Separated (Kinda) at Birth

Cult songwriter Daniel Johnston and Frenchie auteur director Claude Chabrol.

Group Therapy

Everybody's doing it, and everybody's writing about it (NY Times, NY Sun). The majority of art galleries are mounting group exhibitions, instead of focusing on just one artist, during the summer months. The NY Sun confirmed my suspicions that one of the reasons for this trend is that it's easier for the curators. During July and August, art buyers clear out of NYC, and gallerists and artists aren't gung-ho to pour blood, sweat, and tears into a show for an audience of none. In addition, galleries see these group shows as an opportunity to scout out new talent. As a gallery-goer, I prefer solo shows. Group exhibts seem more about the curator than the artist. In the majority of these shows, there are no markers or notes on the wall to indicate the individual artist or the name of the piece. The visitor must go to the front desk to retrieve a listing of the artists and use that as a guide. A pain and a distraction.

Drive-in Saturday

In this weekly feature, I review in one sentence or less videos/DVDs of movies that you either have seen already or wouldn't bother to see.

"Eat This New York" (2004), directed by Kate Novack and Andrew Rossi: Documentary about opening a restaurant suffers from boring characters and lots of filler.

Hide the Razor Blades

Here's a movie that is thought-provoking and expertly executed, with top-notch performances. However, it is so depressing, such a downer of hopelessness, that I cannot recommend it. "Edmond," directed by Stuart Gordon and adapted from a David Mamet play, stars William H. Macy in a flawless performance as an everyman who's mad as hell and isn't going to take it anymore. This film is like Martin Scorsese's "After Hours" but with a barrel of a gun jammed down your throat. If you see this movie and you're in a good mood, this film will deflate you. If you're in a depressed mood, hide the razor blades.

Cracked Bunny

This bunny did not want to play. My Netflix DVD of Vincent Gallo's "The Brown Bunny" was cracked. Did the last renter become so frustrated with the flick that he whacked it against the TV? This damaged DVD seemed like a bad omen. I'm a huge fan of Vincent G.'s "Buffalo '66," and I've avoided "The Brown Bunny" because I'm afraid the film will wreck Vincent Gallo for me. The movie is reportedly boring, self-indulgent, pretentious, and overall a big waste of time. I'm renting it as part of my own mini Controversial Film Fest, and I thought this one had to be seen for the notorious Chloe Sevigny oral sex scene. We'll see if Netflix comes through and sends me a new (unscathed) one.

Surveillance Art

Amer Kobaslija's paintings at Gerorge Adams gallery are both realistic and distorted. These large-scale works depict the artist's studio from a moth's eye view in the ceiling. Although the paintings look almost like photographs, the images are slightly askew, as though the point-of-view is from a fisheye lens. In fact, Kobaslija does paint from photographs, which I silently frown upon. (But I guess he couldn't have suspended himself from his ceiling to paint these images.) In order to create these large paintings, the artist had to paint sections of the image on smaller canvases because his studio is so tiny. He then pieced these panels together for the final painting. Hopefully, the gallery sells a few of these paintings so the poor guy can move into a bigger studio.

Quid Pro Uma

Why did Uma Thurman agree to be in "My Super Ex-Girlfriend," a brain-draining comedy? The flick, which has received lousy reviews and tanked at the box office, has been characterized as a "Fatal Attraction" meets "The Incredibles." Uma plays the Glenn Close role, but this Medea has super powers. I wonder if Uma "chose" this role because the studio would then guarantee her a role in some Oscar-worthy flick. Gwyneth Paltrow did something similar in order to get the lead role in "Emma." She first had to star as David Schwimmer's love interest in "The Pallbearer." And the role in "Emma" led to "Shakespeare in Love," so maybe Uma made the wise choice to be in this dud.

