| August 3rd, 2004 03:16 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
I got this movie pass at Blockbuster where I can rent 2 films a day at no charge for the next month. Gonna use this oportunity to catch up on watching alot of flicks, especially documentaries, and music related videos & concerts ect...
Last night's I saw...
Being Mick
I had never seen this before, and I'll definitely never watch it again. Quite frankly I'm disgusted with what I witnessesed.
Sir Mick Jagger annoys me. Not that anything I saw was some shocking, major new revelation to me, but Mick makes it so evident that he isn't about the music anymore. He's just basically some prima-donna diva, jetsetting-socialite, sashaying around the world, trusty cell phone in hand, jabbering on about himself and his "situtation" in between attending cricket matches and meetings with English noblility.
His main pre-occupation these days, besides talking about himself, seems to be with overlooking his vast empire, planning his next glamor project, magazine venture or movie production.
Reminds me more of a day in the life of Rupert Murdoch, Donald Trump or Barbara Streisand. All high society BS.
The only sign of anything remotely down to earth, and rock n roll-ish came with Ronnie Wood and Robert Townshend's little cameos.
You wanna know why it's been 7 years since the last Rolling Stones album, watch this video. Anytime the topic of the Stone's came up he got all pissy. There's a scene where he very dourly explains having to meet with his band the Rolling Stones to discuss a tour, and his annoyance at having to deal with them comes across loud and clear. It seems the Stones are more of a chore than labor of love for him these days.
Hell he didn't even seem interested in his own solo project. It appeared he left it up to some modern day hipsters like Lenny Kravitz or Wycliff Jean to do all the dirty work.
I know the guys payed way more than his share dues and all, but quite frankly I'm not impressed, more like offended. The only thing I can say I learned about "Being Mick" from this pathetic, glamor project, is how consumed Sir Mick's life is with trying to retain the spotlight, remain relevant and hip, and could care less about the band that got him there in the first place.
Why can't these guys just grow old gracefully ?
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| August 3rd, 2004 03:18 PM |
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| jb |
Very good review and dead on....I was mortified that they played that on ABC so the whole world, or the small segment that watched, would learn what has become of the one time greatest band on earth....
[Edited by jb] |
| August 3rd, 2004 03:44 PM |
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| Some Guy |
Good review and they played it on Thanksgiving night no less. He has become the people he used to rail against in the past. Could you please review Starsky and Hutch next? |
| August 3rd, 2004 03:49 PM |
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| Joey |
I recommend renting the brand new DVD release :
" The Swimming Pool "
It's an Indie film starring Charlotte Rampling ( Yes , she is STILL alive ) and some hot , nubile nineteen year old named Ludivine Sagnier.
W- W- W- What ?!?! ..............Oh , ..........Sure :
http://www.allmovie.com/cg/avg.dll?p=avg&sql=1:284693
Jacky !
P.S.
http://www.allmovie.com/cg/avg.dll?p=avg&sql=2:62607
[Edited by Joey] |
| August 3rd, 2004 03:53 PM |
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| Ten Thousand Motels |
quote:
Bloozehound wrote:
I know the guys payed way more than his share dues and all, but quite frankly I'm not impressed, more like offended. The only thing I can say I learned about "Being Mick" from this pathetic, glamor project, is how consumed Sir Mick's life is with trying to retain the spotlight, remain relevant and hip, and could care less about the band that got him there in the first place.
Why can't these guys just grow old gracefully ?
Yeah, but IMO, Mick has ALWAYS been like that, at least to a certain degree. "What can a poor boy do?"
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| August 3rd, 2004 04:33 PM |
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| GimmeExile |
Good review, Bloozehound! I look forward to the next one...
jb, don't worry--very few people saw the documentary when it aired on ABC. It had one of the smallest viewing audience in the network's history.
Keep in mind, too, that this was one year before the Licks Tour. Mick has redeemed himself. |
| August 3rd, 2004 08:53 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
GimmeExile wrote:
Keep in mind, too, that this was one year before the Licks Tour. Mick has redeemed himself.
I'm aware of when and why the documentary was made, but Sir Mick is now just one of "the suits".
Like I said it wasn't all that much of a surprise, but it did confirm alot of things I've assumed for awhile. I think seeing it first hand made it so hard to swallow, kinda wish I hadn't seen it.
It's sad he's so full of himself, and hasn't learned from any of his mistakes, and can't accept the fact that he can't go on musically without the Stones. The Stones need him and he needs the Stones, and this fact obviously eats him up that he can't ever dissasociate from their grasp, and it's not ALL about him, ALL the time. Whenever the topic of the Stone's comes up he seems like a women scorned, all piss n' vineger, like he would rather avoid the question.
To this day he's still a great performer, no doubt, but I don't think I'll be able to look at him in the same way on stage, I'll just be wondering if he misses his brief seperation from his beloved suits and cell phones.
anyways...I think I'll rent Godards "Sympathy for the Devil" or maybe Criterion's "Gimmie Shelter" tomorrow night, maybe that'll wash the bad taste outta my mouth.
