Monday, August 19, 2013

Now You Know: Ulver





Words.  Words help us to identify with everything around us.  We try to explain to others with our mouths the feelings and thoughts of what we see, to connect with each other and know that what we are weaved together within the fabric of mankind.  To relate.  The most feared form of torture in our society isn't waterboarding or the denial of freedom.......it's solitary confinement.  Isolation. We need other people, as much as some hate to admit it; we are nothing without others letting us know that our true ideas are not bordering the frayed edges of sanity.  Communication.

Sometimes, words as a form of communication can only relay so much.  Sometimes, you can't explain the sadness and beauty of the life around you, the unquenchable love and intense hatred that subsides in the heart, beating in rhythms.......the true fuel of our being.

There is no greater feeling than connecting a personal thought with someone else that you consider an equal. To know that you share something special.

Music is an idea in itself.  It is nothing without us, bringing these thoughts from within ourselves to be projected to others all in the hopes that there is someone out there that relates, that says "I understand". Notes can speak when syllables fail us.






Ulver has been around for a very long time.  They started out as a black metal band from Norway back in the 90's, and have progressed into one of the more interesting avant garde/psychedelic rock/experimental bands today. The song above is from their latest release, Messe-I.X-VI.X, and is a perfect example of their craft. Their music, like language, is not relatable to everyone.  It is a long, hardened road of huge atmospheric soundscapes, comparable to an oncoming storm that looks like it's going to destroy everything in sight, only to pass over without a whisper as it brings with it a kaleidoscopic sunset that brings tears to your eyes.







They have over ten albums now in their discography.  This is a band that is insistent on doing something different with every release, so it is guaranteed to be polarizing in certain areas. To listen to a single album by Ulver (Norweigan for wolves) and assume you have them pegged would be a pretty big mistake. While their music can be haunting and dark, it can also be very bright and uplifting as well.







Music.  It's the ultimate purveyor and navigator of an underlying feeling that we cannot express. When you find a band that you feel helps you understand this, you want to share it with others in the hopes it can do the same. These guys might not be for everybody, but if Ulver speaks to you, I'm thinking that you are going to want to listen.











Sunday, August 18, 2013

Sunday Sabbath Edition: God's Corner III

He's back, fellow brethren!  That's right, the big man upstairs is up in the hizzy to answer questions that are burning deep within your soul!  Take a seat, grab some communion wafers, and enjoy this third edition of God's Corner!



Hey everybody!  Hope you are all grateful to be alive for another glorious day on my watch!  Getting some great feedback about the column and it seems pretty much universal that I need to be a lot tougher on the people who I'm giving advice to.  I love too much, you could say.....it's probably my biggest fault by leaps and bounds.  You guys are my special little snowflakes, man.  I sacrificed my only child just so you guys can do horrible things and have them wiped from your conscience worry-free.  Unfortunately, sympathy does not make great dating advice when it's overdone.  I'm not foolish, and I'll try my best not to sugarcoat the facts anymore.

So with that, let's get right down to brass tax and start answering some questions....


Alicia
20 years old
lives in a cave

Dear God,
  My boyfriend is starting to get upset that we don't get intimate enough.  I'm still a virgin and plan to keep it that way until I'm married.  Are there other ways for me to take care of him without having full blown intercourse?  I don't want him to leave me because I don't cater to his sexual needs!

Dear Alicia,
  I think that you are basically asking me if there any loopholes in my unquestionably ironclad laws of man...............................

................and you came to the right place, is all I gotta say.  You two kids go crazy with anything that involves fingers, mouths or buttholes and I will gladly turn a blind eye (no masturbating each other though if you're Catholic).  Hopefully you will one day be married under my divine light, and then immediately stop having sex within a year of your union unless it's a birthday or the super bowl. That there is a real sacred union, my friends.




