The only song on this compilation that sends shivers up me spine is Rammstein's version of "Stripped". It is powerful, lovely, strange, and glorious. It manifests the terror that I've always felt the original song merely implied. DM are a band replete with smoldering intensities. Their agonies are subtle and exquisite in their subtlty. Rammstein turns what seemed like a mere suggestion into a demand backed with the threat of real punishment.

Locust take the opposite approach on "Master and Servant" and come up with similar results. I've never been able to take the original vary seriously. It has always possessed a high camp value for me mostly because I've seen Martin in his chainmail. The song threatens something sinister and exciting but it never comes off for me. Now Locust turns a silly song into a wondeful lounge piece replete with alternating vocals between a male and female voice. The result is jarring and far more subversive than the original. Again, DM pose the threat. This is the promise.

The Cure turn "World in my Eyes" into a strange middle-eastern number. As usual, Robert's inflections are sublime. I get closer to swooning every time I hear it. It is starting to have a similar effect on me to the Rammstein track.

Monster Magnet articulate the rage that is implied in "Black Celebration". They also brings forth a tasty dose of machismo with the Phil Lynott/Thin Lizzy vocals that build in intensity over the course of the track. It is heavy, sexy and very direct. Somehow, I imagine that their "Black Celebration" is going to involve debilitating alcohol abuse and varioius criminal activities. The original made me wish desperately for a black mass held in the forest. Monster Magnet doesn't get that, but they've at least got naked sororiety sisters dancing about a fire and that is good enough.

The Deftones shoud have amended the title of their track to "To Have and to Hold (under the water). It is dark, supremely spooky and perfect for those long jaunts alone into the woods. It reminds me of Tool somewhat, and Metallica, oddly enough.

Of the rest of the bands, I like Gus Gus and the Smashing Pumpkins a bit. Dishwalla is alright but becomes less the more I hear it. The only tracks that are completely reprehensible are by Varuca Salt, Apollo 440, and Self. Skip those every time.

Overall, this compilation features tracks by several bands not intent on just copying the master. The result is a pretty good album overall.

Katakuri-ke no kôfuku is an exceedingly inventive and entertaining film that exploits a wide range of film techniques to often stunning effect. For quite a bit of this film, it looks and feeis very much like Peter Greenaway's "Drowning by Numbers". Director Takashi Miike goes way over the top to create an emotionally rich and deeply sentimental portrait of the spirit of love.

Overall, the musical numbers lift this film into a strange and magical realm. Songs about rotting corpses and romantic longing are perfectly compatible. The film exists in a perpetual dreamlike state that is quite intoxicating. The whole film is romantic--from the longing to run a mountain guesthouse as a family to Shizue's longing for love in the guise of a conman (Kiyoshiro Imawano).

I must admit to spending quite a bit of the film swooning over the heavenly Naomi Nishida, who plays the lovelorn Shizue. She's exquisite--sort of a cross between a young Mia Farrow and Delphine Seyrig. The rest of the cast is quite good as well. Although this isn't a film made by the acting, necessarily, the performances are all expertly utilized and fit into the film's overall structure.

It really is an insane romp in this film. Bodies pile up and they must be disposed. This film alternates between being scary, gross, hilarious, heartwarming, goofy, philosophical, demented, sick, melodramatic, effervescent, ribald, and crude. The songs are lovely and the sentiments are tender and sweet. This is a family that is seeting with potentially devestating chaos just under the surface. Instead of celebrating the dysfunctional aspects, this film focuses on the commonalities that serve as inspiration for the family members in their quest for a happy life. The overall result is delightful, despite and maybe because of the all-singing, all dancing zombies.

I finally understand why I consider this show so utterly underwhelming: Ben Stiller. I agree that he does quite a few decent impersonations--but he is pitifully incapable of doing anything but gag comedy. The funniest moments have little or nothing to do with Stiller. Since seeing him flounder in "Permanent Midnight", I have recognized how limited he is. Now that he's strung together a series of hits, I can only hope he does the only smart thing and gets himself hooked on pain medication so that he bloats up and can no longer work.

