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Film Noir

Film Noir and crime fiction are not necessarily staples of modern culture, but they are currently a fixture in my own personal culture.
I suppose it was the film Home Alone, which initially made me aware of film noir. The Angels with Filthy Souls were the best part of the film and my favorite and the favorite of most people I know (and if it wasn't than I would hope that the elaborate series of obstacles Kevin McCallister creates to trap the wet bandits were). I guess that time period was pretty big in my early 1990s childhood. Children were treated with films like Who Framed Roger Rabbit? and Dick Tracy. I kind of caught the tail end of this pulp fiction revival because I was barely able to comprehend the alphabet by the time these films came out. By the time I was able to comprehend dialogue the film makers moved on to the 1940s and world war two with Memphis Belle, The Rocketeer, and A League of Their Own.
Since infancy I have been a faithful watcher of Siskel and Ebert (now Ebert and Roper) Sometimes on Siskel and Ebert they would discuss classic gangster films. Anytime they showed clips from these flicks I found myself enamored. I found myself full of desire to watch mobsters in their fedoras and zoot suits wearing fedoras, smoking fat cigars, and talking with a strong Long Island drawl.
I watched those revival films a few times in my younger years, and forgot about them when I became obsessed with the Disney animated features. However, I do remember loving the way these films looked. Visually they were the coolest things ever. Not even the Disney princesses gave off the air of cool and collectedness that Jessica Rabbit did. They were sweet, kind, happy, and relatively asexual.
I largely forgot about these films as my life progressed with each Disney feature. Sometimes I would catch bits and pieces of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? on television, but I was ambivalent to it because it was just a way to pass the time.
When I got to high school my interest in film really peaked around my Freshman year. I lost the desire to watch what everyone else did and instead I wanted to watch some of the great classics and I also got really into foreign and independent film. This interest developed because I really thought that I would make movies some day, like my idol, Wes Anderson (yep, I'm one of those people). I thought, What better way to start than with the classics.
One of the keystone films for me was The Godfather. It is such a badass film about the mafia in the 1940s, which is a time period I have always been interested in. Although it is not the golden age of the mafia, it still provides a view into the underbelly of the organized crime world with rival families that can snap at any time. Now, I guess The Godfather is not necessarily considered film noir due to the style and time period, but it's a damn fine example of good crime fiction, which I adore. This film spurned my obsession with the mafia and later what would become my obsession with the superman criminal.
Another film that shaped my love of film noir is Alphaville. Granted, this Godard film is a Sci-fi marxist love story of the future, but the style is reminiscent of Film Noir. Lemmy Caution is a detective on a mission who happens to fall in love with a difficult woman along the way. What's more film noir than that? Also, He is a total bad ass. He runs over a guy's head with his car. I love it.
I reincountered true film noir when I was a senior in high school. We studied it fairly in depth for this cake class I took called Recent American Arts and Culture. I loved every minute of it. We watched Double Indemnity, which made me fall in love with Billy Wilder films. We also watched a sprinkling of Hitchcock (although he borders a bit on psycho-horror) in that class as well, which only added to to my love of the genre.
Lately, I have found myself restless during most films, and unable to get into literature (something which is incredibly rare). While in the process of writing a script for a murder mystery dinner, I figured out the issue. Everything I had been reading was too mundane, all the films (though silly) lacked the cheap thrill (but also wonderful complexity) of mobster, detective, and crime films. Everything was lacking in grit, something I have currently been craving for. So I went to the library and picked up The Godfather (novel) by Mario Puzo, which my mother has been encouraging me to read for years now. And this weekend I watched four crime films: The Departed, The Big Sleep, Sunset Boulevard, and Chinatown.
I loved every minute of each film--the complex characters, sharp dialogue, suave gentlemen, and striking narration (especially Sunset Boulevard). I guess I love these fictions so much because such a world is so distant from my own, it is a great escape from my own banal reality. Also, they just look so good. The lighting is wonderful, the costumes and set design is well executed, and they are all exceptionally well written.
Sometimes I wish I could live in such a world, but the truth is that if I did, I probably would not be alive. And such worlds are too much for a whole life. They are best handled two hours at a time.

I leave you with a song to reflect the classic spider woman of Film Noir: Femme Fatale-The Velvet Underground

Tax Return

Well, this is the first comment on culture, how about that! So, since tax day is about a month away, I shall muse on taxes. For those of you who have not yet completed them, I would encourage you to do so. It is for your own good (even if the government may not necessarily know how to properly spend their yearly allowance).

I am a creative writing student, so I take creative writing classes. Thus far I have only taken fiction writing courses, but someday dream of taking non-fiction prose classes (certainly not poetry). Today I had my intermediate creative writing class, and we were being creative and brainstorming all sorts of documents and texts that one could place in a short story to create a metatext or intertext. My instructor (who bears a strong resemblance to Doofus from Ducktales, but is overall a neat fella) suggested a Tax Return but then mused on how that would not make for an interesting story. How wrong you are, instructor!

I have a very interesting and recurring experience with my tax return check! Sure, being a young part-time/seasonal worker of low paying, low hour jobs I never make much money, but that does not seem to stop the government from fiddling with my taxes. Every year papabear Wade fills out my forms (even though I took a finance class in high school that involved filling out tons of practice forms--I remember nothing from that experience other than Scott Barnez [who could forget such a fella]) in his legible print with a fine point black ink pen. I sign and date all the parts necessary to a complete form. I always file months in advance, but every year there is the same error on my tax return check.

