Graham Haught/Staff

Like a lot of porn, Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman’s “Lovelace” is anticlimactic, aimless and extremely unsexy. The film follows the young Linda Boreman (Amanda Seyfried), better known as “Linda Lovelace,” who left her repressive Catholic parents (played by Robert Patrick and Sharon Stone, unrecognizable in an excellent yet entirely fruitless Oscar bid) for the abusive Chuck Traynor (Peter Sarsgaard). As her manager and husband, Traynor manipulated her into becoming the star of “Deep Throat,” a 1972 pornographic phenomenon. The 60-minute film was shot in less than a week, with all interior shots filmed in the same cheap motel room. It cost $30,000 to make but grossed almost $600 million, making it one of the most profitable films ever made. Boreman only ever collected a salary of $1,250.

In the 2010 Allen Ginsberg biopic, “Howl,” directors Epstein and Friedman similarly attempted to deconstruct an icon. With “Lovelace,” they make another ambitious attempt at demystification, but they end up with a very limited portrayal that seems more like an impressive television movie than a daring exploration of the darker elements of Boreman’s life.

“Lovelace” follows the brutality and degradation Boreman suffered during her marriage to Traynor and her career in the porn industry before she eventually escaped and went on to write a memoir about her experiences. The film’s bifurcated structure first presents the fantasy of Boreman’s marriage and career as perceived by the public before going back and allowing audiences to observe Boreman’s life through her own eyes. However, the film presents an overwhelmingly simplified version of Boreman’s story, removing many of the most shocking and painful aspects of her life — drug addiction, bestiality, her violent death. The film also glosses over Boreman’s activism in second-wave feminist movements.

Boreman played a crucial role as a spokeswoman for the anti-pornography movement in the early ’80s. However, Andy Bellin’s screenplay cuts out this key part of her life, ignoring her influence on feminist thought. The film arrives at a very abrupt conclusion, attempting to do justice to Boreman’s later life in the final 10 minutes. Despite reports that Sarah Jessica Parker had been cast as anti-porn activist Gloria Steinem in the film, both Steinem and fellow activist Andrea Dworkin are absent. The script instead seems to suggest that Boreman was rescued from the brutality of the porn industry by her second husband and child, as we see her gushing, “As a wife and as a mother, I have found my joy.”

The film suffered from predictably sexist marketing, as film posters depicted Seyfried with come-hither gaze, lips suggestively parted and a falling bra strap exposing cleavage and bare shoulders. However, “Lovelace” is ironically sexless for a film about pornography. Epstein and Friedman opted to treat the sexuality of the film with humor rather than eroticism. Adam Brody, a former star of “The O.C.” and now delightfully adorned with a porn-star mustache as Lovelace’s co-star Harry Reems, told The New York Times, “It’s more ‘American Pie’ than it is Lars von Trier.” The film rests heavily on the notion that all ’70s porn was facetious, and the few sex scenes we do see from “Deep Throat” suggest a cheery and comic production.

The film’s overall attitude toward sex is somewhat confused, as we are offered an abundance of shots of Seyfried topless — along with moments of frivolity and silliness during her scenes with Reems — before abrupt shifts to segments depicting the gritty reality of domestic violence, marital rape and abuse in the (largely mafia-led) porn industry.

“Lovelace” effectively reveals the violence against women that was widespread in the sex industry in the ’70s, but the film is extremely limited in its representation of Boreman and her later life. If “Lovelace” intends to illustrate that Boreman was more than just the brutalized star of “Deep Throat,” it falls flat. The film becomes too lost in the cultural ornaments of the decade and the comic production of “Deep Throat” to make any kind of passionate impact on the viewer, offering a mere glimpse into the life of Linda Boreman before and after her short-lived porn career. For a film about porn, “Lovelace” unsatisfactorily fails to penetrate.

Meadhbh McGrath is the arts editor. Contact her at mmcgrath@dailycal.org. Check her out on Twitter at @MeadhbhMcGrath.

