MAGGOTRON HAS SPOKEN

2008-04-22T17:29:00.000-07:00

I entered a screenplay contest a few weeks ago. It works like this: everyone that entered (a little over 700 people) was broken into heats of 25-30 people. Each heat was assigned a genre and a subject line at midnight April 4 and had until exactly midnight April 12 to complete an original screenplay.

Of course, with my luck, I drew fantasy, which I haven't the slightest fucking clue how to write. The only thing I could think of was the Neverending Story. I was shooting blanks. I forged forth anyway because I really wanted to do this. Here for your reading pleasure is the fruit of my toil. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Couple things to keep in mind while reading:
1. 15 pages max
2. Genre: Fantasy
3. Subject Line: A Toll Booth

Here it is:

Phantom Call

Quote of the Day

2008-04-16T10:07:00.000-07:00

"Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly--all else is desperation."

--Charles Bukowski
excerpt from Post Office

And the Oscar goes to...

2008-03-01T10:53:00.000-08:00

Alright, so let's talk. The Oscars, or "The Academy Awards" for you purists and anal rententive film creeps. So what did you think? Any surprises? Any shockers? I certainly thought so. But regardless of if you or I agree or disagree with what went down in Hollywood that evening, I must say that this was a damn fine year for cinema. Shall we start from the top, or bottom? Awww, hell, I'll just start with a dartboard, a randomly scattered selection of index cards tacked to said dartboard, a blindfold and voila!

Shit, first shot hit a black and white photograph of a drunken Charles Bukowski right in the forehead. Sorry Buke. OK, blindfold back in place, let's try this again. Shot number two, I peek over my blindfold: AH-HA! OK, now we're going somewhere.

Cinematography.

What a boring category, right? WRONG! For film geeks like myself, this one is almost as good as Best Picture or Best Actor. I'm not about to give a lesson on the importance and role of the cinematographer, that's the beauty of Google.com. Got a topic you're interested in? No problem, Google it. Instant expert. So anyway, cinematography. Two masters, Roger Deakins and Bob Elswit both had two, count 'em, two classic portraits that in any given year would have easily run away with this category without a thought. Now that's hard work friends. Deakins had Assaination of Jesse James--one of the few I didn't see this year and have been lambasted heavy by my associates for my folly as a result--and No Country for Old Men. Not a bad year. Elswit framed both Michael Clayton and There Will Be Blood. No one can touch these guys. Michael Clayton wasn't nominated--one of the big slights of this year's crop--but Elswit took home the Oscar nonetheless for There Will Be Blood. Great year for the resurection of the classic western landscape. Peckinpah and Ford would have been proud. There's something about those dusty, wide-angle shots of the west that just look larger-than-life, like it's something from a different world. i love it. Bob Elswit, great job buddy, and Deakins, you rule too man, don't be too hard on yourself.

OK, blindfold back in place. Shot number three. Bukowski, DUCK!! Ahhh, ol' Buke's safe.

Director.

OK, now i'm fucking furious. Granted, there were three pictures that in any other year would have taken the trophy hands down, but this was a great year for film--what are ya gonna do? The hall of fame directors loomed large this year: Ethan Coen (Joel finally got co-directing credit from his ego maniac brother), Paul Thomas Anderson (one of my all-time heroes), and Tony Gilroy. It's like watching a fight between your three best friends and as much as you hate it, someone's got to win. Fair enough. But here's where bias and opinion come into play. No Country brought it home. Great film, don't get me wrong, but you have got to be kidding me. There Will Be Blood was epic, it was large, it was all things that a director could possibly do to be completely satisfied with an end result, and we've all heard the cliched stories about the nuerotic director that ceaselessly obsesses over his film until he's driven to insanity, never satisfied. Alright, maybe I made that one up, but you get the point. Blood was so good that I feel like upon first screening, PTA, Elswit and the gang all smiled at each other and were like, "Yup." In fact, I love the moment during the show, when they have the four way split-screen with all the directors, just before the announcment is made, and the big moment is revealed: "Joel and Ethan Coen". If you can find it, watch PTA's split-second, immediately honest reaction--that moment of pure reaction, before you have a thought to compose yourself and fake it. There's a little side mouthed grimace that says "wow". It's amazing. I tried to find the clip for you on youtube, but was fruitless. Big time rip-off and PTA knew it.

Alright--round four. All pictures, objets d'art, and various rodents and crumbsnatching critters, be warned, the dart is now raised and released.

Actor.

Daniel Day-Lewis, no other logical choice, not much else to say really. Obviously the best performance this year and one of the best in cinematic history. I could go on forever and write you a far too verbose thesis study as to why, but I won't. Big nod to Clooney for his performance in Michael Clayton. Any other year, my friend. One observation: we're missing one key player here amongst the nominees. Ryan Gosling for Lars and the Real Girl. Incredible. Netflix it and get back to me. I think his is the second best performance of the year.

OK, screw this stupid "dart-throwing" theme, it's getting old and it really wasn't that funny in the first place. I'm packing up my shit and moving this party to Krakatoa coffee shop because i'm in dire need of an iced coffee. Be back in a minute.

Great decision. I'm currently sitting right across from one of the more beautiful girls I've laid eyes on in a while. She has red hair, which is weird because I usually don't care much for redheads. She looks tired. Anyway, what's next?

Best Motion Picture.

Now i'm fucking BOILING! No Country! What an enormous crock of shit! I won't repeat myself too much here because I think you get it at this point and know exactly where I'm about to go with this, so I'll just say: No. Fucking. Way. Um yeah hello, Coens? Yeah, you guys forgot one thing: an ending for your film. There Will Be Blood, 'nuff said. Again, the whole "any other year thing" applies. I will mention two things that stand out to me here. First, the Juno nomination. Best Picture? You've got to be kidding me, right? Replace Juno with a Lars and the Real Girl bid, and I'm pretty content with the line-up.

