"Boardwalk Empire" (Season 2, Episode 9: "Battle of the Century" HBO)

Boardwalk Empire has become irrefutably complex. All the gears in the Atlantic City vice machine are starting to grind and mesh, trying to distinguish who is loyal to whom, compiled with the vague loyalty issues and backstabbing has left the plot becoming increasingly convoluted. In the last episode "Two Boats and a Lifeguard" so much time was spent on interpersonal relationships: Nucky Thompson (Steve Buscemi) steps down from office as treasurer as his protégé Jimmy Darmondy (Michael Pitt) wages war against him over the booze trade, later to take his office as undisputed boss. Then in a twist, Nucky and Eli’s (Shea Wigham) father dies of a heart attack after Eli is served a subpoena. Other than others dealing with prior problems, nothing new is introduced into the plot. However in "Battle of the Century" so many different variables are thrown into the corrupted cocktail. 

Nucky sails out to Ireland with his new protégée Own Slater (Charlie Cox), claiming to customs that he is to bury his father. In a delightful scene, he is asked why his hand is bandaged, only for Nucky to retort "I put my hand in the wrong cookie Jar." Despite the still bleeding gunshot wound, a part of the early charm that has been escaping Nucky still surfaces. His trip to Ireland doesn't go smoothly; arriving in the IRA compound, he meets leader John McGarrigle with casket in tow, opening it to reveal twelve new Thompson machine guns. "There's three-thousand more in the Atlantic City armory." He professes, asking for whiskey for trade, however, McGarrigle is reluctant to supply on grounds that it’s a selfish cause to the IRA. An irate Nucky leaves awkwardly to demonstrate the gun in an even more strange way: he full-autos an entire drum clip into a grandfather clock outside. It really doesn't make sense as to why he does this after even being scoffed: Nucky still needs to demonstrate the gun. Although, McGarrigles reluctance to help is explained as Britain offers negotiations, his motives for peace become clear as he lost a son to the resistance, but doesn't make sense to his rejection of trade. 

Back in New Jersey, Jimmy meets with bootlegging Waxy Gordon to discuss ending ties with intimidating Jewish Butcher Manny Horvitz (Hiram Moore). This comes as betrayal, still owing money to Manny over his advance, but with all the bad blood between James and Arnold Rothstein, why would he turn to Rothstein's ally? After poor assassination attempt on Manny and an amazingly graphic meat-cleaver to the face, he discovers he has been set up. Manny is now becoming a sort of anti-hero to the plot: not only is his persona increasingly intimidating, he also a legitimate bootlegger with loyalty at the top of his list. The scene plays out so fluidly here, the man banging on his window, asking for chickens in an emergency. Then running away only for another man to turn around and shoot him, grazing his shoulder. Manny pulls the man in through the glass door, and rams a cleaver right through his skull. Gore, so real, and disgusting, it adds his otherwise extreme nature.

Jimmy making more alliances with his rise. "The new prince" Jimmy Doyle (Alex Kerr) roots, shown in a neck-brace after being tossed off the balcony by Jimmy in the previous episode. Making the viewer wonder 'Why are still working with Jimmy?' Too see him along side Jimmy did not make sense. However, he is making ties with Lucky Luciano (Joshua Anderson) and Al Capone (Stephen Grahm) to steal medicinal alcohol from Reemus (John Smith). They're putting up three-hundred thousand dollars for the location of the crates, "And what happens when they're here isn't my business" Reemus claims. Where Jimmy is getting the money is of mystery. The alliance between the Jimmy's people is also strange, they all tried at some point to kill each other, now they work together in an almost brotherly fashion. Unexplainable, then again, this must be how gangsters work, or how bad writing pans out.

Margaret’s (Katy O’Donnell) youngest has been stricken with illness, coughing and staying up late. Unable to get up, the poor girl tries to move her legs only to fail. Margaret calls a doctor, but with the way she is portrayed, it’s hard to believe that she’s even sincere, “I cannot drive, you take them.” She says to the doctor, that familiar blank stare smeared across her face. It’s obvious that her child is stricken with polio, later quarantined but then again, all the elements are there, it comes as no real surprise to the audience. Though the scene of the child receiving a spinal tap come as gruesome, the screams seem very real, then again, Katy’s performance is lack-luster.

