Black Swan - Andy's Perspective (Spoiler Alert)

We're trying something different at UUJM this week. I (Andy) didn't enjoy Black Swan so I wrote this piece to explain how shit it is. Shaun disagrees with me so when he gets around to it he's going to write a piece explaining how shit the Black Swan hate brigade are. So, witness the shitness as I lay into Black Swan first and he responds in due course. Feel free to tell us whose opinion is most shit in the comments.

WARNING: LOW LEVEL SPOILER ALERT

Here's what I wrote:

What an over-rated piece of shit! Sure, Natalie Portman is hot, the actors danced convincingly (to this ballet novice) and it gave me the creeps but surely the director was a thirteen year old boy. Every symbolic cliche in the book was checked. Oooooh, white means pure and innocent, real clever! Black means sinister, nice one! Seriously, just because you can *get* the symbolism without thinking doesn't mean a) the movie is any good and b) your opinion is worth jack shit. The plot is thoroughly predictable, Portman's stuffed-toy innocence is overdone so all the idiots lapping this waste-of-time up can *get* it after being smashed in the face with the obvious stick and the "dark side was in you all along" theme was much more convincing in Fight Club over a decade earlier! Those of us with brain cells to rub together were laughing with open derision during the movie. Oh, and if the film wasn't adolescent enough, there's muff diving. Sweet.


Honestly, why do you think you enjoyed this? Cos there were hot chicks? Cos there was symbolism you could get your head around? Cos a review you read on the internet said it was choice? Cos you always wanted to be a ballerina? (What are you, Portman's Mum?) See through the hype. It's not without its good points but it's ruined by its faults.

St Patrick's Day

Another poor excuse for shit-headery. Let's celebrate the (Welsh!) patron saint of a country most of us have no ties to by drinking milky beer, listening to shit Irish music (like U2's most recent efforts) or credible artists (like The Pogues and Van Morrison) getting turned into one-hit wonders, wearing a colour that doesn't suit anyone and throwing up in the gutter. Well sign me up. Twiddle-ee-dee, I'm a fucking leprechaun.

To quote a good friend of mine: "364 days a year The Pogues are one of my favourite bands and I love Guinness. Today is my day off." Nicely said.

In case you couldn't guess, Irish bars are always shit.

Old Bar-Guy Wisdom

I'm 25. I'm sitting at the bar, minding my own business with a mate who is a similar age. Our good friend, the local bar owner comes over and we chat with her for a while. Over the course of the chat, we request a song from her playlist. Me and my mate both like The Beatles so we request a Beatles tune. We're happy enough, sipping our beers and bopping along to 'Paperback Writer.' Suddenly, our modest oasis of relaxation gets ambushed by the most terrible predator of all.

No, not a cougar. The old-bar-guy. He's a baby boomer which means he's seen everything and knows everything and feels he has to impart his wisdom on young gunslingers like us whether we want to hear it or not. He took our Beatles request as an invitation to unveil his 'knowledge' of 'his' era. His 'chestnuts' are generally well known facts portrayed as insider secrets. He tells them like he's betraying the boomer code and giving secret information to a rival generation. "Ringo Starr is not his real name." "Today's music all sounds like it's influenced by earlier music." The list goes on. Other statements are merely opinions portrayed as fact. "Jimmy Page is the best guitarist of all time." "You can't go past so-and-so if you want a good drummer."

Old-bar-guys of the world, please know several things. Firstly, your opinions are not fact. Secondly, I know quite a bit about music and I know I am annoying when I start getting preachy so I try not to. I also probably know a bit about a few bands you've never heard of (in fact, a few decades of bands you've never heard of) but you don't care to hear from me, do you? Thirdly, get your facts right. I know David Bowie didn't release 'All the Young Dudes' but when I tell you he wrote and produced it, take my word for it. Fourthly, DON'T RUIN MY NIGHT BY GIVING ME BULLSHIT ADVICE / INSIGHT I NEVER ASKED FOR!

O Week

The first week of the university year is awesome if you're eighteen which is exactly why it's shit if you're in your mid-twenties. It opens the door and welcomes all sorts of riff-raff with open arms and vomit stained red carpet.

There might be a rock band outside the entrance to the library. Back in my day, libraries were quiet. Indeed, that was the point of libraries.

