I enjoy all of Darren Aranofsky’s films despite them being difficult experiences. Pi jars the senses with a stroboscopic drill to the head. Requiem for a Dream’s wooze-inducing lens work traps us in the minds of downward-spiraling druggies. Even The Fountain’s surreal sci-fi love story pulls heads and hearts in different directions until something snaps. He still uses cinematic tricks for The Wrestler—mainly a roving hand-held POV—but has learned that a little atmosphere goes a long way.

In one scene the roar of an imaginary crowd rises as ex-pro wrestler Randy “The Ram” Robinson roams a supermarket’s storerooms like he’s on his way to the ring. The sound cuts when he emerges not in an arena but into the deli counter where he schlubs for a paycheck. At other times Randy broadcasts enthusiasm during his amateur wrestling gigs while nearly brushing his head on low tiled ceilings and hanging out in a “backstage” day-care room. The letdown of his pedestrian existence is palpable without the need for exposition.

Randy’s counterpart is a stripper stage-named Cassidy who also clings to a job and lifestyle she’s clearly too old for. Her 80s hair metal stage music is a sharp contrast to the club’s usual raunchy hip-hop. The young clientele call her “Mom” and brush off her offers for a lap dance. Cassidy’s aging body betrays her but not nearly as badly as Randy’s. Following a particularly rough match he collapses, waking up after a life-saving bypass surgery. There’s little left for him when he receives doctor’s orders to quit wrestling for good.

Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei make excellent leads and I completely bought into their characters. Rourke is especially believable with his beefy muscles and boxer’s face. Balancing his extreme appearance is a sensitive portrait of a man keeping himself together while facing the loss of everything he loves. His smiles show as much pain and frustration as when he’s wrecking a room in a fit of emotion. Even in the heartbreaking climax Rourke beams with hope, welcoming his inevitable tragedy like a star. I never thought my spirits could be lifted by such a sad ending.

Since Kill the Buddha! is a live album commemorating Attrition’s 25th anniversary tour, I feel the need to state my bias upfront: I don’t generally like live albums.  At best, they manage to capture exactly what makes a band’s live show unique (think Rasputina’s A Radical Recital) or at least pack-in enough non-album tracks to make it worthwhile to diehard fans (as is the case with The Dresden Dolls‘ A is For Accident); unfortunately, most concert records fall far short of both ideals, and offer only muddy, energy-deficient performances that lack the immediacy of having been there in person.

And yet, I have to admit that Kill the Buddha! is an excellent example of what the enigmatic Attrition live experience is like.  I’ve seen Attrition twice (in two different countries, no less) and this album gives a fine indication of what yoan expect out of an Attrition gig: cold electronics, throaty male whispers, and soaring soprano vocals.  As a bonus, the recording is crystal clear; if not for the occasional applause of the appreciative crowd, this could pass for a recording conjured-up in the studio.  Also, I would be completely remiss if I didn’t note that the version of “I Am Eternity” featured on this album is absolutely brilliant.  Light a fistful of incense and it’s just like being there…

If you’ve got a whimsically morbid child (or whimsically morbid adult) in your household, Coraline is the movie to catch in the theater this season.  When the blue-haired heroine Coraline moves to the Pink Palace with her family, she quickly finds a secret door that seems to lead away from her rainy, humdrum world to a place that is something like the Stepford Family version of paradise.  If constant attention, entertainment, and cake are what every child desires, the Other Mother is there to provide it in abundance.  Of course, not all is what it seems, and Coraline discovers that the “new and improved” family on the other side of the door has  truly wicked Gothic past.

The plot—based on Neil Gaiman’s book of the same name—is a near-perfect parable about wish fulfillment, and the visual design of the film is absolutely captivating.  While Henry Selick’s work with Tim Burton on The Nightmare Before Christmas is the most obvious touchstone, there are also elements reminiscent of Jhonen Vasquez (particularly the Beldam) and perhaps even a smidgen of Stephen Gammell’s creepy illustrations.