So what else? Actress? Pretty weak bunch this year, don't have much of an opinion, sorry ladies. Screenplay? Alright, as much as I was disappointed with Juno, it's still cool to see a fresh face win amongst the usual players. Diablo Cody's personal story alone makes me want to pull for her. Congratulations Cody, now welcome to the Hollywood rotating cast of usual players. Cody's already got the greenlight from producer Steven Spielberg writing a TV series called The United States of Tara and a feature film from Fox's Atomic Films subsidiary called Jennifer's Body about "a newly possessed cheerleader turns into a killer who specializes in offing her male classmates" (imdb.com). Sounds like a real winner. Hello and gooooooodbye Mrs. Cody. Sorry, I'm a dick.

So that's that. What a great year for movies, no? I enjoyed it. Can next year top it? Doubtful. Unless of course someone puts together a CGI version of He-Man. Has that been done yet? Holy shit, I think I'm on to something here...I gotta go!

Skeletor stands stoic outside Castle Grayskull as it burns and crumbles to the ground. He looks to the sky and throws his arms in the air.

"Heeeeee-Maaaaaaaannnnnnn!"

Golden.

Crazy eyes Sarte says: "Ponder This."

2008-02-17T10:05:00.000-08:00

Dear friends,

I've been lazy.

Well, not really lazy in the traditional sense, but lazy in the fact that I haven't posted anything on my poor, sparsely filled, neglected, little blog. I'm really not a bad guy and is surely not representative of me as a person, I've just been, ah, busy. I swear! Doesn't everyone love to say that, "I've been busy..." Bullshit!

But I really have, check it. I'm writing a novel that I'm far too ambitiously trying to get finished by the opening weeks of March, which takes up all my brain power and humility. I'm now pretentious as fuck and I'm cool with that. But as a result, I've lost all my friends and find myself consistently far under my total minutes on my Sprint phone bill every month. See, there's always a plus side to every tragedy. Tragedy, hah! I scoff at thee.

Anyway, as you can see, I really don't have a lot to talk about. Call it lack of inspiration, call it total drainage of mojo, call it what you will. I call it the "triple nasty king-kong thunder dunk from hell," which I plan to reveal on my little plastic hoop hanging above my bedroom door during the slam dunk contest portion of NBA all-star weekend. It'll be way sicker than the Harold Miner 360 tomahawk dunk from the glory days of 1993 when people were calling that chump "Baby Jordan."

My mojo's back, baby.

But stay with me, I'm not a total bust. I've certainly had the pleasure of observing many cool things in the past couple weeks that are print-worthy. First of all, I listened to the final, mastered copy of Calico Horse's upcoming full-length release, and it's ridiculous. Have a listen. It's like a dark, twisted carnival of warped pipe organs where the lighting is a little off and you're not sure if you're actually safe in the tent where the show is taking place. It's a pretty visual album, if that makes any sense. It feels like it would fit on the soundtrack of some strange dreamscape where one minute you're flying, and the next, you're falling; equal parts exhilarating as it is terrifying. It's way sicko. They've also got a few shows coming up that you all need to attend, for its quite important. And you'll catch a full on front kick to the sternum if you don't.

I love getting random e-mails from friends and various weirdo's directing me to websites of people doing weird shit, and I mean weird in the most endearing of terms. My buddy Paul directed me to this guy Peter Callesen. Callesen does these crazy delicately intricate little paper cutouts with insane detail using just the normal, everyday A4 white print paper that we fill our copiers and printers with. Crazy. Later in the day, on that same e-mail chain, came another gem from another buddy Scott that sent me to Dan McPharlin. This guy’s artwork is easily some of the coolest, most innovative stuff I've seen in a bit. He makes these miniature models of weird synth/keyboard machines created in his mind and brought to life using cardboard matte material. The detail on these tiny creations is insane: the little dials, knobs, switches, keys and sliders. I can't even begin to imagine how he does it. It'd make a cool documentary. Any takers? Come on, film students of the world unite! Get a hold of this guy and get it done, you'll have an audience, I promise.

There a few good films out there as well. Michael Clayton--amazing. An incredible sort of philosophical study on morality, the choices we make in life, and the consequences attached to said choices. It's amazing to me, the people we become from youth to adolescence and into adulthood and the stress' we put ourselves through in the pursuit of the ideals we create in our own heads pertaining to what it means to be successful. What's really important: enjoying this very limited existence that we are granted, or spending that existence in pursuit of a silly cliché and all the small battles and wounds that go along with it? Everyone has a different answer and that is what makes this life so interesting and filled with incredible stories to tell. Second best film of the year. It'll be interesting to see who little Mr. Oscar goes to for acting: the Hollywood stalwart or arguably greatest thespian of our time (my time that is).

Speaking of Hollywood stalwarts, I caught a great film on PBS the other night called The Bad and the Beautiful (terrible title, but look past that); an examination on Hollywood players and the all bullshit that goes along with getting a picture made. And with a 1952 release date, looks like not much changes with time. Kirk Douglas plays a ruthless producer who simulatiously sells out anyone--actor, director, writer--at any given moment, but at the same time makes gems out of anything he touches, including the future careers of those he alienates, posing the question: is a bit of heartache worth a lifetime of success? And is success really success, or is it a life of torture? It'd be interesting to ask Brittany Spears how she feels about that revelation. I think Karl Marx said it best when he wrote that people are just "cogs in a ceaselessly moving machine." Nothing changes.

