“Dances with Wolves Sequel Goes Into Production”

That’s right kids! More movie-making magic coming your way soon! Now, on top of remaking The Lone Ranger, some clever people in Hollywood are cooking up a tasty sequel to Dances with Wolves. YESSS.

“A sequel to Dances With Wolves entitled The Holy Road has just gone into pre-production with Simon Wincer at the helm. According to Variety, the film will be produced by Moonstone, Amicus Entertainment and Double Eagle Films.

The plot picks up eleven years after Wolves left off. The Comanche tribe is in steady decline, and the threat of white settlers looms on the horizon. The Holy Road refers to the transcontinental railroad. The Indian population saw it as a symbol of evil.“[Source]

A note for the ladies: Sadly, Kevin Costner will not be reprising his monotonical “role”, BUUUT none other than Viggo Mortensen is in talks to be filling Kevin’s shoes. And honestly, I think he’s perfect for it. I can’t think of a better guy to befriend Indians with his shirt off. Maybe there will be a naked shower fighting scene too??

xoxo

Spring is here in New York City and that means art fairs and film screenings and getting drunk at various bars and cafes. It does not mean consistently warmer weather. No, it doesn’t mean that. This past Sunday I spent a blustery, but not outright freezing day, checking out the first bright rays of art offered on a grand scale here in the city.
Just so you know I didn’t get drunk this past weekend, but there will be others. Soon.

The Whitney Museum has it’s yearly biennial up. It is so shitty and politically dissonant I could hardly believe the mostly paying crowd (I got in free) wasn’t lining up demanding their money back. There is a recession going on so money must be tight to waste on a poorly curated hyper-self conscious art show? Fo Sho, though grumbles of disappointment and guffaws of derision could be heard no mass protest materialized-except in my imagination. Had, I paid money, I would have wanted it back.
I can’t be bothered to give much detail than that, because I can’t re-live the boredom, other than to say that one single video in the entire three floors of “art” was a truly brilliant work of art-that was a video by Harry (Harriet) Dodge and Stanya Kahn called Can’t Swallow It, Can’t Spit It Out. The New York Times art critic, Holland Cotter (who was a tad too generous regarding the entire show if you ask me) described it as, “a kind of lunatic’s tour of an abject and empty Los Angeles.” I’d agree with that but it was also brilliant performance work on both the video artist’s parts. Look it up. It’s worth it. If you care to subject yourself to it it will be on view until June 1st. Or, you can read the Times‘ overly diplomatic review and be done with it.

The Armory Show, on the other side of town, and hand as it were, was an amalgamation of wise investments coupled with zero curatorial finesse. Truly brilliant work had to mix company with “Inter-disciplinary Art 101″ bullshit, and quite pricey bullshit at that. Unlike the Whitney Museum you could take as many photos as you liked. You could also purchase the art on view. A Brad Kahlhamer print sold through the Deitch Project was quite pricey indeed. Actually I really did want one of his creepy vaguely Indian-esque crack whore strewn water color and pencil prints, but who has $10,000? Certainly not me.
For a selection of the good and bad (I leave the judging of what is which to you) visit our gallery page.

(Photos from this series: copyright M. Colon)

I didn’t get around to calling mine on Christmas, adding insult to injury, as I also didn’t go visit her this Christmas like I have for the last seven years she has lived in that nursing home in North Carolina. I also visited her during summers and sundry holidays while I was in grad school so she was used to me visiting and calling often. Nothing particularly anything was different this year except I now work a day job with only a week of vacation so I can no longer visit as often as I did in previous years. The only thing I can think of is that I was depressed because I couldn’t go and visit her this year (for personal reasons I won’t go into here which basically means I had no money)-my sister also lives in North Carolina with her family-and that inspired general listlessness which lead to dramatically not caring about much of anything including calling the very people I was depressed over not getting to visit.

Sounds stupid? It is because I did call my my sister and nephews on Christmas day and spoke with them for an hour. Then they were to call me when they went to the home to give our mother her presents so it would at least feel like we were all together. Of course, I missed that call. When I called my sister back an hour or so after the fact she didn’t answer, but her cellphone is a piece of shit when it comes to dropping and receiving calls, so I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t call the home that evening because they rarely answer anyway, those fuckers. In fact I tried calling once when it wasn’t a holiday thin king I’d get through easier but the line rang twenty times with no answer at all or voice mail. I called back over and over to no avail. So history had left me bored with the idea of hearing the line ring. I had the next few days off after Christmas so I thought I’d call then. One uneventful thing after another prevented me from calling her. Then at 12:18am on December 29th my eldest nephew called me. I figured he was just calling to shoot the shit so I was inclined to not answer as I had to go to work the next day, but something told me to answer, you know, just in case.

