This Film Is Not Yet Rated

Kirby Dick's 2006 documentary This Film Is Not Yet Rated explores, or, rather, exposes, the Motion Picture Association of America's film rating system. We're all familiar with the system, which deals out ratings for movies that range from G up through NC-17, which forbids entry of any patron under the age of 17. The film begins with a brief history of the system, which was instituted in 1968 as a way to prevent outright censorship. It seems a noble cause; so long as movies come with a ticket warning you to the content, it was reasoned, then there was no reason to forbid the inclusion of most content. It gave way to an underhanded form of the same censorship; an NC-17 rating pulls the rug out of most films, immediately reducing the distribution potential, the marketing budget, and can ultimately mean the loss of millions upon millions of dollars. This encourages the filmmakers to edit their films down to receive an R rating. Sounds like censorship to me.

The ratings board consists of a small group of individuals, who view and rate all the media content released. I imagine this to be a very angry group of people; they have to watch a lot of very bad movies, and likely don't get to say anything to the fact. At least critics get to tear into films, and that makes them feel better. The raters are kept anonymous, to preserve them from outside pressures, and the one part of this film I didn't like was Kirby's quest to find their identities. Don't get me wrong; I don't think so powerful a group of malcontents should be kept anonymous, but the segments involving the chase seemed gimmicky. Not that they weren't fun. He hired a private detective to track them down, and she does good work.

This film will make you angry, so long as you care about freedom of expression. Whether you care about movies specifically or not shouldn't matter. It will ruffle your feathers either way. My two favourite bits: Sex is more actively suppressed than violence, which is about as backwards as anything I can imagine, and during an appeal, should a filmmaker choose to pursue one when their rating is handed down from the mountain, the filmmaker is not allowed to cite precedent. TFINYR shows the hypocrisy of Sharon Stone's vagina being allowed in the R-rated Basic Instinct, while a bit of Maria Bello's pubic hair in The Cooler earned the film an NC-17. And they had notes, so, yes, they do know it was the pubic hair that did it. As Bello points out, she is a mother, and she doesn't want some censorship board telling her how to raise her children. Which is essentially what they do.

R.I.P., LCD Soundsystem

When I heard that LCD Soundsystem are breaking up after they finish the tour in support of recent release This is Happening, I wasn't sure how to react. I was disappointed, a little confused, sure, but I was alright with it. Leader of the pack James Murphy decided the band were bigger than he wanted, and he's pulling the plug while he can still ride airplanes unmolested. Fair enough. Sound of Silver is a great record, one of my favourites, and the more recent This is Happening is, while not quite an equal, certainly a great release. So there was at least that feeling you get when we lose a band we admire. But there wasn't any sadness, really.

I hear stories about the reactions people had when The Beatles dissolved, and I long for that. Why haven't I become so attached to a band that I have to become a shut-in for a week to deal with the emotions? From an academic standpoint, I'm understanding; The Beatles were a band, sure, but their timing was such that they were important as a part of the culture of the moment. That's why there will never be another Beatles; their frustratingly perfect sense of craft is of course a part of it, but no band will ever matter like they did because no other band will ever be so entirely of the moment. It's impossible. Whether I understood it academically or not, I felt gypped.

Thinking about it, I told myself most of the bands I come to have already had their time. Some are encroaching on borrowed time; I'm upset Blur are considering a full reunion, with an album and all that. The oft-mentioned Spoon and Yeah Yeah Yeahs, as well as Radiohead and, depending on where they head next, Coldplay, are the only bands going where I have any emotional stake. If any of those bands announced they were breaking up, I'd probably be upset for a while. But here I was, confronted with the demise of LCD Soundsystem. Despite the fact that they have fashioned an album I value above just about any offered by the aforementioned groups, I felt nothing substantial. I didn't feel connected to the group, really.

I saw LCD Soundsystem play last Saturday at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago. They were the headliners for the day, and they tore the place apart. There was a great balance of material between the new and the old. The band was on-point, and James Murphy is unquestionably a fantastic vocalist. Not always a great singer, but an A-List presence on the mic. The seven minutes of "All My Friends" was the best single concert experience of my life. I was right up front, against the barricade. There were security guards showering the audience with water, and from the moment those piano chords began resounding across Union Park, time genuinely seemed to freeze.

They ended the show with "New York, I Love You but You're Bringing Me Down," which, really, is the perfect way for LCD Soundsystem to end every show. It feels like stumbling home from a drunk night, like every good concert should. At the end of the song, the band went mute, and a stunningly quiet, stunningly perfect three-part harmony of "Empire State of Mind," the Alicia Keys/Jay-Z collaboration, wrapped up the show. Ostensibly a party band, LCD Soundsystem revealed themselves in less than twenty seconds of music to be twice the musicians, twice the unit, twice the band, that many held them to be. Myself included.

In that moment, I realised that LCD Soundsystem are walking out at exactly the right moment. They own their part of the world right now. The only ups from here would lead to dysfunction, would lead to resentment, would lead to an ending this magnificent band don't deserve. We won't be made to watch their slow demise, to listen to the lackluster releases. LCD Soundsystem have given their fans the best gift possible; they are preserved, for ever, in amber, as a perfect band, as something to aspire to. And I love them for it.

