Masala Art

Masala Art may well be my favorite Indian Restaurant to date.  Juggling the twin challenges of adequate depth and dimension of flavor on one hand and gustible pyrotechnics on the other, the menu weighs toward Northern Indian cuisine.  Comfortable, reasonably priced, and large enough to accommodate a good sized dinner crowd, Masala Art somehow manages to make the place feel cozy with the muted soundtrack of tablas and a warm sienna-saffron  color scheme. The lamb vindaloo really stands out for its fire; I’m not talking about a momentary burnt tongue — the chillis stay with one for a good five minutes, and the extra creamy raita will not go amiss.

If the gulab jamun I tasted didn’t stand out as spectacular, the accompanying cardamom ice cream more than made up for it, and the variety of sorbets impressed me.  Someone clearly gave them some thought.  The same may be said for the naans — there are more varieties than I’ve ever seen and the rock salt and cilantro naan stood up well to both the vindaloo and a slightly quieter channa masala.  Together with the lively chicken 65 appetizer and the pani poori (wafer thin dumplings with yoghurt and a tamarind-tasting filling), the entire meal fed and sated a party of two for a very modest amount of money.

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

I like to tell people that all movie reviews amount to sales brochures.  Someone writes a review to sell a movie or an opinion.  A reader picks up a movie review and asks, “but did you like the movie?” In the case of Terry Gilliam’s The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, I can happily say I did. Never mind that it evoked high school geometry and the asymptotes which approach zero, but never reach it: I love the fact that Gilliam approaches perfection and never gives up, despite the evident inability of the average American to “get” Terry Gilliam.

I don’t think it too reductionist or derogatory to suggest Terry Gilliam has given us two movies over the last quarter century.  When one considers Time Bandits and Brazil, charging him with making them over and over again seem less a slur than a triumph of vision.  Gilliam has stumbled and he has not always flown as high as his ambitions, but his missteps have proven more interesting and worth one’s time and consideration than most directors’ smash hits. In this regard, he resembles Orson Welles and Francis Ford Coppola; both battled studios, the movie-going public, and slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to get their vision on the Screen.

While Brazil, Twelve Monkeys, and Tideland scoured the nadir of human tendencies and excesses, the Time Bandits’heirs reminded us of the wonderful possibilities of living that movies evoke, often far more obliquely than Gilliam’s visions.  The distinction I suggest is not absolute: The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and his newest also hint at despair and the lassitude of character in quotidienne life. Yet, one single attribute discerns these from the Brazil strain, I’d say it was the presence of hope: these movies permit the viewer an angle at redemption. Even though this movie rambles and could benefit from more rigorous editing, it will remain a feather in Gilliam’s cap for the breadth and execution of imagination, never forgetting its core plot, characters, and themes of chance, redemption, and possibility.  For me, those successes will carry it much father than thousands of better edited, more cohesive movieswhich will doubtless make millions more.  Yes, I liked this movie!

Lars von Trier’s Crusade

Antichrist, Lars von Trier’s latest atrocity, calls into question my absolutism about censorship. I oppose censorship absolutely, and I have always decried efforts to justify suppression of art and speech in the name of causes or sentiment.

I have followed von Trier’s career with some curiosity and interest because he makes visually arresting films that raise difficult questions.  I have no problem with that, nor do I mind the extreme formalism with which he raises uncomfortable reflections of the Human Self in the cultural mirror.  Taken alone, movies like Dancer in the Dark, breaking the Waves, or Dogville might seem interesting for the mirror he holds up to our fear and prejudices. Instead, I object to the unmistakable conclusion he has delivered over more than a decade of movies, and one which propels Antichrist to its grisly conclusion.

The implication von Trier populates several of his movies with can be phrased in three propositions, and they depend on each other to get his point across.

• The orderly society we depend on for income, happiness, ambulances, and artistic beauty represses Feminine sexuality fiercely and strictly.
• The moment people relax their grip and let women be honestly sexual beings, society crumbles, men misbehave, the Nature turns violent.
• Only death or exile of the women who dare to express themselves sexually will restore a benign state of Nature and society.

We have watched as von Trier immolates Emily Watson, Bjork, Nicole Kidman, and now Charlotte Gainsbourg on the funeral bier of his hatred for women.  We have watched as interviews emerge in which his female stars describe psychological bullying of the worst sort.  And we have flocked back to the box office for more.

I find myself MOST offended with the last point.  It wasn’t until Antichrist that I realized von trier has done one really clever thing each movie — through the tedium of Dogme 95 techniques, flashy but claustrophobic cinematography, and the sheer dreadful inevitability of his characters’ unraveling, he makes us, the audience, thoroughly complicit in his hatred of the women he depicts.

I have agreed with people wishing that the movie would end.  It was true of Watson’s repressed Scottish wife; it was all the more so of Bjork’s sad and blind death row prisoner.  We yearned for Nicole Kidman’s punishment in Dogville, and I heard more than one person mutter “would she die already, please” in the theater where I saw Antichrist. He sets up such an orgy of hatred for the women in his movies we cheer for their demise, literal or metaphorical.

