Ukraine is Not a Brothel [2013)

2013, eh?

What happened the next year?

Let’s get our organizations straight.

Because, as this documentary elucidates, the money just COMES IN.

Anonymous.

[a story for another time]

Is George Soros a “fan” (benefactor) of FEMEN?

You bet your damn ass he is.

But as a wise person has said: it is not what we know in our gut, but what we can prove that matters.

When it comes to tracing transnational, criminal conspiracies (aka “color revolutions”).

What happened in Ukraine in 2014?

Let’s meet our players (and their ilk).

FEMEN.

Ukrainian.

Фемен.

Lots of similarities between Russian and Ukrainian language.

But don’t trust me.

Try Duolingo.

Wanna read Russian news?

I do.

Because our news (the bullshit aggregated on Drudge Report) is globalist propaganda.

I want a new propaganda (to dérive Huey Lewis).

Wanna read something other than Russia Today (RT), ITAR-TASS (aka TASS), Pravda, or Sputnik (all four of these are good sources)?

Then you’re gonna have to learn Russian.

And this conflict ain’t going anywhere.

Unless we all get incinerated (which I would say there’s about a 30% chance of right now…as things stand).

So sound out your Cyrillic.

FEMEN.

I almost stopped watching this film as soon as I heard the word “patriarchy”.

Dog whistle for “Marxist moron philosophy to shortly follow”.

But I stuck it out.

For you guys.

And not because the tits were that great.

Because they weren’t.

Relocated to Paris (as this film delineates).

Founded in Ukraine.

Famous for their activities in Ukraine.

Anna Hutsol.

Looks like a fucking man.

But kinda cute.

Murmansk.

Oh, to be a professional “activist”.

Have you seen these cunts (men too!) on Twitter?

They have the word “activist” in their bios.

What kind of Jane Fonda imbecile would self-identify with that word?

And think about this.

Those cigarettes they are smoking (these “activists”)…some poor schmuck in the Philippines is paying for that with his donation.

Or, more likely, George Soros routed some money through multiple shell organizations to pay for those cigarettes.

Why?

To destabilize Ukraine.

Why?

To, in turn, destabilize Russia.

It’s the kind of bullshit our CIA does.

Which begs the question:  does George Soros work for the CIA?

Indeed, does George Soros OWN the CIA?

What about Klaus Schwab?

Does the CIA work for Klaus Schwab?

Officially?

Unofficially?

In essence?

Anna Hutsol.

Jewish (big surprise).

An “economist”.

Yeah, right.

And I’m an architect.

I have to hand it to FEMEN in one sense.

They are masters of public relations and publicity.

Much like Fauci, er, Zelensky.

FEMEN does not seem to be too knowledgeable about prostitution (the traditional kind…not philosophical prostitution [they are masters of that!]) in Ukraine.

So let’s help them out.

You gotta go back a little bit.

To the first “white slavery” in Europe.

To Belgium.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_slave_trade_affair

Frame of reference.

Why did Putin invade Ukraine?

Demilitarization (to protect Russia and ethnic Russians in Ukraine [the latter of which are being subjected to genocide in Donbass at the hands of the neo-Nazi Ukrainian goverment {courtesy of the Ihor Kolomoyskyi/Igor Kolomoisky/Kolomoysky-funded neo-Nazi Azov Battalion}]).

https://www.newsweek.com/evidence-war-crimes-committed-ukrainian-nationalist-volunteers-grows-269604

IMG_7897

https://www.reuters.com/article/idUS60927080220150505

IMG_7898

Denazification (to protect the Russian-speaking population of Ukraine who are being subjected to genocide [as outlined in objective #1]).

Destruction of U.S.-funded biolabs.

Human trafficking (stopping the cesspool Ukraine from providing girls [many underage] to the illegal sex trafficking industry both in Europe and around the world).

DDDH.

Demilitarization Denazification Destruction (of biolabs) Human trafficking (interdiction).

This final point (the interdiction of human trafficking occurring in and emanating from Ukraine) has not, as far as I’m aware, been thus far ideated by the Kremlin.

But it goes without saying.

The same forces (Kolomoysky) that fund the neo-Nazi Azov Battalion are likely to have their fingers in the human trafficking (sex trafficking) pie.

Kolomoysky is Jewish.

Yet he materially supports (funds) the neo-Nazi Azov Battalion.

Does that strike you as strange?

Does it make you rethink your assumptions about Jewish “choir boy” (cantor) Zelensky???

I am not accusing Kolomoysky of doing anything other than being guilty of being (a Jewish) funder of neo-Nazis in Ukraine.

But I will say this:  it appears that a good many Ukrainian girls end up as sex slaves in Israel.

You decide.

HistorySlavery

IMG_7969

IMG_7970

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IMG_7972

https://t.me/deathwishpauly

Sacha Baron Cohen can joke in his TV series Who is America? about Eastern European girls being smuggled en masse into Assad’s Syria aboard yachts.

Is it because this activity is common knowledge?

Why did Sacha Baron Cohen take the role of Mossad spy Eli Cohen in The Spy?

Strange role, no?

Is SBC a dual-citizen?

Why has he become so humorless as of late?

He’s become [drumroll] an ACTIVIST.

How disgusting.

And how strikingly-similar to Jim Carrey.

It’s almost like these guys are nervous about something.

What.

Were they hanging with Epstein on Little Saint James?

Or at Zorro Ranch??

Or on Lolita Express???

Let’s get back to what FEMEN never once (!) talks about in this titty-flashing movie.

Their ostensible raison d’être.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_trafficking_in_Ukraine

There is an effort to hide this.

As if Ukraine is more advanced–more civilized when it comes to stopping sex trafficking (when exactly the opposite is the case [as Putin knows, it is the epicenter–the cesspool on his doorstep]).

IMG_7973

IMG_7974

IMG_7975

IMG_7976

The Thailand of Europe.

Sure.

Czechia has problems too.

But Ukraine appears to be ground zero in Europe (as regards the number of young women and girls [and boys!]) that they supply to the international illegal sex trade.

Buying and selling persons.

Remember James Alefantis and his Instagram?

What were those strange pictures of porcelain dolls with price tags?

Why post that?

And those pictures of stacks of rubber-banded Euros?

Why post that?

Some kind of joke??

I kinda don’t think so.

It may be a joke (funny to the author [Alefantis]), but it is not truly in jest.

…but I digress.

https://dcpizzagate.wordpress.com/

Stay.  On.  Target.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_tourism_in_Ukraine

IMG_7977

IMG_7978

Anna Hutsol was detained by the FSB (Russian security service) in November 2012.

The year before this film was released.

And a mere two years before the U.S. government and a George Soros NGO engineered the coup in Ukraine.

The “revolution of dignity”.

They had already had the “orange” revolution.

Running out of colors.

And “revolution of dignity” sounds slightly less-absurd than “chartreuse” revolution.

Anna Hutsol was deported from Russia upon attempting to enter the country via Saint Petersburg in November 2012.

Deported back to Paris.

Her point of departure.

Soon afterwards, the homegrown FEMEN would leave Ukraine for France.

Anna Hutsol was denied asylum in Switzerland.

Because she is a political operative.

And not a genuine refugee.

That is plain to see.

By 2013, FEMEN was featured in multiple films (including the French television production Nos seins, nos armes!, the documentary Everyday Rebellion, and the film currently under consideration).

Indeed, three films came out on FEMEN the same year:  2013.

The year before the U.S. (Victoria Nuland and Geoffrey Pyatt acting as point people [not to mention John McCain]) overthrew the government of Ukraine.

In 2014, a fourth FEMEN documentary appeared (Je suis FEMEN):  fourth in two years.

Was this group really that inspiring?

Did any of these filmmakers (our director Kitty Green, Caroline Fourest, Nadia El Fani, Arash T. Riahi, Arman Riahi, and/or Alain Margot) receive funding from any NGOs?

If so, which NGOs?

They wouldn’t happen to be Soros (and/or Schwab) -connected, would they?

Oksana Shachko died in 2018.

In Paris.

She was only 31.

Unlike Hutsol, she was actually born in Ukraine.

Hutsol moved to Ukraine from Russia at age seven.

Shachko hung herself.

Ostensibly.

She was from Western Ukraine.

This is important.

This is where arch-Ukrainian-Nazi Stepan Bandera was from.

Shachko went from wanting to be a nun (age 12?) to becoming an atheist (age 14).

