All Things Wise
and Wonderful

Here are more excerpts from Deborah Curtis's Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division (1995). Click here for part two.

The experience of being Joy Division was really, really funny
and up, and the whole thing's been coloured by Ian. But we
weren't a deep, heavy band, which no one will ever see. No
records will show that; no films, videos, or anything will
ever show that. We used to have a right good laugh.
-- Bernard "Barney" Sumner, Joy Division/New Order

Barney and him [Ian] used to disappear and swan about like two
fucking fairies. I remember going up to Barney one night, getting
hold of him (the next band were on stage; he'd fucked off with Sue
for a drink somewhere) and saying, "You better go and get your
amp off stage." And he said, "Where is it?" The next fucking band
were on and I'd left his amp on stage. I said, "I'm not fucking lifting
your amp, you cunt, you can do it your fucking self."

To their credit, it doesn't really matter, neither of them had much
realism. I mean, Barney's really creative in the way that Ian was
and maybe that's the effect it has on you. I used to be a bit different,
a bit more realistic. There's a very fine line between being artistic
and being a dickead—it's like love and hate.
-- Peter "Hooky" Hook, Joy Division/New Order



Endnote: I've been trying to excavate revealing details unlikely to make it into Anton Corbijn's biopic—at least not in the literal sense—although Michael Winterbottom's surrealistic depiction of Curtis's death in 24-Hour Party People is surprisingly accurate. He really did watch Werner Herzog's Strozsek before taking his life.

Deborah describes it as a "film about a European living in America who kills himself rather than choose between two women." Ian was torn between his British wife and his Belgian mistress, Annik Honoré. Deborah adds, "The last line of the film talks of a dead man in the cable car and the chicken still dancing, which is why the run-offs to Still include 'The chicken won't stop,' 'The chicken stops here,' and chicken footprints walking between the grooves."

The last record Ian ever played? Iggy Pop's The Idiot,
which was still spinning when his body was recovered.
Band photo from Google Images. Click here for part four.

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All Creatures
Great and Small

Here's another excerpt
from Deborah Curtis's Touching From a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division (1995). Click
here for part one (Deborah and Ian get a dog).

*****

Sadly our dog had become a costly luxury. Owing to our lack of funds, even Candy wasn't getting proper food and her fur had begun to fall out. As Ian was away so much I was faced with the dilemma of needing to walk her at night-time and not wanting to leave Natalie alone in the house while I did this. Sometimes, my parents were able to help out, but eventually they offered to find somewhere else for Candy to live. Ian was very distressed at this suggestion, though it didn't persuade him to come home any more often. My discovery that he carried photographs of Candy around, rather than photographs of his wife and child, made me realize how foolish I had been to carry on running his home. I knew Ian would be upset to hear that Candy had gone, but thought it cruel to keep an animal we could no longer afford to feed. Ian had ceased to make any contribution to her care and did not want to discuss or understand the problems I was having. A place was found for her on a farm in Rochdale and my parents drove her there so that I would not have to say goodbye.



Endnote: Control opens in Seattle on 10/19. Deborah is played by Samantha Morton, Ian is played by Sam Riley (who portrayed Mark E. Smith in 24-Hour Party People). Image from The Guardian. Click the link for Peter Bradshaw's review. As he notes, "Corbijn's movie is shot in a stunning high-contrast monochrome, perversely turning Macclesfield's grimness into grandeur. It effortlessly revives a British cinematic style that you might call beautiful realism, reaching back to Christopher Petit's Radio On, and further back to Tony Richardson's The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner and A Taste of Honey." Click here for part three.

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Revenge of the Nerds

The following comes
from Jeanette Catsoulis's
review of Dedication:

That weird exhalation you hear at the multiplex these days is the sound of female characters settling for less than they deserve. Following on the wildly successful antifeminist heels of Knocked
Up, Hollywood is falling over itself to introduce beautiful,
smart young women to useless, possibly brain-damaged
young men. Regular bathers need not apply.

