Archive for January, 2010

“Craigness!” Promo with Helena Darling

New episode drops soon!

“Craigness!” featuring Godess Dee: The Wonderful World of Webcam Modeling

in this episode, CRAIGNESS needs to save his show so he turns to webcam modeling and his Guest is the best in the buisness.. GODDESS DEE.

Viewer discretion for this one, folks.

Get it Up (a crowhands comic)

brent

by Brent Braaten

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(click to enlarge)

Prorogation Rally – Toronto Edition

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a photo series by Tom Henheffer

Stephen Harper prorogued Parliament and in response about 10,000 protesters flooded downtown Toronto last Saturday, marching in solidarity pissing off thousands of motorists as they shut down four of Canada’s busiest streets for well over an hour.

They met at the heart of the city in Yonge-Dundas square led by Mohawk musicians and a slew of politically-active Canadian celebrities no one recognized. They hollered the eloquent Chilean protest cry, “the people, united, will never be defeated!” and then broke off into more scattered calls of “Get back to work!” and “Harper’s a wanker!” After an hour or so they took off down Yonge street, stepping over the horse shit left behind by mounted police blocking off the roads ahead and, one would assume, making the Prime Minister’s collar feel extra tight around his George-Lucas style neck pouch.

The crowd, made up of a mixture of students, seniors, 20- and 30-somethings, and crazy homeless people with nothing better to do, was joined by fifty other such protests across the country as part of a grass roots anti-prorogation movement started by students on Facebook.

Living in Toronto, I was lucky enough to be able to write “Harper smells like farts” in bold letters on a piece of bristol board, tape it to a broken broomstick, and join the party. I then promptly forced a humiliated friend to carry the ridiculous sign while I grabbed my camera and snapped a few pictures.

click to enlarge photos

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Criterion Conquest: Seven Samurai


2.sevensamurai

by Jason Wilson

Seven Samurai (1954)
Directed by Akira Kurosawa
Written by Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguni
Starring Takashi Shimura, Yoshio Inaba, Daisuke Kato, Minoru Chiaki, Isao Kimura, Seiji Miyaguchi and Toshiro Mifune.

It took me a long time to fully immerse myself in foreign films. I was all about the Hollywood system and watched the Oscars every year like a good little boy and accepted that they were pretty much spot on (though I never agreed with Dances With Wolves over Goodfellas or Titanic over L.A. Confidential). I can’t say for sure but I don’t think it was until university where I decided to dabble with foreign language films. High school was my discovery phase of film in general. I started with the newer stuff and slowly took in the Godfather films and older Spielberg stuff like Jaws and even some Kubrick and Hitchcock.

*A quick note: Access was always a problem. I lived in rural New Brunswick and foreign films weren’t at the ready until the last couple years. Even now classic foreign movies like anything by Kurosawa are hard to come by in my hometown.*

After a couple film classes here and there, my appreciation for global cinema started to breathe. I had started watching old Westerns by Sergio Leone like Fistful of Dollars and learned it was based on Yojimbo, another Kurosawa movie. Through my reading I came to learn The Magnificent Seven was not an original story but one based on Seven Samurai. Luckily, living in Fredericton, I was able to find a rental copy and it blew me away.

Cut to several years later and I’ve seen a fair chunk of Kurosawa’s filmography but had yet to revisit the one that got me started. I’m an obsessive and tend to re-watch movies multiple times, especially the ones I love and even some I hate (I’ve seen Daredevil three times). I figured I could definitely stand to watch Seven Samurai again.

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It’s a sprawling epic that embarrasses pretty much any of its kind released today. It’s a deep character study with intensity and wild action and swordplay. It’s three and a half hours long but the time is used economically and not a minute is wasted. Each of the seven ronin are fully developed and maintain their own identity, none of them are one-dimensional characters and none are used as mere window dressing. Even the supposed secondary characters like the farmers they are hired to protect are presented with depth and dignity unseen in many epics of today (I will give credit to Braveheart in this regard though, Gibson and company had a colourful cast of people in that flick).

The story in a nutshell is a group of bandits are discovered to be plotting a raid on a village of farmers once their barley harvest is ready. The farmers decide, at the behest of an elder, to hire samurai to protect the village. Kanbei (played by the fantastic Takashi Shimura) is the first one recruited. He’s an aging samurai without a master expecting to live out the rest of his days as a vagabond. Out of a sense of duty to morality he takes on the farmer’s cause even though he knows he may die and they cannot pay him. He slowly recruits others and the seven of them journey to the village to prepare for the onslaught.

It follows a formula of the lone wolf hero (multiplied by seven) or gun for hire but focuses on the human elements of the story. But it’s not treated as above the action. Instead the characters, the story, the action and the themes are all treated as equal and thus the film is one of the most well rounded and thoughtful action films ever committed to film. Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) could easily be considered the comic relief but in the same breath he could be considered the most tragic character among the samurai. His past his slowly revealed as the movie progresses; there are hints and guesses by other characters until he has two specific breaking points where he reveals his lineage and history.

It’s incredible because in many stories like this a love story will seem completely out of place but Kurosawa even gets that right. The farmers don’t trust the samurai even though they rely on them for their salvation. The farmers force their daughters to cut their hair and dress like boys so they will not fall into the romantic trap of the village protectors. Of course this has to be visited again later on and it addresses the disparity between social classes and the idea that love between two people regardless of their status is a beautiful thing. Kurosawa and his co-writers Hashimoto and Oguni put together a complex yet simple to understand story that works on every aspect of humanity. It lives up to the hype because it takes itself seriously with a sense of whimsy.

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The three-disc edition released by the Criterion Collection is one of the best DVDs ever released. While the special features may seem minimal despite the three discs, it makes up for it with the quality of each. There are two feature-length commentaries (neither of which I was able to listen to…I must purchase this DVD). One by five film scholars and the other by Japanese film expert Michael Jeck.

There are two 50-minute documentaries; one on the making of the film itself and another on the impact of samurai cinema and traditions and how Kurosawa was influenced. There’s also a two-hour long interview with Kurosawa himself from 1993 (he died in 1998) with filmmaker Nagisa Oshima covering most of the films of his career and his early life as well. If you purchase the DVD you’ll also get a booklet of essays on the film. By the end you’ll know all you need to know so you can brag to all your friends about your expertise on the samurai genre. The Seven Samurai set provides an intimate look at Kurosawa and what many consider his masterpiece (take imdb with a grain of salt but this film rests at #15 on their top 250 of all time).

It’s a humanistic movie with amazing action and intensity. It doesn’t feel like its runtime, if anything it feels like it should be longer. That’s not to say Kurosawa left anything out, he didn’t, but by the end the audience is so attached to the goings on that more of the story would be welcome. Instead we can revisit it over and over again. I gladly will…if for no other reason than I should see it more times than I’ve seen Daredevil.

Next on the Criterion Conquest: Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes

Robo Planet Game part 5


mpayne

by Matthew Payne

Read part 4

They traded sword-blows, blocking and slicing and stabbing. Ruxto made contact, slicing into the tin of the robot’s chest. Then he pulled his sword out with a wrenching sound and started shooting it in the head with his laser. The robot’s head melted and smoked and it stumbled backwards against the black metal of the fan-building, clanking metal on metal as it slumped to the ground. It was so easy that Ruxto wished there were three more.

There was a door in the wall, and Ruxto went to it. There was a handle, and he pulled it open.

On the inside the fan-building was a factory, even though the air tasted extra-fresh and pleasantly cool. Grinding noises were overpowered by an ear-numbing humming-sound. There was also a regular smashing sound, like rocks getting crushed with a giant hammer. Ruxto stood on a red-clay floor and looked up at the black machinery. Giant gears turned slowly, some connected by the ruts in the gears, others by the axles running between them. There were conveyor belts carrying rocks and dirt across the giant room. Far back and up above, Ruxto saw a giant funnel which was dropping rocks onto one conveyor belt into a machine that seemed to be smashing them up into dirt. Even higher, in the center of the room, there was the machine the crushed-dirt was fed into. This machine had a huge compartment, and steam billowed out through a hole in the top. That steam quickly turned small turbines, which were connected to gears that slowly turned the giant fan. The only light was from between those blades, so shadows and visibility were in constant shift, making the factory look more alive than it really was. The fan-blades were half as long as football fields.

Ruxto could see the giant fan all the way up at the top and front of the building. The arms of the fan turned slowly, and giant slots of dying daylight turned around between them.

“It’s converting rocks into air,” Ruxto mumbled.