Over to Chalky White (Leroy Thompson) is about to call a strike from Nucky’s orders. It seems Chalky never left the shed he was in after a dismal dinner-date with the family. His demeanor seems broken and empty after being paroled for the murder of a Klansmen. Though without even leaving the shed he entered last episode, he convinces his right-hand man to start rallying the troops in a local restaurant to strike, starting with the sloppy food their served for lunch. This is the best part of the episode, because the feeling of racial bigotry is palpable. Being referenced to as “Boy” is enough to grind anybodies teeth. The other kitchen workers are fed up as well, but are intimidated with being fired. It poses the question of how hard it could be for a black man in 1920 to get a job. Six days a week, twelve hours a day, one ten minute break the whole time, it truly seems miserable.

After being threatened to be fired, and then being physically hit by the racist kitchen manager, finally the hoard stands up and attack the man in unison. Throwing pots, pans, and screaming, they tear up the kitchen, the anger is so relatable. This is the beginning of problems for the new treasurer Jimmy, proving Knucky’s brilliance in manipulating a situation to get what he wants, his hand in the till to create the strike on his orders to Chalky.

Back in Ireland, after a painfully awkward dinner between Knucky and McGarrigle, Knucky asks “So I’m going home empty handed?” to no response from the salty McGarrigle. Leaving for the shore, he packs into a car and a mysterious person sitting next to him. As they drive, Knucky looks distraught, but the man looks intense, the camera pointing out the back window, showing distance between the car and castle. Out of nowhere a loud pop, and smoke is seen, someone shot McGarrigle. The man starts speaking “One-thousand machine guns, thirty-thousand crates of whisky, you deal with me now.” To which Knucky nods uneasily. This is too much of a strange, out of nowhere situation. The IRA boss is now dead, was it planned? Has it been in the making? It begs the situation why they would do that, however, with mitigating factors of peace-talk and a near dead whisky consumption during war-time, McGarrigle seemed too much of an old Publican to lead the revolution. The situation still seems unresolved and the killing of McGarrigle is far too subtle.

This is the same problem that has been facing Boardwalk Empire: not to say that they have been declining in quality, but in certain situations, the scope of stories covered is coming as too great to keep up even with the directors. Some nameless people are killed at any given moment, and the problem with loyalty arises. Then again, the question of where the steady flow of money is coming in from, a few episodes, Jimmy had all the alcohol confiscated by the coast-guard, then where is any additional income coming from? What is happening in the personal lives of some of the characters seems irrelevant at certain points, does it matter that Chalky is illiterate? Does it matter that Jimmy is in a failing marriage still (still echoing from episode one)? 

The last scene shows Nucky returning to the docks, with Owen reading him his mail, again awkward, Nucky seems at least like the man who’d read his own mail. A telegraph from his lawyer telling him to prepare for the ‘real fight’ in reference to the Dempsey fight happening that day that never is explained, a note telling him that the youngest has polio arises. Like the past episodes, Knucky seems to be losing it; his face goes distraught, spouting “We need to go.” The episode ends on a shot of the boats, the analogy of the whole bootlegging empire.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to believe anything that is occurring anymore. Strange new characters continue to enter the show, and then leave. Random people continue to die, and more variables are tossed into the jumble of awkward relationships amongst people. It’s hard to tell whose fighting who, everybody has tried to kill everybody at least once at this point, so who to root for? Perhaps that’s the brilliance of the story, Knucky is indeed the protagonist, then again, it seems like Jimmy is the sort of Robin Hood of the story. It’s compelling to see how the story will unfold, but, god damn it’s like watching a boxing where bets were placed on both fighters: you just want to see who wins at this point.

Hopper, Edward. Nighthawks, on oil canvass, 1942 (Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois)

Quiet, ennui, and ultimately the theme of solitude embody Edward Hopper's magnum opus, "Nighthawks." Painted in 1942, this remains the most iconic piece of American modernism. Countless parodies and juxtapositions are still surfacing in modern culture, begging the question 'who hasn't seen this painting?' Still remaining an influence on painting, Hopper inserted this as the Zenith of 20th century art. Its simple name alone implies the theme and setting of piece, meanwhile, the landscape in conjunction of light and dark colors dismiss "Nighthawks" as another mundane piece.

Edward Hopper worked primarily as a commercial illustrator, mostly freelance for advertising companies. Though Hopper sold a variety of his paintings on the side, it wasn't until 1924 at the Rehn gallery he had his first art exhibit. It was here, at the age of 43, that he sold every painting on display. In 1925, he painted "The House by the Railroad" that made use of his iconic contrasts between distances in light, which would remain his trademark. A theme in his paintings is Americana: both rural, but mostly urban. "Nighthawks" was inspired by a diner he saw in 1924 that "...was suggested by a restaurant on Greenwich Avenue where two streets met." The style of the painting was enhanced by him when "I simplified the scene a great deal and made the restaurant bigger." Within months of completion, he sold it to the Art Institute of Chicago for $3,000 and it has remained on display there since.