Another awesome little gem is the animated film Persepolis, a cool story about a Persian girl growing up in late 1970's revolutionary Iran. The film is a factual historical account of the Shah and the Muslim clerics seizing power and halting all the idealistic progress the people had made, and reverting back to the impossible mixture of religion and social rule. Told from the girl's perspective, it shows how heartbreakingly hard a repressive regime can be on human spirit; people simply trying to exist and be the best they can be. It definitely sheds some light on the little freedoms we have on a day to day basis that go unnoticed. It's pretty profound.

So that’s it in a nutshell. Pretty pathetic, eh? Whatever. Anyway, you can sleep tight knowing that I'm in good spirits, I'm working hard and everyday is a blessing.

Also, I've got a homework project for everyone because I think it's important and it's something I've realized in the past few weeks: have a philosophical discussion with a good friend. It's a good thing to do every now and again--not every day, but every now and again--and reminds you of what's important to you and helps you remember what's integral to your own personal existence. It's also very cool to know what's important to your buddy and what their perspective is on this ever moving comedy of errors and conquests as the world moves and experiences change that position. And keep in mind, the listening section of this exchange is just as important, if not more, than the speaking portion.

Take heed jesters.

2008-01-22T21:29:00.000-08:00

What's a typical friday night for you? Let me restate that; what's a typical friday night for you residents of San Diego, California? Does it involve getting all dressed up to go to a bar you've been to 10,000 times before? Does it involve spending the first hour and a half you're there hating all the douchebags because you're still not drunk enough and still see them for what they are? Does it involve knowing you're going to waste $150 bucks with nothing to show for it but a blinding hangover and black ink smeared all over your wrist?

I've got a better idea. Go see a live show. Even better, go see a live show at the Casbah. Even better than that, go see the best show that the Casbah is throwing down this month. One of the best bands in San Diego right now, Calico Horse (formerly The Clockwork Army) takes the stage probably around 9:30pm this Friday evening to be followed by Brooklyn (where else?) indie scenster biggies, MGMT and Yeasayer. If you haven't listened to any of these bands yet, take a moment to go do it now because they're all fucking ridiculous. I'm so pumped about seeing Yeasayer I'm thinking about heading over to the 7-Eleven parking lot and starting a one man mosh-pit for no good reason.

I saw Calico Horse two weeks ago open for Black Heart Procession and they were incredible. They had a keyboard malfunction and the lovely tigeress frontwoman, Emily Neveu improvised using someone's glockenspiel. That woman has mad glocken, yo, and her vocals are hauntingly gorgeous. They have a bassist with a penchant for all things Jean-Luc Godard and a guitarist who will teach you vocal harmonies for 48 Thai bhat and a Parliment. They are fearless.

And at $10 bucks a pop advance purchase to see three of the best bands out there? Shiiiiit, good value holmes. I'll be there, come have a greyhound with me.

P.S. UPDATE!!! This show will sell out. Repeat, this show WILL SELL OUT so don't get stuck at the door, go buy your ticket now here.

There Will Be Blood: A Guide to Pure Evil

2008-01-13T19:50:00.000-08:00

It's an interesting thing to me, people that dedicate their lives to following an organized religion. I don't mean the family that gets all dressed up and makes an appearance at the local church for Easter and Christmas mass. I mean the folks that truly believe that there is a universal god guiding the lives of every living creature and controlling natural disasters and creating deadly diseases in response to human sin; the ones that believe that others who don't think like they do will burn in hell for an eternity. Is there a heaven and hell? Is there a god and a devil? Maybe there is and maybe there isn't, who am I to judge really? What I know for sure is that there is definitely a force of good and evil. And both are present every waking hour in the form of mankind. The forces of greed, pride, envy and lust are dangerous things and drive men to do evil things as a result. All of these devilish attributes are addressed in easily the best film I've seen in a long time, There Will be Blood.

I'd first like to congratulate director Paul Thomas Anderson and writer of the book Oil!, Upton Sinclair, on creating the most dastardly, repulsive and simply evil character in cinema history since Jack Torrance in Kubrick's The Shining. Daniel Day Lewis is fucking incredible as Daniel Plainview: a filthy, snarling, heartless, whiskey drinking, monster with a murderous rage and a healthy desire to destroy everything in his path. He will stop at nothing to win, even if it means ruining the life of his own son, played with delicate subtly by newcomer Dillon Freasier. Plainview's main nemesis, amongst many that he makes throughout the film, is a young prodigal preacher named Eli Sunday, played with incredible conviction by Paul Dano, who just came off another brilliant performance in last year's Little Miss Sunshine. Dano's performance is close to par with Day Lewis' and really unleashes his acting chops with this character. Eli Sunday has the small western town of Little Boston (the central valley of California) duped into thinking he is a prophet and uses that to quench his real thirst, which is power. The film is a beautiful ballet of one ups and small battles between the two characters of Sunday and Plainview that climaxes to a perfect conclusion. The only goal of both characters is to win, and you quickly realize it is very allegorical with respect to god and the devil and each ones desire to control the masses.

The film was shot by Paul Thomas Anderson staple, Bob Elswit, who also shot Magnolia, Punch Drunk Love, and Michael Clayton, and he creates a beautiful portrait that captures the landscape of the west, and the pure filth of the oil business, which serves as a great parallel for the dirty greed and nasty business dealings that go along with it. The soundtrack, scored by Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead, is a haunting ebb and flow of strings and drums that rise to a peak, creating a world of suspense in itself. It is incredible. The play between Elswit's dark shots and the crescendo of screaming strings has you freaked when there's nothing on the screen but a lonely wide angle desert shot. At times, I almost felt like I could be watching a Kubrick film, reminiscent of 2001: A Space Odessey. This is one of those films that leaves you with a strange feeling, like you know you just saw something poignant. However, I don't think this film is for everyone. In fact, one of my friends that I went to it with walked out halfway through because she said it was giving her an anxiety attack. I could totally understand.

