Archive for May, 2007

I was ready to dismiss Mr.’s work as typical manga when I first saw it. Big-eyed, blue-haired, and cartoony, the adolescent portraitures seemed ripped from the Japanese comic books my classmates used to read back in elementary school. Taking a closer look, the Lehmann Maupin Gallery presents Mr.’s work as a funhouse of anime — larger-than-life, dizzyingly jubilant, and … verging on disturbing.

Oversized sculptures of heads perkily sitting on the gallery floor bring to mind the clown finale in a game of put-put — you want to skip all the paintings to fixate on the hole in the sculptures’ heads. No epicathal fold here as Mr. turns the eye of “Strawberry Voice” into a window. The eye really is the window to the soul. Guys, if you’ve ever wanted to know what goes on in a girl’s head, now’s your chance. But be forewarned: it’s cute overload in there. The girl doesn’t have a thought in her brain but kewpie dolls and stuffed animals.

What I’m scared to know is, what’s going on in Mr.’s head? As if the giant heads weren’t strange enough, more than one of his paintings are sexually charged portraits of naked adolescents. The press release cushioned the Japanese artist’s work in cultural context:

The Otaku subculture emerged in Japan in the 1970s and consisted mostly of males who were consumed by manga comics, anime animation, sci-fi literature and video games. Mr.’s large-eyed characters and flat color fields are influenced by this movement and its Lolita-esque fascination with adolescents. The cheerful boys with their pants down and girls in short skirts appear sexually provocative, asking the viewer to question whether the work is a comment on Otaku culture or an exploration of Mr.’s fantasy world.

Still, it’s very uncomfortable perhaps because it flirts with the sexuality of such young characters but is most likely to be bought by middle-aged white men with Asian fetishes.

This is Mr.’s first solo work in New York. His work is both skillful and thought-provoking, so keep an eye on this artist. It’s likely you’ll be hearing more of him in the future.

The work will be on display at Lehmann Maupin Gallery (540 West 26th Street, NYC) until June 23. Hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 10 AM till 6 PM. You can preview the artwork and watch a video of the installation process here.

[Photo from Lehmann Maupin Gallery.]

Seriously- why do guys cheat?

I don’t know, but while you’re still trying to figure out the answer to that one, go see the clever & quirky new play The Chronological Secrets of Tim produced by the Impetuous Theatre Group.

If you take my advice here are some of the things you’ll encounter: an X with an addiction to Mexican food, a straight man with a fetish for Madonna music, painful truths, comforting lies, sordid affairs, a broken hearted man that may or may not try to throw himself from a window in an “overdramatic suicide attempt”, lesbians (of course), drunken roommates & a soundtrack straight from your college days.

Best thing about this play is the kickass writing by playwright Janet Zarecor. Great lines like: A toast “To two women stuck in one man’s life.” and “Is that Malibu rum?” asked by an X-girlfriend while our sweet, disfunctional hero is hanging out the window. But, my favorite exchange:

MANDA: If they are still standing around when I’m finished rambling it’s a key indicator that they can make it to the next step.

TIM: Next step?

MANDA: Yeah, marriage.

TIM: What?!

MANDA: Did I say marriage? I meant coffee.

The whole cast was great. Notable performance by Kira Blaskovich, playing Alexandra- she had a great look, a nifty stage presence and I really felt that her lines were her own words spilling from her mouth. You go girl!

The theatre was a cool space if you don’t mind a 4th floor walk-up & broiling in a room with 63 other theatre-goers… ahhhhhh, welcome to NY Off Broadway Theatre in the summertime. They do sell bottled water, so just dress in a swimsuit & you’ll be okay. (I’m kidding- so please don’t wear a swimsuit unless you just look ravishingly smashing in it.)

Back to the play: If you’re 30 you’ll totally GET it & totally LOVE it!! I’m not sure it is that relevant to other age groups, though, hmmmm…. have to think on that one… but hey, the mature chicks (aka old ladies) in the audience were giggling, so maybe I’m wrong. Anyways- the entire audience was cracking up laughing, so check it out, it’s fun.

Two things I learned from this play: 1) Be careful what you write down in your diary or journal- it just might come back to bite you AND 2) Flashback sex… sounds fabulous- I’m going to have to try that!