Note to the caretakers of the young: While Coraline was a bit more grotesque than I expected from children’s fare, you should not hesitate to take your charge to see this movie.  Children need to see terrible things and endure cautionary warnings.  It helps them develop character when they grow up.  Everyone here at Liar Society was exposed to childhood trauma in their early years, and look how we all turned out.

If there is a market for industrial cyberpunk sci-fi, I hope it isn’t a very discerning audience because both The Gene Generation and Repo! The Genetic Opera have very little to offer.

The Gene Generation is a muddle.  The plot is supposedly about “gene hackers,” or somesuch, but really it is about Bai Ling in industrial club gear fighting Bad Guys and occasionally taking showers.

(Oh, one last thing about the “gene hacking”—apparently it makes your body sprout all sorts of scary, yucky tentacles.  Now, I’m not a scientist, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how genetics works.  Unless, of course, we’re talking about Hentai Science.)

Bai Ling is at once the movie’s greatest asset and it’s greatest detriment.  She has a certain appeal that will fulfill a lot of rivethead fantasies, but…she can’t act.  At all.  And she isn’t even the worst offender among the main cast, so I’m not sure there is really a reason to watch any of the scenes other than the ones where Ling assassinates people to a Combichrist beat.  Unless, of course, you have a deep need to see Bai Ling in the shower.

(I’m not kidding about that Combichrist jab.  They did approximately 90% of the soundtrack and even have a cameo.  Get yr body beat ‘n’ stuff.)

But if The Gene Generation is shallow judged on its own merits, it’s Citizen Kane when watched back-to-back with Repo! The Genetic Opera.  By shooting for “cult classic” status, Repo! shoots itself in the foot.  Cult status can’t be quantified; it’s elusive, and the result of people genuinely recongizing something wonderful that has been overlooked by the mainstream.  Repo! feels like the result of a brain-storming bull session gone horribly wrong: “Ah ha!  I know what those pasty-faced, black-clad kids like!  If we combine The Rocky Horror Picture Show with a ton of Hot Topic outfits, they’ll love our movie exponentially!”

No, not if they have any taste.

While there are a few interesting visual elements to Repo!, they’re swiftly swept aside by a tidal wave of plotless plot, nonsensical scenery chewing, clumsy storytelling, and interminable singing.  Oh my god, the singing.  There was no reason this movie should have been a musical, and there should be a law against whoever is responsible for the mind-numbing mix of opera, Avril Lavigne-weight pop punk, and atrocious industrial rock.  At one point during one of the movie’s many musical numbers I realized I was frowning harder than I ever have before.

Everyone involved in this farce should feel ashamed of what they have wrought.  Personally, I think Sarah Brightman is in this flick because she lost a bet.

The Gene Generation:

Repo! The Genetic Opera:

A middle-aged man spies a young woman undressing in the woods near his new home and is drawn to investigate. This leads to a bizarre and rapidly unspooling chain of events that radically changes the lives of the small cast of characters. Like another indie time travel film Primer, this is one of those big concept-driven pieces that completely rises above its humble budget. Both movies blew my mind the whole way through. While Primer is a deliberately tangled knot, Timecrimes knits a much more straightforward series of incidents. Our heads hurt from it daring us to find a loose thread.

I won’t say much about the actual plot as any details out of context won’t matter and too many will spoil the surprises. It’s quick-paced and somewhat of a rollercoaster ride despite non-flashy sets, effects and actors. The protagonist’s actions are somewhat random and bewildering considering how things play out, and probably say more about the author than the main character. But like I said it’s the central idea that counts and any story applied to it would probably work just as well.

Back to the Future showed how seemingly innocent attempts to correct the past can disrupt and reshape someone’s world. If that fun film stuck to the rules of time travel that this one enforces I can imagine no parents would dare take their kids to see the mayhem that plays out. Go find this Spanish original before the Hollywood remake wrings the power from it.