This film is brutal and like it or not, you will remember it. With it's score, cinematography, performances and set/costume design, this film has that feel of something classic. It feels larger than life. It feels important. I truly believe this film will be one that will make film class syllabus' one day and will stand the test of time.

Is PTA my generation's Kubrick? I don't know. But I do know two things: I absolutely loved this film, and I hate people that ask themselves a question and then answer it.

Now go have yourself a nightmare, go see There Will be Blood and let me know what you think.

Clean Slate in 2008.

2008-01-01T02:12:00.000-08:00

As you can see--if you'll take notice the time and date of this posting--it is in fact New Year's, just after midnight, when normal folks are out swapping saliva and making further plans of fornication and other great undertakings, and here I sit, in front of this computer screen as fireworks explode, kazoos sound off, and neighbors hosting New Year's house parties scream in delight, drinking these god damned ridiculous drinks that a friend of mine introduced me to called "Calimochos"--red wine mixed with Pepsi over ice. Yes, I am a gigantic loser, but I've got a mantra for the coming year--"Clean slate in 2008."

Wait, it gets lamer.

Obviously, I decided to stay in for the evening, refusing to spend $50 on a cover charge to a bar that I wouldn't even go to if I were an orphan meeting my birth mother for the first time, and then spending $8 per bottle of domestic beer trying to get through the evening. Instead, I sat in my buddy Halverson's living room--with his new roommate and his girlfriend, sans Halverson--watching the film The Science of Sleep.

This movie had been out for a while, but for whatever reason, I was unable to garner any interest. The film, directed by music video impresario Michel Gondry, is a strange sort of rhythmic loop of consciousness, breaking into and out of that stated consciousness, and finally questioning where exactly it is that consciousness begins, and where it ends. And what a great question it is. Which reality is actually reality? How do we know what is absurd and what is normal? And what do absurd and normal even mean anyway? This film is that good. It has you questioning everything that you have ever known or learned or thought or lived. There is so much more existing than the everyday, mundane, day to day tasks and little familiarities that we fill our waking hours with. Whatever happened to that day that I woke up Christmas morning in the cold winter of 1987 in Tacoma, Washington when I rose and walked downstairs to find a new bike next to the Christmas tree; my late grandfather looking up over his spectacles from his newspaper, legs crossed, sitting in the brown leather chair next to the fireplace, sipping on a cup of coffee and smiling as he saw the pure reaction on my face as I stopped mid stride on the stairwell.

Those days are gone and those moments are buried deep somewhere in the psyche, but they come together as a summation to form a complete personality that grows everyday--little bits added, but never subtracted. We can conjure up at will those moments we choose to remember, and forget the ones we hope to leave behind, but regardless of their positive or negative effect, they are there; shaping our structure: the way we move, the way we react, the prejudices we harbor, the humans we become. It's all important, and all we can do is try to be the best person we can be.

I don't want to get into a film review here, because for me, that's not the point. The film is incredible, which is only an opinion and really doesn't matter in the end, because the film gets you thinking in an abstract manner. Well, it did me anyway, and that's all I'll say about that. The point for me is that our time on this earth is limited, and it is far too short to not be honest with the people you really care about. There is nothing to be ashamed of or afraid of or anything for that matter. If you love someone, tell them you love them. If you take issue with something, let it be known, if you have a goal in mind, make a plan and execute it. That is what those crazy dreams are trying to tell us. That is our own internal voice telling us there is nothing to be afraid of. You literally have nothing to lose. There is almost a childlike innocence about the whole thing, because when you are a child, you are fearless. Not fearless in the sense that you know a certain boundary and you defy it, but fearless in the sense that you know that regardless of what happens, you'll wake up tomorrow and you'll have a whole new day before you. It's really that simple. Trust yourself. Chances are if it feels right, it is right and if you believe in yourself, others will too. And if they don't, fuck them, you really don't need them anyway, do you?

So what does this have to do with The Science of Sleep? Well, to be quite honest with you, nothing. Nothing in the literal sense anyway. But I will say that anything that inspires me to get proactive about something--anything--is worth talking about. And this film inspired me to get proactive about pretty much the only thing that I have control over--my life. Inspiration--holy shit--what an important thing.

Now, given the fact that it is just past midnight, and I'm a little drunk, I'll leave it at that. I hope you all had a wonderful evening and got well drunk and saw a great show and kissed your sweetheart or crush or the guy/gal within closest vicinity and made a vow to get a new job or undertaking a personal vendetta or whatever the case Netflix, or whatever you do, this film. It's worth it, trust me. It must be, it inspired a drunk dude with nothing to do on New Years to write this little piece.

Oh, and the weird thing: the film ended at exactly 12:00am, 2008. This is going to be a good year.

Man, I need a girlfriend.

Happy New Year!!

Grizzly Bear A Cappella

2007-12-24T10:48:00.000-08:00

This just made my day. Grizzly Bear going back alley doo-wop style through the streets of Paris. I wanna have a beer or 12 with these guys.

Juno: Pop-Culture Defined

2007-12-17T21:43:00.000-08:00

There are a few things about today's pop culture that really bug me. OK, there are a lot of things, close to 10,000 things probably, that really bug me. One of which is the "famous just for the sake of being famous" syndrome. You know this one; the one where if one person gets enough press and you see his/her face plastered on every magazine that you gawk at passing time at your local grocery store as the person in front of you attempts to: buy groceries, get cigarettes, cash a check, order stamps, check the lottery numbers, buy a prepaid phone card, and order a caramel latte, then they are automatically famous. What it is exactly that these people ever do to garner such buzz is beyond me. But it works, obviously, because enough people are on board. I think mainly because they are literally bored...with their own lives.