The Chronological Secrets of Tim runs through June 3rd, Thursday through Sunday, 8 PM (& 1 Monday, May 28th 8 PM performance) at The Gallery Theatre at Access Theatre. Buy tickets online or just show up & buy them at the door.

FINALLY! Issue #13 in the series The Ultimates 2 is finally out.

Which, to someone who doesn’t know how long we Panelgeeks have been waiting means nothing. For those of us who have been waiting for months between issues, it means. . . Well, just a little bit more than nothing.

A little backstory: The Ultimates are the Ultimate Marvel version of The Avengers aka Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. The big shots. The guys that handle the big, international, cosmic, inter-galactic and often inter-dimensional baddies with the love and adoration of the public. The original Avengers consisted of Iron-Man, Wasp, Giant Man, The Hulk and Thor, with the newly discovered Captain America who had spent the late 40’s, 50′ and early ’60s in a block of ice.

Over time, most of the heroes of the Marvel Universe spent some time on the Avengers. and like most super-groups, they’ve had more than their share of troubles and trouble-makers on the team.

The Ultimates jumps on that flawed Supergroup idea and bends it on a massively politcal angle. The Ultimates, are the U.S. government’s first line of defense. Consisting of the six mentioned above, and adding expert marksman Clint Barton aka Hawkeye, Russian spy and assassin Natasha Roumanov aka The Black Widow, and Magneto’s twin children (who have a bizarre fixation on each other) Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch. All run by the one-eyed master of disaster, General Nick Fury, head of S.H.E.I.L.D. (oh, and he’s black in the Ultimate version.)

And one of the major points of The Ultimates is to see how the modern age of terror-awareness, pre-emptive striking, shoot-first-and-ask-questions-if-we-feel-like-it U.S. military tactics would work when a total of 11 people make up the majority of the U.S. defense network.

And what a rag-tag bunch of hopefuls they are!

In the first story-arc we learn that Hank Pym (Giant Man) is a wife-beater with severe inferiority issues (he makes himself bigger. Hmm, compensating maybe?) Tony Stark (Iron-Man) may be the most brilliant industrial billionaire in the world, but he also downs a quart of vodka every day before breakfast. (In classic marvel, Stark has been successfully in recovery for years) Steve Rogers (Captain America) has been in a block of ice for 57 years and likes to spend his evenings reading the paper and listening to Bing Crosby records while everyone else is at a dance club.

It’s chock full of pop-culture references and tongue in cheek humor, but not much depth to the dialogue; they sound like a bad Hollywood script. Which is something I think subversive Marvel super-scribe Mark Millar is trying to convey: The Ultimates have a budget of billions (taxpayer money) and get paid obscenely, but seem to get things wrong a lot more often than they do right.

Their first mission is to take down one of their own (Hulk) who goes on a homicidal rampage through Manhattan because his ex-wife is on a date with Freddy Prinze Jr. (I know. . . Freddy Who? . . Thats how long it takes for these freakin issues to come out!)

The most recent story-arc brought on the whole idea of a a modern World War Three, distilled into two teams of the Most Powerful Beings on Earth. Funny, it seemed to leave as much collateral damage as a regular war. Here’s the most bitterly funny part: The whole thing begins, turns around, and ends in a single day.

It starts with The Ultimates getting more clout and attitude through the world. They help create the European Union of Superhumans (Captain Italy, Captain Spain, Captain. . . oh you get the point.) and conduct various pre-emptive strikes against growing nuclear threats around the world. (Including an anonymous Middle-Eastern State.)

But two can play at this game. . .

We see a secret meeting between military leaders from China, Russia, North Korea, Syria, Iran and, get this: FRANCE to discuss their recent biological endeavors. Many of these endeavors are perfect counterparts to each of The Ultimates. Through the help of Loki, the God of Mischeif (who looks like a black-haired Cillain Murphy in this book) helps turn the various Ultimates on each other, establish a few traitors, and in a single hour, send in their forces to take down the U.S.