It was the case. He mumbled what sounded like, “My mother died.” I was stunned because I thought he was telling me my sister was dead which would have been really shitty too as I love my sister something fierce, but he articulated himself more clearly the second time around. Though I could hear my sister shrieking in the background all I could ask was, “Are you guys sure?”
He adamantly declared yes. Still disbelieving, I asked if they were positive. Perhaps the nurse at the home was mistaken. It is a small country town in North Carolina after all, not the quickest of witted folk live there-excepting all the Northerners who have moved into the area-they don’t work in the home. But, no, they were quite certain, she was dead. My sister jumped on the line to yell at me so I would get it through my head, our mother was gone. I was skeptical. So I called the home. I hate that they call that place a “home” but that it was for seven years of my mother’s remaining life. A country-ass nurse unceremoniously told me that yes, in fact, Miss Catherine was dead as she was the one who found her. According to this nurse my mother died at 12:15 a.m. How she knew this little tidbit with such great certainty remains somewhat of a mystery, as is the cause of death, nonetheless, my mother is dead.
Her ashes sit on my dresser yet I still find it hard to believe. Maybe it’s because I kept meaning to call thinking I had time but never did.

photo: m. colon (yes, i did take photos.)

P.S. an ancestry search done out of grief and whatnot netted two things: my mother was not part cherokee as previously thought (thank god!). no she was part choctaw. she was also second cousin to hank williams sr. and sang backup for him on a live radio program along with her two youngest siblings. i guess that makes three things, but whatever.

If China built you a multi-million dollar stadium out of the (sort of) kindness of their hearts, what would you do? Well, if it were up to NAICA, we would arrange to have Taiwan’s national anthem played at the opening ceremony of said stadium in front of, among other people, Chinese Ambassador Qian Hongshan and hundreds of Chinese workers who built the enormous stadium. It would be really funny, right? And actually, China would deserve it, because we all know those Commies have ulterior motives.

Anyway, according to NPR, this knee-slapper of an incident actually occurred this past Thursday in Grenada during an opening ceremony of the $40 million Queen’s Park Cricket Stadium funded and built by The People’s Republic of China.

Grenada, which only as recently as 2005 switched it’s diplomatic allegiance from Taiwan to China, is the second-smallest country in the western hemisphere and is located just north of Trinidad and Tobago. NAICA believes this musical gaffe was actually a cry for attention, because really, who wants to be the second-smallest country in the western hemisphere? They must have a tough time at the Olympics.

Olympics aside, we all know that those small Carribean nations have some serious identity issues. It is generally known that it is way better to be the colonizer than the colonizee, and if Grenada is anything, it is the colonizee; first by the Spanish, then the Brits, then by those pushy French people who like to talk loudly during press screenings at Sundance. And now the Chinese were trying to be all up in their business? No thank you.

We firmly believe that Inspector Bryan Hurst, who directed the Royal Grenada Police Band in their beautiful rendition of San Min Zhu Yi was not merely confused by the similarities between the official titles of Taiwan and China, which are respectively, “The Republic of China” and “The People’s Republic of China.” Nope, this was no mistake on the part of Hurst. NAICA believes that he was just trying to do what any self-respecting colonizee would do: stick it to the man.

That or he was just trying to be funny. And to either motive, NAICA says, “Bravo.”

p.s. we do realize “colonizee” is not a real word.

There’s been quite a mixed bag of opinions regarding director Taika Waititi’s feature film debut, Eagle vs. Shark. Everything from it’s a “wanna-be Napolean Dynamite” to a “good enough first effort” that bares some resemblance to Napolean Dynamite. It does, in fact, bare some resemblance to those super-indie Sundance films of years past, including Napolean Dynamite, but with a twist in that the film has a discernable objective and falls not so neatly into the romantic comedy genre. I say not so neatly and I mean that in a good way for Eagle vs. Shark elevates the genre whereas Gigli, The Wedding Planner, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Seconds (more like “How to Lose Your Audience in Ten Seconds”) do nothing but relegate the genre to the term “chick flick” and nobody likes a chick flick except chicks in Nebraska or Alabama and nobody cares about what they think of movies at all except studio hacks looking to make yet another buck.

As usual, I digress. The film is in fact a better than “good first effort” and that has a lot to do with excellent comedic writing and actress Loren Horsley. Sure the film is filled with sweet indie tunes by the Phoenix Foundation, and better than average supporting characters, but it is Miss Horsley’s portrayal of Lily that is the backbone of the film which yeah, yeah, we know, bares resemblance to Napolean Dynamite, but solely in tone. Now that we have establsihed that unilaterally held opinion let’s move on shall we?