I feel like sometimes films can catch a huge buzz in the same sort of way. Only, instead of being famous for the sake of being famous, they're weird for the sake of being weird. Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing that will get me to fall in love with a film quicker than a quirky, awkward sense of humor. I believe the first director of my generation to really nail it was Wes Anderson with Rushmore. The characters were eccentric and weird, but still vulnerable and believable. Plus, Anderson is able to pull off this strange sort of fairytale set in reality atmosphere that is so very unique to him and definitely defines his mark on film history. The thing about film making is that it is OK to "borrow" or steal ideas from your heroes, in fact, it can be cute when done tongue-in-cheek and not blatant, but much time has to pass before it can be done, otherwise it's just a fucking rip-off.

This weekend, I went and saw Juno with a couple friends, and I was pumped. I did my research, got into writer Diablo Cody's personal story, which is pretty cool by the way, and was all hyped up on the buzz surrounding the film. The producers secured an awesome cast in Ellen Page (Hard Candy), Michael Cera and Jason Bateman, from arguably the best television program in the last decade, Arrested Development, and Jennifer Garner, amongst others, and the trailers I saw really had me shitting my pants on this one. I was pretty much set to give it best film of 2007 based on these few facts alone. Oh, the disappointment I felt upon the first shot and into the first line.

The girl, Juno, is standing in a front yard staring at a red lazy-boy recliner slugging off a 64oz jug of Sunny Delight. A dog is barking wildly at her. She looks at the dog. "Banana! Shut your freakin' gob!"

I sunk low in my chair, stinging somewhere inside my chest with disappointment thinking "thanks a lot Napoleon Dynamite, you've single-handedly ruined the new generation of film makers". A little harsh, sure, but that's literally what went through my head at that moment and I've got to be honest. The rest of the dialogue didn't get much better. It was a bunch of witty one liners that really more serve as a stand-up showcase for Ellen Page than developing a heartbreakingly cute story about a girl and a guy who try to get past the awkward stages of courtship and just express their true feelings.

I do get what Cody was trying to get across here however. For whatever reason, and we've all been through it, when you're young, the toughest thing you can do is let the person you love know you love them. Shit, without the help of large amounts of booze, it's difficult even when you're not young; I can attest. The main character is a bit neurotic (another character-trait favorite) and insecure and has built up a defense as a result in the form of a sharp tongue, which serves to keep everyone at a distance, and that's fine and definitely understandable. But you can still pull that off and have some believable dialogue. Not every line has to make me laugh or giggle or chuckle. It's OK to make me sit for a second and do...nothing. People don't talk in one liners, especially uncomfortable 16 year olds.

"Juno, can I get you something to drink?"

"Yeah, I'll have a Makers Mark on ice, please"

Give me a break. Who is she, Don Rickles? I almost expected a drum roll and audience laugh track to be cued up. Nobody talks like this, I'm sorry.

The one saving grace about this film is Micheal Cera's Paulie Bleeker, who is Juno's love interest, and father to Juno's unborn child that she carries in her belly throughout the film. Cera has really created his own calling card as far as actors go, and that is the constant state of awkwardness. He is the undisputed king of the "audience's hands to their face watching between fingers" dialogue delivery. It's so painful you can feel it. He can make me laugh just by him looking away from someone, stealing a quick glance back, then looking away again. He's incredible. Bateman is great too, but his character, Mark, became a bit self-serving and I was quickly aware that Cody was using him to let everyone know what she is into personally.

Here's the plotline:

Bateman and Jennifer Garner are a young married couple who cannot conceive their own child. After one nightmare visit to the abortion clinic, Juno decides to give the baby up for adoption. Juno and her friend Leah (Olivia Thirlby) decide to check out the Pennysaver for adoptees and come across Vanessa and Mark's (Garner and Bateman) picture perfect ad. Upon their first meeting, Juno and Mark bond right away over their shared love of music. They discuss their love of Nirvana and Sonic Youth and how Iggy Pop and the Stooges are the best band ever and blah, blah, blah. Now, I don't know Cody personally and I try hard never to make assumptions, but for me, this whole segment of the film, and a loooong segment it is, mind you, is dedicated to "enlightening" us, the audience, on what is cool and what we should really check out. They discuss everything from "cool" underground Japanese comics and the crazy maverick horror film directors from the 70's. I felt like I was supposed to be thinking "man, I can't wait to go check this stuff out once this is over!" But I wasn't. So contrived.

The last quarter of the film won me back, however. The big turning point is when Mark, upon one final (thank Allah) commentary on what's cool in music with Juno, decides he's not ready for all this and he's going to leave his wife, Vanessa. Juno freaks out and the realness begins. She has a realization and makes a few rational decisions. She tells Bleeker she loves him (awesome), she has the baby (great scene), and she still gives the baby to the now single Vanessa, who wants nothing more in life than to be a mother. The final 25 minutes of this film are so charged with real emotion and real human spirit that if it was done as a short, it would have won an Oscar in that category, hands down.

In essence, I did like this film, not as much as I should have, but I did nonetheless. My point is this: you can make a weird film with weird characters and weird dialogue and weird whatever, but please, it can be done without it being thrown in my face. It's called subtlety, and subtlety is genius. I don't want to see another Wes Anderson rip-off, or another Napolean Dynamite or another Ghost World for at least another 20-25 years. Come on young writers, have some friggin' tact. Sorry, I was trying to be funny there, but I know you know what I'm sayin.