Summer Doldrums

The Chelsea streets were empty last Saturday, and the galleries were all closed. Apparently, during the summer months, galleries change their hours from a Tuesday-to-Saturday schedule to a Monday-to-Friday one. Unfortunately, I didn't realize this until I visited my third closed gallery last Saturday, and it finally dawned on me. If my art reviews are sparse, it's because I missed my weekly gallery-going adventure. (Image via illusiongenius.com)

Sexual Colonialism

I had avoided "Heading South" because I thought it might be a French version of "How Stella Got Her Groove Back." Boy, was I (fortunately) wrong. Directed by Laurent Cantet, the movie is overtly about three older women who visit Haiti to indulge in young men. What it's really about is loneliness, illusions, poverty, and even colonialism. Charlotte Rampling is superb; for a change, she doesn't play someone who is half-whacked out. Karen Young, who's been in a lot of Mary Harron's films, pulls off a difficult role as a lovelorn tourist. Overall, this is a quiet, engaging film that has an unsuspecting bite.

Drowning Lady's B.O.

I was thrilled to see that "Lady in the Water" performed poorly at the box office this past weekend. Perhaps the producers will realize that the flick's print ad is horrible and will pull it pronto. (Bryce Howard's mug has tormented me relentlessly.) Too bad they can't change the lame-o title as well.

Hang Onto Your Ego

Why do some book reviewers think that we actually care about them? Are their egos so massive that they believe we're interested in their quirks and obsessions? In Bruce Handy's New York Times book review of "Catch a Wave: The Rise, Fall and Redemption of the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson" by Peter Ames Carlin, it's all about Mr. Handy. Brian who? Let's talk about Mr. Handy. He's been collecting lots of rock bios about the Beatles and Dylan, and he cares about Ringo trivia and even talks about Jack Black before mentioning Brian. Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you? Mr. Handy does get around to B.W. but only until about halfway through the article. And when he does, he rehashes the same old B.W. plot points (genius, madness, failure, cleanup). This book has received rave reviews from hardcore B.W. fans on blogs and message boards, but if I had read only the NYT review, I would have disregarded it. If you're interested in some insightful analysis of "Catch a Wave," check out Uncanny's posts on the book.

Sitting in a Tin Can

I can't quite say that architect Zaha Hadid's show at Max Protetch gallery is an art exhibit. Yes, architecture is art, but are paintings of 3-D models used to promote the structure considered to be art or just another way to imagine what the finished product will look like? When I've gone to architecture exhibits, I enjoy seeing all the tools--blueprints, models, and photographs--to get a sense of the architect's vision. At this show, which coincides with a retrospective of Hadid at the Guggenheim, I felt a tad bit short-changed. The only aspect of Hadid's vision we see here are the "Silver Paintings" and a 12-foot long bench. The images themselves felt claustrophobic and had a passe futuristic look. If I want to get a sense of Hadid, I think I'll have to check out the Guggenheim exhibition.
(Images via Max Protetch gallery)

Drive-in Saturday

In this weekly feature, I review in one sentence or less videos/DVDs of movies that you either have seen already or wouldn't bother to see.

"Bad Day at Black Rock" (1955), directed by John Sturges: Solid, morality flick starring the always trusty Spencer Tracy.

"Saraband" (2005), directed by Ingmar Bergman: Bergman's been watching too many Ingmar Berman-inspired Woody Allen films, but Liv Ullman is excellent.

"Born into Brothels" (2004), directed by Zana Briski and Ross Kaufmann: Searing yet hopeful documentary about a photography class for kids of prostitutes in Calcutta.

One Less Gawker

Neue Galerie recently rescinded the $50 fee for a "more private" viewing of Klimt's "Adele Bloch-Bauer I," after gallery members complained. (I have a feeling that members didn't want the commoners mingling with the bluebloods.) However, I was more shocked at the regular admission price of $15. I thought I would be able to see the painting for free! I ain't paying no 15 bucks to enter a gallery, even if it is to see the most expensive painting in the world. (Gallery members can rejoice again: one less gawker to deal with.)