Here’s the irony: They call themselves The Liberators. They call the U.S. The Modern Roman Empire and consider their first act as the new leaders of America to give us “free elections”

Of course, the Ultimates turn it around at the crucial moment and save the day. The best part of the whole story arc was Hawkeye’s escape: At just the right moment, he flicks off each of his fingernails and flings them like precision aimed blades at each of his captors. Killed eight enemy soldiers with FINGERNAILS!! That was HOT!

And, after waiting months on end for each issue, was the finalinstalment of Millar’s run on The Ultimates worth the wait? . . .

NO!!!

Bottom line is this: The book had good storylines, EXCELLENT illustration, (especially the battle scenes with massive levels of destruction, done by the illustrious Bryan Hitch) and the dialouge was, honest to god, meant for a Michael Bay film! The most recent issue, however (#13) has a brilliant 8-page fold out of the final smash-’em-up battle scene between The Ultimates and a slew of norse mythical goblins. Nice.

It was fun. And now that its all collected in easy to find and purchase TPBs, I’d say its a good read for your money. I’m just regretting all the months i spent asking

“Is it in yet? Next week? Are you sure?”

*****COMIC TIPS******

Friend, are you ready to graduate from being a simple reader into a true collector? Of all the options, comic collecting is one of the least expensive regular expenditures of the collectors world, with a grand return: A bit of pulp fiction along with phenomenal artwork and bright colors with varying levels of replay value.

Well my friend, it’s simply. When you pick up your $3-5 dollar issue, tack on another 15 cents and say: “A Bag’n'a’board.” That’s a plastic mylar bag to protect your precious issue, and a thin white cardboard to keep it straight and flat.

They’ll last through the ages, and you’ll never know when you might want to pick up that old issue of Black Panter #57 where he pours out one ounce for his hommies.

Something about a cover charge can really generate a whole aura around a show.

$0- You get what you pay for. Sometimes you get a true gem for free, others, you get a piece of crap, but its okay! You have enough cash to get drunk and you enjoy the effort.

$5- They’re trying. There’s definetely effort, and some $5 shows have been the best shows I’ve ever been to. $5 at the door means that the performers are taking themselves seriously, and you should (try to) as well

$10- All right. The kids have grown up and they have a comprehensive performance that should captivate your attention for the time being, and even if it’s not great, should hold the gravitas that a double-digit door-charge should hold.

So if a Rock-Dance peformance called Fairytale Dreams, dreamed up by circus performer and neo-bohemian Jennifer Upchurch charges $15 at the door, you would expect it to be a real show. Intricate, talented, depthful and heavily choreographed dancers moving along a layered narrative, bringing us into a fantasy world that truly trancends us from the mortal realm.

Not a bunch of fairy-tale girls and flitty boys prancing about backed by a goof-ball drums-and-bass duo called Fat Free with some vague storyline of boys lost in the land of fairies.

The three major components of Fairytale Dreams were dance, trapeze and hula-hoops. The dance was pedestrian, an uninspired mix of spins, cartwheels and kicks, the type you can catch for a dime a dozen at the Prospect Park meadow any Sunday afternoon. The trapaze was, at best amature, and the hula-hoops with their detailed christmas light schemes were one of the minor pleasantries of the act.

Except that they can be found at any RUBULAD party or Burner fundraiser for enormously less money and attention expectation.

I can think of three things that would have made Fairytale Dreams a show worth going to:

1. More talent

2. More practice/rehersal

3. Less freakin’ money at the door.

If you’re going to charge $15 for a show, you have got to to earn it.

Our nemesis, The Cool Kid’s Club threatened to beat us up after school if we didn’t tell everyone about their amazing show:

• “Cool Kid’s Club is a raucous live commentary show on vintage educational shorts. You’ll laugh as you learn about everything from personal hygiene to the rubber industry. It’s a can’t-miss-public-domain-laugh-riot starring Jeff Rubin (CollegeHumor.com), Dan Hopper (A Week of Kindness), Matt Esolda (matthewkpresents.com), Kevin Haulihan (Best Week Ever), and Steve Menegozzi (thisisalow.com). Holy crap have you gotta see this show.” [details]

WANT TO SEE IT FOR FREE?????

It’s contest time. Write a caption for the following photo (a still from one of the Cool Kid’s Club movies).
The answer that makes me laugh the loudest will will a pair of tickets to see the show on May 29th.