In Let the Right One In, Oskar, a young boy who is mercilessly bullied at school, makes friends with Eli, a young girl who just happens to be a vampire.  Of course, having a vampire as your best friend when you’re being bullied is really advantageous, but this Swedish import avoids being a simple case of revenge porn; instead, it offers up a surprisingly tender look at innocence, trust, love and the sacrifices we make for it.

There are a lot of life lessons to be had in Let the Right One In, but  those life lessons are punctuated by scenes of gore and violence.   And that’s the most surprising thing of all about this film: it balances those two extremes in a perfect, sublime,  and truly endearing way.

The Last Horror Movie is a poor man’s Funny Games.

Here’s the set-up: you start out watching a really bad horror flick about a murderer on the loose in a diner, when suddenly it’s interrupted by a smug British git who tells you that he’s taped over the movie you rented from…wherever.  And then you get to watch his DIY documentary about his life as a serial killer.  The footage features a few stabbings and strangulations, but 85% of it is comprised of him pontificating directly into the camera.  The only thing worse than being trapped with a serial killer is being trapped with a pedantic serial killer.

The Last Horror Movie ends in the worst way possible.  I’m going to spoil the ending if you read further, but it’s for your own good.  I do this out of love.  He tells you that he watched you rent the movie, followed you home, and OMG HE COULD BE RIGHT OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW WATCHING YOU!!!111BBQGODZILLA!

I don’t think it’s out of the question that the people who are responsible for making this movie should be hunted down and punished by vigilantes.

Get an intimate look at the British reality show Big Brother. During a zombie plague. Most of you reading this have probably fired up your favorite file sharing app by now and need to read no further.

In addition to the usual BB stars (preening bimbo, dumb hunk, social outcast, flamboyant gay nurse, etc.) we’re privy to the personality conflicts behind the scenes. While petty squabbles flare up over who’s sleeping with who and who’s going to fetch the egomaniacal producer’s nicotine gum, news of violent rioting pops up in bits and pieces on background monitors. The mysterious outbreak charges towards the studio, but both cast and crew are oblivious to how quickly the throng of fans’ cheering mutates into inhuman shrieks and hungry wails. Soon the epidemic engulfs the control room and most of the staff is eaten or assimilated into the growing undead mob. Meanwhile the confined contestants continue to flirt and conspire for lifeless cameras.

Of course this five-part miniseries is tongue-in-cheek from the get-go. The obvious metaphor of TV audiences being a mindless self-consuming mass is front and center. The stereotypes are extremely broad from beginning to end. The big set-ups and scares are exactly what you’d expect. The soap opera beneath the horror is pure fluff. What’s surprising is how compelling it all is.

One reason it works so well is that being wrapped up in their petty affairs allows characters to react genuinely to the mayhem. It’s a while before most make the connection to what’s happening, even with the few who get it screaming the answer in their faces. They try to reason with lovers gnashing for their necks. They look for safety in the directions that other panicking people are running from. They think it’s just another twist to the game they’ve signed up for even as their cohorts are torn limb from limb. Of course there has to be at least one hero of the bunch, a timid lackey who takes charge when confronted with the apocalypse. She figures out the monsters’ habits and weakness early on but has a hard time keeping her fellow survivors focused. They can’t help but bicker despite their world falling apart around them.

Dead Set is full of contrasts. The scenes inside and beyond the fantasy household are well balanced and the action moves outside before we’re sick of the contrived set. There’s no shortage of comic dialog and ironic humor but it heightens the terror when they slam together. The unnaturally beautiful actresses transform into some of the scariest creatures I’ve seen. For such a gimmicky premise the zombie makeup and gore effects are better than many big budget films. Instead of limiting the story’s scope, producing this for the small screen allows plenty of cliff-hangers and threads between commercials and installments.