Represented in Hoppers iconic piece is his continuation of themes. Not only is it now a period piece, it reflects a simple docility that Hopper readily captures in pragmatic glory. Feelings of isolation, boredom, and comforting isolation can be felt within the diner, even between the couple drinking coffee and smoking, to the worker idly observing, to the mysterious character facing away. It puts the feeling into the observer, as if actually standing out outside seeing this happen on a cold, late night. The colors of the night remain most important as it draws the eye inside the diner, but importantly outside the diner as well. The harsh colors of the inside bear a fluorescent hymnal to the boring interior. Meanwhile, the mute color of the outdoors gives the solace of a cold, late night in New York City. It’s as if the city where human, and it is asleep only accented by the eccentric light from the restaurant.

Hopper's use of light is paramount, as it draws the important details on the sense of feeling in the actual scenery then the humans in the picture. The mash up between the outdoor and indoor colors negates a sense of solitude even in a large city. The cliché: "The city never sleeps" is challenged, it seems no one is out, but refuge is taken in an average establishment. Though it draws for an interesting, even mysterious quality as the narrative of the patrons is left to the imagination of what may be taking place. The woman examining her nails and the gentlemen next to her, followed by the man facing away and the worker who eyes them with suspicion share a palpable solitude. Between the deathly silence of the outdoors and the basic illumination of the interior, the lack of interaction is apparently mutual. As if trapped in the glass, the entrance remains hidden, as if they're trapped in a fish tank. These humble qualities are almost haunting, as if there is a spat of tension among the night and the people drawn into the store.

The intense loneliness of the painting makes for its greatest theme. Hopper tones down American realism by removing the intensity of life. Hopper admitted "Unconsciously, probably, I was painting the loneliness of a large city." Capturing the feelings of not despair but humble nods to boring aspects of life. Very challenging, though Hopper achieved, describing the like sensations of open air, "Nighthawk" captures the feeling of ennui, life as just a scene walking by, and giving it a nod, showing life can just be, and we share the sensation.

Magritte, Rene. On the Threshold of Liberty, on oil canvas, 1937 (Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago)

            Painted in 1937, this is a controversial piece by master of surrealism René Magritte. It is a prime example of pre-world war two surrealism, which is also an example of the fusion of pre-surrealism/post-dada movement: a modal intermediate between 'anti-art' and the expressionistic ideas of dreams presented by the works of Carl Jung that symbols have meaning based in dreams. Through these ideas of semiotic studies, the expressionism used with varied images to convey surreal contortion of art, making use of dream images fused into paintings. It was a common element to use the 'collective conscious' idea as a mantra for painting in the surrealist movement: creating a fabricated reality with no coherent meaning other than what the observer created.

            The painting itself contains multiple panels (or windows), eight in total, all of which make up a room with a solid granite floor. Axillary cannon in the right hand side of the room, pointing into the top left corner are the only 'tangible' item in the painting. On the wall starting at the top-left corner going clockwise: busk of a woman's bare torso, a wood panel, what appears to be bamboo in the next, and finally a wooden panel. On the bottom row from left to right: a forest, fluffy clouds in the sky, windows of a high-rise building, and a brick wall.

           Individual pictures, like the entire painting are set neither in night or day. The trim on the borders between the panels are a simply beige, neutral like the grey-scaled floor and ceiling. The cannon's look is very realistic, one of use that would have seen civil war times. Magritte's piece makes use of ample colors: all of the panels on the wall use a different vibrant color, from blue, to sand, to green, red and blue. For each window, these colors remain thematic with the ascribed space. With all the colors in mind, the image that most sticks out is the cannon pointing at the woman's torso panel in the top left corner, aiding the overall ambiguity of juxtaposed images.

            Magritte is careful to use these different colors in each panel; it seems to add to the mystery of the painting. There is no define pattern, but they make for a strange impression. Combined with the panels on the walls and ceilings, the cannon still sticks out oddly, appearing esoteric to even the out of place walls. Since there is little use of the variance of light, the piece is balanced, making for a very bright display of dull yet different colors, never hindering the overall experience of light or darkness.

