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MLK: Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory

Monday, January 20th, 2020



TIME: Even after the Supreme Court struck down segregation in 1954, what the world now calls human-rights offenses were both law and custom in much of America. Before King and his movement, a tired and thoroughly respectable Negro seamstress like Rosa Parks could be thrown into jail and fined simply because she refused to give up her seat on an Alabama bus so a white man could sit down. A six-year-old black girl like Ruby Bridges could be hectored and spit on by a white New Orleans mob simply because she wanted to go to the same school as white children. A 14-year-old black boy like Emmett Till could be hunted down and murdered by a Mississippi gang simply because he had supposedly made suggestive remarks to a white woman. Even highly educated blacks were routinely denied the right to vote or serve on juries. They could not eat at lunch counters, register in motels or use whites-only rest rooms; they could not buy or rent a home wherever they chose. In some rural enclaves in the South, they were even compelled to get off the sidewalk and stand in the street if a Caucasian walked by. The movement that King led swept all that away. Its victory was so complete that even though those outrages took place within the living memory of the baby boomers, they seem like ancient history. And though this revolution was the mlk-x-obey.thumbnail.jpgproduct of two centuries of agitation by thousands upon thousands of courageous men and women, King was its culmination. It is impossible to think of the movement unfolding as it did without him at its helm. He was, as the cliche has it, the right man at the right time. MORE

INQUIRER: What we don’t celebrate, what we suppress, is King’s other great teaching: that if we wish to throw off the racism and militarism that have stained our history, we must reform our very economic and social system itself. That’s the prophecy we ignore – strenuously – every King Day. It appears increasingly in writings toward the end of King’s life, but its foremost statement was the sermon “Beyond Vietnam,” delivered April 4, 1967, at Riverside Church in New York, and in slightly different forms elsewhere. King, among other aims, gave the sermon to explain why he, a minister, had joined the antiwar movement. King calls for the United States to abandon the war – but that’s only a first step. The true drama begins when he declares that the “war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady within the American spirit.” What follows is an agonized protest: “I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical revolution of values. We must rapidly begin the shift from a ‘thing-oriented’ society to a ‘person-oriented’ society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.” MORE

MARTIN LUTHER KING: My third reason moves to an even deeper level of awareness, for it grows out of my experience in the ghettos of the North over the last three years — especially the last three summers. As I have walked among the desperate, rejected, and angry young men, I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action. But they ask — and rightly so — what about Vietnam? They ask if our own nation wasn’t using massive doses of violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it wanted. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in mlk-x-obey.thumbnail.jpgthe world today — my own government. For the sake of those boys, for the sake of this government, for the sake of the hundreds of thousands trembling under our violence, I cannot be silent. MORE

AMERICAN RADIOWORKS: Martin Luther King Jr. felt poorly the night he delivered this speech, the last one of his life. The venue was a mass meeting held in the Bishop Charles Mason Temple Church of God. Andrew Young, who was with him at the time, said King initially decided not to speak at all that night. King and his small entourage – including Ralph Abernathy, Jesse Jackson, and Benjamin Hooks – had led a march that day protesting low pay for black garbage collectors in Memphis. A rainstorm was gathering. King decided he was too sick to preach. He asked his best friend, Abernathy, to speak instead. Once in the church, Abernathy felt King would have to speak to the crowd, so he phoned King and asked him to come down. Abernathy promised that he would still do the preaching; King would just have to say a few words. Abernathy spoke for more than half an hour, his words energizing the crowd. That called up the spirit in Reverend King, and he spoke that night without a single note in hand. In a speech Benjamin Hooks delivered a decade after King’s death (also featured in this anthology), he recalled King’s final sermon: “I remember that night when he finished, he stopped by quoting the words of that song that he loved so well, ‘Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.’ He never finished. He wheeled around and took his seat and to my surprise, when I got a little closer, I saw tears streaming down his face. Grown men were sitting there weeping openly because of the power of this man who spoke on that night.” King had warned in previous sermons that he might die before the struggle ended. It was not the first time he told listeners he’d “seen the promised land.” King had been living with death threats for years. MORE

ABC: After Dr. King was shot and before his death was announced, I remember too seeing on television the powerful climax of the speech he had given just the night before. In some ways, that speech is more indelibly etched in my mind and memory than his more famous “I Have A Dream” speech of 1963. I read later that King was exhausted that night, April 3, 1968. He begged off speaking but finally agreed to address the audience at the Bishop Charles Mason Temple Church of God. His final words are chilling to hear or read even today: “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life,” he said. “Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land!” The next day, Martin Luther King was killed by an assassin’s bullet. He was just 39. Had he lived, he would have turned 81 on Jan. 15. MORE