In just about every sketch, the joke falls flat after a few seconds. Thereafter, it is possible to find humour only by focusing on the individual performances. Bob Odenkirk, Andy Dick, and Janeane Garofalo are brilliant in the 'Amish Dating Game' sketch but the sketch itself is lame. Again, Dick and Odenkirk are hilarious in the 'Melrose Heights' sketch but the sketch is criminally loathsome. With the exception of Bobcat and Colin Quinn, the guest host thing is mind-numbingly awful. The Skank sketch is a terrible idea repeated half a dozen times over the course of the show. And Stiller makes a horrifically bland Bono and a simply unfathomable Springsteen. And, oh yeah, his Oliver Stone is excrementitious and annoying.

The only truly brilliant sketch is the Manson Lassie bit. That is funny primarily because Bob Odenkirk is simply inspired as Manson. He nails the Charlie we all have in our heads. It is by far the most sophisticated impersonation of the series. Stiller's Anthony Robbins is almost good but relies on sight gags that are funny for about 5 seconds. Also, the premise of that sketch is unappealing and obvious. It doesn't seem to satirize Robbins as much as attempt to ridicule him. That sketch is typical of most of Stiller's work in front of the camera during this series. Once the novelty wears off of Stiller doing Bono or any of the others, it becomes painful to continue watching him desecrate the persona of the individual being satirized/skewered. He just isn't nuanced enough to make them memorable (not to mention, funny).

I would love to see a sketch comedy show with Andy Dick and Bob Odenkirk. I've been a big fan of Dick's for quite some time and I am just now waking up to the god-like genius of Odenkirk. I have always felt that Janeane Garofalo has the potential to be a fine serious actor.

I know that Bob Odenkirk wrote for this show along with his "Mr. Show" accomplice, David Cross. If Cross had replaced Stiller, this damn show would still be on. But, as it is, it got yanked after one season. Perhaps the show could have gained some legs and turned into something consistenly brilliant. We'll never know. Instead, we get Ben Stiller's ugly mug to look at in some cretinous comedy every three months. Thank the Lord for small mercies.

The "Kill Doug Szathkey" sketch features Dick anad Odenkirk without Stiller and is excellent. Well, at least the performances of Dick and Odenkirk are great. The sketch is basically dismal. As is the "Pig Latin Lover" travesty. Buckwheat sang love songs on SNL years back and that was funny. This is vile. God, Stiller's impersonations leave no room for anything but Stiller. Certainly, not comedy. He was blessed to have such an inspired cast. Otherwise, there would be nothing of interest here. Nothing except for things like "Jake Steel, Marionette Cop"--that is short, provocative and doesn't feature Ben Stiller.

The bottom line is that Stiller is massive and the rest of the talent associated with this show are not. If there was any Justice in this world, Stiller would be making grade z flicks with monkeys and children while the rest of the cast would all be top box office draws fully capable of carrying major films with their name alone. I believe that Stiller is so big primarily because the universe is a very unfair and cold place that rewards plastic simplicity and moronic narcissism over talent and quality.

This film seems to suggest a Woody Allen in his decadent phase. Throughout his long career, he has played opposite a series of brilliant actresses of varying ages. At first, the sight of Debra Messing playing house with Woody in this film is unsettling at best. At worst it illustrates the master filmmakers obsessive and pathetic need to present himself as a viable Romantic-type lead still capable of nailing hot, young chicks. The real problem is that there are very few male leads who Allen can vicariously express his peculiar brand of neurotic narcissistic angst through. We are left with Woody--who still manages to project just enough frail believability so that the story can move on from a rather implausible yet not impossible beginning.

Woody plays a once-great filmmaker, Val Waxman. He's everything a Woody character should be: hypochondriac, paranoid, bitter and caustic. At the start of the film, he's up in Toronto filming a commercial that is very much beneath his stature. The film centers around a basic premise: Val's ex-wife, Ellie, (Téa Leoni) has decided that he is perfect to direct the screenplay she has just finished for her new boyfriend Hal Jaeger's studio. The conflicts are obvious and ripe for comedic exploitation that never really materializes. The tensions between Val and Hal (his new boss and the man who stole his wife) do not exist. Although there are many fine performances, there is little chemistry on screen. Téa Leoni is fabulous, but the screentime she shares with Woody has no fire. There is nothing between the two actors that suggests the supposedly tulmultuous past of the characters. Debra Messing is equally great as Val's latest flame, but she's stuck with an extremely limited role and isn't integral to the plot whatsoever.

