Archive for January, 2011
I just finished steven shaviro’s review of this film so i feel a bit humbled writing down my own hasty thoughts via thumb board, but here we go
Splice is essentially, del toro tells us in the extras, “a fucked up family story.” Of course fucked up family stories are a speciality in greek writing, the gods and the titans are particularly fucked up families oedipus? Fucked up family. Electra? Very fucked up family. Splice tells a story of a very electra like up bringing, girl raised by mom loves mom till sex comes up and loves dad… splice’s surprise ending is perhaps do to the fact that the girl is part fish and dies postorgasm. The film does not test, it provides no background to suggest if this complex is in fact “natural” and somehow accessed genetically even in transspieces organisms or is a product of the claustrophobia of the film, dren our transhuman girl is limited in contact with 3 other human beings, so it seems inevitable that her sexuality will form around these two, why she picka guys, especially one who abused her, is another mater.
The film caresses in bioethics, like richard power’s galatea, the observers of the experiment lose their detachment and form very human bonds with the creature. If the film has a paradox its that the moralless sterility of math and the thrill of invention can produce objects that stand outside of their produxtion. Dren is the result of master equations and some complex chemistry, but her mental life and emotions are very real. The god buttons these scientests press produce an object that’s complexity and behavoir are far less easy to control, determinism in splice is less compulsory as tempting, we want to love dren and we’re even tempted to desire her sexually… gulp ok provided you desire women (her male form strangely i didn’t find attractive). The film’s speculations seem to capture a couple that borders on granting their creation acceptance socially but in the background still view her as an object, as property. Splice reminds of octavia butler in the way it mamages to convey that love can be given and intelligence accorded to what is still an object and that love can be the exact factor that leads to abuse, debasement, its when they take dren as a human that they commit their worst sins.
Arfonsky’s films have always left me a little cold, pi was smart but tried to be to cerebral, that heroin picture was pretty good though, the one about the plant that ends in space… awful but the wrestler represents a maturity in his film making, its not eager to show off its smarts, the subject is heartfelt, and surprisingly darren is the right guy to do it. The problem is, i just don’t like the film. Rourke is grotoesque, the romance with marisa tomei is rushed and a little hasty and while america’s most protoreal sport could use the silent treatment of “art film” the film doesn’t quite draw me in. This surreality of strip mall and school gym matches also lacks bromance, despite being idolized by his peers, the ram is strangely lacking in male friends. The broken relationship with the daughter thing is also faulty, rourke plays the ram with apathy, he is an extremely likable loser, and the story pits him between the praxis of poverty and pride, i kept wishing he’d die in the ring, but the story is to smart lend us that satisfaction.
Found at make up stand.
Did you know in russia they only allow 15 students in a class? They also only pay their teachers 500 a month
Pattern recognition continues to be my favorite gibson novel. Darkly mysteriois it caught the social malfunctions of the creative class while taking us on a very real quest. The follow up books in the series have inflated the characters to cartoons, and the apex of spook country was a major let down. Zero history is a combination of the two previous books thoughts. It commits the cardinal sin, somewhat unavoidable in gibson, of hurling a world that looks increasingly super human at us, part of what made pattern recognition work was the surprising humannesss of the scale followed by the surprise of the ending, spook country built to a largely dissapointing close, zero history’s finale is flawed its prep for milgrim’s exchange an eternity that ends up leading almost nowhere. It also ends with a clear build into the next novel in which hubertus bigend will obviously sprout wings and fight manga characters. Gibson doea continue his colloquial discussion of ideas, theories of branding and the military, addiction (gibson is still an addicting read), and of course the cleverness of a ceo able to buy out indie rock icons and then leverage their wuffie to find whatever he desirses, bigend’s manipilations are rather coy what he wants from milgrim is amother mater. Gibson’s portrayl of creative culture’s increasing abstracation from the lower class continues to climb or maybe it’s just the way he makes the pop cultural musings and lifestyles of our times seem so dire as if a really exclusive pair of secret brand pants could really provide some type of eureka a break through in urban theory that in turn would make somone rich, this is an author who sees pyschoanalysis as a tool as much as heliim balloons and custom made darts. Mr gibson thank you for your women. Loved heidi and the hotel. Ramble off