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The Man Who Made MLK The Prince Of Peace

Monday, January 20th, 2020


WIKIPEDIA: Bayard Rustin (March 17, 1912 – August 24, 1987) was an American leader in social movements for civil rights, socialism, pacifism and non-violence, and gay rights. Rustin was born in West Chester, Pennsylvania. He was a leading activist of the early 1947–1955 civil-rights movement, helping to initiate a 1947 Freedom Ride to challenge with civil disobedience racial segregation on interstate busing. He recognized Martin Luther King, Jr.‘s leadership, and helped to organize the Southern Christian Leadership Conference to strengthen King’s leadership; Rustin promoted the philosophy of nonviolence and the practices of nonviolent resistance, which he had observed while working with Gandhi’s movement in India. In 1948, Rustin traveled to India to learn techniques of nonviolent civil resistance directly from the leaders of the Gandhian movement.

In 1953, Rustin was arrested in Pasadena, California for homosexual activity. Originally charged with vagrancy and lewd conduct, he pleaded guilty to a single, lesser charge of “sex perversion” (as consensual sodomy was officially referred to in California then) and served 60 days in jail. This was the first time that his homosexuality had come to public attention. He had been and remained candid about his sexuality, although homosexuality was still criminalized throughout the United States.

Rustin served as an unidentified member of the American Friends Service Committee‘s task force to write “Speak Truth to Power: A Quaker Search for an Alternative to Violence,”[11] published in 1955. This was one of the most influential and widely commented upon pacifist essays in the United States. Rustin wanted to keep his participation quiet, as he believed that his known sexual orientation would be used by critics as an excuse to compromise the 71-page pamphlet when it was published. It analyzed the Cold War and the American response to it and recommended non-violent solutions.

Rustin took leave from the War Resisters League in 1956 to advise Martin Luther King Jr. on Gandhian tactics. King was organizing the public transportation boycott in Montgomery, Alabama known as the Montgomery Bus Boycott. According to Rustin, “I think it’s fair to say that Dr. King’s view of non-violent tactics was almost non-existent when the boycott began. In other words, Dr. King was permitting himself and his children and his home to be protected by guns.” Rustin convinced King to abandon the armed protection.[12]

CINEMA: Paths Of Glory

Friday, January 17th, 2020



1917 (Directed by Sam Mendes, 119 minutes, USA, 2019)

Dan Tabor_byline_avatarBY DAN TABOR FILM CRITIC It’s officially peak awards season and that means war movies, because awards show voters love a man in uniform. Enter 1917 is the latest film by director Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Skyfall) who, along with cinematographer Roger Deakins (Bladerunner 2049, The Shawshank Redemption, pretty much every Coen Brothers movie), has produced a film that took home two Golden Globes recently causing a major upset in both the Best Picture and Director categories beating out Once Upon a time… in Hollywood, and The Irishman. Co-written with Krysty Wilson-Cairns, 1917 was inspired by a true story as told to Sam Mendes by his grandfather.

Set in World War I, 1917 follows two young British soldiers, Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) and Schofield (George MacKay) who are dispatched on an impossible mission. With the lines of communication severed, the two men have to traverse the devastated German countryside to hand deliver a message that could save 1,600 men, including Blake’s brother. You see, these 1,600 men are soldiers walking into a trap, thinking the Germans have retreated, when in fact they’ve just pulled back and regrouped, and are currently lying in wait. The crux of the film is a gimmick: shades of Birdman, the entire film transpires in a single uninterrupted take and the camera continues to roll as they journey through eerily abandoned German trenches, evacuated farms and war-ravaged ghost towns in the course of the film’s two-hour run time.

It’s ‪Saving Private Ryan meets Dunkirk, but with one fatal flaw. Since the film never really stops its frantic pace, there’s just not enough character development to get the viewer emotionally invested and this disconnect is further compounded by a rather divisive story choice that occurs about midway through the film. Aesthetically the film is exquisite, Deakins vividly captures the carnage of war — the requisite blood, guts and shit blowing up all over the place — but the stylized camera work feels a tad too calculated and composed at times. The production design is period perfect and everything feels fetishistically authentic. But the longer the film plays out the more it begins to feel less like a film and more like a twitch stream, as our protagonists encounter obstacle after obstacle.

1917, simply stated, is pure visceral style over substance. The film at times is so overwhelmed by its gimmick and its need to push an almost non-existent narrative, that it sacrifices the connective tissue between the audience to keep upping the ante. While the performances are superb, their humanity gets lost in the flawlessly fluid movement of Deakins’ camera as it captures Blake and Scholfield’s odyssey through the eye of an unsympathetic god. While I can tell objectively appreciate this film as a stunning feat of cinematography, ultimately it’s to the detriment of the story, reducing the film to nothing more than a gorgeously rendered shooter on rails.