Because of the density, he assumed it would only take a little bit of rocks to make a lot of air, but it would take a gigantic amount of air to fill a planet.

Where was it getting the rocks? And where was the water he’d been promised? He started wandering around the automated factory, keeping his eyes open for more danger. In the sketchy-moving light and the overpowering noise, it would be easy for someone or something to sneak up on Ruxto and make him restart his mission again.

He wandered between mechanisms that moved, but which he didn’t understand. He didn’t touch anything.

Near the back of the building Ruxto learned how the factory got its rocks and dirt.

There was a small door in the back and Ruxto saw a little yellow robot drive drive in from the desert. It was a simple robot, just a platform on four black wheels with a small bucket on top. The bucket was on hinges and was full of dirt and pebbles and sand. It drove into the building and went over to a hole in the floor (the hole was lined with a metal frame), then it turned its bucket on its hinges and dropped the dirt-load into the hole. Less than a meter away, the dirt emerged from beneath the ground in another bucket which was attached to a conveyor belt. The new bucket dropped the dirt onto another conveyor belt, and the load was on its way to getting converted into air.

The robot drove away but already there was another one coming in with more dirt.

Ruxto spoke to himself. “This is genius. Little worker-robots bringing materials to the factory. But how do they load themselves up with new dirt? They don’t have hands or a shovel.”

Then he realized that there must be another type of robot outside somewhere which filled up these little robots. It was a functioning robot-society, and it wasn’t even built by humans. Thousands of years ago humans built the seed-robots to terraform other planets, but the humans also programmed the seeds to experiment with their own new children-seed-prototypes. This factory was part of a functioning robot-society, working apparently without consciousness in a slightly misguided attempt to benefit the human race. He was amazed. The robots had learned to convert things to their basic atomic structures and then rebuild them into whatever material they wanted (air, water, human flesh). They had learned to make new types of robots which could work independently or as part of a team. They had built a planet-sized game which seemed to be relatively safe against objective dangers… though it was a huge inconvenience and it had unwittingly murdered Ruxto’s ship-mates.

More little robots came in until finally Ruxto grabbed one on its way out. The wheels kept spinning in the air for a while, then they stopped. They must have registered a lack of friction. More amazing programming. Ruxto had always enoyed beautiful creations and the genius of subtleties, but when he came to this universe and discovered computers and technology his mind had stretched in its definitions of creation and building.

There was a blue light at the front of the robot, and Ruxto stared into it. Was this light the robot’s eye? As he looked right into it, he felt awe and wonder, and a silly feeling of companionship and almost affection.

On the back of the robot there was a switch. There were six options for the switch to be turned to: Mining Site One; Mining Site Two; Mining Site Three; Bio-Dome/Animals; Bio-Dome/Shuttle; Mysterious Destination. These must be where the robot was programmed to go, so whichever option was selected was where the robot would go… and Ruxto could follow.

Ruxto set his eyes intently on the one that said, “Bio-Dome/Shuttle.” Would this lead him to escape? Clearly this was part of the game. This must be Unit Twelve’s intended path for a player to win the game. Ruxto switched the toggle over to ¨Bio-Dome/Shuttle,¨ then went to find the water he’d been promised.

He found the water dripping in individual drops from the giant center-machine, where steam billowed from the top to turn the turbines. As steam plumed from the top, condensation dripped down the sides. The ground underneath was wet, but only mildly. This was a naturally dry planet, and water evaporated quickly. He had to sit there for almost an hour, patiently letting drops fall slowly into his empty flask. He sat and meditated, resting while holding the bottle until it was full. In his other hand he still held the robot. And he wondered about the robot´s other toggles… the one that said, ¨Bio-Dome/Animals,¨ and the one that said, ¨Mysterious Destination.¨ Ruxto assumed that ¨Mysterious Destination¨ was some kind of trick to fool unfocused players, since the curiosity was almost too strong for him to resist. But he was even more intrigued by the ¨Bio-Dome/Animals¨ option. Where would that take him? Did Unit Twelve create animals? Ruxto longed to explore the rest of this planet, but that would be foolish in his current situation. He was not in control of his surroundings right now. He was trapped in a game, and he couldn’t afford to see what mysteries these advanced automated robots had created. He had to get off this planet, get a ship that he could control, and get a good supply of weapons and food. Then he would be safe and strong enough to explore interplanetary mysteries. Right now he was nearly powerless.

Crouching low, he followed the robot out of its hatch and into the yellow desert under the dark sky. There were several little robots moving around in the area behind the fan-building. Some were coming into the building, and Ruxto could see many more at varying intervals coming from the desert towards the fan, bringing their dirt-loads. There were also several empty ones driving away, apparently going to the three mines to get more dirt.

Ruxto’s robot took him in a different direction, following its new altered path. It drove much slower than Ruxto’s comfortable walking space, and this tested his patience. As an experiment, he picked it up and jogged for a little while, going in the same direction it had been moving. Then he set it down again and followed for a while. Moving like this, they kept going until the sunlight was all gone and the black fan was a quiet speck in the background, barely visible in the new darkness.

The air got cooler, and Ruxto considered resting for the night. Then he saw a row of steel blades emerge smoothly and silently from the desert a few hundred feet ahead. Sticking up like towers, they started moving towards Ruxto through the dirt, and moving fast.

He pulled out his laser first and shot some of the blades away, then took out his sword. When the wall of blades was close, he sliced through them with his own blade, placing his feet so the blade-stumps went safely between them. He cut them away cleanly, but sent one spinning so that it sliced through his right shoulder. The slice caused no pain right away, but the arm was mostly cut off and it dangled uselessly as blood gushed out. The blades disappeared back into the dirt behind him.

Ruxto fell to his knees, feeling no worry but working to stop the blood from gushing out. The bone was severed and most of the muscle. His arm was useless. He quickly undid some metal straps and took off his left sleeve, then bundled up the cloth and stuck it in his wound, between the arm and the shoulder. Then he took off his right pant-leg and tore it into a long strip. Using his teeth and his left hand, he tied the strip around both shoulders to hold his limp arm in place. At this point, he would almost rather die and be re-cloned than continue without his right arm.

Then he saw something else bad. His little guide-robot had been sliced in half by one of the moving blades.

“I should have put it in my pack,”” he said to himself.

He knew what direction the robot had been heading, and he could just follow that course until he came to the bio-dome. But that seemed risky… what if the robot was eventually going to change direction? That might be part of the game… Ruxto needed the guide-robots. That was obviously how the game was constructed. He wondered if he would have time to go get a new robot and come back before he bled to death.

Ruxto turned around and headed back towards the fan. He wanted to get there while it was still dark, then rest in the darkness of the black building. He took the ruined steel-blades that he had cut down and stuck them up into the dirt, marking the dangerous place for when he returned.

Focusing on the dark and thinking about nothing, he trudged back to the fan with his limp arm dangling. It tingled with barely-feeling at first, but soon went dead.

When he got back to the fan, the hum of the machinery was much too loud for him to get serious rest. He finished severing his right arm and wrapped the wound better. He filled up his flask again, then stole another worker-robot and put it in his pack. Ruxto walked back out into the night air, seeing the stars plus a moon which he hadn’t seen yet on this planet. It was a gray moon, dull in features but radiant in light-reflection.

He did not try to sleep, because he was so tired now that if he slept he was afraid he’d die. He walked slowly, and when the sun came up he ate the rest of his clone-meat, then took the new robot out of his pack and switched it to “Bio-Dome/Shuttle,” then followed it once again out into the desert.

The sun was high but not yet at its peak when Ruxto saw the gleam of yesterday’s blades sticking out of the sand ahead. Actually, he saw the gleam over an hour earlier but it was only now when he was close that he could see their shapes. So he put the robot in his pack again, took a swig of warm flask-water and gripped his laser. There would be no time for the sword, since he only had one hand. He kept walking towards the blades he had left as markers.

Before he got to the severed blades, another row of sharp metal prongs thrust up from the desert sands and began to move fast towards Ruxto. The ones he cut down had been replaced, and he started shooting with his laser. He shot down several of them before they reached him, so Ruxto didn´t have to use his sword. He jumped over the stumps and kept on walking.

Ruxto let the robot lead him again. He could still feel the energy he got from the last of his meat, but he could also feel it waning with his blood-loss. He hoped the Bio-Dome was close, but he still could not see it on the horizon.