Michael
25 years old
still afraid of monsters under the bed

Dear God,
  I've started to notice that I can't have an orgasm anymore under normal circumstances.  Lately I've started getting into auto-erotic asphyxiation, and I'm scared that one of these times I'm going to end up in the hospital, or even worse.  I  don't want to keep endangering my life, but at the same time I feel as though I will never be able to get back to where I was before.  What should I do?

Dear Michael,
  This is obviously a tough situation that you're in.  Also, this is a great example of why I don't give every species thumbs because you'd all eventually end up just trying to find ways to play with yourselves to the brink of death.  I suggest that you seek out other people who are into this horrifying fetish you are into and try to network with them, maybe start a website about it or somethi........and disregard all this because Michael just accidentally killed himself.  Have fun in hell bro, you know I'm not too lenient with the suicide thing.  Sorry :(



Judy
23 years old
think ireland is an american state

Dear God,
  Why are there no good guys left out there for me?  It seems like all the men I'm attracted to already have girlfriends.  Why are you making it so hard on us single ladies, big guy?  Are you available by chance ;=)????

Dear Judy,
  If I had a dime for every lady that has wanted to shack up with your holiness, then I'd have an infinite amount of dimes because god is love, baby.  Unfortunately, you couldn't even gaze upon my feet without bursting into flames instantaneously, so that's out of the question.

The problem here is that there are plenty of great guys out there, but they see that you are a horned harlot of the night and wouldn't sleep with you for all the golden trumpets in god's kingdom.  You know how many golden trumpets I have?  Like thirty or whatever but in today's economy with gold prices going the way they are......that's like $30,000, which is a lot of money.  I'm sure if you were going to church every Sunday like I asked you'd be like "dear god, my model boyrfriend Balthazar is too fertile for my loins" and I'd be all "BURN IN THE PITS OF HELL YOU WINGED SUCCUBUS OF SATAN" and evaporate you or something.  I can get a little carried away sometimes when I've had too much sugar.



{Submit your questions in prayer before you go to bed tonight and maybe you will see your question in my column!!!  See ya later!}

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Video Spotlight: Buke & Gase - Hiccup







It's no secret to those within the circle of brothers rebel that I've been in love with Buke & Gase ever since I heard their debut back in January.  I even got the chance to see them, and passed on it because I am an insufferable asshole that hates myself to no ends. So, until they decide to tour again in the future, this is probably as close as I can get for now. Did I mention that I'm the mental equivalent of an eggplant?  Just want to make sure this is a well-known fact before I continue.

This song is great.  The entire album is great.  I mean, they invented their own instruments like the shoe bells or whatever the hell that thing is. Also.....

Buke = six-string baritone ukelele

and

Gase = guitar/bass hybrid

These guys are like the MacGyver's of music, dude. Speaking of, remember that MacGuyver episode where he's like in a casket on a boat for whatever reason, and the bad guys throw him overboard into the ocean, ONLY FOR MACGUYVER TO TURN THE CASKET INTO A JET SKI AND RIDE OFF INTO THE SUNSET????



Legend.




Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Kanye Quest 3030



I..........I..................I think this might be the greatest thing I've ever seen.

Have you ever wanted to play a 16-bit inspired RPG in which you play the role of Kanye West, savior of the rap game and time traveler extraordinaire? Me neither, or at least I thought I didn't until I saw the preview for Kanye Quest 3030. 

From watching it myself it looks like you will be taking on a clone army of some of the most well known rappers in the scene today. Why? Well, it's a video game so I'm going to assume that no one even gives a shit in the first place. Will Kanye at some point turn into a gay fish to save the dolphins from a 100-foot tall robotic Dr. Dre hellbent on destroying our marine life? Did I just come up with the most badass boss fight for this game or what, man?

Kanye Quest 3030 is available now FOR FREE at 


There is one stipulation, though. You will need the RPG Maker Runtime Package located here


After that, you have to look into your bathroom mirror at midnight and say the words "Bloody Kanye" three times without the lights on.  Then you can play to your hearts content (if Kanye has deemed you worthy of life and didn't devour your soul).

Go ahead and check out the trailer below and remember to wear a cap or something so your brain doesn't go flying off into space.