Oh, and despite my mean little rant about how Cody forces her pop culture suggestions on us, I must say, they did pick a pretty damn fine soundtrack to back this film. It's cute, lovely, and heartbreaking all at the right moments and plays just a big a part as the characters themselves. I'd suggest researching the artist's when you get a moment here. I know I will.

Let's hear it!

Chewbacca Didn't Need No Damn CGI!!!

2007-12-12T17:37:00.000-08:00

What's good people? Well, I must say, I'm in damn fine spirits today as I met a girl at the dog park today and she was FIIIIINE! I wish I could show you a picture of her, but I don't have one, so there you have it. God bless the dog park.

Anyway, funny business aside, I've got a couple things on my mind today. First things first, I got into a great discussion this past weekend with my good buddy Petti of the band Calico Horse, who, I must add are one of the best bands in indieville at the moment, and his buddy Justin of the band Augustana about how Hollywood and big studio films these days are obsessed with producing films with CGI shit all over the place. It's maddening.

I mean, I realize that with the advent of digital media and the desire to advance this new format into uncharted waters, that there are advantages and incredible new techniques that are applied to simple analogue film making that can take a simple shot of, whatever--a desert--and turn it into some Salem's Lot freak-out carnival full of shooting flames and weird vaudevillian dwarfs swallowing swords (which actually happened in the real world in the 1920's without the help of CGI graphics, it's called Las Vegas). But what happened to spending some time building incredible sets, getting creative with the lighting, going through painful audition after audition until you find the right actors and actresses who can pull off a dead-defying 173ft fall off the peak of Niagara? And even if that actor or actress can't pull that fall off and actually dies, it's alright, actors are a dime a dozen! Alfred Hitchcock once said that 'actors are like cattle'. Are you really going to argue with Hitchcock? I think not.

Anyway, as our late night, smokey discussion jumped from the old school 8-bit Nintendo and it's glorious games, or "the golden age" as I like to call it (my favorite was River City Ransom), to film making, I really started to think about what a fucking cop out CGI filmmaking really is, and how it's hooked it's nasty little claws into so many formats from film making to television to video game play. Hypothetically, a person could go out, shoot some establishing location shots, and create everything from there using no human chemistry, no accidental breaking of the lead actress' high heeled shoes as she storms off that becomes a moment you can't recreate, no nothing. And if someone else is into that CGI bullshit, that's fine, but I'm just going to declare right now, I hate it. And we pretty much all agreed as I shotgunned my 12th Budweiser of the evening.

What I really don't understand about CGI films is where the hell does all the money go? How can a film that is nearly entirely shot in a studio behind a f*cking green screen and later loaded with digital effects in post production consistently run up a tab of over 100 million dollars? I don't get it. For example, this year's CGI debacle and by far most poorly written screenplay of the past century, 300, had a final closing budget of over 65 million. 65 million! For that piece of cinematic bile? Give me 65 million dollars, I'll write the screenplay, hire Robert Yeoman or Roger Deakins to shoot it, get my boy Warren Berkey to direct it, tack on a few new faces to act it out, and we'll deliver 1 canister of the most incredible film making to your door and give the producer back his change of 61 million dollars. No CGI necessary. 65 million....I spit upon thee!

So as a perfect, all encompassing follow up to our discussion, I got an e-mail from Petti today with a quote from Jean Baudrillard's book, The Intelligence of Evil or the Lucidity Pact who articulated the point of our discussion much better than three well-drunk film philosophists with a soft spot for all things analogue:

"the computer-generated image is like this too, a digital image which is entirely fabricated, has no real referent and from which, by contrast with analogue images, the negative itself has disappeared - not just the film negative, but the negative moment that lies in the heart of the image, that absence that causes the image to resonate. The technical fine-tuning here is perfect. There is no room for fuzziness, tremor or chance. Is there still an image?"

Perfect! The point Baudrillard makes is that the CGI film is manipulated to perfection, and the reason we go to see a film is to see the humanity in situations. Situations that we can relate to. Situations that evoke real emotion. And human beings are not perfect and that is mainly why I have no interest in seeing a "perfect" film. I want to see burnt celluloid with the image of two brothers embracing for the first time since their father died, or a gangster blasting his way out of a deal gone wrong. I want to see real human beings in real situations, and if they're not real situations, they better involve some crazy prosthetic slug named "Jaba" or a wookie named "Chewbaca"

And that's that. Thanks Petti.

Finally, I'm reading an incredible good book right now that I think everyone should get into. It's called Detour by Lizzie Simon and it's about her life living with bi-polar disorder. It's equal parts inspiring and heartbreaking. Chemical imbalance is quite a bitch and its made me realize how easy I have it and how I complain on a day-to-day basis about the most asinine things when there are folks out there who really suffer. It really helps you to appreciate what you've got and take heed the oldest cliche in the book: "it could always be worse." So true. Check out her website here. She also has some great insight as to why she thinks Barak Obama would make a pretty great leader, which I couldn't agree with her more.

So there you have it. Hope your day was as good as mine was and come back soon.

Now I'm off to the dog park. Sike!! My new favorite word.

Tis' the Season, Ya'll.

2007-12-08T12:31:00.000-08:00

"Deck the halls with bows of holly, fa-la-la-la-laaaa-la-la-la-la. Tis' the season to be jolly, fa-la-la-la-laaaaa-la-la-la-la."

Jesus, another Christmas season, another $400 bucks down the drain. I used to like Christmas...then I grew up. I try though, believe me. You get a couple weeks off, you get to put on a coat, scarf and hat, you get to drink hot cocoa with your family--or more realistically in my case, binge drink with with your high school buddies and act like a wild monkey let loose from its cage like you did when you first discovered booze--and just relax for a minute.

