Happy Media Round-up: Volume I
Editor’s Note: Here @The Pitch of Discontent, we spend most of our free-time diving head first into the bountiful world of real-time media consumption. As you’ve likely already surmised, the world is a little batshit crazy right now, so we’re also welcoming distractions of any form and medium. Below you will find a snapshot of the things we’ve dutifully-read, hate-watched, vibed with, and/or carefully mused over in 2020 (thus far). Enjoy.
Ocean Grove — ‘Flip Phone Fantasy’
“Where most people see a hunk of marble, some see David hiding within. Where most people hear silence, some hear harmony and melody. Thought up out of nowhere, from nothing. Creating the exact opposite of what we confront in solitude. Paintings decorate space, music decorates time. Music is a union of imagination, time, and sound. Ocean Grove represents that union.” Read the full review here. // Tom Valcanis
The Great Dune Trilogy & God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert
This has been in my ‘To-Be-Read’ pile for a long time. So, with the impending release of Denis Villenuve’s Dune reboot this year (that is, if COVID-19 doesn’t fuck up the studio schedule and push it back to 2021), I figured now was the appropriate point to get acquainted with the world and lore of the Dune saga. In the initial trilogy, I found the first and third volumes, Dune (1965) and Children of Dune (1976) to be the most engaging. Dune Messiah, for the most, part felt like filler and I can’t see myself going back to it.
However, the fourth volume, God Emperor of Dune (1981) was utterly fascinating. The novel explores the character of Leto II Atreides through a number of interesting narrative frames: prescience; quantum wave-functions; determinism; authoritarianism; and religious fervour. Oh, and his metamorphosis into a gigantic human-sand-worm hybrid tyrant. Also, the parts that focused on the maintenance of interstellar civilisation and vast stretches of time reminded me of a curious and more personal mediation on Asimov’s Foundation series. // Owen Morawitz
Star Trek: Picard (Season One)
My god. What an absolute trainwreck. This will likely need a fully-articulated dissection on just what exactly went wrong (See Tom’s lengthy diatribe below). I also wrote a piece about the show’s inexplicable need to drop f-bombs here. Suffice to say, if you thought Discovery was bad, then give this thing the widest berth humanly possible. Alpha Quadrant wide if need be. Alex Kurtzman & Co: You have a lot of explaining to do. // Owen Morawitz
The Madness of Crowds by Douglas Murray
I’ve been fascinated with the post-2016 “victimhood culture” as someone who considers himself a free speech advocate and free-thinker. I’ve read The Rise of Victimhood Culture by Bradley Campbell and Jason Manning, which gave a sociological overview of the phenomenon in the US, and I Still Find That Offensive by Claire Fox, chronicling the trend in the UK. Madness is part narrative, part analysis, and all together cogent and fascinating. Though those books answered a lot of questions, it only gave rise to many more.
Murray, who happens to be gay, takes it upon himself to expose the contradictions and machinations of political correctness in LGBT+ politics (with a passage that feels very similar to Dave Chappelle’s take on it), the bloodthirstier elements of the #MeToo movement, and “wokeness”, like a modern day Martin Luther. When liberal minded people feel like they’re the straight man (person?) character in a lunatic comedy, The Madness of Crowds really is affirmation that you aren’t Seymour Skinner — blindly self-assured that it’s not you who is wrong; it’s definitely the kids. // Tom Valcanis
Underwater (2020)
“It’s here that Underwater’s debt to other, more interesting films becomes obvious, mixing a sense of claustrophobia and impending doom from The Abyss and Sphere, with the sinister survival horror of Alien and Event Horizon. Stewart does an excellent job of paralleling a Ripley-type character in the role of Norah, making her portrayal feel like the plucky protagonist of a survival RPG, constantly fixing/hacking terminals, assessing level maps, configuring weapons and rescuing fellow crewmates. (Hollywood, if you’re reading this, quit with the endless cavalcade of reboots and remakes already, and give us a bloody Bioshock or Dead Space film.)” Read the full review here. // Owen Morawitz
Star Trek: Picard (Season 1)
Did you know the fictional planet Vulcan is the real life planet of 40 Eridani Alpha? Of course not, you’re not a Star Trek tragic like me. I remember obsessing over these films as a kid, watching every rented tape of Voyager as it trickled out each week, and re-discovering just how epic Deep Space Nine was on Netflix. The Next Generation is the spark that set TV sci-fi aflame again in the late 80s and early 90s, giving rise to classics such as Babylon 5, The X-Files, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, The Outer Limits, Farscape, and at the close of this golden age, Battlestar Galactica.
