Back in the summer of 2006, DJ Fresh (drum n’ bass/dupsteppin’ badass from Britain) dropped a heavy, gritty, GAWjuss record called Escape From Planet Monday. This coming August, Fresh is back with his second full-length solo album, Kryptonite. Here’s the video for the first single, a revamped version of his ’08 release “Gold Dust”, featuring new vocals by the Jamaican dance hall diva Ce’Cile and astounding performances by American Double Dutch Champions, Jumpers In Command:
If dis don’t rev ya blood up, check dem vitals. (Directed by Ben Newman.)
Want to explore the rich history of Double Dutch? Start off with “Ready Your Ropes“, an in-depth three-part article over at Holy Roller Productions dot com. Fantastic primer.
The YouTube channel of Toby Turner (aka Tobuscus) has been a guilty pleasure ’round these parts ever since he first posted “FALCOR THE URINATOR” back in 2007. That’s a very long time in internet years– almost as long as the amount of time that someone here at the compound [not naming names] has been secretively compiling a vast personal stoke material archive of erotic clipsof amorousturtles. Imagine [REDACTED]’s joy when they discovered that Tobuscus made this remix:
Hot, steaming pantomime on order today for the FAM as we present The Triplets of Belleville (Les Triplettes de Belleville), the surreal animated adventure from 2003, written and directed by Sylvain Chomet.
Triplets tells the story of Madame Souza who is raising her son, Champion. Noticing his sadness one day, she purchases for him a dog named Bruno and though this does cheer him up, his joy is short-lived. It is only after she realizes his interest in bicycle racing and gives him a bicycle of his own that Champion finds real happiness. Fast forward and, years later, Champion has become a world-class cyclist, competing in the Tour de France. It is during this race that a mafia boss kidnaps Champion and two other cyclists, bringing them to the town of Belleville in North America and hooking them up to a virtual-reality cycling machine, allowing patrons to gamble on the races. Madame Souza and Bruno follow, of course, attempting to rescue him from the mafia’s nefarious clutches; meeting along the way the titular triplets, a trio of retired cabaret singers.
It’s a strange arc, then. Triplets starts off easily enough, slow and methodical, but upon the kidnapping of Champion things surge into overdrive, getting progressively weirder and the two don’t quite mesh as well as they perhaps should. It’s almost like they stitched together to different films. That said, this observation does little to detract from my enjoyment of the film. Chomet has created a beautifully realized world here with his characters barely uttering a single word. The version above features no English subtitles, an omission you will hardly notice. Every emotion and thought is spoken with subtle, expressive animation. In addition, the movie features an outstanding soundtrack inspired by the jazz of the 20s and 30s (the film even goes so far as to reference both Django Reinhardt and Josephine Baker in the first few minutes.)
In animation at least, I find myself drawn to pantomime. It strikes me as a testament to an animator’s talent, this ability to abandon the spoken word. In that way it’s interesting to note that Pixar, who’s Finding Nemo beat out The Triplets of Belleville for best picture has begun incorporating this aesthetic more in their recent films, most notably Wall-E (perhaps my favorite from them). Chomet’s new film, L’Illusionniste will see a release in the States in December and I find myself just as anxious as when I first saw a trailer for The Triplets of Belleville. I just can’t see his oeuvre losing its charm.
SoCal residents, we have some unfortunate news: due to some insurmountable logistical snags, we’ve had to cancel the party we scheduled at Meltdown Comics for this coming Saturday, July 17th. Boooo! Sad. We apologize for any complications this may cause to your weekend plans. Hopefully we can make it up to you by organizing something even more extravagant at a later date.
In addition to bringing Issue 05 for purchase, we’ll also have archival copies of 01, 02, 03 and 04 on display (meaning, everybody’s welcome to paw through them, but should one to attempt to filch anything, they’ll find themselves staring down the barrel of an Unnatural Selector). The exact time and booth number has yet to be determined, but our signing will take place at some point on either Friday or Saturday in the main convention hall. Check back here or join our mailing list for that update.
We’d like to thank Richard Taylor et al at Weta for their unflagging support of Coilhouse. They’ve been incredible friends to us over the years. Also, HYOOGE hugs to mister R. Stevens for creating these wonderful co-editor portraits for #05. We lubs ’em ever so. Click through to see higher res versions.
From Trevor Jimenez comes the story of a man’s deadly addiction to one sugary, citrus dessert. 2007’s Key Lime Pie features a heavy, film noir veneer, complete with a hardened narrator who sounds as though he’s smoked since birth or, perhaps, needs to eat more fiber. Also, consider this: Death in a trench-coat sporting a Thompson submachine gun scythe. How can you resist?
One of Cleveland’s great contributions to the world passed away yesterday. Harvey Pekar, curmudgeon and cartoonist, was found dead of unknown causes by his wife Joyce Brabner. He was 70 years old. Pekar was, of course, best known for his award-winning comic American Splendor, an autobiographical work that detailed both his daily life and the city he lived in.
Pekar’s start in comics came via Robert Crumb, the two having become friends in the ’60s after meeting at a swap-meet. Crumb encouraged Pekar’s interest in comics and his first story, “Crazy Ed”, appeared in Crumb’s The People’s Comics. Crumb would also go on to illustrate the early issues of American Splendor.
