People of Earth,
A Don Maxwell film:
About 38 mins long. A sort of docu-concert film from my book release party.
Please share gratuitously.
While Chris Penn learned to dance,
“Let’s Hear it for the Boy” inspired avalanches throughout the Rockies (you know there ain’t no mountains in Oklahoma); those sun-soaked, dance-deprived, small-town, god-fearing, tractor-chickening Rockies.
Sometime before or sometime after Chris Penn learned to dance
(Footloose timelines are anything but linear), in white, Wednesday, after-school shoes, Kevin Bacon danced a gymnast’s jig in what we dream was a poultry or hog or serial killer warehouse.
Before Chris Penn learned to dance,
Bomont was a dusty, Quiet-Riot-free environment filled with soda-loving Maries and Milos whose desperate shenanigans unfolded along infinitely-stretched, two-lane highways.
After Chris Penn learned to dance,
Bomont rebuilt itself as a Loggins-esque utopia dedicated to overcoming high rates of teen depression by prescribing herioc doses of The Carlton before it was so-branded and re-sold to the American public in 1990 by Bel-Air Danceaceuticals, Inc.
Though Chris Penn learned to dance, dance so hard, he danced so hard,
he couldn’t stop fighting even when the only thing he burned and yearned for was to dance into the heart of Sarah Jessica Parker and it was those fights, that fight, that drove her to marry Ferris Bueller (forever bound in hallucinatory matrimony deep within the crevasses of Cameron Frye’s anxious imaginations).
Still Chris Penn danced and danced and danced and danced
and so did John Lithgow and so did you and so did I and together we lost our blues in an Almost Paradise under a confetti-glitter moon, cut loose from every rule,
Dux is not the droids
Jedi asshole make mind trick
Kumite the Force
“In the films I’ve made and the films I hope to make, I hope that there’s a 16-year-old girl watching them, saying, ‘She’s got it all wrong, I’ve gotta make my own!’” she says. “That it sort of gives a passport to whoever the next group of artists are. I still get infuriated when I look at lists, not just of filmmakers, but of musicians, novelists, painters, and it’s just, ‘Guy, guy, guy, guy.’ I love so many of them, but I want more. I want more of my gender expressing what it means to them to be alive.”
Source: Greta Gerwig gets real | Dazed
That is what’s different about hearing Alanis Morissette on The Trip to Italy. No one in their right mind would think You Oughta Know is the perfect artistic (or commercial) accompaniment to a comedy about two middle-aged men driving round Italy. It’s not there to summon an emotion, or create a mood of foreboding, or signify how cool our heroes are. It’s played for the same reason so much of our car music is played: that’s the disc that’s in the car, so that’s what we’re listening to. And freed from the burden of having to mean anything more than being something for two blokes to sing along to, it sounds kind of great.
I watched this film in a theater in Springfield, MO whilst curled up in a tight ball, tucked deep into the folding crack of a cushy, purplely-plush chair and my immune system wrecking havoc upon my pancreas.
(Now, perhaps it was just an upset belly, but it wasn’t too long thereafter (less than a year) that I was in a hospital being diagnosed with Type I – just sayin’. )
So, Blair Witch, though I think you’re a great film (and man, was I ever sucked into the internet marketing for it), I have to warn the world about your diabetic-inducing tendencies.
Be warned, world!
On hiatus thru January.
In the meantime:
In April of 1990, Twin Peaks debuted. That show gave a major head frak to my 14-going-on-15-year-old person that to this day influences my aesthetic sensibilities and creative interests.
If you’re an old fan, or if you’ve never seen the show (you must), you can watch episodes here: http://www.cbs.com/classics/twin_peaks/
“There are things you can’t get anywhere… but we dream they can be found in other people.”