Black Swan

Black Swan opens up with a sweeping shot of Natalie Portman dancing in the spotlight. She’s dancing Swan Lake, Tchaikovsky’s well-known ballet. The simple, peaceful scene quickly goes awry as it’s a dream that quickly becomes a nightmare. Her partner grows feathers, and dons a monstrous visage. Not everything is what it seems with this scene, and the same can be said about the movie.

Say what you want about Aronofsky, but he’s a brave one. Some might regard making a movie about ballet as career suicide, so the idea of turning it into a psychological thriller seems overly ambitious if not downright pretentious. Aronofsky’s the man for the job though, and the result is nothing short of amazing.

Portman plays Nina Sayers, a talented but naïve ballerina who is about to be cast as both the White and the Black Swan a new, ambitious, production of Tchaikovsky’s opus. Portman’s Nina is technically sound as a dancer, and her sensitive nature makes her perfect for playing the White Swan. The Black Swan, on the other hand necessitates a sensual, dark performance, and Nina finds this role hard to live up to, much to the dismay of Vincent Cassel’s Thomas Leroy, the ballet’s director.

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

The only thing you can’t change is what you feel. It’s a true statement, but people still insist on ignoring it. Some artists seem to reach a point when they try to pretend either they’re more or less than they actually are. Enter Kanye West.Is there a more odd character in pop culture alive today? I’m sure there isn’t. On one hand, he’s madly egotistical, an explosion that keeps on happening, from the Hurricane Katrina George Bush line to the already infamous Taylor Swift fiasco. On the other, he’s a cold, intelligent and haunted man who realizes how far he’s come and that the scale of his celebrity should be scary especially for himself. Other artists simply ignore their sins, or create one-dimensional personas that prove to be lies along the road. Kanye exaggerates every facet of his life, without ever appearing to be fake. This crushing sincerity lies at the heart of “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy”, Kanye’s best opus yet.

My attitude approaching Kanye’s “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” was one of cautious optimism. Other than that, though, I chose to have little to no expectations. A good choice it seems, because if anybody expected an apology for all previous mistakes, this album is far from one. Here, Kanye cranks it all up to 15 (he had already broken 11 some time ago.), and the results are nothing short of crazy. Crazy good.

The album opens up with “Dark Fantasy”, and its refrain seems a mission statement: “Can we get much higher?” After dropping some instant landmark-pop-culture-quips (like “Sex is on fire, I'm the King of Leon-a Lewis” or “mercy, mercy me, that Murcielago”) and showing us yet again how big his ego can actually get, he floors us with sad realizations (“The plan was to drink until the pain over/But what's worse, the pain or the hangover?”). The whole album is like this: there are moments when he boasts like few other can, but he never lets us forget how haunted he actually is (or thinks himself to be, it doesn’t really matter).Gorgeous’ hook is perfectly tackled by Kid Cudi, and this song most resembles the old Kanye, at least in a lyrical sense. Raekwon guest stars here, reminding us why he always will be one of the best.

“Power” is up next and it might just be the most exuberant song Kanye’s ever made. It’s here that the albums scope becomes apparent. Power’s the moment where Kanye passes being an artist (singer, composer, producer, whatever) and becomes something more. If Van Gogh had been a singer, this is what cutting his ear off would have sounded like. Power’s second half is especially beautiful, with Kanye realizing this would be “a beautiful death”.  The production values are sky high throughout, but if there’s one track I’d have to single out as a testament to West’s talent as a producer, this would be it.



After something as draining as “Power”, listeners need a moment to catch their breaths, so a short interlude introduces another highlight (really, when an album is so scarily good, how must the highlights look like?). “All of the lights” is chock full of surprises, from a touching nod to Michael Jackson’s still painful absence, to an unrecognizably good Fergie (who would have guessed she can be THAT good on the microphone?),to Rihanna’s best hook of her entire career (hands down) to (still conscious?) a piano solo by Alicia Keys and Elton John. I’m going to repeat that just in case you skipped that last sentence. Elton John guest stars on “All of the lights” That’s reason enough to buy the album. But underneath all that glamour, it’s still fundamentally sad, its lyrical themes brushing on solitude, betrayal and relationships destroyed by fame.

The next tracks are two gargantuan group efforts. The first one is aptly called “Monster”, in which Kanye reminds us all again that it’s a privilege we’re his contemporaries, that he’s the titular Monster and that he doesn’t care. The absolute gem here is Nicki Minaj’s verse, a collosal boast that will surely keep people up at night. Remember her name,because she’s about to go nuclear.
So Appalled is Kanye’s best team-up with Jay-Z (and a tantalizing taste of what’s to come with “Watch my throne”, their upcoming collaborative album), and the latter’s best verse in years. The two are joined by Pusha T, Prince Cy Hi, Swizz Beatz and The RZA and despite all the guests on these two tracks, they’re still all Kanye.

After passing its half mark, “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” switches to sentimental mode, and Kanye’s still hauntingly melancholic. What’s scary about this album is that its egotistical moments do not detract from the sad ones, but enhance them. Every boast is better and more poignant because we know West has his demons he’s been trying to get rid of (just check out his Twitter feed, it’s easily the most fascinating one by a singer). “Devil in a New Dress” is a love song, with heavy soul influences, about short-lived romances that come up while touring. It’s sad, almost solemn, and when Rick Ross comes along and drops a verse that has absolutely nothing to do with that theme, one may think that it might diminish its value. It doesn’t, because for these 13 songs, Kanye can do no wrong.

“Runaway” might be this album’s highest peak. Kanye admits that perhaps he’s gone overboard (“you’ve been putting up my shit for way too long”) but then immediately decides to toast for all the assholes, douchebags, scumbags and jerk-offs of the world. Kanye suggests we should turn around and leave. By this moment in the album, it’s impossible. By the time West electronically distorts his voice (a la Radiohead circa 2001) it becomes obvious we’re in the presence of greatness. Here he strips his soul bare and blows away whatever doubts listeners might have: “Runaway” is a monumental achievement both artistically and humanly.