Picard is the result of egotistical people who don’t care about Star Trek fandom and don’t care to know about Star Trek mythology or lore banding together and making a show called Star Trek. It had enough easter eggs and fan service to make a Japanese hentai girl wearing bunny ears blush, but that’s not what Star Trek is about.
Most Star Trek series debuted amid chaos in the world. The Original Series in the height of the Cold War; The Next Generation during the 1987 Wall Street Crash and recession. Gene Roddenberry, for all his womanising and production diktats, showed us one simple thing: We survived this. Our children became greater than who we are. We took to the stars, and prospered. You kind of have to imagine that Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Federation starship Enterprise, is your distant progeny. You almost have to feel proud that we transcend our small-minded, narcissistic natures, obsessed with accumulating wealth and glory.
In the episode “Darmok”, the Federation sends the Enterprise to open relations with the Tamarians, who they’re having trouble communicating with. They seem to base their language on pure metaphor; the concept of love represented in English with “Romeo, kneeling at Juliet’s window.” Hailing them, Picard is willed from the bridge of his ship to a planet below with fellow captain Darmok, with no obvious route of escape.
Most of us would attack Darmok, speaking in riddles and brandishing knives, without even a pause for thought. On the other hand, Captain Picard exhausts his intellect to try and communicate with this man; not even a fellow human, an alien he’d never even encountered before. Instead of trying to crush his skull in, he tries to empathise with this creature. He tries everything. Picard even helps Darmok beat back some wild beast when they’re attacked. There’s no hint of Picard cutting and running, leaving Darmok to the proverbial wolves. He just fucking wouldn’t. He’s better than us, even though he evolved from us.
Sharing his pain when Darmok succumbs to his wounds at the end of the episode, we find Picard has learned his way of speech. He tells his new found alien friends, in their own language, Darmok sacrificed himself to save his life. It’s stirring, it’s gripping, and it’s profoundly human. It shows us at our very best; perhaps better than we could ever know in our lifetimes.
Star Trek: Picard really is the antithesis to this vision. It shows us as us, now. We’re petty, selfish, rude, arrogant, vain, heartless, cruel, haughty, self-righteous, xenophobic, and fearful. Can you imagine a world where we had limitless resources and luxuries, harbouring the same attitudes we do today?
We’d hole up in holodecks to drink, snort, and fuck ourselves stupid. It would be Brave New World on an unprecedented scale. Fuck finding worlds and cultures different to our own; let’s explore new cocktails of drugs and strange new pussy instead. You know it would happen. We’re doing it now with a fraction of the processing power.
Star Trek: Picard showed us one new world, total; that of an android home planet that could’ve been ripped right out of a schlocky 50s B-movie. It beats us over the head with a theme that feels added in post (don’t give in to your fear!!!) and for the first time, amid the COVID-19 pandemic, made me fear that humanity’s future isn’t so great and wonderful after all.
In the final episode, as Soji summoned the robot destroyers from another galaxy itching to wipe out all organic life (it really was that stupid) I sat back and thought — for the first time during an episode of Star Trek mind you — “Hmm, well, maybe this time we deserve it.” // Tom Valcanis
Kvelertak — ‘Splid’
“Listening to ‘Splid’ (roughly translated as ‘Discord’ for those playing at home) and reflecting on the evolution of Kvelertak’s sound throughout the 2010s, it’s clear that despite the ups and downs and merry-go-rounds, it’s business as usual in their party riff department. With LP#4, these rowdy Norwegians are now officially the definitive time-travel chameleons of rock’n’roll: a wild, untamed beast in ever-changing skins. Whether it’s through fits and bursts of 70s arena rock, 80s thrash metal urgency or stiff-fisted 90s d-beat punk, the sextet do it all and they do it impeccably well.” Read the full review here. // Owen Morawitz
Spenser Confidential (2020)
I am certain Mark Wahlberg’s agent has an AI that scans Variety and The Hollywood Reporter for the keywords “Boston” and “Southie.” A modern re-imagining of the Spenser novels by Robert B. Parker and the popular 80s crime drama Spenser: For Hire, Spenser Confidential is updated in the sense it’s set in the modern day, but the plot and story is pure 80s homage. Street smart and unafraid of rushing into a fight, Spenser is booted from the Boston P.D. for beating the shit out of a corrupt superior. He serves his time in jail and upon release, dreams of driving trucks in Arizona. Spenser insists he’s “starting fresh” though it convinces no one, least of all himself.
