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Hi Kids!
Friday the 18th we will be bringing in Pierce Brosnan and Chris Cooper in
MARRIED LIFE and holding over PARANOID PARK, THE BAND'S VISIT, and
TAXI TO THE
DARK SIDE. Friday and Saturday night only, we will be featuring the late shows
of the da Vinci Film Festival at the Darkside.
Da Vinci Film Festival this weekend!
* Holders of VIP Festival Pass are invited to a reception with keynote speaker
Alex Cox, writer and director of REPO MAN and SID AND NANCY. A limited number of
VIP Passes are available for $40. These passes get you into the reception, the
keynote, and all movies. The reception is at 5 pm at LaSells Stewart Center,
immediately preceding the keynote speech at 7:30.
* Friday at 9:15 pm we have DALAI LAMA RENAISSANCE (80 min, Documentary) and
ALTERNATE ENDINGS (40 min. Comedy) at the Darkside. Admission by ticket or with
a VIP or Weekend pass.
* Saturday at 9:15 pm we have OPERATION: FISH (10 min. Animation) and at 9:30 we
have THIS IS WAR: MEMORIES OF IRAQ (82 min. Documentary) at the Darkside.
Admission by ticket or with a VIP or Weekend pass.
* Saturday at 5:30pm, Paul, your humble lavender bunny, will be moderating the
discussion with the filmmakers in LaSells Stewart Center - Austin Auditorium.
Alex Cox and other filmmakers will be available for your questions and proposals
of marriage.
Schedules, movie synopses, and more info is at the Da Vinci Film Festival
website.
List of not so special announcements:
We are now doing earlier matinees on Saturday and Sunday, and we'll be closed
between the afternoon and evening shows.
We're considering bagging the credit card service and putting in an ATM. This
will end the abuse by the credit card companies. There will be a $2.00 service
charge for each use, but the fee will help support the Darkside viability. Feel
free to comment.
Seriously, come get stuff you may have lost at the theater--even if you may have
checked before. I'm going to pack up two boxes of clothing and sporting goods
and bring them to Vinyl Noses. So, if you don't come and get your stuff, I will
taunt you viciously when you ask why I'm wearing your good coat and hat.
And one more thing: Since the merchant credit card rates have just gotten
stupid, we are now imposing a fee of 50 cents on each purchase of less than $10
with a credit card. Sorry for any inconvenience.
Playing Friday, April 18th thru Thursday, April 24th (click a link to jump to
the section).
MARRIED LIFE
PARANOID PARK
TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE
THE BAND'S VISIT
OTHER STUFF
MARRIED LIFE--PG-13
Married Life
This melodramatic musing on the trials and tribulations of marriage features a
small but talented ensemble cast that includes Patricia Clarkson, Chris Cooper,
and Rachel McAdams.
Set in 1949, the story opens into a picturesque, affluent suburb where Harry
Allen (Chris Cooper) resides with his wife, Pat (Patricia Clarkson). But there's
trouble brewing beyond the perfect picket fences. Harry has fallen deeply in
love with a blonde beauty named Kay (Rachel McAdams). He confesses his secret to
his longtime bachelor friend, Richard (Pierce Brosnan), and even introduces
Richard to the lovely Kay.
Unfortunately for Harry, Richard is instantly smitten, and makes up his mind
that he will do whatever it takes to win Kay for himself. Harry, meanwhile,
continues to plot ways to escape his marriage, though he fears leaving Pat will
destroy her. He soon decides the most humane thing would be to dispose of her
the old-fashioned way, with the aid of a little poison. While he debates on when
to make his move, we learn that Pat actually has a few secrets of her own.
Cooper and Clarkson both give charming, multi-layered performances, expertly
revealing the tortured emotions that hide behind their well-mannered 1940s
façades. The film's recreation of the era is mesmerizing in its detail, with
gorgeous costumes and an elegant set design. MARRIED LIFE has all the
ingredients for Hitchcockian thrills, including a delicate blonde bombshell and
a methodical murder plot. Yet the film daintily dances between black comedy and
noir thriller, leading to a tidy, if rather anticlimactic end.
PARANOID PARK--R
An unsolved murder at Portland's infamous Paranoid Park brings
detectives to a local high school, propelling a young skater into a moral
odyssey where he must not only deal with the pain and disconnect of adolescence
but the consequences of his own actions.
As director of My Own Private Idaho, Good Will Hunting, To Die For, and
elephant, Gus Van Sant has created some of the most memorable films about youth
ever committed to film. At the 2007 Cannes Film Festival, he was awarded the
60th Anniversary Prize for Paranoid Park, which is largely considered one of his
finest films.
Based on the novel by Blake Nelson, and photographed by the incomparable
Christopher Doyle (In the Mood for Love; 2046), the film has captivated
audiences worldwide, becoming a unanimous standout at the Cannes, New York, and
Toronto Film Festivals.
TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE--R Alex Gibney's TAXI FROM THE DARK SIDE is a perpetually
shocking documentary about the Bush administration's use of torture when dealing
with political prisoners, with a particular focus on those captured in Iraq and
Afghanistan.