“Hell of a Life” features portions from Black Sabbath’s Iron Man, among others. Here, West dreams about getting in a serious relationship with a porn-star: marriage, kids and a big wedding. He’s thinking about a new creed to live by (“No more drugs for me/ Pussy and religion is all I need”), but by the end of the song, he gives it up. A song with such an up-tempo beat to it would have been a chart -topping single but have no depth to it. Kanye forever crushes the myth that grandiose production values detract from an album’s sentiment. It’s a sad, and the following song is positively heartbreaking.


“Blame Game” features John Legend singing his heart out, complex lyrics presented in three different voices (all in Kanye’s head, obviously), a eye-watering narrative that ends with a fictional conversation between Kanye’s former flame this song’s about and Chris Rock. It’s not the last surprise West’s got in store though: “Lost in the World” is a meld between a touching Bon Iver ballad and West’s stream-of-consciousness final words in the album, that practically define it. (“Your my devil,your my angel/Your my heaven, your my hell”). The song imperceptibly passes into the albums closer, passages from a Gil Scott-Heron spoken word poem about The American Dream. It couldn’t have closed any other album.

Rumors abound about the cost of this masterpiece (about three million US dollars), about Kanye’s strict rules while recording, including a dress code. They matter of course, but only in adding to the album’s allure and mystery and not its quality. You could get lost in this album: it begs to be listened from one end to the other. Songs meld one into another, attack your senses and make you forget inferior albums of the past. It’s a rewarding, exhausting experience that deserves to be taken seriously. Do not break it up in this song or that verse. As a listener, you owe it to yourself to listen to this album at least once as it was meant to be.

It’s hard to judge an album’s historical importance weeks removed from its launch, but I have a feeling that “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” will be regarded as one of the few albums that ended up actually being important and not just pretentious. When people will look back, they’ll refer to this album as “The Kanye Singularity”. That one moment when everything else faded, and for a little while at least, there was nothing else besides him, and his Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

10/10 Stefan

The Social Network

When I heard David Fincher, of Fight Club, Seven and Zodiac fame, was going to direct a movie about the founding (and subsequent lawsuits) of Facebook, I wasn't sure what to think. On one hand, you have one of the premiere directors of his time tackling a difficult subject that is more and more relevant in a less and less personal world. On the other, you have a movie about Harvard students writing code and becoming billionaires  after doing so (to their credit, in a visionary way). The Social Network had the potential to bomb. It also had the potential to be a damn good movie. I did not, however, expect it to be the best movie of Fincher's career. I did not expect it to be a funny, intense and exciting movie about geeks turning into gods. I did not expect it to be one of the best encapsulations of any generation's mores, or a harrowing snapshot of the zeitgeist we're all surrounded by. It's all of the above and more.


Fall 2003, Harvard University. Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) gets dumped by his girlfriend, Erica (Rooney Mara, who'll get her remember-my-name role in Fincher's following adaptation of Stieg Larsson's Millenium Trilogy), gets drunk, blogs bad-bad things about Erica, writes some code, crashes Harvard's servers at four in the morning, and becomes infamous in the process, by means of a website that allows students to grade female undergrads by looks. He gets academic probation, but draws attention of the Winklevoss twins, who have a business proposition for him. Zuckerberg's only friend, Eduardo Saverin gets involved, and the rest is history. Or is it? The line between fact and fiction here is blurry, and, to be frank, irrelevant.

The acting is blissful, from top to bottom. Jesse Eisenberg pulls off one for the ages in portraying a conflicted and (don't laugh) tragic figure. He's tailor-made for this role, and never lets us fully hate Zuckerberg as much as we would want to, easily juggling between smart quips, geek-speak, and the near-autistic social interactions he has with the people that surround him. The twins are both portrayed by Armie Hammer, who goes all across the spectrum (The twins are, of course, complementary), and hasn't received nearly enough praise for his work here.

The unsung heroes of this movie, though, are Justin Timberlake and especially Andrew Garfield. Timberlake plays Sean Parker (of Napster fame) with a devilish ease. You never know just how much is crazy, how much is cold, calculated tact, and how much is both when he's on screen. Garfield steals the whole affair, locks it away, then rubs it in everybody's face. He's the only important guy here who we, as viewers, can fully empathize with, the only one who even tries to understand the scope of everything that's going on at a human level ( Zuckerberg and especially Parker have the business level of things handled, as far as that's concerned). All should and probably will get nods come award time, even more.

Fincher's mark is all over this movie, and if his track-record wasn't enough, this should be all the proof naysayers will need. He makes coding as exciting as bank-heists, if not more so, adapting what probably is a 3 hour script in a 2 hour assault upon the intellect. And it is. The script is insanely smart, full of blink-and-you-will-miss-them moments. See this one several times and I guarantee you will not be bored.


 I loved The Social Network, obviously. It also unsettled me a little. Thoughts of privacy, or rather lack-thereof ran through my mind after seeing it. Thoughts of betrayal. Fincher took a story that could have easily been feel-good movie material and turned it into a slap on the wrist of the very people that it's intended for. If you don't feel a little guilty for having a Facebook profile after seeing this one, you just don't get it. 

All of the above must sound like a documentary, or a very interesting story and just that. Not true, of course. It's also part satire (that doesn't get much stingier) and part social commentary. It's about relationships, hate, greed, cynicism and love. Fincher has filmed the unfilmable. A few years from now, they are going to be teaching courses about this one. After seeing The Social Network, I had an uncontrollable urge to see Citizen Kane. Praise shouldn't come higher than that. Some say it's going to be regarded as a cultural icon for my generation. I say it already is.

10/10 Stefan

The Expendables

Here's a crazy thought: What if you gathered all the greatest action movie stars ever, put them in one mega-movie, with a ridiculous plot, a huge body count, kick-ass explosions, and a lethal dose of testosterone? What if you actually got Stallone, Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis on the screen at the same time?  If The Expendables would have been made twenty years ago, it probably would have been the greatest action movie imaginable, impossible to watch without your biceps exploding (whether you're a man or woman).On paper, The Expendables looks like a slam dunk, money in the bag.  So why does it suck?

