and shuffles, someone might think you are slipping all over the floor. The problem with this dance is many people may confuse it with the Cha-Cha Slide, which is completely different and much less classy. Oh, and ... IT'S ELECTRIC! 2. The Hora (a.k.a. "That Hava Nagilah Dance"): Judaism long ago accepted the fact that most of its followers can't dance, which is why this quintessentially Jewish celebratory dance consists merely of holding hands and running in circles. To top it off, you get to lift people up in chairs with the intent of either scaring the bejesus out of them or breaking the ceiling. Or both. 1. Riverdance: What do you get when you mix a huge stage, all of your Irish relatives, and a butt-load of Guiness? You guessed it. Just try not to kick anyone in the face when you get in that huge line, no one wants a drunken brawl at Winter Bash ... right? —compiled by the Daily Arts Department
"Che: Part Two — Guerrilla" (2008) is both the second half of Steven Soderbergh's four-and-a-half-hour epic about Ernesto "Che" Guevara and a unique film that stands on its own and speaks for itself. The film picks up slightly after the events of "Che: Part One —The Argentine" (2008) and follows Guevara, once again portrayed by Benicio Del Toro, from his exploits in Bolivia through his capture and execution. The story of Guevara in Bolivia is not as well-known as that of his time in Cuba, but it is just as controversial. Making a film about Che Guevara, an extremely polarizing figure, is potentially dangerous. Making two films about him could be considered lunacy, but somehow Soderbergh has avoided this pitfall. The film explores the actual events of Che's life with little embellishment and only slips into reverence, falling for the popular cult of Che, once or twice. At the beginning of "Guerrilla," Guevara arrives in Bolivia to assist in starting an armed struggle to liberate the peasants who he feels are forced to work and live in less than ideal conditions. After his rise to notoriety during the events of the Cuban Revolution, Che has to disguise himself in order to get into Bolivia, entering under the guise of a diplomatic figure. Once in Bolivia, Guevara, first under the name Ramon and later Fernando, sets up a militant rebel force. He trains volunteers, and as they travel the country they attempt to gain the trust of some of the Bolivians, helping the peasants as much as they can with medical and monetary problems. All of the good will in the world, however, does little to cover the fact that Guevara is very obviously an outsider whom the natives will never trust. "Guerilla" is presented in a different film aspect ratio and done in a different film format than "The Argentine." Generally, it has a more stripped-down feel. The majority of the film is done with handheld cameras, without the use of cranes or dollies. Where "The Argentine" is more or less a Hollywood affair with intricate sets and much exposition, "Guerilla" takes place mostly in the rainforest and in small peasant villages, and the action moves fairly quickly. The level of violence in "Guerilla" is shocking at times, mainly because the characters who are so often shot and killed actually feel like real people. Whether or not the audience relates to the cause or sympathizes with the fighters is irrelevant. One might feel nothing when Che is killed, but when a peasant teenager, driven to join the rebel forces by the situation in his hometown, dies in battle it is a saddening event. Soderbergh, Del Toro and scriptwriters Peter Buchman and Benjamin A. van der Veen have done an extremely thorough job researching Che, and it shows. Though there are many characters to keep track of, the film seldom gets confusing. All of the supporting characters are played by virtually unknown actors, save for a puzzling cameo by none other than Matt Damon as a local religious figure. But thankfully, the unknowns manage to keep up with Del Toro who shines in the title role. The Che Guevara of "Guerilla" is older and somewhat weaker than he is during his time in Cuba. His hair and beard have grown into a wild mane around his face, bringing to mind classical representations of Don Quixote, who, much like Che, was driven on a seemingly insane quest. Also, Che's asthma constantly plagues him. As Del Toro wheezes and gasps through asthma attacks, the audience may feel short of breath themselves. It is a truly inspired performance. One does not need to be educated about Guevara's life and battles to appreciate the artistry that has gone into the making of this film. He is not celebrated, not mourned, or put on a pedestal and proselytized about; rather, he is put in his environment and observed. As director Oliver Hirschbiegel brought the idea of Hitler to something of a flesh-and-blood understanding in 2004's "Downfall," so Soderbergh does here with Ernesto "Che" Guevara, and this, certainly, viewers can appreciate.