The post ‘Lovelace’ doesn’t go deep enough appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Micah Fry/Staff

Somewhere in a cloister, there is a nun who kissed Elvis Presley.

There must be some people in the world who live a life without surprises. Most of us, however, find that life unfolds in ways we never expected, showing us that absolutely anything is possible. Mother Dolores Hart of the Order of St. Benedict has lived just such a life, from kissing the King to working for her god.

In her new interview-format autobiography, “The Ear of the Heart,” an aging and respected nun tells a story almost too unpredictable to be believed. Born in 1938, Hart had a difficult start in life. She describes her early life as fraught with the troubles of alcoholism and the terrible effects it had on both her parents, but she is able to look back without malice. Dolores grew up to be as beautiful as them, moving toward a career in film and on the stage. In 1957, she made her debut in “Loving You,” starring with Elvis Presley. Her agent advised the press to call her the girl all other girls would hate, because the script called for her to kiss Elvis. As with any story that passes through the orbit of a star of that magnitude, the interviewer asked Dolores what she made of the King. She describes him very differently than others have, focusing on his gentlemanly qualities and his adherence to religion. Hart recalls an Elvis who was always ready with a Bible quote and did not try to seduce her.

The book leads Hart through recollections of stardom and increasing notoriety in the 1950s. in 1960, she appeared in the well-received film “Where the Boys Are,” which dealt with sexuality in a fairly forthright way for its time. In 1961, she appeared in “Francis of Assisi” in the role of Saint Clare. In the movie, she went through the process of investiture (the ceremony of becoming a nun) on screen, in an odd foreshadowing of the direction her life would take. Later, Hart does not recall that this influenced her decision to enter the order, but it stands as a remarkable signpost of things to come. She starred in several more films until 1963, when her life came to a crossroads.

“The Ear of the Heart” tells the crux of Hart’s life with a kind and open honesty. The interview format keeps the book conversational, almost confessional. She was engaged to Don Robinson and loved him. She had hesitantly said yes, accepting the ring and insisting on keeping it secret for six months. Her career was destined for greatness; one promoter told her she could be as big as Elizabeth Taylor. She had beauty, talent and that indefinable quality necessary to constructing the mythos of a movie star. She had a future and a person who loved her and wanted to marry her. The decision she made would shock everyone; instead of pursuing any part of that life, she entered a monastery and took vows to become a Benedictine monk. In the book, she explains simply that her faith was the only thing she could not live without.

This story is exhaustive but does not answer the question of why this story must be told now — or at all. Mother Dolores may not profit from the work herself, but perhaps this mining of Hollywood history can be made to benefit her mission for people suffering from neuropathy. Loaded with reminiscences of mega-stars and glossy photographs of bygone days, “The Ear of the Hart” will likely find its way into the hands of many old movie fans and makes a great gift for the aging Catholic in your life.

Contact Meg Elison at melison@dailycal.org.

The post Nun who kissed Elvis Presley writes autobiography appeared first on The Daily Californian.

TriStar Pictures/Courtesy

The last time we saw Neill Blomkamp, he was fresh off the success of “District 9,” the 2009 summer sleeper hit that combined slick visuals and action with biting social commentary. Four years ago seems like an awfully long time.

“Elysium” is a good movie the same way “Twilight” is a classic novel — which is to say it’s not.

Set in 2154, the future of humanity is grim. Well, grim is relative; if you’re one of the unlucky proles stuck on Earth, then you live in a desertlike world that looks like a mixture of East Jerusalem and set pieces from “Mad Max.” If you’re of the wealthy upper crust, then you live on Elysium — a biosphere qua space station whose immigration czar and defense secretary is played by an unusually dull Jodie Foster.

There is no subtlety in either “Elysium” — the fictional space palace nor the film writ large. In the movie, “undocumented ships” routinely try to break through the atmosphere and drop off their cargo. I say “cargo” here because there are no actual people in Elysium or on Earth. Instead, we have sacks of flesh that traverse the screen, brandishing tricked-out weapons and spaceships that compete for our attention with the oh-so-awful plot.

