And so another week comes to an end. Time to wrap up those last few loose ends in your in-box and head home for crazy a weekend of amphetamine-fueled debauchery. I mean, it’s Mother’s Day this weekend and all… No? Well, maybe just a weekend of yard work and staid outdoor activities like barbecue and bocce. Pro Tip: a few uppers could enhance said activities. Just sayin’. What? Don’t give me that look. You think you’re better than me? I will cut you! God, why is it so hot in here.

Whew, ok, let’s all just take a deep breath and try to discuss today’s FAM while ignoring the sounds of grinding teeth. Today’s film, no doubt soon to be yanked from YouTube, is Dark Days the documentary by British filmmaker Marc Singer from 2000. It follows a group of homeless people who make their homes in the abandoned subway tunnels beneath New York City, specifically The Freedom Tunnel under Riverside Park. His first film, Singer made Dark Days after moving to New York and making friends with number of the people who made up the Freedom Tunnel community.

For my part I found Dark Days by way of journalist Jennifer Toth — another British immigrant, coincidentally — whose book The Mole People: Life in the Tunnels Beneath New York City Mr. Singer may have read as well. Published in 1993, it is perhaps the best known book on the subject, and also happens to feature residents of The Freedom Tunnel. It’s an engrossing read and has perhaps done the most to fuel the urban myths of organized, underground tribes of homeless. This is no doubt due to the sensationalistic nature of Toth’s account, much of it relying on unverifiable claims. Her credibility was not helped by what turned out to be a laundry list of geographical inaccuracies relating to almost every location she describes.

Surely then, Singer’s film does a better job of showing the reality of the situation. Despite the hip-hop aspirations that coat every surface — from the preoccupation with graffiti to the DJ Shadow soundtrack — the focus is decidedly on the individuals who make up this small community; shot in stark, grainy black and white that perfectly suits the subject matter. It’s a story simultaneously bleak and heartwarming. Such is the nature of all stories that are true.

In an effort to flesh out its library, today the FAM presents Un Chien Andalou (An Andalusian Dog), the 1928 film by surrealists Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí and the quintessential “art film”. Most famous for its opening scene, in which a man, played by Buñuel, slices open the eye of a woman with a straight razor, Un Chien Andalou is an almost perfect summation of the Surrealist movement. Things happen in Un Chien Andalou, their relationship to one another dictated by the logic of dreams. Scenes lurch violently along in time and characters exhibit a confusing, rapid-fire succession of emotions. It’s a movie that is open to a vast range of interpretations, and in true Surrealist form Buñuel rejected every one of them, stating, “Nothing, in the film, symbolizes anything. The only method of investigation of the symbols would be, perhaps, psychoanalysis.”

Despite the director’s expectations — they supposedly attended the premier with pockets full of rocks should a horrified audience become violent — the film was well received. In a sad twist, both of the leading actors of the film eventually committed suicide. Pierre Batcheff overdosed on Veronal in a hotel in Paris in 1932, and Simone Mareuil doused herself in gasoline and burned herself to death in a public square in Périgueux, Dordogne in 1954. In the ensuing years since its debut Un Chien Andalou has been recognized as a seminal moment in the history of cinema, a staple of any film buff’s diet. Now the FAM can rest easy, knowing that there is at least some modicum of credibility found herein should it be placed under the glaring eye of some future, internet historian.

And just remember, it’s only a cow’s eye.

Just in time to put you off your lunch, the Friday Afternoon arrives with 2009’s Food Inc, the scathing documentary/critique of America’s food industry. Directed by Robert Kenner and co-produced by Fast Food Nation author Eric Schlosser, Food Inc is of the variety that both infuriates and terrifies in equal measure. It must be pointed out, however, that if you are already up on the subject matter, or have already read Fast Food Nation, there isn’t a whole lot that is new here. Still, for those uninitiated in the horrific practices of companies like Monsanto and Tyson it can be an eye-opening experience.