Obviously, the biggest nightmare associated with the holidays is, first of all, figuring out what the hell to get everyone, and secondly, treading headlong into the torrential waters of whatever hellish corporate establishment you choose to get that gift along with the other 30,000 morons that hate being there just as much as you do. Well I have a solution of sorts. How about throwing the now far too cliche middle finger to those corporate number crunchers and supporting some artists with some serious talent and fresh ideas. Stay with me here.

Forget the easy route where getting a gift is like "yay...iTunes gift card." Or, "yay...Old Navy scarf and matching sweater." F*ck that! You can get incredibly unique gifts for the same amount you'd spend at Walmart or Target or (enter any strip mall hellhole here). And it's easier anyway: place your order, pay, and BOOM!, it's at your door in three days. Ahhh the wonders of the world wide web...wow, man.

"OK Maggotron, if you're so smart, show me...show me where I can get a cool gift for under 40 bucks!"

You ask, you shall receive, Maggotron loves you (I'm allowed to speak in third person as Maggotron, so gimmie a break man, shit). For example, check out this stuff by one of the best artists out there right now, Jeff Claassen . Check this cool little piece for only $15 bucks. I have been to one of Claassen's shows here in San Diego and have seen these pieces first hand, and TRUST me, they are dope. Painted on thick blocks of pine and finished with a thick clear resin finish that makes for a nice, glossy shine. If his pieces don't catch your friend's eye in an instant, then you need new, more interesting friends. If you're a fan of Phil Frost or Doze Green, you'll want to pick one of his pieces up quick. Go meet Jeff in his store in San Luis Obispo if you can, he's a real friendly dude and will chat you up about Animal Collective like no other.

Next is real cool stuff by Shana Logic, which I accidentally stumbled upon when I did a Google Images search for "robot paintings", which should give you a clear indication of how cool the stuff on her site is. Her website is a collective of independent artists that sell their stuff there, as her site has garnered a huge amount of daily traffic, making for a wider exposure then they could gain on their own. Tons and tons of incredibly unique pieces ranging from dope prints hand signed and numbered by artists like Elizabeth Henry, to hats and scarves like this one, to wallets and other accessories, like my personal favorite (hint, hint, wink), this sick Koi Fish wallet by Sapphire Squares. Tons of really cool stuff that if I opened up I would be like, "wow, now that is indeed a cool gift. Christmas, what a wonderful holiday!"

Finally, living in Sacramento isn't the most interesting adventure one can embark upon, I've tried it first hand, and it's pretty limited. But I will say this, there are some of the most progressive and incredible artists making shit outta there as anywhere west or east of the mighty Mississippi. It could be the boredom, it could be the scorching hot summers and freeze your ass off winters that drive them to madness, I don't know, but there is something up there that inspires. One artist in particular has by far the most ingeniously warped perspective on ceramics, or anything for that matter, that I have come across in a while. There's no one out there doing anything close to what Chris Eftratis is doing right now. His pieces inhabit a strange world of dementia far weirder and more unpredictable than a random street musician who you take a second glance at, wishing you could hear his story told from an objective third party: the real, unbiased truth. To get an idea, take a look at my personal favorite, "The Penguin Head" series. It's ridiculous the amount of creativity coming from Chris. I like to think he and David Lynch meet up on the Fourth Wednesday of every other month and hang out in some weird park where they share an egg salad sandwich and discuss astrophysics. Though not listed on his site, he has tons of small, equally weird, ceramic creations for under 40 bucks. Just e-mail him and inquire. He's a real gentleman and will kindly answer your inquiries. He also holds private classes that you can look into on his site, which would be like a film student getting a lesson in cinematography from Kubrick. Four sessions for 185 bucks? Good Value.

If these items are not exactly the route you want to forge, and want to stay a bit more conservative (wimp), get someone (me) the gift of genius in the form of DVD. More specifically in the form of a DVD entitled "Arrested Development" seasons 1,2, and 3. Best damned TV show created since BBC's "The Office", which someone (me again) probably also wouldn't mind having also. Get it here (for me, please).

To wrap this all up in a nice box with pretty wrapping paper and a lovely red bow, just keep in mind that there are other avenues to explore when it comes to gift giving then the traditional, drab gift card/other boring store bought item while still keeping it at a reasonable price. Plus, you get to help out an individual with lofty dreams make a living doing what they love. And if you do decide to go forward and bless your love one(s) with one of these gifts, and it turns out they don't share your vision, send them over to Maggotron 8000 for a holiday season beat down, cause Maggotron adheres to a strict "no returns" policy that includes a serious judo chop to the solar plexus.

Happy Holidays Lovelies!

Maggotron's pseudo-interview with Leslie Feist

2007-12-06T20:24:00.000-08:00

Look at her. Isn't she beautiful? At this point, it’s long been established amongst my friends and unfortunate souls that have crossed my path over the years that I am in love with Leslie Feist. I mean who wouldn’t be? Man, woman, canine, porpoise, E.T, anything that has the ability to see or hear, and I would say smell but I have yet to fill that sensation….plus it’s a little creepy, should fall in love with her. There’s no reason not to. Her voice is angelic, the music she writes has melodies that can rock even the most hardened soul to dreamland, and her songs are about heartbreak, hope, strength, moving on, and of course, love. In my haste, I have formed a pretty good idea of the woman she is based on these few clues dissolved evenly in her music and feel like we’d make a pretty snazzy couple. However, I have not had the pleasure of meeting this fine young lady, and noticed she’s coming to San Diego, where I call home, in a few weeks. Perfect! I’ll just book an interview with her record label, woo her with my indelible wit and undeniable charm, and the rest will be history.
Apparently, Lady Feist is a little more popular than I had previously thought and needless to say, the interview simply wasn’t going to happen. Sorry folks, no love story unfolding before your eyes today. I know you’re disappointed; you were really pulling for me. It was too perfect: lonely writer cutely stumbles over his words in interview with huge pop star who giggles as he nervously fumbles over his microcassette recorder trying to pull it together and just makes out with him to ease the tension. Alright, enough already!
The point is: no interview, no problem! I’ve got an imagination, and today I’ve booked an imaginary telephone interview with Leslie Feist (it’s one sided to avoid any law suits, so use your imagination…OH, the irony!)