About that Loren Horsley.

Well, unlike her masterful portrayal of that sex appeal challenged nerd, she is hawt! I don’t develop girl-crushes very often but when I do it’s usually on those who possess something I don’t and in the case of Miss Horsley it’s a really awesome head of curly hair. I also have curly hair but it’s nowhere near as good a head of curls as hers. And they’re dirty blonde curls to boot! Sexy. You wouldn’t believe she was as ravashing as she is seeing her outfitted as Lily, the aforementioned sex appeal challenged nerd, but she is, with a lovely smile (without mole), a melifluous laugh, and impossibly big eyes she’s a cupie doll come to life. I can see why Taika Waititi fell in love with her.

Aside from dashing blonde curls and cupie doll smiles she is a tremendously talented actress possessed of great skill. A lot is made of sexy amazonian actresses who ugllify themselves for the sake of an Oscar nomination (yes, you Charlize Theron, who should have also been given an award for turning yourself into an Ompah Loompah for the awards ceremony that year. yeesh) however Horsley created Lily well before the script was written pointing to her innate ability to conjure an entirely different human being outside herself whereas aforementioned amazons merely mimmick the personalities of those who’ve pass ed through this world. That is no easy task in itself but try creating a character from scratch. One that is not like you at all, trust me, Loren is no dork and I doubt she is wanting for romantic love, then have that character be completely believeable. If you succeed, and she certainly has, you have is what is commonly referred to as brilliance. There are so few truly brilliant performances in film. Those that qualify have nothing to do with re-creating other peoples already lived lives. Sorry Charlize, my apologies Robert De Niro. A truly brilliant performance comes from the creation of a character that is completely believeable, when it is hard to tell the character from the actor, which is probably why they call it character acting. So believeable is Horsley’s Lily, as a character if not a true human being, that she could disappear into her being never to return. Imagine that? It’s like Sybil but less creepy and without the child abuse issues, and that truly is brilliant. Or maybe a little creepy? In either case, it’s easy to see why director Taika Waititi fell in love with her-Loren Horsley or maybe Lily. Nah, probably not Lily. Well, maybe Lily too.
Coming Summer 2007.
Stay tuned to official website for awesomeness.
www.eaglevsshark.net

written by: Maria Colon, editor/amazon

www.thenaica.org

After a muddled day of screenings, interviews and NAICA members starting their periods, we were headed out of the Yarrow when who should we run into but Crispin Glover. Actually this was not a new experience for us since we had seen Crispin 8,023 times prior at the very same venue. This time we thought we would try to greet him, mainly because I (renee) promised my boss I would get a picture with someone famous for my company’s weekly newsletter, the One Voice. (Quality publication by the way.)

“Crispin!” We shouted. Initially he didn’t turn around, and we were afraid that maybe we had mistaken some other unorthodoxically attractive man with a rolling briefcase and boyish haircut for him. His friend walking beside him turned around and said, “You want to talk to Crispin?” Er, yes, we did want to talk to Crispin.

He was eccentrically nice (not sure what that means exactly) and after introducing myself, I mentioned we’d like to briefly talk with him, a.k.a. get my picture taken with him for the One Voice. He said oh, you’ll want to talk to So-and-So, she’s my publicist and handles all that. He smiled warmly and walked away.

Not really wanting to admit that I only wanted my picture with him, I said “Yes…of course.” We then went over to meet So-and-So, the publicist. She was a small brunette with a trendy fleece vest and a fierce cough. Her mouth was full of granola bar the entire time she talked to us and she seemed a little frazzled.

Somehow we got to the subject of screener copies and mentioned that we hadn’t had the opportunity to see “It is Fine!” Crispin’s second incarnation in his collaborative film trilogy “It.”

So-and-So the Publicist stared at us blankly, coughed and said, “Crispin never gives out screening copies. Crispin likes to be interviewed by journalists who have seen his film.” She then said it might be possible for us to speak with him after a screening of the film tomorrow night.

I nodded intelligently, hoping she wouldn’t see my “I-just-wanted-my-picture-with-him-for-the-One-Voice” look.

“Yes, of course!” I said, quite cleverly. The only thing left to do was hand her our business card , which I did. She again stared blankly, this time at the indian on the back of the card. Then she looked up at me.

“I have to go this way now,” she said, and pointed towards the exit.

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P.S. We also met Crispin’s co-director and cinematographer, a lovely man by the name of David who winked at us after So-and-So, the frazzled publicist had excused herself. “We’ll talk to to anyone” he said.

Thanks David. So will we.