And here's Joe Queenan's perspective on the phenomenon:

[T]he new genre of romantic comedies are not really
upbeat, coming-of-age motion pictures about young
male schmucks who are saved by the love of a good
woman, but heart-rending tragedies about beautiful
young women who are doomed to spend the rest of their
lives with juvenile, not especially good-looking dorks.

To Catsoulis I say: Sing it, sister!
Unlike Queenan, I didn't find Knocked Up to be misogynist—"If this offensive, misogynist nonsense is the future of cinema then we're in deep trouble"—but
I found the emasculated ending more dispiriting than inspiring. (As my friend Bill has noted, that incongruous aerial shot at the end suggests the couple is
on their way to the Overlook Hotel.)

Maybe "antifeminist" is a bit much, but Catsoulis has a point.
And I'm glad she made it, but Queenan's addition is crucial.
These women appear to be settling for less than they deserve,
but so many of these rom-coms—Dedication included—argue that the love of a good woman can turn a sadsack into a winner. It's a conclusion meant to please both genders. The lonely gal
finds a mate, the pathetic guy becomes an upstanding citizen.

Sure, people can change, but these movies make it look too simple, and change happens too fast—at least When Harry
Met Sally spent a few years with its central duo. This new breed also suggests that women who can't transform their menfolk
are failures. Women already have enough to worry about.

Hence, I prefer movies about people—regardless of gender or sexual orientation—who find partners just as screwed up as themselves. Assuming they can't make things work, they extract themselves from the situation, learn from the experience, and eventually find someone more deserving. Or they grow into maturity together. Ah, but I guess that isn't quite so "funny."

Queenan has some more great quotes about Knocked Up:

This is a film for teenage
boys who dream of growing up to be teenage men.

The point it purports to
make is that men do not grow up until they have children, and maybe not even then.

Amazingly, neither party ever seriously considers the
highly attractive option of abortion, which may be a
sign that the anti-abortion movement is gathering strength
in Hollywood, or may simply result from a realisation
that abortion makes a poor subject for a comedy (puking
and watching women on the toilet is fine, though).

And finally:

I think women need to start their own
film industry: this one isn't working.

Sing it, brother!

Click here for part two

Endnote: Y'know, I kinda like Billy Crudup's performance
in Dedication, and I like Justin Theroux's direction, too.
David Bromberg's script also has some clever lines—it's the everything's-gonna-be-okay conclusion I don't buy (with a character as fucked up as Henry, things may never be "okay").

But I prefer it to Knocked Up. Not because it's a better movie—it's downright dour in comparison—but because the ending doesn't posit a complete transformation for its protagonist. Henry learns how to love, and that's great, but we don't know for certain that any he's less neurotic than before. Dedication opens in Seattle on 9/14. Video from YouTube, images from Google Images.

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September Song

These are the reviews
and other assignments
I'm working on this month.

Amazon DVDs: My Name
Is Earl - Season 2 [four-disc set]
(click here for my review of season
one), Boston Legal - Season Three [seven-disc set], Upright Citizen's Brigade - The Complete Second Season [two-disc set], and A
Few Days in September (John Turturro stalks Juliette Binoche).

Amazon Theatricals: Dedication (Justin Theroux
directs Billy Crudup and Mandy Moore), The Hottest
State (Ethan Hawke adapts his novel), The Hunting Party
(Richard Gere and Terrence Howard), and Fierce People
(Griffin Dunne directs Donald Sutherland and Diane Lane).

[September is turning out to be a busy month for actor/directors.]

Resonance Books: Pascal Blanchet - White Rapids.

Siffblog: Mala Noche (Gus Van Sant's debut), My Brother's Wedding (Charles Burnett's follow-up to Killer of Sheep),
Hannah Takes the Stairs (Joe Swanberg's follow-up to
LOL), and an updated version of Mutual Appreciation.



Endnote: Several artists have released albums
under the title September Song, including Chet
Baker and Jimmy Durante. Image from Unfinished.