Twice more that day Ruxto encountered a wall of blades. The first time he was quick enough to grab the robot and shoot down some blades before they could do any damage. The second time, he shot them down but one of the moving blade-stumps sliced through his left foot. He muttered an insult to Satan and wrapped up the wound. When he saw a glint at the edge of the horizon, he thought it would be more blades. But as he got closer, he thought it might be glass.

As darkness once more took over Ruxto saw that this new glint was from the giant Bio-Dome. His vision was getting blurry and his thoughts were simple, so he was glad the game seemed to be almost at an end. Pain poked at his mind from his foot and his shoulder. As he sat to rest he knew he could make it before sunrise, but he wanted to have the energy to face any obstacles that he might meet there.

The sun rose and Ruxto reached his destination without any of the expected obstacles. “Maybe this is it,” he said to himself. “Maybe the game is over and I won.” But he still kept his eyes peeled for danger.

The bio-dome seemed to be one massive glass-dome, a single-piece half circle that was hundreds of meters high and many kilometers across at the base. From his vantage point on the ground Ruxto could not see inside because the whole bottom of the bio-dome was framed in a bronze belt ten meters high. The glass above him reflected the sunlight and the black moon, refusing to give away its contents.

There was a double-door facing Ruxto as he approached, and a smaller door beside it. The little robot-guide went into the small door, which hissed with an air-lock as it opened. Above the double-door were white letters which read, “Welcome Human Number 1.” This was Ruxto’s greeting as the first person to ever play this planet-wide game.

There was a button on one of the doors, and Ruxto pressed it. Again he heard an air-lock hiss, louder this time, and the doors opened into a small room with more double-doors on the other side. The walls, ceiling and floor were all bronze. Ruxto hesitated before entering the small room, anticipating more debilitating adventures.

At this point his mental faculties were a dim light, barely lit, and it took everything he had just to limp through the door. He was in no shape to fight. He knew he could not out-think anybody or anything right now, and he resigned himself to whatever fate this room held for him. He went in and slumped to the metal floor, feeling cold metal as a refreshing variation from the hot desert. He sucked in cool air and felt instantly revitalized. His right shoulder pounded with pain as his heart began to beat a little stronger.

His dismal faith was rewarded as the opposite door opened, surprising him with an image of trees, foliage, grass and dark soil. He closed his eyes and breathed in the forset-smell. The tree-trunks were tall, and their leaves were all high up out of reach, so the forest was an open area with a shady canopy. He could feel a breeze, certainly artificially created but bearing the sweet smells of plant-life. He didn´t hear insects or animals, and he expected that there were none. Although, he remembered the other options on the little robot-guide, including “Bio-Dome/Animals.”

Still limping but now filled with a new energy, Ruxto stepped onto the soil with his good foot. The door closed behind him and he looked around at the trees. A happy guest in this strange home, he closed his eyes to take in the breeze, and a smile of relief pulled at his face. This was truly beautiful. An artificial forest on a far-off planet, and he was the first to see it. The pain of his broken body was a satisfying juxtapose to this gorgeous place.

He touched the brown bark of a tree. It was rough and rutty. He smelled it, then he bit it and tore off some bark. He chewed on it, not caring whether it was safe or not. He didn’t realize how much he had missed plant-life. What a strange thing, he thought, that plants are so naturally comforting.

Above him he could see the glass ceiling. There was no glare, but the shape of the sun was slightly distorted by the curved glass. He could barely see it through the canopy of leaves.

He walked through the trees, running his hand through green foliage and eating random stems and leaves. There were no thoughts in his head, just peace and relief.

Soon his tiredness came back even stronger and he knew he needed to rest. He lost enough blood that he would probably die, and he didn’t know how he could pilot a ship with only one arm. But maybe if he died then Unit Twelve would re-clone him here.

Either way, he wanted to find the shuttle before he sat to rest. Even more, he wanted to find another computer terminal that would answer more questions for him, or maybe even help him take care of his injuries.

After a couple kilometers he saw something white through the trees. Soon he came to the shuttle, a white arrow pointing upwards. It was trapped inside a glass cylinder which extended all the way up to the top of the dome. It stood on a glass pedestal, and there was a computer terminal beside it. Behind the shuttle-in-glass, there was a small white one-story building with a regular door and a doorknob. Ruxto didn’t even go up to them. When he saw they were there, he allowed himself to collapse on the ground, and he instantly fell asleep.

He woke up on a black slab.

Ruxto stared up at a canopy of green leaves, swaying in the artificial breeze. He took a deep breath. His body felt healthy, and his mind was instantly sharp and revitalized. He considered the many implications of these beautiful trees, and he stared at them with peace and a love of the universe.

His left arm had been replaced, and all his injuries were fixed. After he passed out, Unit Twelve must have fixed him or re-cloned him.

Sitting up on the slab he saw that he was right beside the white building and the glass cylinder. He walked on the soft soil and pulled at the door to the building, but it wouldn’t open. That must be where the machine worked on him.

Ruxto went over to the terminal, looking into the cylinder as he walked. The computer was identical to the one in the cave, and Ruxto spoke to it.

““Is the game over now?” he said. “Did I win?””

The machine printed, “the game is over and you can use the shuttle to leave the planet when you choose. You are also welcome to enjoy this bio-dome or one of the other bio-domes on Pledvi-L-5.”

““You should change the game,” Ruxto said. “Other humans might get really angry if you destroy their bodies and keep them on your planet for hundreds of years. You could offer different difficulty options, or develop a faster cloning system.”

The computer printed, “your input will affect future games. Any new input will also be considered.”

“How much food is in that ship?”” Ruxto said.

The computer told him that the ship could make food and water out of rocks, and it also had a miniature herb-garden and meat-garden.

He kept chatting with the computer, finding out whatever information he could get from it. He knew it wasn’t alive or self-conscious, but somehow it was still a stimulating conversation. The only problem was that all its information was thousands of years old. It didn’t know anything about Araquadigio Anastasio.

The breeze brought a momentary chill to Ruxto’s skin, even under his black suit. This game made him realize how fragile his body was out here in space. Back in Ruxto’s world his human body was stronger and faster than most, and he had an advantage. But if Ruxto was going to find Jimmothy Knack or Araquadigio Anastasio then he would need a body that was strong enough to travel across the vacuum of space, survive on desolate planets, and maybe fight ruthless robots. Unit Twelve on this planet had easily killed his body more than once. There was no way to know how other robot-seeds had evolved, and some of them might be genuinely hostile.

““What kinds of upgrades can you design for my body?”” Ruxto asked.

The machine printed, “that depends on time-constraints. Unit Twelve was built to experiment.”

Ruxto asked it to build him a new clone with strong synthetic bones and high-powered muslces. He also wanted to be able to breathe in space, plus withstand extreme heat and extreme cold, but those were advanced enhancements that he would worry about at a later time.

He said, ““can you also make books? Print me literature on chemistry, biology, genetics, physics, space travel, biotechnology and genetic-manipulation technology. See if you can find anything about complex synthetic genetics.””

Ruxto was only partially dismayed, and not at all surprised, that the machine took another three-thousand years to make his new body. He chose to be dead for the whole time, asking the computer to destroy his body and only wake him up when his new body was ready.

There was strength in this new body, and Ruxto tested it by climbing tall trees and jumping out of them. He didn’t break any bones or even twist an ankle. In this new body he could still feel pain, but it required a lot more damage to really make him suffer.

He took his books into the ship. He also brought some branches and soil, and he collected seeds and fruit and acorns. This was very pleasant and peaceful, and his violent past seemed like a distant memory.

Then he flew away in the space shuttle, going into outer space to find Jimmothy Knack, who would lead him to Araquadigio Anastasio, if either of them were still alive.

The End

Crowhands (a comic)

brent

by Brent Braaten

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(click to enlarge)

Criterion Conquest: Grand Illusion


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by Jason Wilson

The Criterion Collection is a company based in the United States that became popularized during the brief laserdisc movement in the 1990s. It introduced the concept of commentary tracks and have generally released the best available versions of films on DVD. It researches the films and put together a plethora of special features for each release. In some cases (like Orson Welles’ Mr. Arkadin), Criterion digs deep and produces a version of a film that had never been available prior to the special release.

Since moving to DVD, Criterion has released nearly 500 titles and it is my goal to watch them all in order and review them all here. There are some limitations as films like Hard Boiled, The Killer, Sid & Nancy, This is Spinal Tap, The Silence of the Lambs, Robocop and maybe a few others are out of print and not available at the local video rental emporium. So in lieu of watching whatever edition is available, I will simply skip it and move on to the next. They are organized numerically by a spine number next to the logo on (you guessed it) the spine of the DVD case.

