If you don't mind me saying so, I consider myself a tough cookie.I enjoy the occasional dark, out-of-control music once in a while. I consider the Sex Pistols to be underrated and can't stand some Beatles songs due to the corny pub-vibe (no offense to the fans). Not to mention, the Butthole Surfers is one of my favorite bands in the world. I can go on about how the nuttier music is better, but I need to get back on topic. I know you shouldn't judge films by their music alone, but here there seems to be very little film and a lot of music. Maybe I just wasn't prepared, or maybe this really isn't the kind of stuff you are really supposed to enjoy, but this "music" created such a repulsion in me that I consider it to be quite the feat. The Ex (the band which was playing in this film) seem to be performance art, not music, making it a pointless experience; not to mention unwatchable.
Coming to the Toronto Film Festival with my mom shortly after my 15th birthday was a delightful experience that gave me a taste of the film festival atmosphere as well as how lucky these filmmakers were to get to show their films at this festival. Each film there was a different kind of entertainment. One was a comedy-drama, one was a bleak drama, one was a gross-out comedy, and one even a Chris Guest and Friends production. I considered myself cheating by only seeing one art-house film, but this was a vacation, not a study. The line-up for the screening was very short, consisting of a family, people there just for curiosity, fans of the band, and the rest just being movie-goers. The theater was very cute: small and with a projection problem. The director was there and he looked like the stereotypical art-house filmmaker. He used the hand-on-the-check expression throughout the whole introduction. When he asked for a show of hands of who were Ex fans, a few people raised there hands but most didn't. He said he was "shocked" that so many people who were there weren't Ex fans, but to tell the truth, he just looked plain worried. The first two films were kind of artsy nonsense, supposed to hypnotize you but actually just leaves you looking at your watch. The mention at the end of the first one that said that he had most of his film taking away my officials made some chatter in the theater, but I just kind of giggled.
Now it was time for the feature film, which would last 60 minutes, which didn't seem to long on paper, but lasted an eternity on screen; a ghastly, obvious, pretentious eternity. I would lie if I said that I was bored, but I would practically be sinning if I said that I was having fun. The Ex weren't very good at all. There have been many artists in the past that made for their lack of talent with powerful lyrics and energetic performances, but it seemed as though this band really didn't have much to say. It was just noise without point. I understand the more than obvious political statement, but I just couldn't be bothered to listen to the music. The drummer looked like she was in another world, while the rest of the band seemed to be just doing jazz with screw-drivers in the guitar and a mega-phone at the microphone. A lot of energy put into it, but no actual effort to make any interesting hooks.
With me ranting about the music, you would expect a little talk about film. Well guess what? There was just about if not even less effort put into the filming as there was in the music. He director took a couple of shots of the New York protests of the Republican Convention in New York City and another couple of shots of a construction site along with the band playing to their heart's extent. The message was old and annoying, much like the music.
Before the film could finish, half the audience had left the theater. A group of kids around my age in front of me had the most hilarious facial expressions, being the only good that came out of the picture. It was question period and people just wanted to know what the hell the point of the film was. When one person asked the meaning of the actually pretty interesting title, he replied with an honest "I don't know, it just came to me!" Then he went on about something like how the music sounded like a construction site of something like that. Personally, I think he was making it up as he went along, which made me more ticked than ever. I felt like giving a classic boo, Cannes-style, but I figured that the theater being half-empty was enough. I left dumbfounded, uttering a "Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?" about five minutes later. I have never hated a film more.
Unless you are an Ex fan, don't even read about this movie. Avoid it at all costs before you get body-pains. It really, really isn't good. I am out of words.
Coming to the Toronto Film Festival with my mom shortly after my 15th birthday was a delightful experience that gave me a taste of the film festival atmosphere as well as how lucky these filmmakers were to get to show their films at this festival. Each film there was a different kind of entertainment. One was a comedy-drama, one was a bleak drama, one was a gross-out comedy, and one even a Chris Guest and Friends production. I considered myself cheating by only seeing one art-house film, but this was a vacation, not a study. The line-up for the screening was very short, consisting of a family, people there just for curiosity, fans of the band, and the rest just being movie-goers. The theater was very cute: small and with a projection problem. The director was there and he looked like the stereotypical art-house filmmaker. He used the hand-on-the-check expression throughout the whole introduction. When he asked for a show of hands of who were Ex fans, a few people raised there hands but most didn't. He said he was "shocked" that so many people who were there weren't Ex fans, but to tell the truth, he just looked plain worried. The first two films were kind of artsy nonsense, supposed to hypnotize you but actually just leaves you looking at your watch. The mention at the end of the first one that said that he had most of his film taking away my officials made some chatter in the theater, but I just kind of giggled.
Now it was time for the feature film, which would last 60 minutes, which didn't seem to long on paper, but lasted an eternity on screen; a ghastly, obvious, pretentious eternity. I would lie if I said that I was bored, but I would practically be sinning if I said that I was having fun. The Ex weren't very good at all. There have been many artists in the past that made for their lack of talent with powerful lyrics and energetic performances, but it seemed as though this band really didn't have much to say. It was just noise without point. I understand the more than obvious political statement, but I just couldn't be bothered to listen to the music. The drummer looked like she was in another world, while the rest of the band seemed to be just doing jazz with screw-drivers in the guitar and a mega-phone at the microphone. A lot of energy put into it, but no actual effort to make any interesting hooks.
With me ranting about the music, you would expect a little talk about film. Well guess what? There was just about if not even less effort put into the filming as there was in the music. He director took a couple of shots of the New York protests of the Republican Convention in New York City and another couple of shots of a construction site along with the band playing to their heart's extent. The message was old and annoying, much like the music.
Before the film could finish, half the audience had left the theater. A group of kids around my age in front of me had the most hilarious facial expressions, being the only good that came out of the picture. It was question period and people just wanted to know what the hell the point of the film was. When one person asked the meaning of the actually pretty interesting title, he replied with an honest "I don't know, it just came to me!" Then he went on about something like how the music sounded like a construction site of something like that. Personally, I think he was making it up as he went along, which made me more ticked than ever. I felt like giving a classic boo, Cannes-style, but I figured that the theater being half-empty was enough. I left dumbfounded, uttering a "Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?" about five minutes later. I have never hated a film more.
Unless you are an Ex fan, don't even read about this movie. Avoid it at all costs before you get body-pains. It really, really isn't good. I am out of words.