I Remain Skeptical: Previews of Future Movie Reviews

by Amanda Bulman

The Watchman Movie.

The Watchmen looks like it has the potential to be one of those I -don’t want-it-to -end, movie experiences. The previews are visually stimulating, the actress who plays Sally Jupiter is so beautiful as to be frightening, and the script is based almost entirely on the award winning book. So why am I sceptical? Well for one Hollywood has a habit of fucking up books that I love. Pride and Prejudice(excepting the BBC version starring the sponge worthy Colin firth),V is for Vendetta, and A Scanner Darkly are probably the most perfect examples of good literature turned bad via the silver screen.

Secondly I believe that directors, script writers, and producers doubt their audience’s intelligence. Most of the blame for screwing up my favourite books brought to the big screen, lies with direction(and whoever has made the decision to cast Keanu Reeves, but then that’s a different story). Directors seem to think that viewing audiences are mindless and incapable of understanding the complexity of novels, and thus movie goers get to see bland, boring, and simple versions of some of the world’s most beautiful books. The director of The Watchmen already has a few strikes to his name. He is the man responsible for the monstrosity that was 300. The only way that film could have been worse is if the casting director had decided that Arnold Swartzenegger would make a perfect and hard Spartan wife. Even Frank Miller(a man with legendary amounts of arrogance) admitted to being embarrassed after 300 was released. So, due to what will surely be poor directing and the habit of Hollywood to wreck good literature I remain Sceptical.

Audrey Tautou as Coco Chanel in the upcoming Biopic

I love the fashion legacy of Coco Chanel as much as the next style obsessed female. I really do. I yearn for a black quilted bag with interlocking C’s. I buy clothes that emphasize my boyish frame. I’ve lived my life in LBD’s, dedicated an unhealthy amount of time to the hunt for the perfect sportswear separates, and I have even attempted to wear a straw boater in public(much to the dismay of cooler friends). But Chanel herself, wasn’t all glamour, good times and high flying friends. She also was not the first feminist fashion designer. In actuality Gabriel “Coco” Chanel was a snobby elitist, who scorned those who didn’t dress in her own simple manner, who appeared to hate those women who were more famous or beautiful than herself, and who was, according to popular rumour, a Nazi sympathizer.

So why is Hollywood going out of it’s way to martyr and celebrate a woman, whose legacy in fashion is large, but whose personal life was riddled with mistakes and highly questionable, even racist, beliefs? I realize that recent popular biopics also featured individuals who made mistakes(Jonny Cash, Ray Charles), but the bad life choices of these

singers a)helped them achieve greatness, and b) seem minute compared to the crime of hating and plotting against large sections of the world’s population. An even better question might be to ask why Hollywood is making a film about fashion and materialism in such hard economic times. I mean I believe in the movies as an escape as much as the next girl, but watching a film about glamour, wine, caviar, and scarily priced hotel suites, when I can barely afford the ten dollar ticket isn’t escapism-it’s torture. And finally why would anyone cast sweet-as-pie, baby faced Audrey Tautou as the hard, and ill-humoured Coco Chanel?

He’s Just Not That Into You

The upcoming release of He’s Just Not That Into You, is the winter movie that inspires the most doubt. The idea of basing a plot driven film on a plotless pop psych book penned by a TV writer (who I’m sure has loads of experience and qualification in counselling psychology) seems completely stupid at best. To begin with, the book and movie could not share a more mean spirited title, it reminds me of the time I spied Depression for Dummies, and The Complete Idiots Guide to Confidence, on the shelves of Indigo. Secondly the message of the book(and presumably the movie ) is that sometimes men that you may want to date, for some inexplicable reason, just do not want to be with you. This advice is so obvious, so simple, and so similar to the advice that moms the world over have been dishing out for years, that I cannot fathom why anyone should be buying this book for twenty dollars, or seeing the movie for ten.

The film also stars a whole host of individuals who maybe shouldn’t be acting anymore. Drew Barrymore may have been cute in her prime, but it’s been awhile since I enjoyed watching her be annoyingly bubbly on screen. And since when did the Mac guy(Justin Long) play serious characters? It’s got an Ashton Kutcher wants to be taken seriously in the Butterfly Effect vibe to it. Finally, I wish I could I deep six Scarlett Johansen from Hollywood for the good of humanity. Knowing that a beautiful woman who can barely emote, can find work in Hollywood when thousands of more talented(but less physically stunning) actors and actresses struggle to find work hurts my head and haunts my dreams. Silly Hollywood.