Sunday, August 11, 2013

Waxing Gibbous.





Luna: Band Loved, Record Bypassed 


Nirvana and more importantly Silverchair existed, but Luna, formed in 1991 by Dean Wareham after the collapse of Galaxie 500, is the greatest 90s band.  Their synthesis of rock’s hipster iconoclasts and pretentious know-it-all New York sensibility hatched something uncanny yet subdued, detonating with Bewitched’s title track and sustaining them through 2004.  

Wareham’s acrine vocals juxtapose the quiver and punch of Sean Eden’s guitar licks, winding together like cursive.  If Wareham is Luna’s head, Eden is the blood squirming through sonic veins trying to reach it.  That might make Luna sound active but their most daunting works are the attic sleepers that accompany their hits, like “Kalamazoo” and “Freakin’ and Peakin’.”  The collection containing these works, Penthouse, remains my favorite record by this band.  Luna belongs to a very labelcentric era of music and they never really broke through.  The canonical Penthouse should have been the album to achieve this task, at least letting them the exposure of let’s say, Wilco, or more recently The National.  

But Luna kept solemnly obscured by the coolness of their shadow.  In hindsight, does this implore their meaning?  Is their timelessness preserved by the measure of their intangibility?  In a time when contracts were being overthrown as the sole portal into American sub-mainstream and acoustic bedroom machines like O.A.R. and Dispatch received the Napster bump, Luna remained sectored to their record store domain, thrilling those who were lucky enough to stumble upon them while wrapping their love affairs with The Velvet Underground.  

To meet a Luna disciple is an unlikely occurrence, a magical encounter.  If they’re committed their knowledge comes across deeply encoded and rich.  Obsessive even, the way a Phish or Norwegian metal fan will hold to a slim trill of notes, or bend, or lick like a bible, isolating their self through commitment.  Luna devotees pinpoint the tiny variances in a song that make it eccentric.  These particulars are especially apparent on the Slide EP, an effort driven by covers with unanimous praise and Penthouse, a satire of New York City life so relatable it makes the Lower East Side feel like the entire eastern seaboard.  

After Penthouse, Luna’s best gambit for a magazine editor’s standing ovation and swaths of fans, Luna surrendered to whimsy.  They regained footing at the turn of the century with their antepenultimo release The Days of Our Nights.  Eden’s guitar work echoed Australian outfit The Church and the sway of song progressed in a graceful cantankerousness.  “The Old Fashioned Way” spreads out like police enforcing a post-apocalyptic curfew.  “Math Wiz” captures regretful hearts puffing a spliff in a blue-collar basement and composing an R.E.M. b-side.  Everything on The Days of Our Nights is a placebo to something idealized, perfectly captured in the album’s cover art, a portrait of newfound bassist Britta Phillips, soon to be Wareham’s wife.  

Like Luna’s flagship sound, these works impact softly.  When Wareham says, “Your dopamine receptors, Are shot to hell, Your thoughts are spongy, You don’t seem well,” he’s being earnest yet manipulative.  Wholly boring in the key of unified tongue and cheek.  But Luna can’t stop shimmering.  They’re a reflective puddle in a bustling nighttime city.  Now step in it. 



Between The Days of Our Nights and Rendezvous, the band’s farewell that occupied my headphones through my time in Oxfordshire, along with A Grand Don’t Come for Free and My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, Luna released Romantica.  I think last night was maybe my first listen to it in 10 years.  It never landed for me.  As an artifact, it’s an electrified piece of tissue that links The Days and Rendezvous, but I still question whether it holds up.  Well, it doesn’t.  It never held in the first place.  Romantica is a body of work exemplifying exactly why Luna never connected.  It’s the tragedy of the band that deals in songs but can’t appeal to a song-focused audience.  