Hugh Grant, who I hate, made a career out of playing the same person, each one as sniveling, perpetually flummoxed and charming as the last. However, as he so accurately shows in "Gran Torino" (2009), Clint Eastwood — whose coolness has inspired me to name my first three children Clint, East and Wood, regardless of their genders — has made an even more successful career out of arguably even less variation. Harry Callahan, William Munny and Walt Kowalski all have the same skills and the same flaws and shamelessly kill similar amounts of people. The only way to tell them apart is to measure the relative elasticity of the character's skin — if flesh clings to his bones, then its Callahan, if it doesn't, its Kowalski, and if it kind-of does, its Munny. And yet, if I could "Talented-Mr.-Ripley" anybody over the age of 65, it would no doubt be Eastwood. Is my disparity in preference hypocritical? Should my hate for Hugh Grant and his one dimension apply to the equally limited Clint Eastwood? No, and here's why: Clint Eastwood's characters are really cool, and Hugh Grant's characters are really lame. Enter Department of Eagles, technically a "side project" duo featuring Grizzly Bear songwriter, guitarist and vocalist Daniel Rossen, but more accurately a smaller, leaner version of Grizzly Bear. While some musicians start side projects to explore musical interests that their primary group ignores, Rossen (and non-Bear Fred Nicolaus) uses DoE to explore vocal harmonies, guitar tones and phrases and ambiance roughly identical to those he and his bandmates mastered on Grizzly Bear's instant-classic 2006 release "Yellow House." Do I hold my nose high, spitting on Rossen for his unwillingness to expand his horizons or challenge himself to do something new? Hell no. In fact, I shell out way too much money to see him do his thing live. DoE may sound a lot like Grizzly Bear, but Grizzly Bear's music — especially Rossen's contribution to it — is so intelligent, so arrestingly pretty and so like everything I want to hear from an indie rock band that, in the absence of any new Grizzly Bear records, I will gladly take Rossen doing Grizzly Bear Lite, which is essentially what the DoE show at the Brattle Theater was. "Around the Bay," built around delicate guitar fingerpicks and Rossen's cherubim soprano, for example, sounded like a less haunting version of "Yellow House" standout "Little Brother," only without the orchestra of backing instruments. You didn't have to squint to see the similarities in mood and instrumentation between the intro of "House" song "On a Neck, on a Spit" and whimsical DoE tune "Floating on the Lehigh," which feels and sounds like a pared down version of the Grizzly Bear song. And "Balmy Night," the last song on DoE's 2007 release "In Ear Park," essentially digests "Little Brother," "Easier," and "Reprise" into a thinner, less moving version of "Yellow House," which, to me, is both logical and laudable for someone who played a central role in arranging that record. Not only should we expect the same musical vision with which Rossen imbues "Yellow House" to figure into his non-Bear songwriting, but for him to be able to even come close to replicating the uniquely ephemeral atmosphere of that record is a genuine achievement. The only disappointment was how unfunny Nicolaus and Rossen were. I expected hilarious banter from the guys who named an EP "Noam Chomsky Spring Break" (2003), but their painfully awkward exchanges left me unsatisfied. But while their comedic prowess didn't live up to my predictions, their music definitely did. Yes, DoE sounds a lot like Grizzly Bear, but as far as I'm concerned, sounding like a band that A) you're in and B) is awesome is far from an assailable creative choice.
Dear REAL-D 3D Cinema, Our relationship has not always seen the smoothest sailing, and we need to talk. We don't know whether we should love you or hate you, but the one thing we keep asking ourselves is, "Why?". Why do you exist? We live in three dimensions. Honest-to-God 3-D. Not your "It's like I can touch you!" 3-D illusion, but the actual "I can touch you," 3-D of shapes, textures, depth and yes, dimensions! You take on so many forms. Sometimes you're in our faces: You pretend to shoot us, to splash us with water and, sometimes, when you're "My Bloody Valentine 3-D" (2009), to stab out someone's eye with a pix-axe and hurl it at us or poke us in the eyes with a horny teen's nipples. Other times you're mellow and laid-back, and we remember why we fell for you in the first place. You set up a depth of field. You make us feel like we're watching more than a movie. You're cool, baby. But why do you make stupid decisions? Why are you presenting "Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience" (2009) or "Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert Tour" (2008) in 3-D? What's the deal with "U2 3D" (2007)? No one needs The Edge in 3D for Christ's sake! If you promise to be cool we'll give you another chance. If good directors decide to utilize you, maybe there's a future for us. But God help you if James Cameron's "Avatar" (2009) sucks. You're trying, and we get it. You've ditched those red and blue glasses for the new plastic ones. They even look a little like Ray-Ban Wayfarers, and we dig wearing sunglasses inside at night without looking like total douchebags. Thanks for trying, really, but you have a ways to go until you prove that you're more than a gimmick and worth the extra $2 per movie ticket. For now, let's just be friends. Best, The Daily Arts Department
Following a recent performance at Cambridge music club T.T. The Bear's Place, the Daily's Matt DiGirolamo sat down with sophomore Ben Anshutz of Tufts band Party Hat to talk about influences, piano rock and fake mustaches. Matthew DiGirolamo: Tell us a little about Party Hat; how it started and what type of music you play? Ben Anshutz: The drummer (junior Alex Berdoff) and the guitar player (junior Aaron Wishnick) went to high school together and then both came to Tufts and wanted to keep making music. So, they started making flyers and telling friends. Then they got this singer their freshman year ... They were together as an entity, and then they were looking for a keyboard player about two years ago when I was still in high school. When I got to Tufts I found a flyer by chance; come to think of it, it wasn't a flyer so much as a torn-off piece of paper that said "keyboardist wanted" with a phone number stuck to the wall. I can say that this is the best thing that I have done at Tufts. It's really a lot of fun. I guess as far as the type of music we play, we'd be loosely defined as alternative rock. Think of lasers coming from every musical orifice, more like stadium rock. We are just goofy and silly people in general. At our show [at T.T. The Bear's Place on 1/27], we [gave] away free fake mustaches if you signed up for our mailing list. We even wore them at one point during our show. MD: If you could compare your music to another band, who would it be? BA: There is no one band that we are taken off of, but there are doses of Incubus, Maroon 5 and Head Automatica. It's music for the head and the hips. There's lots going on, so it's