Is it lame? Maybe. Geeky? Definitely. Fun? You know it.

Grand Illusion (1937)

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Directed by Jean Renoir
Starring Jean Gabin, Dita Parlo, Pierre Fresnay and Erich von Stroheim.
Written by Jean Renoir and Charles Spaak

Grand Illusion was released in 1937 as a portrait of mankind during the years leading up to the Second World War. It was directly anti-war without being derogatory to any race or culture. The point was to show that the invisible borders separating countries were pointless and the differences between mankind were skin deep. Sadly it didn’t exactly effect the next war from beginning — though it was considered a dangerous movie by the Third Reich. The original prints were believed to be lost during German’s occupation of France in the early 40s. Luckily in 1958, the prints were re-discovered uncut and it was again available to be seen by the public.

The Criterion Collection chose Grand Illusion as its first release in large part to its cultural significance. Orson Welles once declared it as his desert island movie; the one film he would save if he had to choose. The company secured the rights and through digital technology was able to restore the visuals and audio to pristine condition. There is a special feature included showing the differences between the film print and the eventual digital transfer.The movie was over 60 years old when it received its DVD release on Criterion. To think all the crackles and blemishes could be removed to make a transfer this crisp is astounding.

Jean Renoir, the director of Grand Illusion, was a pilot in World War One and he draws on his own personal experiences for the creation of the film. Two men, Marechal and Boeldieu are shot down in German territory and are taken prisoner. They are taken to a prisoner camp where they meet with fellow members of the French army. While before the war, these men would never have conversed due to the disparity in social status, these men form their own bonds and work toward the common goal of escape. The class structure is broached as subtly as the prejudices between culture and country. These petty stereotypes and segregations, found not only in war but in everyday society, are man made and a result of greed and lust for power.

There is a sequence where the French prisoners receive a shipment of costumes so they can put on a show, and at least for a couple hours they can escape their imprisonment. It may be fleeting but it is a glimpse of life before the war. Some of the German soldiers attend and for a moment it is a sign of connection, where no man is bound by their allegiances in the war. This lasts until news arrives that France was able to take back one of its townships that had been taken by the German army. The French prisoners immediately sing the French National Anthem and once again bringing everyone back into the reality of the moment.

The play sequence isn’t all cheerful. As they joke and prepare with their costumes, one of the soldiers comes in dressed as a woman. Everyone stops the laughing and joking and all look at him longingly and even saddened. Without words, they communicate their solemnity about missing their loved ones, wives, girlfriends and even children. Freedom seems like it will never return and this is their present as well as their future.

Marechal and Boeldieu are transferred to a different camp, a fortress under the watchful eye of Captain von Rauffenstein (played by Erich von Stroheim – also in Sunset Blvd.). The Captain and Boeldieu know one another from before the war. Both were aristocrats and both became soldiers. The two of them have several moments discussing the gore of war and pointlessness of it all but concede to being powerless to stop it. They follow their orders and hope to be on the winning side and that peace may follow.

“Nothing grows here but ivy and nettles,” the Captain says when Boeldieu compliments him on the one flower he has. The land is barren. It’s a warning that escape would be suicide. It also serves as a melancholy reminder of the marching feet on the fields of war killing the land underneath.

The ensuing escape attempt and the moments between the Captain and Boeldieu are both exciting and deeply thoughtful. Like the rest of the film, it’s all about how the invisible boundaries and prejudices are exactly that; invisible. War is a pointless exercise that does not represent valor or courage but greed and pettiness. It comes as no surprise that Goebbels thought of the movie as a danger to the war effort.

On the disc, the special features are not exactly plentiful but they do offer some added contextual information that is fascinating and worth checking out. There is an audio commentary by essayist Peter Cowie, archival radio recordings from the late 30s when Grand Illusion received Best Foreign Film from the New York Film Critics and several essays on Renoir, the meaning of the name of the film and more. There is also a great video introduction from Renoir himself about the making of the film, his own experiences at war and the people who worked on the film .

The prize feature I mentioned earlier where the digital transfer is shown from specific scenes. It’s an amazing feature about the digital process.

Grand Illusion is a phenomenal movie that set the stage for prisoner of war films like King Rat, The Great Escape and even The Bridge on the River Kwai. It was the first of its kind and was a terrific choice for the Criterion introduction to DVD.

Next up: Spine # 2, Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai

Machine Thinking: The End of an Era?


amy

by Amy Anderson

The internet is often the starting point for my new ideas. When I come across novel ideas online, I try to apply them to my little world and see if they ring true. Nerdy, I know. So, here’s American educational rebel John Taylor Gatto talking about Marshall McLuhan’s views on machines:

“Marshall McLuhan once called on us to notice that all machines are merely extensions of the human nervous system, artifices which improve on natural apparatus, each a utopianization of some physical function”.

I would go further and say that machines are not just substitutions for the nervous system, but for the human body as well. So, a car is really a substitute set of very fast legs that go from point A to Bwithout leaving us fatigued. Gatto’s explanation continues:

“‘Equally important’, says McLuhan, ‘the use of machinery causes its natural flesh blood counterpart to atrophy’”.

We’ve certainly seen this in Canada over the last thirty years – cars make legs atrophy. People get fat because they no longer use their legs; instead they eat unhealthy food from drive-thru windows. So what?

Although McLuhan’s statement itself is interesting, what intrigues me most is the idea of “machine thinking” – that the human body is like a machine, that cities are organized like an immense clock, that we are all cogs in the wheel. This is a tremendously influential idea that has been with us in the West since the Industrial Revolution.

It is my feeling that this machine paradigm is becoming obsolete in our post-Industrial era, and that ‘machine thinking’ is eventually bound to give way to a more techno-naturalistic understanding of the world as a place of connectivity and relationships. Sounds like a lot of hocus-pocus but it actually has a big effect on how we perceive ourselves, and by extension how we organize our societies.

The contrast between the natural and mechanical worlds is clear – the natural world is cyclical, subtle, non-linear and full of processes. Think of a tree and the repetitive but always slightly different growth cycle it goes through in a year – dormancy during winter, leaves budding, foliage, shedding leaves, dormancy again. But two years are never identical, despite the repetitions in the process.

The machine is linear, self-evident, and product driven. A cardboard factory has specific inputs processed identically in each case, with products made uniformly and with the machine invented for precisely this purpose. It has one end and one end only, whereas a tree is part of a complex natural network (ie, an ecosystem).

In the past 250 years, we have interpreted the machine’s ability to surpass human weakness and nature’s unpredictability as a glorious triumph. It has given us mass transit, consumer goods, large-scale food production, and communication technology. From James Brown’s legendary drummer to the Olympian Michael Phelps, the statement “he’s a machine!” is usually meant as a compliment.

However, as we move further into the post-Industrial era, many people are starting to wonder if the complexity and sophistication of natural systems are in fact superior to the linear processes of the machines. Part of this is probably due to the detrimental results of too much mechanistic intervention.

Machines are largely responsible for such problems as pollution, climate change and deforestation. Although we might imagine the world as a machine with discrete and disconnected parts, clearly the results of our actions show us that everything is connected. Cars don’t just replace legs in taking us from point A to B, they actually change the atmospheric make-up of our planet.

Furthermore, no supercomputer has surpassed the abilities of the human brain. Sure, we can attach a lot of computers and do really big calculations really fast, but nobody has succeeded in creating a thinking machine that writes or understands poetry, births children or runs marathons. All of these acts can only be achieved by the organically functioning system that is our brain, with help from the body.

The natural world is inherently intelligent, unlike machines. Natural feedback loops have evolved to ensure that not too many lemmings live for too long, and that birds fly south for the winter before their climate becomes too inhospitable to survive. All of this takes place without intervention.

In addition to raising the material standard of living, the proliferation of machines has had a tremendous impact on human perception. Imagine living in a pre-industrial time when nearly everything was made by hand. The psychological implications of that should not be overlooked – humans were once directly involved with, and responsible for their interactions with the material world. They were connected to feasts, famines, diseases and lived within the psychological boundaries that came along with seeing themselves as part of the natural world.

With the invention of machines, humans began to dominate this world. Subsequently, nature became something to be subdued or managed and strangely, humans started to pressure other humans to behave like machines – ie. to stop feasting and go to work in large factories.

Most people still see things in mechanistic terms, describing everything from planetary orbits to parts of the human body as if it were all another cog in the wheel. But if there’s anything that climate science, quantum physics and attachment theory demonstrate, it’s that the world is in fact much more subtle and connected than a machine, which is built for only one pre-ordained purpose.