Tonight it's gonna be Lawrence of Arabia, I haven't seen it in years... |
| August 4th, 2004 04:59 AM |
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| Lambchop* |
Comment extra: art and mortality
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The rage of the old
Great artists are said to mellow as they face the prospect of death. Not so, argued Edward Said, who died last year, in this the final article of a luminous career
Sunday August 1, 2004
The Observer
Both in art and in our general ideas about the passage of human life there is assumed to be a general abiding timeliness by which I mean that what is appropriate to early life is not appropriate for later stages, and vice versa. We assume that the essential health of a human life has a great deal to do with its correspondence to its time and is therefore defined by its appropriateness or timeliness. Comedy, for instance, seeks its material in untimely behaviour, an old man falling in love with a young woman as in Moli�re and Chaucer, a philosopher acting like a child, a well person feigning illness. But it is also comedy as a form that brings about the restoration of timeliness - the marriage of young lovers, for instance.
Yet what of the last or late period of life, the decay of the body, the onset of ill health (which, in a younger person, brings on the possibility of an untimely end)? These issues, which interest me for obvious personal reasons, have led me to look at the way in which the work of some artists acquires a new idiom towards the end of their lives - what I've come to think of as a late style. The accepted notion is that age confers a spirit of reconciliation and serenity on late works, often expressed in terms of a miraculous transfiguration of reality. In late plays, such as The Tempest or The Winter's Tale , Shakespeare returns to the forms of romance and parable; similarly, in Sophocles's Oedipus at Colonus the aged hero is portrayed as having finally attained a remarkable holiness and sense of resolution. Or there is the well-known case of Verdi, who in his final years produced Othello and Falstaff, works that exude a renewed, almost youthful creativity and power.
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Each of us can supply evidence of how it is that late works crown a lifetime of aesthetic endeavour. Rembrandt and Matisse, Bach and Wagner. But what of artistic lateness not as harmony and resolution, but as intransigence, difficulty and contradiction? What if age and ill health don't produce serenity at all? This is the case with Ibsen, whose final works, especially When We Dead Awaken, tear apart the artist's career and re-open questions that a late period is supposed to have resolved. Far from resolution, however, Ibsen's last plays suggest an angry and disturbed artist for whom the medium of drama is an occasion to stir up more anxiety, tamper irrevocably with the possibility of closure, leave the audience more perplexed and unsettled than before. It is this second type of lateness as a factor of style that I find deeply interesting: a sort of deliberately unproductive productiveness, a going against.
Philosopher and social critic Theodor Adorno uses the phrase 'late style' in his posthumously published book on Beethoven (1993). For Adorno, Beethoven's last works - which include the last five piano sonatas, the Ninth Symphony and the Missa Solemnis - constitute an event in the history of modern culture: a moment when an artist who is fully in command of his medium nevertheless abandons communication with the social order of which he is a part and achieves a contradictory, alienated relationship with it. His late works are a form of exile from his milieu.
It is the episodic character of Beethoven's late work, its apparent carelessness about its own continuity, that Adorno finds so gripping. He speaks of the late work as 'process, but not as development', as a 'catching fire between extremes which no longer allow for any secure middle ground or harmony of spontaneity'. When he was a young composer, Beethoven's work had been vigorous and organically whole, whereas it has now become more wayward and eccentric; as an older man facing death, Beethoven realises that his work proclaims that 'no synthesis is conceivable'. Beethoven's late works, therefore, communicate a tragic sense in spite of their irascibility.
There is an insistence in late style not on mere ageing, but on an increasing sense of apartness and exile and anachronism. It is anachronism that characterises the work of Adorno's Italian contemporary, Lampedusa, although Lampedusa's single great work, The Leopard, is accessible to audiences who stay away from Adorno. Lampedusa is nonetheless a late-style practitioner whose interest for the modern reader is, I think, quite special.
The Sicilian aristocrat Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa (1896-1957) did not begin work on The Leopard until late in his life. He was fearful perhaps of a bad reception on the mainland, and also unwilling to compete with other writers. His English biographer, David Gilmour, suspects that he was moved to write by his sense that as an 'ultimate descendant of an ancient noble line, whose economic and physical extinction culminated in himself', he would also be the last member of his family to have 'vital memories', or be capable of evoking a 'unique Sicilian world' before it disappeared. He was interested in (and depressed by) the process of decadence, one sign of which was the loss of a house in Santa Margherita (Donnafugata in the novel) and of his family's palace in Palermo. The Leopard was turned down by many publishers before becoming an almost instant bestseller in November 1958, a year after its author's death. (Visconti's film adaptation was made in 1963.)
The novel is the story of the Sicilian Prince of Salina, Don Fabrizio, the author's great-uncle, a giant of a man whose estates are crumbling and who feels the approach of death. The story unfolds during Garibaldi's campaign to unify Italy, a period that marks the final decline of the monarchical aristocratic order, of which the prince is the last and noblest representative. The sense of all-pervading mortality suggests the very late passages of Proust's A La Recherche du Temps Perdu, in particular Marcel's return to a now decayed Paris after the First World War, although unlike Proust, Lampedusa provides no theory of redemptive art at the end. In his final illness and death, the prince lies in a shabby Palermo hotel.
