The Argo Prequel as experiment, not directed by Ben Affleck

I released KHOOBI in 2011 as my only effort under a Creative Commons banner (this is a whole other discussion).  It is a fiction.  Watch it because it was formed by humans.  Also, to ease that confirmation bias about THOSE people, because, not everybody are THOSE people.  

Full disclosure, I thought Benny Affleck did well with Argo.  Aside from what my mother called, “continuous long face”, his directing was wicked shhmmarttt.  The film was everything you hope for from Hollywood these days, and it delivered.  It was “cute”, but in the best and sincere usage of the word.  

I get certain criticisms from people about the film not being “Oscar Caliber”, although I disagree.   Have we so soon forgotten the Oscar selections?  

Our collective expectations of Hollywood are relatively low, and it’s hard to find fault with a completely competent film.  Calling the film, this year’s CRASH, is uninformed and emotional.  But, then again, that's not a fair assessment of CRASH either.  

Of course, in the the cinephile world, it’s hard to compete with Michael Haneke.  The sheer breadth of emotionality, structure, and attention to form in Amour is breathtaking.  And, Lincoln, although a talk fest, is a damn good film.    

In the end though, who cares?  Really.  Are we hung up on a contest of subjectivity?  Only time dictates greatness.  That’s societies true measure.  And, unfortunately, that takes time.  

the book versus the other plastics.

The book is old analog.  It's technology is without a doubt, one of the most important items in the human catalog.  

Books are the enablers.  The perfect informational passing device.

Almost always a perfect gift.

Books are not CD's.  Books are not DVD's.  Although, people love to include them in there analogies of the death of physical media.  

However, those forms were never necessary to the origins of their own particular media. Cinema needs other devices for transmission.  Music the same.  These forms always change. In many ways, and even with hard earned consumer consistency, they are not standalone.  How many music delivery systems have come and gone?  

The physicality of a book includes all of it.  The written word was always meant to be passed along, in it's final form.  it duplication is always scaleable.  Not from the beginning of course, but still, it could have been duplicated somehow, with errors, money and hard work.

And even though, the scalability of music and cinema can lend itself to other product forms, they will never be perfect.  Because its delivery origins are not seamless.  Music has always been a live format.  Cinema, was birthed in exhibition.  One ticket, one play.  No pause, reverse, repeat.

The book, in it's final physicality is the delivery.  It's a perfect system.  Yes, it can have an uglier digital counterpart, but it's essence is it's form.  And, only for environmental reasons would it ever go away.  

But, that CD you're holding, or that Criterion DVD you just bought, or that new XBOX game you stole, well, that's not going to be around.  So, build your collections now you geeks and nerds.  Show them off to your kids, who will marvel at that lo-fucking fidelity that you and I loved so much.

fear is....

that voice.  you’ve heard it.  no.  really?  it says things very quietly at first.

you might be riding a high, so, it’s hard to tell.  maybe it works too quick?

sit down, it might say.  sip on this water, you’re thirsty.  but, you think to yourself, “no, I’m absolutely not thirsty”.

the feeling starts deep.  in a cavity somewhere inside, a hole, straight down, all the way down, to China maybe.

you can almost reach down and touch it.  it loves amplification.  the echo last’s for hours, days and sometimes years.

and as it works itself up from the abyss, it reigns it's control.  spitting fire, turning the flesh and bone into the lizard it loves.

you’ve become primordial, etched in scales.

tongue and teeth, tail and eyes.  earth is lost, and so is sight.  

lizard brain = yolo

the games of chance.

​the game of chance.

clap on, clap off.

Disconnecting from the constant noise of popular existence is quite an undertaking these days.  When we unplug, the first reaction is an unnerving sort of anxiety.  Online is safe now, the status quo.

When you disconnect, you deal with the world, as real and mortal as it is.  People die in the real world.  People lose homes, and children and food, and rights.  But, our history was never virtual, and we got pretty good at it.

We are constantly watching TV now.  But, the platform has changed.  It’s no longer called TV.  And granted, we are in control of this new TV.  We pick the channels.   

However, most do not realize what this new freedom means.  And why their children are glued to phones, like the last generation was to television.  

More is not better.  Better is better. Better information, better entertainment, better knowledge and better systems.  As the saying goes, "Garbage in, garbage out."  

Often, when left to our own devices, we make the wrong choices.  Evolution is a son of a bitch.  And so is ignorance.

A+

A little closer.  A step in a direction.  A stumble.  A reaction.  A decision.  An attempt.​

a thank you to Roger Ebert.

I'm pretty sure everybody that has had, at the very least, a sliver of interest in the movies and the language of cinema has a story to share about Roger Ebert.  

Whether it was about influence, or insight, or passion, or disagreement, Roger Ebert was big time.  

He loved movies so much, that it's inconceivable to think of any figure in these modern times, to exhibit the same anti-cynicism and commitment to cinema.  Almost all of us are in a sort of ambivalent love affair with movies these days.  For all the never ending enthusiasm and commitment to reach higher, there is always the death knell, the Holy Motors sign off.  Which was quite convincing by the way (btw ya’lls).