The title of Gibney's movie is derived from the treatment meted out to an
Afghani taxi driver named Dilawar, who was mistakenly fingered as a terrorist,
then killed during a torture session conducted by American troops.
Despite the title, Dilawar's case is just a small part in Gibney's jigsaw, as
the director uses excruciating and comprehensive details surrounding the taxi
driver's death as a starting point in his search for the people who have
permitted such incidents to occur. Gut-wrenching and fully uncensored pictures
from Abu-Ghraib feature alongside interviews with military personnel (some of
whom tortured Dilawar) as Gibney's search slowly heads into the upper echelons
of the military and, ultimately, into the Bush regime itself.
TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE is a powerful, well-executed piece of filmmaking. Gibney's
skills as a director come to the fore as he manages to pull some surprisingly
candid revelations from his subjects, while his choice of newsreel clips
featuring the likes of Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld are extremely well
chosen. Perhaps the most eye-opening scenes come from a press trip to the U.S.
facility at Guantanamo Bay, where Gibney and others are given a tour of the
facilities, including the site gift shop, where gallows humor is stretched to
breaking point with the sale of souvenir T-shirts bearing the legend Behavior
Modification Instructor.
The film concludes with Gibney pulling the focus back to Dilawar once again,
highlighting the futility of his death as a number of commentators show how
torture isn't, and never has been, an effective method for extracting
information from people.
THE BAND'S VISIT--PG-13
The Band's VisitIsraeli filmmaker Eran Kolirin's debut feature, THE BAND'S
VISIT, is a subtle, heartfelt, and humane work that goes a long way toward
dissolving the incredibly complex cultural divide that continues to plague the
Middle East.
When the Alexandria Ceremonial Police Orchestra flies from Egypt to Israel to
perform at the opening of an Arab culture center, they are left stranded at the
airport. Their leader, Tewfiq (Sasson Gabai), orders the handsome violinist,
Khaled (Saleh Bakri), to solve their predicament, but it turns out that he's
gotten the wrong information.
By that time, it's too late. All eight members are left standing alone in a
quiet desert town far from their intended destination with no way to get where
they need to go. Tired, hungry, and confused, they find shelter at a restaurant
run by the pretty but brash Dina (Ronit Elkabetz). It's clear that Dina is bored
with her lonely life, so she talks Tewfiq into letting the band stay over for
the night: he and Khaled will stay with her, and the others will be put up at
the home of Itzik (Rubi Moscovich).
Over the course of the night, Tewfiq and Dina bond, Khaled helps a hapless local
discover his inner Romeo, and the other band members find themselves caught up
in a domestic situation that is less than perfect. Kolirin perfectly navigates
his film's slice-of-life tone, blending comedy and drama and poignancy without
ever succumbing to one completely. In the wrong hands, this material could turn
into a quirk-fest that parodies everyday life. Yet under Kolirin's assured
command, it becomes something that feels like life itself.
THE BAND'S VISIT, a winner at film festivals around the world, is funny, lonely,
inspiring, sad, and beautiful all at once.
OTHER STUFF: I'M NOT AN ATHLETIC SUPPORTER
I suck at sports. Always have. My brother was the athlete. He could do any kind
of sports without so much as a thought. As we zoom toward 50 years old, he still
plays soccer every week and weighs the same as he did in high school. Pisses me
right off.
Physical Education was the ninth circle of hell for me as a kid in school. I had
the misfortune of being big. Naturally that meant I was supposed to be good at
sports.
"You should play basketball. You got the size for it."
My favorite answer to that was, "You should play miniature golf. You got the
size for it."
My workmate Jeff also had trouble with the athletic assumptions, since he is
also big and tall. Now add to this equation his heritage, which is divided
between Sudan and Holland, and the fun really begins. So he endures socially
accepted unspoken racism: "You should play basketball." (Ya got the colour for
it.) Sure, no one comes out and says it, but it's pretty transparent. Especially
to him. You have to have a pretty thick skin of you're going to be
Dutch-American and live in the Northwest.
Last year's Oscar winning title THERE WILL BE BLOOD could apply to my experience
as a kid in Canada, when I was forced to play field hockey. For a number of us,
the sport wasn't about winning or losing the game. It was about getting out of
having to play. Our favorite trick was exploiting the frowned-upon practice of
high-sticking. It's imperative to get caught with your hockey stick above your
knees a couple times before whacking another kid with the stick. Make sure the
other kid is complicit so he will yelp and fall to the ground in contrived agony
thereby allowing both of you to sit the rest of the period out. The teacher
eventually figured out what we were up to when he saw us high five-ing after
getting tossed out of the game.
I was never much of a team player, which I hear is necessary in the sports
world. That sports gene must have skipped over my DNA and looped into my
brother's helix. I'm not making fun of those who do possess that gene. It's just
that they seem as mystified by my apathy about sports as I am by their love of
it. There are many times I wish I spoke that arcane parlance of Sports Talk.