He’s drawn back into investigating the corruption, as murdered cops keep turning up all over town. He teams up with Hawk (Winston Duke) who’s the literal strong silent type, running interference for him as he breaks parole time and again. There’s a chase, a final fist-fight with the primary baddie, and comical dealings with his highly strung on-again-off-again girlfriend. If Wahlberg committed to a series, I wouldn’t be against it. Bring back Avery Brooks as the original Hawk in cameos, and you’ll have a winner on your hands. // Tom Valcanis
Maurice (1987)
By way of explanation, I am currently watching my way through the filmography of Hugh Grant. There’s no grand explanation. It’s just that I’m critically interested in celebrities at the moment and Hugh Grant is about the first famous person my millennial brain can remember actually recognising as famous. So, now I’m that guy that only watches Hugh Grant films and occasionally writes poems about it. You can find my poems @hugh_and_i_zine on Instagram but I’ll also write up some thoughts on those films here.
I had high expectations going into Maurice. At the outset it is an adaptation of E.M. Forster’s posthumously published novel of the same name. Maurice is well-known in the history of British queer literature as being the only novel in which the prudish Edwardian, Forster (himself gay), wrote openly about queer characters and themes. Moreover, the directorial reputation of James Ivory, who is well-known for adaptations of other Forster novels such as A Room with a View and Howards End but more recently for his adapted screenplay of Andre Aciman’s Call Me By Your Name, promised a beautifully shot, if not melancholic, and very gay romantic drama. What better way to meet a young Hugh Grant in his feature film debut?
The story follows the two somewhat disjointed coming of age and coming into sexual maturity arcs of the film’s title character and protagonist, Maurice (James Wilby). Disjointed because this is closetted Edwardian England where one’s sexuality is another matter entirely, dear. That’s without even mentioning the severe criminal charges, scandal, and humiliating public trials that were often persecuted againsts homosexuals. Oscae Wilde’s infamous trial for gross indecency and sentencing to two years hard labour in 1895 was only 15 years in the past of the film’s main setting. This climate lends as much emphasis in the film to what isn’t (and can’t be) said. From Maurice’s prepubescent lessons in sexual education drawn in the sand by a school tutor to his Cambridge studies in which Dean’s direct student’s to omit “the unspeakable vice of the Greeks,” queerness and homosexuality is an unknown centre around which his personhood develops. Enter Hugh Grant, the erudite and charming Clive Durham who speaks an awful lot of Greek.
I won’t go into things much more than to say that the movie is as beautifully filmed as it is wittilly written by Ivory and performed by its co-stars. The remastered edition that I streamed retained that special 80s pastel wash from being captured on film. The blues are incredibly blue and the melancholic pastures of the English countryside, college towns, and estates in which our lovers romp are oh so green. Of course, this being a period piece of sorts, it is still one for the talking so be prepared for a bit of dialogue. But when the sharp words of two young lovers, hardly sure about themselves yet alone each other, dissolve into an ethereal chorus of the King’s College Cambridge Choir, and unbroken minute-long shots of Hugh Grant cheek stroking, you won’t be sorry. // Nick van Buuren
The Sunset Limited by Cormac McCarthy
I’m not a theatre buff or a connoisseur of the arts but stage plays seem to demand an entirely different way of reading, one that’s radically discursive; something extra-diegetically interactive, meta-textual at the level of setting, tone and world-building. As a somewhat budding McCarthy scholar, reading through his stage plays was, for me, an experience entirely removed from his novels or short stories. For one, The Sunset Limited (2006) — with it’s wry, dialogue-heavy ruminations on spirtuality, suicide and human suffering — isn’t really something you could easily dive in or out of as a reader. This “Novel in Dramatic Form” begs to read all in one sitting, much like the stage play version that unfolds in front of your eyes in real time. Thankfully, the published format, which is brief and concise, makes this achievable. I’m also excited to watch the 2011 HBO film adaptation directed by Tommy Lee Jones, and see how that translates as well. // Owen Morawitz
Irist — ‘Order of the Mind’
“Do you remember that scene in Terminator 2: Judgement Day where Sarah Connor gets literally blown away by Skynet’s nuclear holocaust as she beats on a cyclone wire fence? The first track of this album, ‘Eons,’ feels exactly like that.
