Thursday, December 30, 2010


Another year about to pass us by.

Once again, a big thank you to everyone for taking the time to post comments, give feedback, and write messages, they are all highly appreciated. May your 2011 be an absurdly good one in all sorts of unimaginably wonderful ways, enjoy all that's there.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010


Most teaching of kids in general, and the teaching of the violin specifically, is a form of abuse. But that's another story for on this occasion I'm on the side of teachers. The Musicians' Union, along with a cabal of other disreputable organisations like the NSPCC, have created this insanely creepy patronising video to advise music tutors to avoid all physical contact with their charges.

Let's not forget it was this same shower who successfully voted to have synthesisers and drum machines banned in the early 80s. As you can imagine, I had a few run-ins with them myself - the first upon being forced to pay a tribute to their muso crime family when Essential Logic did a John Peel (topical irony unintentional) session on BBC Radio. You had no choice. And because of the electronic music issue, it was also another reason a degree of subterfuge was necessary when Whitehouse did shows at traditional London venues the ever-officious MU kept tabs on. By playing our EDP Wasps, we were depriving 'real' fiddlers and trombonists and other card-carriers of their god-given livelihood. Apparently.

That said, if you go peruse the MU's most recent campaigns and issues, you realise that so much more of this is about finding increasingly elaborate ways to raise revenue to support, and thus validate, this thieves' guild's very existence.

If there's one good thing that kids are going to get out of music classes, it probably isn't music; it's physical and metaphysical connections with other kids, the instructors, their audiences. More than being healthy, it's what makes it fun. Of course, coming from a society already damaged enough by paranoid Edwardian hang-ups toward all forms of physical contact and display (even to oneself), this neurotic no-touch obsession is but a logical extension.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010


Photographer Paul Russell has posted a small collection of nice pictures of yellow reflectives (thanks to Steve for the link). Light-hearted relief perhaps from all the recent images of viz'd-up ID-less kettle-squads brutalising student demonstrators (example). Still not to be trusted though and pillocks, the jacket once donned, each and every one.


Tuesday, December 14, 2010

HK47 7

Girls who love Hello Kitty probably have lots of disposable income for cute clothes and toys, and they may also love a drink after a hard day's work or studying. Let's celebrate and relax with some HK wine!

Despite the Italians' claims of firstness, I believe that Hello Kitty has graced bottles of rice wine in Japan before this. That said, it only remains for us to taste this Sweet Pink demi-sec. Or would you even have the heart to uncork it?

A light playful cherry nose with some chocolatey and strawberry aromas; fresh, feline, soft, ripe tannins giving a delicate effervescent structure to the innocent sweetness of its gorgeous fruit.

(my thanks to Lorin for the link!) 

HK47 6
HK47 5
HK47 4

Saturday, December 04, 2010


Channel 5 made an insipid character study TV documentary entitled X-Rated Ambition focusing on Traci Lords' career leading up to her being the one, in all likelihood, to drop the bombshell to the cops that she had been underage (in the States, at least) for most of her adult film career to that point. Conveniently, at the time, she'd just turned a legitimate 18 and had set up her own adult entertainment company, thus allowing her to have a monopoly on her output after a panicked porn industry were compelled to destroy all remaining vestiges of her in magazines and on tapes. The Californian porn industry, of course, was the perfect scapegoat for reactionary rightwing forces under Ronald Reagan's presidency, even though they would themselves, ironically, likely be for the most part staunch Republicans.

Depressingly, not only Lords herself fails to appear in this documentary of the substance of an empty crisp packet, it also features a roll-call of tenuously connected minor male and female porn D-listers, some of whom had actually fucked Lords on camera. And did I mention Ron Jeremy?

Every one of them talks about how much they loved working with her, fucking her. How enthralling Tracy's peachy white skin was, her uniquely firm luscious pert needy breasts, her wanton sexual enthusiasm, her professionalism, and hence her marketability and extraordinary commercial success. And not one person has the courage to state the blindingly obvious: this was all true because she was 16, a child under US law. Not being aware of this doesn't negate the admitted basic instincts of her co-stars, nor her vast audience. It's a total state of denial, so powerful is the taboo, that men, generally, are more aroused by young girls (or boys), and whatever other fetish they happen to be into. A 16-year-old girl is a sexually powerful force.