Now we have entered a phase where our ideas and knowledge are opening up new possibilities: the possibility of modelling human creations on the natural world. What does this mean? It means we are transitioning from a linear, segmented way of seeing the world (and behaving in that world) to a more complex, interactive and self-organizing set of systems.

The internet is a prime example of this new model: although it is high-tech and dependent on industrial processes to begin (ie. someone has to make computers and cell phones), the internet enables people to self-organize, connects information and people regardless of geography, allows the creation, implementation and monitoring of new ideas, all without levers or central planning. This is much more akin to the self-regulation of natural systems.

Permaculture is another relevant example. Whereas in agriculture the goal is to produce as much food as possible as cheaply and quickly as possible, in permaculture humans imitate natural systems: planting gradually over a series of years, working with the natural tendencies of the specific region, using natural solutions instead of chemical interventions. Here we have avoided the machine approach that leads to loss of topsoil and biodiversity while maintaining productivity needed for human survival.

My feeling is that to advance beyond our industrial problems and limitations, we will need to acknowledge that ‘machine thinking’ is no longer sufficient. Instead, we ought to be modelling ourselves on the idea of a living organism: made up of complex interdependent parts, intricately tied to our environment, the whole being more than the sum of its parts. I think that many of the top thinkers of our times have already arrived at this conclusion – if you’ve spent any time on ted.com lately you have probably seen some of this new mentality.

Obviously, human beings are not going to leave behind the knowledge gained from the Industrial Era. But I hope we will have the wisdom to acknowledge that we are part of the physical world, not its master. Using natural processes as a model is necessary if seven billion of us are going to continue to inhabit this planet. It’s interesting to see the pendulum swinging back towards the physical world – not exactly to pre-industrial times, but back to a mentality that focuses on context instead of pretending everything is separate.

It’s exciting to be alive during a time when new ideas are likely to transform the way we see the world and ourselves in it. As Mr. Einstein famously said, “ the problems that exist in the world today cannot be solved by the same level of thinking that created them.” I think Einstein’s right about that, but of course, new situations invariably create new problems.

Still, one thing’s for certain, the sun is setting on the analogue age, and we are going to need new ideas to express the realities of a new era. Letting go of ‘machine thinking’ will help determine which people adapt and prosper, and who will remain burdened by a mode of thinking that no longer reflects the world in which we find ourselves.

Robo Planet Game part 4

mpayne

part 4 of a story by Matt Payne

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Ruxto woke up on a black slab. He felt great. The first thing he noticed was his mind was no longer groggy. Mental sharpness could be felt like a physical presence when it goes and then returns.

The next thing he noticed was that he was no longer dehydrated. This new clone was fresh and comfortable, well-fed and strong.

Then he opened his eyes and saw the gray and brown craggy rocks of the cave in crystal clarity. He saw every shadow in the rocky texture. He sat up and found himself mesmerized by how black the stone slab was that he was resting on. He looked through the mouth of the cave and across the desert and instantly saw the big black fan that he had been walking towards, miles and miles away. Before, he had only been able to vaguely see it, even from on top of the cave.

¨These are my old eyes,” ”he said to himself, touching his blue eye with one finger. Apparently Unit Twelve had heard his screamed request, and the machines had put his original eyes in this new cloned body. His bag of goodies was sitting beside the black slab. There was dust on it. He opened it up and took out his laser, his computer-glasses, his flask and his two books. The books were dusty and dry, but they hadn´t fallen apart.

Walking up the incline to the machine at the far wall, Ruxto said, ¨Unit Twelve, you recloned me with my old eyes and you gave me my bag… why?¨

The machine printed, ¨Making the player re-collect useful items will make the game tedious. Unit Twelve is designed to create a stimulating challenge, not to bore humans.¨

¨That´s good. How long did it take to make this cloned body?¨ Ruxto said.

The machine printed, ¨the clone was finished after seventy-two years except for the eyes. Unit Twelve took the time to recover your original eyes because you requested it. It took one-thousand, two-hundred and eleven years to recover your original eyes from your last corpse.¨

¨A thousand years? Was the ravine that deep?¨

The machine printed, ¨the ravine is very deep and cuts through a large part of the planet. It is very dark and hard to maneuvre.¨

“Have any other humans landed on this planet yet?¨

¨Unit Twelve has never detected any biological or mechanical or electrical life-forms except for you and your deceased ship-mates.¨

Ruxto wanted to get back to the task of getting off this planet, but he had a couple more questions first.

¨Why did my eyes survive for a thousand years? Shouldn´t they have rotted? Or at least dried out?¨

The machine printed more thick paper. ¨There are no bacteria on this planet to rot flesh, and your eyes are made from an unknown material which resists drying and damage.¨

That was intriguing. An unknown material?

¨Did you study my eyes at all? You don´t know anything about them? I´ve travelled from a different universe, then across the stars to find the man who created me. He made my eyeballs, and anything you can tell me about them could be helpful to me.¨

The machine printed, ¨your original body and your eyeballs had traces of dust that cannot be found near Earth, which is where all humans are from. The dust resembles materials that have only been found in other parts of the galaxy. Your body has been disposed of and its dust is scattered. But your original eyeballs still have the dust in them.¨

¨What kind of dust?¨

The machine said, ¨most of it is merely dirt, seemingly from a far-off planet. It is partially composed of metals, semi-metals and magma-dust. The presence of magma-dust implies a planetary origin. Other parts of the dust do not seem to be made of regular atoms or subatomic particles. Unit Twelve proposes no hypothesis for how the far-away dust came to be in your eyeballs and body.¨

¨Did you notice anything else strange about my body?¨ Ruxto asked.

The machine printed, ¨your DNA has many variations from the average human gene-code. Also, your eyes have different DNA from the rest of your body. They have a shorter strand, but it is a more complex code. It has extra unedintified molecules in the helix. The Omni-Seeds have not communicated with humans for thousands of years and Unit Twelve has never contacted humans except for you and your deceased companions, so this information may be out of date. However, your deceased crew-mates had DNA that corresponded with Unit Twelve´s old information.¨

¨Okay,¨ Ruxto said, turning and looking out at the desert. He understood what the machine was telling him. He hadn´t known anything about DNA or evolution before he came to this universe, but electronic-implants helped him learn many things quickly. Luckily, Unit Twelve had apparently reproduced those implants and all his body’s enhancements.

He had been on this planet for well over a thousand years. There would be nearly no memory of him. The few people he had known while in this world hadn’t seen him for an incredibly long time, while to his mind only a few months had passed since he left Earth. Were there still any Galaxers? They must have assumed that Ruxto had died during this mission which they had sent him on, since he never reported back. They had no way to know he was still alive.

Ruxto noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. The glass elliptical-dome that stuck out of the wall was slightly transparent. It was more opaque than a beer-bottle, and behind the glass there was the silhouette of a human shape. He only noticed now because he had his good eyes back.

¨What’s behind that glass?¨ Ruxto said to the machine.

The machine printed, ¨that is where clones are made and stored. It takes about seventy-five years to make a new clone, so Unit Twelve made several backups while your eyes were being retrieved. Now you won´t have to wait seventy-five years for each new re-cloning.¨

Ruxto thought about how much water it would take to make a human-clone. He remembered his thirst from yesterday (twelve-hundred years ago), and then he thought about all those clone-bodies. All those juicy clones, full of blood and meat. He would break the glass and cut strips of clone-flesh to cook over a burning book. The juices would hydrate him and the meat would nourish him. Then he would be able to jump over the ravine and get to the black fan, where the machine said there was water.

He spoke to the machine. ¨What would happen if I broke that dome on the wall. Would you attack me?¨

Another piece of paper came out of the slot with the machine´s printed response. ¨The dome would take a long time to repair, and the clones would all die. Unit Twelve will only attack you within the context of the game.¨

Ruxto ran his hand along the dark glass, seeing the vague silhouette of a body a few feet away inside the dome. It was a dark brown environment, with the black silhouette. He knocked the dome with his knuckles. The glass seemed very thick. He backed up towards the machine and took out his laser. With the proper pulse-setting he could shatter the glass.

He shot from the hip, as he’d been taught, and the invisible laser-pulse pounded the glass. The impact made a shockwave through the air and the brown glass cracked into four pieces, each splitting from the point where the laser hit. With a thwoosh-sound water gushed out between each crack, and the floor was wet before the pieces of glass were pushed out violently out by an onslought of precious water. Behind the destroyed glass a naked body hung in the air, suspended by straps and wires. Water gushed from behind it, pushing the body out and testing its straps. Its eyes were closed even though its body was being pummelled.

