neverhappened

W D Hammond

Whilst recently visiting New Zealand I caught Bill Hammonds latest offering at the Ivan Anthony Gallery in Auckland. No matter how many times he reinterprets his mystical bird like figurines they still seem to have something new to offer. Sold out show, by far the best painter coming out of NZ. Eagle and bone.. great name, predator rock is also ace>

Brian Jungen

Prototypes for New Understanding (1998-2005), Jungen’s series of West Coast Aboriginal masks made entirely from re-stitched Air Jordans and Cetology (2002) a 40-foot whale skeleton  made from pieces of $ 4.95 white, plastic lawn furniture.

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Hot Fuzz

Here's another spasm of counter-reaction to the Bruckheimer/Bay phenomenon. Hot Fuzz tests the universality of Hollywood factory filmmaking by forcing the action-movie template to fit an unlikely setting: a sleepy Gloucestershire village. Over-achieving London cop Nicholas Angel (Simon Pegg), posted to a country backwater for outshining his colleagues, gets suspicious about a spate of 'accidental' deaths. But the village's plot turns out to be much bigger than anyone, especially Angel, could have guessed, so cut to the chases, gunfights, and propane explosions.

The genial Pegg, co-star Nick Frost and director Edgar Wright reunited to make this after their cult success with Shaun of the Dead, a superbly conceived and executed reworking of a well-known genre. Shaun was a welcome surprise in so many ways: snappily shot, yet intent on building drama; English, yet crowd-pleasing; gory, funny and sometimes even moving, all at once. And while Hot Fuzz delivers all this in spades — an achievement, to be sure — some key ingredient is missing. We've lost that wistful insight and sense of humanity; in Shaun, a zombie could be a metaphor for a soulless existence, or a spur to seize the day, but in Fuzz a shootout is just another shootout.

This is still superior filmmaking, and Edgar Wright's directing talent is evident even when it is misapplied. A strange thing about Hot Fuzz is that humdrum scenes shudder with energy, while the gunfights are curiously routine. Wright's modus operandi is akin to Tarantino's; not that this is anything like Tarantino's films, but there are similar forces at work: the uninhibited cherry-picking of idolized genres and works, the desire to see normality violated, and an insensitivity that sees suffering played for laughs as often as possible. Wright's editing gift micro-tunes certain sequences with great finesse, but leaves the film too long on the whole. Yet it's some feat to approach the technical proficiency of a Tony Scott or Michael Bay while sidestepping the impersonality and insincerity (or over-sincerity) of their mega-budget duds. Even Peter Jackson, who used to make films a lot like this, must wish that he could return to crafting such simple pleasures.

硫黄島からの手紙

How do we act in the face of our impending demise? In Letters from Iwo Jima Clint Eastwood explores this difficult question once again. Here we follow Japanese soldiers defending a desolate island, the last stepping stone to Japan proper, from an overwhelming assault by US forces.

To fight against the inevitable isn't always heroic; it is can also be tragic, if not downright stupid. This is the kind of war experience that Eastwood shows us. Slim hopes for victory evaporate under withering fire; scenes of 'honourable' suicide shock with their pointlessness (and messiness). Even the option of surrender, for those desperate enough to contemplate the culturally unthinkable, quickly vanishes.

Although Spielberg gets a producer's credit, this is an un-Spielbergian film in many ways. It's not just that it's slow, with its 1940s-style look and pace, or that the CG is often unconvincing, or that the action lacks excitement and grandeur. Where Spielberg's Saving Private Ryan seeks truth and a higher purpose amid the carnage of war, Letters finds only doubt and disruption of normality. Spielberg never questions the uniform evil of his German enemy; in Letters the 'enemy' are actually the protagonists, and every one responds differently. Compare the Ryan scene where GIs gun down surrendering Germans, impelled by the heat of their righteous battle, and the audience moves on without a thought. The Japanese who surrender in Letters are killed for being unwanted burdens, cold-bloodedly; for Eastwood, no side can maintain honour under war's ruthless logic.

It's only natural to sense a change in mood here. For Americans to relate to people who start wars of aggression, and lose them, isn't nearly as hard as it used to be. While Letters from Iwo Jima is not a political film, it gives plenty of opportunity to reflect on the wisdom of political solutions. For the soldiers who were painted into a corner at Iwo Jima peace would have been the only way out. Scenes in which the Japanese realise that their foes are not the pushover they were led to believe drip with contemporary relevance.

Yet it would be wrong to reduce this film to a mere analogy. This is a much more existential piece than a study of any particular time or setting. Hence the somewhat jarringly un-Imperial Japanese thinking of a couple of main characters, which would have been quite out of place in World War II; but this does help to make them accessible to a modern audience. Perhaps Eastwood did shoot a great movie, yet it failed to come together in post. The edit isn't tight enough (a common problem with 'epic' films), the music fails to inspire, and when battle scenes are drained of thrills they lose their sense of urgency as well. On the other hand, the Japanese actors acquit themselves well, all things considered, and what we see is undoubtedly the film that Eastwood had in mind — something that few directors get to achieve.