...

"Always the Bridesmaid" EP Collection

The Decemberists

Capitol/2008

Review by Patrick Weeks

In late 2008, Portland's prodigal shanty-singers released a 3 volume series of EPs entitled, "Always the Bridesmaid," and titled by volume, "Valerie Plame," "Days of Elaine," and, "Record Year for Rainfall."

I will be honest and admit that I am a dyed-in-the-wool Decemberists fanboy. I have seen their tours, I have paid for all their work, and I have often wished my mother was a Chinese trapeze artist. When I heard about this compilation, it was tough to from getting over-excited. At the time of the first volume's release there had been a great deal of speculation about the next full length album, and it was my hope that Always the Bridesmaid would be an insight into this future work (now known to be entitled "The Hazards of Love" and expected for release in April).

I waited until recovering from my hysteria before hitting the play button, and to my great disappointment little effort was required to remain calm. There were undeniable standout tracks on the EPs. Volume one's title track, written as a march in the style of "Sixteen Military Wives," gave me hope as the opener. Volume three consisted of two tracks, "A Record Year for Rainfall" and "Raincoat Song." While lacking in their usual literary genius, these tracks upheld the group's reputation for great storytelling. But my real beef was in the middle. Volume two began with "Days of Elaine," a track which I found bland, and seemingly written to be a pop-radio hit (I perish the thought). The bleak situation was exacerbated by track two, "Days of Elaine (Long Version)." True to words, it was what it stated: the worst song in the collection, only longer. And to put the icing on the cake, track three, a campy cover of The Velvet Underground's "I'm Sticking With You."

The phrase "does not compute" springs to mind. A bad track, followed by the same bad track only worse. Then the coup de gras, the modern kings of pretentious obscurity covering their post-war nihilist counterparts. Who the hell produced this? And if bad covers and contemporary lyrics are what we should expect from The Hazards of Love, look out Colin Meloy. I know for certain that somewhere there will be an angry mob of Victorian Alt-Pop fans in cravats and hoop skirts, waiting to trounce this guy.

Ghost Town

September 2008
Directed by David Koepp
Starring Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear

Review by Rebecca JEWELL

When I am asked what kind of movies I like, I reply with two words: original ones. So many films nowadays feature the same plot, same twists and same jokes as every other film of their genre. It's difficult, then, for me to say what it was that enticed me to go see Ghost Town (I will admit I did not know who Ricky Gervais was at this point, so I cannot even credit him as the source of my interest). The concept seems like one of the most well used in cinema, especially over the past few years: a person finds themselves with the ability to communicate with ghosts. Perhaps the first thing that caught my eye when reading the synopsis was that the awkward, anti-social protagonist, Bertram Pincus (Ricky Gervais), is a dentist. That quirk caught my interest, but it was the film’s quality that made me see it more than once.
Gervais' comedic style shines through perfectly in his portrayal the bitter Pincus. After what should have been a routine hospital procedure, he discovers he died briefly during it and has developed the ability communicate with ghosts. Now Pincus is stuck with more people to avoid- people who all want his help and are desperate to get it. One very persistent ghost, Frank Herlihy (played by Greg Kinnear), employs Pincus to break up the engagement of Herlihy's widow Gwen (played by Téa Leoni). However, Pincus' complete lack of social skills makes it difficult for him to even begin a conversation with Gwen, and the constant interruption of the ghosts doesn't help much either. The first time I saw Ghost Town, I missed a good number of the jokes because the entire theatre (including myself) was still roaring with laughter from the previous one. The dynamics between characters were excellent, especially between Pincus and Herlihy. And not only is Ghost Town one of my most favourite movies, it has the best soundtrack of any film I have seen. The Beatles, Citizen Cope and John Mayer all contribute wonderfully and make the movie that much more enjoyable. Ghost Town goes above and beyond the clichés and overused material found too often in movies. It is clever, funny, heartwarming and entertaining. And after a long week, I think I'm going to curl up with a hot chocolate, my laptop, and this movie.