And this leads to my main, much bigger, point. Pornography itself is about total denial, both within and outwith it. Nobody will fucking admit to saying out loud what exactly pornography is. The term is loosely bandied about in books, essays, articles, in conversations, sometimes coyly and sometimes disapprovingly, and we all have a common understanding about what we're referring to, but almost nobody will proffer an honest definition. Pornography is everwhere. What is pornography? Stop and ask yourself. (and others)
refers to 'obscene writings, drawings, photographs, or the like, esp. those having little or no artistic merit' - upon investigating the word 'obscene' we are sternly told 'offensive to morality or decency; indecent; depraved'

'books, magazines, films, etc. with no artistic value which describe or show sexual acts or naked people in a way that is intended to be sexually exciting but would be considered unpleasant or offensive by many people'; as an adjunct: 'hardcore is (very) detailed porn', 'softcore ... not (very) detailed', whatever the hell 'detail' means

'creative activity (writing or pictures or films etc.) of no literary or artistic value other than to stimulate sexual desire'

Typical legal definitions
tend to revolve around the concept of 'obscenity'; as with anything related to morality, a useful tool for applying absolutist rules to that which has no otherwise rational explanation

Webster's, 1913 edition
rather sweetly, and in keeping with the word's Greek etymology, refers to 'licentious painting or literature; especially, the painting anciently employed to decorate the walls of rooms devoted to bacchanalian orgies'

The mainstream US porn industry
employs the bullshit 'adult entertainment' euphemism in keeping with their careerist conformist principles

Andrea Dworkin's remarkable scything book Pornography was written after months' immersion watching and reading porn, and yet even she, that most nakedly brutally honest of feminists (beyond her personal taboo for the four-letter c-word that is cake), cannot bring herself to say what I've found only the redoubtable Helen Hazen achieved in the 'Pornography' chapter of her extraordinary work Endless Rapture: Rape, Romance, And The Female Imagination.

That pornography is, no more no less, material for the sole purpose of masturbation. That's all there is to it. There, I said it. Masturbation. It's no big deal.

Wednesday, December 01, 2010


Flashdance (****)
a great dance film with a top soundtrack and as 80s as can be; the gorgeous Jennifer Beals was chosen ahead of Demi Moore and others allegedly for being more fuckable, and whilst undoubtedly true, she's also so much more than that, a real living breathing girl that has the power to bring you to tears - in addition, a huge sigh of relief Gene Simmons and Bob fucking Geldof chose not to participate when asked; I'd love to see a director's cut, in his autobiography Eszterhas was bitter about how the producers hacked it down from its original 140 minutes, there are times it certainly feels truncated

Jagged Edge (***)
I can live with the initial dead body splay scene, but the scariest moment in this courtroom drama is when Jeff Bridges open-mouth kisses Glenn Close, I warn you it's not for the faint of heart; Jagged Edge is essentially a Hollywood giallo, and while not a bad film by any means, you really miss the ingredient of Italo sex 'n' sleaze

Basic Instinct (****)
hugely entertaining and stylish erotic thriller which plots a delicious path between dark comedy and drama - so refreshing to have such a powerfully sexualised female lead role too, the beautiful Sharon Stone takes to her part brilliantly

Sliver (****)
another American giallo, this time (rather loosely) based on Ira Levin's novel; although Sliver seems to have come in for a lot of criticism, I really enjoyed it and - for a film centred around technology, in this case voyeurism and CCTV - it's aged remarkably well; also, despite Eszterhas's deep misgivings, hell, I even love the ending

Showgirls (*****)
Eszterhas's (and Verhoeven's) best, one of the finest films of the 90s, or indeed of all time, a riotous sexy big-budget one-of-a-kind camp classic which is an absolute delight from beginning to its satisfying conclusion (even though you never want it to end); it's a mystery why some describe Showgirls as a guilty pleasure - please, no apologies are necessary for loving this classic

Jade (****)
to get the sleazy full effect, make sure you see the more cohesive and more explicit director's cut of this great blackmail thriller featuring the deliriously attractive Linda Fiorentino (she of Last Seduction fame)

Basic Instinct 2 (**)
Sharon Stone returns as Catherine Tramell and is still looking good for another sexed-up psychological thriller; but if only it had been reprised sooner, not in London, without the detective drudgery, and not with a bunch of bland UK thespians, if only...



