Marie Antoinette . . . (copied from an earlier email I sent)

. . . is a mess - a two hour movie poem about the
trappings of the rich that looks pretty but does
nothing. Most of the reviews have admired Coppola's
ability to make a movie about Marie Antoinette that
doesn't really saying anything about Marie Antoinette,
which is the type of ludicrous thing critics say when
they want to seem edgy. The movie is utterly free of
narrative - after the first ten minutes they could
show the movie out of order and noone could tell -
which allows Ms. Coppola to overwhelm us with shots of
Kirsten/Marie picking out shoes and eating dessert.

Seriously, there is a five minute scene set to a Kevin
Shields (of MY BLOODY VALENTINE) remix of "I Want
Candy" where people are eating dessert. It's supposed
to symbolize decadence. It reminded me of the Simpsons
where Homer is a boxer and his rise to fame is
visualized by a montage that shows the increasing
quality of his car washes. The last time I saw that
many desserts was when I went with my Dad to dinner at
a Piccadilly.

And while we're on the music, I loved it in the
trailer. I liked the Kubrickian closeups and
painting-like compositions scored to New Order and
Gang of Four. But it's a gimmick. It serves no
purpose, and lady doesn't have the fortitude to
actually set the whole movie to a pop soundtrack. It's
interspersed with classic period piece orchestration.
When The Strokes come up, it's laughable. I smelled an
artistic statement, but I don't even think she knew
what it was.

And while we're at it, didn't a lot of interesting
things happen to Marie Antoinette? Because this movie
seems to think she spent all her time frolicking.
Coppola has made one of the longest, most beautiful
movies about frolicking ever, and it still isn't good.

I still like Coppola. Her first two movies were
awesome. They had style and bled passion. They were
personal and yet not shamelessly sentimental. This is
her first bad movie. It's just pointless.

ALSO . . .

THE FEARLESS FREAKS, a documentary about the Flaming Lips, is the best thing I've seen recently. If you love the Lips, as I do, I think this film will only endear you more to their weird genius. Wayne Coyne is a badass; a true believer/Oklahoma kook; a complete original. He is a joy to listen to, whether talking about his brothers or singing about an ingenue Asian blackbelt who is the only hope against the villanous pink robots.

And then there's Steven Drozd, who at the time of the filming was a full-out heroin addict. In one harrowing, unbelievable scene, Drozd shoots up on camera. It is painful, powerful, and saddening - the perspective gives you the sense that you could stop it but you're too weak, and so is he. But the redemption comes as, a few weeks after this scene, Drozd gives up the junk. Then they go off to make YOSHIMI BATTLES THE PINK ROBOTS, which is one of my favorite albums ever ever.

These guys are family. Coyne still lives in the same ghetto where he grew up. He doesn't seem to understand that he's a celebrity or an innovator. He just likes making music.

And has anybody checked out Beck's THE INFORMATION? I love it.