Toy Story 3

Toy Story 3
(2010)
Directed by Lee Unkrich

Every Pixar film makes me nervous. The previews always make me worry that the film will finally be The One; the terrible one. Cars is the established black sheep of the family, followed by A Bug's Life, but those are both still very good films. Up until How to Train Your Dragon, Dreamworks would have killed to produce either of those films.

The point is that I'm always worried. I worried about Up all the way until I saw it. If regular Pixar films make me nervous, sequels practically give me breakdowns. It's on the principle of the matter. If Pixar are finally, truly going to trip, please, God, don't let it be with a cash-in sequel. I would lose respect for a company I have nothing but deep, deep love for.

So I was nervous about Toy Story 3. Was it going to live up to what's come before? Could it, is probably the bigger question. After eleven years, did the writers still have a feel for the same characters? Could they come up with a story that was worth telling all these years later? Fuck yes, as it turns out.

I'm not big on recaps, and all you need to know is that the story, much like 1 and 2, centers on Woody trying to get back to Andy. But this time, Andy's leaving for college in a matter of days, and Woody, along with the rest of the gang, have accidentally been donated to a kindercare center.

The majority of the film is very good, and would earn a very robust B+, but I want to focus on the last fifteen minutes. They are perfect. As a conclusion to the trilogy, you couldn't ask for anything more. It's impossible. Not only does the conclusion of this film end the movie in a satisfying way, it creates an emotional arc that started with the very first Toy Story. This film has made three separate movies work as a true trilogy, where your enjoyment of the first entry is increased with your knowledge of the end. I read a review earlier today which proclaimed "Bring on Toy Story 4!" This dumbass missed the whole point of the breathtaking film he just saw. I pray Pixar won't make such a thing. Certainly not while the current set remain in charge. It would break my heart, and that's not hyperbole. If you see this film, you'll understand why.

I spent the last ten minutes in a perpetual state of crying, because little moment after little moment hit me just right. I won't give any of it away, because the beauty of those last moments is in realising you knew what was going to happen the whole time, and that it's exactly what should occur. The film hits all the emotional bullseyes it wants, because it never once reaches for them. As with every Pixar film, and this is what they do so very right, there's no pandering. They aren't trying to sell you on this story, and they aren't dumbing it down for the kids. They make what they want to see, and it just so happens that the rest of us do, too.

The ArchAndroid

The ArchAndroid
(2010)
Janelle Monáe

How do you rate an artist of ambition? It's a harder question than you think. As (forgive me) a critic, I find myself in a position of wanting to reward and encourage ambition, while needing to look at the product I'm holding in hand. I need to judge the music for what it is, not for what it represents.

If it were all about the intent, Janelle Monáe's debut would certainly earn an A+ for effort. The ArchAndroid is over an hour of music, spanning a large number of genres. There's high-wire funk, tight-grooved R&B, a pop ballad (The Carpenters with a drum machine, and, yes, it's just as awesome as that sounds), and then there's the latter third.

We're dealing with a compound album here, consisting of two separate bits. There's no relation, musically, between the first two thirds and the final third. The first bits are indebted to James Brown and George Clinton. The last third features an Of Montreal song. Not a song that sounds like Of Montreal, but an actual song written and recorded by Kevin Barnes, the man responsible for Of Montreal. I'm still trying to figure out what it's doing here. Briefly, I thought it was a mistake. If you're at all familiar with Of Montreal's queazy art-pop, that will give you a vague, slightly mistaken idea of how this album goes out.

Whether or not The ArchAndroid works is a good question. It certainly never fails to, but the album only takes off sporadically. "Come Alive (War of the Roses)," "Tightrope," "Cold War," and "Oh, Maker" are phenomenal. The rest of the album is consistent, and promises great things in the future. The reviews I'd read earlier of this album left me confused, as it didn't seem terribly genre-spanning, up until the change over into Suite III which marks the final third. There are two albums by two different artists here, or, at least, a single artist separated properly by a good twenty years. The music does me fine, but the ambition blows me away.

This Is Happening

This is Happening
(2010)
LCD Soundsystem

LCD Soundsystem were founded on the premise of self-awareness. James Murphy, the singer and songwriter, has spent all three albums embodying the persona of a man aware of himself to the point of paralysis. How much of this is actually a persona remains unclear, which is part of the appeal. Their early singles, such as "Losing My Edge," were ironic slams against the knowingly hip. So it seems appropriate that such a knowing band would make their final album knowing it going in. This is, I'm sad to say, supposed to be the final LCD Soundsystem album. And it's written all over its face. Or grooves.

The lyrics, which Murphy tends to extemporize in the last possible moments, reference going home everywhere. Out of nine tracks, at least four of them explicitly say a variation on "take me home." Murphy is tired, and doesn't want to play anymore. At least, not as LCD.