Photo ops galore as the black leather'd fists of the yellow reflectives attempt to crush dissent.


Tuesday, November 23, 2010


Enter The Void (*)
as is also often the case with Catherine Breillat, the underlying disingenuousness and lack of real-life transgressive experience (beyond that of a febrile romantic imagination) is the imperative for masking Enter The Void with such excess: every aspect is exaggerated as a form of compensation for an underlying real-world naïveté (just as in Irreversible); and yet while people are creaming themselves over opening title sequences like classic rock fans to a Clapton guitar solo, or else bedazzled by psychedelic graphics condemned to age faster than a Windows 98 screensaver, or even worse, the interminable overhead 'ghost' shots of the streets of Tokyo, what really bothered me is that all this wankfoolery is a set-up for one of the most cringeworthily moralistic final acts I've endured in years

Jackass 3-D (***)
3D and the irrepressible Johnny Knoxville and comrades is a match made in heaven - this valedictory compilation of their latest stunts and pranks, while certainly patchy and played-out at times, does include some classic vignettes that Buster Keaton himself would have been proud of

Easy A (*)
what is it about Hollywood having to cast actresses in their mid-twenties as high school teenagers? I hate that, and I hate this incredibly dishonest film that makes issues out of teenage sexuality that surely do not exist

Our Guys: Outrage In Glen Ridge (*****)
featuring the inestimable Heather Matarazzo, Our Guys is a superb compelling TV movie dramatisation of real life events in which a mentally handicapped girl was raped with a broomstick and a bat, by members of the local high school football team

Farmhouse (**)
you know when horror films start out so promisingly only to fall apart halfway through? usually involving some incredibly silly chase scene - Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Shining come to mind; well, Farmhouse trumps even that infamy with the most spectacularly gratuitous dissembling of an initially great narrative ever witnessed, it will blow your mind

Get Him To The Greek (*)
what starts out promisingly with a mildly subversive take on the mainstream music industry ends up as a dreary unsatisfying formulaic popcorn comedy

Machete (**)
the pro-Mexican immigrant message of the film, however laudable it may be, gets in the way of what should be basic popcorn retro mexploitation entertainment; also, there's nowhere near enough of a sex and sleaze component; and finally, the veteran Danny Trejo might look the part in stills but simply doesn't have enough on-screen charisma or acting skills to carry off the lead role, whilst the reinvigorated Don Johnson and Steven Seagal, in their respective baddie roles, manage to steal the show


Thursday, November 18, 2010


the recent VBS documentary Mandingo! about the Floridian interracial swinging scene features a new Cut Hands track, one that isn't expected to be included on the forthcoming album - in case you're wondering which it is, it's the one in the film that doesn't sound like a Led Zeppelin remix

Bijin Tokei
am suffering from a mad addiction to these bijin tokei iDevice apps; not sure what's cuter - the ones with random girls in the streets of Japan, or the ones with the photos taken with fish-eye lenses of kittens and puppies; not to leave anyone out, there's even one with boys now, not to mention a porn incarnation (it had to happen sooner or later)

The Wire
I didn't envy David Keenan's herculean task of transcribing the 4+ hours of dialogue for the Invisible Jukebox, which then had to be edited down quite a bit; anyway, I thought he did a great and meticulous job of making it all work pretty well; there were just a couple of minor corrections I'd like to point out: of course, it was Robert Rental who sold me the Wasp synth (not Daniel Miller), and Bad Girls Get The Fuck Over It is in fact Whitehouse (not a side project as was suggested in the feature's introduction); the magazine also have posted an exclusive short streaming extract from 'Extralinguistic Programming'

it was time last weekend, once again, to dust off the 3D glasses for the (presumably) valedictory Jackass movie, review coming for that soon, along with Enter The Void and much more; nor has the promised Disney special been forgotten about, I know how much people are not dying to read that