Luna traced a scalene trajectory and Romantica is the turgid side of their career.  But no one can miss “Lovedust,” the album’s opener, a 4/4 playground blooming with major chords and fish-in-the-barrel lines like “I set a trap for you, But I’m the one who’s all caught up.”  Shrug of shoulders inevitability realizes Wareham’s narrator’s slip-ups.  “Lovedust” acts as a bookend to “California (All the Way),” Bewitched’s entry track, only the orator implies nothing and bangs out direction like a GPS.  Subtlety is lost, but at least there’s no fumbling with buttons.  Romantica contains Luna’s most dynamic drums, especially within “Black Champagne,” which sounds like a The Soft Bulletin b-side for good reason; the record was produced by Dave Fridmann.  Where Penthouse succeeded in being a paced, coherent narrative, Romantica is front-loaded like most of Luna’s works.  A lot doesn’t seem to happen, at least in context, on Romantica’s backside.  Ultimately though, the nuance of Wareham and co. make tracking Luna’s pearls a scuttle.  But you can always count on them for a last song.  “Orange Peel” is as uncontrived and “it just came to me” as anything Justin Vernon does.  But with less patience.  Maybe even less control.  But then it’s those disciplines Luna lacks that make them my band.  It’s through deep listening—and the fact I happened to pluck Penthouse off the rock/pop shelf at Coconuts—that they ascend.      

Courtesies, 
The Brothers Rebel     

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Speed Runs Live!



I'm sure you are sitting there, getting ready to read this post and asking yourself what in the hell this could be about?  What in the world could possibly be behind these three words brought together?

The answer is both more nerdy and geeky than showing off your Thor costume for the upcoming comic con.

Stop me if you've ever heard of this, which I doubt you have.  A group of people come together, and these people have a love of classic video games.  They love these games so much that they have played them countless times, and know most of the tricks and glitches that would make your lady parts tingle at the sight of them.  The thrill of victory barely even registers in their brains anymore.  It isn't about winning, it's about how fast you can win.

I bet you were proud when you played Zelda's Ocarina Of Time and you finally got past the water temple.  Hell man, took me close to four hours the first time I played the game.  Now imagine watching some Korean guy beat the entire fucking game in under three hours. How about Final Fantasy 7?  Remember putting 80 hours into a single playthrough? The world record is eight hours.  Eight.  Hours.  I'm pretty sure the cutscenes alone take up at least eight hours themselves.

Sure, they use every trick in the book to make it happen.  You'll watch guys jump into a wall four hundred times until he's magically glitched into a fight with the final boss of the game.  It might not be pretty all the time, but I would have never imagined even a month ago that I would be the type of person to watch other people stream video games over the internet.  Even as I type it out the premise sounds ridiculous to me, yet here I am seeing if this guy zoasty can beat Metroid in under 45 minutes or not. I'm not even going to try to explain it, because you'll understand once you start watching.

http://www.twitch.tv/team/srl

There are seriously people that are streaming speed runs 24/7, and there's always multiple options of streams.  Last I checked there were at least 5-10 people streaming their runs so it's easy to find a game that you played and gave up on as a child be beaten in the time it takes to make a pizza.

For the ladies in the audience, I provide you with this picture of a robot unicorn as consolation for having to deal with this post.






Godspeed.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Split Arrow.






The Annals of Lit Versatility 


I recently learned that Pablo Neruda is a pseudonym.  Residence On Earth, a book that will probably be packed into my ramshackle, carry-on coffin with me when I ship off to Heaven was written by a man who was not actually surnamed Neruda.  Boo hoo.  Poets working in elusiveness yet again rain on this Rebel Brother’s parade. 
Of course I love all that shit.  Like Banksy status, right?  Except Chilean, dead, and slightly less anonymous.  I’ll never forget finding the phrase “muzzle of bees” in Neruda and never being able to forgive Jeff Tweedy.  See: he takes all his words from the books that you don’t read anyway.  
Poets are tanglers of labyrinthine reference.  I believe all the great novelists are really poets.  Most likely they’re South American too.   Or Russian.  Or white North American women; your Joyce Carol Oates’s, Jennifer Egans, Mary Gaitskills, Miranda Julys, (thought that was a pseudonym for Gaitskill awhile—right, a "real person" named Miranda July, though she is and probably questions her own inherent realness).  Then you have your Spokane master of the literary universe: Sherman Alexie. 