A waterfall rushed down the cave-floor towards the desert. Yellow sand was tasting water for the first time.

Finally the water subsided. A dark line showed the torrent’s path, which mushroomed out beyond the cave’s mouth. The hanging body was now resting peacefully in its straps, and water dripped from its hair and down its body. This must be Ruxto’s next clone. Ruxto could see that there was another clone hanging behind this one. They both looked exactly like him, even with the same scars.

Inside the clone-room the water was still knee-deep.

Ruxto was still standing beside the machine, and he said, ¨is that water drinkable? Are there any additives?¨

The paper fed out of the slot. ¨The water is healthy and drinkable. But now the clones will die and the clone-room will have to be repaired. It could take hundreds of years for your next clone to be ready.¨

Ruxto said, ¨maybe I won’t need another clone. Can these clones feel anything? Are they alive at all?¨

The machine printed, “the clones cannot feel. Their brains have not been activated and are being kept chemically comatose. They have not received a copy of your last brain-image.¨

Ruxto cut the first clone down from his wire hangings, laying the body on the dry stone above the wet bottom area. Behind the first and second clones Ruxto could now see a long line of twelve or more identical clones, all dripping wet. He cut meat from the cheeks, shoulders and thighs of one clone. He cut its throat first, just in case it had any life. Skinning the clone was more difficult than chopping up the meat, but he needed something to wrap the meat it.

Then he drank water until he needed to pee, and filled up his flask with more water from the clone-room. Finally he rinsed the skin and the meat in the water so it wasn’t as bloody, and put the meat in his bag, wrapped up in clone-skin.

The desert was almost beautiful with Ruxto´s old eyes back in again. He saw so much more detail in everything. The sand was yellow, but now he noticed an orange tinge to many of the grains, though not all.

He waded out into the desert heat again, and the sun brought instant sweat. But this time he was ready. He could made a bee-line straight to the fan, instead of going to the crashed shuttle first like he did yesterday. And he had water and meat this time. Ruxto had no apprehensions about the ravine this time. He would easily be able to jump over it. But what lay beyond it?

For the first few hours of walking, Ruxto entertained himself with his renewed heightened-sight. He looked all around at objects that would have been blurry the day before. Now he saw each shard of black rock that stood out in the desert-dirt. The flying black thing was at least a couple kilometers away, but he could see its shape now more than he did before. The rhombus-saucer had sharp edges, and it rose to a shallow central point at the top. It was about a meter at its widest point, and there was a small apparatus on the top. He could tell all this easily even from kilometers away.

The black moon was rising slowly in front of Ruxto, but moving across the horizon faster than it was moving up. Ruxto saw more detail in the moon now than he did before. There were thin silver veins running across it, crooked lines with sharp corners like the zig-zags of a lightning-bolt. He thought it looked gorgeous. He was mesmerized by its patterns, and by the sharp contrast between the colours: black against silver. He watched it for hours as it rose, as he walked towards it. That focus kept his mind occupied as he trekked through the hot desert. As the moon slowly rose, Ruxto waited for more details to become visible.

Ruxto started thinking about what it would take to make a moon. That would be one of the greatest acts of creation and engineering. To create a moon that spun around a populated planet, a work of art that everybody could see every day. You would need to gather the right materials and put them together, then somehow put the moon into orbit safely around a planet. That would effect the planet’s own orbit around its sun, and it would effect the tides and weather. So precision would be absolutely necessary. He wanted to create a moon as a symbol of strength, will and beauty.

As the sun went down the black moon circled around behind him. Ruxto was walking into a purple sky, with sparkling stars. He looked at the now-moonless sky, and the empty desert, and he thought of all the years he had been stranded on this planet. It felt like only a few days, especially with the monotony of the desert, but he had been here for over a thousand years. Yet there was no mark of him. He might as well not be here at all. When he died, his brain-image was stored for years until he could be given a new body, and during that time he did not exist at all. He did not feel, he did not dream, he had no body and no brain. And then he was reborn in a new body, with only an artificial copy of his mind and his same old two eyes.

He wanted to leave his mark on this planet. Maybe the crashed shuttle was enough. Or the computer’s memory of him. Or perhaps the computer would let him change the game for subsequent ¨players.¨ He could come up with some suggestions for it, and ask the machine to implement them. This thought pleased Ruxto, and he smiled as he walked on.

He came to the ravine before it was even dark. Walking straight to the ravine had saved him a whole day of travelling, compared to the route he took last time. Ruxto sat to make a fire, where he could cook his pieces of clone-meat. He took out a pocketful of paper, printed from the machine, to burn.

“I can´t make fire,¨ he suddenly realized. He couldn’t believe his stupidity. In his old world, he knew enough magic to light paper on fire. But there were no demons in this world, and no magic. How would he cook his meat?

¨I’ll have to eat it raw,¨ Ruxto mumbled. It would be safe. There was no bacteria on this planet except for the bacteria his body needed to live, built by Unit Twelve. He laid the strips of cheek-flesh on a flat rock and let some more blood drain out. Then, sitting cross-legged in the dark by the crack in the desert, Ruxto started chewing on the raw meat of his clone. It made him want to gag at first, but he chewed it well and swallowed it all. He felt the nourishment almost immediately, and soon he was hungry for more. Pacing himself, he ate all of his cheek-meat and half of the thigh-meat that he had brought. Then he allowed himself a big swallow of water and went to sleep. As he laid on the dirt and prepared to rest, he noticed that the humming sound was louder. He had learned to block out the constant hum, but as he got closer to the fan it got louder.

In the morning the sun rose across the ravine, and to Ruxto’s perfect eyes the black fan made a clear silhouette against the half-circle sun. It was a simple-looking metal obstruction, black and rising up like a skyscraper, with huge fan-blades.

He felt rested. He packed his things and jumped easily over the ravine. The clone-meat hadn´t made him sick.

The flying black rhombus was behind him, moving towards him. Ruxto kept the laser in his hand as it approached. He veered off his own path to avoid it. It passed him, close but not too close.

He slowly chewed a little chunk of meat the whole way. Sometimes he would rest his bag on his head while he walked, to protect his face from the sun’s rays. He hadn’t burned yet, though.

In the late afternoon Ruxto came across a huge black rock formation sticking out of the sand, and he rested in its shade and drank a bit of water. It was while he was resting again that he noticed the hum was even louder now than the night before.

The image of the fan got bigger and bigger, and soon Ruxto saw a small white shape in front of the big black fan-building. The white shape was a robot, standing sentry before its castle. Little sand-clouds blew at the fan’s base. Far above, the fan thundered its constant hum.

It was twilight again, his water was gone and Ruxto was thirsty. But this clone was as healthy as the original body he had left behind, and his muscles had extra stores of energy. And he had the will to hurt his tired body to win a fight.

He approached the fan, and the robot-guard came forward. It was human-shaped, but all perfect white tubes for limbs and torso. There was a black band across its head where its eyes would be, and two red dots glowed to symbolize the window to its soul. It held a black sword in one hand. The hum of the fan was a deafening roar, and wind blew constantly in different directions. It was all hardpan here, with no resting sand-grains.

The robot swung the sword and Ruxto jumped back. He had his laser in one hand and his sword in the other. This was another part of Unit Twelve´s game.

Join Ruxto Chexter in Robo Planet Game’s conclusion next Monday!

Panties (a comic)

brent

by Brent Braaten

Brent Braaten (BFA 2004 University of Regina) is a comic artist/filmmaker from Regina, Saskatchewan. His work explores the absurdities that dwell within our imaginations; bizarre thoughts that we sometimes shamefully bury rather than celebrate.

He has contributed several comics to the site and we will be running them weekly for your enjoyment. Click the image below to enlarge.

panties

Christmas 2009: A Narrative

jody!

by Jody Coughlin

Christmas was never an easy time for me as a kid. I missed a Dad I never knew; I constantly fought against the devilish bile of jealousy and doubt as I compared the amount of gifts I received in comparison to my sisters; I dreaded going back to school after the holiday break. Worse still, my mother was always stressed to the absolute maximum at this time of year and every now and then she would do something quite whacky to make Christmas all the more horrifically memorable.