Tuesday, November 09, 2010


Vladimir Putin Braves Formula 1 Race Car
Putin is so fucking alpha it hurts. Beautifully. Likewise, this exquisite collection of photo ops with various animals forms the basis for the construct of legends. In pictures with other world leaders, even with the most ostensibly fearsome tyrants, you can see what a mighty alluring presence he commands. As they squirm.

No One Wants To Work At Russian Police
What the article omits to point out is the glaringly obvious. It's all about the uniform.

Bizarre Deaths Can Be Traced Back In Ancient History
Oh, how cruel and sarcastic and poetic is the executioner of Death. Just like that so-called founder of scientific inquiry Sir Francis Bacon, who died as a result of stuffing snow into a chicken he'd just killed for the purpose of a 'scientific' experiment. And while Attila The Hun may have savoured his moment vanquishing all of Asia, it was only to die of a nosebleed on that most special of days, the night of his wedding.


Friday, November 05, 2010


Noroi The Curse (*****)
as a big fan of the fake documentary shaky-cam horror genre, I'm not sure how I missed this; anyway, this Japanese film from 2005 is for me the best one yet - its two hour duration, so well paced, enacted, edited, and crafted, absolutely flies by as it hurtles towards the shocking climax of the final scenes

American: The Bill Hicks Story (**)
the worst thing about death is how all the parasites come out to feed on the sorry corpse: here we have Bill Hicks' parents, to help shore up their comfort in retirement, attempting a deeply hypocritical sanitised rehistoricisation of his brilliant but tragically short-lived career; a bunch of useless stand-up Houston and LA comics shamelessly revelling in the opportunity for some reflected glory; and documentary filmmakers far more focused on self-congratulation for their ludicrous annoying graphic flourishes than in keeping the viewer informed as to who's talking about what and when

Saw: The Final Chapter (*****)
a poor and pointless implementation of 3D, a couple of scenes that I sense have been gratuitously tacked on, and subpar casting for the new roles, are all irrelevant flaws; this latest edition is packed with tons of wonderfully gory new content with a subtle undercurrent of eroticism to the proceedings; there is also what amounts to a cameo role by the incredibly hot Tobin Bell, devastating in its impact, along with an even more badass than usual Betsy Russell, who is equally sexy; if only art installations were as good as the traps in Saw

The Loved Ones (**)
Robin McLeavy as the psycho-girl who doesn't take kindly to rejection by men is the best thing about this derivative Aussie horror, a film which starts promisingly before getting bogged down in a stupid chase narrative with utterly predictable results

Inception (*)
something for the big-budget special FX action-film popcorn brigaders to feel like they're intelligent - have you ever felt condescended by a dreadful script full of stoopid explanation and re-explanation?


Wednesday, October 27, 2010


Well, here's a truly novel development! Spanish prostitutes have joined the ranks of the yellow reflectives. And you have to say they do look rather alluring (at least from the waist up). From my years of living in Barcelona, where many would congregate alongside the roads nearby the Camp Nou football stadium, what I recall is that the best looking ones were invariably trannies.


Sunday, October 24, 2010



big plans for this weekend are centred around the imminent release of Saw 3D; in contrast to that, I've been obsessing over Disney Original Movies the last few days, brace yourself for a full exposition of this guilty new pleasure in the coming days

Ante Mortem
the celebrated forensic anthropologist Professor Sue Black gave a supremely enjoyable talk at Edinburgh's Surgeons' Hall last night; she veered an absorbingly dark path twixt some atrocious cases of terrorism, murder, paedophilia, and domestic abuse, while delivering her presentation with a cheery sense of humour that never felt trivialising

Invisible Jukebox
written by David Keenan, this feature is appearing in December's edition of The Wire magazine; it was a lot of fun to do (despite much apprehension about making a fool of myself), especially owing to his such exquisitely selected tracks (as were those, tellingly, not selected)


Wednesday, October 20, 2010


The chance meeting of worthy objectives.