Alexie, who resides in Seattle and was born with water on the brain.  Alexie, who wrote the troublingly effective pulp-pastiche Indian Killer and beat the piss out of conceptual writer Saul Williams in the 2001 World Heavyweight Championship Poetry Bout (kidding, actually a nail-biting match).  Until powerhouses George Saunders and Roberto Bolaño completely hijacked all collective cognizance of accessible short story writing, his 2000 collection The Toughest Indian in the World was undoubtedly my favorite.  Now it’s “basically” my favorite.  Alexie forms armistice between humor and heartbreak, making friends, metaphorically or non, between the magician and the businessman, the hitchhiker and the territorial. 
I often like Alexie’s work.  His short stories are a great diving board into his fold which encompasses poetry, shorts, and novels.  Indian Killer is the great contemporary American novel.  “Whatever Happened to Frank Snake Church” and “The Sin Eaters” are variances in tone and pacing in Alexie’s short story wellspring.  This link is an Alexie poem.  It's an observance of the social networking mud we're Facedown in: 


Thanks, Mockingbird.

Courtesies, 
The Brothers Rebel 

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

City O City II





WE BUILT THIS CITY.  WE BUILT THIS CITY ON ROCK AND ROOOOOOOLLLLLLLL.........

I fucking hate that song. I do love Denver, though. Pictures fail to do this place justice, but that isn't going to stop me from doing it rarely to rarely never.  I'm a pretty big procrastinator, and the fact that I have taken anything more than selfies in the mirror with my camera is a pretty big accomplishment. Check them out, in the second addition of City O City. Enjoy!!



































































Video Spotlight: Cheyenne Mize - Among The Grey



Good day to you fellow rebel bretheren! Hopefully you have found meaning in your lives outside of our fantastic blog (doubt it), and that everyone is enjoying being burned alive by the sun, which may I point out we HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING TO. Global warming, I mean oh yeah sure, sure...........sure, sure.............okay sure, we did that to the EARTH, okay? That has NOTHING TO DO with the sun, right?  Man, my brain is frying like an egg! OH MY GOD IT MUST BE ON DRUGS. Guess there's nothing left for me to do now but post this video by Cheyenne Mize and continue on with my life sucking dick for crack. Or maybe tits? I'd much rather suck on tits for money.  Actually I should check craigslist real quick and see if that's a field I could get hired into.............




Sunday, August 4, 2013

Doesn’t Blow.



by Pablo Escobar.


Friends.  As I toil away the days, providing for my people, tending to my factories, and conducting business as an honest man, I take in life’s pleasures.  There are those pleasures I enjoy on my island, while my #@%$ing pinche errand boys and even trusted tenientes put strain on my finances—because, well, inevitability—like pedicures by the pool.  That’s relaxation.  Then unwinding must come, specifically when production is halted or insufferable gringos get involved.  So I see my torturer and he amuses me. Like the best torturers, he pretends to be an interrogator.  But amigos, of course there’s no information!  I basically watch him work until I have a pile of dead bodies I have to deal with.  Did I mention inevitability?  And strain on my finances?  So my unwinding becomes my winding!  Being a God is exhausting.

Then I must wet my most fine, artisan tastes with something potent.  Here’s some fresh product: 





The Jeff Rubin Jeff Rubin Show — Pablo’s favorite podcast.  Yes, as I’m sending a message to my adversaries by cutting cryptic threats into the bodies of their drug-runners, The Indoor Kids and How Does This Get Made? are premiere podcast selections.  But Jeff Rubin’s obsessive focus on games of all kinds—games of the board, games of the screen, games of the Throne—keeps me a loyal listener.  Rubin actually plays the unusual and titillating debate-based Metagame on his show.  This week’s episode features NYU GameCenter’s Jesse Fuchs explaining divination throughout the different iterations of Monopoly.  In my own Monopoly iteration, landing on Free Parking divinates 500 kilos of cocaine to the lucky player. 