Our story begins before 2154, when a young Max (Matt Damon) and Frey (Alice Braga) hold hands and attend Catholic school in the ruins of Los Angeles. Max promises to take Frey to Elysium one day, and the rest of the movie is spent unpacking the consequences of this promise. Reinserted decades later, Max is a reformed car thief looking to move up at his assembly-line job, and Frey is a nurse. Max is in an accident and needs to go to Elysium for a cure, and Frey gets roped in with the allure of healing her daughter, who is sick with leukemia.

Yes there are all the annoyingly obvious class-war, Occupy-style plot devices. And yes, it is possible that you went into the wrong theater and have sat down and begun watching the most recent Michael Bay “Transformers” installment. But at its core, and despite its best efforts to distract from those tangential details with poor plotting and marvelous special effects, Elysium is really just another distinctly Hollywood take on post-apocalyptic Earth.

For instance, on Elysium, there are MRI-like beds that you can climb onto that will heal all of your ailments in about 30 seconds. To use them, you’ll need a handy-dandy citizenship stamp, which people who have never been to Elysium apparently know how to forge on Earth, but never mind that minor detail. What’s really irritating here is that somehow, a planet that was able to cure all diseases with a futuristic Sealy also let itself slide into ruinous inequality and war. OK.

I’d ordinarily let a small thing like that slip by (it’s sci-fi, duh), except the movie is filled with them. The upper classes on Elysium interchangeably speak French and English, as if the former is uniquely a language of sophistication and the Spanish-English spoken down below is the real language of the people. Moving past the medical technology issues, it also appears that reducing entire languages to crude cultural stereotypes (French fancy, Spanish gritty, English common, etc.) is a sufficient way to illustrate differences between the lives lived below and up top.

And so on.

“Elysium” was made for $100 million, money surely thrown at Blomkamp after the success of “District 9,” which made him the toast of the film world. And although I’m not pleased to say this, “Elysium” is hardly a follow-up worth watching for a filmmaker with the potential of Blomkamp.

Contact Noah Kulwin at nkulwin@dailycal.org.

The post ‘Elysium’ looks pretty, lacks depth appeared first on The Daily Californian.

A24/Courtesy

The film opens with high school senior Sutter Keely (Miles Teller) sitting at his computer, typing a response to a college essay prompt that asks him to describe a hardship. He takes a sip of a beer. He begins to ramble on about the downward spiral resulting from his recent breakup with his girlfriend, Cassidy (Brie Larson). He describes the once-idyllic vision of his social status (e.g., “I was the life of every party”) in perfect unison with hers and laments the newly perceived deterioration of his life as he knows it. The film closes with Sutter sitting again at his computer, typing a fresh response to the same prompt.

“The Spectacular Now,” directed by James Ponsoldt (“Smashed”), is a coming-of-age story that follows Sutter on his journey to self-discovery during his last few months in high school. Sutter is the quintessential popular high school teenager, exuding confidence and a certain affable charm, social ease and fast-talking sensibility. Adapting Tim Tharp’s novel of the same name, writers Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber (“(500) Days of Summer”) characterize Sutter with a sense of humor and air that feel slightly dated or contrived, at least enough to make Sutter’s “charm” and breeziness irritating to watch at times. The film, however, harps on the shallowness of his exterior by revealing deeper emotional insecurities.

Sutter emphasizes living in the moment and embracing the present (the “now” part of the title). It is a naive and romantic kind of credo that inhibits him from — or rather, allows him to avoid — moving forward or confronting larger issues. He is prompted to reevaluate his life and complacency when he conveniently meets Aimee Finicky (Shailene Woodley). Aimee is sharp, goal-oriented and unaware of her physical beauty. Her biggest downfall is her sincere love for the surprisingly tragic Sutter, who has an “I’m tortured; I don’t deserve you” complex beneath his outward confidence.