fun for us to play. For people who are into music, the style is really danceable. MD: What type of musical influences does the band have? BA: Before I was in the band, there was almost a metal influence. I brought more of a pop-sensibility to the group, just because I play a lot of jazz and old pop like Billy Joel and Elton John. Having keys in the band moved it away from metal naturally. MD: You used to do solo stuff right? BA: Still do! MD: Is that still active? BA: Yeah, I play a little bit of guitar too and so I play around campus or in Boston depending [on] if it's keys and vocals or just an acoustic guitar thing. I am a singer-songwriter myself too, and I am also in two other bands. So I am still writing a lot of music, mostly in the Ben Folds style since that is a big influence on me. MD: As a keyboardist, what do you think of someone like Andrew McMahon (of Jack's Mannequin and Something Corporate) who has become a huge success through playing piano and rocking out on that during shows? BA: I definitely think it's a genre that is not explored enough. It's always good when an artist takes piano out of the world of jazz or synthesis-wizard stuff. Making rock music more piano-centric has not been tapped enough, and it is fun to play. That is where my heart truly lies — in music — and more of what I listen to often. MD: Where does the name "Party Hat" come from? BA: We were at first going to be Interrobang, but then we found out that another band in the Boston area had that, so it was a bummer. Aaron [Wishnick, a junior and the band's guitarist] came into practice like two days after we found out the name was taken and he said "Alright guys, how about Party Hat?" There was no big discussion or "it-came-to-me-in-a-dream" moment. MD: Are you guys planning to do any recording? BA: We have not officially released an EP of material that we are waiting on. We are in the midst of tidying up a few songs so we can release an album by the end of the year. MD: Are you planning on staying with Party Hat for a while? BA: Aaron and I were talking about this the other day actually. There are good environments to make music in, and bad environments to make music in, depending on the creative element of the people and who has control or who is fighting for it. Party Hat is the ideal situation; we hang out outside of practice and we are on the same page when it comes to writing and performing songs. Everyone in the band is making himself hard to be replaced since everyone seems to be in their element in the band. I cannot describe how great it feels to write music with these guys. It's super-rewarding. MD: If someone offered you a record contract tomorrow, would you take it? BA: Definitely, but I don't think we'd drop out of school. We'd need to have a discussion and decide if maybe we'd want to take a semester off. Party Hat will perform at Tufts' own Hotung Café on Feb. 27. For more information about the band, visit myspace.com/partyhatband.
Those who believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder are bound to enjoy the newest exhibition at the Barbara Krakow Gallery on Newbury Street. The show displays works that seem to be longing for something in a way that makes their incompleteness both provocative and enjoyable. "Missing!" is a compilation of works by twelve different contemporary artists that, at first, seem to have little in common. The title, however, provides a unique and useful way to approach each piece and to find the thread linking them all together. In this show, the theme of the exhibition, rather than the works themselves, is the most stimulating aspect of the visitor's experience. Upon entering the gallery, the viewer is at once confronted with the show's most prominent work, "Car on Bricks" (2008), by South African born Robin Rhode. The piece is a monumental wall drawing that immediately invokes Sol LeWitt's famous works done in the same medium. In spite of this, "Car on Bricks" is inherently different from LeWitt's abstract designs because it is a simplified, yet rather life-like, representation of a common sedan. This work relates to Rhode's earlier performance pieces in which he would draw a common object like a bicycle on a wall and interact with it as though it was real. The removal of the artist from this piece leaves the viewer with a simple drawing which is juxtaposed by two piles of brick replacing the missing wheels. While the car symbolizes motion, the immovability associated with bricks negates that idea. In addition, the contrast between the reality of the bricks and the fiction associated with a drawing of a car, creates a further sense of opposition in the work. The lack of an actual car relates directly to the desire associated with not having enough money to possess a car. Although this piece relates to consumerism and capitalism by engaging the idea of longing for an extravagant object, other works in the show point to less tangible absences. Joseph Grigely's "Songs Without Words" (2008) is a piece that compiles twelve newspaper clippings of singers and musicians into a minimalist grid, drawing attention to the grand gestures and gaping mouths of the performers. If the piece consisted of only one photo it would have little impact, but the presence of so many voiceless musicians together makes the viewer painfully aware of the lack of sound in the almost silent gallery setting. "Collection of Ten Plaster Surrogates" (1982/92) by Allan McCollum takes on the theme of absence in a completely different manner. From a distance, this piece appears to be a set of ten framed, rectangular paintings arranged in a crowded space. But these paintings lack any sort of definable subject, as McCollum has covered them completely in black paint; all the paintings are exactly the same except for their size and the color of their frames. Furthermore, as the viewer comes closer to the paintings, it becomes clear that each one is actually a single object — consisting of frame, matting and the central, monochromatic subject. This set directly relates to McCollum's earlier works in which he was concerned with the relationship between art and mass production. Each of the "Plaster Surrogates" is handmade and unique due to slight variations, yet they overtly contradict the idea of a traditional painting and make the viewer rethink his understanding of art objects. The central theme of this exhibition conveys a setting in which the relationship among all of the works is incredibly powerful. While each piece is interesting on its own, they all come together to create something that is rarely found in galleries these days: a grand, museum-worthy idea for a show. It is not a one-man artist retrospective or a collection of Impressionist paintings, but a creatively designed experience that leaves the viewer questioning the importance of completeness in a world where the thirst for something more is never quenched. Although the price of artwork is enough to scare away most college students, the friendly and helpful staff create a welcoming environment in which to enjoy this unique approach to contemporary art, making this gallery exhibition a worthwhile stop during any routine Newbury Street shopping trip.