Case in point: one year she took an axe to the stump of our Christmas tree to make it fit in the tree stand, which would have been perfectly normal except that she hacked away at it in the middle of the living room. I distinctly remember vacuuming wood chips from the carpet. I remember watching mom slice away at that tree with utter abandon…

This event and others like it, which are a little too painful to publicly recall are the things that would eventually denote the exact opposite meaning of the most wonderful time of year for me. What is the exact opposite of wonderful you ask? Awful. It’s awful.

It has taken me a full decade of having my own home to get my head around what I want Christmas to mean for me and my family. My husband has always had a great holiday spirit and has, over the years, looked upon me with a vague sense of concern mingled with something probably close to annoyance at my eccentricities around the holidays. With good reason. I remember one December day, years ago, I was sweeping the fir needles from the kitchen floor and in the middle of the task I went into a blind rage over nothing at all other than the fact that it was just Christmas time and I was having a reaction to it. A very negative reaction to it.

These days, things are much saner and calmer and I find I even look forward to the holidays. This year I actually took the time to really think about what I sincerely wanted for a gift which, I realize, is not the true meaning of Christmas and all that stuff, but I wanted to partake of the tradition anyway. In other words, I just wanted present. I did. It’s true.

I decided, ultimately, on a sewing machine. I conjured visions of myself designing scarves (my personal favorite accessory) and making quilts and other such things during the longs days of winter. Such a romantic notion. Such a stupid, stupid, stupid romantic notion… I mean, as if?

Well, Christmas day came, I unwrapped (you guessed it) a sewing machine. I took it out of the box, perused the instruction manual and then I put it back in the box, taped it up and returned it a few days later. One look at that manual and all the details therein and it was all over for me. My grand illusion of becoming a seamstress extraordinaire was indeed an illusion. I instantly remembered why. The only class I ever failed in school was sewing class. I had forgotten that fact somewhere along the line. It all came crashing down around me when I saw the word bobbin in big bold letters.

Yuck. Ew. Gross.

So, what initially seemed like an enormous bout of amnesia on my behalf, actually turned into an opportunity to rethink my ideal gift. To really get it right this time. At this point I decided what would really suit me, what would totally rock my world was not a sewing machine but a bag of insulation. That’s right. A bag of insultion. It would be my one big purchase. My main gift. The jackpot. I, at the time, was in the middle of renovating my tool shed into a painting studio and therefore a bag of insulation seemed as valuable to me as diamond earrings might be to normal girls. Naturally.

Wait. Stop right there… Hold on ladies. Don’t get jealous. Don’t glare at your significant others and demand to know why you didn’t get a bag of insulation for Christmas. There is always next year. Christmas is over. Let it go.

Okay, back to the story. Onward, my husband went into the building supply store, he threw the money down on the counter (I assume) and ordered the insulation. Once it was bought and paid for we were directed outside to the warehouse only to find out that they were completely out. Flat broke about it. At this point, in essence, I went home with a thirty-two dollar piece of paper (receipt). Yee-haw. Deck the halls with utter annoyance.

About a week later, after much deliberation about the state of my studio which is perfectly functional in the summer, but not-so-much in the winter, I decided it was time to bring my easel inside. I realized the smart thing to do would be to shut the studio down for the winter and regroup next spring. Forget the insulation. Forget the renos. Forget it all until Spring. I set my easel up in the kitchen and again, returned my big purchase (essentially, my receipt) which I never actually got in the first place. No big deal, but still, I wanted something to call my own by way of a Christmas gift. Call me crazy. They often do.

So the hamster wheel in my brain started spinning. I dug deep. I thought long and hard about it and I concluded what I really wanted for Christmas, in the end, was a few new canvases to paint on. This was my absolute final decision on the matter.

I knew my mom (also a painter) had a surplus of canvases, of all shapes and sizes, kicking around her house. So I phoned her up, offered her some money to take of couple of them off her hands, et voila! In the end, it seems, regardless of what I thought I wanted for Christmas what I actually got was something to paint on. Weird. Very weird. Weird because I liked it.

It also seems, deep down, I must have wanted those canvases because, in the end, all I really wanted to do during the holidays was paint a portrait of Viggo Mortensen, alluding to his character as he (it?) appeared in Lord of the Rings (you know, a kind of freeze frame and snap a picture and print it and paint it kind of thing) because I had the big idea to do so a while ago as a form of commentary of popular culture and the intriguing artist types who seem as out-there as I feel most of the time and yet make me so…well, you know… So. Something. Or something like that.

If I had just thought about it a little harder, I would have come to these conclusions earlier. It’s all so vaguely obvious to me now.

There is a moral and it is this: In the end, I have discovered, it is much more pleasurable to give than to receive, especially for us indecisive types. Lesson learned.

Thusly concludes my personal saga of Christmas 2009. The end.

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The New Monday Night War?

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mattjones

by Jenn Harrison and Matt Jones

January 4, 2010

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Jenn: For the first time in longer than I can remember; wrasslin’ gave me those old familiar chills tonight.

Tonight, TNA Wrestling put its IMPACT show on from 8 – 11 PM, coinciding with the WWE RAW 9-11 time slot; direct competition for Vince McMahon for the first time since he didn’t own WCW, ECW, WWE and every other brand.

TNA came prepared, too. Huge names including Ric Flair, Kevin Nash, Scott Hall, ‘X-Pac’ (or as I will forever remember him, ‘The 1-2-3 Kid’), Jeff Hardy and Eric Bischoff all made appearances within the first hour of TNA, hoping to grab an audience and keep them from changing over to RAW at 9PM.

TNA also pulled out the big gun – Hulk Hogan himself. The Hulkster praised the integrity and quality of TNA wrestling, saying to his former (and in Scott Hall’s case – drunken) buddies that “everyone has to earn” their spot with this company, and you are not guaranteed a job despite the accolades of your past. Hogan then said “if you can’t talk and you can’t wrestle, pack your bags and head up north.” This was a direct shot at Vince and all the Superstars of WWE, claiming their wrestling and mic skills were not up to TNA standards.

Bischoff and Hulk then vowed to take another company to the top against Vince, just like they did once before (WCW), and I smiled and thought, “whatcha gonna do, Vince?”

Well, Vince McMahon is no idiot. For weeks, he has been teasing fans with a seemingly impossible gem: Bret “Hitman” Hart returning to WWE. And coincidentally, it is really, finally happening. Tonight. Now. The same night as TNA’s brilliant Monday night debut.

As eagerly as I gobbled up that first hour of TNA, my heart pulled me back to RAW as soon as it began, and there he was- my main man. My childhood hero, Bret Hart, back in a WWE ring for the first time in 12 years. Now this guy is the real deal. ‘The best there is, the best there was,’ and yes – probably the ‘best there ever will be’. Screw Hogan, with his reality show and 3 move arsenal!

What does Bret do? Immediately, he calls out Shawn Michaels! (Now, the reason for this is connected to the “Montreal Screwjob”. The screwjob is a long, emotional story; one I am personally invested in and cannot get into here. It deserves its own article. If you don’t know about it, you cannot be my friend.)

Twelve years later, and these two men are face to face in the ring once more. I haven’t even thought about TNA since RAW began. Shawn Michaels and Bret Hart finally talking shit out? This is the stuff of my dreams! (Although, yes, I am disappointed that the WWE universe is suddenly supposed to forgive Shawn Michaels for all the tears we shed during that pivotal Survivor Series).

Vince played our emotions tonight, and kept me from changing the channel back to TNA…this Monday, at least. Let’s see what RAW will do in the future to keep it that way. Now that Vince isn’t the only show in town, perhaps WWE will improve its quality to match the glory days of old, and once again be truly worthy of a Superstar like Bret Hart. Let the ‘Monday Night War’ re-commence!

**********

Matt: Hulk Hogan did not live up to his promises on last Monday’s Nitro. Oops, I mean Impact.

Hogan promised that we would see a new promotion with a new focus that would become a suitable competitor for the WWE. He promised that TNA would become a true alternative. What we got was three hours of wrestling that combined the most annoying tendencies of both WCW and TNA into one ungodly creation.

I will give them credit that the show did have a fairly spontaneous feel to it. There was an excitement as you wondered who would show up, and what would happen next. This was one of the best things about WCW Nitro in its day.

On the other side of the coin, however, a show that supposedly took six weeks of planning felt just like those old disjointed Nitros. You know, the ones when we would hear stories of Hogan vetoing almost everything at the last minute and Bischoff would have to improvise the show 10 minutes before it started? It felt like those Nitros.