What caused such a precipitous change in this young Ukrainian woman between the years 1999-2001?

It was likely her enrollment in the free university of Khmelnytsky at age 13.

That’s where she appears to have been met with radical feminist indoctrination.

Keep in mind, FEMEN has not only spawned documentaries.

There are also tomes by the likes of Galia Ackerman, etc.

It is purported that the “security forces” of Vladimir Putin attacked Shachko multiple times.

When?

Where?

How?

How was this proven?

Where is the proof that Putin sent anyone after her?

What was Shachko’s relationship with the French group Front National?

[now known as National Rally]

Shachko had a solo art exhibition in Paris in 2016.

In 2019, it was reported in Elle that this was not Shachko’s first attempt to hang herself.

Alexandra Shevchenko was also born in Ukraine.

Also in Western Ukraine (the land of Ukrainian Nazi Stepan Bandera).

It should be noted that Hutsol, Shachko, and Shevchenko all grew up in the same town:  Khmelnytskyi.

Population:  approximately 275,000.

There was a FEMEN protest in Moscow against Vladimir Putin in December 2011.

FEMEN have protested in Belarus.

Also in 2011.

Inna Shevchenko (not to be confused with Alexandra) cut down a Christian cross in Kiev with a chainsaw in 2012.

Now where have we seen that activity before?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=uHMHPQY3BmE

Incidentally, Shachko appears in this film in a hat with a cutesy-pink hammer and sickle on it.

Kitsch?

Or do these morons want to go back to communism???

Inna was born in Ukraine.

In Kherson (in the south).

A Black Sea port.

In 2013, Inna was granted asylum in France.

When was the Orange Revolution (about which I spoke earlier)?

2004.

In the aftermath of an election followed by claims of corruption and electoral fraud.

Sound familiar?

What happened?

The Supreme Court (of Ukraine) ordered a revote.

Americans were not so lucky.

Our SCOTUS is itself obviously corrupt.

Hence their inaction on the 2020 election (which Trump clearly won).

So we are now stuck with bumbling dictator Biden.

Mandate Biden.

What other colors of revolution have there been?

Let’s line them up:

Philippines “Yellow Revolution”:  1986

Papua New Guinea “Coconut Revolution”:  1988-1998

Czechoslovakia “Velvet Revolution”:  1989

Yugoslavia “Bulldozer Revolution”:  2000

Georgia (Tbilisi) “Rose Revolution”:  2003

Georgia (Tbilisi) “Second Rose Revolution”:  2004

Ukraine “Orange Revolution”:  2004-2005

Iraq “Purple Revolution”:  2005

Kyrgyzstan “Tulip Revolution”:  2005

Lebanon “Cedar Revolution”:  2005

Kuwait “Blue Revolution”:  2005

Belarus “Jeans Revolution”:  2006

Myanmar “Saffron Revolution”:  2007

Malaysia “Yellow Rally”:  2007-2016

Moldova “Grape Revolution”:  2009

Iran “Green Revolution”:  2009-2010

Kyrgyzstan “Melon Revolution”:  2010

Tunisia “Jasmine Revolution”:  2010-2011

Egypt “Lotus Revolution”:  2011

Bahrain “Pearl Revolution”:  2011-2014

Yemen “Yemeni Revolution”:  2011

China “Chinese Jasmine Revolution”:  2011

Russia “Snow Revolution”:  2011-2013

[notice that China and Russia (who are now aligned due to moronic U.S. foreign policy) were hit back to back:  coincidence?  I don’t fucking think so.]

Macedonia “Colourful Revolution”:  2016

Armenia “Velvet Revolution”:  2018

Lebanon “October Revolution”:  2019-present

Bolivia “Pitita Revolution”:  2019

Belarus “Slipper Revolution”:  2020-present

Do you notice how the USA isn’t on there?

It should be.

I would call it Coronariots.

Inna and Alexandrea Shevchenko are not related.

How did these two meet?

On VK, of course! [VKontakte (Russian social media platform)]

Enter DJ Hell.

Inna was arrested in Enschede, Netherlands for cutting down “wooden” (read Christian) crosses.

She was protesting the arrest of Pussy Riot (remember this name).

Inna got asylum in France in 2013.

Le Figaro‘s Saturday supplement Madame Figaro named Inna as one of the world’s most iconic women in December 2012.

Inna thinks that “homophobes” and “fascists” are “extremists”.

She lumps them all together.

But are FEMEN “extremists”?

The implication is, “Of course not.”

Indeed.  

To watch these women flail like LeBron James when they are arrested only attests to the hysteria that drives their actions.

They are performers.

And not very entertaining ones.

They are shrill.

Annoying.

And most certainly guilty of (were it to be directed at any other religion but Christianity) hate crimes.

Desecration.

Sacrilege.

In 2015, Inna was speaking in Copenhagen.

She was discussing the “illusion” of “freedom of speech” in Western Europe.

As she was speaking, a terrorist opened fire in the lobby.

Wikipedia leaves out the identity and motivation of this terrorist.

Was he (oh, I don’t know) MUSLIM???

And if so, was he acting AGAINST these fucking stupid stunts of FEMEN?

I would say that the probability is not negligible.

Inna once stripped nude on Al Jazeera before the feed was cut.

But the context was particularly appalling.

The interviewer had just asked, “Which is better for women, nudity or the paranja?”

Paranja = Central Asian version of burqa

This is very offensive.

This is offensive to Arabic speakers.

This is offensive to Muslims.

Why should a non-Arab, non-Muslim such as Inna be granted “asylum” in France for pulling these kinds of stunts worldwide?

Why doesn’t she and her band of merry strippers stay in Ukraine and fight for the rights of women and girls?

Why not?

Because they don’t fucking care.

Because FEMEN are fake.

They are a tool.

A can opener.

If it isn’t Soros slipping money into their bank account, it is someone of that ilk.

All of these “color revolutions” need a spark.

Strangely, the list above (from Wikipedia) also doesn’t include the “Revolution of Dignity” which occurred in Ukraine in 2014.

These are the infamous Euromaidan protests.

Much more violent than the Orange Revolution (where only one person died [of a heart attack]).

2004.

2014.

The revolution was restarted.

Tried again.

Inna Shevchenko studied journalism.

Can you guess who has published her?

CNN, Huffington Post…

Inna is apparently against all religion (like the late-Shachko):  Christianity, Islam, Judaism, etc.

Those are the only ones she singles out.

What about Buddhism?

Hiduism?

No mention of those.

Only the Abrahamic religions seem to be in her sights.

Inna seems to be fighting religion more than she is fighting sex trafficking.

I thought, “Ukraine is not a brothel”?

Maybe ease up on bashing religions and do some fucking research about sex trafficking.

And if you have done the research, Inna, then fucking talk about it!!!

Instead of just shooting your mouth off about how RELIGION is so oppressive to women.

What about the Ukrainian women and girls who are sold as sex slaves?

Do you think they wake up every day thinking how oppressive RELIGION is???

Of course not.

FEMEN are fucking fakes!

Yana Zhdanova.

Donetsk Oblast.

One founder from Eastern Ukraine.

One from Southern Ukraine.

And three from Western Ukraine.

Yana and other members of FEMEN were expelled from Turkey in 2012.

Maybe if FEMEN had remained in Ukraine (and had stayed focused on helping rape victims, for instance) they would actually be making a positive difference in the world?

As it is, they are just being used by their backers (funders).

FEMEN made their pro-abortion stance clear in April 2012 with their protest in the bell tower of Saint-Sophia cathedral in Kyiv.

Another moronic stance.

A death cult.

And the strumpet cheerleaders of this death cult.

Do you think dead little babies are cool?

Apparently FEMEN do.

They want to HELP women by making sure women can KILL their unborn children.

That is not revolutionary.

It’s stupid.

It’s not noble.

It’s disgusting.

As you might expect, FEMEN seem to particularly despise Lukashenko (President of Belarus).

This is somewhat understandable.

Was Lukashenko installed by way of a rigged election?

Many say he was.

I do have sympathy for electorates whose voices have been squelched by election fraud.

But once again, FEMEN make no sense.

WHY don’t they like Lukashenko?

The reason is not apparent in their ill-thought-out slogan, “Respect, KGB, UEFA.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

In other news, there is a mosque in Kyiv.

Back to Lukashenko, at least FEMEN got their point across with the slogan, “Stop Dictator”.

They have a point.