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NPR 4 THE DEAF: We Hear It Even When You Can’t

Thursday, January 16th, 2020



NPR: Growing up in New York City’s Little Italy, as a kid, filmmaker Martin Scorsese spent a great deal of time surrounded by images of saints and martyrs at St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral.”Those images certainly stayed with me,” he says. As did the sermons, which often focused on “death approaching like a thief in the night. You never know when. You never know how.” Scorsese attended seminary school with the intention of becoming a priest but was expelled when he was 15 for being a class clown. Instead, he went on to become a noted filmmaker, directing Raging Bull, Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Casino and more.

Scorsese’s latest movie, The Irishman, stars Robert De Niro as a truck driver and World War II veteran who becomes a hit man for the mob. Like many of the director’s previous films, The Irishman features backroom deals, shootings and explosions. But Scorsese says the film is also an expression of his “religious beliefs or concerns or obsessions” — particularly in the way it explores morality and what happens to gangsters at the end of their lives. “I realize gangsters are bad,” he says. But, he adds, “Can a person change? And can a person be redeemed? … What are we capable of?” MORE

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INCOMING: There’s A Creep In The Cellar

Wednesday, January 15th, 2020

Gibby Haynes Event Poster Final


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THE LOCUST ABORTION TECHNICIAN: Q&A W/ Gibby Haynes, Frontman Of The Butthole Surfers

Wednesday, January 15th, 2020


EDITOR’S NOTE: This interview originally published on July 19th, 2020.

Valania AvatarBY JONATHAN VALANIA Saints be praised! Butthole Surfers frontman/madman Gibby Haynes will be celebrating the publication of his debut novel Me & Mr. Cigar with a book released party/concert (backed by The Paul Green School of Rock) at the Colonial Theater in Phoenixville on Friday January 17th — and we are totally there for this. To help get the word out, we got Gibby on the horn for a wide ranging, no-holes barred interview. If you are new to the Gibby/Surfers’ weird-ass corner of the universe, I suggest you read my beginner’s guide Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About The Motherf*cking Butthole Surfers But Weren’t Sure It Was Even Legal To Ask before digging in.

One more thing before we get started. We first did this interview last Friday. Saturday I realized it didn’t record for reasons still unclear. Sunday I sheepishly texted Gibby to tell him tragedy had struck but I was happy to do it all over again — “you know, for the kids” — though I would totally understand if he didn’t want to and I apologized for wasting his time. Gibby texted back: “Call me.” Lord knows Gibby Haynes is not a role model, but he is a gentleman and a scholar. Long may he weird.

DISCUSSED: Fatherhood, penis reconstruction surgery, LSD, how to burn down the Chesnut Cabaret without really trying, the JFK assassination, growing up with a dad Gibby Haynesnamed Mr. Peppermint who was in Dealey Plaza when JFK was assassinated, his forthcoming Young Adult Lit novel Me And Mr. Cigar, living with Timothy Leary, the University of Texas Tower Massacre in 1966, the curse words of children, Woody Allen, the Great White Fire, getting thrown out of the Viper Club for heckling Johnny Cash, the future of the Butthole Surfers, the death of the flaming cymbal, the meaning of regret and why playing Butthole Surfers songs with the kids from Paul Green Academy Of Rock is such a gas, gas, gas.

PHAWKER: I actually met you in the late ’80s in the lobby of the now-defunct New York City night club The World where the Butthole Surfers were supposed to play with Spacemen 3, but they were denied work visas because someone had a drug charge or something like that and didn’t play. That is one of the great regrets of my life — that that dream show never happened.

GIBBY HAYNES: Oh, we were supposed to play with Spacemen 3? What a drag.

PHAWKER: Yeah, you don’t remember that?


PHAWKER: Oh my god, that was going to be the greatest fucking show on Earth! But anyway, I remember telling you – you had asked where I was from – and I said Allentown, Pennsylvania. And you were like, “Allentown? Didn’t something really bad happen there?”

GIBBY HAYNES: [laughing] I did, uh did it? I don’t know.

PHAWKER: Yes, yes lots of bad things. Lots of bad things happen everywhere. I only mention this because I use that as my go-to ice breaker line when I meet someone from somewhere else and it’s very effective. I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for that.


PHAWKER: So you’re living in Brooklyn these days, correct?


PHAWKER: Okay, what is a typical day in the life of Gibby Haynes these days?

GIBBY HAYNES: Oh, well, I wake up. If it’s during the school year, I make lunch for my kid before I take him to school — basically my life revolves around my son nowadays. He’s really my family.

PHAWKER: His name is Satchel?