The opening contest was a cluttered and confusing cage match that was lousy long before the brain dead finish that had the fans chanting “bullshit” (apparently, there was a problem with the cage that they only discovered the day of the show which forced the stupid finish, but that’s no excuse). Think about that. Ten minutes into the biggest show they’ve ever done, and the fans are chanting “bullshit.”

Then Jeff Hardy debuts. A smart move for a company that doesn’t seem to care much about drug abuse among its roster (Hardy was indicted for a laundry list of drug charges the very next day). But it didn’t mean anything. Jeff Hardy showed up during an awful, disjointed undercard match after spending the last year in the main events of the WWE. Arguably the biggest star in wrestling last year made his debut in a trainwreck, no where near the top of the card.

Then we get Ric Flair, one of the most legendary names in wrestling, show up and head into the building. And later he came out to watch the main event for a bit. And that’s it. Ric Flair, one of the most charismatic wrestlers of all time, a guy who’s been talking fans into the seats for 30 years, came out and said nothing. How do you not give Ric Flair a mic and 10 minutes to get the crowd pumped and to put over TNA? Would that have taken too much time away from the Nasty Boys segments or the mind numbingly stupid strip poker bit?

And then, after 45 minutes of his damn-near presidential motorcade driving to the arena, Hogan finally shows up. First off, that’s a fine message that he gives a shit about the program, when he only shows up after it’s already been on the air for an hour. But then he comes out and says that he’s been in the back all day talking to the wrestlers and the producers, really putting over his involvement in the company. WHY THE HELL DID WE WATCH YOU DRIVE TO THE ARENA FOR 45 MINUTES IF YOU WERE ALREADY THERE!?!?!

Then, we have the main event which was a spectacular display of athletic wrestling from Kurt Angle and champion AJ Styles (my personal dislike for kicking out of 1,000 finishing moves in a single match notwithstanding). They put on a hell of a show, but there was too much else going on. Why did the masked man attack them if it had no impact on the match at all? Why did Flair come out and do nothing? Why did Hogan praise them at the end, only to run off giving fans the impression that the nWo beating up Mick Foley backstage was more important? None of it made any sense at all.

Last Monday’s Impact was a chance for TNA to make a definitive statement. Using Hulk Hogan’s name value and the incredible athleticism of TNA’s roster (and make no mistake, they have some incredibly talented performers) could have been a winning combination. Instead, most of TNA’s roster spent the night doing 30 second interviews or being found unconscious backstage (seriously), while we watched the Nasty Boys destroy a locker room and Val Venis playing poker.

To be totally honest, Raw wasn’t great either. The Bret Hart segments were awesome, but other than that, it was the same irritating Raw as always. Same stars at the top of the card, same directionless midcarders, and the same skits with the midget. But this wasn’t a make or break show for them. Vince hadn’t promised to change the wrestling industry. They have a proven business model and seem to be in a position to succeed regardless of quality.

For TNA and Hulk Hogan though, it was a crucial show. And they blew it. Other than nostalgia, there was little that was truly impressive on either wrestling show last Monday. President Dixie Carter, and certainly her parents who actually own 71% of the company, should be very concerned right now. Her new TNA that she’s paying Hogan and Bischoff all this money for looks disturbingly like the old TNA that couldn’t compete and the old WCW that went out of business.

Buyer's remorse?

Buyer's remorse?

Going forward, regardless of Raw’s quality, one assumes that we’ll get a very interesting result out of this storyline- Vince McMahon vs. Bret Hart in some sort of street fight match at Wrestlemania XXVI. As for TNA, in their position they can’t afford to trade on nostalgia alone. They need to build new stars and they need to do it fast. That’s how the nWo and the Nasty Boys should be used; to establish new stars. If not, there’s no purpose to bringing them in at all.

As much as I would love to be excited about this new potential Monday Night War (TNA has not yet permanently moved to Monday nights, but it is expected as they drew a decent rating), I’m not. I hope that TNA can put it together and come up with a winning formula, but if they go forward as is, they’re going to get destroyed by the WWE.

Let’s all hope they do improve though. The WWE have gotten stagnant without competition. The wrestling industry desperately needs new ideas and new talent to challenge the McMahon wrestling monopoly and to move the business forward.

Top Ten Films a la Jody

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a look back at the 2000’s with Jody Coughlin

Compiling my top ten films for the last decade is no easy feat. My memory is dismal at best and I am usually once removed to the left of the thing I really love but have forgotten all about. Oh well, this is not going to change the world anyway so I suppose I just might as well give it a whirl and hope for the best.
Here I go. These are in no particular order and this rundown is not particularly cerebral.
1. Fight Club.

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I do not talk about Fight Club. Seriously, I don’t. I will say this-it is a disgruntled employee’s wet dream to show up at the office with a huge black eye and blood trickling out the nose and onto a very neatly pressed dress shirt. Oh yeah. Can ya feel it?
2. There Will Be Blood.

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If you have not seen this film, then you must. Go now. Go. See it. The score will give you ulcers, Daniel Day Lewis and his portrayal of an oil-boy pioneer will give you goose bumps. The thought of how much blood, sweat, tears and greed goes into the oil industry and the industry of religion (two entities that we are so ravenously hooked on) will give you an upset stomach. What more could you ask for out of a film?
3. The Others.

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This haunting ghost story leaves me feeling like I did when I was a kid and my sister stumbled upon a book about a girl who gets trapped inside her doll house. I don’t remember how the girl got there, I just know that it freaked the hell out of me. I couldn’t stop starring at it.
4. Lord of The Rings

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This could count as three but I am counting it as one. I liked all in general, The Return of the King in particular. If there is a God, and I believe there is, then I think he would be a lot like the portrayal of Gandalf in this film: wise, kind, a bit temperamental. I cannot make it through these films without tearing up at least a dozen times. Epic.
5. Inglourious Basterds

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I keep spelling the title of this film correctly which means I am spelling it incorrectly which almost gives me an aneurism. I will say this, I am glad to be alive at a time in the history of our planet where it is perfectly acceptable to watch, with pleasure, the demise of the Nazis. Nobody does it like Tarantino. I wanted to stand up and clap at the end of this film, but my husband embarrasses easily so I just let the glory of the moment wash over me like a warm bath in chocolate money.
6. Frida

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Painter. Woman. Strong. Couragous. Enough said.
7. Bridget Jone’s Diary (One and Two)

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First of all, let’s just say I can relate to a blond, chesty journalist who is “just a little bit fat” and who also seems to have a genuine talent for screwing (things up). Also, the scene where the two boys, vying for her attention and settling an old score, fight (Colin Firth and Hugh Grant) out in the street as the song It’s Raining Men chimes in-well, that scene makes me almost pee my pants. Oh, the hilarity! I think Hugh Grant would be nothing without the hair. When his hair is all wet and mashed up in the sequel, he looses a bit of that British bad boy charm. It’s all about Hugh’s hair when it comes to Hugh.

8. Gangs of New York

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This is one of those films that I like to watch once a year or so. Daniel Day Lewis is, again, brilliant in this film. Raw and gritty. Dirty and a wee bit frightening. This film fascinates me on so many levels. I love to think about the inner workings and the underbelly of such a grand city as New York is and this film feeds those curiosities in me. I love it.
9. Snatch

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If I knew how to type out garbled Irish slang, that is exactly how I would write this next bit, but I don’t. In fact, I have watched this film several times to try and decipher exactly what Brad Pitt’s character is saying-to no avail. No matter. This movie is fast paced and interwoven and amusing. The dry British come-backs thrill me. The speech the creepy old guy gives about why he owns a pig farm is both frightening and utterly disgusting in one fell swoop. My kind of movie.
10. Where the Wild Things Are

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This film was amazing and alive and real in so many ways. The thing I took away from it was that kids do not-I mean do NOT-understand why adults gets so worked up and pissed off and grumpy and argumentative and depressed. I took from this film the understanding that the world of adults, to some children, is as frightening and mysterious as any monster-world. If we could remember that the next time we feel compelled to engage in a petty argument in front of our kids (speaking to myself here now) then it would be a different world. I have been trying to remember the impression this film gave me when I feel a disagreement coming on and then I stop myself and I walk away. There is something about this movie that seems classic even though it is quite new. I am a fan. For sure.

Craigness.com

Unfiltered Smoke’s good buddy Craig Layton (whose webshow “Craigness!” you can find at this very site) has a new website dedicated to all things “Craigness!”. Get an inside look at the man, the myth, the jacket. If you’re a fan of his show, we urge you to take a gander. The site includes all of the archived “Craigness!” episodes, behind the scenes photos and Craig’s own personal blog.

Don’t be a fink, click the link!