First of all, because it's central idea is essentially flawed: bringing all these stars together is nothing like The Dream Team of Action Movies. Stallone is the major one to blame here, because he directed and wrote this abomination. Everybody needs a one-liner so badly, a signature kill, an awesome catchphrase, that this movie feels schizophrenic, crowded, and corny. Let's not even get started on the "writing". I haven't laughed out this loud since The Hangover, and that's not a good thing. It would be if The Expendables was thought out as a parody, or a deconstruction (try not to read that and laugh) of the genre, if it were a movie that's intentionally bad. I actually wonder how the actors said some of these lines with a straight face on, and let's not forget we're talking about people like Dolph Lundgren and Stallone here. Really, it's almost worth seeing just for the bad writing ( "Like bad Shakespeare", to quote it).

The plot is not worth mentioning, although it had promise (the entire movie had promise). Jet Li is the best of the bunch, he actually still feels dangerous at close to 50 years,while Terry Crews is funny in a scary sort of way. None of his lines are even close to funny, but his demeanor and exploits in this film will make me laugh forever (not a bad accomplishment actually). Eric Roberts is...I'm not even going to go there, Stallone is Stallone, Statham plays the same role he's played 10 movies running, and Mickey Rourke is here just to deliver cringe-worthy monologues about war and how it changes people.

I'm actually sorry for kids these days: I grew up watching these guys in good action movies, some of them in good movies period. The Expendables feels sacrilegious at times, and boring at others. In one scene, Dolph Lundgren fights Jet Li in hand to hand combat. Why did that not feel like something I want to watch over and over and over again? Why did the scene with The Trinity of Action Heroes make me want to puke instead of wanting to hit the gym? Why does The Expendables feel like the most disappointing movie ever?

All this bashing might lead to the conclusion that I had great expectations from The Expendables. I did not. I didn't expect The Godfather or Casablanca, I just wanted a blast from the past, that explodes really good for a few minutes, and then makes me want to see Die Hard again. Not a good movie, but an awesome movie. There's a difference, and I got neither. What I did get was a predictable and incoherent (as strange as that sounds) shamble of an excuse to make money at the box-office.

Maybe I'm too harsh. It's possible that by growing up, action movies no longer fill the same gap they did when I was young, and the old ones feel good by nostalgia value alone. So I decided to test that theory and watched one old movie with each of the poster boys. The ones that were not good, were awesome. Some were even both! So in the end, it's not me. I'll do myself a favor and forget The Expendables ever happened.

Here's a crazy thought: What if you gathered all the greatest action movie stars ever, put them in one mega-movie, with a ridiculous plot, a huge body count, kick-ass explosions, and a lethal dose of testosterone? What if you actually got Stallone, Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis on the screen at the same time?  Wow, that's too awesome to exist, no use thinking about the impossible.

4/10 Stefan

Oldboy

Consider revenge for a minute. Few ideas have been more used, and abused by novelists, writers and film-makers. There's something about the bad guy getting what he deserves, about the idea that no matter how heinous the crime, retribution can be found. Revenge is great when creating dramas and action flicks, but it's even better when creating tragedies. Oldboy is such a tragedy, and one of the best movies ever made about revenge and its consequences.

The plot is deceivingly  simple, and for a reason. One will reasonably expect certain elements to be present in such a story, so director Park Chan-wook can play with our expectations. Smash them. Rebuild them, only to burn them down again. Oldboy starts out strong and is relentless, here's a movie that deserves the thriller adjective, but is so much more.

Oldboy is about Oh Dae-su (Choi Min-sik),a man who's kidnapped on a rainy evening after an altercation with the police. He's kept in imprisonment for fifteen years, with no apparent reason. Of course, after being released, one thing is on his mind, and one thing alone: revenge. From here, the plot meanders, from memorable scene to memorable scene, from revelation to revelation, to the ending (and what an ending). I'll avoid all spoilers, but the final third will find all viewers with their mouths agape, for varying reasons.
Park Chan-wook has created some instantly classical scenes for Oldboy (one fight scene steals the show, you'll know it when you see it), but they're part of a greater whole: no frame is gratuitous, all work on a level, and all have a distinct style. It's obvious why Tarantino praised Oldboy so much after seeing it at Cannes (where it won the Grand Prix): it's violent, stylized, with sharp dialogue  and numerous references to the classics (Dostoyevsky, Kafka, Shakespeare, Tarantino himself).

Oldboy is brilliantly acted: watched without subtitles, and not knowing anything about the plot, it's reasonable to expect a fairly intelligent viewer will catch on, and invest in the characters. Choi Min-sik is nothing short of fantastic in playing every human emotion in two hours. Watch his expression as it changes from scene to scene, it's obvious it's been a painstaking role to prepare, and a risk to take on. He deserves as much applause as the director, if not more so.  Kang Hye-jeong plays Mi-do, a sushi chef and the necessary female element for any good tragedy. Pay close attention to the moment in which Oh Dae-su meets Mi-do for the first time. It's a scene that generated a fair amount of controversy, but for all the wrong reasons. You'll want to rewind it after you see the movie, trust me.

To say more is to spoil, so I'll leave the plot at that. Director Park Chan-wook employs some fascinating camera angles and visual twists, making this a beautiful movie just to look at. Which is not to say that it's all style and no substance. One could write books about the themes and motifs in Oldboy. Which is not to say it's pretentious, like foreign cinema usually is.  It's simply a  bloody, deadly and remorseless movie.
 Oh Dae-su's story is more than simple catharsis, bordering on the tooth-grinding and heart-wrenching. Nit-pickers will surely find flaws in Oldboy. Some might even be right, but they are irrelevant.  Here's a movie that could have not existed in any other circumstances, that makes no excuses for itself. If you take one chance with oriental cinema, this should be it.

Consider revenge again after watching Oldboy. It's not the same,is it? Perhaps here lies Oldboy's true triumph: in trying to create a movie about revenge, Park Chan-wook does so much more. Oldboy is timeless and ravishing. Just as  Oh Dae-su's quest for revenge changes everything around him, and everything inside him, so does Oldboy for the viewer: after seeing this one, the very notion of revenge will never be the same again.

10/10 Stefan

Gone Baby Gone

One might expect that Ben Affleck should be the last one to attempt helming a movie based on a complex novel such as Gone Baby Gone. Dennis Lehane's novels have been adapted by the likes of Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorsese, two directors with undeniable pedigree. Sure, Affleck is an Academy Award winner, for writing Good Will Hunting along Matt Damon, but writing and directing are two different things entirely. Most would have expected Affleck to fail, but Gone Baby Gone is an astonishing debut, one that erases all previous mistakes he made, even as an actor (yes, even Gigli).
 