What Craig St. Jean is Eating

UPEI's most compelling Convive returns with another mealtime missive

By Craig St. Jean

Hey guys, it's 2009 blah blah blah, the state of the food world is basically the same etc etc, but before I reclaim my throne as the Semantic's meal-ticket and get back to telling you what to eat, I have a bone to pick, because I just can't let this go: Those of you who read the first edition of the Panther Post-- which was hopefully very few of you (I mean, seriously....god)-- may have noticed the work of an impostor in it's pages. In a most flagrant and foul violation of my intellectual property rights, reporter Paige Mattieu attempted a food review. Like, WTF??? Is the Panther Post (ugh, I can barely bring myself to type that awful, awful new name) so bereft of ideas that it must resort to aping my bread and butter, as it were? I will not be so obtuse and arrogant as to stake claim to the invention of the food review, but Semantic faithful tend to know what's up, and undoubtedly realize that two cannot eat from this plate.

If imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, then I thank the PP for their adulation, but loyal Semanticists know that adding water only dilutes the flavor. Props to Paige for a well-written article, but did UPEI readers really prefer her Pablum to my Original Recipe™? I think they could taste the difference. In a nutshell, the PP wants its finger in the pie, but they ain't worth their salt. They bit off more than they can chew. I'M the one who brings home the bacon. If you missed that article and can't believe this is not bullshit, you might find the offending issue by digging to the bottom of a trash can on campus-- you know, the place where that paper belongs. I hereby challenge Paige to fight me. Or at least take me on in an eating contest.

Protecting my rep is always a bit of a bother, but ultimately, I've got bigger fish to fry. So let's get to the reason why you picked up this paper in the first place: To find out WHAT CRAIG ST. JEAN IS EATING. Well, the answer is, a lot. In fact, my recent meals have been so tryptophantastic that my blood-turned-gravy and brain-turned-stuffing are seriously curbing my ability to develop an extended narrative here. So, for the ease of my mind and your consumption, here is a list of some of some of my favorite fodder as of late.

Suggestions for delicious ingestion:

Leonhards Cafe and Bakery: Get some soup. For serious. THEY HAVE POTATO AND BACON SOUP! I know, you're probably shitting yourself just thinking about it. But, shockingly, they can do ya one better. I sauntered in there one crisp December afternoon, intent on making a gastronomic gamble. When informed that Pea was the soup du jour, I daringly demanded that bacon be added to my bowl, and I'm sure glad I did, because that brown-speckled orange mush was the most glorious soup ever served, in my very important opinion. Try it for yourself sometime, but be warned that it will only resemble the beauty of my bowl-- it will never be matched.

Burger King's Angry Whopper: BK gets shit on/written off unfairly far too often. It happens every day. It's happening right now, because so there are so many uncultured idiots that are racist against BK. Fight the power by ordering an Angry Whopper. If you thought that the Spicy Baconator was better than the Plain Baconator (it was) and miss the option since Wendy's so rudely removed it from their repertoire, you'll probably agree that the Angry Whopper convincingly outperforms the Plain Whopper in the taste-stakes. Onion rings and jalapeño peppers on a burger? How can you lose?!

Brit's: This place ranks among the elite as some of Charlottetown's most vehement purveyors of GREEZE. They're worthy of a full-on focus article, but I'll just mention a few key points here: The folks at Brit's use their deepfryer like magicians use their wands. It's kind of like how Jesus turned water into wine, except it's for real and there's more deepfrying. THEY HAVE DEEPFRIED PIZZA!!! I've ordered it a couple times. Crispy on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside, and it's CHEAP. Dig it. Also, Brit's angus burger closer approaches the supernal brilliance of Black and White's half-pounder (see: my first article, some months ago) than any other burger I've eaten.

Lot 30: Stunning, I know, but I actually hauled myself out of my grease puddle to check this place out. Yes, I almost slipped on my way through the door. Normally I wouldn't hit up a high class joint like this, but as Charlottetown's newest and greatest culinary celebrity, I wanted to see if they could impress me. While perusing the menu, I was struck by a disturbing lack of GREEZE, but resolved to give it a shot anyway. I apprehensively ordered the the white wine-braised Pork Belly with Yukon Gold Potatoes and crab apple syrup. My server assured me that it was their fattiest cut of meat, and that the potatoes would kind of be like putting fries in a blender. Lo and behold, it turned out to be the second best meal I ate that day (just short of the donair I had for lunch). I heartily recommend it. Oddly, though, I was charged full price for my dinner. I figured someone would recognize me and dispose of the bill accordingly. Oh well, I'm including my picture below so they won't make the same mistake again:

(pic)

Next time: Something extraordinarily greasy!