GIBBY HAYNES: Satchel, indeed. He’s named after – people always say the same thing, “Was he named after GibbySatchel Paige?” And I say, “No, he was named after Satchel Bernstein, Satchel Paige’s manager.” And a lot of times, they go, “Really?” And I go, “No.”

PHAWKER: How old is he?

GIBBY HAYNES: He is nine. And the interesting thing is that Ronan Farrow’s original name was Satchel Allen, but he hated his dad so much that I guess he eventually decided to change his name, and we found that out – we found out that Woody named his son Satchel after we named our kid Satchel. And then we found out that he named his other son Moses. So we named our son after two of Woody Allen’s sons names, without knowing that we did it.

PHAWKER: Yeah that’s some kind of weird cosmic joke the universe is playing on somebody.

GIBBY HAYNES: [laughing] I wonder who.

PHAWKER: Last time we talked you were telling me at the time that kids these days know every curse word in the book.

GIBBY HAYNES: Yeah, they do.

PHAWKER: You told me a story about one of your son Satchel’s friends who was complaining about a mutual friend saying that if his father wasn’t standing there — meaning you — he’d tell Satchel exactly what he thought of mutual friend. You encouraged him to speak freely and he said?

GIBBY HAYNES: ‘He’s a motherfucking asshole!’ or something to that effect [laughing]. He definitely said ‘motherfucker,’ which is like the pinnacle of like – I mean they don’t know what fucking is, but they know that ‘motherfucker’ is a bad word. Like they think to say “Oh, fuck,” but they don’t know what sex is. A lot of them hopefully don’t. But with the Internet, I’m sure they do. You know, I don’t think he’d tell me if he’d seen…he might’ve, well I found, well I’m not gonna say it. One time I had looked at my phone, and it had been googled, “sex in a cab.”

NPR 4 THE DEAF: We Hear It Even When You Can’t

Tuesday, January 14th, 2020

FRESH AIR: The stories of the hush money payments to porn star Stormy Daniels and former Playboy model Karen McDougal to silence them about their affairs with Donald Trump were first reported in The Wall Street Journal by my guest, Joe Palazzolo and Michael Rothfeld. Last year, their “Hush Money” series won a Pulitzer Prize. Palazzolo and Rothfeld have expanded on that reporting in a new book called “The Fixers: The Bottom-Feeders, Crooked Lawyers, Gossipmongers And Porn Stars Who Created The 45th President.” The hush money payments were made on behalf of Donald Trump with Trump’s knowledge during the 2016 presidential campaign. The National Enquirer bought McDougal’s story with the purpose of preventing it from ever being published and preventing her from talking to anyone else in the media – catch and kill. The payout to silence Stormy Daniels was made by Michael Cohen, who was then Trump’s personal attorney and is now in prison. In telling the story of the hush money Palazzolo and Rothfeld report on the transactional relationship that Trump developed with David Pecker, the publisher of the National Enquirer, the lengths to which Michael Cohen was willing to go to please Trump and how tabloids like the National Enquirer pay for stories by people who have dirt on celebrities.

Joe Palazzolo, Michael Rothfeld, welcome to FRESH AIR. So your book opens in August of 2015, just a couple of months after Trump announces his run for the presidency. And so the book opens at a meeting with Trump and David Pecker, the publisher of the National Enquirer. And Trump wanted to know what Pecker could do to help with the campaign. How had they developed the kind of relationship where Donald Trump could have actually asked for such a favor? MORE




FRESH AIR: The American South in the post-Reconstruction era was a land of broken promises and brutal oppression for African Americans, as white leaders stripped former slaves of many of the civil and voting rights they’d won after the Civil War. But in the 1890s, the port city of Wilmington, N.C., was an exception. It had a thriving black middle class, a large black electorate and a local government that included black aldermen, police officers and magistrates.That ended in 1898 with a bloody campaign of violence and intimidation by white supremacists, which our guest journalist David Zucchino calls America’s first and only armed overthrow of a legally elected government. Zucchino chronicles the events in a new book called “Wilmington’s Lie: The Murderous Coup Of 1898 And The Rise Of White Supremacy.” David Zucchino is a contributing writer for The New York Times. He’s covered war and civil conflicts in more than three dozen countries and was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for his reporting from apartheid South Africa. MORE

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CINEMA: Dan Tabor’s Best Movies Of 2019

Friday, January 10th, 2020



10. Dolemite Is My Name (Dir. by Craig Brewer, 118 minutes, USA)

Equal parts heartwarming and hilarious, Dolemite Is My Name is a love letter to 70s blaxploitation cinema taken to the next level by the glorious return of Eddie Murphy. The film chronicles the journey of comedian-turned-blaxploitation legend Rudy Ray Moore (Murphy), who when he was told there wasn’t a place for him on the silver screen, made his own way and brought his friends along too. I’m not traditionally one for feel good fare, but thanks to its raunchy protagonist, who also happens to be a consummate optimist, I couldn’t help but spend the entire film rooting for the man who found his calling playing a foul-mouthed, rhyming, kung-fu fighting pimp.

