Archive for category Film

For the lover of contemporary film/theater.

Dresden Codak » Archive » 42 Essential 3rd Act Twists.

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Duck and Chicken.

Duck! A movie, a novella, and a game. Warm and fuzzy all over.

A Chicken Growing Up has its fuzzy as well.

Just doing my part to share the love of the things with feathers and beaks.

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Two of my favorite things.

For those who know me, my adoration of penguins comes as no surprise–evidence of it tends to accumulate around me.

A keen fascination with Werner Herzog might be less predictable, coming from an entirely different side of my nature. Several years ago, one of the independent film channels dedicated a month to his work and it was sheer torture. Every time I turned on the television I was compelled to watch though I had seen the films many times before.

Combining these two never occurred to me, and yet it has happened.

Encounters at the End of the World isn’t just about penguins, nor is it a retread of Grizzly Man. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but I can’t wait to see it.

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Penguins, in their natural environment.

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Strangeness and Tragedy Afoot in the Art World

NB: I’m not leaping into investigative journalism here, but the story is convoluted, chilling and bizarre. thoughtintersect is definitely not a source of news (breaking or broken).

The facts:
Theresa Duncan was a filmmaker and cultural critic. She had worked as a video game designer.
Jeremy Blake is known for his DVDs and C-prints. He worked with Beck on covers and inserts for the album Sea Change, and with P.T. Anderson on visual sequences for the film Punch-Drunk Love.
Duncan and Blake were partners for around 12 years.
Theresa Duncan was found dead in her apartment on July 10.
Jeremy Blake’s clothing was found Tuesday evening along a beach in the Rockaways. No body has been found (and is she mentioned as a former girlfriend because she predeceased him?)

The basic story in links:
Here’s the New York Times piece/obituary from July 21.

As mentioned, Theresa Duncan kept a blog. It’s a fascinating read with stunning visuals, and a visit is highly recommended (do go before it gets taken down or fades into internet obscurity–it’s back up now. Google cache here). This entry is particularly poignant in view of the situation. (Site is back up: Reproduced in comment #1)

That’s not the only entry that’s of note in the situation, however. In particular this discussion of issues relating to all manner of conspiracy theory bugbears such as scientologists, the FBI, and neoconservatives (site is back up, text in comment #2). The prose is twisted and some parts of the story aren’t visibly connected to others. A summary of the post is here.

Ron Rosenbaum is not taking the facts at face value. He refutes the main news story here, He also takes pains to state that Duncan’s death has not officially been ruled a suicide, and that Blake’s body has not been found.

Here’s another person’s perspective as someone late to the game and also puzzled.

This sort of strange mystery seems like a work of art in its own way. I’m not saying that it was staged as such, but the different layers of meaning in the events (as well as the ambiguity of some information) makes it quite compelling.

Update 25 July 2007: LA Times Article.

Update 31 July: Body confirmed as Blake.
Update 2 August 2007: Looking back at the couple and their paranoia.

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Friday Field Trip to Brooklyn

Play some tunes for the borough! A shoutout to Piepmatz’s homebirds in Brooklyn.

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This Is One of the Best Things Ever.


Seriously, this single clips makes life so much better. No need for the sound, just marvel at the sight of the what it’s like to live in the perfect world where penguins do your shopping.

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If Dr. No was almost perfect for you…

then the new James Bond film will be the Platonic ideal. Or to steal a phrase from Troubled Diva, PHWOAR!

It’s for those who prefer the rougher Connery style to the suave Roger Moore, as fair warning to those who have their preferences.

Yongi is now theorizing how he could become a Bond villain after one of the parrot bites his nose, permanently disfiguring him. Zoe would be a secret weapon: you pull a feather from her head and throw her at someone and she’ll bite the person to death. Sort of like Jaws meets Odd Job.

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Thanks

I’d like to offer a proper thanks to all of you who come by and read–whether you comment or not–and extend wishes of peace and good health to you and your families. I’m especially grateful for those of you who have actively followed the crazy evolving narrative that is thought intersect.

Here is a small present for you: a little film called Kiwi!

Though there is little evidence to the contrary, I haven’t forgotten about promised sequels and photographic evidence. Who knows what hijinx I’ll be up to with a bit of free time on my hands!

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The Nightly Film Festival

Ignoring the wisdom that other people’s dreams are uninteresting to others, I offer this sample from last night:

The Alamo Drafthouse had a crazy 48 hour film festival, running on multiple screens and covering all manner of genres and tastes. Yongi and I arrived a little late and got settled into the theater that was supposed to be running European animation. When the first 10 minutes gave us nothing but Ballet Folklórico, I went to the ticket booth to ask for aid. Burt Reynolds, celebrity host of the event, was behind the counter.

“There’s no animation running in theater 4.”
“Oh,” said Burt, unperturbed, “We got that crap over earlier in the day.” He showed me the revised schedule, and sure enough we’d missed it.
“OK, so what’s playing now that’s interesting?”
“Right now? Nothing much. Wait–there’s one I could start up for you, in the little HD theater. It’s about the atrocities in Eritrea.”
“…”
“Go ahead, it’s in theater 6.”

I wasn’t taken by the idea of the film, but since he’d gone to the effort to set it up for us I figured it would be rude not to at least go in. The film opened like a classic documentary, with some representative statistics and panned shots of the landscape. At some point rapidly switched to a comedy set on a spaceship. There was a talking wheel of cheese and an aquarium filled with lobsters, the gag being that “we could fish one out, name it Momus, then cook it!”

The parrots interrupted me there. I think I may be grateful to them.

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