Somehow, both views fit.  But, it is fitting and sad, that Ebert, along with the rest of the classicist have now passed.  These were figures of what can be now called, "the good old days".  And we can cherish that, because its history has been written.  A place exists for the past.  It has happened, and it was witnessed.  The future however, is always a place of uncertainty.  Anxiety is birthed from the unknown.  And humans, given a dose of evolutionary psychology, always feel mixed about that which cannot be controlled.

The beauty of Ebert was that the man always committed to passionate thinking.  He was not afraid.  Nor was he afraid to change his mind.  

At his older age, he became a king of new media. With twitter, he could troll with the best of them.  His stance against video games as art was legendary.  Here was a man, not afraid of the consequences of thought, nor its expression.  Nor was he scared of being bullied for thinking.

Bombarded by children angered by an opinion, he pressed forward with what I can only assume was a grin.  Remember is beef with Vincent Gallo.  The man didn't back down from insults.  A classic game of "yo momma".  And he did this with a smile.  That's respectable. That’s heart.  

And no other critic could circumnavigate the mainstream all the while, championing the independent quite like Ebert. Who will ever have that leverage?  Who will ever care enough?

What a sincere love of something.  It was poetic to witness.  RIP Roger Ebert and thank you.  My mother thanks you.  She loved you.  

See you at the movies; home theater actually, because we all know that's where this is all leading, right?

facebook mortality.

I detached myself from the plug of social media’s major milestone intuition a few days ago.  My feelings are still intact.  I assume they will be.  I was never that active on Mark's (enter the classic ironic name droppin' styles)  site anyways.

These tools of interaction are very psychological in nature.  Their success directly calls to mind Pavlov and his dogs, salivating for A LIKE.  

Facebook obliterates the past, and makes the future impossible.  It sticks you in the eternal now.  Now and forever.  Which, without sounding pedantic, is different than the Eastern philosophical version of THE NOW.

The paradox being is that if your time is always spent, monkey down on the phone, you are the antithesis of NOW in one sense, but stuck in NOWness, till infinity in the dull, uninspired, technosapien sense.

I'm glad I've detached.  I like to remember high school as it was, and not some fatter, older, and eternal version of it. Plus, I don't give a fuck about your kids. (not true, I do.  they are all, mostly, pretty cute)

gritty handheld style it is not, asshole.

After watching a recent Hollywood film lauded as one of the great achievements of the year (the year would be last), I did what I do when I can't seem to figure out the hype from the fact.  At the very least, my facts against mediocrity.

So, I turned into some reviews to hear the voice of the critic.  Now, I only do this after the movie.  Mostly, just to gauge the critical zeitgeist and maybe to pick up on points that I neglected, or tuned out possibly due to bias.  In fact, often, I want to be proved wrong.  I want to be moved to believe that the movie was a masterpiece and I was just being an asshole, or plainly, ignorant.

So, after flipping through a couple of these eloquent reviews, one phrase stood out from the rest, breathing fire into the cultural void of existence. "Gritty handheld style" was this very phrase.  

Everytime I read something so asinine, I want to stop and call out to my maker.  But the fact that this was repeated in no less then 5 reviews in back to back succession makes me think, that sometimes, people are in a haze of automation, devoid of anything critical, analytical, or imaginative.  

Gritty handheld style in this particular case was nothing at all gritty.  What the fuck does this describe?  Realism?  Well, in this particular case, not at all.  Does it describe fortitude or determination.  No.  50 million dollars with the best technical minds around making fiction never ever fucking equates to GRITTY.  Ever.  (well, actually, there are a couple cases historically.  this is not one.  and I'm assuming, the budget never crossed the 25million mark) 

What it does describe however, is that all these clowns picked up the same description from wherever the hell, like 10 years ago, and decided to use it again, and again, and again, and thus removing any descriptive quality about it, in favor of press releasing a review.  In today's language, this just fucking blows.

I call for an indefinite ban, and personal banishment for any hee-haw that uses the phrase, "gritty handheld style" to describe anything related to a film.  They can however, use it to describe their latest iphone video of there cat licking its nuts.  As long as the phone is not locked down on a tripod, and that it is in fact, gritty by definition.

sipping on that bullshit budweiser.

A scary thought has been buzzing through the brain of late.  I contemplate the poor condition of pop music.  Much too often.  Then, i try to forget the thought.  I rationalize this as older man talk.  That type of shit OLD people did when they talked about The Stones, or Chuck Berry, or Zeppelin, or The Clash.  Actually, did they talk about The Clash that way?  Fine, the Pistols, or Public Enemy.  Whatever.  Enter any rugged new style that scared the fucking cardigan wearing wiseman out his granny panties.