9. The Irishman (Dir. by Martin Scorsese, 209 minutes, USA)

With a script that is nothing short of a master work, about the “true” story of blue collar hitman Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro), coupled with an amazing cast of cinematic legends there is a filmmaking language here that is unmistakably Scorsese. The gangster genre has been the bread and butter of Scorsese’s career and quite deservedly gets a lot of love and a lot of hate. With The Irishman Scorsese has come full circle, closing the loop he launched his career with when he turned his lens onto his New York upbringing in Mean Streets. As Frank tells the story of his life from his nursing home wheelchair, there’s a pervasive sense of loss and regret that slowly ramps up as we see Frank choose this lonely path, eventually pushing everyone away or killing them with his bare hands.

8. Parasite (Dir. by Bong Joon-ho, 132 minutes, South Korea)

Bong Joon-ho’s latest meditation on class, about a poor Korean family who infiltrates a wealthy family’s life, is filled with dark comedic genius and the kind of underlying themes about class that are universal. Invoking the kind of nepotism that would put Trump to shame, the family of grifters quickly unseat the entire staff of servants at the beautiful mansion, and setup shop. That is until they discover a disturbing secret just underneath their feet. Bong Joon-ho has been making great films for over two decades now, so it’s great to see him get the accolades he deserves.

7. Uncut Gems (Dir. by Josh and Benny Safdie, 135 minutes, USA)

Uncut Gems is tense, sleaze-filled trip through the dark underbelly of New York’s Jeweler’s Row. Adam Sandler here gives the performance of his lifetime as New York the Jewish diamond district jeweler Howard Ratner, a compulsive gambling addict, an adulterer and neck deep in debt. Howard is hoping for an easy out with an uncut African opal he recently acquired, but the problem is that the universe is aligned against him. The Safdie Brother’s, assisted by Ronald Bronstein, have crafted a sublime slice of sleaze that manages to get its audience to side with its tragically flawed protagonist and even root for him in a third act that will leave you speechless and possibly give you a heart attack.

6. The Nightingale (Dir. by Jennifer Kent, 136 minutes, Australia)

The Nightingale isn’t an easy watch, but it rewards those brave enough to endure it. Jennifer Kent (The Babadook) turns in a sophomore effort that solidifies her as a powerful voice in film. The film that takes place in Australia in 1825 during the British colonization following Clare (Franciosi) a 21-year-old Irish convict out for revenge after not only being raped by British soldiers, but also being forced to watch them slaughter her family. While we have seen iterations of this tale before, its rarely told by someone who would have suffered under the tyranny of the colonizers, which gives the story an authentic voice. The film doesn’t try to make anyone into a heroes or saviors because it’s too busy making the point that while we may be more civilized today, racism, sexism and brutality is woven into the fabric of our DNA and hasn’t gone anywhere.

5. Us (Dir. by Jordan Peele, 116 minutes, USA)

Simultaneously terrifying and hilarious, Us is a popcorn movie with the depth and gravity of Kubrick and the hair-raising suspense of peak Hitchcock. Unlike its predecessor, Us fits more squarely in the horror genre, with the occasional pivot from terror to comic relief. The film channels the creeping dread and paranoia that made Get Out so great, and like that film it holds a mirror up to the semi-invisible internecine warfare raging in every atom of present-day America.

4. Swallow (Dir. by Carlo Mirabella-Davis, 94 minutes, USA/France)

A woman who marries into a wealthy family who has no control over her own life develops pica to prove she still has control over one thing, her own body. As she begins to eat and pass knick-knacks around the house to pass the time, the film almost feels like a comedy until she gets pregnant. When her wealthy in-laws discover her compulsion and attempt to intervene for the good of her unborn child, we are then confronted with the source of her trauma. Brilliantly acted, and flawlessly paced, the film takes an unexpected turn once we discover her secret, with the film morphing from comedy to drama becoming one of the most moving pieces of cinema I had the pleasure of viewing this year.

3. Knives Out (Dir. by Rian Johnson, 130 minutes, USA)

Edge-of-your-seat mystery that is bitingly relevant as it is clever, and feels like a pointed response to the alt-right trolling director Rian Johnson was subjected to in the wake of The Last Jedi. Armed with a stellar cast and an irreverent, meticulously-paced script, Johnson has crafted a new genre classic that will no doubt give us more adventures of legendary private investigator Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) in the near future.