It might sound like a cheesy portrait, but the film is more than its basic plot. Although it uses a familiar structure (yes, there’s a prom scene and a graduation scene) with more or less formulaic character models, “The Spectacular Now” takes a refreshing approach to the tried-and-tried-again coming-of-age story without any sugarcoating. As the unlikely relationship between the Aimee and Sutter develops, Sutter’s depth and emotional baggage unravel as he grapples with his relationship with his absent father (Kyle Chandler), a dangerous penchant for alcohol, future plans and an underlying struggle with feelings of deservingness. Against its comedic aspect, such topics make the film exceptionally tender.

Amid the raunchy teen movies that have dominated the past decade, it’s true that this feels much more akin to ’80s films like John Hughes’ “The Breakfast Club” or Cameron Crowe’s “Say Anything” than its contemporaries. It encapsulates sincerity that is rare in coming-of-age films of late. It captures the emotional vulnerability of adolescence and a genuine sweetness in young romance, demonstrated in the palpable chemistry and natural interaction between the characters. The film also provides an accurate image of complicated family dynamics in white middle-class America and their subsequent effect on teens, treating topics like alcoholism, sex and self-love with sensitivity and earnestness.

It is clear that the writers do not mock or condescend the teenaged subjects nor dramatize their angst. Instead, they seem to really understand these characters, recognizing the sincerity and validity behind their emotions and desires. The poignancy that results in such a compassionate depiction negates the film’s potential to be a sappy or melodramatic despite its genre.

Contact Denise Lee at deniselee@dailycal.org.

The post Coming-of-age film ‘The Spectacular Now’ evokes ’80s teen movies appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Drafthouse Films/File

From classics like “Singin’ in the Rain” to goofball comedies like “Tropic Thunder,” movies about movies are embedded with a unique type of charm. When filmmakers invite audiences into their own worlds, the result is often insightful, realistic and pleasingly self-aware. American director Joshua Oppenheimer puts a sinister twist on the film-within-a-film genre with his award-winning, surreal documentary, “The Act of Killing,” in which he chronicles the decay of a glamorized, Hollywood-inspired dream into an all-too-real nightmare.

The premise of the documentary is novel. In 1965, a military dictatorship overthrew the Indonesian government and put to death any suspected dissidents of the new regime, primarily alleged communists and ethnic Chinese. The gangsters and paramilitary members who carried out these mass killings (estimates range from 500,000 to more than 1 million in the span of a year) are now national heroes, honored and wealthy. Oppenheimer asked these men to recreate their killings on film, drawing on any genre they wanted, from western to film noir to the style of classic American gangster movies and musicals. The resulting expose fades in and out of fiction, offering unsettling insight into the memories and fantasies of admitted sadists.

Oppenheimer opens the film with the words of French philosopher Voltaire: “It is forbidden to kill; therefore, all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.” Voltaire’s words serve as a launching point into an unreal world where murderers are revered as luminaries and war crimes are romanticized and enhanced with movie magic. The primary subject of the film is Anwars Congo, a former Indonesian death-squad leader who got his start as a “movie-theater gangster” scalping tickets to American films. In both his killing and his acting, Congo credits movie legends Marlon Brando, Al Pacino and John Wayne as his inspirations. He even learned his signature move — wrapping wire around a victim’s neck and pulling it until he or she suffocates — from American mobster movies.

As Congo begins to reimagine his killings for the camera, he and his fellow nationalists are unapologetically nostalgic for their bloody glory days. One man boastfully reminisces about the day he killed his Chinese girlfriend’s father, while another is eager to share a story about the time a death squad pulled his stepfather away in the middle of the night and murdered him. While the killers laugh away, however, the villagers they coerce into recreating these memories seem genuinely distressed by the reality of the violence. In one particularly upsetting scene, two panicking children, unaware that the actors are pretending, fight to save their grandpa from being killed before their eyes.