In the absence of grapes, I forget about the mexican band that came here and accidentally became rock stars. It’s like 10:30 and I’m going to Bradley’s. I’m wearing this blue striped wife beater that ends in kinda red stars and then a knock off comme de garcons deconstruction that features a space age age vest over grunge flannel, and then my little skirt with the birds on it… or does it have birds and why did Comme de garcons need to choose time as the praxis on which to deconstruct this shirt? At LArry Tee the other night this dude had a real one, one of the junya watanbe ones that looks like 3 different patterns meeting at a geometircal disagreement. I’m in the supermarket, I need to go to the bathrom, but i walk in on this 50 year old transsexual’s new year’s party, an effemiate gay guy I might have slept with (I’m not sure) comes up and greets me and then the tranny has me by the arm, I’m being pulled into a New Years party, I just wanted to use the bathroom. Someone realizes the mistake and they point me to the bathroom outside, and I wonder what the chances are of a western transvestite walking into a Thai khatoey only New Years event? Stastics can be smashed, numbers mutilated, but I’m gonna say the chances are high here. I really should stay, but I still have a slight phobia of effemiate men and especially ageing grabby transexuals. As I leave the gay guy comes out the door and offers for me to go in, I’m starving, these folks look like they have food from at least seven different restaurants. Now in the Bill Murray lost in translation version of Bangkok, I go in and have a good time, instead I go to a roof top to hang up with the usual Western queer scene. the cabby doesn’t quite know where Bradley’s place is, but we manage to make it to lumphini and then a few u-turns later I’m just down the street from it. I try to find the Italian place that Andreas likes on langsuan,, but it’s closed so I eat at a thai place known for it’s seafood, but I get some subpar pork. At the party maybe 40 people are there. A former programmer explains how he’s on disability for hiv, my eyes pop, he’s very likable and seems really healthy. I get invited to speak at a queer art show, I later e-mail him my idea of a maid that cleans discourses. I kiss a bunch of dudes, maybe Brian, Beat, and later Chris. A drag queen from Brooklyn shows up and at first talks in a kinda Spanish accent before breaking down to a more normal voice. I liked her more when she was pretending to be Puetro Rican or whatever. She asks me to an after party, but I’m kinda feeling Beat these days, although unsure on if he actually wants to sleep with me. What does it mean when men buy you beer and drive you home? We end up at Wongs and I dance to all the eighties stuff Wong puts on. I love that the type of bar that would have played rock ‘n roll plays eighties stuff now, Pink Lady the Japanese all girl 60s rock outfit comes on and I remember Richard for a second. Chris comes in from Korea looking remarkably more sedate than during his Bangkok ventures. He hugs me and we talk. I think if writing something like this is a drag, then reading it has to be too, but perhaps words don’t work that way or something, if meaning can be deffered, is fun deffered to? does it eventually rollercoaster down into the mundane, turning text books into comedies and tradgedies into fart jokes? Yeah, my little posts are full of poignancies and that’s another thing, as I’ve been getting back there, back to that moment of change the ability to become again, I’ve been losing those insights difference gave, the realizations that I bought, the ideas I had, everything is just becoming swirly again as I open the door to the overstay. The techno dude plays my type of techno, I give sing back her robot panda and animal collective cds. Just as I’m walking out the door at like 7 in the morning, I see Patricia. Now here’s the thing, the first time I met Patricia we had this really cool chat about I think about Margaret Atwood or something, but I didn’t find her attractive then, now on this morning, post-Beat and queer scene, she’s on the couch in this cool little birdy wife beater and boxers and I feel turned on, she gives me a look, but I have trouble suspending my sexuality and therefore am a douche… or well ok I was fine, just kinda creepy. I wake up the next day kinda hung over I”m unsure on his I slept the entire day or just went and bought a cell phone… memory becomes hazy here, but I do remember this, I went to this mexican restaurant in silom and asked this girl’s name, and something in the way she smiled, something in the way she might actually consider wanting someone like me, convinced me the entire waiting staff at a restuarant were all whores.