Recently, it was shown on PBS for their POV segment — it can be viewed on their website until this coming Thursday, should the YouTube version get pulled — and was followed with the delightfully Lynchian Notes on Milk (Click that link to watch. Do it!) a short film looking at the rise of milk in America.

So get to watching, dear readers, and get a better picture of the horrible stuff we put into our bodies everyday. In the meantime I’ll get back to my Big Mac, because nothing tastes quite like Creutzfeldt–Jakob.

Update: Reader rbk points out that PBS is not viewable in America’s hat, Canadia. Therefore, filthy Canucks should go here.

A treat for this, the 16th of April, in the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Ten. Today the FAM presents the 2004 BBC documentary Tetris: From Russia With Love at the risk of offending the beautiful yet cruel Nadya by forcing her to relive the traumatic events that led to the loss of her family and her subsequent immigration to the States. Even now as I sit here writing this, I strain my ears, listening for the tell-tale tapping of her limping gate, the staccato rhythm of cane and wooden leg working in lurching concert upon the stone floors and metal walkways of The Catacombs.

My editor’s sordid past aside, the BBC did a terrific job of examining the story of quite possibly the most addictive videogame ever made. A model of simplicity there are probably few of my generation that don’t remember their experience with Tetris; and I’m willing to bet that more than a few can relate stories of falling asleep and dreaming of falling tetrominoes or of being unable to expunge the home console version’s music from their brains.

The life of Tetris — created deep within Soviet Russia and leaked through the iron curtain, leaving a trail of in-fighting, threats, and questionable copyright law in its wake — is one of the great, epic tales in videogames. It encapsulates a time in the industry when games were just beginning to implant themselves as a cultural force and, in a broader sense, was a portent of things to come, arriving at the same time that the Soviet Union was beginning to dissolve.

In fact it’s easy to take Tetris as metaphor entirely too far. In it’s plainness and restraint it opens itself up to any number of meanings. It is perhaps best then to acknowledge it as a great game and leave it at that, lest one be tempted to sum up the end of the 20th century in terms of falling blocks.

Today, in remembrance of the late Malcolm McClaren, who died this week at the age of 64, the FAM presents 2000’s, The Filth and the Fury. Directed by Julien Temple it is considered a response to Temple’s earlier film, The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle, filmed in 1978 and released in 1980. Swindle tells a fictionalized version of the rise and fall of the seminal punk band the Sex Pistols from the point of view of McClaren, who presents himself as an all powerful puppet master, using the band for his own ends. Filming began before the bands disintegration making the final product a disjointed — albeit entertaining — mess, with lead singer John Lydon and original bassist Glen Matlock only appearing in archive footage.

I’ll apologize then to those who have not seen it, as I could not find the film in its entirety to embed here. Instead, we have the film above which, as previously mentioned, represents a rebuttal to that 1980 release, specifically the band’s response. It’s a fascinating story but it also highlights the friction between the two parties, especially between McClaren and Lydon the two men at war over who harbored the creative spark that was responsible for this piece of music history.

The truth, no doubt, lies somewhere in the middle, and regardless of McClaren’s other achievements in fashion, film, and music, the Sex Pistols define his career in the minds of many. Whether he was a genius or a scoundrel depends on who you’re willing to believe.

(Update: The original playlist is gone, but you can still watch the whole thing here, courtesy of Lionsgate.)

It’s Good Friday today, the celebration of that penultimate event that preceded the most important of Christian miracles. In the spirit of this solemn occasion the Friday Afternoon Movie presents the story of a serial killer who impales his victims with a spike mounted to his video camera’s tripod. Happy Easter!

Released to intense controversy, Michael Powell’s brilliant Peeping Tom from 1960 is a film whose reputation has undergone a renaissance in the ensuing decades, starting in the 1970s. Martin Scorsese, in the book Scorsese on Scorsese, paired it with Fellini’s 8½ as a complete education in directing, saying:

I have always felt that Peeping Tom and 8½ say everything that can be said about film-making, about the process of dealing with film, the objectivity and subjectivity of it and the confusion between the two. 8½ captures the glamour and enjoyment of film-making, while Peeping Tom shows the aggression of it, how the camera violates… From studying them you can discover everything about people who make films, or at least people who express themselves through films.