Such is the dilemma of “The Act of Killing.” It is punishing to the actors involved, for whom the lines between reality and fiction are often painfully blurred. It is punishing to the memories of the deceased, whose deaths have not been apologized for and whose murderers are allowed to live freely and fully. It is even punishing to the subjects themselves, who are forced to confront their own cruelty and culpability.

As aggressively as Oppenheimer rips open the wounds of Indonesia’s sordid past, however, the film is ultimately less about punishment and more about compassion — not only for the victims but also for the men who ruined their own lives when they took the lives of others. As the former gangsters reach further and further back into their memories of the events of 1965, they begin to crumble under the weight of their guilty consciences and decades of nightmares.

“The Act of Killing” is unlike anything in its genre. It does not inform, reveal or simply tell a story. It brings to the forefront the ugliest, most corrupted elements of human nature, but it does so with enough artistry and humanity to make it a truly beautiful piece of cinema.

Contact Grace Lovio at glovio@dailycal.org.

The post ‘The Act of Killing’ artfully examines ugliest aspects of human nature appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Ian Birnam/Staff

If you would like to see live performances and interviews of the three bands down below, please check out our multimedia page.

Now in its sixth year, the Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival is once again about to take over San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. Much like you don’t need to be reminded about the fog that will roll in around late afternoon, you don’t need a preview guide telling you about how rad Vampire Weekend is or how amazing it is that you have the chance to see Paul McCartney. Rather, this brief preview is meant to bring some smaller bands to your attention, three of which hail from the Bay Area. Try to catch these bands in between chowing down on pastrami cheese fries and dancing to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

The Soft White Sixties

When you hear the term “Working Class Soul,” what do you think of? Perhaps the funk and jive of soul mixed in with some old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll? This combination in conjunction with a dose of pop sensibility gives an idea of what The Soft White Sixties bring to the table. The San Francisco five-piece have been playing numerous stints, including this year’s SXSW festival, where they’ve been performing tracks from Get Right., their upcoming LP. Album opener “City Lights” melds fuzzy keyboard riffs and guitar licks reminiscent of the Black Keys as vocalist Octavio Genera melts through the wall of sound. If the keys and six-strings make up the wall, though, then Ryan Noble’s bodacious bass is the foundation, fortified by the catchy drum beats from Joey Bustos. Those in need of some gritty pop tunes can catch The Soft White Sixties opening up the Lands End stage on Saturday.

Midi Matilda

If anyone has told you the spirit of the ’80s is dead, tell him or her to listen to the dance-inducing rhythms of Midi Matilda. With a nostalgic flair and silky, smooth beats, the duo of Skyler Kilborn and Logan Grime have formed a partnership made in electro-pop heaven. After they both graduated from Ex’pression College for Digital Arts in Emeryville, Kilborn and Grime released their EP, The Red Light District, and are planning on releasing a debut album in the near future. Tracks like “Ottawa” combine melodious synth riffs with harmonious “ooohs” as Kilborn’s vocals swim gracefully alongside them. Others consist of falsetto swoons and blaring horns mixed with soothing keyboard swells, such as on “Day Dreams.” If you’re an early riser and manage to get to the festival when it begins, the groovy duo will be opening up the Twin Peaks stage this Friday.

The Mother Hips

It is truly a rarity for a band to say they’ve been around for 10 years. It’s even more surprising to hear a band has stayed together for more than 20, such a statement that Bay Area folk-rock band The Mother Hips can confirm with pride. The band released their eighth record, Behind Beyond, this year, continuing their venture through the dusty trails of bluesy California twang. Not all tracks shine bright through the Bay fog, though. “Song For JB” serves as a memorial to friends of the band who have passed away in recent years, including Wilco member Jay Bennett, whom the song is named after. Other tracks have a much lighter tone, such as the hip-swaying narration of “Toughie.” Fans old and new of these veterans of rock can watch them take over the Panhandle stage at 6:05 p.m. this Saturday.