Lukashenko has been President of Belarus since 1994.

That is a bit long.

28 years.

But Belarus has had to deport FEMEN on a notorious occassion.

It was rather brutal.

But the message from the Belarussian KGB was clear:

“don’t come to our fucking country.”

Did FEMEN come back?

No.

FEMEN really hate Christianity.

Their protests in Ukraine make this clear.

Why protest the 1025th anniversary of Orthodox Christianity in Kyivan Rus’?

Why not protest sex trafficking??

I thought, “Ukraine is not a brothel”???

Protesting Christianity is the kind of bullshit Klaus Schwab would support.

Or ethnic Jew George Soros (who doesn’t believe in God [according to his 60 Minutes interview with Steve Kroft]).

My guess is that Soros and Schwab want to dispense with religions.

Because religions involve morality.

Ethics.

And these communist eco-Nazis (Schwab and Soros) will not be able to effect their Great Reset without seriously weakening organized religions.

But guess what?

They already did.

What was closed down for much of the past two years in the USA?

Churches.

What was open?

Casinos, etc.

In December 1, 2013, Yana protested in front of the Ukrainian embassy in Paris (a country which gave her asylum in 2014…apparently urinators need protection from those upon whose images they urinate) by urinating on photos of Victor Yanukovych.

Yanukovych would be overthrown in a U.S.-led coup the following year (as evidenced by the leaked phone call between Victoria Nuland and Geoffrey Pyatt).

Three weeks after peeing on Yanukovych in Paris, Yana went to Brussels where her slogan was, “Putin is the killer of democracy.”

What was “the great uniter” Joe Biden’s first act as President?

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/18/world/europe/russia-biden-putin-killer.html

Joe Biden absolutely went to the Rex Tillerson school of diplomacy.

Had Trump not fired Tillerson, the U.S. and North Korea would have fought a nuclear war during Trump’s Presidency.

In 2012, Yana attacked the patriarch Kirilll of Moscow and all of Russia at the airport in Kyiv.

What an offense!

Let’s be clear.

These dumbass “smash the patriarchy” bitches are not being metaphorical.

They actually want to deprive Russian Orthodox Christians of their dignity.

Imagine if the current Pope wasn’t a communist cocksucker.

What if Yana had attacked him?

Even so.

It’s one thing to call someone a “communist cocksucker”.

It’s another to physically assault him.

I have no love or respect for Pope Bergoglio.

Because he is a fucking sellout.

He is a goddamned communist prick.

But I would never attack him physically.

I do, however, reserve my right to insult him in writing.

I love Catholics.

I am a Christian.

Make of that what you want.

I reserve the right to rail against false idols such as Pope Bergoglio in a manner commensurate to the prophets of old.

I’m not a prophet.

I’m not overturning a table in the synagogue.

But I will tell you this:  Jesus was a bad motherfucker.

https://open.spotify.com/track/2qWeZD9gk2V3dmadKOUmeE?si=b707102754b04c0a

Wars happen.

Wars are fought.

There is a time to stand up.

Putin is, in my opinion (considering all the intel I have consumed), doing the right thing in Ukraine.

Putin is fighting against the insidious influence of globalist tools like FEMEN.

By the way, what was Yana’s slogan when she attacked the patriarch?

“Kill Kirill.”

What an insult.

Indeed, more than an insult.

A threat of violence.

An incitement to violence.

To anyone who heard those words.

An instruction.

I would never say such a thing about Pope Bergoglio.

I hope the Pope confesses his sins and turns from his communist cocksucking ways.

I understand shock value.

In this small sense, I respect FEMEN.

But in the grand scheme, I think what they are doing is evil.

Perhaps they are just stupid.

And greedy.

And vacuous.

Yana protested in Lithuania in 2013.

This was a key event in starting the Euromaidan protest.

These dumb bitches want to be a part of the European Union.

That’s why they flee their homeland and post up in Paris.

Meanwhile, they say very little about how Ukrainian girls and women are bought and sold across Western Europe and the world.

So these fucking bitches are fake-ass sellouts.

They just want the fame of protesting some dumb bullshit.

They suck Soros cock all day long.

Metaphorically, of course.

Because Soros has no cock to suck.

His demon cock fell off long ago.

Same with Satanist Schwab.

Speaking of Nazis…

https://unlimitedhangout.com/2021/02/investigative-reports/schwab-family-values/

And:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=OT1Qn6COp6Y

What is it with these Nazi Jews?!?

Do they think the Holocaust didn’t happen???

I think the Holocaust DID happen!

There!

Take that, you pricks!!

I think Nazis are the scum of the earth.

Fuck Nazis!!!

So what am I:

anti-semitic?

No, I don’t think so.

A white supremacist?

Nope, try again.

I’m just a dude who thinks the idea of super-rich Jews having benefitted from families who collaborated with the Nazis (Soros and Schwab) is disgusting.

And I think the idea of the 2nd or 3rd richest person in Ukraine (Igor Kolomoysky [also a Jew]) funding the neo-Nazi Azov Battalion that is committing genocide (the past eight years) against the Russian-speaking population of Donbass is disgusting.

Have these three Jews no shame?

Particularly Kolomoysky.

Soros has no control (nor any remorse) about how he went around with his fake godfather and confiscated the property of Jews during WWII.

Schwab seems to have no remorse about his father having profited immensely by being a Nazi collaborator in Germany during WWII (assuming the above link is accurate).

I am just scratching the surface with FEMEN.

The same can be done with Pussy Riot.

Or Marina Abramovic (who is “standing with Ukraine” [blech!]).

FEMEN and Pussy Riot are largely-interchangeable globalist tools.

Abramovic is their godhead.

These are not good people.

These are spirit-cooking, sick fucks.

This is not what Putin wants in his neighborhood.

And I don’t blame him.

LGBTQ, BLM, and Antifa are all globalist tools.

And their members (cult members) are useful idiots.

Dupes.

In 2014, Yana destroyed a wax figure of Putin in Paris (a country that gave her asylum [from what?!?] that same year).

Her message when she destroyed this wax figure of Putin?

“Kill Putin.”

Tell me, Yana, how does this message help the young women and girls of Ukraine who are being funneled into international sex trafficking rings?

How does “killing Putin” or “killing patriarch Kirill of Moscow” help young Ukrainian women and girls who have been SOLD and have ended up as sex slaves in places like Israel?

Does Putin run Israel?

I don’t think so.

Does Putin run the international sex trafficking market?

I don’t think so.

And if he does (and that is your message [which I doubt it is]), then prove it.

Get your feeble brain to log on to Mother Jones.

I don’t even care if the link is bullshit.

Just let me know why on earth you think killing Kirill and Putin will help young women and girls in Ukraine.

Are Kirill and Putin buying Ukrainian women and girls?

I kinda doubt it.

But I bet there are plenty of Parisians (your country of “asylum”) who are.

Plenty of rich French customers.

Is Paris a brothel?

Is France a brothel?

And where are the women and girls in those brothels from?

Not, perhaps, from your country which you abandoned (Ukraine)???

2014.

Yana vandalized the Vatican by taking the baby Jesus statue from the Nativity scene in front of Saint Peter’s Basilica while shouting, “God is woman.”

Yeah.

Great.

Real productive.

Hey Yana, you dumb bitch:

is the Holy Spirit male or female?

Think on that as that sweet Soros money rolls into the FEMEN bank account.

I agree with Yana and FEMEN on one point.

Bring on the titties!

I have no problem with women going topless.

That’s something I can get behind.

-PD

 

MZFPK [2021)

Breakfast cereal video game.

Pauly Deathwish’s 3rd album.

I am behind.

I can’t keep up with this guy.

Out of the gates like Flaming Lips.

30,000 feel of despair.

The gash.

Right into Isao Tomita.

Doing Debussy.

Marching.

Martial.

Fantastic noises.

Like first Stereolab album.

Here Come the Warm Jets.

Cheyenne Mountain jams.

I can no longer see what I’m typing.