One would not be remiss in guessing that "Che: Part I — The Argentine" (2009) would be full of praise for one of the 20th century's most controversial and iconic figures. Yet as soon as the film starts rolling, the viewer is drawn into the real, less glamorized story behind this film: the Cuban Revolution. The film opens with a geography lesson, acquainting the viewer with Cuba's provinces and large cities, the very places that are the setting for the revolution explored later in the film. The action begins with the titular Ernesto "Che" Guevara (played by Benicio Del Toro) and Fidel Castro (Demián Bichir) having a dinner-table discussion about the injustices of the Cuban dictatorship under then-President Fulgencio Batista. After this discussion, the film's focus appears to shift toward Guevara himself, but, in reality, the revolution remains the focus. Whereas other movies depicting Che Guevara's life, such as "The Motorcycle Diaries" (2004), have focused on Guevara's personal development and the process by which he formed his ideas, "The Argentine" shows how Guevara puts these ideas into action in the context of the Cuban Revolution. "The Argentine," directed by Steven Soderbergh, is the first part of a two-part biopic that, when shown together, lasts over four hours. Luckily for audiences, the films are being released separately, and "The Argentine" lasts only an hour and a half. The film takes viewers from the shores of Mexico (where Guevara and 81 other revolutionaries first set sail to Cuba) to Havana and the eventual successful overthrow of Batista's Cuban dictatorship. The film's main storyline is interspersed with scenes in New York where Guevara presents his case to the United Nations and explains the rationale behind the revolution. These segments of the film are shown in black and white. The shift from the vibrant colors of the Cuban setting to the subdued New York palate lets the viewer focus on what Guevara is saying. His speech reveals his reasons for participating in the revolution in Cuba, despite the fact that he himself is Argentinean. One cannot help but admire the level of detail put into making the film feel as authentic as possible. The black-and-white New York segments feel like archival footage; the picture is grainier and the speeches are taken word for word from Guevara's actual speeches to the United Nations. When the film moves to the dense forests of the Cuban countryside, the outstanding sound design connects viewers to the action. The audience can hear every crackling leaf and twig that breaks under the boots of Cuban guerrillas as they make their way closer and closer to Havana. "The Argentine" has come under fire for being biased toward the notorious and divisive man. Some see him as a symbol of freedom from oppression and injustice, while for others he is a reminder of the brutality and violence that accompanied the Cuban Revolution. While "The Argentine" fails to convey the full extent of Guevara's cruelty, it would be unfair to say that it glorifies him in any way, despite the constant reminders of Guevara's unwavering commitment to his own principles and ideals. When the Cuban revolutionaries are poised to take Havana, for example, Guevara orders one of his soldiers who had stolen a car and decided to drive it to Havana to turn back instead of allowing his brigade to arrive in stolen property. Nevertheless, for those who view Guevara's legacy as one of excessive violence, perhaps the lack of a clear condemnation of Guevara's questionable tactics is reason enough to shun the film. Anyone who chooses to see this movie will leave the theater asking questions. The film's hesitance to definitively portray Guevara as a man committed to false ideas or horrific tactics makes it hard for the viewer to decide how to feel about his actions. This film is especially poignant and timely because Hugo Chavez, the current president of Venezuela, has recently made statements against American imperialism similar to Guevara's at the United Nations. "The Argentine" confronts viewers with a realization that the virtues of capitalism aren't as strong and reliable as they were thought to be, and it is through this atmosphere of uncertainty and self-doubt that the film makes audience members ask themselves, "Do I agree with this guy or not?"
When a movie handily wins a box office weekend, it is generally a highly anticipated release, one that might even change the way viewers perceive cinema. This is not the case with "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" (2009). With its well-timed release over the long weekend, and the absence of other family-friendly films, Sony Pictures churned out a profit on something that didn't deserve to make over $30 million. The film (if you could call it that) stars Kevin James as Paul Blart, a bumbling mall security officer who has to save the mall and some some hostages from a group of thieves. After the opening credits, the camera shows a training field where new recruits are working to become state troopers, and Blart, who needs to pass the obstacle course to get his badge, predictably fails before he reaches the finish line. Blart, a single father whose wife left him after she gained citizenship through marriage, has a hopeless crush on Amy (played by Jamya Mays), a kiosk saleswoman in the mall who sells hair extensions from a little store called "Unbeweavable." Other minor characters in the film come into play at different moments, but none of the roles do anything to save the movie from its utter and terrible cinematic failure. Most of the film's humor relies on the fact that Paul Blart is fat, happy and single. The jokes — or physical humor — include Paul falling on someone, getting stuck in a tight space and passing out from his hypoglycemia (the movie's only gross-out scene). In addition, his daughter sets him up with an online dating profile, which does nothing to help his love life. The film's attempt at comedy is often too predictable to be enjoyed. Picture the famous scene in "Die Hard" (1988) where John McClane crawls through the rafters to subdue terrorists. Now picture an oversized Kevin James crawling in the same type of rafters to subdue skateboard-riding punks trying to steal from every store in the mall. Instead of a masterfully-crafted action scene, Blart's weight causes the vents to fall from the ceiling and knock out the morons below. Yet another try for comedic relief relies on the fact that Blart rides around on a Segway, and is generally disrespected by patrons in the mall. While something can be said for Kevin James doing all of his own stunts, being dragged by a man in a motorized wheelchair isn't really enough to make this movie entertaining. To be fair, college students may not be the chosen audience for this film, but it is still hard to chuckle at any of its jokes. "Mall Cop" rests entirely on Kevin James' shoulders since the supporting cast of unknowns doesn't add much to the plot or comedy. The only other thing that carries any weight is the plot, which slowly leads the audience to figure out who the bad guy is and who will be helpful in resolving the movie. But nothing stands out as a shining moment of brilliance or even acceptable film making in this 91-minute piece of junk. "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" is one of those movies people love to hate; it's silly, unfunny and so bad that it's ridiculous. The movie will obviously appeal to the family that doesn't want to have pickaxes flying at them in "My Bloody Valentine 3D" (2009) or for those who can't stand hearing Clint Eastwood sing at the end of "Gran Torino" (2008). Besides, there is no other family-friendly movie out in cinemas now. For everyone else, it might be a good idea to wait for this one to come out on DVD, or to wait for "Pink Panther 2" (2009) next week, but don't get your hopes up.