2. Midsommar (Dir. by Ari Aster, 147 minutes, USA/Hungary/Sweden)

As with Hereditary, Midsommar operates on two very distinct levels, the first being the tumultuous relationship between Dani (Florence Pugh) and Christian (Jack Reynor). The second being the terrifying folk tale about a Swedish cult in a small secluded village that carries out a sacred rite every 90 years and the unfortunate souls that are unwittingly invited like lambs to the slaughter. The way Ari Aster deploys these competing story lines to push and pull the narrative in opposite directions before coalescing in the cathartic third act is a marvel to behold. Midsommar is an exquisitely visceral cinematic experience that leaves you both physically and emotionally exhausted as the credits begin.


1.Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Dir. by Quentin Tarantino’s, 161 min., USA)

I’ve seen Quentin Tarantino’s love letter to 1969 Hollywood five times now and every time I find some new little detail or nuance in a character I might have missed before. For as opinionated Tarantino is, his latest (and possibly last) film lets the audience draw their own conclusions and find their own meaning with its revisionist take on a moment that changed America forever. For me it seemed like a very autobiographical take on the current battle between old Hollywood and the younger more PC set slowly coming into power. Sure it’s a great hang out movie, and the script is one of his best, but there is so many devils in the details as Tarantino fills this world with some of the most introspective and nuanced characters to date and career high water mark performances by Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio.

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Thursday, January 9th, 2020



UPDATE: we’re up to 4.2 MILLION unique visitors since this was made.

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NPR 4 THE DEAF: We Hear It Even When You Can’t

Tuesday, January 7th, 2020



FRESH AIR: Director Todd Phillips is fascinated by what he calls “left-footed characters” — people who are “out of step with the world.” His most recent film, Joker, is an origin story — of sorts — for the villain in the Batman series. The movie stars Joaquin Phoenix as Arthur Fleck, a party clown and aspiring stand-up comic who lives in a city overcome by garbage, rats and unemployment. Cuts in social services mean that Arthur is unable to afford the medications he needs to manage his mental illness. As Arthur’s mental health deteriorates, he begins to adapt the villainous Joker persona. Phillips says the film began as an attempt to create a “deep-dive character study” within the genre of the comic book movie. “The whole M.O. of the film was, let’s make a comic book film where we run everything through as realistic a lens as possible,” he says. Joker has made more than $1 billion at the worldwide box office and garnered Phoenix a Golden Globe award for acting. But it’s also been criticized for glorifying violence. Phillips maintains the film is less about violence than it is about “documenting mayhem and chaos.” He was particularly interested in exploring the consequences of cutting social services for mental health.”We really thought it was important to shine a light on the system,” he says. “I think, like a lot of people, the system’s broken, and why not use a film to make a comment on that?” MORE

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CINEMA: Infinite Jester

Tuesday, January 7th, 2020



JOKER (directed by Todd Phillips, 121 minutes, USA, 2019)

meavatar2BY JONATHAN VALANIA Before we get started, let me just be clear where I’m coming from on all this: I love comic book superhero movies as much as the next 53 year old arrested adolescent. Large men in tights blowing shit up, and there’s popcorn? Sign me up. Like everyone else, I have too much to do and not enough time to get it done, and yet I have burned something like 100 hours watching every installment in the Marvel Infinity Saga over the last decade, and if I had the chance I would do it all over again. I believe that Joaquin Phoenix is one of the greatest actors currently walking the Earth, I think I’m Still Here was next-level fuck-you genius — that in its own way, and with out even trying, out-jokered Joker — and I think his indelible performance in PT Anderson’s The Master was intensity incarnate. So I was completely psyched to see him play the titular Joker, even after early-word festival buzz smoke-signalled that the movie turns the clown prince of chaos into Travis Bickle of the Incels. After having done so, I take no pleasure in telling you that Joker fails on every level.


And so I have come to kill it with fire. Shall we begin?

Joaquin’s Phoenix’s Arthur Peck, aka Joker, is a tormented greasy-haired, Auschwitz-thin sad sack head case slowly descending into madness in the scuzzy ruins of Gotham City, which looks a lot like a slow-rotting Big Apple circa 1981. For the first 90 minutes of this two hour movie, Arthur Fleck is kicked in the teeth at every turn, by the heartless bureaucracy of Gotham City Hall that shits on the poor and gives to the rich, by drunken Wall Street date rapists singing Sondheim in the subway, by the local juvenile delinquents who knock him down and kick him like a deflating soccer ball, by his Ophelia-mad mother who delivered him unto the evil of her sadistic monster of a boyfriend before he was old enough to speak, by his double-crossing co-workers and his asshole boss down at the clowns-for-hire agency he used to work at. All the while struggling to fend off the onset of creeping psychosis. And then the city slashes the budget for mental health services and cuts off his psych meds. Match meets gasoline. He is a man at the end of his rope and vengeance will be thine.

