That's My Dad.

Regina Spektor - What We Saw From the Cheap Seats

Come at last a return to quirky form for beloved indie piano-ballad queen Regina Spektor, “What We Saw From the Cheap Seats” brings the glistening, uncanny poetry and beguiling emotional musings known on classic Spektor records like “Soviet Kitsch” and “Begin to Hope”. But after a decade of being the youthful charmer in the anti-folk scene, age tends to take a toll on an artist’s bank of ideas and song-writing skill. The opening three songs (“Small Town Moon”, “Oh Marcello” and “Don’t Leave Me”) recall her nearly forgotten trademark ability to make eclectic and unorthodox pop tunes. Even tracks like “Firewood” and “Jessica” are undeniably captivating and relaxing ballads with solemn charm and illustrative lyrics. The other half of the album and a handful of her bizarre sonic experiments and arrangements result unsuccessfully. Much of what makes this an incomplete record come from lack of innovation. Even on more proper moments like tracks “How” and “The Party”, Spektor poorly treats her compositions with nearly forced and gimmicky emotion, leaving the songs to be inevitably pigeon-holed as uninspired rubbish. It’s hard to appreciate “What We Saw From the Cheap Seats” as a whole; even for its inconsistencies, Spektor’s musical abilities lack her youthful finesse and high-ranged song-writing chops. (6/10)

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The Intouchables - 

Flat out, the most charming french film since “Amelie”, the funniest buddy flick/tragedy since “50/50” and the most endearing piece of cinema of the decade thus far: Olivier Nakache & Eric Toledano’s “The Intouchables”. (10/10)

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When one is depressed, they create a criteria for themselves. The things that they only pay attention to in the ubiquitous space around them. It’s an unconventional habit, one that sparks their internal suppression of emotional pain. You feel special, you look for the things that you only notice and that makes you feel better. 

Beginners is the character study of a depressed man named Oliver. It’s a film I can only recommend for the Olivers in this world. 

The biggest challenges in life. Death. Starting over. Love. What do they mean? What do they feel and look like? Through a heart-wrenching and thoroughly sincere pair of eyes do we see these concepts and what they mean to Oliver. Ewan McGregor truly empties out his pockets, emotionally, and entirely sinks in the depression our generation is immersed within. His character spreads out his life’s pivotal emotional moments through a non-linear and cerebrally charged form of storytelling highly reminiscent of 1960’s french new wave films. It lets in the light on a soul through a very old-school, sweet manner. 

This is certainly one of the more subtle films I’ve ever seen, offering many strands of strikingly brilliant thoughts for those look for it; the depressed. It’s one of those films that nearly behave as a companion for its viewers at a certain focal point within their lifetimes. A father who’s come out of the closet after decades of marriage to a woman due to suppression from American society is now diagnosed with cancer. How to emotionally deal with those harrowing events in one’s lifespan. Oliver acts individually in his own story as he deals with the inspiration his father left him; the director’s approach keeps his tale very personal and strictly for the character itself. Yet as Oliver unravels before us, we are forced to ponder on ourselves and how we’ve developed into our own forms of depression. The ultimate question asked is, How have you become like this? 

Beginners is a highly personal film only to be secretly consumed and isn’t a product deemed to be exploited. It’s certainly one of the finest hidden gems I’ve had the pleasure to experience. Not for all, only the depressed or grieving. 

This film was my dad. An inspirational father whose on his deathbed. 

Obsessed with romance, modestly hilarious and slyly clever. This is Woody Allen. But not the one we thought we knew.

Midnight in Paris keeps its brilliantly punctual and straight forward with its motives. It’s a product of adoration. For Paris! For Love! For the Yesteryear!   

The wit comes primarily from the dialogue, but conceptually, more than anything; a trait Woody never gave heavy attention to. As a writer who secretly obsesses over the 1920’s in Paris with the ever-so existentially romantic rain finds himself in the past; hence, a hipster finally having his dreams come true. What’s funnier are the people he meets and the ones who desire past generations within the past generation just as much. This lends itself to us questioning the hipsters. Aren’t their personalities a standard package to society? Isn’t the human tendency to want what we can’t have and only have it linger in front of us the ultimate efficacy of picturesque love? Can’t our ideas of ideal romance ever be satisfied? Oh Woody, how you done us right. 

There is a painting of beauty. There is a shared love between the director and the viewer. He holds the camera, you hold the eyes. Both fall in love with the painting. The romance. The humor. La Ville-Lumière. 

This movie is my dad.