Indeed, the plot meanders for quite a while and eventually devolves into a long, torturous episode involving Val's psychosomatic blindess and his attempts to hide it from everyone associated with the studio. Everything else is fitted into that basic premise. It allows for Val and Ellie to spend quite a bit of time together, although the pairing is nothing of note and comes off as rather superfluous to the story as a whole. The bottom line is that this film has no soul. It isn't worthy of Woody Allen at his best and wastes a talented cast.

This novel demonstrates the importance for all men to have a working relationship with their regenerative organs. The dystopia Berger describes is a hilarious and terrifying societal order where biology is given the same treatment as all young boys having their cherries popped by lecherous women on the prowl for hot boy meat. All the inversions are great: gender roles are reversed, boys wear silly little underthings, blush, fret over the color of their toenails, bitch like drag queens, and girls are raised to be tough, mean, and aggressive. Girls play with guns, join the army, kill people. Boys play with their Kitty Carry-All dollies, and are prized for their pretty features and gaity. But apparantly all the boys grow up straight. Homosexuality is something of a myth. Buggery, however, is all too real.

The upshot of all this is a society where women rule everything. But they can only do so because they've ostensibly created a system that denies a man a working relationship with his "original" tool. Boys never learn what their willies are FOR. They are told a pack of lies about sex. They grow up hating their organ and its hideous accomplices. If they complain too loudly, they are frequently threatened with the knife. There are plenty of eunichs around to serve as examples of what the wrong attitude can mean for a boy.

The women of this world have only taken on the superficial characterists of men. Still, they aren't men. They are as much parodies of men as the men are of women. They must use dildos on their boy-slaves in order to luxuriate in their absolute domination of them. Sex is presented as power. Specifically, the penis is power. Women, no matter what they do to attempt to mimic stereotypical masculinity--will never have the true psychological advantage that is manifested through a synchronicity between the male's brain and his red headed stranger.

Of course, feminists can tear this book to shreds. It would probably be a whole lot of fun, actually. It totally mocks feminism with an unrestrained glee. However, it clearly celebrates liberation for both men and women--a return to the biological imperatives that each human in instilled with at birth. The horrorshow presented in this book is an illustration of the folly of any attempt to subvert nature and create a [wo]man-made utopia that can only be sustained through treachery and callous, hateful deceit. Nevertheless, our own world has certainly subjugated whole sets of peoples for various reasons throughout history. So much that is in this book is most powerful because it rings so true.

This film is an excellent piece of anti-axis propaganda in the guise of a hilarious satire of totalitarianism. Chaplin portays two characters who's resemblance to one another is merely coincidental. One is a Adenoid Hynkel, dictator of Tomania with a jewish name, the other a Jewish barber with impeccable instincts for sussing out trouble. Overall, "The Great Dictator" attempts to demonstrate the idiocy of war. By turning the key players into buffoons, it portays the war machine as a circus. This film is much more than a lampoon of the Nazis, however. The silliest characature of all is of Benito Mussolini. Jack Oakie's portrayal of the Dictator of Bacteria, Benzino Napaloni, is the highlight of the film. He's like a stereotype of one of those "larger-than-life" tourists who bluster with absolute authority wherever he goes. It is really hard not to picture him in the loudest hawaiian shirt know to man. It is really obscenely funny. The interaction between the two dictators provides the most sustained lunacy in the film. Their attempts to one-up one another are just brilliant.

"The Great Dictator" does have an extremely serious side. There is an attempt to portray the plight of the displaced Jews with care and much pathos. It works, more or less. The Jewish Ghetto is given enough attention that the viewer develops a connection with them as they attempt to get on with their lives. Maurice Moscovitch as Mr. Jaeckel is particularly effective. Paulette Goddard plays Hannah as a rather dim, dreamy stumblebum. She's cute, but occasionally annoying. Sometimes, it feels like Chaplin has transported Hannah back to the Wizard of Oz--she speaks in that same half-whimpering, dreamy manner as Judy Garland's Dorothy.

Finally, this film certainly transcends any single political agenda. The only agenda one can associate with it is the aim to bring laughter to a world torn asunder by the vagaries of milatary posturings. It seems telling (to me, at least), that Adolf Hitler viewed this film twice. I have always been curious as to what his thoughts were on this total classic send-up of the great men of the Blood-Axis in their own time. Perhaps by the end of the first viewing, he perceived that Mussolini got the worst of it. Then he watched it again--this time with pleasure. If you can't laugh at yourself...