Fine. Have at it.

The film so badly wants to be a gritty edge lord hybrid of Taxi Driver and King Of Comedy, and, just to make sure that’s obvious, casts an utterly unconvincing Robert De Niro as Murray Franklin, a charmless, inexplicably popular talk show host who turns out to be yet another of Arthur’s abusers that winds up one of his victims. De Niro’s not the only one miscast the play. Brett Cullens’ Thomas Wayne (father of Bruce) has all the charisma and indispensability of a Bill DeBlasio presidential campaign and Frances Conroy plays his mother as a muttering unmade bed of a woman.

But the biggest problem with Joker is there’s just too goddamn much Joaquin Phoenix in this movie: Mugging, frugging, preening, pretzeling, all the while cackling maniacally and soft-shoeing psychotic like Chaplin’s Little Tramp on a meth binge. I don’t really blame Joaquin for this, I blame director Todd Phillips and the film editor, who seemingly used every single psychopathic second of every amps-on-eleven take Phoenix committed to celluloid in his iridescent river boat gambler get up. It’s like drinking Joaquin Phoenix out of a firehose.

And it just goes on and on. The movie is only two hours long, but it feels like six. The script is a hot mess of ham-fisted homage, over-acting and muddled intentions. Is this The Rise Of The Incels? An escape hatch from responsibility for the self-made misery of thwarted white male mediocrities? A how-to guide for unfuckable men to cleanse themselves in an orgy of unspeakable violence and be reborn? Or is it the grimy cosplay brutality of overgrown Scorsese fanboys masquerading as a morality play? Or is it a public service announcement reminding us that society reaps the carnage it sows when it arms and then neglects the mentally ill? In which case, why bother when the cable news massacre of the week currently bleeding out at a high school, workplace or WalMart near you has made that point soul-crushingly clear over and over and over again, to little or no avail?

The screenplay, penned by director Phillips and screenwriter Scott Silver, is riddled with logical fallacies and ludicrous improbabilities, from the cops who give Arthur a 50 yard head start before announcing they have come to arrest him, to the scene at the end when, despite having already demonstrated that he is a homicidal maniac with a hair-trigger capacity for horrific violence, he is left unshackled and unguarded in a locked room at Arkham Asylum with a nurse he proceeds to kill with his bare hands. What follows is Joker’s one moment of a true cinematic grace — Arthur Fleck racing down a long blinding-white hallway in slo-mo leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints as he runs to the light — but by then it’s too late. That joke isn’t funny anyone.

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CINEMA: The Bitch Is Back

Monday, January 6th, 2020


ROCKET MAN (Directed by Dexter Fletcher, 121 minutes, USA, 2019)

meAVATAR2BY JONATHAN VALANIA Captain Fantastic — aka Sir Elton Hercules John, aka Reginald “Reggie” Kenneth Dwight, aka the co-architect of so many of the golden age of FM megahits that scored the bleary, barbituated Satyricon of the early-mid ‘70s (“Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” “Your Song,” “Tiny Dancer,” “Bennie And The Jets,” “Last Night Somebody Saved My Life” and the titular “Rocket Man” to name but a few) was not always so fantastic. Born bespectacled, effete and fragile, with a thick thatch of hair stamped with a 20-year expiration date, not to mention a titanic boatload of innate musical talent, to shit parents (war-damaged, hopelessly mismatched, and utterly incapable of giving or receiving love), Sir Elton came of age as a gay man at a time when homosexuality was still a criminal offense in England, so it is no wonder he had so much to unpack in rehab once the drugs stopped working.

All of which is both the madness and the method of Rocket Man, the just-out Elton John biopic directed by Dexter Fletcher, who was called in to finish Bohemian Rhapsody after Bryan Singer was fired for being difficult and creepy, or vice versa. Both films follow the same narrative arc — meteoric rise, drug-fueled race to the bottom and triumphant-but-slight return to glory — with the primary difference being that all the same-sex, drug-taking and debauchery that was scrubbed from Freddie Mercury’s biopic is unflinchingly displayed in Elton John’s. Rocket Man is told in impressionistic recall by fortysomething Elton during group therapy, where he arrives at the film’s onset in a halo of blinding white light dressed as the devil himself, having finally hit bottom and gone AWOL from a sold out show at Madison Square Gardens.