When attending the Ashland film festival, some of the rush lines were quite
long. The conversations would start out with, "Nice day. Have you been to the
film festival before?" But, after a couple hours of standing in line, the
conversations had crossed into areas like, "How could she leave me? Where's the
love? She even took the cat! What kind of person does that?" Somewhere between
those two conversational mileposts, the topic of sports would come up. It struck
me later that if I actually knew the Oakland Raiders was not a lawn bowling
team, perhaps I could have avoided becoming the rush line therapist.
Even as a motorcycle enthusiast, I tend to keep away from teams of bikers and
events where the leathered cluster. Whereas my brother, a fellow motorcycle
enthusiast, loves rallies and riding in packs. He's the sports guy, remember?
One friend, a little older than me, expresses his disregard for my osteopathic
health by trying to lure me into the world of vintage motocross racing. It's a
lot of what I love: old motorcycles, speed, noise, fuel fumes, patching machines
together with twist ties and feminine hygiene products to finish a race, etc.
But, there's that "team" aspect. As much as I would enjoy the individual people
in this sport, I think it would cease to be fun as soon as someone started
telling me rules. "People could get hurt, ya know." I kinda thought that was the
point.
As a young person I would never have dreamed of street racing in my old muscle
car (*winks*). I built the motor up and tricked out the transmission exclusively
for the satisfaction of a mechanical job well done. Someone once suggested it
would have been good fun to be involved in a speed contest where the only rule
is not endangering the civilians. I heard this is why such speed competitions
generally took place in remote areas, which would often involve long walks home
when a U-joint yoke fragmented, dropping the driveline. Since the winner of such
a hypothetical race would have been miles ahead by the time the other car limped
to the side of the road, no one was around to offer a tow home. When I think of
such things, I think this is the kind of sporting event that would have suited
my mechanical disposition and lack of team player ethic.
So here I am, moving into the last half of my life. My body seems hell-bent on
proving that motor sports does not provide any more of a healthy workout than
sinking 16-penny nails in one swing. I have always prided myself on being able
to do hard physical labor--I've written about being a roofer and watching the
athletes hired for a day of work lose their Gatorade before lunch, not used to
our brand of construction work. But, now I pay for it. As I watch my 50ish
friends run five miles a day or play sports with their every free moment, I have
to start, once again, slowly rehabilitating my body from my last project. A
health care professional once described what I do to my body being similar to
what a weekend drunk does to their liver: they'll go all week without a drop of
alcohol, then for two days slam their liver with a load of poison (booze). So
now I try to do something every day, rather than spend two days doing taxes and
office work, then heft a 125-pound sound head into place over my head without
stretching first. Yes, I might have benefited from embracing some sport that
would have provided me a lifetime of continuous activity, rather than my
psychotic work ethic providing me a lifetime of binge working.
As I titrate my physical activity upward, realizing there is little aerobic
workout to come from shifting gears in a car, someone twice my age will jog by.
They smile and wave. I'm sure they're being friendly, but when the pain in my
side is screaming like Paris Hilton with a broken fingernail, it seems more like
they are taunting me. Taunting me with the karma of a lifetime spent making fun
of the athletic types, who've treated their muscles and bones like living tissue
rather than like construction tools. Yeah, they may know the rush of winning a
10K marathon. But, have they felt the rush of a Chevy 427 hugging redline as the
tires break lose with each gear shift? Try that in a Volvo, hippie.
Like a retired coach watching a little league game, when a loud Harley or a '60s
car with a V8 sporting a zesty exhaust note screams by, it reminds me that the
one competition I did enjoy was turning gasoline into speed. My 1962 Impala
rests its gas-hogging self in a storage unit--not unlike a coach's team football
rests on a mantle in a den. So, as I get things in order for the third act of my
life, I move lumber one piece at a time rather than carrying seven sticks of
eight-foot 2x6s on my shoulder in one leap. Maybe if I had been more athletic, I
would have started respecting my body earlier.
However, I am grateful I never embraced bicycle shorts. No matter the degree of
the observer's heterosexuality, their eyes are drawn to the stunningly
articulated intersection between the wearer's legs. I'm sure these shorts serve
some other function other than to publicly display--without fear of
prosecution--evidence of one's religion and/or affinity for personal piercing.
I'm not sports-oriented enough to view such shorts as athletic enhancements.
Instead my business mind kicks in and I see people who sport such shorts as a
market for prosthetics.
"Oh, they look lovely on you! And what a great fit. Here. Put this chewing
tobacco can in your back pocket. The girls will think it's a condom made just to
fit you! Fabulous!"
I still suck at sports, but I look great in my (baggy) shorts.
As always, thanks for your continued support!
Remember what happened to the Whiteside.
Paul "The Avalon Guy" Turner
President (and now Author!) of the "Prancing Lavender Bunnies"
Darkside Cinema
215 SW 4th
Corvallis, OR 97333
Darkside Cinema website
541·752·4161 |