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All Things Bright and Beautiful

I've been reading Deborah Curtis's Touching From a Distance:
Ian Curtis and Joy Division
(1995) in preparation for Anton Corbijn's adaptation Control.
Here's my favorite non-musical bit:

When Ian finished work that evening,
we drove up into the hills to Windyway Kennels, the local animal sanctuary. A litter of chubby Border collies
was just about ready to find new homes, and we chose a friendly but frisky female. Ian named her Candy, after the Velvet Underground song 'Candy Says,' and was so delighted with her that I wondered why we hadn’t thought of having a dog before. While I took it upon myself to housetrain Candy and teach her to sit, Ian readily volunteered for the walkies. He never made any attempt to persuade her to walk to heel.
I can still see them together—a lanky young man being pulled along,
arm outstretched, by a panting, over-excited dog.



Endnote: Walkies—gotta love it. (I named my cat after VU guitarist Sterling Morrison.) Control opens in Seattle on 10/26.
It was produced by Curtis and Tony Wilson. Image from Joy
Division Central (photo by Philippe Carly). Click here for part two.

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Sunshine of Your Love

The Wildbirds,
Golden Daze, PRC/
Universal Republic

I want the world to adore me
I want the world for myself.
-- Wildbirds, "It's Alright Now"

Hailing from Appleton, WI, this former power-pop quartet serves up '70s rock in the vein of the Strokes and the Kings of Leon. It isn’t bad, but you've heard it before. You've seen it before, too: long hair, tight jeans, endless cigarettes. Then again, that sort of thing never goes out of style.

And just when you think you've got 'em sussed, the Wildbirds throw some mellotron into the mix. At first, I thought they were going for the Sunset Strip glam-garage of Faster Pussycat and friends (they recorded their first full-length in Hollywood), but "It's Alright Now" comes closer to Love or the Doors. They borrow tropes from both eras while bypassing the excesses. Golden Daze isn't metal or classic rock, but it isn't punk or alt-rock either.

So, they have something to offer everybody. Or nobody. Once upon
a time, people weren't sure how to classify the New York Dolls. They weren't glam, punk, or metal—they were all three. And they may be legends now, but they had a tough time making a living in the corporate rock '70s. Everything that could go wrong, did. Right music—wrong time.

The Wildbirds are hardly that original, but they're caught up in a similar conundrum—minus the wigs and the dresses—and the music world is more fractured than ever now, in terms of radio, press, etc., so I hesitate to predict whether they'll make it or not. Could go either way. Straight to the top...or down to the bottom.



Year Long Disaster, self-titled, Volcom Entertainment

What a burden: To be the son of Dave
Davies, co-founder of one of the greatest
rock bands of all time. I'm not sure I would wish that on my worst enemy.

At least Finn Andrews' father, Barry (XTC, Shriekback), isn't as famous.
And Elvis Perkins' father, Anthony (Psycho), is better known as an actor.

Naturally, Daniel Davies (guitar, vocals) fronts this Los Angeles power trio. And though he looks much like him, the American son sounds nothing like the British dad. No, think rougher around the edges: more Bon Scott than Bono.

As indicated by the butterfly-shaped "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" design on the front cover, Year Long Disaster's self-titled debut brings back the hard rock of the bellbottom days, and I don't mean the stadium stuff the Kinks were kicking out in the 1970s and '80s (Low Budget, Give the People What They Want, et al). If anything, this record is even more proto-metallic than Golden Daze.

For better or worse, YLD aren't the Kinks Jr.—more like Cream II. And like the Wildbirds, they're all right, but both groups pale beside that mighty Australian monolith known as Wolfmother, although I can easily imagine all three playing on the same bill.

If forced to choose, I'd opt for Wolfmother, because they take everything that much further: the sky-scraping afros, Frazetta-designed album cover (Flirting With Disaster!), etc. You could call it ironic, but I don't think they see it that way. I doubt Year Long Disaster do either.