Sir Elton is played by Taron Egerton, a British actor with near-zero stateside name recognition, but given how thoroughly he crushes it that will soon change. Although he looks like what would come out of the the other side if George Costanza and Chris Pratt jumped into a teleporter together, and doesn’t really sound like Elton John even when he’s singing the shit out of his song book, Egerton channels the man in all his glittery tragicomic flamboyance and gets to a higher truth about Captain Fantastic that transcends the overrated virtues of twin-like resemblance and note-perfect mimicry. It’s a stellar performance every bit as Oscar-worthy as Rami Malek’s Freddie. Still, the great love story at the center of the film is the chaste but no less procreative lifelong songwriting partnership of Elton and lyricist Bernie Taupin (Jamie Bell, who looks like Big Star-era Alex Chilton for much of the film). Bernie wrote the poetry and Elton set it into motion on a gorgeous bed of heartbreaking piano chords and bittersweet voicings.

In his recollections of the early days, we see tender-aged, pre-name change Reggie (played ably by Matthew Illesley as boy Reggie and later by Kit Connor as teen Reggie) sight-reading Mozart by flashlight under the covers after lights out and conducting an imaginary orchestra from his bed, winning a scholarship from the Royal Academy of Music on the strength of his preternatural piano chops, hammering out pompadour’d ‘50s rock in smoky pubs and backing up visiting American soul stirrers. Bluffing his way through an audition with Liberty Records, he lands a record deal that by random luck pairs him with the equally unknown and untested Taupin. But soon enough the hits start coming as Reggie changes his name to Elton John, finds his footing as a performer and comes to grips, privately at least, with his sexuality.

Once he becomes famous — and the film switches to a montage of massive arena concerts overlaid with swirling newspaper headlines that inform us, among other things, that at the height of his fame 4% of all the albums sold worldwide are Elton John albums —  Elton proceeds to drink, smoke, snort and fuck anything and everything that moves. Famous on the outside but crying on the inside, the Elton train eventually jumps the tracks after a long, slow druggy decline, bringing the film full circle as the resulting human wreckage rolls to a stop on the doorstep of an undisclosed rehab literally wearing devil horns. In short order, Elton gets sober, reclaims his career and lives more or less happily ever after.

Screenwriter Lee Hall (Billy Elliot, War Horse) assembles Elton’s life not as a straight line but a zig-zagging mosaic of thrilling vignettes, ripe for all those big surrealistic choreographed production numbers where characters suddenly break into song and somehow, against all odds, it works. Big time. In fact, Rocket Man is at its best when it goes big — and it always goes big. More rock opera than PBS Frontline, the movie plays fast and loose with history’s timestamp in the pursuit of more satisfying storytelling, which is the beauty of the much-maligned biopic genre given that absolutely everyone’s life is a sad, slow walk from greatness to enfeeblement. Boring! The power and the glory of Rocket Man — which is to say the fun of it all — stems from the fact that it isn’t Ken Burns or Errol Morris telling you Sir Elton’s life, it’s Andrew Lloyd Webber.

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How The CIA Overthrew The Duly Elected Prime Minister Of Iran in 1953, AKA Why They Hate Us

Friday, January 3rd, 2020

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NPR: On Aug. 19, 2013, the CIA publicly admitted for the first time its involvement in the 1953 coup against Iran’s elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh. The documents provided details of the CIA’s plan at the time, which was led by senior officer Kermit Roosevelt Jr., the grandson of U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt. Over the course of four days in August 1953, Roosevelt would orchestrate not one, but two attempts to destabilize the government of Iran, forever changing the relationship between the country and the U.S. In this episode, we go back to retrace what happened in the inaugural episode of NPR’s new history podcast, Throughline.

Mohammad Mossadegh was a beloved figure in Iran. During his tenure, he introduced a range of social and economic policies, the most significant being the nationalization of the Iranian oil industry. Great Britain had controlled Iran’s oil for decades through the Anglo-Iranian Oil Co. After months of talks the prime minister broke off negotiations and denied the British any further involvement in Iran’s oil industry. Britain then appealed to the United States for help, which eventually led the CIA to orchestrate the overthrow of Mossadegh and restore power to Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the last Shah of Iran.

According to Stephen Kinzer, author of the book All the Shah’s Men, Roosevelt quickly seized control of the Iranian press by buying them off with bribes and circulating anti-Mossadegh propaganda. He recruited allies among the Islamic clergy, and he convinced the shah that Mossadegh was a threat. The last step entailed a dramatic attempt to apprehend Mossadegh at his house in the middle of the night. But the coup failed. Mossadegh learned of it and fought back. The next morning, he announced victory over the radio. Mossadegh thought he was in the clear, but Roosevelt hadn’t given up. He orchestrated a second coup, which succeeded. Mossadegh was placed on trial and spent his life under house arrest. The shah returned to power and ruled for another 25 years until the 1979 Iranian Revolution. The 1953 coup was later invoked by students and the political class in Iran as a justification for overthrowing the shah. MORE

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Cost of the War in Iraq
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