Jonathan Richman -- Take Me to the Plaza

I'm kinda tired of the story where I went to see ArnoCorps and got blackout drunk on a few PBRs and one whisky sour and I vomited all over a girl I liked in the back seat of her car. But the story I'm not yet tired of is the one where I got home the next day reeking of of hangover and remorse and I put on Take Me to the Plaza just so I could watch Jonathan Richman sing about how beautiful it was to live in a world where the sad sun stared at you through the trees and men sat in the cafe crying in vain and your heart hurt so bad you can't eat, you can't sleep, you just wandered around. After that, I knew everything was going to be okay.

Graveyard of Honor

I don't have a lot of goals in life, but the few I have usually come from musings like, "I wonder how many Greg Ginn solo albums I could sit through" or "You think I could see every Takashi Miike film by the end of the year?"

Jonathan Richman -- Take Me to the Plaza

I spent my whole day in my Motel Hell t-shirt and my whole morning frothing about the heartbreakingly ferocious genius of Pig Destroyer, but the minute I saw Jonathan Richman I wanted to cry the sweet tears of sappy nostalgia. Yeah, I know I already told you this.

Sympathy for Mr Vengeance

Now this is more like it. Another Korean classic from our favorite Korean director. Sympathy is good ol' violent O. Henry digitally enhanced color fun that goes a little something like:

Deaf-mute tries some back alley surgery to save his sister but when he wakes up naked, bleeding, and without the organ he needs to save her, it's time for Plan B. A tragic black/bleak comedy of errors ensues as he innocently kidnaps a cute little girl, and executive dad tries to find the folks that nabbed his flesh and blood. (Let it be known that while the Highland Cinema hates American children, we think those foreign kids are so darn adorable! And such good actors!) Don't let my witticisms fool you, this ain't one of those haha funny or funny haha pictures, it's chock full o' pathos, platelets, and pain. But that irony is too much to ignore. There's fights, there's tears, there's groans.

And not one but two scenes of a retarded Asian duder throwing rocks in a river.

I'd like to say more, but this guy did it for me. I'll leave you with: Tartan Asia Extreme has been good to us so far, let's hope they keep it that way.

Irreversible

Irreversible is even more disturbing and depraved than I Stand Alone, and way more fucking genius. This thing is another one to put at the top of your "must NOT see" list thanks to an opening sequence of basement bondage club glimpses, hateful dialogues, and brutal face annihilation at the hands of a fire extinguisher's blunt end. This is some serious shit, shit that gets all the more serious a few sequences later when Gaspar Noe subjects us to ten nearly-impossible-to-endure minutes involving Monica Belluci that make me realize I misplaced my Straw Dogs reference in that last post. If you don't already know, you don't want to.

Irreversible is nothing if not shocking, disorienting, and...necessarily cinematic! I sincerely don't think I'll ever see anything as nauseatingly perfect as this picture's opening thirty minutes -- a thirty minutes filled with barely-contained judgment-lapsed blind rage, barely-lit sexual deviance, horrific violence, and swirling, swooping, upside-down, falling-down drunk camera work. Amazing, moreso considering the eventual development and the plain-stated poignancy of the relationship between characters Alex, Marcus, and also-ran former boyfriend Pierre. You'll ask yourself if you're even watching the same movie. Staggering.

And still not for you.

In My Skin

Youngish corporate woman slices her leg up real bad at a party, doesn't feel a thing, and then feels compelled toward cutting. Whatever. I was mistakenly under the impression that this would be really good and it wasn't even passably good. Plods along like a movie that means something, but never told us why she liked to prick herself with steak knives or made us empathize with her addiction. Esther's inability to feel pain requires her to create a visual and corporeal representation, maybe? Maybe not. Sicinski momentarily compared it to American Psycho in terms of the desensitizing nature of corporate politics. That's intriguing, but when left to the film itself it's not something of which I was entirely convinced.

Oh well. Someday I'll forget all about this one and it won't make a difference whatsoever. During the last ten to fifteen minutes In My Skin was a tad shocking and graphic, but the rest wasn't too bad...although I'll admit we're a rather poor yardstick for that kind of thing.

If we were willing to dish out extra points it'd be for the fact Marina de Van wrote, directed, and starred. That's pretty cool!

Jonathan Richman -- Take Me to the Plaza

Man, do I ever dig this Jonathan Richman. Normally the Cinema is doom, gloom, and mayhem, but Jonathan never fails to get me smilin' and sighin' with his super-sweet tales of romance, neon signs, and New England. So sappy, so corny, so unbelievably great.

Nothing else to say.

Who wants a hug?

City of God

I spent the entire movie trying to think of an appropriately side-splitting Seu Jorge joke without even realizing he was in the fucking movie! And not just as some goofball extra, but in a real deal role. The entire second hour depends on him! He's second in command!

Jesus, what an idiot.


I eventually got over that, but the Highland Cinema wondered what the future will say about City of God. At only a few years old it is fast becoming a certified classic -- the recipient of many-a four-star review and the eighteenth greatest of all time. Better than Dr. Strangelove says a mass of internet voters. Sure, we enjoyed it. We enjoyed it a whole lot in fact, but those jump cuts, that start-at-the-sort-of-end narrative framework, and the oversaturated color timing just scream turn of the millennium. Temporal is one thing, but dated can cast an overwhelming pall on a thing. Will Fernando Meirelles' excesses be Cidade de Deus' pastel sportcoat?