Last semester, despite being a supporter of Barack Obama and fearful of four years of John McCain and Sarah Palin, I could not help but worry what would become of popular culture in the wake of a capable president. The last eight years were a delightful mix of jokes about an incompetent president and an evil vice president in the humor realm and thinly veiled allegories of a government that had overstepped its boundaries in the dramatic field. Now change has come, so indulge me, if you will, as I try to foretell what we'll be getting with this new administration. Let's start off in the comedic sector. Bush was an easy target, a veritable buffet of jokes from his manners of speaking to horrible decisions to absurd ideas of how terrorists ultimately thought. Obama is not. However, on Inauguration Day, the Onion released an article, "Obama Inauguration Speech Ruined By Incessant Jackhammering." Suddenly we had our answer. Obama would be a horrible village idiot, but he's going to make the perfect straight man for all presidential humor. With his calm demeanor, his difficulty to excite and his general adherence to reason, the president is the perfect character to be thrown into the middle of chaotic nonsense, wacky assistants and aggravations of all shapes and sizes. Every sketch and article will be a test of how far we can push the fictionalized version of our commander-in-chief before he cracks. I personally will not be satisfied till I see a faux-Obama channel Carl Winslow and shout to our former president, "George! Go home! Go home! Go home!" Now, dramatic storytelling is a bit trickier. At first, some people were predicting another early sixties: i.e. the Kennedys and Camelot, and maybe even that Marilyn Monroe would come back to life so that Obama could do the nasty with her. Essentially, bright, cheerful visions of a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow. But for all of the times that Obama has talked about the message of hope, his words are anything but blindly idealistic or optimistic. In his inauguration speech he acknowledged how deep our country is in the muck at the moment, how it is our own responsibility to lift ourselves back up and even how we have to curtail our excess consumption of resources. So what will the quintessential Obama administration drama be? One of redemption, I feel. Or, should our country sink even deeper, failed redemption. "The Wrestler" (2008) could be the prototype of what may become this quintessential Obama-era story. It tells of someone whose life has gone to the crapper, and he has no one to blame but himself. He must own up to his past mistakes and try to improve what he can. That the mistakes were his (or ours) is the key difference. The film "V for Vendetta" (2005) changed the original comic book's message. In the comic book, people are to blame for the government they have. The film invented conspiracies and fake terrorist attacks to put the fault completely on a select few in charge. The film is a Bush administration movie through and through. Were "V for Vendetta" to enter production now rather than four years ago, we might see a bit more faithfulness to the graphic novel. Of course, only time will truly tell in what ways pop culture will reflect our new president. Till then, I'll be keeping just as anxious of an eye on that as I do on his executive actions.
From deep in the jungle of Baltimore, Maryland, the members of Animal Collective have been the leaders of the neo-psychedelic scene for nearly a decade. Now, one year after they received national recognition on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien," these weathered noisemakers have released their ninth LP, "Merriweather Post Pavillion" (2009). Years ago, Animal Collective produced lo-fi sounds that fell under the banner of "freak folk." After collaborating with folk legend Vashti Bunyan on an EP in 2005, however, Animal Collective blossomed within the still-small arena of experimental folk. Their style was sparse and often tedious, but included a happily serene demeanor. Soon, Animal Collective began experimenting with samplers, synthesizers and lots of delay. The result was 2007's masterpiece "Strawberry Jam," which left fans wondering how the band could possibly live up to its own standard. The answer, it appears, was to do it again. One element of Animal Collective's mysticism was its ability to create a new, unheard genre with each release. But "Merriweather Post Pavillion," while still a musical success, does not do anything drastically new and sounds like a mellower extension of "Strawberry Jam." Only long-term fans will be disappointed, though; for other listeners, the album will still represent the musical fringe. However, despite its "fringe" status, "Merriweather Post Pavillion" is suspiciously easy to swallow. There is not a harsh note in the entire album, and layered vocals glide over wet, bass-heavy beats — one surprising new element in Animal Collective's repertoire. Nearly every song on the album is grounded by deep trip-hop rhythms, which make them almost palpable for the listener. These beats reveal Animal Collective's true pop sensibilities, which will no doubt earn perky new followers and anger those who love them for their earlier spaced-out, fly-away sounds. But both new and old enthusiasts won't be able to deny the satisfaction of hearing these blissfully danceable songs. In "Merriweather Post Pavilion's" single, "My Girls," Animal Collective seems to take a preemptive strike against critical fans who may charge the band with selling out. The lyrics make a frank statement to the listener and justify why the band cares about material things. Vocalists Avey Tare and Panda Bear explain in billowing sing-song, "With a little girl and by my spouse/ I only want a proper house." Avey Tare and Panda Bear's families are directly referenced in several other songs, which illuminates the overall feeling of joy and love in the album. At least half of the tracks are love songs, but they are so genuinely festive and light that no cold-hearted hipster can complain. With the themes of peace and love at the forefront of the album, Animal Collective proves itself to be a psychedelic band. The album's cover art produces an illusion of movement an unmistakable ode to LSD and the echo and warping effects make vocal and instrumental sound bites disorienting. However, such distortion tricks are old hat for the band, which makes this album seem less remarkable than Animal Collective's more freshly eclectic work. The highlight of the album is its closer, "Brothersport." As usual, the band's vocals become indecipherable between lucid chants of "Open up your throat," a nod to the pleasure of, ahem, singing. Other songs on the album are a celebration of the band's independence from mainstream expectations. Each track reliably offers creative structure mixed with steady pop- and hip-hop-inspired beats, but it is this reliability that blurs the distinctness of each song as well as the album's unique place in Animal Collective's discography. Once spacey weirdoes filling songs with grunts and caws, Animal Collective has settled down to make music suitable for Earth. Who can blame them? As explicitly presented in the album's lyrics, the band members have wives and a few kids between them. If there was ever a time for Animal Collective to forgo ten-minute jams for snappier hooks, it's now. "Merriweather Post Pavilion" is a contagious, inspiring musical work on its own. Even so, given Animal Collective's groundbreaking musical history, this album is unlikely to live up to long-time fans' expectations.