The department of the Treasury sends my check to the correct address with all the correct little numbers for my parents' house, the street spelled accurately as well as the full town and the zipcode. However, each year on the top line of my address, the name the check is made out to is not mine. The unimpressive sum of money that the government gives back to me each year is made out to someone by the name of Carrie G Ware (I am Carrie G Wade). The first time it happened we went to the bank and all I had to do was endorse the check twice (once as Carrie G Ware and again as Carrie G Wade), but the same thing happens every year. It's silly that I clearly file as Carrie G Wade but get a check for Carrie G Ware. Every year I laugh at the absurdity of life in this form. That even with computers to do their work the government has proven itself to be repeatedly fallible. I always wonder what would happen if I failed to file my taxes. The IRS might come looking for Carrie G Ware, and I could say "Who is this person?" because all of my identification is for Carrie G Wade.

So see, you can make an interesting story out of a Tax Return. That's my cultural commentary today. Never say that something is too boring for fiction, or does not accurately represent life, because the chances are that something will happen to disprove you.

It's time to get Serious about this blog!

From this day forth, Captain's Blog will be a cultural commentary blog. I shall henceforth comment on all the culture I encounter (and some that I have encountered in the past).

For that I shall leave all you readers with an mp3 by Broadcast, because I like Broadcast. Her sounds are most groovy, they make me feel like designer furniture and Godard films, which are both most excellent things and one day I dream of having many of both (note: I already have one Godard film, but no designer furniture).
I found the F-Broadcast (from Tender Buttons)

It's Raining

The other night I had a dream in which I died. Now, I did not just die, but I died for true love, which is very much unlike me. The afterlife was kind of like a Terry Gilliam film (specifically Brazil) in the sense that it was kind of fucked up, but kind of neat. The first thing I did upon dying was take a hot shower. Then I got to pick out some clothes for placement. When I asked if I might be placed in hell or some sort of eternal damnation they all giggled and said, "Don't be silly, there's no such place here." The company in the afterlife were all a fun bunch, the head greeter fella was kind of effeminate and wore lederhosen. There were also these two older ladies with fancy costume jewelery and purple hair, they were so kind. However, before I was assignment my placement I woke up and was really freaked out. It was almost as scary as the time I dreamed that I was the new Messiah.
Now, I'm not the kind of person who wants life after death, but this version of the afterlife presented to me in my dream seems like an acceptable alternative.


I guess these would be a few songs to sum up my dream:
True Love Waits-Radiohead
Knockin' on Heaven's Door-Bob Dylan
Rockaway-Jackie-o Motherfucker
Videotape-Radiohead
Motion Picture Soundtrack-Radiohead
Prayer of Death-Entrance
Stephanie Says-The Velvet Underground
I'm Only Sleeping-The Beatles

The Old College Try

Well, it seems I have taken over a new realm for my mental defecations. I like the classic blog format of this particular host. It's not too myspace-y, nor does it seem to want to be.
For about 4 years I had a stint on xanga, which I liked because of the personalization features, however it's just trying so hard to be myspace, and--let's face it--it is dead. I have had a myspace for awhile, on and off. I don't care much for it, and keep my friends to a minimum. I just keep it there for shits and grins, I suppose. Of course there is facebook, but I view that more of a profile and interpersonal communication device rather than a forum to share thoughts.
So here I am, and maybe this new, strictly blog format will promote more developed thoughts from me, and not just the fecal deposits of my brain.

So, on with a real post here:
Last night I went to see Melt Banana in Lawrence with a friend of mine. It took awhile for the show to start and the first two bands were experimental/noise bands--ick. The very first, I can understand their concept because they were more experimental. Their drum kit was fashioned out of some old margarine tubs with what I'm assuming to be sensors in or some way to amplify and alter the sound. They also had an ancient drum machine and a whole bunch of crazy shit. I can imagine such as a fun thing to play around with in one's garage, but it's not really performance material in my humble opinion.
On the side after the experimental guys was a local noise ensemble, which was just horrendously bad. I think they may have played six chords the entire time ( average of about 3 per song). It was just foul. The worst part was that all the little hipsters there really thought it was the cat's pajamas. They were moshing and bobbling along with this shit. My friend and I just exchanged grimaces and watched Melt Banana set up all their pedals and whatnot.
After the horror of the middle act was over we found a nice spot a row or two away from the stage, in the middle. Melt Banana came out and as soon as they ripped into the first chord all hell broke loose. From my left several bodies came dodging through, ripping into the crowd causing many to loose their balance, and leaving others completely disoriented. After about the third body relentlessly ripped into me I fell on my ass, and had to retie my shoes. I eventually made it out, and from a distance mosh pits are okay, and especially good for a cruel laugh.
Melt Banana was really fun. Japanese people are great (not to be mistaken with Koreans, who are definitely NOT) and crazy, which always makes for a good show. And even though my ass hurts and my ears are still ringing, it was the most fun I have had in awhile.
I don't really care much for the metal/hardcore scene, I will say that the Japs really know how to do it right. When I first heard of Boris, I was a bit reluctant to listen, but then I heard the Sinking Belle, and was hooked. Though Boris is not exactly in the same category as Melt Banana, I think the Japanese do metal/hardcore much better than anyone else.