Atlas Genius

Other than porting over the delectable chocolate Tim Tam cookies to the United States. via Pepperidge Farm, Australia has also been successful in popularizing its rock bands in the States. Almost everyone has heard of Jet — you know you remember “Are You Gonna Be My Girl?” — and Powderfinger had their time here as well. However, the latest band to make it from down under are the brothers Keith and Michael Jeffery, better known as Atlas Genius. The duo first hit it big in this hemisphere with the swirling string plucks of “Trojans” but have become increasingly popular this year with their debut album, When It Was Now. Other tracks to watch out for this weekend include the lofty guitar strums and bass-toned synth of “Symptoms” and the blaring high-energy velocity of “Electric.” Sway away with the Aussie duo and their tourmates at the Twin Peaks stage at 2:10 p.m. this Saturday.

Ian Birnam covers music. Contact him at ibirnam@dailycal.org.

The post Outside Lands Preview appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Island Records/Courtesy

In a January 2013 interview with The Guardian, Aluna Francis, the vocal half of the electronic pop duo AlunaGeorge, described their music as “fat beats with songs on top.” After the duo’s 2012 debut EP, You Know You Like It, Francis’ description was accurate, but following the drop of their debut album, Body Music, the British electronic pop duo — made up of Francis and producer George Reid — have shown, in full force, that AlunaGeorge is much more than that. Body Music offers all of the “fat beats” and beautiful vocals that we heard on You Know You Like It combined with elements of R&B, more interesting production and even more electrifying songs. It’s unclear when the last great electronic R&B-pop album was released — or whether that’s even a real genre — but AlunaGeorge’s Body Music surely is the best in a long while.

Body Music is full of emotion and power, brought out in Francis’s high-pitched yet dynamic vocals and Reid’s straightforward yet remarkably elastic production. The album plays like it was produced by R&B and electronic veterans who have somehow managed to take old love-song themes — unrequited love, volatile relationships and broken hearts — and transform them into something new, exciting and fun. But Body Music isn’t a falling-in-love album, and it certainly isn’t a breakup album. It’s much more of a fall-in-love and a get-back-together and a realize-how-shitty-you-are-really-are-but-I-am-still-in-love-with-you kind of album. It’s an album that walks you through someone’s thoughts as they fall in love with a best friend, break up, get back together again, gain self-confidence and go through all of the other emotions that nearly everybody has experienced during a relationship.

And, even better, the mood of the music accurately fits the emotion that a character would be feeling. Francis’s voice produces such sadness in “Outlines” that you can almost imagine her crying while singing it. The production and vocals on “Best Be Believing” are so upbeat and fun that you can imagine Francis finally standing up for herself and leaving the person she had fallen in love with on “Friends to Lovers.”

If you’ve purchased the album, then you know that Body Music comes with a bonus track. It’s a cover of Montell Jordan’s classic R&B hit “This is How We Do It.” While AlunaGeorge have recorded some pretty phenomenal covers, like Frank Ocean’s “Thinking About You” and “I Wanna Be Like You” from Disney’s “The Jungle Book,” their cover of “This is How We Do It” misses the mark. It’s an interesting idea, but it’s a cover that will lose you 30 seconds into the song (which is really unfortunate, because it’s about time that we get a good cover the late ’90s backyard party anthem).

Disappointing bonus track aside, Body Music does something very important for the emerging electro-pop duo: It solidifies their skill, raising them above hype and noise of Internet music blogs. While their This is How We Do It EP may have raised many eyebrows, Body Music has carved out a definite place for the future of AlunaGeorge as a respectable act. Where other progressive electronic artists may be rejected as “too weird” or “too experimental” for mass audiences, AlunaGeorge straddles the line between progressive electronic music, traditional pop and R&B, giving them the ability to become massively successful. Perhaps most importantly, Body Music isn’t a difficult album to like. It’s not an album that will take you a few listens to get into. Francis and Reid have given us an album that is, from beginning to end, electrifying and fun.

Contact Samuel Avishay at savishay@dailycal.org.

