Friday, January 31, 2020
By special request, to round them up for easy reference. Here is Acidemic's Tarot Deck of CinemArchetypes, a guide to analyzing cinema and its connection to your own reality and life via Jungian archetypal psychology. Things are about to get weird. But then aren't they always? Peel the onion and it all leads here...
There are a couple more of these on the docket, including "Elementals," and the long-awaited "Der Trumpen," (can't get to that one til the smoke clears, and the fire rages on). But to round them up for easy linking. Here is the Tarot Deck of Cinematic Types and their Jungian array-aage
Friday, January 03, 2020
It's maybe a strange accident all the films on this list are American (save one), but I doubt it. American flag tweet! Dear friends in Europe and abroad: in case it doesn't travel, I am being sarcastic.. In about one to five more years we should get our act back together, electoral-college-strangling-Americarily speaking. I guess all we can do until then is crank out adrenalin-packed escapism and say: 'Yo, world, why not disappear down the rabbit hole mit uns? Wir haben CBD!'
Argue about ART in cinema as art if thou wish but there's no reality anymore. There is no 'morality' to rail against, no church imposing enough to incite fascist riots at surrealist anti-papal movie screenings. All western institutions have long learned to incorporate their own critiques ("fight corporations with Coke!") as per Debord's concept of recuperation; even homesickness has become an escapist fantasy. Kansas mud-mired Dorothy misses Oz so much she keeps hitting herself on the head to simulate a tornado, but with every visit, the Technicolor of Oz fades just a bit more to muddy red, and back in Kansas she finds her vision has permanently blurred from all the concussions. It's called addiction, Dorothy! And one look at your Kansas reality and we can't quite blame you.
Myth is the mirror shield with which we may behold Medusa. Straight-up, the gorgon offers only the wrong kind of stoning. This factors into these choices: 2011's Melancholia is way too apt for repeat viewings. I cried during Tree of Life (also 2011) but I watched it in the theater minutes after I had taken shrooms, and then learned my dad was dying, so the fact I had a spiritual experience disqualifies my judgement. After six viewings, I still am only halfway to appreciating Inherent Vice. Maybe I'd resonate differently with it if I lived in LA? It took me 20 viewings to appreciate Big Lebowski. What a ride that's "been."
These are the films from this decade that vibrated my kundalini fibers with their astonishing then-ness. You may disagree, but what does it matter? This kind of decade is beyond mere time and passing, it's become like a marijuana plant trimmed at the top so it grows out, fertile but stunted, outward bound.
1. IT FOLLOWS
(2015) Dir. David Thomas Mitchell
(2015) Dir Denis Villeneuve
(2017) Directed by Darren Aronofsky
One of the trippiest, wildest, most insane biblical fables ever, it's also a perfect emblem of its #metoo / Greta and the Global Meltdown moment. Here we have Woman as Earth, as avenger and astro-turf for that grinding, rending, overpopulating violent plague, humanity. As someone who has spent his fair share of really bad acid trips at over-crowded house parties (in my own house!), with people I don't know rummaging through my room (and me tongue stop-tied toot out kick them), is how we never really notice the moment a single night's poetry book release party with a handful of fans on the front lawn devolves into a full scale riot, and then beyond, all in real time, as Jennifer Lawrence moves from room to room of her house, trying to prevent each new destructive urge in her uninvited guests. It's so familiar I began to feel that old tang on my tongue. I wanted to run to my room and lock the door before the seagulls could strip it dry in search of souvenirs to lick for possible holy lysergic residue. With Javier Bardem as the all-forgiving poet husband/god, always inviting in more and more of the great unwashed, rationalizing each new atrocity with his endless capacity for fogiveness. It's beyond horrible, back into blissful, and farther into the abyss of religious allegorical truth than any other film since Dogville. It's weird, but it's not as sadistic or pretentious as some of Aronofsky's earlier work, depending on your tolerances for atrocity. It's the allegory we deserve, and Jennifer Lawrence--so terrible in her last few 'big' pictures (ala X-Men)--redeems herself in spades as her generation's golden wild child. (more)