Gone Baby Gone takes place in (where else?) Boston, Massachusetts, and focuses on the abduction of four-year-old local girl Amanda. It's the kind of case that brings neighborhoods together, the kind that moves people, the kind that is never solved. The police are doing their best, but grief-struck aunt Beatrice hires local investigators Patrick Kenzie (Casey Affleck) and Angie Gennaro (Michelle Monaghan) to help as much as they can. Patrick is a smart guy with local connections, so he starts digging, hoping to find the truth. He does, but it's not pretty, and it carries a hefty price, as always.

Casey Affleck does a remarkable job as the quiet, but streetwise Patrick. He's easily the most identifiable character for the viewer, and his grief becomes ours from the onset. He would keep the movie together if he were surrounded by lesser actors. Fortunately for the viewer, he's not. Ed Harris continues to be one of the most underrated actors of his generation, playing Detective Remy Bressant, a hard-ass who's seen one case like this too many. Look into Bressant's eyes as Harris delivers each line. He combines humanity with cynicism, says more with each pause than others do with monologues. Morgan Freeman also graces the screen with his presence, although this one isn't exactly his usual spiel. Also worth mentioning is Amy Ryan, who received (almost undeservedly so) the most critical acclaim for her role as Amanda's damaged mother.
 

The plot is gritty and sad, and will pose questions for all attentive viewers (especially a sentence or two in the final few minutes that hit like a shotgun blast to the chest). The dialogue is sharp and some quotes are unforgettably delivered and written. Adapting such a novel was a daunting task, and Affleck shines: it's never confused, pathetic or preachy, as many similar-themed movies usually are.
 

Gone Baby Gone is a movie not to be missed: the Affleck brothers, with a little help here and there craft a movie that surpasses all expectations, defies clichés, and engages the viewer, without leaving him feeling cheap after the final pieces have fallen into place. It's a crime drama about people, the dark places some can go to, and the fact that making the right call is never easy.

10/10 Stefan

Kick-Ass

Let's look back and consider the last few years as far as comic-book movies are concerned: mostly competent adaptations (most of the Spider-Man an X-Men series), some excellent ones (Iron Man, for example) and a few that transcend the genre: Watchmen, Batman Begins, and especially The Dark Knight. The last three could be considered more or less successful attempts at deconstructing the most important myths of the comic-book hero.  After deconstructing the genre, why not take a stab at reconstructing it also?

Kick-Ass is based on a brilliant (although not fantastically original) premise by Mark Millar, brilliantly illustrated by John Romita, Jr. Instead of thinking from the outside in, as in a world full of super-heroes and villains, Kick-Ass is thought up the other way around. Why hasn't anybody tried to be a super-hero in real life? "They'd be dead in like, a day" replies the movie. Dave Lizewski (played by Aaron Johnson) decides it'd be the most natural thing in the world, orders a diving suit, and after donning it becomes the titular character. He's got no training, no special skills, just a lot of guts and a good heart. Unfortunately those are hardly sufficient, as he is brutally beaten the first time he actually tries to fight crime. What seemed to be a light-hearted comedy then suddenly takes a turn for the brutal, rated "R" (for awesome) romp, that's as genre savvy as it is fun.

Kick-Ass soon encounters other "heroes" (the term should be used extremely lightly when discussing most masked people in the movie), Bid Daddy, the ever fantastic Nicholas Cage (whose quirky Adam West-like take on his character is memorable), his daughter, Hit Girl, and the aptly-named Red Mist (who's all smoke and mirrors).  Hit Girl is portrayed by Chloë Grace Moretz in a star-making performance, her relentless energy carrying each and every scene, no matter who's in it. You'll remember her and her character long after you've forgotten everything else about the movie. Which is not to say that it's forgettable, because that's far from the truth. Mark Strong is also unforgettable as the "bad guy", bringing life to a character that in the comics is bland. 

The source-material is dark, violent, and is much more intelligent than it lets on, hiding sharp commentaries about how deranged someone actually should be to hide behind a mask and fight evildoers behind panels upon panels of the old "ultra violence". The movie does a good job at adapting it for the silver screen, improving in some areas, but actually toning it down (!) in others. It's a shame, because it results in a story that sometimes feels a little too optimistic, while still avoiding major pitfalls hidden in most movies of the like (no tired clichés here). I won't give them away (read the books!), but  had the producers and writers kept the darker elements, Kick-Ass would have surely ascended to cult-status. The same general message is portrayed, but detractors might say pointing it out would be pushing it. It's not, and said detractors were probably nit-picking just for the sake of it. I can see them, all "that's not possible" this and "that's sick and inhuman" that, while the rest of us are grinning madly at what transpires on the screen.
 
Kick-Ass carries itself with aplomb, and acts like it's the only one in the room worth looking at, the cool kid that everybody actually likes. One might think that it's a step backwards for a genre that's growing up, but consider Kick-Ass its coming-of-age party. What's the point of being mature and serious if you can't have a little fun once in a while?

9/10 Stefan

The Marshall Mathers LP

"This is another Public Service Announcement, brought to you, in part, by Slim Shady. Slim Shady does not give a fuck what you think. If you don't like it, you can suck his fucking cock. Little did you know, upon purchasing this album, you have just kissed his ass. Slim Shady is fed up with your shit, and he's going to kill you."
 

The above lines open Eminem's "The Marshall Mathers LP", and compared to the rest of the album, actually seem peaceful, tame, and mild-mannered. It's the fastest selling solo album ever, a landmark achievement in hip-hop, and one of the most controversial things ever put on tape.

"Kill you" is a disturbing (and I promise not to use that word regarding every song on this album) warning Eminem waves in our faces. A slick beat allows him to explain that if he "can't rap about coke no more", he'll kill, rape, take drugs, and spit it in their faces: "Oh, now he's raping his own mother, abusing a whore/snorting coke, and we gave him the Rolling Stone cover?". He's cold and psychotic, not to be trifled with.  After that first song , one might think he's all flash and no fire, no substance to his shocking rhymes. 