One, the major art gallery wanting to transcend its depressing raison d'être as trendy gift boutique and extension of Helvetica coffee culture, a status it shares nowadays with most all other galleries. Two, offering people an alternative to the stultifying prospect of another Booze Britain Friday night. Three, finding something you can actually do with philosophy, the ancient intellectual discipline, ever since it made that terrible pact to become part of organised religion otherwise known as academia.

Robin Mackay's Urbanomic and Tate Britain thus staged one of the regular monthly Friday evening themed specials together, bringing together an enticing variety of artistic stimulation under the theme of Speculative Realism. And people turned up in their hundreds. In addition to the chance to wander around the beautiful building, there were video installations, sculpture, sound performances, a symposium, and a set of 'complimentary' (sic) picture captions responding to the paintings in the Tate's Room 9 Sublime collection. My own contribution being an opportunistic, if not mischievous, exercise in dark post-hypnotic suggestion.

Even though the UK's ingrained weekend drinking habits probably once again triumphed over all three above-stated goals (mostly thanks to the Tate's bright yet flawed idea of setting up a bar in the Octagon), there was really lots to like. The discussion on Speculative Realism featuring the excellent Mark Fisher (K-Punk) and Iain Hamilton Grant seemed to be well-received by the multitude and Hecker's sound piece was a typically abrasive delight.

The picture labelling experiment felt like a glorious opportunity missed. The new captions supplied by the Urbanomic team were certainly infinitely more coherent than the typically tired vacuous bullshit art-speak of the juxtaposed originals. However, by again buying wholesale into the traditional academic referential paradigm, along with all its wearying baggage, they betrayed the potentially subversive intent of any radical philosophical notions promised by Speculative Realism.

Too timid given such a glorious opening. Surely this must be about more than competent enhancement? Otherwise, philosophy is stuck in an abyss of despair in the form of university and college classrooms and hallways whose only escape route is by forming a diabolically exciting cult or new religion. Time for a re-read of Collapse IV: Concept Horror.


Saturday, October 16, 2010


Whilst awaiting Halloween's Saw 3D release with bated breath and tightened unlubed sphincter, here are a few reviews of mostly recent releases to stave off that sweaty raw anticipation.

Exit Through The Gift Shop (*****)
just don't miss this brilliant subversive pseudo-documentary from Banksy; there are so many moments of pure genius to relish, my personal favourite being Madonna's taking the big bite

Frozen (*)
dreadful indie thriller horror effort based entirely around 3 slackers being trapped in a ski-lift; Open Water's similar premise in shark-infested waters was blessed with the sharp script and strong character performances that this sorely lacks

Piranha 3D (****)
perhaps the funnest trashiest B-movie horror I've ever seen, one that far exceeded its modest expectations; loads of gore in the third dimension, knowing dark humour, cute movie references, and gratuitous nudity

A Very Short Life (**)
the Hong Kong police, as they investigate the case of an 11-year-old girl beaten to death by her mother, stumble across evidence of sexual abuse; this promising subject matter gets quickly bogged down in the interrogation of the suspect whilst we are deprived of any meaningful flashbacks to the events in question

Lake Mungo (*****)
fantastic Australian film which soon reveals itself as far more than the routine supernatural shaky-camera documentary the marketing suggests: a memorable finely-observed study in grief and female adolescence

Resident Evil: Afterlife (***)
despite some neat 3D effects, Afterlife is not as impressive as earlier entries in the franchise, yet still comfortably superior to Romero's increasingly lame zombi efforts; also features some nice re-enactments of moments from the Resident Evil 5 game


Saturday, October 09, 2010


You may or may not be familiar with my obsessive attention to particular detail. A pedantry that verges on the pathological at times, and a direct and regular cause of an often bad case of insomnia. Just as a girl knows stocking seams not regimentally straight right up to the mandatory keyholes will earn her a deservedly sound thrashing, for me the thought of leaving even the tiniest orthographical error is mortifying.