A film destined for the big screen, "Notorious" is a biopic about the ‘90s rapper, Notorious B.I.G. Though the production value can't touch that of its Hitchcockian predecessor of the same name, "Notorious" nonetheless has its own unique, fast-paced style. Newcomer Jamal Woolard — himself a Brooklyn rapper — does a great job capturing Biggie's style, from his swagger to his music, and the film actually benefits from his inexperience. Christopher Wallace, aka Biggie Wallace, aka Notorious B.I.G., is widely considered one of the greatest rappers of all time. Originally a drug dealer in Brooklyn, Biggie lived for 24 years before his murder, which remains unsolved. He became one of the most important figures in East Coast hip hop and was entangled in East Coast/West Coast hip-hop battles, assault charges and many problematic relationships. In this way, Biggie embodied all the glamour and violence of the '90s rap scene. The cast plays off of the confidence Woolard brings to the screen. Two supporting actresses, Antonique Smith and Naturi Naughton, portray two of his failed romances with spunk and fire. Angela Bassett does a great job in the role of his mother, and the whole cast adds level of richness and character to the film. The cast fails, however, when it comes to examining Biggie's character: The movie skips through the details of his biography and gives a superficial, cartoonish portrayal of his life rather than an in-depth look at the real Notorious B.I.G. Watching "Notorious" is almost like reading Wikipedia.org: It is interesting, even entertaining, but the information seems trivial and slightly biased. Much of the time, the movie's lack of biographical depth doesn't matter because the story is so much fun. The scene when Biggie records "Juicy," for example, is especially entertaining because the movie does not need to dive too deep for hilarious material. The actors do all the work and manage to communicate the crazed, drug-infused state of affairs. While some scenes are funny and help to develop Biggie's character, at other points, the plot seems to take the film away from the story of who Biggie was and into what he did. The narration of "Notorious" is partly to blame. Although Woolard's acting is great, his voiceovers are not, and when he narrates, the movie feels rushed and a little sloppy, simply going through the motions of a standard biopic rather than experimenting with or trying anything new. Unlike its subject matter, "Notorious"-the-movie will not have a major impact on anything because of its superficial treatment of the titular character. Biggie comes off as a stereotypical heroic figure instead of an actual person with flaws, as the film actively ignores the rougher aspects of his life. For example, the movie skims over the details of his atrocious treatment of his girlfriends, which may have to do with the fact that one of the producers is Biggie's mother, Voletta Wallace. It is her mark, not the rapper's, which dominates many of the scenes, leading the audience to see Biggie's temper in curious ways. He is shown getting angry over badly sized shoes, but not many other, more personal issues. If the movie were more willing to take an unbiased approach to the main character, viewers would have found a more interesting, multi-layered person. "Notorious" is certainly a good movie that captures the spirit, excitement and drama of '90s rap. It fails, however, to take the risks needed to get inside the real Notorious B.I.G., ultimately keeping this movie from becoming great.
A great gallery won't turn bad art good, and even great art can't improve a bad gallery. The problem with the Tufts Art Gallery's first show of the year, a retrospective survey of the work of Vietnamese-American artist Dinh Q. Lê, is the dissonance between the pieces on display and the space in which they are displayed. The survey collects mid-career pieces from the 41-year-old artist who migrated with his parents from Vietnam to the United States in 1979. He would later return to his home country in 1996. His pieces are thus a product of globalization; he mixes the modern sheen of digital and commercial photography with traditional Vietnamese weaving techniques. The majority of works in "A Tapestry of Memories: The Art of Dinh Q. Lê" are the artist's woven photographs, combinations of multiple images culled from television, movies and advertising meshed together into a shifting landscape of the staring faces of soldiers, religious imagery and product logos. Lê often draws on the gap between the two cultures in which he has lived. He takes freeze frames of movies and iconic works of photojournalism from Western media that present an American view of Vietnam, often seen strictly through the lens of the Vietnam War. The artist's strongest pieces in the show engage directly with this process of Americans remembering their own past, hence this "tapestry of memories." Making movies, taking photographs and saving images are all part of our own way of remembering ourselves. Art is often a time capsule of history; within a piece one can find the distilled essence of the time in which it was made. As such, Lê's best art reaches from the present back into the past, accessing issues that we are often not comfortable remembering ourselves — issues that are not fully integrated into our present or into our history books. Lê takes an active step toward integrating them. "Persistence of Memory #9" and "Persistence of Memory #10" are hazy images that move in and out of comprehension. The pictures' surfaces shift uncomfortably under the viewer's gaze — heads and faces of deep blood-red against a landscape of orange shot through with white. It's a picture of fire, with flame-yellow, gun-toting soldiers marching against old photographs in gray. The rectangular units of the artist's weaving technique bring to mind the pixels of the digital age, boxes of pure color thrown together in a net that coalesces into an eye witnessing horrors. The pictures Lê chooses are of dissolution as well as recreation as they end up disintegrating into his weave of imagery. They become blanked out with white boxes of cross-weave and disappear as they flow into and collide with other images. What they recreate is a little of the sense of the uneasiness of memory — the memory of past violence that slips away and the memory of a scar being made. Lê's focus on viewing Vietnam both as the ‘other' and as a part of himself is a worthy topic. A few works at the exhibition's opening, however, show the artist not having settled yet, using his weaving technique to great effect but leaving the appropriated imagery vapid and empty. "Doi Moi (Napalmed Girl)" interweaves the iconic image of girls straggling down the road after the Hiroshima bomb blast of World War II with junk food labels. Looking at it, the combination of imagery feels worse than inappropriate; it feel like the artists wanted to shock people with little regard for depth or meaning. The same emptiness is felt in the artist's appropriation of Renaissance painting; it's just playing conceptualism by the numbers. But despite the strength of most of the work, the show is disjointed. The gallery installation is slapdash with uneven walls and strange distances. It almost entirely lacks a sense of forward momentum, save for the front gallery. Even then, the center of the first gallery is taken up by a projection screen, which is entirely too distracting and actively takes away from the work in the gallery. This exhibition was organized by the Bellevue Arts Museum in Bellevue, WA. It shows that "A Tapestry of Memories: The Art of Dinh Q. Lê" was not developed specifically for Tufts, and that there was not enough work put into the transition. This is a failing of the gallery, not the artist. Seeing the show re-installed would do so much more for the work as well as the Tufts University Art Gallery.