They'd be wrong, because "Stan" follows, a song everybody knew but few really understood (that label could actually fit Eminem perfectly as an artist). It's an incredibly tight narrative, that descends into the psyche of eponymous, mad, obsessive fan that identifies himself with Slim. He writes him letters that start out as normal and end as nightmare-inducing. It showcases Eminem's ability to change his voice, his perfect cadence and the fact that he understands us as fans, creating a scary caricature of anyone who's ever had an obsession. This song is also the first, and so far only reason anybody's ever heard of Dido, her suave voice balancing out the madness.

"Who knew" is a slap in the face of everybody that ever said that music is responsible for violence's pervasiveness nowadays. He laughs at people who tell him to sing without swearing constantly ("Oh - you want me to watch my mouth, how?/Take my fuckin eyeballs out, and turn em around?"), and throws their accusations against them ("But don't blame me when lil' Eric jumps off of the terrace/You shoulda' been watchin' him - apparently you ain't parents"). It's obvious he's pulling people's legs here, probably laughing like a maniac every time somebody accuses of corrupting the mind of the youth.

"The way I am" was the song that dispelled every doubt people might have had about the young rapper's talent. Eminem's flow is untouchable, and lyrically, he's at a legendary level on this song. It's a big middle finger pointed at everybody else, yelling his thoughts with an almost subconscious power (And all of this controversy circles me /And it seems like the media immediately points a finger at me /So I point one back at 'em/But not the index or the pinky or the ring or the thumb/It's the one you put up when you don't give a fuck /When you won't just put up with the bullshit they pull/Cause they full of shit too). Eminem gives everybody hell, whether they deserve it or not here. "Think twice before ever criticizing your favorite artist" is the moral here.
The next song is more light-hearted, treating all the imitations that came along after him, a whole lot of celebrities, and proving to be a chart-topper (even if it was written as the exact opposite). He rips Pamela Anderson, Christina Aguilera, and most memorably Will Smith ("Will Smith don't gotta cuss in his raps to sell records/well, I do. So fuck him, and fuck you too."), and prophesizes that there's a little Slim Shady in all of us. Truth be told, haven't we all wanted to tell everybody who's made it big a thing or two?

In "I'm back", Eminem is especially cynical, and finds some of his favorite targets over the years (Christopher Reeve, N'Sync and others). He's treading on thin ice, with a reference to the Columbine Massacre (that's censored even on the uncensored version of the album), psychopaths, and addressing rumors that he had sex with Jennifer Lopez. Any other artist would have been considered a lunatic. Eminem did all of this with so much panache, people embraced him as  a genius, and with lyrics as scary-good as these, who's there to argue?
"Marshall Mathers" is the most underrated song on the album, an eye-opening story told through a clenched jaw, that pities music in general, his new-found fame, and the hypocrisy it brought. It also starts, and ends a beef with Insane Clown Posse, and is complementary to "Stan". After listening to it a few times, you can't help but feel sorry for the guy ("Is it because you love me that y'all expect so much of me?").

Out of the final few songs, "Bitch Please II" stands out as the one of the best group efforts on the album, and probably is the most memorable W.C.-Jam of the last years, with Eminem being the best of the bunch (Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg and Xzibit). "Kim" follows, a brutal mock-murder of his then-wife, a song that will remain in history as the most strange, paranoid, and disgusting love-letter ever. "Under the influence" is a fantastic song for D12, Eminem acting as a deranged conductor to his own take on the tired "boy-band" concept he so happily smashed on this record. It's quotable line for line, as is the last song, "Criminal". On these two, he dispels any doubts: he's the bad guy, and he loves it, for better or worse.

I was 9 years old when I first bought and even though I only recently fully understood just how fascinatingly sick it is, I was still mesmerized. People listen to Eminem without even thinking about the lyrics and that's a shame. They nod their heads to murders, rapes, and hate. It's not the beats (although they help), it's Eminem's undeniable talent. This album feels like a train-wreck, an accident, something that you shouldn't like listening to, but are compelled to. It's so vulgar and profane, no fully uncensored version exists. It's bloody, and bloody brilliant."The Marshall Mathers LP" is one of the best albums of all time, created by the most talented guy of his generation, at his peak. Eminem knows this, and juggles between fact and fiction, in creating the most fascinating character we've ever witnessed in music: himself.

10/10 Stefan

Room on Fire

Following up to an amazing first album is a daunting task for any band who's made it big on their first try. The Strokes were facing one such task in 2003 when they launched their sophomore effort "Room on Fire", because comparisons to their landmark "Is This It" were inevitable. It's hard not to compare the two albums: both have eleven songs, both run approximately the same, and both are largely about the same things. Consider the band first, though. A laid-back, young, brash assortment of "garage-rock-revivalists", that surely were having the time of their lives. It's a stretch to expect a great deal of change (musically speaking) from guys like these. But if it's not broken, don't fix it, right?

The Strokes are ever ironic, and so is the album's first track, opening with another rhetorical question, a la "Is this it". "What Ever Happened?" jumps between romantic musings and more or less subtle jabs at critics ("Did they offend us and they want it to sound new?"), while being catchy all at once, no small task. The second track, "Reptilia" gives the album its name ("The room is on fire as she's fixing her hair"), and Casblancas yells his lungs out about "not trying hard enough", and it feels as though The Strokes aren't even breaking a sweat. The themes approached by the band in their debut are still here: "Automatic stop" is about a failed relationship, featuring the staccato guitar riffs that were ubiquitous in most alternative rock albums of the time (if you're sick of them already, blame not The Strokes, but all the imitators).

The Strokes deserve credit on this one: even songs about sad attempts at reaching the past are catchy as hell (what song up to here has not been?), "12:51" for example (with lyrics such as "The world is shutting out...for us. We were tense for sure, But we was confident... ").For the band, it appears life should be taken with a pinch of salt, especially when it's hard, or sad. This optimism feels like a breath of fresh air after the avalanche of angsty rock music from so-called "emotional" bands that came after. "You talk way too much" is a blast, one that makes up for any lost energy while keeping that ironic tone, always hovering between serious and laugh out loud moments ("You talk way too much/It's only the end").

