"I started something, I forced you to a zone and you were clearly never meant to go."

Last Saturday was supposed to be a good day. It was Record Store Day and business was positively booming. Plus I had a ticket, and a very good ticket, mind you, for the Morrissey show scheduled for that night at the Paramount in Oakland. I was truly pumped to go to the show, but I tempered my excitement with caution because every time I have ever purchased tickets to and saved the date for Morrissey's live shows in the past he has cancelled with very short notice. And, wouldn't you know, he did it again! One could argue that my finding out about this most recent "I told you so" Morrissey no-show before I was on my way to the venue is the equivalent of "good timing" as far as the Morrissey-time contiuum, well, continues -- however, it was still very frustrating! A good friend of mine who was to accompany me to the show was especially hurt by this sad announcement, as her anticipation had built up to the extent that she had developed an extremely intense, emotional investment in the event, becoming more and more chuffed as the days and hours counting up to what was to be our time with Morrissey flew by. She went from compiling her very own hopeful set list of Morrissey and Smiths songs she'd just die to hear played live to  drowning in the very depths of despair. Morrissey sings in his hit single "Suedehead" from his Viva Hate album, "Why do you come here when you know it makes things hard for me/ when you know, oh why do you come?" I think it nothing if not fitting verse for the deflating occasion that marred what should have been an otherwise splendid weekend, pun intended. But that was then, before the magic happened.

Japan's reigning purveyors of thunderous heavy rock, Boris, hit the shelves of Amoeba San Francisco's Underground Japanese Rock section with a one-two punch this winter with their latest studio recording, Cloud Chamber (featuring, once again, guest Ghost guitarist Michio Kurihara), and Smile -Live in Prague-- a very limited (only 425 copies issued) double-live LP "official bootleg" recorded (with permission) in the Czech Republic on the trio's latest tour in support of their album Smile. Though both are pricey, as doubless many a Boris fan has already guessed, both are worth shelling out the exra dough for, as many a Boris fan surely already knows. Here's why: Cloud Chamber is a first class return to the strom and drang style doom that fans of (lowercase 'b') boris have found in previous releases like flood and at last -feedbacker. It is just the sort of storm surge of sound that lays defenseless listeners down as if prone on the slab, hypnotized for sacrifice; beware of drowning. Smile - Live in Prague, on the other hand, has garnered more pointed attention for its sleeve art than for the bounty of copies we've recieved, given its inherent rareness. Some call the artwork, an obvious homage to San Francisco black metal band Von, a flagrant rip off. I find it delightful and, really, par for the course considering the lengths Fangs Anal Satan (Boris' art-working name) goes to produce, or reproduce if you will, some of the most coveted, kick ass packaging that drives both sticker prices and collectors' expectations upwards of the norm. Here are some of my favorite of Boris' artful tributes as, the old adage says, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. (And check out images and reviews from Boris' amazing three Amoeba instores-- they've played each and every Amoeba -- here, here and here.)

Today Northern California was treated to another brisk yet glorious morning of blue, cloudless skies. This is a most welcome respite from many weeks draped in a drab grey layer of drizzle, rain and heavy downpours resulting in deluged drains all over the city and local newspaper headlines pointing fingers in jest at the Governator's now weakened "worst drought ever" claim. I love rain and I love seeing tourists in San Francisco -- both mean great things for our fair state. But what I love most about rain in San Francisco is watching tourists deal with it because whether they're curtained in plastic panchos, or struggling with Chinatown-cheap umbrellas (rendered useless by sudden gales), or clutching upside down, sopping wet sight-seeing schedules (inexpensive print ink bleeding from the page) with arms weighed down with souvenir bags (pakced full of chocolate, magnets, mugs, keychains, more chocolate and "Alcatraz Swim Team" T-shirts) they still manage to make the most of their cold, wet pre-season, bargain-priced, best-value vacation. Perhaps they'll leave nothing of their hearts in San Francisco when they leave, their inundated ephemera safely stowed. I often wonder when I spy these hapless yet brave winter visitors (and their shivering, fog-weary summer counterparts) if they ever question whether or not they might've been swindled by a capricious Mother Nature. After all, pleasant yet drought-like weather predictions were widely published recently, before the storms hit, and they could have only anticipated the best weather ever. Packed wet and disheveled into drafty, wet cable car cabins, however, their faces seemed to say, "we've gone on holiday by mistake."

If you recognize the above reference then it's time for you to watch Withnail & I (written and directed by Bruce Robinson, 1987) again. If, on the contrary, the quote means nothing to you, then I am jealous of you because that means you get to watch one of the greatest, infinitely quotable "buddy" films of all time for the first time -- and what I would give to relive that initial viewing again. Every time I see that cinematically understated opening sequence, steeped in misery and ominous drear, I feel a wave of comfort and nostalgia rush over me not unlike the pleasant feelings one gets from meeting a kindred spirit at an old haunt where time seems suspended and conversations remain forever open-ended. It settles and preps me for the bountiful barrage of verbal gems that follow, falling from the screen preciously like booty from buried treasure. Recent lovingly oft-quoted films like Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Superbad, Anchorman and The 40-Year-Old Virgin are, when compared to Withnail & I, like cup noodles prancing in the shadow of soul food. I think a more comparable modern counterpart to Withanail & I might be found in The Big Lebowski, but there's an undercurrent of poetry that Withnail carries which, sadly, Lebowski hath not. 