            Like many of his pieces, Magritte used strange imagery to confuse the observer: Magritte often challenged conventional viewing methods. There is no central theme to the piece, that other colors of the separate so evenly, the pictures are all unrelated, meanwhile, the cannon sits alone, idly making nuance of the room around it. However, there is a strange idea: that each of the panels being completely filled, creating a wall like affected with different color semiotics describing the piece. It was carefully done so in such a weird pattern to show some sort of limitation to what the eye can describe. This comes with the focus of the painting, that the eye is given so much to absorb, that its ultimate meaning is the difficulty ascribing meaning to it.
          
           A fine example of surrealism, Rene Magritte continued with previous pieces, showing the 'dishonesty' that images can convey reaffirming that the eye can be both tricked but amused. Despite being a controversial painting upon its release, it remains so to this day. It serves as an inspiration for an artist to use symbols, detractors and description to create a painting without having a define meaning. The strange images combined with the name of the piece still leaves hints of confusion. While being very well executed in terms of color use, hues, shapes, and symmetry between the flow and rhythm of the piece, Magritte has created a challenging work of art. It may be difficult to interpolate a meaning, or connection, but perhaps the connection lay within the individual discovery.

Review of “Almost Famous” (2000, Cameron Crowe)

                Drugs, sex, rock n’ roll was the mantra of the sixties and seventies. Nowadays, it’s meth, aids, and techno, so an innocent throwback to more delightful times may seem like a callous dream. The “good old’ days” of doing drugs, binge drinking, bad hair-cuts, fuzzy pictures, mustaches, playing in a band, writing for the Rolling Stone, even getting in on a three-way (four way) seems whimsical to the ear. Cameron Crowe made it happen, detailing his own experiences in story form chock full of cheesy jokes and ad-hoc situational comedy/drama.

                The film centers a thirteen year old William Miller (Patrick Fugit) who aspires to become a rock critic. His mother Elaine (Frances McDormand) disapproves, along with other things like television and rock music. After her sister Anita (Zooey Deschanel) leaves home to become a stewardess in spite of her mother’s reign, she leaves him a variety of rock albums, he fancies The Who’s “Tommy” and submerges himself into a world of rock. After submitting his reviews to rock critic legend Lester Bangs (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), Bangs commissions him to write a review on Black Sabbath. After being denied entrance backstage, he befriends the opening act of Stillwater, who is (wait for it) almost famous, stuck in between touring and commercial success.  Meanwhile, his impromptu love interest/groupie Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), a sixteen year old in love with the bands guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup) gets him to hang out with the band. He now becomes their journalist, focusing on a new piece for Stillwater, simultaneously; he is contacted by Ben Fong-Torres (Terry Chen) of the Rolling Stone to be paid over a grand for a potential front-cover piece.

                If the convolution of the plot and deviation from narrative isn’t bewildering enough: the movie is an asylum of subplots all concurring at the same time. William is trying desperately to get a review from the angst-ridden Russell; the band is struggling with the amassing fame; the band is struggling with the seemingly inconsistent Russell; William is delaying on his piece with the band, getting too involved with band politics; William is in love with Penny Lane, but Penny Lane is in love with Russell; the bands touring is extensive; the band lacks guidance in terms of how to manage their success; all the while, William’s mother is hounding him to come home and cut out his silly dream and to focus on his schooling. Not to spoil the ending, but it’s a happy one.

                Which is why the movie is insulting. All the characters remain stoic, their attitudes unchanged, the band remains the same. The greater majority of the conflicts go unresolved; meanwhile, no one is hurt or smarter from the experience. Comedy comes off as dry and un-relatable: In the scene where William’s mother talks to Russell, he being his happy-go lucky self is rocked to the core by her severe intensity. A scene involving a tour bus leaving a prompt concert involving a groupie informing William of again, missing his mother’s call, her hitting a wall, and the bus charging through a fence is ultimately irrelevant. In a plane, the band experiences extreme turbulence, almost killing the band, they fear the end and speak all their dirty little secrets, the last one being that the drummer is gay, the storm ends, again, irrelevant. At last, Williams deflowering scene involving three groupies is portrayed by them dancing around him after dragging him out of the tub (where he was writing) and dancing around him. It was not only ridiculous, but terribly romanticized.

                Which is what this “Almost Famous” seems to be doing the entire time: the feeling of touring is captured, but reality is deeply excluded. It is all so cartoonish, simplified, and cute; it’s a big rock and roll fantasy. While the story seems intriguing, it lacks substance and depth. None of the characters are believable, none of the situations are realistic, and so many human qualities are exempt from the acting and shooting. “Almost Famous” is a filmed version of an airport romance novel in film form.