Send Entries to FREE@uncoolkids.com

PS: If you were on the UNCOOLKIDS Mailing List, you would’ve heard about this yesterday.

It was Friday May 18, otherwise known as Sweet Paprika’s Gay in May show! Yay! Allison Castillo and Ophira Eisenberg host this weekly comedy show at The D-Lounge, a cabaret lounge located in the basement beneath The Daryl Roth Theatre. I wasn’t expecting such a swanky space; I figured it would be more like…well, a basement. It was actually pretty nice. The only problem? I didn’t know there was a 2 drink minimum and I’m cheap so this kind of bummed me out, but the prices aren’t outrageous. $5 beers and $6-8 mixed drinks so it certainly didn’t ruin my evening.

Allison and Ophira have two traditions at their weekly show: get dressed up and get drunk. Honestly, I wasn’t so impressed with them at first; they seemed like they were trying too hard (love me! won’t you please love me!), but I liked them more as the night went on and they settled down. Ophira was the funnier of the pair, but they were both likeable.

The problem with this show was that the performances were uneven. Keith Price and Adam Sank made me laugh, but Anne Neczypor did not. She seemed inexperienced and perhaps a bit uncomfortable. Mike Albo did a sort of spoken word theatrical performance of conversations he’s heard in the city. I thought he was hilarious, but my friend thought he was being too mean. The audience seemed to have mixed reactions to everything.

The highlight of this show? Pepper Mills! She rocked out with her renditions of Burning Down the House and We’ve got Tonight. She brought some much needed energy back in the room and ended the night on a high note.

While it wasn’t the best comedy show I’ve seen in recent weeks, I would definitely give Sweet Paprika another try.

And so the PANELGEEK has finally picked up an off-the-internet bootleg of Spider-man 3 to watch in the comfort and scrutiny of his own secret headquarters and, much to his own surprise

It WASN’T BAD!!

Now its important to mention that expectations were already very low. I was somewhat unimpressed with the first two, thinking that there were mistakes in casting (Maguire is NOT PETER PARKER) and some visual and directorial choices (The super-lame Green Goblin mask, when Willem Dafoe’s face is clearly what a psychotic super-villain should look like!) Combine that with a lousy script most of the time and Sam Raimi’s undeniably campy approach somewhat soured the franchise for me.

But by the third film, the characters were established enough for some of the actors to really sink into them. Kirsten Dunst seemed, for the first time to have really grown into the womanly glamour that is Mary-Jane Watson

(in the first two, she just seemed like a pretty little girl.)

James Franco’s reprise as Harry Osborn, trying to live up to his father’s might as the Green Goblin was impressive, especially because the script team had the courage to change te course that Harry took in the comics, and in this film, turned him into the reluctant hero that I found myself (by the final battle scene) wanting him to be.

I was very skeptical about adding The Sandman to the film franchise, finding him to be a cheesy, two-bit stock villain complete with campy striped shirt. But when the Oscar-nominated actor Thomas Hayden Church, with his deadly serious expression picked up that familiar shirt in the early scenes, something struck home about the character, and the director: It is possible to portray a campy, pulpy comic book story and still take it seriously. Something Raimi has had trouble conveying in the past.

Church: perfect casting as Flint Marko (The Sandman.)

Then there’s The Symbiote Black Suit, which just falls out of the sky without explination and we find out increases the wearer’s strengths but also increases their aggressive tendencies

And there’s Eddie Brock, played with complete lack of depth or nuance by That 70’s show’s Topher Grace. Brock is The Daily Bugle’s skeevy photographer counterpart to the morally irreproachable Parker.

When the two become one, the fusion is Venom: The closest thing Spider-man has ever had to an evil mirror-image.

Oh, and there’s also Gwen Stacy, Spider-man’s other romantic interest.

And Flint Marko was also apparently Uncle Ben’s real killer.

And isn’t Peter’s frail Aunt May supposed to fit in here somewhere?

Oh, and the alien suit is vulnerable to sound waves, too!