Such effusive praise aside, Powell made a fantastic picture, one that manages to match the suspense of his contemporary, Alfred Hitchcock whose classic Psycho was released in June of that year, a mere three months after Peeping Tom.

The story of Peeping Tom is a simple one. Mark Lewis is a quiet man who works on a film crew, with aspirations of becoming a filmmaker. To supplement his income he also takes racy photos of women. He lives in a house willed to him by his father and rents out part of it while he poses as a tenant. He slowly becomes interested in Helen, who lives below him with her blind, alcoholic mother. Mark also likes to kill women with the aforementioned tripod, filming them as he is doing so. The explanation for this particular psychosis is that Mark’s father was a prominent psychologist who made his reputation by constantly harassing and terrifying his young son in order to better understand the psychology of fear, all the while filming his reactions, going so far as to wire all the rooms in the house.

To contemporary audiences this is all very old hat but again, at the time it was scandalous. The racier version of a scene with Pamela Green, in which one whole breast is exposed for two whole seconds, is credited with being the first nude scene in a major British feature, but even the cut version of this did nothing to silence the outcry. People were appalled of the idea of camera as weapon almost as much as they were by the fact that Powell cast himself as Mark’s psychologist father with his own son playing the role of Mark as a child, and the backlash effectively ended Powell’s career in the UK. A movie that can be read as an implication of its audience as voyeurs and the directors of horror films as psychotic killers, terrorizing the innocent for entertainment it was perhaps ahead of its time. The reevaluation of Peeping Tom is well deserved and Powell deserves all the recognition he can get.

In 1993 a movie titled CB4 starring Chris Rock was released. A parody of the “gangsta rap” phenomenon of the 90s it was met with mediocre reviews and went on to gross 17 million dollars domestically. A little over one year later another movie in the same vein appeared. Written, directed, and co-starring one Rusty Cundieff it was released to critical acclaim and went on to make a total of $238,000.00. In other words, like many good movies, no one saw it.

If you, dear reader, are one of the many who have not seen Fear of a Black Hat the FAM is giving you an opportunity right now to remedy this situation. Filmed in the mockumentary style popularized by Rob Reiner’s This is Spinal Tap, Fear of a Black Hat treats its subject as a real entity; and the members of N.W.H. (Niggaz With Hats) — Ice Cold, Tasty Taste, and Tone Def — go about the business of being a headwear-centric rap trio as they normally would under the gaze of sociologist Nina Blackburn’s camera.

What ensues is an almost pitch-perfect satirical time capsule of early 90s hip-hop. References abound from the internal feuding of N.W.A., to the ubiquitous “Ice” moniker and the hippy weirdness of P.M Dawn. Cundieff manages to tick off an entire checklist of well-worn rap tropes with hilarious consistency. It’s a movie that never fails to make me laugh, no matter how many times I see it. Rather than running the risk of talking this film up too much, I will simply leave you with one of my favorite exchanges, in which the boys explain just what N.W.H. is all about:

Nina Blackburn: So, guys, what’s the deal with the hats?

Ice Cold: That’s what NWH is all about. We got a whole hat philosophy, you know what I’m saying? I mean, see, back in the days when there was slaves and stuff, they would work in the hot sun all day, you know, with the sun beating down them. Hatless. I mean, not even a babushka.

Tone Def: Word. Heads totally exposed to the sun.

Ice Cold: You know, so by the time they got back to the plantation from being in all the heat, they was too tired to rebel against their masters, right? So what we saying with Niggaz With Hats is, “Yo, we got some hats now, muh-fuckers.”

