ae era me

 

Four Rooms

by Trent Ernst.

For all those people who didn’t catch the drift with Destiny
Turns On the Radio, let me reiterate; Quentin Tarintino is not
infallible.

For proof, look no further than
Four Rooms, the latest offering from
Tarintino and three of his director
friends, Allison Anders, Alexandre
Rockwell and Robert Rodriguez.

Of the three, People will be most
familiar with Rodriguez, whose El
Mariachi is a cult favorite, and whose
stylish, bloody Desperado found
commercial success last summer.

The film revolves around Ted the
bell-hop (Tim Roth, whose
performance evokes a Python-era Eric
Idle with shades of Mr. Bean), who
has to deal with the odd-ball guests of
a prestigious hotel, 30 years past its
prime. The film is divided into four
segments (hence the title of the film),
with each segment directed by a different director. Each segment
stands as an almost distinct piece of work. Therein lies part of the
problem. There is little or no coherency between segments. This
movie barely holds together as a movie. It feels more like watching
two hours of TV sitcoms than a movie.

If we can’t judge the movie as a whole, we can look at the
component parts. Allison Anders is the first director up to bat, with
the tale of a coven of witches holding their annual rites in the
honeymoon suite of the hotel. They are trying to save their “goddess”
(a stripper named Diana) who was turned to stone on her wedding

 

     
      
   

night back in the 1950’s. The segment includes some really campy
special effects and some gratuitous nudity, but is ultimately pointless.
‘The Wrong Man’, directed by Alexandre Rockwell almost lives
up to the movies billing as a comedy. Ted the bell-hop delivers a
bucket of ice to the wrong room and winds up involved in a deranged
domestic dispute. Husband Sigfried (David Proval) thinks that Ted
has been having an affair with wife Angela (Jennifer Beales - Hey!
She’s actually doing something other than Flashdance!). There are
some funny moments (Tim
Roth’s “My name is not
Theodore” rant is a stand out),
but in the end, it is as hollow and
pointless as the previous piece.
Robert Rodriguez’s ‘The
Misbehavors’ is by far the best
of the bunch, which isn’t saying
much. Ganster father (Antonio
Bandaras, surprise, surprise) and
beautiful mother (Tamlyn
Tomita) go out for a night on the
town leaving 12 year old Sarah
and 6 year old Juancho in Ted’s
unwilling charge. A simple
variation on the “children from
hell” theme, but taken to
4 ridiculous extremes.
As for Tarintino’s segment, he one-hands it throughout. Not
only does he direct the segment, but he feels compelled to star in it

~as well. Unfortunate, because as an actor, Tarintino can’t support a

role that lasts longer than two or three minutes. His cameos are great,
but once his characters needs character, look out. Some occasionally
good dialogue (this is Tarintino, after all), but the segment only
becomes interesting in the last two minutes. I, for one, do not need
to watch Tarintino wank for half an hour.

Bottom line? Catch this one at a two-dollar theatre. Maybe then
you’ ll get your money’s worth. But I doubt it.

January 10, 1996

Twelve Monkeys

by Darin Clisby

~ Not your typical apocalyptic/time travel kind of movie. That is
for sure. Think the Terminator and Eco Terrorists or CNN meets the
Twilight Zone.

Here is the premise (don’t read if you like secrets): A virus
destroys virtually the entire human population of the earth. Future
society moves underground to escape further contamination.
“Volunteer” time travelers (who are also convicts) go into the past to
research the virus’ origins in order to find a cure or end the threat.

Now here is an interesting bit in the movie...we are the species
that is threatened with extinction. Animals rule the world. Interesting
juxtaposition here, neh?

Ha ha...take that humanity!

And the Twelve Monkeys? Well, I’m not going into all that.

As far as placing the movies categorically - impossible! It does
not fit into a category. It is filled with subtle surrealism, flash backs,
insanity, sudden violence (animalistic and territorial) and images of
man’s primitivism within civilization.