Herein lies the problem: Too many characters and too many plot threads equals NOT ENOUGH PLOT DEVELOPMENT! Each of the scenes seem like they’re just trying to string us along on an over-worked plot (or multiple plots) while not giving any one plot the right amount of exposition it needs.

The special effects for Sandman and Venom were brilliant, and the scene in which Spider-man defeats Venom was AWESOME, but I can’t help but feel that if Raimi left the showdown with Venom for the next film, he would have had a little more leeway with other development but sometimes its hard to suppress a vision (or multiple visions) with so much money, expectation, and MERCHANDISING behind it (does everyone have their Venom figurines yet?)

But acknowledging all of its flaws, Spider-man 3 was still a great super-hero action film with just enough camp, and all the special-effects magic we could ask for in a summer block-buster.

One last gripe: Tobey Maguire, pathetically trying to be Peter Parker, pathetically trying to be “baddass” montage, with a black outfit and smiling and winking at every supermodel he passes was appalling.

His white-as-white-can-get disco homage to John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever made me physically nauseous. That entire scene knocked one star off my review. The scene in the Jazz Club was, as well, utterly stupid.

Damn you Sam Raimi for your idiotic mockery of a character I’ve loved for years.

If I never, ever saw Tobey “wide-eyes-and-pouty-lips-is-NOT-an-acceptable-substitute-for-actual-talent” Maguire mangle the insight and moral complexity of Peter Parker, it’ll be too soon.

We just got an awesome offer from The Museum of TV and Radio. The first 10 people to email jschneider@mtr.org will receive a pair of tickets to this Thursday’s screening and discussion of A First Look at “Little Mosque on the Prairie”. All winners will be notified via email.

Details of the show:

A First Look at “Little Mosque on the Prairie

• TIME: 6-7:30pm
  PLACE: Museum of TV and Radio, 25 West 52 St between 5th and 6th Ave
  COST: $15, if you use the discount code MTR2007
• SUMMARY: “This hit Canadian sitcom from the CBC, centered on a Muslim community nestled in the wilds of rural Saskatchewan, has debuted to strong ratings and curious speculation: is it possible to find humor in Muslims interacting with suspicious North Americans in a post–9/11 world? Members of the cast and creative team will discuss the challenges that arise when sensitive social and political issues provide the context for a traditional comedy show.”

Mixed Tape by Another Urban Riff is a playwriting version of an exquisite corpse.

Exquisite Corpse is a type of poem where each poet writes one line and a word. The first poet then folds the paper down so that only the one word at the end is visible. The next poet sees only the one word of the line that the new poet is supposed to begin with. This usually goes around for as many lines as there are poets in the circle and then: share.

Are you with me? Good. Mixed Tape has four playwrights and four directors, the second playwright reads only the first work. The third does so for the second and the fourth for the third. . . interesting.

Although my friend Julia whom I came to see (aka Burlesque-dancer Roja Rouge) told me they cheated a little. And I guess that’s where the flaws in this project began. .

To AUR’s credit, (or maybe the discredit of the lighting-person) the stage lights were fucked and they had to do the play with the house-lights on which severely threw off the entire sense of theater. With the prying eyes of the audience boring into all the actors, it felt more like we were sitting in on a dress rehersal.

The 1st “track” (as each chapter was called) was a manic mish-mash of stressed out roommates, bed-bug jokes, short attention spans, screaming frenemies, and some too-cool-for-school booty-call who ditches the sexually desperate and confused protagonist who just wants to some attention. . . I guess. . . Oh, and all the roommates are all actors. . . I think. . .

The 2nd track was about two depressed and stressed-out roommates alongside a sexually unfulfilled woman with her loser TV-addict boyfriend. There’s an awkward, desperate and awkward one night stand between one of the roommates and the boyfriend, and everyone’s frustrated reaction.

By the time the 3rd track begins with a neurotic young man cleaning an apartment while masturbating in various strange auto-erotic positions and screaming SHUT THE FUCK UP!! while slamming his head against the wall. . . Well, between the flourescent lights and uncomfortable folding chairs, I was just desperate to get out of this confused, nearly plotless cluster-fuck of a theater project.

Which was unfortunate, because this was where it started to get good.