Bird a Noble Beast

Andrew Bird
Noble Beast
2009/Fat Possum Records

by Kate McKENNA

I've met - well, heard - my true love, and his name is Andrew Bird. We've been inseparable since acquainting in early 2006, and our bond has grown insurmountably since. A lady loves to gush, and while I'm hesitant to share, I've kept him a secret for far too long -
I don't know if it's the whistling, the strings (oh, how I love the strings!), or his sultry tones, but Andrew Bird's newest album, Noble Beast, is excellent from start to finish.

Initially, Noble Beast doesn't captivate as quickly as Bird's first four solo albums. Like his prior albums, Bird demands a degree of attention paid to his work - the subtly of his arrangement, the layering of songs, the quality of production and the sensitive, clever lyrics can't be appreciated as background music. Succinctly, Prozak fans need not apply. Unlike his past four albums, however, Bird seems to have found his niche. Bird's niche is in idiosyncrasies - his lyrics are obscure and arcane, his melodies are bizarre and wrote with a wide array of instruments. Bird has no qualms to plod experimentally ahead, to the beat of his (bongo) drum. Nothing has changed, but somehow, it's all come together.

People more cruel than I have mocked Bird for his girly name, and also, for occasionally being strikingly similar to elevator music. Alas, I concede the first, and somewhat concede the second. In his specific sub-genre of indie rock, his competitors fill the brim with mediocrity. Bird is set apart by his ability to write one helluva catchy song, and perhaps by his penchant to write on science, existentialism, and evolutionary psychology. Does that sound unappealing to you? Get your hands on his last album, Armchair Apocrypha, and prove me wrong. It's nothing short of brilliant.

Standout tracks on Noble Beast include "Not A Robot, But A Ghost", "Natural Disaster" and "Anonanimal". Though not yet available for purchase, it is due for release on January 20th, 2009.

Ladyhawke

Artist: Ladyhawke

Album: Ladyhawke

Label/Year: Modular Records, 2008

By Aimee POWER

Semantic Volume 1, Issue 8

This past Fall, a few friends of mine had been raving about this sexy dance beast dubbed Ladyhawke. While traveling, I saw a poster for an upcoming show, and I was quite excited until I learned that the show was actually for Ladyhawk, a scruffy rock band from Vancouver. Oops. This prompted me to do my homework and acquire a copy of the real lady’s one and only album, Ladyhawke.

It came out last September from a New Zealander who is clearly influenced by the eighties - obviously, she is a die-hard Stevie Nicks fan. Although the current 80’s revival is awesome to some and nauseating to others, she embraces her love for that era in her self-titled album. You were warned. Although many pop-dance artists have been recently going down the sparkly-synth-y route, I find that Ladyhawke has proven to be much more versatile. The songs “Crazy World” and “Love Don’t Live Here” have a strong Pat Benatar rock vibe while “Morning Dream” is very romantic, almost cutesy. Ladyhawke’s big singles, “Back of a Van” and “Paris is Burning” are rad dance songs that will make you want to sing along obnoxiously on the dance floor or in your car. You can also find a remix of Paris is Burning by Peaches, which you won’t regret downloading.

All and all, I love the simplicity and youthfulness of this album. Although it is dripping with trendy nostalgia, I find it to be quite sincere and rockin’ amongst the sparkle. Request her at a local indie pop night near you.

What Craig St. Jean is Eating (Donairs!!)

By Craig St. JEAN (The Semantic Volume 1, Issue 5)

The Semantic's most-maverick gourmand writes from the gut. This week: A sloppy sojourn to donair town.

Pop open a bag of chips in revelry, for Her Royal Tyranness, Ms. McKenna, has placed a firm vote of confidence in my corner-- I'm proud to proclaim that WHAT CRAIG ST. JEAN IS EATING is staying in The Semantic! As your resident low-class culinary cognoscente, it is my mission to bring you ravenous readers the incisive, meat-dicing, loaf-slicing commentary that you desperately crave. It's a complicated world out there-- each day we are inundated with a glut of complex choices and decisions, so when it comes to matters of the maw, it's best to simply close your eyes, turn off your brain, and put what I tell you in your mouth. Last issue's burger review was a good start, but now that I've got my my feet wet and my appetite even whetter, it's time to really get down to business. In this installment of nutritional negligence, I bring you an investigative report into Charlottetown's donair scene: which ones rule? which ones suck? which ones are larger than a small child? Delicious answers lie ahead...