That was a particular incident that annoyed this author but what is far more threatening to my faith in humanity is the inevitable influx of young men who seem to be clones of each other. These robots will invariably be dressed in short rugby shorts which cover just enough of their lower bodies to hide the hand(s) they insist on keeping down there. Yes, I do think you're a douchebag so I guess I do deserve that look you're giving me. I know, it is hard to comprehend that I have enough self-worth to form my own identity outside of the generic cultural signposts. Anyway, they will cover themselves in Axe body spray and go to student bars to drink and swear loyalty to cheap (but still over-priced) terrible beer (more on that later), exchange elaborate hand gestures and listen to their favourite Phil Edwards songs. They will publicly plan to "go fuck some freshers" several nights a week and describe their exploits the following day with the frightfully general terms of those too afraid to look even slightly more thoughtful than their counterparts. You may hear phrases like, "It was hell classic, eh. Fully sick." This language is so entrenched in the heads of these idiots and so universally applicable that two of these androids could be talking to each other about two different things and not realise it.

Avoid these people at all cost.

Helena from Seatoun at the Newtown Festival!

She did so bloody well last time that we invited Helena, our guest writer from Seatoun, back for another posting. Sounds like she had heaps of fun at the Newtown Festival the other week!



Dear diary,

This Sunday, I jumped on my push-bike from Seatoun and went to the Newtown Festival. It was held during a howling Wellington southerly. People complain about Wellington's wind but I think it's really great because it blows all the pollution away, which makes it eco-friendly and therefore cool!

My first stop was to see an American Indian pan flute band play (whoops, I should probably say Native American, right?). They were so authentic, with real mohawks. The atmospheric samples playing from their iPods that added backing to their panflutes made for a real authentic ambiance too. They were even selling CDs, which is great because it's always good to see poor people be industrious.

The next band up was a true Wellington favourite, the Dub-Step Brothers. Their chilled kiwi tunes are so great it would be wrong for a kiwi to not like them. After all, is there any country in the world more synonymous with reggae-style music than New Zealand?

All those carefully placed dance moves made me hungry, so I went in search of food. I had to be careful because, of course, I only eat ethically. This means I eat no food that has been slaughtered in a cruel fashion. It can be difficult to know what food to trust, but I figure if I stick with Asian food I should be okay because they're so peaceful and in touch with nature that they'd never hurt animals.

The Festival also gave me a great opportunity to add to my cool clothing collection. Once again, I was only interested in ethical items, none of this stuff made by enslaved children in Cambodia and Pakistan. Luckily I found a Cosmic Comer stand, because given everything they stand for, there isn't a chance their cheap novelty t-shirts are the handiwork of slave labour, is there?

Till next time!

Helena from Seatoun

Next up...Helena's Monday morning at her large social service-oriented govt dept reveals that, contrary to her self-belief, she's just as scheming and conniving as all the other office-place scumbags.

Songs about the Canterbury earthquake(s)

Firstly, I'd like to reiterate the sentiments expressed by Shaun in our last post. I too wish to express my sincere condolences to all those affected by the Christchurch earthquake(s). Shaun and myself haven't been in Christchurch since the February shake and we can only imagine how horrible it must be to be in the middle of the disaster and to have lost possessions and loved ones.

In saying that, the quake has opened the door for some things that are shit and deserve attention here. By popular demand, we're back in the hate seat.

OMG, hasn't Canterbury suffered enough? Why do some people think they're helping by making atrocities like this? Probably because there's demand for it if the comments on Youtube are anything to go by. Why is New Zealand obsessed with mediocrity in all its forms? The video we've linked to contains the line, "A seven point four on the Richter scale. In relation to a fish it was as big as a whale." Doesn't that put you off? Apparently not. Then again, I notice something when I look carefully at the comments. A Mr Greg Morris praises the song for being up tempo and, therefore, not as depressing as some other efforts. Is this the same Greg Morris who wrote and recorded the song? Just a thought.

Mike Davis is a serial offender having come up with this monstrosity on the earthquake and another on the Pike River Mine disaster. His earthquake effort, 'You Rocked Our World,' has nearly 20,000 views and is apparently "tear inducing" and "absolutely wonderful." Ugh. Dammit New Zealand. Stop being fooled into thinking childish clichés are acceptable substitutes for lyrics, cheesy aural backdrops can substitute for music and any crap released relating to an event you remember is poignant high art!

Earthquakes

Earthquakes fucking suck.

A few days after an angry and unpredictable earth killed more than 200 citizens of Christchurch, I was walking home from the gym, through the snow.

I thought how weird it will be next time I'm home, with so many landmarks gone and the psyche of my beloved hometown scarred by loss. A phrase dawned on me: "my city's in ruins". Poetic, huh?

Moments later I realized that like so many things in life, Brucey had already been there. He wrote this song about efforts to turn around the fortunes of Asbury Park, NJ, a town that inspired his early work. He then re-purposed it for the 9/11 tribute concert. And now I'm borrowing it for Christchurch.

Rise up, Christchurch.