The post AlunaGeorge: Body Music appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Bonnie Mata Matthews/Senior Staff

The Daily Cal arts staff searched the Berkeley campus for summer looks that capture the distinct individuality of our student body. As temperatures soar, tank tops can be tempting, but these trendsetters embrace any chance to express themselves.

First photo: After picking it up recently at a flea market, Woodrow considers his leather jacket a modern and versatile staple. He is now rarely seen without it and swears that both his jacket and hat can be worn in all weather.

Second photo: Angelica Garcia spices up a light summer dress with T-bar sandals and her signature hair wrap from Venice Beach.

Third photo: Ashley Morgan opts for a shorts and flatforms combo to take her from class to the dance floor.

Fourth photo: Velour enthusiast Pat Simpson ordered this track suit online because he believes it is “all-purpose attire” and ideal for shooting hoops with friends.

Meadhbh McGrath is the arts editor. Contact her at mmcgrath@dailycal.org. Check her out on Twitter at @MeadhbhMcGrath.

The post Summer street style appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Phoenix Delman/Staff

“It never occurred to me that I could be one of those perverted monsters!”

So realized Chana Wilson, a blogger for The Huffington Post, during her story of self-discovery in a place where many young people first begin to notice their burgeoning sexuality — summer camp. After curiosity prompted her to consult her counselor about how lesbians actually have sex, her response (“with their knees”) brought Wilson this strange realization — as well as a curiosity about the lesbian lifestyle that never went away.

Wilson was one of many artists who spoke about queer life on July 28 in Kerouac Alley behind City Lights Bookstore. Curated and hosted by poet Michelle Tea, the Sister Spit literary series attempts to fairly portray, poke fun at and empathize with queer women and poets in the Bay Area in arenas beyond their sexuality. While originally a girls-only group in the ’90s, the “Sister Spit: Next Generation” spoken word and performance art collective has grown to include and represent all gender identities and sexual orientations. Poetry and short story topics at the event ranged from the pretentiousness of yoga culture to binge eating to haunted houses.

On writer Sara Seinberg’s decision to begin running, she said, “I was tired of being a shitty landlord to a good life.” Running later became a habit that has extended into her life far beyond just a mere fitness regime. From the joys of being completely unplugged (she would leave her phone and music at home) to becoming more aware of her body, Seinberg spoke of a new philosophy she’d gained from running — that of complete failure. “What other people think of me is none of my fucking business,” she said. “Runner’s high is an alchemy of wholeheartedness.”

Another artist, poet Carmella Fleming, sported an Amy Winehouse-esque beehive and spoke of Winehouse’s favorite topic: “I grew up, and all I got was a drug problem,” she sighed. Referring to two girls in love in her poem “These Girls,” a lyric too heartbreakingly personal not to be autobiographical, “Who are these girls, and how do they get away with behaving this way?”

One of the most strikingly flamboyant performers was DavEnd, a genderqueer songwriter and performer who took to the microphone in fishnets, a shiny blue dress and giant gold hoops. DavEnd began with jokes about the venue of the performance (“My friends asked me where I was performing, I told them ‘in an alley’”), then played accordion with utmost tenderness while singing about the process of self-acceptance: “I’ve been holding a match thinking I invented fire.” DavEnd is currently working on the musical “Fabulous Artistic Guys Get Overly Traumatized Sometimes,” otherwise known as “F.A.G.G.O.T.S.: The Musical!”

Two of the most unexpected performances were those by Mariko Tamaki and Brontez Purnell, the former an actor and comedian and the latter a writer, dancer and musician. Tamaki described her experiences with haunted houses and offered helpful tips — “Don’t buy things that look like they might be important to a ghost” — as well as advice for a younger audience: “The evil kid (at school) is never the goth kid playing magic cards at recess … They play magic cards with your soul.” Purnell, an Alabama native turned Bay Area musician, told “stories from down South,” beginning with the minglings of his anxiety and his desire for sex and food and then going back to his childhood. Of his mother’s involvement in church politics, he quoted her as saying, “The new preacher was as crooked as a Baptist minister,” to much laughter from the audience.

