Last Night, I Had a Dream About You (In Brooklyn)

First thing's first: Sorry for my long absence from this blog. Just got a new, very temporary seasonal job -- please, don't ask me what it is because I may just burst into tears, college diploma in hand -- with absolutely shitty hours and by the time my eight-hour day ends at 2 p.m. (you do the math), I'm usually wiped. I'm reminded of that City High song, "What Would You Do?", except replace all that stuff about being hooker, baby mamas and smoking crack with...watering flowers.

My point is, I promise you, ye ole' faithful readers of this (rather amateurish) blog, that I will do my best to provide my particularly awesome brand of movie and music commentary every week and hopefully more. Pinky swear!

Now to the real business at hand...

Last week I drove down to New York City with a very special birthday present in hand: a ticket to see Daft Punk live in Brooklyn. (Thanks Mom and Dad!) And on last Thursday night, a pyramid-shaped spaceship with two cyborg commanders landed at Keyspan Park in Coney Island and preceded to blow everyone's minds. This, of course, was expected: since their now-legendary performance at Coachella last year, Daft Punk have been the hottest ticket around at nearly every subsequent venue they've played. What I wasn't prepare for was the sheer seismic energy Daft Punk generated with what could really be boiled down to as some lights, some live mixing, some robot helmets and some couple thousand people.

I'm not about to attempt to convert those who doubt Daft Punk's status as one of the best acts in pop music today, because if you haven't already recognized their visionary distillations of techno, house, disco, R&B, Europop and everything in-between, their brilliant inversions of pop structures and formulas, or their innovative and refreshing uses of repetition and looping, you probably never will. For those believers and fans, however, seeing Daft Punk live not only proves all their incredible skill and talent, but enriches their already classic material in new and exciting ways. Not content to simply spin an unfiltered collection of their greatest hits (although that too would probably be pretty dope), the duo of Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter instead build their towering pop metropolis synth by sinewy synth, beat by movie-sized beat, and hook by trance-inducing hook. The experience was not unlike entering a brave, new outer-space world (the show opens with a nod to Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind) and plunging head-long into a black hole, lights and songs bending in extraordinary, sometimes phantasmagoric ways.

From the opening, head-banging blasts of "Robot Rock" to the unreal encore which cleverly reprised "One More Time" with an unexpected dose of Stardust's 1998 classic dance cut, "Music Sounds Better With You" (which DP's Bangalter wrote and produced with Alan Braxe), the group tore shit up, for lack of a better phrase. One of the best things to likely come out of this Daft Punk tour is the critical reappraisal of the group's last LP, Human After All. I was among the many disappointed with that record, but hearing the likes of "Prime Time of Your Life", "Television Rules the Nation", the title track and, hell, even "Technologic" played over those mega speakers, it's not hard to think that DP imagined Human After All not for earphone or MP3 consumption, but as monolithic pop music to pulverize stadium audiences. Even with the night's sweaty, raved-up and rave-ready crowd, Daft Punk managed to not only rope in the masses crowd with every ecstatic transition (the introduction of "Around the World", as mixed with "Television", gave me goosebumps of the best kind), but generated a startling amount of intimacy between themselves and the throngs of devotees, as well as make the evening just as much about the act of concert-going as the actual concert itself. Personally, what made seeing Daft Punk so deeply affecting and special for me had just as much to do with dancing like an idiot with my friends as anything else that night. Rare is the occasion when an artist achieves this raptorous relationship with the music and the experience. Daft Punk did that and so much more.

All this having been said, I haven't even discussed the curious and rather sad omission of "Digital Love" -- my favorite Daft Punk song and one of the very best pop songs of forever and ever. For such a beloved song, it was quite a surprise not to hear even a fragment or section of the song mixed into the set.

I'm not complaining, though. It still feels like I'm awaking for a long, glorious dream awash in neon lights. Plus, I'm still sore from dancing.

To See What You See: A Personal Eulogy to Edward Yang, 1947-2007

I discovered on Saturday evening that Taiwanese director Edward Yang had passed away on Friday, June 29th, at the age of 59. He died of colon cancer, which he had been privately battling for seven years.