  • What if I type in white?  Ahh, yes.  That does the trick.  But it ruins my style.  Louis-Ferdinand would not be happy.  Totally Air.  Pocket Symphony.  Who is Kevin?  Shields?  Ayers?  Fairlight.  Synth clouds.  Rich chords.  Very sophisticated harmonies and arrangements.  Cornelius from Japan.  This sounds very modern.  OH FUCK!  Groove is in the motherfucking heart.  Vogue!  So on track two, we are straight up on a catwalk.  But it could be Alan Vega or Martin Rev.  Kinda Sun City Girls.  Zoviet France.  Fridmann never gets this crazy with bass.  Wayne is driving it weirder.  This was, from what I hear, done with ZERO budget.  Is this a dance album?  First you have poetry.  Then you are prose.  Amateurs.  Into Odelay.  That was a good drum break.  The Strokes.  Fuzzy vocals.  Paliament/Funkadelic.  Sly Stone!  Later Stereolab.  Tim Gane processing.  Counter melody!  For fuck’s sake.  Somebody listen to this bloke.  Whoa.  What is up with this chorus?  Roland Kirk?  Like in Switzerland?  Definitely hitting some Os Mutantes twee.  Lo-fi as fuck.  Great Godard tongue in cheek.  Apparently about Neil Young and Rick James being in a band together when they were young and still in Canada.  Yonge Street?  Beats.  Drake needs to hear this.  Bit crusher lisp.  Spiritualized at the grocery store.  Swipe barcode.  Song peaks at end.  Masterful mix.  A true climax.  Savage mastering on every album.  Whole mix jumps.  It works.  Needle skipping.  American Supreme.  Claustrophobic.  COVID.  Sad.  Scared.  Apocalyptic.  The concept of the gaze in cinema.  Bass drops in.  Feel it in your sex organs.  A sexy song.  “Cobra Strike”.  This is unequivocally a dance album.  EDM all up in here.  Lots of panning.  Spliff it.  Micro gestures.  Pandemic planning.  How long will it last?  Soul-crushing.  Zombie metaphor.  Shaun of the Dead.  Masterpiece.  Beatle drums.  First Velvets album.  Rat trails.  “Black Angel’s Death Song”.  “The New Pollution”.  Dr. No.  Walther PPK.  What does this kid know?  He can’t possibly know, can he?  Pure phase.  Visconti.  Lanois.  Acid jazz.  Nick Cave.  Montage, mon beau souci.  Flaming Lips.  Jeff Tweedy drawl.  Jesus and Mary Chain team up with The Cure.  Disintegration.  Heartbreak here.  Who broke his heart?  Bleeps and bloops.  Robot noises.  Heartbeeps.  Jazz funk ’70s experimental upright.  Great lyrics.  Superimposition.  Steenbeck!  Fucking great lyrics on “Snip Snip”.  Oh, damn.  Glockenspiel at just the right time!  Icy.  Air.  Virgin suicides.  Dazed and confused.  Blonde.  Braids.  Like glazed bread.  German.  Texas.  Floating world.  Old world.  No one to smoke a doobie with and stare up at green trees.  No tits.  What is wrong with this world?  Rambo.  Fort Bragg.  Delta.  Boykin.  Intelligence Support Activity.  Send me.  George Crumb.  Black angels.  Jungle echoes.  4thPOG.  Ghosts.  PSYWAR op.  Make it loud.  Romeo foxtrot.  Shall we dance?  Charlie don’t surf.  Death on the dance floor.  Public Image Ltd.  Modes of limited transposition.  Messiaen.  Primal Scream.  Standing with Johnny Rotten.  #Trump2021 .  But this is more about big tits.  Giant opals.  Garth Hudson.  Telegraph.  Total loss.  Persona non grata.  Window still missing.  Swastika eyes.  Paul Weller.  XTRMNTR.  Shoot speed.  Kill light.  Eyes owned 2020.  The ugly had a chance.  Masks work…if you’re ugly and need to get laid.  Back with another block rocking’ beat.  Private psychedelic reel.  War metaphor.  Is this about election?  No.  Too early.  Look at liner notes.  Living in COVID times was like a world war.  War just beginning?  Got my pina colada.  Fuck it!  Arizona.  Living boldly.  Masks have lost.  Two weeks.  Could have been a contender.  Circuit bending.  Talking about big titty schizophrenic.  All footwork ruined.  Toys.  Falling apart gremlin workmanship.  Awkward line about Thora Birch.  Explicit warnings a little lazy.  Getting a bit Lenny Bruce up in here.  Russ Meyer.  Second line.  Double time.  Crazy drums.  Smooth as Sade.  Tambourine is the star.   One organic element.  Wrote a song.  She didn’t care.  Wrote her 200 songs.  She didn’t care.  One has zero plays globally.  She never bothered listening to it.  Some things not meant to be.  Liberals and conservatives.  Go and create.  Lobster.  Work wasn’t.  Bought her every flower imaginable.  Thousands of dollars on flowers.  Yoshimi laser warfare.  A piano not standard.  Some Tori Amos bullshit.  Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli.  Only the finest pianos.  Internationally famous.  Neither deserve it.  Pulled the plug at the wrong time.  Would he have still kept the same track listing?  Maybe so.  Heartbreak to rehash.  Goes by quick.  Good drum programming.  James Bond future theme.  Brian Wilson.  Phil Spector.  Absolute Nigel Godrich.  Cinematic.  The album that never was.  But this one is worldwide, motherfuckers.  Third this summer.  And a fourth already out.  I can hardly keep up.  I need to review movies.  Doesn’t Pauly Deathwish know I don’t have time for Galaga?  Falling apart.  Short-circuit.  Charlotte Gainsbourg.  Flashback to Bucolic.  
  • -PD

Introversion [2021)

Teenage Fanclub.

That glow in The World’s End.

But a sadness.

THE sadness.

Emily Dickinson.

Unrequited.

Unattainable.

My Bloody Valentine.

Sloshy grunge hats.

Edge echo.

Chris Bell.

I Am the Cosmos.

Yerself Is Steam.

Slowdive.

Rutti.

Brian Eno.

The disappearance of Madeleine McCann.

Tom Petty.

You don’t know how it feels.

J. Spaceman.

Abbey Road.

Air.

George Martin.

Beck.

Badfinger suicides.

Loser.

Spiritualized.

Royal Albert.

I can only give you everything.

Rick Danko.

Loping.

The Delgados.

Dave Fridmann.

Black magic warded off by honesty.

Good timing.

Divine.

Sigur Rós.

Nigel Godrich.

Pocket symphonies.

Charlotte Gainsbourg.

Serge on the way.

Lenny Bruce, even.

Hit to Death in the Future Head.

Wait at least until track three to break it down.

Southern Harmony and Musical Companion.

Gorecki.

Arvo Pärt.

Deserter’s Songs.

Absolutely.

The confusion of ridiculous counterpoint.

Aaron Copland.

Tonal, yet dissonant.

Thick Billy Corgan.

Siamese Dream.

Definitely a sadness here.

Dawn Upshaw.

Tabula rasa.

Death.

Immense Mellotron.

Tchaikovsky.

Abrupt modulation.

Sugar plum.

Lou Reed.

Ennio Morricone.

Cinema Paradiso.

All you need is hate.

Upstate.

Chaliapin.

Basso profundo.

Jussi Björling.

Dvořák.

Memorial day.

The Inflated Tear.

Columbus, Ohio with duct tape.

Debussy.

Posing with a bass clarinet.

Primal Scream.

Get Duffy.

Rock ferry.

Smokey Robinson.

Sad clown.

Dead clown.

Kinks.

Grasshopper.

Suzanne.

Woodwind quintet.

Did I ever write one?

Yes, I did.

César Franck.

Saint-Saëns.

Organ symphony.

Or is it contrabassoon?

Nadia Boulanger can tell you.

My teacher’s teacher (twice over).

The Left Banke.

LSD.

Herb Alpert?

Hummel.

Handel.

Strawberry fields.

Stereolab.

Unequivocally.

Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements.

A little lo-fi.

Vocal doubled.

Vox continental.

Great hook.

Changes that pull at your heartstrings.

More melancholy.

A fucking marimba solo?!?

Are you kidding me???

Makes sense.

Pauly Deathwish collaboration with Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes.

Lost Bayou Ramblers.

Gordon knew him as Death.

I have become death.

96 Tears.

Farfisa.

Partials.

Tim Gane tone.

Faust IV.

Doogie Howser?

Scary.

Impending.

Suspense.

Rock bass.

Ozzy.

Black Sabbath.

Amazing Grace.

Pete Townshend.

Front.

Back to J. Spaceman.

Dirty ass rock and roll with pristine horns.

Expensive drugs.

Sophisticated changes.

Éminence grise?

Is this the artist we’ve been waiting for?

Rodriguez?