Some of that poetry recently went up for sale. According to BBC News, Sleddale Hall, or Crow Cragg as it is called in the film, was put up for sale in late January and was listed as being "in the veiled parlance of a slick estate agent, in need of a bit of modernization." Though the shoddy, semi-derelict cottage perched among the steep rolling hills of England's picturesque Lake District is only accessible via a dirt track miles away from any real roads and requiring special permission to trespass, a steady stream of fans make the pilgrimage to, if for no other reason, scribble some of their favorite quotes on the walls. "Uncle Monty's cottage" sold at a lively auction (described by The Times as "almost as melodramatic as Richard E. Grant's performance as an alcoholic actor convinced he is destined for stardom" in reference to the Withnail character in the film) packed with fans who shouted lines at each other before ultimately being sold for £265,000 to Sebastian Hindley, a politician and pub-owner local to the area where the run-down farmhouse turned cult-film-junky-mistaken-vacation destination lay. "Free for those who can afford it, very expensive to those who can't" is not a Withnail quote that Hindley seems to favor for he claims that he hopes to make the cottage available to all who love the film and quote it ceaselessly (on the walls and especially on the front door of the beloved "Crow Cragg.") 

Being an avid Kate Winslet junkie since my first viewing her performance in Peter Jackson's Heavenly Creatures (a film that forever changed my life and that permanently resides close to the top of my all time favorite films), I must say that it is satisfying to me she that she finally won one of those coveted statuettes that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences bestows upon the proud, the few, the fabulous "chosen ones" every year come February. I mean, let's face it, girlfriend had it coming after, what, six nominations?!? Of course she doesn't need a little, golden naked-man mascot to prove to the world that she's got the goods; however, the best thing, in my opinion, about this Winslet-finally-getting-the-Oscar reality is the fact that she pretty much predicted how it would have to happen for her in an episode of Ricky Gervais' hilarious comedy show Extras. Check it:


Because I feel the need to leak my inner geek that loves the Winslet, I'd like to take this opportunity to share a few of my favorite lines (from a few of my favorite movies) Winslet has delivered over the years:

As Juliet Hulme, played opposite the vastly underrated actress Melanie Lynskey, in Heavenly Creatures (1994):
"All the best people have bead chests and bone diseases. It's all frightfully romantic."

Perhaps the only thing better than seeing a highly anticipated movie you suspect you'll love is seeing a random, unexpected movie you never knew you needed until after you've seen it. A few days ago some friends and I sat down to watch a movie, like you do, without any prior knowledge of the film, only to find ourselves physically exhausted by the time the film had ended. No joke, we had to pause the movie several times to take breaks for the fits of laughter we were driven to. I cannot ever remember any film causing such violent cries of laughter to escape from my face the way viewing Kudo Kankuro's Yaji & Kita: The Midnight Pilgrims did. I'm fighting back the giggles even now.

This film leaps into oblivion from the very beginning when Kita admits to Yaji, his lover, "I can't make heads or tails of reality." The film could easily be summed up with this single line alone, but it falls short of capturing some of the, let's say, more memorable moments in the film (hello! the bath scene!). A short synopsis of the film might go a little something like this: A gay samurai couple, Yaji and Kita, leave Edo (old Tokyo) on a quest to rid Kita of his heroin addiction. A song that could be called "Born to be Gay" gets the whole town singing and dancing in synch as they send our boys off on their merry way. A motorcycle appears and they hit the road. Hilarity ensues at every stop along the way and there are many, many points of departure and arrival in every sense (making no sense at all in most cases). The couple cuts a 7" single love song; like it or not, it is as popular as the Bearded Courtesan's single. The audience is treated to an impromptu karaoke sing-along featuring the Bearded Courtesan herself. King Arthur's sword is drawn from the stone and the two are separated by the river Styx and everyone looks like the same guy in the after life.... Well, I don't want to spoil it for you.
 
By comparison one could say this movie is an orgy involving the sucker-punch gauntlet of a plot Michel Gondry's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (and to a lesser extent Spike Jones's Being John Malkovich -- especially in the "afterlife" sequences), the modern meets Japonisme of Sofia Coppola's Lost In Translation, or, better yet, the colorful, comedic retelling of Takeshi Kitano's Yojimbo. Add to that the Broadway medley insanity of Takashi Miike's Happiness of the Katakuris, the psudo-lezzie, unconditional BFF love found in Tetsuya Nakashima's Kamikaze Girls and, just for good measure, the drug-induced porno-bowling musical montage from the Cohen Brother's The Big Lebowski. The list could go on and on, but that's the best I can do at the moment to try and capture just how lethally laughable and uniquely enjoyable this carnival on acid of a love-buddies-on-the-road flick this is. I've tried a few times to find the right words, heck, barely adequate words to give this movie life in the mind of those who haven't seen it; I know it's cliche to say "seeing is believing" when attempting to summarize the glory and afterglow of Yaji & Kita: The Midnight Pilgrims. By my standards I declare it to be one of the great new additions in contemporary Japanese cinema with a cast comprised of many of Japan's finest and famous comedy stalwarts and standard bearers to prove it. Nope, this one's not to be missed, but like Levar Burton says, "don't take my word for it, find out for yourself."