"Between love and hate" is again about a failed relationship, and sometimes I wonder whether Casablancas has approached this particular subject one time too many. It only takes a chord or two to bring me back, because it's just too much fun to matter. "Meet me in the bathroom" is an obvious shout-out to their first album, and by this time listeners must have realized that "Room on fire" can be the soundtrack to mostly everybody's teenage years, and only a band a few years removed from adolescence can reignite that elusive spirit. The Strokes, it seems, can capture lightning in a bottle, and sell it back to us.

The melancholy "Under Control" exudes feels infectious, and is one of the few tracks this band has produced that feels like a confession, but it's not pathetic in the least. It feels more like a pat on a shoulder after realizing some things are impossible no matter how much you want them to be true. So even if "You are young, darling", it's only " For now, but not for long". You'd be hard pressed to find a more descriptive evocation of youth, just ask someone who's no longer young.

Taking the lyrics form "The way it is", and putting them on a slow ballad tune would result in a blueprint for all the James Blunt wannabes that kept on popping up these last few years like mushrooms after rain. Lyrics like that have no place being yelled around, it doesn't feel right for any serious musician. Serious is not an entry in The Strokes' dictionary, at least not in the traditional sense ("Without humor or expression of happiness; grave in manner or disposition; earnest; thoughtful; solemn."), and their energy is viral. No other band could have pulled off an album like this, not like this. "The end has no end" is almost schizophrenic, with disjointed lyrics, but is quotable almost line for line ("Said I can do a lot of things, but I can't do that/Two steps forward, then three steps back"). It's reminiscent of "Hard To Explain", in that you need to listen to it for a few times before actually understanding what they meant. The final song is a distillation of everything that came before it: it's a song about failing (with a title like "I can't win", that comes as no surprise), but not caring about the vicissitudes life throws in front of you.

If you compare "Room On Fire" to "Is This It", you'll surely feel it comes up short. But that would mean you have not been paying attention, because it's not about that. It never was. It's about being young even if you're not anymore, about smiling when you should frown, about looking fate in the eye and laughing. Some people can't even say those things, let alone do them. The Strokes do it with the ease a child plays with his cubes, and maybe that's the crux of their legacy: no matter how hard, they made it seem so fucking easy.

10/10 Stefan

Lost

In a year that features the final episodes of the longest running action-espionage TV show ever (24), some of the best drama one can find (Mad Men) and a new HBO super-production from the team that brought us Band of Brothers (Pacific), it comes to nobody's surprise that none of the above are even close to the biggest event in TV or even entertainment. That is because 2010 features the most awaited-for finale since The Sopranos took its bow in 2007: ABC's Lost. So how does the show stack up, now that it's over? What was it all about, now that the black smoke has dissipated (give yourself a tap on the back if you got that reference)?

Lost was a show about an Island. The Island. It's the defining characteristic of the show at first glance, a place as interesting as it was mysterious, taking its place in pop culture ever since it came along. On The Island you could find whispers, polar bears, secrets, more dead bodies than many cemeteries, statues, boats, hatches, dynamite, guns, and airplanes. And so much more. You know, the good stuff. But this island was more than a trash can for crazy ideas that the producers thought up and threw in. This Island was full of people.


Lost was a show about characters. Living (mostly), believable, fascinating characters, that acted according to their principles (or lack thereof). Indeed, every one of them had motivation, an arc, a back-story, covering the entire range of human existence, from babies to men incredibly old, from priests to torturers, men of science and men of faith. Everyone acted as such for a reason. These characters often clashed, and when they did, it always proved to be something worth thinking about, from philosophy to the simple management of the group's resources post-crash.

Lost was a philosophical show. It encompassed themes from all major religions, touching on life and death, duality, fate, determinism, hope, revenge, and fulfillment. What other show merged its main characters with such themes by actually naming them after influential philosophers (Locke, Rousseau, Hume, to name a few)? Lost was never preachy in its web of motifs though, and the producers knew when to shift a gear when needed, and did so, resulting in some of the most intriguing action sequences on TV in the last decade.



Lost was a show about action. Things happened, fights broke out, explosions pulverized everything around them, people were shot, animals were hunted, glances were exchanged, and tears were shed. It always carried a feeling of importance, like it was the only thing that was worth seeing, like it was airing with purpose. One of the most important notions on the show was that everything happened for a reason. It never seemed too over the top, nor low-key, but rather just right as far as everything was concerned, from humor to seriousness.



Lost was a funny show. While no characters existed for pure comedic relief, some were funny as hell. From Sawyer's nicknames, to Hurley's sometimes geeky references, knowing how and especially when to insert a joke, mainly because something big was always going on in the background.


Lost was a sad show. Viewers cried their hearts out when it got really sad, and Lost had its fair share of sad moments during its six year run. This sadness is inherent to the show's hugely ambitious scope, with tragedies abounding on all levels, both cosmic and personal.



Lost was a show that was grandiose. Everything was exotic, from the sets on The Island, to Michael Giacchino's perfect music. Part of Lost's huge appeal was that one could not care about what actually happened, and still be awe-struck by some of the best cinematography and sound mixing ever seen or heard on TV.


Lost was a show about choice. For a show about choice, it's ironic that it gave you little to no choice to keep on watching episode after episode, season after season. Those who followed the show from the beginning were, of course, the most rewarded when "The End" finally came, but for a show so heavy in mythology, mysteries and questions, one could have jumped in anytime in the first two or three seasons. After that, it was a whole other ballgame. The choices the characters made were never left without repercussions, their stubbornness prevailing in the end, man preserving his power over the universe, through choice. "Don't tell me what I can't do" seems more than a catch-phrase, uttered when the writers had no idea what to do, but a guide they followed when writing it.

Lost was a fantastically written show. The writing on Lost has been the best of the last few years in television, without exception. Even on an off day, it was instantly quotable ("See you in another life,brother";"Go get Jack";"Others!"), and the immense number of quotes, slogans and mantras this show is going to generate gives me a headache just thinking about it. A few years from now, someone seeing Lost from the beginning will be greeted by the same familiarity that exists when one watches a classical movie for the first time. They'll know many lines, identify some original ideas before hand, and make the necessary connections easily, because so much of this show is universal. Which is not to say that Lost was predictable. The writers were only outdid by the actors as far as I'm concerned.