Oh yeah, right, Irist. You’re probably wondering who these people are. Argentinian Pablo Davila (guitar) and best friend from Chile Bruno Segovia (bass) formed the band in 2015. Moving to Atlanta, Georgia. Adam Mitchell (guitar) and Jason Sokolic (drums) joined soon after. Brazilian vocalist and beefmaster general Rodrigo Carvalho came in to complete the line-up. How do they sound? Imagine Gojira and Mastodon had a kid with the last name Cavalera. Then that kid puts on shades and beats up your kid for his lunch money. This kid also gets laid on the regular. But the hits come like a prizefighter drilling on a speedbag, an impossibly tight, throaty, and muscular sound also capturing the atmospherics of their French djenty brethren.” Read the review here. // Tom Valcanis
Avatar: The Last Airbender (Seasons 1–3)
I didn’t watch this actively, so much as I chimed in passively, on occasion, as my fiance had it streaming in the background over several days. The animation is fantastic, the message is humble and striking and — this didn’t really hit me until I heard the crew of the Low Society podcast make the connection — there’s an allegory here to be sourced, mined and crafted, between leftist politics, socialism and the essentialist rot of ‘cancel culture’. // Owen Morawitz
The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu
This book won the 2015 Hugo Award for best novel and that should be in every sense of the word. This is a novel book, full of new and exciting sci-fi concepts. I can’t compare it to anything else I’ve read before; there is a bit of other-worldness going on, that is being a scientist under the strained eye of the Chinese Communist Party, and the enigmatic VR world of The Three-Body Problem. There’s a bit of parallel between Rainbow’s End in that case, but even then it stops well short of any recognisable forebears. Cixin takes the reader on a breathtaking journey through astrophysics, computation, mathematics, and cloak and dagger intrigue on an inter-planetary scale. Though the first work in a trilogy, it’s eminently readable and hard science fiction of the highest order. // Tom Valcanis
Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
“Written by Bumblebee (2018) screenwriter Christina Hodson and helmed by Chinese-American director Cathy Yan (Dead Pigs), Birds of Prey is at its best when it cleaves open Quinn’s head and lets the crazy spill out. Robbie (who was the best part of the misfire that was David Ayer’s troubled Suicide Squad) is an absolute delight on-screen, oozing charm and charisma as the frenetic yet lovable anti-heroine. While the team-up moments and lavish set pieces are often enjoyable in terms of group dynamics, Quinn is at her most disarming when she’s presented as all-too vulnerable and human, whether that be dealing with a vicious hangover, questing across Gotham for the best egg & bacon sandwich, or lounging around her shitty apartment with newfound friends, eating cereal and watching cartoons.” Read the full review here. // Owen Morawitz
Freud (Season 1)
I remember in my “I don’t actually think I know everything, but it is essential I appear as such” phase (i.e. second year uni), I got a copy of the selected writings of Sigmund Freud, edited by Peter Gay. I tore through it and neglected my assessments as a result, convincing myself it would assist with my film studies subjects. (It did not.) Seeing a Netflix tile with an actor clad in three-piece suit and speaking Viennese German, I thought Freud would be an exciting trip into Freud’s discovery of the unconscious mind. Exciting, yes. Accurate? Not on your fucking life.