In fact, on two separate occasions now, at vast personal expense, entire Susan Lawly CD booklet runs each had to be recalled and reprinted owing to a single ridiculously minor typo; always for the simple reason that, even if not a single person ever noticed, I couldn't comfortably live with myself knowing they were thus flawed.

And thus my heart sank when the new Zeitkratzer Whitehouse CDs arrived. Already bewildered by the band's bizarre choice of cover illustration, like a rabid proofreader, I came upon not only flagrantly insignificant punctuation and spelling mistakes in the booklet's accompanying text's English translation, but also factual errors. Oh, and a font that looks suspiciously like the dreaded Helvetica. Damn.

Despite all that, and some rather indiscreet revelations from our preparatory conversations on his part, ZK's genial main man Reinhold Friedl writes a lot of very kind things in the text, for which I'm grateful; and it has to be said what counts most, the music itself, sounds fantastic, clear and abrasive. It was, I repeat, an amazingly pleasurable experience to work with such incredibly talented musicians there in Marseille; this release is a great testament to their brilliant and thrilling performance.

I'll send a complimentary copy of the album to the first person who correctly identifies the original albums of the songs Nzambi Ia Lufua and Scapegoat in the comments section.

Thursday, September 30, 2010


Candy, 1968 (**)
bonkers sex satire based upon Voltaire's Candide with a ridiculously stellar cast ranging from the anthologically lame (Ringo Starr) to the impressive (Marlon Brando and James Coburn)

The Legend Of Hell House, 1971 (***)
although it's soon frustratingly noticeable that the original book's explicit sex and perversion backstory is missing from this film adaptation, it's still pretty creepy (as supernatural movies go) and we see an impressively early example of the now-familiar pseudo-documentary diary format

Daughters Of Darkness, 1971 (*)
a no-budget euro-vampire cult movie with unimaginative camera work and low production values and, despite the beguiling presence of Andrea Rau, amateurish acting by the cast who are made to deliver some excruciatingly corny dialogues - Daughters Of Darkness simply doesn't live up to its glitzy reputation; especially when compared to the Italian masters' work, like that of Mario Bava, or even some of the better Hammer films

Don't Deliver Us From Evil, 1971 (**)
two young convent schoolgirls turn to evil and Satan for no obvious reason other than as a lame exercise in polarity response and a chance for the director Séria to have a pop at Catholicism at the expense of some pathetic bird cruelty and cheap laughs along the way - Séria attempts to conflate nascent female sexuality with all manner of transgression and it ends up as a stupid exercise in male wishful thinking and fantasy; Heavenly Creatures, also loosely based on the same case, is far superior

Montenegro, 1981 (*)
this, much like Shirley Valentine, represents the female equivalent of Embarrassing Dad Syndrome - a bored housewife is rescued from her stupor by running off with some bohemian lusty Montenegrans; I call bullshit to this dishonesty - firstly, these guys are just as boring, staid, and conservative as anyone else; and secondly, even if they weren't, they would have no interest in a piece of middle-aged bunny-boiler gash like 'Marilyn Jordan' turning up to get herself shagged

Roar, 1981 (*****)
this is a truly remarkable film about a group of humans surrounded and chased about by real lions, tigers, and other delightfully rampant big cats - narratively speaking, it makes no sense whatsoever, and yet is insanely compelling from beginning to end; check out some of Roar's astounding production details to come to terms with the toll (on the humans) it exacted during its decade in making


Friday, September 24, 2010


Xaviera Meets Marilyn Chambers - Xaviera Hollander
My Story - Marilyn Chambers
Life And Death - Andrea Dworkin
Our Blood - Andrea Dworkin