@

http://splitsider.com/2013/07/the-jeff-rubin-jeff-rubin-show-jesse-fuchs-and-monopoly/



Dogfish Head Sixty-One — My current cerveza of choice.  An IPA brewed with Syrah grape must, Sixty-One is the perfect not-quite-beer to swirl in a glass as you watch your top concubine’s bloody nose redden your pool.  C’est la vie.  Pablo knows French!  Furthermore, Dogfish Head’s combative bottle design comes in handy when rival cartels send estúpido spies to kill you. 

@

http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/10099/91677



Sherlock Series Three — I became so excited upon seeing this trailer that I shot five of my best tenientes in the face.  I can shoot, I swear, but my targets are always so close by it won’t show!  I killed a barber by accident once.  I sent his sons 200,000 kilos of product in apology.  The Sherlock trailer has silhouettes of gringo heartthrob Benedict Cumberbatch.  I also push kilos of those, chicas.    

@

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llGXWICGsD4



New School by Dash Shaw — When a decapitated whore’s head rolls into the day supply and you need to escape into a book, Shaw’s comic is a bingo candidate.  Saying ‘graphic novel’ is pretentious now right?  Like sending a scientist with the shipment for good measure.  The old days are dead, amigos.  Back to Shaw, well, I’m his biggest fan.  This hombre plows through art styles at the rate I dispose my most loyal tenientes.  While Shaw’s other works, BodyWorld and Bottomless Belly Button (dude likes b-words) were propelled by dialogue and character; New School is a manifesto of tone.  Shaw employs Sharpie on white paper to act as transparencies, an armature of chiaroscuro for splashes of color to align with.  The whole ordeal is reminiscent of the contrast in price between cocaine and black market O negative blood.  Basically in order to engage with anything Pablo needs to draw a connection with black market O negative blood.  Don’t even get me started on The Odyssey. 

@

http://www.fantagraphics.com/browse-shop/dash-shaw-3.html?vmcchk=1

  

Habenero Escobar Twitter — I know, I know, a shameless plug for my twin brother Habs.  The poor guy is in the %$^#ing jerky biz.  He’s a goddamn family man and already getting his hands filthy.  

@


Courtesies,
The Brothers Rebel

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Now You Know: Polyenso



I haven't heard a lot of good indie rock this year. I feel like I'm saying that about a lot of genres of music though, lately.  For some weird reason death metal is knocking it out of the park in every category (the new Gorguts and Revocation albums are incredible), which is great, but I'm an old man now and that's the type of shit that gave me tinnitus in the first place. I need to chill out, you know?

Polyenso is one band I've found that has been on repeated listens lately. They hail from St. Petersburg, Florida and used to go by the name Oceana.  Waaaaay back in 2008 they used to have a more rough edged or hardcore sound, but with the name change to Polyenso in 2013 they've gone straight into the indie rock hole and refuse to climb out.







Their new album, One Big Particular Loop, is definitely a more laid back and melancholy affair than most. This is probably not what you want to listen to on your daily jog. This is more for sparking a joint on the porch and reading a book on how to grow your own urban garden.









I definitely get a stripped down Radiohead vibe from this group, so take that whatever way you want. I really like Thom Yorke so I give their singer a pass for his borderline frightening ability to sound like him at times. I give credit for these guys to go from a genre such as post-hardcore, which is mostly lame, to heartfelt indie rock such as this. Go ahead and play this for your significant other so you can show them you have better taste in everything life has to offer. If you're single then go jack off or something.







If you like what you hear you should pop on over to their bandcamp and give the album a listen at http://polyenso.bandcamp.com/  or hell, it's only ten bucks to just go ahead and nab it for digital download! God, I love the internet.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Rap·ture /'rapCHer/ Noun.