And there you have it: The next generation in hard rock. Every iteration incrementally less original than the one before. If Year Long Disaster are in it for the long haul, they don't need to change—but to refine. To figure out a way to distinguish themselves from the pack. They've got the chops, but the tunes could be more memorable. What they need is an anthem. A "Smoke on the Water" as opposed to, say, a "Waterloo Sunset." Their future depends on it. Same for the lanky-haired lads above.





Endnote: You can visit Spin to download the Wildbirds' "421." For more information about Year Long Disaster, please click here. According to the press notes, the band is managed by Sebastian Robertson, son of Robbie Robertson, who gets a shout-out in the CD thank-yous (Daniel's father, Dave, is conspicuous by his absence). You can also catch them on tour with Turbonegro at Seattle's Showbox on 10/10. Images from PRC (Pat's Record Company), the Wildbirds MySpace Page (drummer Jon Jon Fries), ViewImages (Davies photo by Matthew Simmons/Getty Images), and Sugarbuzz Magazine (Michael Mullins credited).

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This Is England

BRITANNIA HOSPITAL
(Lindsay Anderson,
UK, 1981, 116 mins.)

My film may not be perfect—maybe it has too many ideas—but it is not drily intellectual. It presents to some extent a threat. It is subversive.
-- A director reflects

The general consensus about Lindsay Anderson's Britannia
Hospital is that it's the weakest link in the Mick Travis trilogy
that began with If... (1968) and O Lucky Man! (1973).

The first film, recent recipient of the Criterion treatment, following
a well received re-release, is considered the jewel in the crown. But despite the positive attention it's been attracting as of late, little mention has been made about Travis's other adventures.

I fell in love with If... and O Lucky Man right from the start,
and I'm grateful I got to experience both on the big screen
(I own the latter on video; I've now watched it twice).

They're very different movies, but both are, by turns, charming, hilarious, profane, and pissed-off. It's an odd combination that only a true original like Lindsay Anderson—with an assist from writer David Sherwin and actor Malcolm McDowell—could pull off.



I don't know if the first film's schoolboy in disgrace was based on McDowell, but the coffee salesman in O Lucky Man! was inspired by the itinerant life he led before his acting career took off—that's right, according to the DVD's informative interview, that means
18 months driving around rural England hawking beans. Brit-
annia Hospital marks a return to a more fictional scenario.

In this effort, considered a failure at the time, Travis has become
a reporter. By the end, he is no more. I picked up a copy in hopes
I would be pleasantly surprised, but I wasn't. This over-the-top satire is worth a look, but it's not what I would call a keeper.

For one thing, it has little to do with its predecessors. For
another, McDowell isn't the star; he's just one supporting player
among many, including Joan Plowright and Mark Hamill.



Britannia Hospital may lack a star, but it doesn't lack a
subject—Britain's broken healthcare system (and by ex-
tension, the entire Thatcher-led, royalty-obsessed country).

For that reason, it reminded me more of Cold Lazarus, The
Doctor, or The Barbarian Invasions than If... or O Lucky Man!

So, I found the movie interesting, entertaining, and even mildly
amusing, but that third-act descent into bloody Frankenstein-
style horror was a bit much. Anderson lost me there.

Fortunately, it wasn't his final film. That honor went to the Oscar-
nominated Whales of August (1987), which met with a more receptive audience, and I look forward to catching up with it.

In the meantime, I intend to add If... to my collection—and look forward to 10/23 when O Lucky Man! finally hits DVD. And don't forget about Alan Price's accompanying soundtrack. It's a pip!

Smile while you're makin' it
Laugh while you're takin' it
Even though you're fakin' it
Nobody's gonna know...
-- Alan Price, "Poor People"





Endnote: I apologize if you thought this review was going to be about the new Shane Meadows film. As it happens, I really enjoyed the ska-saturated This is England, which is set around the same time as Britannia Hospital (the early-1980s). Don't miss it. Opens at Seattle's Varsity Theater on 9/7. Click here and here for previews. Anderson portrait from Empty Mirror Films. Quote at the top comes from the same interview (© Guy Byrne 2002).

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