We've seen it a thousand times. Some no-name, young actress with striking blue eyes and impeccable — assets? — is cautiously tiptoeing through a dark room wielding a sharp object. Next, sinister music stirs a captivated audience as a dark figure seizes the girl, who shrieks shrilly. Everyone knows what happens next: There is a struggle, and eventually the murderer becomes the murdered as he plummets to his death falling through a nearby window onto a conveniently placed metal spike or is shot and slain by a dashing male friend of the heroine who she thought was dead. Recently, horror films have become entirely too predictable. We acknowledge that once in a while everyone wants to scream and have a little bit of thrilling fun. But we have amusement parks for that. And good horror flicks. Does anybody recall the glory days of "The Shining" (1980) and "The Silence of the Lambs" (1991)? In the following weeks, a couple of scary movies are coming out that are sure to succeed in the box office but fail to quench our thirsts for thrills and gore. "The Unborn" may very well be the stillborn child of "The Exorcist" (1973) and "Fiddler on the Roof" (1971). The film consists of a Megan Fox double being haunted by the dybbuk, an evil spirit from Jewish folklore, of her twin brother who died during childbirth. We have several problems with this film. First, our bible, the Sacred Scriptures of Rotten Tomatoes, gave this movie a 14 percent approval rating. That means 14 percent of surveyed reviewers gave the film favorable reviews. To put things in perspective, "Death Race" (2008) tripled the score of "The Unborn" receiving a 42 percent approval rating. That's right. A film about a hardcore British convict competing in a deadly car race got 42 percent. Furthermore, we have problems believing the story behind "The Unborn." Of course, we understand that this is the movie business and it's not reality. Yet, we still cannot get past one fatal flaw in the plot: the discrepancy between the twins' ages. In ads for the film, the boy is pictured as a young, ten-year-old kid, whilst his twin sister is probably twenty. We could understand if the boy were a fetus — an evil fetus, obviously — or if he were twenty like his sister. Are we supposed to believe that humans age more rapidly than dybbuks? We cry foul. Also, watch out for "My Bloody Valentine 3D" and "The Uninvited." The former is nothing special; it has the stereotypical sexy teens, parties and even death by pickaxe. But hey, it's shot in 3D. In "The Uninvited," everyone's favorite soft-core actress, Elizabeth Banks of "Zack and Miri Make a Porno" (2008), goes loco as an evil nurse/stepmother. Not since "Misery" (1990) has any female been cast as such a menacing character, but, when played by a comedic actress, we do not expect the antagonist in "The Uninvited" to give us goose bumps. Horror films in modern America are similar to Winona Ryder's clothes: Their ideas are usually stolen and poorly presented. Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates in "Psycho" (1998)? Come on. We do foresee, however, a glimmer of hope in "The Wolfman," set to release in November. Although it is another remake attempt, it has a star-studded cast (including Benicio Del Toro and Anthony Hopkins) and is co-written by Andrew Kevin Walker ("Se7en" (1995), "Sleepy Hollow" (1999)). Until then, we've got our worn down VHS copies of "Halloween" (1978) to keep us awake at night.