Lost was a perfectly acted show. Featuring a huge cast of over 14 main members (in the first season) and many more secondary ones, it boasts one of the most talented groups of actors ever brought on screen for such a long time in studio-years. Starting from stereotypical characters, the writers subverted all clichés.

Matthew Fox plays Jack, the young, handsome, doctor, who steps up (but not with his own accord) as leader for the survivors of flight 815,but has daddy issues, doubts, uncertainties and regrets.

Terry O'Quinn plays John Locke with the steadiness only a veteran can provide, presenting a human side to the stoic paraplegic who regains use of his legs after the crash.

Michael Emerson plays Ben Linus, in what might be the most underrated role and performance of the last decade. His quiet but menacing demeanor defines a man who always seems to know more than he lets on, balancing the truth with oh-so-many lies. Ben and Locke are formidable on-screen, and as much as they do appear, they always leave the viewer wanting for more.

The struggle between Locke (the man of faith) and Jack (the man of science) was the focal point of the series for its entire run, and the pay-off is as rewarding as it could have been. What about Sawyer, Kate, Desmond? Sayid, Jin, and Sun? No one skipped a beat in six years and it's too bad that awards have to single out performances because Lost was an acting master class through and through.


All of this praise is just a general view of Lost, without actually dissecting what happened, and what it happened for. Fans will discuss this show long after it's over, especially considering the final episode, aptly titled "The End". "The End" was not unlike the series finales of MASH, The Sopranos or Seinfeld, in that it was created to fit a mold the series sculpted before it. It gives the entire series a sense of cohesion, in the same way the final chapter of a novel ties everything together. I may have expected something else, but what I got was what I, as a viewer, needed. It leaves behind it a yearning in fans, one that might never be fully quenched, since I doubt another show like this will ever come along again.


Lost was the first defining show of the internet era, because in spite of the fact that excellent TV was made besides it, none felt tailor made to a generation that needs puzzles, and craves information and discussion as much as ours. It may truly be the last show that can ever be anything for anyone at the same time.Unfortunately,it's over, and everyone must move on and accept it, but where are we, as fans, after six years? Where has this show left us after all this time?

We're a bit older, but hopefully more experienced, more chiseled. We still do what we want to, whether we are meant to or not. We're emotionally involved, because it's human to be, and we sometimes get hurt for this. We're still here, on route to our final destination, as we always were. There's the past, which accounts for everything we are, and there's the future that accounts for everything we will be. But essentially, we're in the present, trying to live as best we can.

There has to be a word that perfectly describes the above situation.


Oh, yes.


Lost.

Stefan

Mass Effect 2

In November 2007 a space-themed RPG by Bioware came about and took the gaming world by storm, featuring simple but addictive gameplay, beautiful graphic design and execution, and an epic, over-the-top storyline. Two and a half years later, its sequel is here. Have Bioware met the huge expectations attached to all major sequels? Have they brushed against the bar they themselves set so high? Is Mass Effect 2 worthy of standing besides its predecessor, a regular modern classic in its own right?

Mass Effect 2 takes place two years after the first one left off, and features the same Commander Shepard we know and love, especially if you import your old save game. If you've played Mass Effect, doing so is a no-brainer, because it guarantees this game becomes something incredibly personal, by remembering both the huge and the little choices you made all along way.

Unfortunately, Mass Effect 2 is hugely referential, you can clearly enjoy it if you've never played the first one, or if you've forgotten something (impossible considering just how damn good the story is in these games), but you'll miss out on a huge amount of inside-jokes, subtle references and nods that make it the most believable alien universe you've ever visited (sorry, Pandora!), both gaming or otherwise.

The actual gameplay is improved this time around, the tedious side-quests of Mass Effect are done away with, and are replaced with either a mini-game (that still manages to feel right, even though detractors might accuse it of breaking the game's mood) or a more clear-cut mission. Even if you try to breeze throughout the game, and skip all non-essential missions, get no upgrades and ignore all the little details the plot offers, you still wind up with an almost twenty hour no-holds-barred action extravaganza. Double that if you want full completion, and that's one play through, with one character class.

Taking it all from the top without being bored by the game is no small task, and Bioware deliver the goods, because Mass Effect 2 is so broad its choices. It dispels the common myth that videogames tell you not only what to do, but give you not much choice in doing it. With its sharp dialogue (hats off to the writers), and polarizing choices, it becomes a mirror of the player's self: more than once, I struggled to choose what to say for minutes at a time. In Mass Effect 2, there are no right or wrong answers, only repercussions, and there are more lessons to be learned here than in many other works of art that are presented as "educational". It's perfectly conceivable for two different people to play the game and extract two completely different experiences, as far as both story and gameplay are concerned. That's no small task.

Graphically, the characters are more detailed this time around, showcasing the unique and unforgettable supporting cast. The soundtrack is epic and alert, seemingly torn out of any Hollywood blockbuster, and the voice acting is absolutely exemplar. The most striking example is Martin Sheen as The Illusive Man (also the best name of 2010 so far), who always gives off the impression of knowing more than he lets on. Most familiar faces return, but in unexpected ways that will surely bring about a smile for fans of the first game. From scientists to soldiers, and everything in between, the rag-tag team Shepard gathers stays with you long after the game is finished, provided everybody survives the bloody, epic and jaw-clenching affair that the final act is. By making you care about the characters, putting them in grave danger is hard, and making some bold decisions is even harder. I've intentionally stayed away from the plot, because it's surprising even if you've played the original, especially the first few minutes. It's the kind of story adjectives like "stupendous", "riveting" and "thrilling" were invented for.

The few nit-picks are irrelevant on the grand scale-some glitches and graphical hiccups, and the fact that it might seem simpler, dumber than the first, but it's more accessible, and that's no sin. Bioware should be commended for actually having the guts to overrule decisions they made that proved to be unpopular. All in all, the last few years have proven that gaming as an art is coming of age, and that for every few lousy games that come along, the response is a Bioshock, Fallout 3,Modern Warfare, or indeed Mass Effect 2 that remind us why we fell in love with the hobby in the first place.