These three short films, loosely adapted from stories by Poe, are all packed with stunning landscape and exquisite set design. However, only Fellini's film manages to create a story worth retelling in its own right.

The first film is Roger Vadim's "Metzengerstein". The best thing I can say about it is that the gorgeous horse was the most effective actor in it. He knew his lines, and nodded when appropriate. Jane Fonda plays Contessa Frederica, an occasionally sadistic libertine who develops a passionate romantic attachment to the aformentioned horse. She is wondefully cruel and gorgeous, making the most out of some truly inspired little outfits. The segment is filmed by Claude Renoir, who captures some stunning images breathtaking beauty. Again, the scenes with the horse galloping and cavorting with Frederica are rather intoxicating. The story itself, however, is sacrificed on the alters of atmosphere and aesthetics. The end result is a very empty film.

Louis Malle's "William Wilson" basically has two really excellent scenes that make this worth watching. The first is a simple send-up of an autopsy. Wilson is demonstrating for his fellow Medical School classmates, the proper introductory procedure for performing an autopsy. Except, where his instructor had used the corpse of an old man--Wilson had bound a lovely, living lass and is preparing to dissect her. The other great scene involves Brigitte Bardot. Throughout this film, Bardot is unflatteringly coiffed in a black wig that is pulled back in a rather schoomarmish fashion. Her eyes are seductive, but she doesn't demand the kind of camera worship she has so often received in other films. However, the hair comes down and Bardot is soon being subjected to Wilson's birch rod. Her face, hair, and the slashes on her back are aesthetically quite sublime. Alain Delon is fair in the title role, but he lacks any real charisma. Between him and his doppelganger, I think they both possessed nearly as much charisma as the horse in Vadim's film. Overall, this film also sacrifices its story to the look of the film. The end is rather intense and powerful in its own right, but it lacks significance because the story itself isn't carried forth with any conviction or authority.

Terence Stamp is Toby Dammitt in the final film, directed by Federico Fellini. He really does an outstanding job looking washed out, confused, sick, drunk, and completely at the end of his tether. The film itself is phenomenal. It is by far the most absurdist and melancholy of the three films. In this adaptation of Poe's story, "Never Bet the Devil Your Head", Toby is jaundiced with everything possibly gained by fame in this life. He seems to represent the insidious truth of fame. He is also haunted by a sweet little girl in white, bouncing a big white ball. The scenes relating to her are the best, in my opinion. She is a sylph with terrible symbolic power. What does the ball mean? Why is she so demonstrably joyful? She can be read as pure and active--a regenerative force that is the impetus for new life. She certainly is spooky and charged with energy. She is clearly something that Toby's psyche cannot accept. Ultimately, the viewer is made privy to a series of associations in Toby's mind that help us understand his relationship with the little girl. But we are not made aware of her exact role in his downward spiral. It is impossible to fully convey the magic that Fellini captures with this film. From start to finish, there is a typically "Felliniesque" hyper-surrealism that transports the viewer into another dimension. This is the only film of the three that manages the rather daunting feats of transcendence and cinematic art. Nino Rota's score is haunting and hypnotic throughout. An absolute masterpiece overall.

Tala! Det är så mörkt uses a chance meeting between a Jewish therapist and a wounded skinhead to illustrate the complexities of hate and movements which are fueled by its latent explosiveness. The story is simple. Sören (Simon Norrthon) is a Swedish youth who identifies with skinhead culture. Violence is his favourite way of communicating. As played by Norrthon, Sören projects a tangled web of confusion, fear, hatred, and menace. Along with Ryan Gosling's performance in "the Believer", this is a superb portrayal of racist pscychology.

Sören is initially running from his own gang. He takes refuge on a train and meets Jacob (Etienne Glaser), a kindly Jewish doctor who helps Sören and provides his card--stating that they boy should come and see him the next day. The rest of the movie is made up mostly of conversations bewteen the two. Discussions center around hatred, immigration, racism, and the role of the parental unit in fostering violence in children. Flashbacks give us images of Jacob's tortured youth. The intensity of some of the scenes between the two is spellbinding. Norrthon is simply demonic in his mannerisms. He's so manic and physical--he must always keep his body active during the meetings with the doctor. To me, this suggests an animality that is not properly contained. It isn't under control, something that Sören fears most of all. One is never quite certain if and when he might go off and do something truly terrible. Norrthon is so dynamic and arresting that he brings a kind of erotic aestheticsm to his performance that cannot be dismissed.