After eight and a half seasons as a series regular on one of TV's top-rated shows, William Petersen appeared in his final episode of "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation." There's no doubt that fans of the long-running crime drama will miss Petersen and his on-screen counterpart, Las Vegas crime lab night-shift supervisor Gil Grissom, but they can at least take solace in the fact that Petersen was given an excellent and well-deserved swan-song. Before the most recent episode, Grissom and his team had been tracking down victims of the now-incarcerated Dick & Jane Killer (or DJK) after realizing there was a copycat still on the loose. Pathologist-turned-professor Dr. Raymond Langston (played by Laurence Fishburne) was also introduced as a special consultant for the case and a soon-to-be crime scene investigator (as was heavily publicized by CBS). The newest episode picked up right where the last one left off: The latest victim of the copycat killer had been found dead, his girlfriend was missing and believed to still be alive, and the CSIs were thrown into a race against the clock to find the girl before she became victim number 20 of DJK and his copycat. This case was a great way to introduce Langston, and, although the story was a bit convoluted in part one, it was nicely tied up in the end. Despite the plot's ultimate success, many of its intermediary steps were disappointing. An entire classroom of students is suspected in the case, but a stereotypically scary-looking actor is cast as the killer in an unoriginal and expected twist. Additionally, Grissom's use of "reverse lunar forensics" to locate a cabin on the lake is almost laughable. In the end, however, this episode isn't about the case, which is just a backdrop for the characters to say goodbye to their beloved mentor and boss. Nick (George Eads) sums it up perfectly when he says the case is "Grissom's last big game." The killer is stopped, the girl is rescued and the final scenes are dedicated to Grissom as he takes his last walk through the hallways of the crime lab. He goes on to finally join his true love and former colleague, Sara Sidle (Jorja Fox), in the jungle of Costa Rica. Petersen's final episode showcases the best parts of "CSI" and proves why this show stands a head above the other police procedurals. While it is a formula drama, it doesn't settle for the same boring routine week after week. It has been known for its interesting cases — one of the highlights being the Miniature Killer from season seven — and guest stars who add even more intrigue. While Grissom will be missed, his influence will live on. If his last absence, during which Liev Schreiber came to Las Vegas as CSI Michael Keppler, is any indication, the writers and producers still know how to make a good show without him. They have already skillfully dealt with cast changes — Sara and Warrick (Gary Dourdan) both left the show in the past year — and the addition of Fishburne to the cast will undoubtedly allow for some fun storylines and character development. Just in case viewers are still apprehensive about the changes, Petersen is staying on as an executive producer and has agreed to return as a guest star eventually. Halfway into its ninth season, "CSI" is still drawing roughly 20 million viewers a week, so it must be doing something right. Non-watchers shouldn't write it off as just another crime procedural, and those who already watch shouldn't give up just because Grissom is gone. After all, nothing keeps a police drama going quite like a twist.
From epic solos that Guitar Hero enthusiasts can only dream of to '80s dance beats and "Dark Side of the Moon"(1973)-inspired jams, "Mantis"(2009) has it all. The latest album by the Midwest-based Umphrey's McGee demonstrates the band's trademark diversity in songwriting. It also has some of the best tunes the band has ever assembled. For those unfamiliar with the group, imagine if Phish, Pink Floyd, Incubus and a slew of other progressive rock, metal and jam bands all came together. Although the album is definitely of the rock variety, it's impossible to fit it into one sub-genre. Progressive, experimental and improvisational rock come closest but don't fully describe everything the band has to offer. Unlike some of the band's earlier releases, the songs on "Mantis" were all written in the studio, and it shows. Each of the 10 meticulously crafted songs feature fantastically layered arrangements. The level of forethought, polish and overall musicianship is far greater than most other modern rock bands. For an album with as many different movements and sub-genres as "Mantis" contains, the overall flow and coherence is quite impressive. The opening track, "Made to Measure," is a concise, catchy tune with the word "single" written all over it. The song is full of Umphrey's famous syncopated rhythms and chord-changes, but the overall driving melodies are surprisingly catchy. Ending with a brief "Breathe in the Air"-style jam with slide guitar aplenty, "Made to Measure" is in itself a perfect summary of everything the band can and will do in the following 50 or so minutes. The brief and aptly-titled "Premable" separates the opening song from the first of many epic tracks. The third song, "Mantis," at nearly 12 minutes in length, is a testament to Umphrey's skill as songwriters in that the eponymous track never stays interesting all the way through. It captures the spirit of the band's usual improvisational approach to songwriting and live performance with all the fixings of a well-produced studio cut. This is a different Umphrey's McGee than one might find in copies of its many bootlegged live shows, but it is ultimately better. However, the album, like the band itself, may not be for everyone. Half the songs are over five minutes in length, but in the case of "Mantis," the ending is often well worth the wait. Despite the energy that drives the record, it occasionally gets bogged down in the complexity of what it is trying to accomplish. Another frustrating trend in Umphrey's earlier work resurfaces here as well, and that is the relative weakness of the vocals. This weakness may result from mixing, not singer, guitarist and songwriter Brandon Bayliss' ability. The vocals don't ever pack the same punch and distinction as the other instruments. This track is an outlier, as Bayliss established earlier that he can carry a tune, and the rest of the album has such a stellar and well- mixed production. Sparse and effective strings are woven throughout the album. The fourth song, "Cemetery Walk," features some brilliant and complex layering. Diverse guitars growl over a basic rhythm of piano, drums and bass. Each repetition of the closing phrase brings in a new layer of white noise that adds to the piece's powerful atmosphere. Unfortunately, the only song that lacks the same level of atmosphere and excitement is the closer, "1348." With a 12-minute epic like the third track, one expects something truly grandiose to finish off the album. Instead, uninspiring "1348" leans more towards metal. Umphrey's McGee leaves a fairly disappointing taste in the mouth after "1348" ends with some guitar and drum work that immediately and regrettably calls to mind Dragonforce. Aside from "1348," each of the tracks on "Mantis" is interesting in its own way. More often than not, the songs hold a wealth of unpredictable movements, some truly epic instrumentals and an overriding confirmation that Umphrey's McGee is a master of its trade.
Rarely does television break new ground, and when it does, the last place one might look for an innovative show would be E! Network. However, the network's late-night talk show, "Chelsea Lately," effectively makes fun of celebrity-obsessed culture with its brash, big-mouthed host Chelsea Handler at the wheel.
World-renowned street artist Shepard Fairey left his distinctive mark at Tufts on Saturday, braving the cold weather and high winds to put up a mural on campus. The visit was part of the 2009 EPIIC International Symposium on Global Cities and coincided with the artist's upcoming gallery show at the Institute of Contemporary Art/Boston (ICA).