So it's fitting that This is Happening isn't a big leap forward for the band. It is, in fact, a summation of their previous accomplishments. Each song here can be traced to a previous LCD song.As far as being a survey of their style, it could almost be a Best Of, but for one track ("You Wanted a Hit" never quite works). Murphy has always fascinated with his ability to take major landmarks of pop and tack them to other bits, making something new. David Bowie has always been a favourite, but here it rises to new levels. If David Bowie was working in 2010 instead of 1980, I think it's very possible that this is the music he'd be making. "All I Want" uses the guitar from 'Heroes,' and "Drunk Girls" uses an ever-so-Bowie two-note hook.

Oh, it's also hilarious. "Drunk girls know that love is an astronaut: It comes back, but it's never the same." Brilliant.

Sound of Silver was great because it took the knowing sense of humour from the first LCD Soundsystem album and tacked it onto a real emotional core. I don't care for the first LCD album, because it's too removed. "All My Friends" and "Someone Great" were songs from Silver that drew you in and slowly devastated you with their perfect observations, and they helped make Sound of Silver a great, great album. I'm not so sure This is Happening is on the same level, but it's damn close. And that's better than most bands could manage. Let alone a band that tries as hard as LCD Soundsystem.

High Violet

High Violet
(2010)
The National

The National's lyricist and lead singer, Matt Berninger, has a gift for summarising the desperation of life. Not the epic, Arcade Fire-type, where the world is crashing down on us, nor the Joy Division brand, where everything is miserable. His lyrics, combined with his simple, no-frills delivery, make for quietly devastating statements. Everywhere. And they are, I think, what ultimately make The National special.

The music is great, and I wouldn't call The National a lyric man's band, but everyone has to admit that The National are kind of boring. They make it work, and that in itself is remarkable, because I've heard a thousand bands that sound like them, but none of them are as good. The Dessner twins, responsible for the lion's share of the music on every National album, are reliable. I do not focus on their contributions when I listen to National albums, but I'm trying to balance out my presentation so as not to overlook them. They construct beautiful tracks, and over the last three albums, they've crafted a unique sound for the band. Throughout High Violet's eleven songs, The National sound like no band except The National, which is an impressive thing.

But my attention is on Berninger. During "Conversaton 16," he gently follows up the chorus of "Cos I'm evil" with a simple statement of "I'm a confident liar." He sounds like he dislikes himself as much as the rest of us, but, unlike most singers, he doesn't make the mistake of feeling special for it. It's difficult to quantify, or to relate properly, but it's really an astonishing thing. "I won't be no runaway, cos I won't run," Berninger insists on "Runaway." You can read it one of two ways: The narrator isn't a coward, or the narrator is just too tired to bother fleeing. I always read it the second way, but the ambiguity is what makes it work so well.

This brings us to the album's best track, standing out head-and-shoulders above a set of songs that already stand out head-and-shoulders above most other music of late: "Bloodbuzz Ohio." It is, like "Mistaken for Strangers," the perfect The National song. Peculiarly propulsive drumming beneath a fairly gentle track, and lyric nuggets everywhere. "I still owe money to the money to the money I owe,/ I never thought about love when I thought about home." It may not read like much, but the effect is indescribable. I've listened to this song easily twenty times since last Wednesday, and it hasn't lost any of its effect. It is at once uplifting and humbling. It is massive but remains intimate. "I never married, but Ohio don't remember me." It is the perfection of Berninger's persona, of The National's gently surging sound, and it's the best song you'll hear all year. "Bloodbuzz Ohio" is a classic. And, like their last album, Boxer, so is this album.

For a small band from New York, The National have become the forerunners in making Music that Matters. It's a tricky thing to do, and they handle it brilliantly. U2 have been trying to make an album that feels this good for the last 20 years.

Otra Cosa

Otra Cosa
(2010)
Julieta Venegas

I figured out recently why it is I enjoy Julieta Venegas' current set of records so much. She makes willing pop music, with a bit of a wistful air. I'd compare it to Ingrid Michaelson, if I liked any of her records. I'd compare it to Sarah Bareilles, again, if I liked her record. You remember her. She's the one who's not going to write you a love song cos you need it, etc. To be fair, I do like that song. But the rest of the album, much like everything Michaelson has done, is too empty. If there were a strong breeze, these albums would be blown away.

And that's just fine. A lot of people like that. And I'm sure more than a few people would chastise me for saying their songs are without heft. The appeal of Ingrid Michaelson seems to be that her words are "confessional," which has lately seemed to be code for "tactless." I like "Love Song" because Bareilles wrote it to her record company when they asked her to write a hit single for the album. So she gave them a single, a big one, telling them to fuck off. Which is a nice way to go about it, really. Usually, these women, and 99% of men are guilty of it as well, forget to have a sense of humour.

The point of this is that Venegas is a Spanish version of these young ladies. She's a bit older than either of them, but she's in that same vein, of crafting pop music for the masses. I should find her ingratiating, shallow, witless, and impossible. Fortunately for both Venegas and myself, she doesn't sing in English, so, unless I pay attention, I barely know what she's saying, and we both like it that way. So there you have it. I am capable of just enjoying a nice tune, despite what most of my friends will tell you.

The trick, as it turns out, is to make it so I can't understand a word you're saying.