The prince stands for a pessimism of the intelligence and the will. The paradox is that these late-style negations are conveyed in a thoroughly readable form: Lampedusa is no Adorno or Beethoven whose late styles actually undermine the reader's pleasure, actively eluding any attempt at easy understanding.
Lampedusa's poetic counterpart is the Greek Alexandrian poet Constantine Cavafy, none of whose poetry was published until after his death in 1933. His poems are an attempt to clarify and dramatise a moment or incident from the past, either a personal past or that of the wider Hellenic world.
One of Cavafy's greatest achievements is to render the extremes of lateness, physical crisis and exile in forms and situations and above all in a style of remarkable inventiveness and lapidary calm. In one of his finest late poems, 'Myris: Alexandria, AD 340', the speaker comes to the funeral of his friend Myris only to discover that his charming former drinking companion was Christian, and in death is being recreated as an object of elaborate church ceremony. He suddenly fears that he had been deceived by his passion for Myris.
I rushed out of their horrible house
rushed away before my memory of Myris
could be captured, could be perverted by
their Christianity
This is the prerogative of late style: it has the power exactly to render disenchantment and pleasure without resolving the contradiction between them. What holds them in tension, as equal forces straining in opposite directions, is the artist's mature subjectivity, stripped of hubris and pomposity, unashamed either of its fallibility or of the modest assurance it has gained as a result of age and exile.
� This is an edited version of an article that will appear in the next issue of London Review of Books (www.lrb.co.uk)
The London Review of Books Edward Said Memorial Concert, with Daniel Barenboim and the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, takes place at the Barbican Centre on Wednesday, 4 August, at 7.30pm. The orchestra was formed by Daniel Barenboim and Edward Said in Weimar in 1999, and brings together young musicians from Israel, Palestine, Egypt, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon to perform with some of the world's finest orchestral musicians. Tickets are available from the Barbican box office on 020 7638 8891.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/features/story/0,11710,1273748,00.html |
| August 4th, 2004 02:49 PM |
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| Joey |
Lambchop ...................................
I just spent the last five minutes staring intently at that bathetic , pathetic , feckless , holistic little Avatar of yours and I simply MUST ADMIT : Words can not describe how desirous I am of grabbing that little creature and ramming it so far up my arse , whilst twirling it around and around and around as I swab out me colon , that I can literally taste cotton .
Come .............................ands allows me's to U- U- U- UnCake this afternoon .
Jersee Joe ! |
| August 4th, 2004 02:58 PM |
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| telecaster |
Speaking of movies, joey when you get a chance could you put "Weapons of Ass Destruction III" in the mail
I mean you have had it for more than a year now
Also "Pandoras Box"
Thanks |
| August 4th, 2004 03:14 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
telecaster wrote:
Speaking of movies, joey when you get a chance could you put "Weapons of Ass Destruction III" in the mail
I mean you have had it for more than a year now
Also "Pandoras Box"
Thanks
Tele ...............................................
Please rent the movie " The Swimming Pool " this weekend and thank The Joey later ......................
www.allmovie.com |
| August 4th, 2004 05:48 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
Joey wrote:
Tele ...............................................
Please rent the movie " The Swimming Pool " this weekend and thank The Joey later ......................
www.allmovie.com
Uhh...Joey I'm not so sure about this "Swimming Pool" movie your hold in such high esteem, it looks seriously "chick flicky" to me....and my chick doesn't even wanna see it...that's kinda saying something...
...personally I prefered Weapons of Ass Destruction #17, it was a true masterpiece of modern cinema... |
| August 4th, 2004 05:52 PM |
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| Joey |
quote:
Bloozehound wrote:
...personally I prefered Weapons of Ass Destruction #17, it was a true masterpiece of modern cinema...
Nah , Butt Bonanza # 3 ( circa 1986 ) is THE Definition of a True Masterpiece .
J. |
| August 4th, 2004 06:32 PM |
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
Joey wrote:
Nah , Butt Bonanza # 3 ( circa 1986 ) is THE Definition of a True Masterpiece .
J.
Only one thing is for sure in this crazy world, and that's that Cytherera Iz Squirtwoman (2004). |
| August 4th, 2004 07:11 PM |
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| telecaster |
MOULIN SPLOOGE
BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE VAGINA
DUDE, WHERE'S MY DILDO
BOWLIN' IN HER COLON
GOOD ASSTERNOON |
| August 5th, 2004 01:55 AM |
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| Bloozehound |
Hairy Pusser and the Sorcerer's Bone
Charlie's Angel's Asses: Full Throbbin'
My Big Fat Greek Titties
Ass Pirates Of Carrie's Buns : The Curse of THe Black Hole
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CHAT
ROOM aka THE FUN HOUSE] [
RESTROOMS]