R. Stevie Moore?

Wesley Willis?

Sounds like Jack Nitzsche.

Major Velvet vibes.

Suck-ceed twice.

Dylan with P-bass.

Mick Taylor.

Too much attitude.

Keith Richards.

Let it Come Down.

Shakespeare.

Fucker kicked the bucket.

First to be vaxxed.

Maricopa.

First Suicide album.

Bossa nova.

The Soft Bulletin.

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.

Gimme some lovin’?

Steve Winwood?

How old?

La Monte Young.

Slow changes.

First rehearsal tapes.

Alan Vega.

Martin Rev.

New York City heroin.

Warhol Factory torn down.

Across from YMCA.

Trump dances.

Great throwaway lyrics.

George Harrison.

Sound of universe.

Spacemen 3.

Savage tone.

Revolution.

Direct into mixing console.

Fried signal.

White album.

Sonic Youth.

Derek Bailey.

Lou ecstacy.

Late Lou.

European son.

Blood pressure rising.

Brutal.

Frankie Teardrop.

I think I’m in love.

Dub bass.

Will the circle remain unbroken?

When I had dinner with Roky.

13th Floor.

First Velvets album.

Heroin.

Drug rush.

Invincible.

But you gotta buy it.

Dirty Baltimore.

Cop shoot cop.

Cheree.

On the jukebox.

Eat at the gas station.

On tour.

First time in Texas.

American Supreme.

Iceland.

13 Angels.

It’s definitely Bowie.

New career.

Same town.

New old.

Old is new again.

Mercury Rev.

Savvy programming.

Dynamics.

Break beat.

A fuck ton of flutes.

Flute loops literally.

Bowie sax.

Little fluffy clouds.

Every drop.

Gay glam chorus.

Tony Visconti.

Don’t underestimate.

Pere Ubu.

First album.

Méliès.

Boys peel out.

Boces.

Inspector Clouseau.

Phone.

French ambulance.

Pants.

Gives me pants.

Videogames.

Cutting hole.

Pink Panther.

Herbert Lom.

A Shot in the Dark.

Grandaddy.

Under the Western Freeway.

Weeping willow.

Under that.

With Sean Mackowiak.

Square waves.

WarGames.

Tympani.

Rollerskate Skinny.

Dublin.

Kevin Shields.

Comes back loud.

One song mastered soft.

Definitely Low.

The main influence of Pauly Deathwish’s debut album.

Honegger.

Pacific 231.

Chariots of fire.

Vangelis.

Such a groove.

Nancarrow.

Polyrhythm.

Immense sadness.

By the side of a freeway.

Under an underpass.

Not like RHCP.

Much darker.

Like Godspeed.

Philip Glass.

Eno.

Blackstar.

How did a Trump supporter make this album?!?

I thought all Trump supporters were redneck morons???

This is way fucking better than Ariel Pink’s dabblings.

This sounds like a debut album.

Songs saved up.

Like The Strokes.

Cinematic as fuck.

Glitch Radiohead.

Trail of Dead.

Makes sense.

Because Pauly wrote the string arrangement on IX.

Dark.

Killers.

Disco compression.

Distressed.

These lyrics!

Johnny Rotten.

Trump 2021.

Snot on the crowd.

Arcade Fire.

Makes sense.

Lost Bayou Ramblers lost sessions.

Montreal studio.

This was all made on an iPhone?!?

Guy Debord.

Aladdin Sane.

Time.

Rick Wakeman?

Olivier Messiaen.

Major 7ths in uppermost range of piano.

Almost indistinguishable from octaves.

Eerie.

Slight.

Only for the sensuous ear.

The Wall.

Waters delayed bass.

No nonsense drums.

Humble Pie reference?!?

Ha!

Great lyrics!!

Predating new Bob Dylan album.

Check SoundCloud timestamp.

This is definitely the QAnon anthem.

This hook should be on a million conspiracy videos.

“10 Days of Darkness”.

Tell ’em Large Marge sent ya!

My end is my beginning is my end.

Grinderman.

No pussy.

Early-’90s.

Nirvana’s wake.

Finnegans Wake.

Great debut album (if I do say so myself).

Usual suspects.

Spotify.

iTunes.

Pauly Deathwish.

-PD

The Virgin Suicides [1999)

Cooped up.

Steve Bing.

Different reason.

Ron Jeremy.

Richard Branson.

Prince Charles.

Brexit.

Aria (Godard).

Kirk Kerkorian.

Al Gore.

Hillary Clinton.

John Kerry.

Nancy Pelosi.

Dianne Feinstein.

William J. Clinton Foundation.

Bill Gates.

Warren Buffett.

Epstein.

James Woods.

It’s all about politics.

Things you shouldn’t be doing.

Depression.

Suicide.

A feminine touch.

Alone on the football field.

“Obviously…you’ve never been a 13-year-old girl.”

Isolated and depressed.

Coronariots.

Deep state.

Start with ex-CIA.

Move outward.

John Brennan is key.

China is key.

  1.  Biological warfare.
  2. Economic warfare.
  3. Psychological warfare.
  4. Divide and conquer.
  5. “Second wave”.

This is psychological warfare.

American Beauty.

Windows.

Records.

Playing them over the phone.

Communicating through curated songs.

Playlists.

Burning records.

KISS in the garbage can.

Death.

Triple suicide on the Left Banke.

Air.

Debord.

“I’m Not in Love”.

Compare 10cc to My Bloody Valentine.

To “Armenia City in the Sky”.

The unexplainable in death.

Why.

Trauma.

Young girls like happy endings.

Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci.

Face like summer.

An embarrassment of riches.

James Woods will become key.

Take the oath.

Kathleen Turner from Romancing the Stone.

Olives and tequila.

Burning bricks of marijuana to keep warm.

Kirsten Dunst is Marilyn Monroe for this era.

In the moonlight.

Trip Fontaine cops all of his moves from Val Kilmer’s Jim Morrison in The Doors.

Including the necklace.

Scott Glenn from The Silence of the Lambs.

Threatens to go all Exorcist.

Why did Steve Bing jump from the 27th floor?

Jumped or pushed?

Frank Olson.

Fort Detrick.

Biological warfare.

MKUltra.

CIA.

Col. George H. White.

Five sisters.

Mainly dealing with four.

 

-PD

Blondie’s New York [2014)

Man…

So much I could say about this one.

But it’s one of the few times where I can say, “I worked with that person.”

Clem Burke.

Probably wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.

Now.

Because I’m a Trump supporter.

But he was the best drummer I was ever in the same room with.

And drumming was the longest “career” I ever had.

I’ve played drums since I was a kid.

All of them.

The set.

“Traps” 🙂

Orchestral snare drum.

Marimba.

The whole 4-mallet thing.

Jazz vibraphone.

But when I worked with Clem, I was a bass player.

That day.

That year.

For awhile.

It was the bass that took me to England.

To Scotland.

And to Spain.

And it was the bass that first took me to Los Angeles.

But this is about Blondie.

The band.

And what a band!

Based on my own experiences just mentioned, I can attest to the extremely high musicianship of Clem Burke.

And watching this relatively-short documentary (an hour) convinces me of just how special each of the band members were/are.

But perhaps my favorite part is seeing Mike Chapman work.

The record producer.

What a talent!

It was my dream to be a record producer.

Didn’t really work out 🙂

Tough business.

Maybe you fuck up.

Or maybe no one helps you.

Or maybe you get one chance.  And only one chance.

But that’s ok.

Because life goes on.

Marilyn Monroe aged.

Lou Reed sang about it on the Velvets’ “New Age”.

And Godard wrote about it.

The aging of Marilyn Monroe must have been a traumatic phenomenon for the first generation of movie goers.

The first generation with that color reality.

And with the television buttress.

And Marilyn…

Even Elton John, a homosexual man, was in love with Marilyn…in a sort of way.

“Candle in the Wind”

Which brings us to Debbie Harry.

The former cocktail waitress from Max’s Kansas City.

Chickpeas and lobster.

Park Avenue South.

And brings us to the album Parallel Lines.

This documentary is almost strictly about that album.

About Blondie’s breakthrough into the mainstream.

Yeah, they were punk…

Had the street cred.

But they transcended.

Mostly due to musicianship.

A bit like the Talking Heads.

The other bands were hopelessly arty.

Of this scene.

My favorite, Suicide.

[R.I.P. Alan Vega]

I met Alan once.