This is one of the few games everybody should play: if you don't like it, or at least appreciate it, you not only need to stay away from gaming as a whole, but from anything that even remotely resembles art as well. Bioware have their work cut out for them: Mass Effect 3 now needs to be nothing short of perfection to avoid being a disappointment, but if anyone can pull it off, they can. Mass Effect 2 simply is an astonishing achievement: it pushes the envelope so far, we need light speed to catch up with it.

10/10 Stefan

Up In The Air

Being a corporate downsizer must be a terrible job-telling somebody that they're going to lose their job is no small task, especially when it's most likely the only time they will ever see you. It's a job for bold people, created and demanded by cowards. Jason Reitman's "Up In The Air" is about Ryan Bingham (George Clooney), one such man, but is much more than a simple checklist of his life.

Such a checklist would actually be hard to accomplish, considering the fact that Bingham spends most of his time travelling across America by plane, racking up frequent-flyer miles, and "headcounts" as far as his job is concerned. His life is aptly summed up by flying from point A to point B, then C, and so on. As far as romance is involved though, between two such points he meets Alex (Vera Farmiga), in a way a female version of himself- and they begin a casual relationship.

Ryan is soon required to show a new coworker of his the ropes, when she proposes all firings be done online. Natalie, played by the delightful Anna Kendrick, tags along and learns new things not only about the job, but of course, about herself. Ryan keeps flying along America, hoping to reach the incredible number of ten million frequent-flyer miles, his life intertwining with the people he's fired, brushing on human interaction but never actually achieving it in its entirety.

The rest of the plot and the conclusion are not necessarily mind-blowing, but work for the most part, and are a showcase for the formidable parts played by the three.

Clooney is, simply-put, sensational here, his best work ever. His nuanced performance is sensible but distanced at the same time, carrying the movie on his shoulders with ease all the way. Vera and Anna are both a treat, proving that even though apart they can't keep up with Clooney's swagger, together they can.

If up to here "Up In The Air" seems little more than a relationship drama with bits of comedy sprinkled on top, upon deeper examination, it's a much more complex and rewarding experience. I found it to be a meditation on modern times, in which people are closer and closer with the aid of technology, but in reality are growing further and further apart. This movie knows people nowadays hide in plain sight, behind a transparent wall of blogs, streams, text messages and phone calls, and is not afraid to show it, without ever being preachy.

Reitman is a smooth director, and knows how to make a personal movie, taking all the little stories in the script (smart and instantly quotable) ,and crafting a universal one out of them-it's impossible not to note that it's a film that nearly begs to be taken in, to be liked. Even if you notice this, you won't mind- the result is not perfect, but these are not perfect times, are they?

Either a feel-good movie, that comes along in the nick of time during the recession, a subtle social analysis encompassing both man and machine or indeed a near-perfect character study, "Up In The Air" appeals to both heart and mind, and any minor imperfections should not persuade you to avoid this movie. If nothing else, see it for Clooney-like good wine, he gets better with age, and he's never been as good as he is here.

9/10 Stefan

Is This It

Launched at the end of July in 2001,right before the whole world as we then knew it changed, The Strokes' "Is This It" is a seminal album: it influenced everything that came after it, historically and musically.

The album picks up with the title-track, a quiet, ballad-like song that pulls you into the band's world: starting with an electronic frizzle, its base line immediately synchs with your heartbeat, and eventually asks the Big Question : "Is this it?". The album intentionally evades giving the answer away from the start (or maybe at all). It's a ballad that talks about casual, pass-the-time, waste-your-life relationships, and sometimes the futile attempts at happiness pursuing such a relationship implies. No angst comes though, none is needed here- the second track, "The Modern Age" is all about fun, living the moment, and not giving a damn about the rest. Its fascinatingly difficult, but oh-so-subtle guitar solo coupled with the staccato verse create a joyful atmosphere: jumping around in childlike wonder is not only normal, it's obligatory ("It's in my blood" yells Casablancas- it's in ours too.).

While the third track evokes the punch-drunk confusion that falling in love puts you in, while "Barely Legal" inverts the same concept : losing one's virginity. Walking on thin ice is easy for The Strokes here though-"It all works somehow in the end", and it does. No beat seems out of place, no guitar chord is gratuitous, the lyrics and music complement each other perfectly, and "Is This It" becomes more and more of a personal experience as "Someday" begins. It's a blunt, honest track ("In many ways they'll miss the good old days";"It hurts to say but I want you to stay" or "Promises they break before they're made"), proving that rock can indeed be fun and intelligent at the same time without sounding condescending. It does not get more accessible than this, neither does it get more fun.

Irony abounds in this album, the sixth track standing testament to this fact. "Alone, Together" again treats relationships, and although the lyrics might seem sad, melancholic even if taken out of context, one listen and you realize what message The Strokes are trying to convey, maybe even find the answer to the Big Question. You can't ponder these facts for more than mere seconds at a time when your ears are bombarded with such sublime songs : "Last Night" is the perfect after-party song: it's the sound of a foggy memory trying to place itself back together even though, as plainly as Casablancas puts it "They won't understand".

The following two songs are the most powerful on the album by a long shot. "Hard to Explain" is a frantically paced narrative that needs several listens just to be understood, but only one to be enjoyed (the same can be said about the album in the end),the crazy chorus percolating into the listeners subconscious, flowing so naturally, it feels like ones mother tongue. Singing his heart out about "New York City Cops", dusty apartments and people who ” act like Romans/But dress like Turks", The Strokes have an infinite supply of energy and candor on these two tracks, singing as though they know they are the greatest band in the universe (maybe for a little while they even were).

Human emotion is a major theme in this masterpiece and the final two songs describe two very familiar ones: confusion ("Trying Your Luck") and confidence, the warranted kind ("Take It Or Leave It"). Both are so beautiful, that by the time the album ends, pressing play over and over again is the only logical step.

But how about the Big Question? Is this it? Unfortunately for The Strokes, judging by their inferior second and third albums, it probably is. We shouldn't be sad that The Strokes never managed to live up to their debut, and probably never will though.

An album like this seems all the more unlikely in this postmillennial music landscape we currently reside in. Ironically, "Is This It" does not belong in the alternative rock scene it helped create at the beginning of the "noughties", but rather in Rock Music's Valhalla, a work that deserves to be considered sacred especially because it's so fatally human.

It's the proof that sometimes, being perfect only once is enough.

10/10 Stefan