Having never watched Big Brother (either the US or UK versions) I’m sure lots of references were lost to me. Smartly this series goes way beyond the elevator pitch and considers incredible events somewhat realistically. Maybe my original low expectations color my opinion, but the show provided me with lots of fun and thrills. It works in chunks as well as an extended feature, so there’s little risk of commitment if you want to try a taste.

I have to preface this review with a brief explanation of Pigeon Whistles. An aeolian instrument, the pigeon whistle is typically carved from lightweight gourds and reeds. For the instrument to sound, it must be attached to a pigeon, which is then released into a circular flight pattern. When several whistles of varying pitches are attached to flocks of trained pigeons, the sound is eerily ethereal, varying in intensity as the birds change speed, altitude, and direction. Whistles may have anywhere from a single pipe up to 35 individual pipes. The practice of releasing whistle-bearing pigeons dates back at least 200 years. So far, I have only experienced the resulting music through recorded audio and video, but I hope someday to hear the real thing.

Wang Shixiang is a scholar of Chinese art and culture. Renowned for his studies of ancient Chinese furniture and lacquerware, he has a personal preference for so-called slighted art forms, and a self-proclaimed “addiction” to the pigeon sport. The original manuscript of this book was written in Chinese in the late 1980s and translated to English soon after. My hardcover copy includes both versions, and an updated section of full color plates depicting the various types of whistles.

Although this is admittedly one of those books I purchased simply because of my interest in an obscure topic, it is very nicely put together, and a brief but comprehensive study of the artifacts as well as the more well known artisans who created them. As far as I know, it is the only publication on Pigeon Whistles available to date, and contains quite a bit of information on the author’s extensive collections.

The volume doesn’t promise it so it is probably unfair to say, but I wish it had more information on the “why” and the “how” of this dying art form. Being an experimental musician who raises pigeons, I’d love to be able to train a small flock to bear whistles. Guess I will have to keep looking for that “Pigeon Whistle DIY” manual, but in the mean time Mr. Shixiang’s book is a good primer.

Kiefer Sutherland stars as eccentric teenaged Brooks in this quirky Canadian romance, circa 1987. The youngest of two brothers in a wealthy but unhappy family, Brooks is a loner with a penchant for bowties and big band music who drives around town on a motorcycle with a mannequin in the sidecar. Older brother Cleveland is his polar opposite. Cleve also has a fondness for cocaine, which he keeps in Brooks’s bedroom. The two boys compete for their aloof Father’s attention, but are bound by a profound sense of loss over their Mother’s unexplained disappearance.

When Brooks finally meets face to face with Anne, the girl he’s been admiring from afar, he realizes that she is deaf and lives in a non-hearing community. They begin to fall in love despite living in separate worlds. We can’t help being drawn in as they transform each other, blatantly ignoring polite society’s disapproval.

The Dominoes tumble when Dad discovers the drugs in Brooks’s room, tipped off by an angry Cleveland. Brooks has already been sent for psychiatric evaluation because of his oddball behavior but the drugs spark the impending threat of institutionalization, and a promise that “things will change around here” for Brooks, regarding his refusal to keep up appearances.

Although many of the “quirky romance” films made in the 80s (Mannequin, Splash!, Electric Dreams) suffered from ridiculous scenarios and over-the-top characters, this one is careful not to overstep the boundaries on too many levels. The characters and conflicts are just far enough off kilter to suspend our disbelief and allow us to sympathize. Like Bud Cort’s Harold (Harold & Maude), Jake Gyllenhaal’s Donnie Darko, and the lesser known Ryan Gosling in Lars and the Real Girl, any of us who have ever felt ostracized can identify with Kiefer’s misunderstood Brooks. We don’t want him to be forced to fit in because his existence somehow makes the world a better place.

Adding to the charm of this film is the almost exclusively 30s soundtrack. Except for a few scenes with a stereotypically awful 80’s band, all of the music was recorded before 1945. While a modern soundtrack would have anchored this film the 80s, the big bands and crooners make it timelessly enchanting. Crazy Moon is a rare gem that holds up to repeated viewing.