Changed my life.

But Suicide never really had a hit.

[Nooo…you don’t say?!?]

Yeah.

The name.

Whoa mama!

But that was punk.

And my whole mission is a bit of a punk mission.

Pauly Deathwish.

Uh huh.

Not a name I came up with.

But given to me.

I remember that day.

And the personages.

But my mission is also a bit like the mission of Greil Marcus.

And Lipstick Traces.

Now I’d just prefer to read Debord.

Or read Len Bracken on the Situationists.

But Greil tries (valiantly!) to pull it all together.

And I’m a bit like that kind of wanker.

Just hoping to SOUND like I know it all.

And someday have Harvard written on my spine.

But we’ve hardly discussed Blondie.

Or this excellent little film.

Which is currently streaming on Netflix in the U.S.

Again Kino Lorber’s marketing team (?) seems to be absent behind this release.

There’s no Wikipedia page.

And the iMDB page lists the title of this made-for-TV-affair as Blondie’s New York and the Making of Parallel Lines.

Ok, so it’s not Citizen Kane.

But it’s well worth watching!

Directed by Alan Ravenscroft.

He does a fine job here.

It really is a magical story.

Punk.

New York City.

CBGB-OMFUG.

The Fugs! 🙂

New York, a magical place.

Hell, even mayor Ed Koch is in this.

And he’s much easier to stomach than Bill Clinton.

I don’t care…liberal, conservative…whatever.

Just don’t be a dick!

And if you’re a dick, have the schtick down!!

Like Trump.

He has the schtick down.

He’s learned to lie.

In his many years.

“The babies, the beautiful babies…the innocent babies”…

There were no babies, my friends.

There was no chemical attack.

That footage was in the can for some time.

But it’s a white lie in the world of geopolitics.

It’s like telling your kids that Santa Claus delivered the presents.

There’s no way to explain, “I’ve gotta bomb Syria to make an impression on China.  And the bombing has to happen almost simultaneously with dinner…at Mar-a-Lago.”

And McMaster must be lying too.

That’s ok.

Just don’t make a habit of it.

Because then you’re CIA.

And that’s a dark road.

To get wrapped up in lies.

But the white lies are synthetic terror where nobody dies.

Even the Russian/Syrian body count.

Likely false.

Especially the “four kids” detail.

Pithy.

Icy.

The Democrats are really (I mean it, unfortunately) exceptionally dumb.

They only sense the general outline of the conspiracy.

Russia’s faux indignation.

But they don’t understand that their infantile foreign policy made such machinations necessary.

Blondie 🙂

And Quintilian.

See the documentary.

Forget about North Korea for a moment.

By all means, don’t watch inferior propaganda.

The Propaganda Game?

Great film.

Songs from the North?

Cinematic equivalent of toilet paper.

The Cinémathèque Française knew the value of propaganda films.

Henri Langlois.

Back when they were educating “the five” (Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, Rivette, and Rohmer).

And Godard understood the importance of “good”, well-crafted, persuasive propaganda.

As Jacques Ellul wrote in 1962, “Ineffective propaganda is no propaganda.”

In other words, it has no business calling itself propaganda.

It’s less-than-worthless.

But kick back with some Machiavelli.

And The Art of the Deal.

And remember the unholy marriage of art and commerce that is and was Blondie.

-PD

Frank [2014)

My dear friends, it is so good to be alive 🙂

But very difficult to be sick.

I must admit, it took me two days to watch this film.

This one hit a little too close to home.

But that’s ok.

Yes, I am finally feeling better on the allergy front.

Now I am struggling with that old nemesis of mine:  nicotine.

Yep, that’s right.

Trying to kick that habit.

Whoa (woozy feeling)…

Maybe did that a little too fast 🙂

But most of all, you know, every day I struggle with anxiety.

I don’t usually address it in such naked terms.

But it is fair here to talk about this biggest of all struggles for me.

Because Frank is a film about mental illness.

You know, if you apply for a job, you might get a “questionnaire” enquiring about your health.

America is very “democratic” and “fair” in hiring processes, but still these questionnaires persist.

And I suppose the last round of jobs I applied for (merely two) opened my eyes to the reality of my situation a bit.

Looking down the list of “conditions”, I realized I must (to be honest) check two boxes.

[Though the questionnaire was “voluntary”]

So I have “anxiety disorder” (big time!) and asthma (not so bad, but it can pop up).

So wow…I thought…man, these are listed as “disabilities” (if I remember correctly).

While some people might celebrate a disability condition, for me it’s not really cause for cheering.

But then I thought, “Wait…are these really disabilities?”

Well, I’m not going to give a medical/legal ruling on that (because, frankly [no pun intended] I don’t know).

But I know one thing:  anxiety can be totally debilitating.

I’ve had a really hard time readjusting to “life” after two and a half years of intense graduate studies.

I graduated about a month ago.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum…

My body just kinda shut down…gradually…in different ways.

That momentum which had carried me across the finish line evaporated.

And so life hasn’t been a bowl of cherries.

Anxiety is a bitch!

When I have nothing to realistically worry about, I find something.

If there is something from which worry can be derived, I will find it.

And it will drive me nuts.

At a certain point, one has to laugh at the ridiculousness of such an impulse.

[It’s not something I can very well control, you understand.]

And that brings us to our film Frank.

Frank is a fucked up guy.

Imagine the Jack in the Box guy from the commercials with the big fake head.

And then have that guy lead a rock band.

Yeah…

This film really defies all description.

So we have to dig a bit to really delineate what is going on in this masterful film.

First of all, this film has caused me to create a new category in my global survey of cinema for a country which I love (for a multitude of reasons):  Ireland.

Yes, Frank is an Irish film.

Funny enough, no one in the film has an Irish accent.

[Which begs the question, “Is it really an Irish film?”]

But I’m calling it an Irish film because I really admire the balls it took Lenny Abrahamson to make this picture.

Our director, Mr. Abrahamson, was born in Dublin in 1966.

Ok, it’s Irish (at least as far as “auteur theory” goes).

So what?

There’s something about Ireland which I get from the eccentrics.

James Joyce was the master of them all.

I will read Finnegans Wake till my dying day and still glory in the fact that I have no REAL idea what it’s truly about 🙂

But this film, Frank, takes us to a place I know very well:  rock and roll.

And more specifically:  indie rock.

It is a “genre” which attracts the most far-out individuals in the world.

And I must say, there were several times in this film where I could feel the spirit of one of my favorite bands of all time.

An Irish group.

Rollerskate Skinny.

Our director is 50.  I’m 40.

Maybe our frames of reference are different.

Youngsters might think Animal Collective or even the arduous process which produced Arcade Fire’s tortured Reflektor.

But Frank makes me think of that early-90s noise-pop wave which was spearheaded by bands like (my favorite group ever) Mercury Rev and Rollerskate Skinny.

When I see Frank, I see David Baker.

But I know my history.

I’ve studied weirdos all my life.

So I also see David Thomas of Pere Ubu.

And of course Don van Vliet (a.k.a. Captain Beefheart).

Frank is certainly a film which the “Pitchfork generation” should be able to get behind.

I’ve had dinner with Roky Erickson.

I’ve seen what Frank is groping for.

Yes, it’s that madness which made Syd Barrett great.

But such madness comes with a price.

We can listen to that first Pink Floyd album (The Piper at the Gates of Dawn)…songs like “Lucifer Sam” where Barrett is brilliant.

And we can trace that brilliance to his solo album The Madcap Laughs…songs like “No Good Trying”.

But to be SO fucked up…to be SO far out…it ain’t fun.

I’ve heard about Roky Erickson’s time at the Rusk State Hospital for the criminally insane.

It’s not a pretty picture.

But let’s talk about this damn film 🙂

It had me hooked once I caught faint traces of those first two Mercury Rev albums (Yerself is Steam and Boces) in the sounds I was hearing emanating from Soronprfbs.

Yes, Soronprfbs.

The perfect name to describe the obtuse band at the center of our story.

Here’s a band so weird, they don’t even know how to pronounce their own name (when they show up at SXSW).

[But I’m getting ahead of myself]

First, I was wrong about Irish accents.

Indeed, Frank is such a bizarre film that one soon forgets that Domhnall Gleeson is speaking in one for the entirety 🙂

Gleeson is in the right place at the right time.

It’s happened to me.

I once got a MySpace message (remember those days?) and spent the next four years in a Cajun punk rock band.