Besides being a serious blow to world cinema – as Yang was clearly one of cinema’s great humanist and surveyors of modern life – the news has struck me in a deeper, more personal way, for his film Yi Yi is one of the defining touchstones of my movie-going life, a film which altered my perception of every other bit of filmmaking I’ve come across since. The film even provides the inspiration for the title of this blog, A One and a Two, the alternative English title to his millennial masterpiece. It may seem silly to dub Yang the greatest filmmaker of the last 20 odd years having only seen Yi Yi, but few artists have matched Yang’s staggering achievement. now his swan song film. I feel, with Yang’s passing, I owe him some (brief) thoughts on Yi Yi:

The film begins with a wedding and ends with a funeral, and in between teems and overflows with life, in the purest sense of the word. Yi Yi is a truly epic film, but only in the sense that it lets its characters breathe and provides for them the space and time to let their choices and actions reverberate off of one another. There is almost no point in discussing specific plot details in Yi Yi to new viewers because one of the many joys of watching Edward Yang’s masterpiece is the way in which he tangles up the characters’ lives and then, with the grace of a true master, unravels them. The film at once evokes the mysterious, elliptical rhythms of life and the spontaneity of existence – be it in the way a specter of the past appears in the flesh at the most unlikely of times or how a touching spiritual encounter brings life to what was otherwise believed dead. Aesthetically, Yang favors long takes and wide shots, pushing his characters not only to confront and interact with their environments, but each other. Yang uses this formal space not to separate the viewer, but to draw them closer, to form an emotional connection via this shared plane. Subsequently, Yang’s compositions are never pretty or painterly, but are constantly fascinating.

Even with all this considered, Yi Yi is far from being stiff, cold or, worse, pretentious. It’s brimming with humor and drama, joy and sadness. Even the English title, A One and a Two, beautifully anticipates the sublime symphony of life the film exudes. More than any other film I’ve ever seen, Yi Yi looks and feels like life unfolding. That’s the highest compliment I can think of.

Thank you, Mr. Yang, for blessing us with your talent, humor and wisdom.

We Love the 90's

Over yonder at The Backstage (where I help moderate the forums), we conducted a little poll of our favorite films of the 90's. Suffice it to say there are some excellent, inspired choices in the bunch - Raise the Red Lantern, Hoop Dreams, Waiting for Guffman and Election, namely - and some head-scratchers as well. I mean, radiant animation aside, does The Lion King really deserve a place, especially over the likes of Secrets & Lies and, well, any other film on the list? I know it's silly to quibble over rankings and placements, so I'll stop right there. The only other thing I'll point out is the lack of foreign productions on our list, with only Lantern and Almodovar's All About My Mother landing spots (if you count the English-language/foreign-produced Breaking the Waves, that's a third). Is this indicative of the American independent renaissance in this decade or is it simply a matter of availability and visibility? It's hard to say, really.

In any case, check out the list HERE. The write-ups are fantastic, as are the graphics. When you're done there, check out our FORUMS, where all these stunning people can be found.

Now, next time, can everyone go out and see Close-Up, Underground, some Kieslowski, and some East Asian cinema? It does a body good, I tell ya!

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

Five Thought on the Pop Masterpiece Known as Rihanna’s "Umbrella"

1. Jay-Z’s introductory verse is perfect. Not so much because it’s quality (it’s pretty terrible, actually), but because it sets our man Hov up as the apple of our heroine’s eyes. More tabloid fodder or unrequited love letter? Check mate, Beyoncé.

2. Pitchfork’s Tom Breihan faults "Umbrella" for the "disconnect between Rihanna’s cold, clinical delivery and the comforting warmth of the lyrics." I can understand the comfort offered by the song’s titular promise, but I don’t exactly see the "warmth" in the image of two sopping wet lovers, blanketed by a downpour ("Now that it’s raining more than ever..."), huddling under a fucking umbrella. Not a canopy, not an awning, not even a shack. A measly umbrella. The shit is actually a little depressing, in an odd, ambiguous sort of way.

3. Going further on the "warmth" tip, there already exists a disconnect between the songs lyrics and the production surround Rihanna's voice. The chilling effect of those screeching, slightly off-pitch synths, whirling around the proceedings like an amassing thunderstorm, establish the potentially doomed yet enthralling atmosphere. One of the many joys of Rihanna’s career has been her growing ability to take risks (this is the girl who lifted almost the entirety of "Tainted Love", for chrissakes) and "Umbrella"’s expert blurring of genres – from electro-pop-infused R&B to R&B-infused electro-pop – is by far greatest artistic leap, in every sense of the word.

4. The VIDEO. You've seen it by now, I'm sure. If not, there’s Rihanna, umbrellas (naturally), sparks-as-raindrops, Rihanna in French maid costume and, umm, Rihanna in silver body paint sitting in triangular box. Yeah. It’s a hot, glorious mess, almost as hallucinatory as the song itself.

5. It’s raining/ Oh, baby, it’s raining/ Baby, come into me/ Come into me...

You had me at "ella", Rihanna.

The Inaugural Post!

A great work has begun...

Or something like that.

Welcome everyone, to my first outing into the blogosphere. While I should probably introduce myself a bit before I start posting some of my thoughts on film and music, new and old, this first post is actually a warning: I have no idea what I'm doing. In the upcoming weeks and months I will be familiarizing myself with all these crazy blog features, so to any and all those reading, please be patient.

So, umm... thanks, and stay tuned!