I like this film because it's agenda is subtly effective and doesn't interfere with the story. It is clear that skinhead violence is portrayed pejoratively, but the filmmakers seem more interested in presenting a study of the intricate psychological forces that have influenced the international neo-nazi/fascist uprising amongst the youth. Sweden is just one country that has been affected by the inevitable backlash by various groups against policies of increased immigration.

Ultimately, there are no cheap solutions offered in this film. There are debates about the factuality of the Holocaust--a most thorny subject, for sure. Yet, the film doesn't dwell on this obvious point of contention between the young Nazi, who identifies with cleanliness and order, and the Jewish doctor, who fled Nazi Germany as a boy. His boat came to Sweden and so he bacame Swedish. This is something that Sören respects, after a fashion. It is all the other filthy, dangerous immigrants who are the real problem facing a once racially pure Sweden.

5/5

These songs are far from depressing. They are evocative, threatening, and they always fill me with light. Granted, they are savage and sparse. They aren't pop songs for happy little people to hum around the water cooler. Most obsessives of Nico have a bit of experience with dark, desperate modes of being. Hell, who doesn't? She isn't a camp picnic for most folks because...well, I don't know why, exactly. Her voice is often majestic and pure. Her lyrics are quite poetic and wonderfully strange. I understand that hers is the number one most requested music at birthday parties for those under 6. That may be just hearsay, though. I dunno.

"It Has Not Taken Long" has the sounds of scraping knives throughout. It is creepy and makes me think of what purpose those knives are meant to be put to. Her lyrics are documents. They evoke circumstances. There is history in her utterances--the kind with carnage and sacrifice. Nothing is watered down.

Eno and Cale bring plenty of sorcery to these songs. "You Forgot To Answer" envelops me in a sublime melancholy that is perfectly intoxicating. "The End" is supremely terrifying--but so are "We've Got the Gold" and "The Valley of the Kings". There is just something about Phil Manzanera's guitar, Eno's spooky keepboard effects, Nico's harmonium/voice, and Cale's percussion on "We've Got the Gold" above all. It all comes together for me and it is menacing and gorgeous.

All the main characters are hilarious send-ups of types. Indeed, they are the farcical extreme of lots that were too common in Thatcher's England in the early '80's. The show also manages to use racial stereotypes for comic fodder. It really plays around with fear and the tenuous nature of identity. Well, Vyv and Mike are pretty solid--but Rick and Neil are soft little girlie blouses blowin' in the wind. There was no place for them back then. Unfortunately, they are all to prevelant in our own social climate. Thank you Margaret Thatcher! Of course, she's got nothing to do with the jellofication of our political system. Right?

OIL

This one is brilliant. Mike turns into Kim Jong II and forces the lads to mine the oil that Vyv has says is in the basement. The best part is Vyv--who turns into a bullyboy to keep the pathetic ladies' blouses of the house in line. Rick and Neil spend most the episode under Mike's boot. Then Rick stages a benefit concert for the opressed working classes of the house (Neil). Alexei Sayle sings a promo for Dr. Marten's (crap) boots with Radical Posture in the drawing room. Rick is sickened by the mass commericialization of the performance.

BORING

The boys try anything to stave off the black pangs of boredom. They play Vyv's new souped-up version of Monopoly where many of the answers are ammended to include doing something horrible to Rick. Neil digs his own grave in preperation for his big exit. Goldilocks and the three bears visit and are naturally bored.

FLOOD

Vyv reads the classic 'SS Death Camp Criminal Battalion go to Monte Casino for the Massacre'. Later, he falls into the secret world of Narnia and is nearly capsized by the Wicked Witch before locating the exit back to the cellar. Alexei Sayle plays Jerzei the landlord who drinks from the Coke Can Vyv has filled with a potion that turns people into axe-wieiding homocidal maniacs. He too winds up wandering around Narnia before finding the exit back to the cellar. He then grabs himself an axe and terrorizes the boys.