Inside-A-Sekt - Kreepa
Katendrecht Spaceport - LYSN
Demo Tracks - LYSN

WSOP 2010
The Trouble With Pirates - BBC
Madness In The Fast Lane - BBC

Playstation Move


Monday, September 20, 2010


Extralinguistic Sequencing
here currently working on a re-adaptation of the originally two-hour experiment in creepy dark mass hypnosis for Tate Britain that may, just might, translate to a personal listening experience context

Zeitkratzer CD
I haven't been given the full information regarding the Zeitkratzer Whitehouse CD yet, nor have I received any copies yet - according to this month's Wire it's said to be released on October 22nd; hopefully, it'll sound much better than the cover disappointingly doesn't promise

Pope hailed
can you believe TC Ratzinger had the audacity to drive past my front door in his Merc just as I was on my way out to the barber's? as he leered at the heathens and mortals from behind a semi-smoked glass window, special attention was paid to the crisply uniformed schoolkids who'd been let out for an afternoon skive to 'greet' his holiless in a surge of puerile antipathy evidenced by universally healthy disdain, and anagram jokes


Wednesday, September 15, 2010


Despite its being by the BBC, this Somali pirate documentary is worth seeing.

You get Auntie's overbearingly earnest trademark voice-over and a patronising simplification of the issues. A well-spoken European-based Somali expat gets to go over, at no doubt enormous expense, to have a few minutes of pointless conversation with some locals. There is no real new footage to enjoy, and nothing isn't said that will surprise anyone (much like myself) with but a basic grasp of what's happening.

Yet well worth seeing because this modern-day piracy story is just so compelling. Whether they be the numpty English negotiator on the phone from London, the public schoolboy Navy officer twit, or the impotent European patrol ships, all the westerners only succeed in making the T-shirted pirates buzzing around in their puny skiffs seem all the more badass.


Sunday, August 29, 2010


Some more information regarding this Friday's Late At Tate intervention!


The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (**)
Noomi Rapace of Daisy Diamond fame features in this dreary exercise in detective drudgery and endlessly pointless exposition via a clumsy script and clunky editing; in fact the whole exercise feels like bad TV, and doesn't remotely live up to Sweden's historically high standards of filmic originality

Rec 2 (**)
why oh why did the Rec team have to introduce all that supernatural satanic shit into the narrative? it doesn't even make any sense, badly tarnishing the memory of the tight brilliance of the original

Dans Ma Peau (*****)
sensational filmmaking from Marina de Van who also stars; a girl, after accidentally disfiguring her calf in a minor accident at a party, begins a gruesome journey of self-mutilation and exploration of her own body - that, along with the unfulfilling relationship she has with her boring partner, becomes a stark echo of the classical female romantic paradigm

Resurrecting The Street Walker (*)
even a total sucker for shaky camera horror like myself isn't going to find anything remotely worthwhile in this diabolically dreadful UK attempt at the genre


Friday, August 27, 2010


At the age of around 12 I recall leading a school debate opposing the reintroduction of capital punishment; I'll never forget the incredible vitriol against such a notion from the pro-hanging lobby on the floor. I didn't stand a chance as the motion was defeated almost unanimously. It was as ugly as it was unexpected, and now, as then, it's one of the few fixed beliefs about which I feel passionately.

The recent media access to Tokyo Detention House's sterile carpeted place of execution belies, or perhaps underscores, its horror; in full contrast to the cold grey-tiled room to which the hanged man, heart still beating for up to 15 minutes, is dropped and delivered below. The prisoner, in permanent solitary confinement, is only informed an hour or so beforehand of his impending death, after which the final insulting cruelties are proffered: a goodbye meal and face time with a fucking priest.

Saturday, August 07, 2010


The Tribe Of Tiger - Elizabeth Marshall Thomas
Adoring Slave - Rosemary Gibson
Games People Play - Eric Berne
Freakshow - Albert Goldman

Bilitis (LP) - Francis Lai
Histoire d'O (LP) - Pierre Bachelet
Quella Vecchia Locanda (LP) - Quella Vecchia Locanda

Pray The Devil Back To Hell
Banged Up Abroad - Nat Geo HD
Lost In China - Nat Geo HD
WSOP 2008