Some solid hoots from the Times:
Mr. Gallo argues that the whole episode was exaggerated by the press and points out that the movie received a standing ovation at its official Cannes showing. In any case, it is coming to American theaters with some of the worst advance word in recent cinematic memory, almost daring moviegoers to go see it.
Denial’s a bitch, ain’t it, Vince?
After making “Buffalo ’66″ Mr. Gallo said he had all but decided to leave filmmaking because he hated working with stars (he publicly insulted his costars, Christina Ricci and Anjelica Huston, as well as Ms. Sevigny), with unions and with almost everybody else involved in the movie business.
Gallo, by the way, is 42.
A few years ago, he says, he was offered what amounted to a blank check by a Japanese distribution company to make another movie, which at that point was little more than a vague concept and a title — “The Brown Bunny.” He said he had come up with the name before envisioning any kind of story (rabbits are his favorite animals, and he has always been a little obsessed with the color brown).
Hey, Vince, I love ducks and black myself, but you don’t see me making a movie called The Black Duck.
When he explained that the movie would involve a scene of real oral sex, Ms. Sevigny said she was hesitant but eventually concluded that the scene was integral to the movie. (She also smokes crack during the scene — but that, she said, was faked.)
So in the Vincent Gallo universe, it’s an act of artistic integrity to debase Chloe Sevigny by demanding real oral sex, but it’s appropriate verisimilitude when you fake smoking crack.
“If people are sitting there watching `The Brown Bunny’ and waiting for the motel scene, then I just can’t relate to them.”
It’s the insomniacs who will be doing just that when they tune into your movie on Showtime at some ungodly hour looking for T&A. Too bad, Vince. That’s your target audience.
“I feel much better now that I’ve placed this piece of work in the world.”
Helpful hint to Vince’s publicist: “A piece of _____” often connotes something else.
(via Amy’s Robot)
Magic Hours by Tom Bissell: This marvelous collection of essays chronicles everything from film shoots to novelists rescued from oblivion. (The essay on the Underground Literary Alliance, with its portrait of raucous factions, unexpectedly reveals how soft today's literary world has become.) But if you peer between the cracks of these smart pieces, you may very well see how cultural lives are formed from the most unexpected life choices. And as we follow Bissell's development as a writer over the years, that goes for Bissell as well. (
Angelmaker by Nick Harkaway: Harkaway's latest novel greatly improves on his previous book, The Gone-Away World, which I'm already on record as praising. Angelmaker adopts genre elements without ever feeling like a genre book, and it leads me to believe that Harkaway is well on his way to a narrative grace close to China Miéville's. Yet inexplicably this very fun book, which includes an eightysomething badass named Edie Banister, a mysterious mechanical object that may destroy the world, farcical scenarios involving lawyers and the police, and some unexpectedly moving moments about fatherhood, doesn't appear to be getting much attention in American newspapers. Nothing from the snobs at The New York Times Book Review, nothing from The Washington Post. And since I can't get Harkaway on Bat Segundo, I hope this Jump Up and Down mention gets you hopping as well.
The Age of Insight by Eric Kandel: Unless you're really pressed for time, forget Jonah Lehrer. If you want to understand creativity and its relationship to neuroscience, then the bowtie-wearing Nobel laureate is your man. In addition to being a physically beautiful book (you will drool over many of the paintings), there are helpful overviews on optical illusions, science, biographical backgrounds, and many vital figures from the Vienna Secession. Kandel's enthusiasm (and his call for greater unity between the humanities and science) is contagious.
But the worst thing of all–giving no props whatsoever to Uncle “local Web log writer” Grambo! WORST!
So is “Wrestling the Black Duck” out of the question?
I think what really bothers privileged, white, “liberal” hipsters/wimpsters about Gallo is that his public persona is basically a mirror to their suppressed racism, sexism and homophobia. Not that I really think that Gallo is any of these things; he was, after all one of the only white kids in the burgeoning New York hip hop scene, not to mention his stints as a dancer in gay clubs. Which is a lot more than privileged white hipsters can say who talk a great deal about inclusion, but gasp, hang out exclusively with other privileged white hipsters. And who have cutesy, fashionably snarky blogs about cute, safe, coddled mainstream pop culture. Funny, that.
King Wenclas, is that you?!?
What really bothers me about Gallo, besides the Stalinist apologias issued by his syncophants is the exploitation and propagation of his insufferability. Not too mention the wines are better as salad dressing…