It can happen.

Those were the best years of my life.

But it’s HARD!

Taking a van back and forth (and back and forth) across the country.

Flying (I hate flying) to awesome, bizarre locales.

For someone with bad anxiety, these aren’t easy tasks.

And we see that in the character of Frank.

As I said, Frank has problems.

Somehow, Gleeson joins Frank’s band Soronprfbs.

And the rest is a whipsaw of insanity.

No, Frank is not a relaxing watch, but it is hilarious!

And very meaningful!!

Soronprfbs, as a band, is a shambles.

[not to be confused with Babyshambles]

There were several times when I caught glimpses of the weirdness that is another of my most favorite bands:  The Homosexuals.

But, this film can hardly be reviewed properly without talking about The Residents.

Soronprfbs are mythic (if only in their own minds).

Their fame, however, grows.

And with fame, stage fright.

It happens to even the most grounded individuals (like Robbie Robertson).

But nothing fits the bill quite like Mercury Rev.

Soronprfbs are apt to have fights on stage.

Perhaps one member tries to gouge another’s eye out on a transatlantic flight.

That kind of stuff.

Sure, Oasis have had mid-air spats about blueberry scones.

And maybe The Sex Pistols only played to twelve people (or whatever) at their first show.

But Soronprfbs, for me, is that band which would hang electric guitars from the ceiling and let them feed back for the entirety of a show.

Which is to say, Mercury Rev.

But let me pull in the younger folks.

Think, for example, The Brian Jonestown Massacre.

Fights onstage.

Obvious mental problems.

Or is it just a put-on?

And let’s go back…

The Doors.

Jim Morrison being totally whacked out of his gourd onstage.

But no, Soronprfbs is weirder…and far more obscure.

Think, for instance, Alan Vega leading Suicide in a performance at CBGB’s.

The writers of our film (Jon Ronson and Peter Straughan) will probably know everything I’m talking about [were they to ever read this].

Because they (or at least one of them…Ronson?) know the mechanism which attracts so many of us to BANDS.

[“those funny little plans/that never work quite right”]

That mechanism is mystery.

But in this case, it is the mystery of reclusive eccentricity.

Put simply, madness.

[not to be confused with the band Madness]

So Ronson and Straughan even include the perfect musical instrument to act as a talisman for their tale:  the theremin.

And they even get the character’s name right:  Clara.

[after theremin virtuoso Clara Rockmore]

The theremin has a long history in eccentric rock and roll.

Indeed, late in Frank when we see our dejected main character sleeping in his bathrobe at the French Quarter Inn (a fleabag motel), his sartorial sense evokes Brian Wilson’s rough years.

Yes, the theremin goes back to at least “Good Vibrations” and the zaniness which was The Beach Boys’ album Smile.

But the theremin has come to embody the obtuse and pretentious in rock and roll.

And so it is no wonder that bands such as Jon Spencer Blues Explosion picked up on this wooziest of all instruments.

Which brings us finally to a salient point.

Frank includes at least one star:

Maggie Gyllenhaal.

Gyllenhaal plays stone-cold bitch Clara:  Frank’s girlfriend.

[remember, Frank is the guy with the papier-mâché head…and he never takes it off…ever]

Gyllenhaal’s character is unlikable in just about every way imaginable.

And it makes me appreciate her acting.

Indeed, God bless Ms. Gyllenhaal for taking this film role.

It’s a lot like Charlotte Gainsbourg’s role in Misunderstood (2014) and makes me appreciate the dramatic tension of Gainsbourg’s role more than I initially did.

Which is to say, Gyllenhaal is very much the villain of Frank.

A bit like a dominatrix version of June Chadwick in This Is Spinal Tap.

Which is to further say, Gyllenhaal is playing off her typecast from Secretary of being one bad bitch.

And she pulls it off.

But Gyllenhaal is the least important element of Frank.

It would ruin things to tell you just how Michael Fassbender figures into this film, but let’s just say he’s indispensable.

[Fassbender, by the way, is half-Irish (his mother being born in County Antrim)]

A lot of our action happens in what could pass for Tarbox Road Studios.

Indeed, there is a lot of Wayne Coyne in the character of Frank as well.

But the sounds are closer to those which Mercury Rev conjured at SUNY-Buffalo for their debut album.

Likewise, the seclusion which goes into making the great Soronprfbs album reminds me of the ramshackle (yet bucolic) process which led to my favorite album of all time:  Mercury Rev’s Deserter’s Songs.

As alluded to earlier, Soronprfbs eventually make their way to my old stomping grounds:  the South by Southwest music festival in Austin, Texas.

I was a bit wistful seeing the Ritz Theater (now an Alamo Drafthouse) on 6th Street in one shot.

Indeed, I remember playing an “unplugged”, solo gig there back when it was still a cavernous, multilevel, piece-of-shit music venue (pool hall).

Funny enough, a lot of the tension in Frank revolves around that old chestnut of a band “selling out”.

Perhaps the funniest scene in the movie is when Frank presents his “most likable music ever” in the motel room.

Which is to say, this movie may not appeal to everyone.

But if you’re a rock musician (especially a weirdo like me), you’ve gotta see this.

There are a couple of scenes which make the whole thing worthwhile.

It’s funny that Soronprfbs bassist François Civil bears a striking resemblance to Dave Fridmann circa-1991.

[just another detail which cemented the genius of this film for me]

But there are other seeming references in this film.

A bit of Stereolab (with all the Moogy wonder).

The stilted “artfulness” of Blonde Redhead.

And even the bollocks, pulseless blech of Low.

Yes, Soronprfbs and their “side projects” seem to catch just about every hue in the indie rock kaleidoscope.

Director Abrahamson (and writers Ronson and Straughan) do a nice job of converting Domhnall Gleeson’s internal monologue into a social media thread which runs through this movie.

Gleeson is on Twitter, YouTube, a blog, etc.

But the funniest is the beginning…and it is the hook which reeled me in.

To hear Gleeson’s musical mind attempt to craft quirky pop songs out of mundane details of his Irish town is a real knee-slapper.

Because, as they say, IT’S SO TRUE!

So if you’ve ever written songs, witness in the first five minutes of this film the real torture it is to make lemonade out of a lemon life.

Be forewarned (or enticed):  Frank is WAY OUT THERE!

Some elements of this film are so non sequitur that they were a bit hard for my weakened, nicotine-craving immune system to handle.

In the end, this is a sad story.

But with joy, pain.

There is great joy in Frank.

Sometimes we realize we’re not in Kansas anymore…

and it’s a rough patch.

The Technicolor of life can be too much to handle.

But take courage, dear friends…

Like Gong’s great song “Rational Anthem”…from that hard-to-find Magick Brother…their debut.

[Get on that, Spotify]

Miracles can happen.

And, to quote Albert Ayler, “music is the healing force of the universe”.

-PD

C’est arrivé près de chez vous [1992)

Writing is a healing exercise.

We try.

We do the best we can.

Sometimes we have to laugh at how bad things are.

Nietzsche would say we’ve lost something.

And he’s right.

But still we must laugh.

Because nobody knows the troubles we’ve seen.

Jesus wept.

Jesu swept.

We must laugh because the walls are closing in on us.

Our lives should have turned out so much better.

But let’s be optimistic.

Let us remember the good times.

Times when we sang.

Cinema…CINEMA!!!

Times when we shat and sang.

And shits yet to come.

Future shits.

It is not wrong to count life in such base terms.

When we venture out in the world, we only hope that a pretty girl smiles at us.

It’s like a bunch of flowers.

And so we must smile.

With all the bravery we have.

If you drink, drink.

If you smoke, smoke.

If you do nothing, do nothing.

Life is too very sad.  Doesn’t make.

So very sad.  Oui!

In Belgium, perhaps, they can laugh.

As in my heart song Aaltra.

Always a dark song.  Like Jeanne Dielman.

And here is Tarantino back through the French.

Au contraire!  This film predates all Quentin-directed features.

But not by much.

However, QT had the distribution advantage by a few months.

Seems Man Bites Dog (our film “in English”) beat Reservoir Dogs to market by way of film festivals.

In particular TIFF.

But really this is like a Belgian Pulp Fiction (and so much better than that hunk of shite which was still two years away).

As you might know.

Two directors I can’t stand:

Spielberg and Tarantino.

In that order.

Quentin has some redeeming qualities.

Spielberg very few (if any).