A Feeling of Intense Pleasure


Though I haven't played the The Last Of Us and therefore don't know anything and have shit for brains, I think the original Bioshock is the best narrative video game experience to come along this console cycle. It came as the antithesis of conventional first-person shooters, with a shocking crescendo that challenged our conception of free will in games. But we shan't let the 'it' moment of Bioshock eclipse all it has to offer. Aside the barrage of continuous plot shifts there are the masterfully voiced characters and milieu (see: welcome to the circus of value, ha ha ha!) the horrific beauty in claustrophobic passages and chambers, a palette formed through aquatic light and bold color, the thrill of blowing a Splicer's head off with The Ink Spots lilting in the background. The bridge of form and content was also undeniable, especially in the Plasmids, which lent as much to the plot-line as they did to your arsenal. Almost as brash as Andrew Ryan is the sum of these merged elements: Rapture. Rapture coalesces so many unique aspects that it's an irreproducible feat. Every little aspect of this world seems to breathe, to have a soul. Games since have come close to being as compelling and immersive... but as audacious? As mad?

Ironically the crux that drives Bioshock is also the tragedy. You're a little late to the party and by the time you get there, Rapture's completely fucked. Dammit. A mingling longing follows you throughout Rapture's corridors. 'Why couldn't I have visited Rapture in its renaissance? in its prime! When it was all hustle and bustle and playing pinochle with Brigid Tenenbaum in Olympus Heights!'

Well according to today's news. You will.

Irrational Games teased Bioshock Infinite's second DLC pack Burial At Sea, which finds Infinite's Booker DeWitt and Elizabeth crossing paths in--breathe--Rapture. Not sure you will actually get to play cards with Tenenbaum but today's video footage depicted a fully functioning, pre-fit hits the shan Rapture.

I'm calling it: the storyline will contain no references to time travel or alternate universes and this DLC will follow Booker DeWitt and Elizabeth immediately following the events in Bioshock Infinite without any rabbits in any hats, any twists, any turns.  My prediction is that we're looking at a straight shooter, guys.   








Courtesies,
The Brothers Rebel

Sunday, July 28, 2013

CCW.



An Acronym You're About to Understand


Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, I give you the first of many Rebel Brothers Cinema Civil Wars!

For our debut, we have in Tucker's (my) corner James Wan's The Conjuring and in Mike's corner Guillermo del Toro's Pacific Rim.


We saw them back to back over the weekend. 

Each of us will try to convey why the film we're defending is superior.

*****Spoilers below!!!!!! Read at your own risk!!!!!******

I'll start. 

Mike, let's start where we began after leaving the theater. We both mentioned that Pacific Rim would certainly be our unequivocal, undoubted favoritest movie of forever-ever if we were 12. Even more so than Waterworld, which hasn't been dethroned from its #1 spot since even before it existed. One of your qualms about The Conjuring was it's lackluster scariness, and how tarred and feathered by its PG-13 rating it was. Well, if I were 12 I would have been scared so shitless by The Conjuring I would have found the PG-13 rating merciful. It would also have made a number of prestige horror films feel stale if I hadn't seen them yet. The Conjuring basically populated a haunted house with heart-quickening tropes and techniques from all over the cannon horrorscape. Cue slow zoom. 

Something I felt the two films had in common was each one arrived at the table fully loaded with possibilities. Pacific Rim had robots, giant monsters, Idris Elba, and GLADDOS's voice actress--check. The Conjuring had its creepy doll, clap game, crawl spaces, the mirror/music box, basically a plethora of devices that could have triggered throughout and made something interesting to happen. But did either movie build a castle in its sandbox? Not plain to see. 

My 'rocket punch' (loved every single term in Pacific Rim) in The Conjuring's favor is that its performances were unmistakably superior. Everyone there at least 'held it down,' so to speak. Meanwhile, in Pacific Rim leads Charlie Hunnam and Rinko Kikuchi had about as much chemistry as a wet cardboard box and a second, more wet, even more flaccid, useless cardboard box.  Especially considering that their plot point hinged so crucially on their ability to 'merge,' shouldn't I buy at least the most basic interlocution between these two? Which reminds me about my confusion during their training scene. During their 1-on-1 fight before the commander they traded off wins but kept a tie match to illustrate their connection. If these pilots were truly mind-meld compatible shouldn't the whole thing be one big stalemate without either cadet landing a single blow? Like a ballet of blocks? Think tai chi wash. 