While it must be said that all actors start somewhere it must also be said that some start lower than others. Sonny Chiba, before starring in the martial arts films that would bring him international success, was no different taking roles in scores of what can only be described as truly terrible films. This is not to say that his output since then has been of stellar quality and one could say that he never quite graduated from the B-movies of his youth but then one might risk Sonny Chiba punching one in the face so hard that one’s eyeballs exit explosively from one’s colon.

Today, the FAM takes a look at one of those early films, Invasion of the Neptune Men from 1961; a title that simply screams B-movie. The then 22-year-old Chiba plays one Shinichi Tachibana, a mild-mannered astronomer, who in actuality is the superhero Iron-Sharp, or Space Chief as he is called in the English dub. When mysterious metal aliens arrive to invade Earth, it’s up to Iron-Sharp/Space Chief to stop them.

It’s standard, ’60s era sci-fi/superhero fare with the distinct advantage as being a pretty awful example of the genre. With a kitsch factor this high it was no surprise that it was featured on the cult television series Mystery Science Theater 3000 in 1997. Indeed the movie was so bad that it almost succeeded in fulfilling the plans of Dr. Clayton Forrester to drive Mike Nelson, Tom Servo, and Crow insane. They are only saved by a surprise visit from characters from the 1958 Japanese television series Planet Prince. The movie received fairly harsh treatment from the three, including one off-color moment in which they refer to Chiba’s character as “Space Dink”. The MST3K version also omits footage of the destruction of Tokyo which was actual World War II bombing footage — the writers’s feelings being that it had no place in a kids’s movie.

Regardless of such questions of taste, Invasion of the Neptune Men remains a prime example of ’60s era, Japanese cinema awfulness; a must watch for anyone looking to expand their knowledge beyond the likes of Godzilla.

It’s one of those Fridays. Nothing going on; nothing doing. Sitting at your desk, playing FreeCell, only stopping to see how far the hands on the clock have progressed. Then to see if the clock is slower than your computer. Then to check your watch, just to be sure. Maybe they’re all wrong; better check your phone. Damn.

Well, as a personal service to you, please allow the FAM to distract you for a number of minutes. Don’t worry, you can always go back to FreeCell. In the meantime let us present to you three of the animated shorts nominated for Academy Awards this year. Yes, I realize that the Academy Awards have already been handed out, thereby robbing these of a modicum of suspense, but I’m sure you’ll survive.

First up is Fabrice O. Joubert’s French Roast, the story of a less than agreeable gentleman who seems to have left his wallet in his other trousers. And just what is the deal with that nun?

Next is Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty, directed by Nicky Phelan. It is perhaps best to not let a bitter, elderly woman read fairy tales. She may very well color the story with her own, distinct outlook.

Thirdly: Javier Recio Gracia’s The Lady and the Reaper, the story of a young doctor’s battle with Death over the fate of an elderly woman whose only wish is to be reunited with her departed husband. It’s a fate that she alone will decide.

And lastly we have Logorama directed by François Alaux, Herve de Crecy, and Ludovic Houplain. Police drama! In Los Angeles! A Los Angeles comprised of corporate logos! Will the Michelin Men be able to apprehend Ronald McDonald or will an earthquake kill them all!? Watch and see!

And so today’s FAM draws to a close. For those of you wondering, the fifth and final nominee was Wallace and Gromit: A Matter of Loaf or Death from Nick Park which is not on YouTube because the BBC have just a few more lawyers than these other guys. The award this year went to Logorama.

Now, what time is it…

Today the FAM presents David Lynch’s 1970 short film, The Grandmother. The heart warming story of a boy who — neglected and abused by his family — grows a kindly old lady to provide with the affection he craves. A silent film, the characters interact with abstract soundtrack cues. It’s strange and undeniably artsy; artsy enough to be mistaken as a parody of an artsy movie. And yet, whether for its brevity or Lynch’s youth, it is most certainly one of his most straightforwardly discernible films, devoid of the extraneous imagery woven throughout his later films, confounding and misdirecting the audience at every opportunity. Whether that is counted as being a good thing or not depends, I suppose, on how much of a David Lynch fan you are.