Sunday, December 30, 2007

Seraphim Fell Hard For It

Crossposted from

This week, I finally got around to watching Seraphim Falls, a western filmed in New Mexico that played in theaters briefly last year. My coworker, his partner and I hooked my laptop up to their projector and we watched the film unfold across the length of the wall of his living room. It killed my laptop doing it, but in the end, reinstalling Vista (again) was worth it.

Starring two Irishmen as American Civil War veterans, the film’s too sparse on dialogue to hear the lilting holes in their assumed American accents. Hell, from the opening scene, you know that Brosnan’s character probably hasn’t spoken to anyone in three years.

He’s a mountain man, one minute building a fire and the next running for his life. Throughout the film, Brosnan’s motivated only by shame and survival, as Neeson and a gang of bounty hunters chase him across the New Mexico wilderness. You don’t know what Brosnan’s done, but it’s something horrific and old and soul-scarring, both for him and Neeson, who won’t stop until he’s personally put a bullet in Brosnan’s head. The chase is exquisite and brutal and logical and long; you might call the plot slow, but the scenes are white-knuckling and physically exhausting.

It’s the kind of Western I complain they don’t make anymore. It obeys the genre rigidly, and yet completely transcends it. It’s the thinking man’s action film; a little James Dickey with a lot of Serge Leone. Man against man. Man against nature. Man against his own soul. In the last quarter, it gets downright metaphysical, but it’s both apt and intriguing and wide open to interpretation. That’s just how I like it (and why My Name is Nobody is one of my all-time favs). I spent a good twenty minutes lying in bed that night meditating on the multiple layers of meaning in the title, “Seraphim Falls.” Plural on purpose, I concluded.

Anyway, it satisfied me like so few films do. Totally recommended, dude.

Recon from the Total Pig's Beautiful Sty

REVEALED: Images from home prove Gwyneth Doland really IS a total pig.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Suffer for Fashion

The belt of bourbon from Evangelo’s is settling nicely inside me; it crawls up my spine onto my head like a skullcap, making the post-sunset cold manageable as I huff to Palace Avenue where Lewellen Contemporary awaits with a confusion of well-dressed people meandering inside.

Project Runway’s current season features Elisa Jimenez, a couture fashion designer from New Mexico who relocated to Santa Fe after spending a number of years in New York making clothes for the likes of Jennifer Lopez and Courtney Love. Lewellen is hosting a fashion show featuring the work of Jimenez, who is also the daughter of famed sculptor Luis Jimenez.

I was made hip to this shindig and invited by CeCe Kurzweg, the wife of music producer John Kurzweg, who is also one of the models for the show. I drank warm honey wine and watched beautiful people who couldn’t possibly consume more than 200 calories a day slither in expensive clothing, looking bemused, uninterested, yet delighted to see one another.

I run into Larry Mitchell who has just been nominated for a Grammy for his work as producer of Johnny Whitehorse's Totemic Flute Chants in the Best Native American Album category. Brian Hardgroove, who I haven’t seen in a while, tells me about his own production work in Hong Kong with Chinese punk band Demerit.

Before the actual show begins a blue line of tape is laid down on the floor like a landing strip, which will guide the models to their final destination. Then announcements, then images from Project Runway show providing contextual information on Jimenez. But like any reality show we only see a character, a blip of images and segments pretending to construct a person; it’s a lesson in post-modernity where one reality views a faux reality for insight on what’s about to happen in front of our faces.

One by one the models cascade down the stairs where 100 or so my newest and most fabulous friends await. The women wear a series of multi-colored shreds with puffy backpacks, and the men (who are shirtless for some reason) sport the backpacks and smile sheepishly; I’m reminded of my neglected gym membership going to waste.