So, let’s traverse to modern day.  We are certainly in the post-post music era.  A little bit of this, a little bit of Dylan, mixed with what Prince did in 84, and a touch of that band nobody has heard of, and a dropping of The Cure.  Yeah, that's what's up.  Repeat with looks, repeat with style.  

But Pop is a little different.  It's always been.  We always whine about it.  At this point however, mainstream is ALL STREAM ALL THE TIME for most people.  From the Rhianna to the Chris Brown shit, to Lady Gaga doing the next level impersonation of Madonna, to Justin T, the easy to digest negative 10 MJ (whom I find totally harmless and interesting at least).  To the most asinine lyric writers on earth, and the multitude of studio tricks and disingenuous manufacturing of controversy to push a BRAND.

And, of course the semblance of what was once termed HIP HOP.  The form that is finally falling of the mainstream mountain that it's held for the last decade.  I don't even want to discuss the state of that form.  It's beyond repair for the most part, which is great.  From the ashes comes the voice.  Hopefully, some of these nimrods come to understand that rich Italian designers find it hilarious that some hood brother’s ultimate desire is to be buried in one of his stores.  I mean, what reach, what determination.  

Kool G Rap talked about being a gangsta.  So does Rick the character plagiarizer Ross.  But, so did NWA.  And, that had the same effect as punk rock.  It was a reaction.  Rick Ross is not a reaction towards anything.  Who is he rebelling against?  What is his skill?  Ghostface on the other hand, is a natural storyteller.  He is skilled at something.  He is a character of his creation.

But, coming back to my point.  Am I the grumpy old man whining about the horrid state of mainstream music?  Do i not get it?  Maybe, but to my defense, first, I'm not that old.  Second, mainstream pop is horrendous.  However, at the other end of the musical spectrum, people are releasing amazing music constantly.  The niche’s are being taken care of.  So, how does this happen?

The world has entered the REALITY TV REALITY, without even batting an eyelash.  It’s cool though, SHINE BRIGHT LIKE A DIAMOND ya’ll!

coffee vs juicers in space.

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​why must you betray coffee?

curiosity.

What drives us forward?  In our younger development, we were propelled towards things in large part, because of a little thing called curiosity.  The shapes, the sounds, the textures, the possibilities of the world elicited a feeling of amazement, and a need to find out.  It was a world of endless wonder.  Limitless in scope and full of options.  A simple turn of the head informed of new opportunities.  

Then we grew up.  John Cassavetes has an interesting quote about MAN when he turns of age, and in his time, it was around 23.  I can't recall it of the top of my head, and instead of accuracy, I will paraphrase for affect instead.  Basically, he says that people lose interest in discovery around their early twenties.  All that music that got you moving, or art, or literature, or movies that challenged you, or where worthy of further investigation, all gone.  You grew up.  You put on your 3 piece, and got on with life.  The pattern, set in stone.

But what happened to life?  Curiosity was exchanged for order.  It was sold to dogma.  In our time, this process happens a little later.  Maybe in your late twenties, but possibly into you're early thirties.  We give up our search, usually by blaming the lack of time.  

Now, of course priorities change.  You have a baby, we get married, we have a multitude of responsibilities.  Shit, you have to provide for yourself.  Something that our 16 year old, first world self’s usually didn’t bother with, nor fathom its complexity.  But, what happened to the search for wonder, amazement?  Where does it go?

Do we just crawl to our evolutionary predisposition?  Does biology dictate that curiosity is not of value anymore.  “I AM WHAT I AM”, we love to say, as if, cemented from the beginning of time.

Isn't that a counterintuitive remnant of our past human life?  And here, I inject blatant commercialism that might resinate, since millions of dollars where spent to get you to buy something, by first associating two very different things.  "Stay thirsty my friends."

​a light glistens.

space.

This little optical trick turned out very interesting.

reading.

I'm always surprised to learn a great majority of people I come across only devote scattered time to reading short form articles or magazines.  I'm even more surprised (stupefied) to learn that individuals who are capable, do not read period.      

Even professionals; from nice suit and tie wearing lawyers, to some physicians, to a couple of sales execs, and from my side of it, people who do art as a "hobby", only commit to reading short form (web, magazine articles, etc).  You know, things that are easily skimmed, that do not require any of that analytical processing shit.

I say, art as "hobby", because I've yet to find a “full time” artist who doesn't commit to reading as a habit.  Mostly fiction I might add.  Same goes for the entrepreneurs I've come across.  They however, are strictly tied to non-fiction.  That’s just how they role.

People who I know, and whom amaze me most often, are also the ones who are avid readers.  And, they’re diverse readers.  They swallow up books, and they take notes, and they apply concepts into their own existence (if the particular type of book demands it).    

Look around yourself.  Find any correlation?  If not, go outside your circle a little.  Maybe being the average of your 5 closest friends is blinding you from others?  

the name of the game.

FYI, we have two projects in post, a feature in pre-prod, and a good 5 other projects in development.  

Stamina and patience: Two extremely difficult things to endure when we are forced to rely on external things.  

But, sometimes that's just the name of the game.