Ugh, I don't even want to get into the scientists. Or the Top Gun banter between Australian dude and protagonist (and I've never even seen Top Gun, just inherently knew that's what it was). 

Lastly I was completely with you post-screening that the stakes surrounding the clairvoyant's episode from a previous exorcism in The Conjuring amounted to nothing. Seriously, what the hell was that, a total throwaway? Admittedly The Conjuring was saturated with roads to nowhere. In defense however I'd like to point out a clumsily used stakes-device in Pacific Rim. Pentecost's affliction with cancer comes out just before he's about to sacrifice himself to save the world. Doesn't the fact that he's going to perish anyhow undercut this sacrifice? Also were we really supposed to believe he just had constant nosebleeds for no reason?  I for one await the day when a movie character has endless nosebleeds without explanation.     

Ready for your rebut, Mike. 


Courtesies. 




---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Okay.  My Turn.

Let's get any and all talk about The Conjuring out of the way as quickly as possible.  I know I walked out saying "yeah, that was a piece of shit", but I don't think you realize honestly that this is the piece of shit left by a 30-year old elephant with amoebic dysentery. Fucking hell. Fucking hell.

Maybe I'm jaded because I've grown up on horror movies as a child and the whole "exorcism" genre of horror has never done it for me.  I always walk out feeling like I saw a religious propaganda film; that the power of Jesus will save you from the demons that lurk around in your darkened scary areas of the house. I noticed you also commented that this got an R rating.  Seriously?  A dog died and a dude got his cheek scratched.  Probably the biggest pussy of a demon I've ever seen.  The plot was, even for a horror movie, pretty vacant. Family moves into house, oh no a demon, hire clairvoyant husband/wife team to root out evil, have exorcism, goodnight ladies and gentlemen. I think at the end of the day it just takes itself way too seriously (based on a true story? Suck my dick.) and just fell on it's face for me. The acting was the one facet I can think of that didn't bother me, everyone turned in decent to good performances, I just thought the material itself was paper thin.

Pacific Rim, on the other hand, was just what I needed after that experience. My god man, those special effects.  I love how you included that this would be our favorite 12-year old movie, because I'm pretty sure I just turned 13 emotionally and still love this type of shit.  Give me some semi-retarded actors, some fantastic visuals, and no romance plot whatsoever and I'm willing to see where it goes. I think it's hilarious you point out the Top Gun relationship in the film because I couldn't stop thinking about that comparison when watching it.  Granted, Pacific Rim doesn't pull it off half as well as Val Kilmer and Tom Cruise did over.......20 years ago? 25? Fuck, I'm old.

So what?  This film isn't about oscar-winning performances, it's about giant robots fighting aliens that travel through a dimensional rift in the Pacific Ocean for god's sake.  At least Idris Elba was there so white people could point out that he played Stringer Bell in The Wire. The biggest annoyance for me, or probably both of us with this flick was the dumbass scientists; one of which played by Charlie Day from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. These guys wasted probably a good half hour of this movie trying to provide comic relief when I didn't even ask for it in the first place.  I felt like they could have cut out their plotline, including the dumb revelation they make, and this would have been a fucking leviathan of a summer movie.

So was it still great?  I think so.  I put it maybe a couple tiers below Independence Day, which is undoubtedly the best summer movie of all time, and I think that says a lot. The plot is admittingly thin and goofy, but it is still a ton of fun and didn't harsh my buzz like The Conjuring did. 







"WE ARE OUT OF AMMO!!!! WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO????

I DON'T KNOW HOW ABOUT THIS GIANT FUCKING SWORD THAT WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN USING THE ENTIRE TIME?????"

-Pacific Rim