...but before I get there, I think it's apropos to backtrack a bit and appreciate the origins of the donair. The donair that we know and love in Atlantic Canada is essentially a variation of a Turkish dish known as the "Döner Kebab." Cut in strips from a vertical spit, döner kebab meat was often that of lamb, but sometimes beef, and was typically served on a pita or something of the sort. Depending on the restaurant on the east coast, vestiges of the donair's Mediterranean/Middle Eastern ancestry will be betrayed in varying degrees of ethnic flavor. From conversations with my New England relatives, I have determined that an American approximation also exists, developed in the Greek tradition and going by the name of a "gyro" or "giro." Again, the dish is comprised of sliced lamb or beef and served on a pita, with varying sauces and vegetables thrown into the mix. The Atlantic Canadian donair is believed to have been pioneered in Halifax, which seems believable enough if one is to check out all of the city's downtown corner stores restaurants. The approach around is to top the meat with with chopped tomatoes, onions, and sometimes cheese. The CRAIG ST. JEAN approach, however, is to ditch the vegetable bullshit and ALWAYS add cheese. Ordered this way, it's a veritable Atlantic Canadaian ambrosia. Quebec has poutine, we have donairs, and now you have MY advice on where to get 'em:

You've pretty much got 4 options. Sadly, one of those options is repulsive to the point that I'm dismayed I'm even allowing myself to mention it. But for the sake of the curious and the donair n00bs, it's PEI Pizza on Kent St. Yes, what once was a glorious satellite of the Jack's Pizza operation, and thus a purveyor of the indomitable Jack's donair, is now but a shell of its former self. In terms of serving awesome donairs, at least. I ate one there once; never again! I'm feeling a little nauseous simply from the memory. Please, if you have never eaten a donair, do not let their's be your first! And please, allow me to move onwards and upwards.

Of the three remaining options, two are pretty good. First, there's Greco, which serves a donair that doesn't have a whole lot in common with the more traditional ones described above. It's the type of dish that's appealing when you wish to put absolutely no effort into eating your food (which, come to think of it, is basically Taco Bell's biggest selling point for me) and when you don't mind getting a little messy. No work required here-- just slurp it down. I'd suggest donning sweatpants during the act, especially if it's 3pm and this is your first meal of the day. Any points I'd detract are lost in the flavor department. It's still tasty, mind you; it's just that it merely knocks on the door while it's superiors smash through without warning. Second, there's Dino's. Now here's a place that deserves an entire article all it's own (keep an eye out!). These dudes revel in all things donair, and in fact, some of their donair variations far surpass the staple item. I'd love to digress into details, but I've got guidelines to follow here. Their basic donair clearly falls in line with the traditional Halifax donair-- the kind you'll find on Pizza corner.The meat has a stronger hint of that Mediterranean flavor, so Lebanese lovers might find themselves more enamored of the Dino's donair than I am. It's good, though I wish the sauce wasn't cold when it's added, but you won't go too far astray with this one.

So what is the champion of donairs? I sort of spilled the beans above... Jack's Pizza, on University Ave, holds the honor. Their's is like, The Donair of A Thousand Truths. My first time eating this thing was like being reunited with a long lost brother. I embraced it tightly with both hands, and asked "where have you been all my life?." Things haven't been the same since (I now have cholosterol issues....tasty, tasty cholosterol issues). It's really all about the meat. I don't know where it comes from or what the hell is in it, and I don't want to know. I just want more of it. You might do well to wear a garbage bag while you handle this thing, but the mess is part and parcel with the appeal of a Jack's donair. It's about rejecting the notion that great food must be eaten from a plate "daintily" with "utensils." So, really, it's not just a food, it's a statement. In fact, it's a lifestyle. Go there now and order their largest donair. It outweighs the average 3 year old, and it's twice as delicious. Tell them I sent you.

Oh, and as unrelated addendum, I'm going to give this year's Thanksgiving dinner an 8/10. Good job, mom.

NEXT ISSUE: Something extraodinarily greasy!"