Ring. Ring.

“Yeah, hello Leslie? Or is it Feist? Shoot….it’s Feist isn’t it? I knew it! GOD, I’m such an IDIOT!”

Answer.

“No, I know, I’m just a little nervous, sorry. So anyway, you’ve got this amazing new record “The Reminder” and have been touring the U.S and Canada, I’m sure you’ve been through some pretty weird little towns and met some cool folks, huh?”
Answer.
“Yeah, San Francisco’s great, awesome Thai restaurants there.”
Answer.
“Really? You love Thai too, no way! That’s crazy, I know a really great little Thai restaurant here in San Diego, and it’s supposed to be the best in southern California.”

Answer.

“Really? Wow…ok, well, how about uhhhh…7ish? Great!”

Answer.

“What’s that? You kiss on the first date? Stop it! That’s so weird, cause so do I! It’s amazing--we have so much in common. Well, see ya at 7!”

And that’s about it. There was some stuff in there about her affinity for malnourished looking dudes who love Japanese cinema and cheap sunglasses, but I thought I’d spare you all that, but I will say that I was flattered.
Alright, so it was a selfish interview! When you book your own imaginary interview, I’ll have no problem with you taking a few liberties at the sake of advancing your imaginary love life. I may stop reading after a quick glance, but hey, you do what you gotta do.
So I hope this interview was informative, action packed, full of mystery and suspense, and all things provocative and gave you a little insight as to who Leslie Feist is when the mic chords are unplugged, the amps are being rolled into the vans, and the lights are dimmed. She’s pretty cool, no? I liked her. And just an update, we’re still together and very happy so….
And if by some strange reason you are reading this Leslie, please don’t sue me or my representatives, and…..CALL ME!

Catch a Bad One on this Blogsite!

2007-12-06T17:44:00.000-08:00

Hi, my name is Maggotron 8000. Alright, that's not my birth name, but those who know me know me, and those who don't, well, consider yourself blessed because I will waste your time like you can't even begin to fathom. But you will love it, trust me. You can ask Morgan Freeman if you don't believe me. And if you don't believe him, then you can just ask Lou Gossett Jr. Don't even try to act like you don't know who Lou Gossett Jr is! And if you really don't, you should be ashamed. Go here and get your motherfuckin' learn on. Wait, why are you reading on? I'm serious, take a break from this shit for a moment and literally hit the link and learn about one of the great thespians of our time. And if you don't know about http://www.imdb.com/, or the bible as I like to call it, then you should be subject to Chinese water torture or a game of Russian roulette. And no, I don't work for them or something, stop being a smartass. Whatever.

Anyway, I just wanted to take this moment and let everyone know that this is officially the blog of me and the things that I think are important, which you may or may not agree with, but just be warned, I don't take kindly to criticism and I will destroy your ass with my Han Solo phaser gun and do you just like he did Greedo in that nasty ass dive bar. Only I don't have a phaser gun, don't need one, I just have fists and feet that move at the speed of light and I'll front kick your ass with no delay.

Within the contents of this snoop bloggy blog, I aim to educate, enlighten, prophetize, baptize, and deliver all things to you that need to be known, which could at random include things like: film, music, coffee shops, weirdos, drunks, lunatics, writers, stereotypes, artists, cities, dwellings, neighborhoods, architecture, skateboarding, director's cuts, quail eggs, Munchausen syndrome, booze, the fairer sex, etc.

You get the picture. It will be fun. Some will be better than others, but bear with me and feel free to roundhouse kick me if you catch me in San Francisco here, San Diego here, Los Angeles here, Sacramento here, Salem (nothing cool in Salem, sorry), or Seattle here if I insult thee, because I will insult, and that's only because everyone's insulted by something always, including myself. Shit, just the other day the lady at Starbucks asked me if I wanted room for cream when I ordered a tall coffee. I said, "ohhhhh, uh-huh, 'room for cream', I see. Do I look like the type of guy that needs room for cream? So basically you're calling me a pansy, right? Is that it? Well f*ck you!" Then I just side kicked the front door open and stormed out. Can you believe that lady? I know, right!

See, the funny thing about this is, the guy or gal reading this who really DOES ask for room for cream just got insulted by my little farce. you see how this works? it's a fucking vicious cycle, man. Room for cream....jerks.

So that's the deal. Mad information and mad stream of consciousness prose. And if you don't like it then, well, that's just bogus. But if you do like it, and I truly hope you do, you need to shout it from atop a snowy mountain, so all the villagers hillside and beyond can get the good word. And if you've got some interesting thoughts, like about how handsome I am, or how the words flow from my keyboard like a fresh mountain stream, or how just generally awesome I am, I want to hear it. And I will reference you for sure if it's called for, so if you don't want your real name on blast, I'd suggest you choose an ample pseudonym.

In essence, I love you all equally and look forward to blessing you with my inane thoughts.

Thank you and have a pleasant existence.

Seriously, beat it.