The 3rd track incorporated a character from the second, which then made it confusing to the audience which of the reoccurring actors were the same character as before. Apparently each play has one “carry-over” actor from the previous play, or maybe more than one, the audeince wasn’t sure and I’m not sure the playwrights were either.

The 3rd track continued on the theme of shitty living situations in the city, bi-polar outbursts and massively desperate sexual confusion which after being beaten over the head with it already for 45 minutes was starting to get painful.

By the time we were into the fourth trach, I was just hoping it’d be over soon.

Which is a shame. Because the 4th track very smartly and depthfully explored the world of Sexual Addicts, sexual repression, sexual expression and dudes with popped collars (A very clever performance by Nick Paglino, with some great slapstick turns).

Track 4 was written by Marge Lewitt, who also directed Track 3, and for her quality work, I applaud her. The others. . . Well, I think I’d need to see more of their work to give a “fair” assessment. Same goes for the actors.

And so, I’d say the idea of Mixed Tape is good and should be taken back to the drawing board, but if I could make one suggestion to AUR:

Be it the playwrights, the directors, the actors or some combination therein, someone needs to put down the methamphetamines.

Poor Paris Hilton. Not in the financial sense obviously — the heiress is filthy rich simply by virtue of being born into the right family. Any job she has held has been a rather glamorous one — model, actress, author, purse designer. And she’s not poor so much in the social sense — each time her cell phone’s been hacked, her slew of celebrity friends have been revealed, and of course we always see her dancing on tables at nightclubs that wouldn’t let most of us get beyond the velvet ropes.

Wait — where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, poor Paris. She’s everyone’s favorite celebrity to pick on. People are ruthless about their opinions of her. The latest critic is Daniel Edwards, whose Paris Hilton Autopsy is currently on display at Capla Kesting Fine Art (121 Roebling Street, Brooklyn).

The sculpture of the socialite is reportedly meant to teach teens about the dangers of drinking and driving. Just a few days ago — May 4, to be exact — Hilton was sentenced to jail for drunk driving. Well, sort of. It was more that she had been speeding without her headlights on when she wasn’t even supposed to be driving at all because in September 2006 she’d been caught driving with a blood alcohol content of 0.08. And, she never signed up for a mandatory alcohol-education program.

If Edwards’ art had imagined Paris Hilton as a crashtest dummy, it would’ve gotten the point across with layered meanings: don’t drink and drive and Paris is a dummy. If Edwards made the beautiful Paris Hilton gory from a car crash, that too would’ve driven the message home that even pretty girls aren’t safe from the dangers of alcohol.

Edwards’ Paris Hilton Autopsy is not the public service announcement it claims to be, though. He has created a sexually explicit sculpture of a naked Paris Hilton. You can take her innards out, and if you do, you will discover two fetuses. This is an attack on Hilton’s sexuality. Granted, Hilton has been caught in one too many sex-tape scandals, but that has nothing to do with drunk driving.

The Paris Hilton Autopsy “includes support material from Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD),” and it is clear that the exhibit seeks to scare teens out of sex, as well as drinking. The press release for Paris Hilton Autopsy “observes the teen pregnancy crisis associated with alcohol impaired judgment,” but the truth of the matter is, Paris Hilton was not a teenager when she was charged with DUI nor when she was rumored to be pregnant, which was later reported as false anyway.

What is a fact, is that Daniel Edwards’ depictions of famous female celebrities have stirred up controversy in the past. Last year around this time, Hilton’s friend Britney Spears was the subject of Edwards’ work. Like Hilton, Spears was depicted nude, with child, and in a sexual position. The sculpture was called Monument to Pro-Life, and the artist said, “Britney provides inspiration for those struggling with the ‘right choice.’” Meanwhile, Edwards also made a bust of Hillary Clinton, in which he portrayed her in a low-cut dress, downplaying her political achivements by staring at her boobs. By sexualizing these blondes, Edwards in fact degrades women.

There is no humanity in this piece.  It merely capitalizes on making fun of someone.   Whatever message Edwards had toward promoting abstinence of alcohol and sex through the Paris Hilton Autopsy will be lost on immature teen boys who will gawk at the almost-still-beautiful naked body. Young women, on the other hand, will once again see that even in their death they are little more than an objectified body.