It’s a good flick. Go see it and talk it over with your friends
over a hot cup of cappuccino. Keep the earth clean.

 

 

Mack 10
Muck 10
P. . it Vi e
Mack 10 is one bad muthafucka, or so he would have us believe.

His line seems straight-up — he runs with Ice Cube, which in itself
is sort of a rubber stamp of gangsta authenticity. But at the same

.time, Mr. 10 seems a little too eager to let everyone know about the

company he keeps.

Nothing overly original here lyrically, Mack 10 is basically
towing the party line laid down by early gangsta rappers (NWA,
Geto Boys, etc.), rapping about guns, drugs, bitches and niggas. Some
would argue that the whole gangsta “movement” is about painting a
picture of life as it really is in neighbourhoods such as Compton and
Inglewood, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s something more
behind all of the bitch-dissin’ and nigga-killin’.

A line from a Channel Live tune, ‘What! (Cause and Effect),’
comes to mind:

So stop the nigga/bitch, yo, what’s up with that dis?

I'll tell you what’s up. Six-figure record deals are up and gangsta
rappers are grabbing them, cashing in on the public demand for

tabloid rap. The sad thing here isn’t so much that guys like Mack 10 and Ice Cube are glorifying the guns, drugs and misogyny characteristic

of the inner city gangsta lifestyle, but that the public is eating it up.

If you’ve got no beef with gangsta rap, this is a fine disc full of fat beats, minimalist funk guitar, 70s synth sounds and cleanly executed
raps. If you’ve got an aversion to guns, drugs, death and misogyny, you’d best stay away from this one.

by Kevin Sallows

Tone
Brand New lunatics
Soul Purpose

This is their first album. It feels as though the vocalist and the rest of the
group are off in two separate directions. Hopefully they’ll muster some unity as they
work together more.

Vocalist Jen Hershman has stolen her banshee wail from National Velvet.
There is bass and guitar abuse that could easily drown itself in hard music excess.
Dreamscape imagrey and lyrics that, well, I can’t figure them out, and no one was
considerate enough to include liner notes, so all I can tell you is that each song has a
kuel title, such as ‘This is not about a relationship’ and ‘Revenge of the Average
Apartment Renter.’ Actually, I am exaggerating, the lyrics are decipherable, but outside
the bit of art known as the song they make little sense. Each composition is a bit of
musical excess, welcome to it.

‘They opened for Our Lady Peace not too long ago. I have no idea how that went, haven’t heard anything about it yet. Not that I’m
endorsing anyone’s opinion but my own, but keep your ear to the ground.
Or you could watch Much, they’ve got a video for ‘Waters be Still.’ Hell, request it.

by Joyce Robinson

 

Pink Floyd
Pals

The wide-market release of Pink Floyd’s Pulse is out, and the
big difference between it and the limited edition is this one doesn’t
have the flashing light on the cover. C’est la guerre.

Listening to Pulse is a bit like walking through a forest covered
in varnish - you know there is something beautiful there that was
once alive, but now it is glossy and missing the vitality that made it
so special in the first place.

Blame it on Roger Waters, the genius behind The Wall and Dark
Side of the Moon, the big staples in the Floyd library. Waters left
Floyd in the early eighties, and the band hasn’t been the same since.
Instead of a band constantly reinventing itself, keeping itself fresh,
Floyd became a band trying to recapture its former glory ever since.

Don’t believe me? Then riddle me this. Why is Dark Side of the
Moon, the biggest selling album of all time, repeated in its entirety
on Pulse? Can you say “Marketing?” I knew you could.

Dave Gilmour, who took over as frontman for Floyd after the
departure of Waters does an adequate job of leading the band.
However, he lacks the driving passion of Waters, and his singing
can be grating at times. (He just can’t hit those high notes.)

There are some nice moments on Pulse (it is Pink Floyd, after
all), but it is tough not to interpret this album as Gilmour and Co.
milking the cash cow once more.

by Trent Ernst