Sister Spit is an eye-opening, earnest look at a world that either remains hidden or is out in the open enough for us to no longer consider. Coming a month after the neon colors and drunken revelries of San Francisco’s Gay Pride Parade, Sister Spit is an honest reminder that queer culture is more than a celebration that takes place once a year — it is a way of life for many individuals, containing all the mundane, simple joys of our own.

Contact Mohana Kute at mkute@dailycal.org.

The post Sister Spit series celebrates queer culture, looks beyond sexuality appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Zeitgeist Films/Courtesy

On the evening of May 11, 1960, a man walked off a bus in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He was immediately captured, drugged and flown to Israel, where he would be tried for 15 criminal charges, including crimes against humanity. The man was Adolf Eichmann — a former Nazi SS lieutenant and the man in charge of deporting Jews to the ghettos and concentration camps. The trial, which began in 1961, attracted international attention, but it was the German-American political theorist Hannah Arendt’s five-part report of the event for The New Yorker that left a lasting and still controversial impact. Now, Arendt’s coverage of the trial, her ideas and her personal struggles can be seen in director Margarethe von Trotta’s new film, “Hannah Arendt.”

At nearly two hours long, the film puts Arendt in the midst of her academic career and covers her unexpected reactions to the trial and the subsequent controversy that surrounded her New Yorker piece. This may sound like a vague recap, but there are a lot of inherent difficulties when it comes to this film’s subject matter. The difficulties have nothing to do with the problematic topic of the Holocaust or of the criminal justice system but relate to storytelling in general. There’s a lot of context at play here, too much to summarize in any acceptable form in this review, and von Trotta’s film, for the worse, tries to cram it all in with nary the amount of detail the material deserves.

First, the film has to explain who “Hannah Arendt” is. After opening with Eichmann’s kidnapping in Argentina, we see Arendt and her New York intellectual cohort talk philosophy, politics and current events. From the conversations, especially from the editors of The New Yorker, we can tell Arendt is someone vital and someone we should have heard of, which is an incredibly strange choice given that vieweres would not be seeing a film about Hannah Arendt, called “Hannah Arendt,” if they had no clue who she was and why she is so significant. And yet the film goes to great lengths to both play to a presumably ignorant audience and adhere to a more academic crowd.

For a movie about a trial and article that highlights the complexity of perspective, “Hannah Arendt” sure does find itself muddled in its narrative clarity. At one moment, while Arendt and her German friends converse in their native tongue, the camera cuts to two Americans who, with puzzled faces, say something along the lines of “I have no idea what they’re saying!” Then, when Arendt is in Jerusalem for the trial, she and a German friend spout philosophical bon mots without any explanation or purpose.

It isn’t until the actual trial, about a half-hour in, when the film starts to pick up steam. We see actual footage of Eichmann, nervously twitching in his glass booth, at the trial — spliced with filmed reactions of Arendt and others. It’s an effective editing technique, and it’s powerful when placed in the context of Arendt’s momentous New Yorker piece. But at the end of the film, after Arendt has suffered personal and political abandonment on account of her opinions, the initial confusion still persists: What does it all mean?

This is the question Arendt had to answer when writing about Eichmann’s trial. Her contentious conclusion became a catch-all for why the Holocaust happened. In her words, it was “the banality of evil.” Eichmann was not a monster. He was a normal man, like most of the SS bureaucrats, who lacked empathy and followed orders. It’s an incredibly important and influential idea, much like the woman who coined it. Unfortunately, unlike its subject matter, “Hannah Arendt” lacks the focus and depth. It never really explores woman behind “the banality of evil”; it’s just banal.

Contact Jessica Pena at jpena@dailycal.org.

The post German film ‘Hannah Arendt’ proves unfocused, dull appeared first on The Daily Californian.