Once all have descended and congregated around a table with a tied bundle of clothing upon it, Jimenez appears at the foot of the stairs to a round of applause. She too wears the strategic shreds but somehow makes it work to her full advantage. After a few announcements, we are instructed to untie the bundle and try on clothes. It’s like spilling a bucket of chum in shark infested waters with the airs of a JC Penny fire sale. The pile of clothing comes apart like an anthill in the rain. I don’t participate...

Monday, December 17, 2007


Sometimes really cool promo stuff comes to my office. Advanced copies of knitting books (beware the uncorrected proof of a pattern!), movie screeners, the occasional random t-shirt. But today I think some genius marketer takes the cake.

The movie: Juno (about a pregnant high school girl, blah, blah, blah)
The swag: A highlighter in the shape of a pregnancy test.

Gross. At least the ink is orange, not yellow. But still. Ha, ha, ha, pregnancy tests are funny. And who doesn't want to mark something as important with an item in the shape of something you pee on? Especially if you're the type of person who chews on your pen.


Friday, December 14, 2007


That's it. I've been trying to remember all day what I was going to do today, this weekend and, of course, the unTRAINed gallery opening at the Railyard. Blogged about here before, an missed by myself due to a cold, I love the idea of a cold wintery night, a hot drink (um, I'm bringing my own just to be safe) and art in a funky location.

Hooray! My evening has been saved. Now I have to go and re-myspace a friend who I asked if anything was happening.

And tomorrow (or Sunday morning, depending on how motivated I am) at 11 am The Red Balloon at the Screen. Yipee! I hope it's as good as it was when I last saw it, probably in 1988...

Happy weekend!

Thursday, December 13, 2007


I ran around my house super antsy last night trying to figure out what to do with my night and to remember what it was that I'd forgotten. Naomi Klein at the Lensic, that's what. Errrr. Yes, it was sold out, but with the Lannan readings there are always a few last minute tickets that become available. And you can watch from the lobby. But instead I just sat at home reading, not that there's anything wrong with that.

I guess that's one of the pitfalls of working on things so far in advance. Ask me what's going on tonight and I'll look blankly past you, ask what's happening next Thursday and chances are I can list several fun things. So I'm constantly forgetting to go to things I want to go to. This week it's even worse because we've got a week off, so the next issue of the Reporter goes all the way to January 1st.

Maybe if I mark down my plans for the break publicly I'll remember, or my twos of friends who read this blog can call and remind me:
Knitting (time and location top secret)
Kilt and Alchemical Burn show at High Mayhem (Dec. 28)
New Year's, um, I'm not sure yet, there are several options in the works
Faralito walk on Christmas Eve (yes, I will probably need a reminder for this, I'm that Christmas-y)

That's it? A whole week and that's all I've got? There's more to do, I'm just not feeling very committed at the moment.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

You Have No Rights

At 5:30 pm today, I will be introducing Matthew Rothschild, editor of The Progressive and author of You Have No Rights, Stories of America in an Age of Repression. If you haven't read this book, you really should. It's not just well-written, but it's a stunning and frightening compendium of stories of people who have been interrogated, arrested, detained and everything in between for doing nothing more than exercising freedoms of speech (and in some cases, for just no reason at all).

wait, you can get paid for that?

The CCA ends its Vox Performa series tonight with Gary Mex Glazner and reg e gaines. According to the Web site Glazner has left our little adobe town for the bright lights of NYC. Good for him, bummer for us. Glazner is not only a wonderful poet, but one of those people who makes the world better by doing what he loves. His Alzheimer's Poetry Project is one of those amazing works of art therapy that any artist is capable of but just the kind of thing that so many artists forget about while they're caught up in the ego of it all to think about.

Both Glazner and gaines are poets that work with musicality instead of just words. For the performance a local group Adobe Gillis (whose name I get but can't give props for, it's just too damn punny for my taste, though clever) joins Glazner.

I'm not normally a fan of live poetry, or hell, even modern poetry. Give me Lord Byron or Coolridge any day, but it's worth checking out, even for the literary snobbish, like myself.