|
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||
|
|
|||
|
|
|||
|
|
|
|
|
Also this issue: Outside Tension Sight Unseen |
|
|
|
|
 |
|||||||||
March 20-26, 2003
screen picks
The Eminem Show This is Eminem's moment, or at least the latest in a long string of them. The video release of 8 Mile on what, as we go to press, may literally be the eve of war, is almost prescient -- not for the movie itself, a clueless Hollywood mediocrity of which Eminem is the only noteworthy part, but for the way it puts its star back at center stage.
Seems like he was headed there anyway: Just last week, Daniel Day-Lewis told The New York Times he psyched himself up to play Gangs of New York's murderous Bill the Butcher by working out to Eminem every morning, and during a press stop in Philadelphia a few weeks back, John Travolta entered the room paraphrasing the opening lines of "Without Me." There's no question Hollywood has fallen for Em, even if he's skipping out on the Oscars Sunday night, where "Lose Yourself" is nominated for Best Original Song. 8 Mile is less the instrument of this unrequited crush than its facilitator; the water that washes the bitter pill down. It's less that people love 8 Mile than that 8 Mile makes it OK to love Eminem. Where most rappers stick to a single persona, doing their best to paper over disjunctures with their off-mic selves (the hallmark of gangsta "realism"), Eminem insists on rap as performance -- a neat solution to the problem of "authenticity" posed by his race. Actors love Eminem not for the acting he does in 8 Mile but for the acting he does on his records: thus the nomination for "Lose Yourself" and not for the movie itself.
8 Mile may be the most artful reconstruction of celebrity identity since the movie of Howard Stern's Private Parts. Though not an overt autobiography, the film could easily (and intentionally) be mistaken as such, what with its heavy reliance on the facts of Marshall Mathers' pre-Eminem existence (as related, of course, by Eminem himself). Slim Shady never rears his hostile, aggressive head. Quite the contrary; in the movie's most transparently dishonest scene, Eminem's character intervenes in an impromptu steelyard rap battle to slap down a man for using homophobic slurs. (It's like the way the film version of Howard Stern only spewed bile on those who deserved it.) The most transparent misrepresentation, though, is in the movie's credits. To use the rapper's own parlance, 8 Mile is The Marshall Mathers Movie, and listing Mathers as Eminem just complicates the issue. 8 Mile sloughs off the complications of his interlocking personae, removing the emotion he's most commonly associated with: rage.
And now, if ever, is the time for rage. In all the roundups of songs addressing the ugliness of the post-Sept. 11 world, The Eminem Show's "Square Dance" rarely made the list, despite its references to anthrax, crashing planes and a potential military draft. (To be fair, Em's inability to stay on topic probably didn't help.) A lyric like "Crazy insane or insane crazy?/ When I say Hussein, you say Shady," sounded like self-pity at first, or pointless provocation, especially when coupled with the "Without Me" video, which featured Eminem clowning around in a bin Laden costume. But he's not just complaining that he's been unfairly pilloried -- the point is that society needs enemies, and if we don't have them we'll invent them. (Even President Bush needs his John G.) It's unlikely that any art could be ugly enough to capture the hideousness of the mistakes this administration seems intent on making; all I know is that The Eminem Show doesn't want to leave my CD player. Maybe it's just that in a time when our own government only tells the truth by accident, it helps to be reminded of the difference between real and make-believe.
The Show Off (Fri., March 21., 8 p.m., $15, International House, 3701 Chestnut St., 215-569-9700, www.savethesameric.org) The fight to save the Sameric (originally the Boyd) has made impressive strides, with plans to renovate the gone-to-seed theater to its original Deco glory and convert the building into a mixed-use venue for films and performing arts. All they need now is money -- specifically, enough to retain experts to prepare a business plan and architectural studies. Even if you don't give a hoot about the Boyd, Friday night's benefit offers plenty for your 15 smackers, most notably a screening of The Show Off (1926), a vintage silent shot entirely in Philadelphia. The story of a silver-tongued dandy (Keystone Kop Ford Sterling) who's fond of inventing tales about his success, The Show Off resonates too squarely with a movie like Time Out to play entirely as comedy, but the fascinating vistas of Depression-era Philadelphia are worth the price of admission, not to mention the opportunity to revel in references to Strawbridge's and "the Fishers of Germantown." (Louise Brooks, haircut fully formed, plays a small role as the sassy girl next door who gets to give Sterling his comeuppance.) Live accompaniment by Don Kinnier, post-show '20s tunes from DJ Dan Buskirk, food from the White Dog and beer from Yards is more than 15 bucks'll get you on a Friday night anyway, movie or no movie.
MadCat Film Festival (Sat., March 22, 7 and 9 p.m., $8.50, Prince Music Theater, 1412 Chestnut St., 215-569-9700, www.princemusictheater.org) A veritable embarrassment of estrogen cinema this weekend: To the films of Ladyfest (see p. 17), add this one-night, two-program extraction of San Francisco's MadCat Film Festival. (Unfortunately, the better of the two MadCat programs overlaps with Ladyfest's tastiest bill, but no one said life was without hard choices.) The evening kicks off with "NYC: Just Like I Pictured It," a historically focused program offering short-film views of the Big Apple from across the decades. Three films by Shirley Clarke, all dating from 1958, are the highlight. Two versions of Bridges-Go-Round, scored by jazz legend Teo Macero and electronic composers Louis and Bebe Barron, show the power of music to totally transform the same three-minute burst of imagery, while Skyscraper uses a variety of techniques to depict the building of a glass and steel tower. (Minus several points, though, for the festival's attempts to elide the contributions of men to its films: Only Bebe Barron is listed as the composer on the second Bridges, and both James Agee and Janice Loeb's names are left off In the Street; Helen Levitt is the only credited director.) "Truth Seekers," the evening's later program, focuses on recent films and the subject of war, with more mixed results. Too many films rely on doctrinaire feminist criticisms of "male" aggression and don't push the issue further. Assuming we're still at war by Saturday, this stuff is going to seem awfully facile.
Fassbinder, the (almost) Final Chapter (Wed.-Thu., March 2627, $8.50, Prince Music Theater) The Fassbinder series closes out with The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (7 p.m.) and Chinese Roulette (9:15 p.m.). Since the two-night stand spans two City Papers and I'm out of room, I'll leave my fervent paean to Petra for next week, but if you're hesitating, don't.
-- Respond to this article in our Forums -- click to jump there