But you might want to know about the film I’m reviewing.

Ultraviolence meets Spinal Tap.

Yes, I know that’s not the full title.

But you probably know what I mean.

Kubrick of A Clockwork Orange meets mockumentary.

If someone had described this film (or any other) on such terms, I wouldn’t have watched it.

So I’m glad I didn’t encounter my own review.

Because C’est arrivé près de chez vous is brilliant.

The camaraderie chez Malou…

Rémy Belvaux supposedly committed suicide in 2006.

But it’s probably just as likely that Bill Gates had him whacked.

God damn it…

André Bonzel hasn’t died (according to English Wikipedia), but neither has he been born.

A precarious situation, that.

But Benoît Poelvoorde is gloriously alive!

Damn it!!!

Is it strip-tease or stripe-ties?

Une Femme est une femme.

We are learning the language.

French speakers English.

And English speakers French.

And Turkish.

And Romanian.

And Farsi.

Allors…

Tarantino has acknowledged his debt.

And so I too apologize to Mr. T.

It’s a sad life.  When you’re 39.

Rest in peace, dear Rémy.

 

-PD

Vredens Dag [1943)

Quarante-et-un.  Quarante-deux.

Quarante trois.

Goddamn, life is sad.

This is not a film to be watched once.

And not a film for young minds (though the pearly Lisbeth Movin gausses gossamer every vignette).

Form ever follows function.  So sayeth Louis Sullivan.

Your gauss is as good as mien.

Meshes of the afternoon blur her tearstained smile.

Movin’ on up, now.

In evolution.  Function ever following form.

Invocation vs. induction.

Carl Friedrich’s magnetic flux density.

88 miles-per-hour for all us schmucks out there.

Who is crazier:

the witches or the witch hunt?

The conspirators or the conspiracy theorists?

Myths overlaid like handiwork upon reality.

So that all of life is misunderstood.

Religion.

Not a theory, but a story.

A hall-of-mirrors lens.

Same.

17th century.

By my watch.

What century you got?

The witch craze.

The accusation frenzy.

Hysteria.  Wisteria.  Listeria.

Meanwhile, there was a fucking war going on.

Day of Wrath.  Dies irae.  Rachmaninov obsessed with the downward spiral.

Televised executions.

The Houellebecq method of citation.

Tag and seek.

Luddites invading Fort Meade.

Digital grinders.  And grindermen.

That USJFCOM found an enemy at a propitious time.

Inviting Christensen down from Harvard Business School to disrupt.

From Häxan through the Swedish.

Most everything passes through Denmark here.

The last executioner.

The founder (with a Grinder man) of neuro-linguistic programming who was charged with murder.

Age differences in relationships.  [Aha!  A sesame seed!!]

Pagans.  Odin.  Wednesday.

Hair parted right down the middle like John Waters’ mustache migrated due north (prove that you’re not a robot).

Professional videogame player?!?  Where’s the market for that…

And, of course, The Gambia.  No industrial light nor magic there.

White white white.

White man say all good thing come from him.

White man invent every innovation.

White man naturally attracted to white woman.

A Victoria’s Secret Angel with leprosy.  Yowzah!

Norwegian jazz.  A bit like Utah jazz.

But, most of all, yodelers!

Which is how I got on this string.

The grave importance of string theory.

Because her needlepoint tells a story.

A mother walking hand-in-hand with a son.

But the mother is the younger one.

The two mothers.

One a goddess of archetype.

The other a bored housewife.

You actually have to go back to 1590 for this kind of boredom.

But it comes alive.  Kiss.

Thanks to Dreyer.  A true auteur.  A true Danish genius.

Anna Svierkier acts her flabby behind off.

Thorkild Roose looks like Hume Cronyn in Brewster’s Millions (1985).

Such sad perfection from Sigrid Neiiendam.

It is not the hero role for Preben Lerdorff Rye.

No Ordet, this.

He might be stuck in the bog.  Or he might have gone around the bog.

It’s like a bad porno.

But Movin is a star on the order of Adrianna Nicole.

The Blue Bunny.

Brown is the Warmest Color.

Somebody please cast Adrianna Suplick in something.

Suplick?  Movin.  [Golly.]

Which is to say that Lisbeth Movin fills up the screen like a supernova.

Collapsing.  Prolapsing.  Yikes…

Her husband cofounded the works at Hellerup.

Ketchup.

Godspeed you b!ack emperor tomato

Spells ALM.  And nobody thought code.

Fearsome beauty of genius.

 

-PD

 

 

Griff the Invisible [2010)

A superhero movie for people who hate superhero movies.

Like me.

And equally, a superhero movie for people who love superhero movies.

This is quite simply the finest bit of Australian cinema I’ve seen in a good long while.

Kudos to director Leon Ford!

Ryan Kwanten starts out in Anna Karina’s primary rain slicker.

At the bus stop.  Yellow paint over posters torn leaving stuck strips.

Invisibility.  The pervert superpower.

But Griff (Kwanten) has a rough life.

Clark Kent in excelsis.

There are movies like this which fail.

Man-child obsessed with toys.  Blah blah blah.

But that’s not the vibe of Griff the Invisible.

No.  This is a special film.

It’s about fuckups finding each other.

Enter fuckup #2:  the lovely Maeve Dermody.

Dermody is the redemption of this film.

Everything; everyone wants to knock this film off the rails.

It gets close.  The plot twists enough to almost sink the film.

Woozy helmet…sniffy woe.

But Dermody keeps her quiet wonder alive.

An angel with dusty feet.

Necklace of uranium from W.A.C.O.

Marie Curie.

Believing in questions.

The slipstream.

Be in love.  Crazy.

Not easy.  Rambunctious.

Particles.  Sucking black hole.

Light.  Giving us problems.

Bumping.  God willing.

Trinity.  Just a test.

I have become Deathwish.

Wilde.  Masked and anonymous.

Henry Miller.  Caesar shift cipher.

Hymn of praise for a girl

Came into our lives

Coming.  Soon.

Will.  Willing.

Have mercy on the homeless.

NY.

Don’t aggregate yourself to death.

Point at which film review ended, and.

Miracle that we can believe in.

Human abilities.  Accomplished.

Through endless repetition.

Playing.  Imagination.

Slip in and out of dimensions.

Consciousness.

Then you’ll feel the hazy feeling to live this poem.

Down by the Seine.

And into the Passages with the rain.

Mort à credit.

Nerval’s last drink, and then to hang himself.

Not sad.  More Camus.

Where the focus is on the drink.

Impossible now.

Created from impressions.

Without eliminating dimensionality.

“Mister Trouble never hangs around
When he hears this Mighty sound.

‘Here I come to save the day’

That means that Mighty Mouse is on his way.
Yes sir, when there is a wrong to right
Mighty Mouse will join the fight.
On the sea or on the land,
He gets the situation well in hand.”

 

-PD

 

 

Les Visiteurs du soir [1942)

I don’t know what I’m doing.

But I’m happy.

For once.

Quarante-deux.

She could slow down time with her Aeolian harp.

Silk strings.  So tired.  Suddenly…

Arletty.  Femme fatale.

And Alain Cuny.  Homme fatal.

The first punk rock band.

A duo.

The Devil’s Envoys.

Yeah…look at us!  In chain…  With the dogs!

Like Alan Vega and Martin Rev.

Except Arletty’s in drag, see?

So she’s taping her breasts down like a fashion model.

Which is exactly what she was.

Reified.

But Marie Déa breaks my heart the most.

You want to know where Adèle Exarchopoulos comes from?

Well, here you go.

No doubt.  Kechiche.

Quarante-et-un.  Quarante-deux.

A perfect film from Marcel Carné.

Existentialism is a Humanism.

And Bob Marley.

But never a more convincing devil than Jules Berry.

No doubt.  Rolling Stones.

Master is a Margarita.

Same death-rattle laugh as Keith Richards.

As flaming a devil as Elmyr de Hory.

Raffinato!

Like Sergio Marchionne after 11 espressos.

And all while a love shines through which you might find in the quiet thoughts of Clayton Christensen.

As you might expect:  the devil is all business.

A harsh exterior.

Nay…merely forbidding.  Yes.

Only the highest level of French society.

True censorship would have forbidden a villain altogether.

In occupied France.

Glorious, glorious.  Never let on your form!

Complete your poésies.

From Peshawar to Prussia.

From Barvikha to Batman, Turkey.

 

-PD