It’s an intriguing aspect of Pekar’s work. Most autobiographical comics are both written and illustrated by the same person, if for no other reason than than the personal nature of the subject matter. American Splendor, on the other hand, was illustrated by a rotating lineup of artists, including Spain Rodriguez, Joe Sacco, Chester Brown, Jim Woodring, Alison Bechdel, Gilbert Hernandez, Eddie Campbell, and a host of others, including many Cleveland-based cartoonists, his wife Joyce, and writer Alan Moore.
Despite all this contributing talent, American Splendor was Pekar’s in every way – and not only because he happened to star in it. Pekar was unflinching in its depiction of his life. Whether he was detailing his work as a file clerk at the VA hospital or the harrowing year of undergoing treatment for lymphoma, Pekar’s writing managed to be both plain and poetic. It also benefited from at least seeming to be completely unfiltered. It’s honesty sprang from the distinct impression that every neurotic thought, all those feelings of self-doubt, loathing, and anger, all the things most people filter out when relating their stories was there on the page.
Since Ross has been on a bit of a John Hurt kick lately, writing up both Jim Henson’s The Storyteller and Krapp’s Last Tape in recent editions of FAM, this week’s better-late-than-never Better Than Coffee follows up with Hurt’s more musical side: his turn as an experimental composer in Jerzy Skolimowski’s 1978 horror drama The Shout. The above is a scene from the movie with absolutely no spoilers; just a tactile landscape of metallic noise. [Via Wobbly]
And so, with a melange of yellow cards, red fury and vuvuzela farts, the World Cup has come to a close. In adjunctive honor of the ensuing global FIFA spaz-out, here’s the raddest Swedish synthpop football anthem ever made, courtesy of Tyskarna Från Lund. (Extra points of awesomeness for that Nina Hagen reference.)
If Joseph Merrick had solved the Lament Configuration.
“Dear Coilhouse,
My name is Katarzyna Konieczka, I am an avant-garde fashion designer from Poland. I have been browsing through your website and while reading the blog I came across photos of Joseph Merrick’s head sculpture. I would like to take the opportunity of inviting you to consider some of my work which took his inspiration from his life and condition. In particular, one of my models from the ‘Very Twisted Kingdom’ collection. The costume depicted in the attached illustration consists of a metal ruff and other elements resembling orthodontic medical equipment in reference to his illness which had not been diagnosed at the time.”
SOLD. Ten minutes later, I’m still picking my jaw up off the floor after perusing Konieczka’s site. Many more images, after the jump. In addition to the images on Konieczka’s page, many more images can be found in Marcin Szpak’s portfolio.
Introspection and retrospection reign supreme on this day, the Ninth day of July in the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Ten. Today the FAM presents Krapp’s Last Tape starring John Hurt and directed by Atom Egoyan for the series Beckett On Film for Irish broadcaster RTÉ, British broadcaster Channel 4, and the Irish Film Board and which began showing in 2001. The project’s aim was to film 19 of Samuel Beckett’s 20 plays; the exception being the early play Eleutheria which at the time remained unperformed and, in fact, was only staged for the first time in 2005, 58 years after Beckett wrote it. Along with Hurt and Agoyan, Beckett On Film featured an impressive stable of acting and directorial talent. Seriously, look at that list.
We, however, are here to focus on one. Krapp’s Last Tape is the story of Krapp, who is celebrating his sixty-ninth birthday and, is his habit, has hauled out his reel-to-reel tape recorder in order to review the tapes he has made upon every instance of the “awful occasion”. Those are the words used by Krapp, but the Krapp of 30 years previous and from whom we learn the majority of what we know about the man. It is this man, pompous and sneering, who narrates most of Krapp’s life and Krapp sneers along with him, laughing along condescendingly with his 39 year-old self at the idealism and naivete at the 20 year-old man he used to be. We learn from this incarnation of his mother’s death and the women he has loved.
But even Krapp at 39 cannot escape the bitterness that he hurls at his youth. At 69, there is little else left in him but bile and regret; his last book has sold next nothing, his sex life revolves around the periodic visits of an old prostitute. He has no years left for idealism. The only future for Krapp is death; and now in full light of that realization he retreats to the dim memories on those tapes. As the tape ends he can only sit frozen, the only sound the hiss of the reel as it runs down.
The most famous production of Krapp’s Last Tape, no doubt, is 1972 for the BBC, starring the late, great Patrick Magee. In fact, Beckett wrote the play specifically for McGee, it’s original title being “Magee monologue”. I must admit that, much as I love Magee’s work, Hurt seems almost as if he was born for this role. Watching him is hypnotic, every movement seems to take incredible effort and it seems as if he’s willing he joints to creak. Hurt is also in possession of an incredibly expressive face and he uses it to great effect here, betraying the sadness and despair of character with a subtlety that keeps the whole affair from becoming maudlin. It also contains the only instance in which I have laughed at the slipping-on-a-banana peel gag.
It would be hard for most to rank this as Beckett’s greatest play, especially when compared to his most famous play, the incomparable Waiting For Godot, but there is a reality present in Krapp’s Last Tape that is absent from the tale of Vladimir and Estragon that I find deeply affecting. Much of Beckett’s life is reflected in Krapp’s Last Tape and at the time he wrote it his outlook was, one could maintain, quite grim. Perhaps therein lies crux of my position. It’s effectiveness may hinge on just how much of one’s self one sees reflected here.