The first couple of episodes show him being laughed out of academies for proposing his theory of the unconscious and hypnotherapy. So far, so good. The hypnosis isn’t a vehicle for therapy; it’s more a plot device for unleashing ghouls and ghosts and other nasties on the screen. One minute Freud is teaming up with local, troubled constables solving crimes; the next he’s trying to save the soul of a young woman in bondage, trapped by her sadist parents to perform occult rituals for nobility and royalty. Oh, did I mention they’re also linked to the Hungarian independence movement? Freud is constantly throwing back tinctures of cocaine, hobnobbing with gentry, and playing a surrealist cat-or-mouse game with love-interest Fleur, who is desperately trying to flee evil both real and imagined. It throws a lot of period-accurate stuff at the wall but almost none of it sticks. (P.S. they did a Star Trek: Discovery and forbid Freud to speak of any of the events depicted in this series. Lame.) // Tom Valcanis
High Fidelity (2000)
“Even before I watched High Fidelity, the film adaptation of English author Nick Hornby’s 1995 novel, I was the type of dude who would make lists of my favourite films by genre or year of release. Or my favourite books. Or my all-time, desert island records. In full knowledge that these lists served a very subjective purpose and would more than likely never be seen by another person. I made these lists in notebooks, note files on my phones, and spreadsheets (yes, with formulas; I’m not a sadist). Sometimes, I’d even memorise these lists for a kind of hypothetical, ‘What if you get put on the spot?’ moment. … And it’s this hyper self-awareness and commitment to my neuroses that I relate to the most when watching High Fidelity. … So, in the spirit of the film, this will not be a regular review or even a real retrospective. What follows is a list… of lists… about lists. You’re welcome.” Read the full ‘review’ here. // Owen Morawitz
Baby Driver (2017)
There is something altogether unwholesome hearing Kevin Spacey uttering the lines “He’s my Baby” with his hands resting atop the shoulders of a lean, twenty-something kid with boyish good looks… In context, it’s still a little creepy.
The Edgar Wright (Spaced, Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead) directed “marsala” film — elements of heist drama, romantic comedy, and even musical can be found here — was lauded by critics but I’m at a loss to see why. Wright is at pains to play things completely straight; you can just tell he wants to make this one big silly, whimsical romp but is being reined in by powers that be.
Baby (Ansel Engort) is a twitchy, silent, and super smart getaway driver who is indebted to enigmatic crime boss Doc (Spacey). He’s got a heart of gold, caring for deaf and disabled foster father Joseph (CJ Jones.) We enter just as he finishes his penultimate job: one more and he’s out forever. So we think.
Then we’re introduced to love interest Debora (Lily James) who, of course, works at a run-down diner as a waitress. He begins to see the error in his ways as he teams up with loose cannon Bats (Jamie Foxx) for a lucrative bank job. We can revel in pitch perfect performances by co-stars Jon Hamm and Eiza Gonzalez, but there’s something a little off. I’m expecting George Miller-scale car chase porn, but we only get it at the top and tail of the film. Instead, much of the running time is dedicated to Debora and Baby discussing their favourite tunes as they inevitably fall in love. There’s tension when the crew end up at the diner, threatening Baby’s double life. The real chase begins as he promises to rescue delicate and perfect Debora from her drudgery and routine.
It all looks and feels cool, but that’s about it. A golden thread that should run through it just…doesn’t.
I would say Baby Driver is the first casualty of Rian Johnson-itis; afflicted by a yearning to “subvert expectations” even when playing to old tropes would have been fine. Wright is no stranger to intertextuality and trope-subversion, though he’s always played it for laughs. The first hint is when Baby looks straight to camera as Joseph asks where he got all that money… but Joseph knows what’s up all along. He’s not mad, he’s just disappointed. Surprise! Pause not. Then there’s the ending. It sticks the landing. Hard.
It’s worth a watch, but the tonal shifts from starry-eyed Gondry to unhinged Tarantino in mere jump cuts make it hard to exalt as a true modern classic. // Tom Valcanis
Altered Carbon (Season Two)
Not as strong as the neo-noir perfection of the first season, mainly due to Anthony Mackie never really pulling off the braggadocio and nihilistic swagger of Takeshi Kovacs (something Joel Kinnaman did surprisingly well). Still, the show’s world-building and effects set-pieces are top notch (no wonder it’s the most expensive Netflix production to date) and it managed to raise the admittedly high bar of modern sci-fi into low-earth orbit. Definitely worth a watch and I may just return to Richard K. Morgan’s book series once more to sate myself in the interim for Season Three. // Owen Morawitz