Daddies Dearest

If your father is an S.O.B., don't worry. You can always make a documentary about him. "Tell Them Who You Are" and "My Architect" are films directed by sons whose fathers were famous, talented, and severely lacking in the daddy skills department. Mark Wexler's film ("Tell Them...") shows his cinematographer extraordinaire dad, Haskell, warts and more warts. This isn't a revenge flick. Mark doesn't lash out at Pops; Haskell lets his egotism and selfishness shine through all by himself. In "My Architect," Nathaniel Kahn investigates and searches for his father, legendary architect Louis Kahn who died 25 years ago. Nathaniel was the illegitimate son who Louis, although would visit, never lived with or publicly acknowledged. Nathaniel discovers his father through visiting his buildings, while Mark Wexler lays in wait for Haskell to reveal a few moments of tenderness. Overall, both sons love their dads and seem starved for the lost affection.

Drown the Lady

Please, dear God, make them change this ad. I cannot tolerate opening up the newspaper or passing a city bus and seeing this image again. The bloody film hasn't even opened yet, and I'm on the verge of going insane if I see Bryce Howard's spaced-out mug staring at me one more time.

Dating & Jungles in D.C.

If I lived in Washington, DC, this week, I'd see "May 39th" at the Capital Fringe Festival and check out the Henri Rousseau exhibit at the National Gallery of Art. "May 39th" is a play about dating in the year 3006 (it's a comedy, folks). Written by Callie Kimball, the play runs July 21-29. Here's the site for more info. (Full disclosure: Callie was an actress in a short film I directed.) The Rousseau show sounds amazing. The NY Times' Roberta Smith had an interesting article about the exhibit. As a kid, "The Dream" was one of the first paintings to truly entrance me. How I wish it were coming to NY!

The David Lynch Corner Store

As you enter Justin Lowe's "Helter Swelter" exhibit at Oliver Kamm gallery, you feel like you're walking into a David Lynch movie. The front part of the gallery is transformed into a bodega (the staff even sits behind bullet-proof glass at the cash register). However, every single detail in this bodega is slightly heightened and exaggerated. The above fluorescent lights flicker and buzz a little more. The color of raspberry swirl cakes seems pinker. The tile floor is more funhouse. The show becomes more Lynchian as you slip behind a revolving wall, a la "Young Frankenstein," and find yourself in the back of a demented ice cream truck, blaring nightmare carnival music. What does this exhibit all mean? I have no idea, but I had a blast. (Images via Oliver Kamm Gallery)

Dry Season

I haven't seen a theatrical release in a dog's age (two weeks) because I'm not interested in any of the current movies out there. During this blockbuster-release season, it seems fewer arthouse films are distributed. At my local artsy theater, even "The Break-Up" is playing along side "An Inconvenient Truth" and "I'm Your Man." The only films that I have been slightly interest in star Charlotte Rampling: "Lemming" and "Heading South." "Lemming," a French flick also starring Charlotte Gainsbourgh, who I adore, was in theaters for about three seconds, and I missed it. The storyline for "Heading South" sounds too much like "How Stella Got Her Groove Back," so I'm slightly hesitant. The only film coming out soon that I'm looking forward to is Woody Allen's "Scoop," and that won't be released until the 28th. Another week and a half of no movies!

Sophisticated Sexpot

Saw this image in the paper. I dig it, so I'm posting it.

Golden Spectacle

I thought I might be the only person who thought it might be fun to see the most expensive painting in the world. However, after I saw these pix in the NY Times of crowds gathered around Klimt's "Adele Bloch-Bauer I" at Neue Galerie, I didn't even dare to venture to the upper East Side gallery owned by cosmetics mogul Ronald Lauder. The $135 million painting will be on display until Sept. 18, so I guess that I'll wait a while for the fanfare to die down before I make the trek to the UES.

Drive-in Saturday

In this weekly feature, I review in one sentence or less videos/DVDs of movies that you either have seen already or wouldn't bother to see.

"History of Violence" (2005), directed by David Cronenberg: Veers wildly between incisive study on male violence and over-the-top silly storyline.