Okay, so I would never back censorship of any movie.  That doesn’t mean I ever want to see another von Trier movie, and I wish I could inspire others to boycott him, as well. This director flagrantly demonstrates his violent loathing of over 53% of the population on Earth.  Do you wish to reward him for this loathsome and blatant hatred?

I know I don’t.

Ruthless Charm and its practitioners

I’ve never seen Stephen Frears’ adaptation of Les Liaisons Dangereuses with Glenn Close, so I can’t comment on its merits, but I just watched Roger Vadim’s 1959 version.  Aside from the suave and delightfully Gallic Gerard Philipe as Valmont, the movie really shines in every scene featuring Jeanne Moreau.  Adolescent boys can fixate on Brigitte Bardot or Vadim’s most famous wife, but I think Moreau speaks to men who know what they like.  And everything a man of some years might like is on display with Moreau’s obvious intellect, her capacity for subtlety, and the fireworks that go on when she eschews that self-same subtlety to get what she wants.  Although a relatively minor character in this adaptation, Jean-Louis Trintignant invests Cecile’s heart-throb Danceny with a nervous and earnest intensity which renders the climax nigh inevitable.

But Vadim does not rest there:  he suffuses both young Cecile and the older Mme Trouvel with real backbone and compels Valmont to work for his treats; watching the tug of war between him and each of his conquests really leaves the viewer in doubt whether he can prevail, regardless of whether one read the novel for class.

The other treat is the music. Much as Louis Malle snared Miles Davis to compose the score for Ascenseur pour l’échafaud, which came out a year before this production and also starred moreau at her most alluring, Vadim’s production sports music by Thelonius Monk and Art Blakely’s Jazz Messengers. I am not sure if it’s Art Blakely and company performing at the club towards the end of the movie, but it sounds about right.  In any case, the music is uniformly superb.

Hugh Cornwell

Hugh Cornwell,
originally uploaded by lunaphb.

With an economy of expression and a superbly solid and supple tone, Hugh Cornwell manages to avoid the curse of the ageing and no longer relevant rock legend.  Of particular note, “Walk on By,” “Duchess,” and “Peaches” retained the force of humor and snide commentary that made his band The Stranglers so worth hearing.

Stoner Hand of Doom

Dale Flood and Mark Laue,
originally uploaded by lunaphb.

Three things stand out when I look back on the three days of the Stoner Hand of Doom festival I attended at Krugs Place in Frederick, Maryland.

• the music was consistently good. I saw many bands I’d never heard of before, but would go out of my way to see again. In the two and a half decades I’ve been going to see live music, I’ve been to a number of festivals, and I can’t recall liking so many new bands
• the atmosphere was outstanding. The bands and the people who worked at the club, organized and ran the show, and the audience were all consistently pleasant, kind and gracious. I saw nary a fight in three days.
• the sound was fantastic. Never too loud and rarely too fuzzy (unless the bands wanted it to be), the sound was engineered by Chris Kozlowski, a veteran of the Maryland doom scene and a fantastic engineer of both on-stage mix and overall room dynamics. In short, my ears never bled. It was just right.

Highlights included Internal Void, who I think put on the best show of the weekend; unorthodox, who delivered an amazing set; and a blistering performance by Place of Skulls. Also worth seeing, black pyramid and white witch canyon blew me away with their larger than life epic sounds and Sons of Otis who gave new dimensions to the old expression “low end. ” Their cover of Motorhead’s “iron horse/born to lose” rivals the one Wino played with Victor Griffin at the Ottobar in May, 2002 at Spirit Caravan’s last show.

While this SHoD festival was my first of the ten, the founder announced it will also be the last. I find myself ambivalent about that. I’m sorry I won’t see anymore, but this was such an amazing festival, I’m glad it ended on such a high note with no chance of ignominous downward spirals that will tarnish the memory of this festival. I think both Ozzfest
and Lollapalooza should have called it quits years before they did.

What an amazing weekend of rock.

Novak

Robert Novak died of Brain Cancer today.  Suffice to say, he suffers in comparison to Woodward and Bernstein in the cachet stakes — while they raised journalism to a lofty apsiration that informed my dreams and desires, he represents what a journalist should not do, eg become a partisan shill for a discredited Administration.  His exposure of a US intelligence officer amounts to treason, and the fact he never stood trial stands out as my one objection to his absence from this mortal coil.

do not settle!

Everywhere you read, people are declaring the Public Option of the President’s Health Care package DOA, or a nonstarter. This is just defeatism at its basest level and it marks a victory for those naysayers who brought us stellar triumphs such as Swift Boat, Obama’s Birth Certificate, and Sarah Palin for VP.

Contact your representatives and Senators and demand affordable and all-inclusive health care today!

district 9

What an amazing movie! Needed no editing whatsoever. Riveting.

Chris Spedding

Chris spedding,
originally uploaded by lunaphb.

Performing with Glen Matlock and Slim Jim Phantom at 930 on august 14th. Not pictured is Robert Gordon, whose velvety voice and charismatic warmth took the evening to another delightful level of showmanship. I loved everything but I don’t understand why they didn’t make any reference or tribute to Link Wray, the bridge between Les Paul and Chris Spedding in terms of style and virtuosity.