Psycho Cuties

Christina Mazzalupo's drawings are the type of art that I would admire if I saw it on a 9th grader's notebook or a high school desk. These drawings, which are on display at Mixed Greens gallery, are similar to manga-style comics. The images revolve around psycho cuties who have a lot of nightmares. The ink drawings are on a vellum surface, which is like thick, shiny tracing paper. This type of art is not my fav, but I'm sure some people might dig it.

Seeing the Forest Through a Lot of Trees

I would give Howard Fonda's exhibit at Mixed Greens gallery an A for consistency. Fonda can paint a mean pine tree, again and again and again. Perhaps the artist stuck to this subject because he didn't work on one painting months at a time. According to the gallery, instead of building colors up with layers, the painting is done in a single session while the paint is still wet. This sounds a little like Jack Kerouac's automatic writing and is the most intriguing part of the show. The paintings are somewhat mesmerizing, if not dizzying, with their repetition.

On Vacation

I'll return next Wednesday with more riveting reviews and catty comments. Stay tuned.

The Day After

Jennifer Coates' paintings at Feigen Contemporary gallery portray what the world might look like if a nuclear disaster occurred, and you survived, and you were on a lot of drugs. The landscape is barren, except for mutant trees, with mushrooming explosions of psychedelic colors for leaves and clouds. Coates' painting is so light that the works appear to be watercolor (they're acrylic). There are no figures in these images, only twisted tree trunks and maybe a tormented bird.

Fashion Victim

"Devil Wears Prada" is a fun, fun, fun popcorn movie. Meryl Streep, as the boss from hell (we've all had them) steals every scene, and it's unfortunate that she isn't in the flick more. The story really belongs to Anne Hathaway, who plays the dumped-upon assistant as she tries to make it in the fashion mag industry. New York City has never looked more glamorous. No matter what you're wearing when you see this movie, you'll feel like a fat, frumpy slob when you leave the theater. Note to the boys: large sections of the movie are very chick flick.

Summer of Sam

Hot, sticky, gooey air. Half-crazy from the heat. And, of course, the bodies. Always the bodies: flabby naked. "Nightmares of Summer," a group exhibit at Marvelli Gallery, is like a Black Mass. The carefree images of summer are all inverted to convey what really goes on when the A.C. breaks down. The show includes about 30 photographs and paintings, and it's a treat to see works by Andre Kertesz, Diane Arbus, and Marilyn Minter side by side. When I visited the gallery, there was no air conditioning, and it was sweltering inside, which really added to the whole experience of viewing these images.

Great New Disappearance

Sometimes if you want to see a film, you have to move fast. "The Great New Wonderful," a narrative flick about New Yorkers dealing with their lives after 9/11, came to my local theater and disappeared within a week. When this movie debuted at the Tribeca Film Festival last year, I remember reading uniformly positive reviews. In fact, New York Magazine described the Altmanesque film as "brilliant" and "may be the best fiction film about post-9/11 life." OK, I'm sold. Well, something must have happened within a year. When the film was officially released two weeks ago, reviews suddenly weren't so glowing. In addition, the movie is playing in only eight theaters and has brought in a meager $40,000. Who knows. Maybe the film stunk, and I'm lucky that it left the theater after a week.

Make Him Disappear

This is the thanks I get for donating to the Queens Library system: a newsletter featuring super media whore David Blaine on the cover. Yuck. Blaine, who fancies himself as a magician, is the spokesman for the NYS Summer Reading program, so that's why his face is hogging the flyer. Some people must like him. During his recent underwater-for-a-week stunt, a visitor to the tank compared the spectacle to Christo and Jeanne-Claude's "The Gates." What??! In the newsletter photo, I love that Blaine posed holding an earlier issue with his mug on the cover (and it's autographed, no less).

Drive-in Saturday

In this weekly feature, I review in one sentence or less videos/DVDs of movies that you either have seen already or wouldn't bother to see.

"Million Dollar Baby" (2004), directed by Clint Eastwood: Passable Hollywood fare.