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The Friday Article Roundup

The FAR is b-b-b-bad to the bone

Bone up on the week's best pop culture writing.

This week you will get the lowdown on:

  • Bad cars
  • Bad dudes
  • Bad discourse
  • Good curation
  • Good music
  • Great drumming

Send good, bad and ugly articles throughout the next week to magpiesfar [at] gmail! Post articles from the past week in the comments for discussion, and have a Happy Friday!

For Reverse Shot’s annual survey of Halloween movies, Justin Stewart considers John Carpenter’s Christine:
Arnie’s about as terrifying as Bart Simpson, and his initial breaking bad is clearly a source of derisive amusement for Carpenter, though the amiable goofing sours when Christine starts terminating Arnie’s enemies one-by-one. This “malevolent force picking off the bullies” section, as well as the final shot zoom-in on the “corpse,” invite comparisons to De Palma’s much richer and more elegant earlier King adaptation Carrie, but Carpenter cannot be blamed for inheriting the weaker source material. Eventually, the teen body count brings a detective to Rockbridge, played by Harry Dean Stanton, whose real, effortless cool shames Arnie’s puerile peacocking.

At Harper’s, Nick Pinkerton reviews Abel Ferrara’s unsurprisingly take-no-prisoners autobiography:
Ferrara doesn’t draw an analogy between the film business and criminal endeavor per se; he instead provides ample evidence, gathered over the course of long life experience, that they are one and the same thing. His portraits of wiseguys and industry execs are almost interchangeable: Arthur Weisberg—a financier of The Driller Killer and, along with the Mob boss Michael “Mickey” Zaffarano, operator of the Pussycat Theater porn palace on Broadway near 49th Street—is introduced as “a legitimate Jewish gangster from Detroit whose rep was that he once strangled his partner in a car while arguing over a business deal”; Ferrara’s Mary (2005), we are informed, was financed with the help of a “band of Bolognese gangster investors, cash-rich from hand-making rip-off Pradas and Armanis.”

Miranda Reinert ponders the idea of being normal about popular music:
The calls to “Be Normal” can come from any number of these types of people about someone who falls into a different category. Many people who post fall into multiple categories. To “Be Normal” is to like music the same way I do, whatever that means to any given person. Not so enthusiastic so as to be cringe, but reject irony-poisoning. Don’t comment on the way anybody looks, but also maybe that’s part of it. Only show the right amount of interest in a musician’s personal life. Be cool, but not too obviously interested in being cool. It’s all so boring.

At his substack, Eric Harvey goes deep into the “peak indie” period of the aughts and early teens:
Indeed, one commonality shared by the heterogenous music filed under “indie rock” over the past few decades—from tabloid-taunting punks to cardigan-wearing indiepoppers and chin-stroking art-rockers—is that the music generates far more discourse than revenue. And the superstructure supporting the Such Great Heights era—from music blogs to YouTube, Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, and TikTok—is the most significant all-access discourse machine ever imagined. Digital platforms circulate trendy underground music while other, related platforms circulate discourse about that music, transcoding subcultural knowledge about bands, singles, albums, genres, trends, and controversies into the language of metadata and, for trendspotting fans, the practices of high-frequency trading. Such Great Heights, in other words, chronicles indie’s fast-fashion era, in which new trends were scooped up, replicated, sold cheaply (or freely downloaded), and often forgotten—with the unlucky forgotten bands accumulating in the landfill.

At Blackstarfest, Maya S. Cade writes about curating the Black Film Archive and the importance of distribution in ensuring films reach the audiences they’re intended for:
The economic challenges that have shifted many film distribution business models from large market share to simply getting by are all the more reason to find ways of collaboration, new pathways of connection, and transformation beyond the usual entry points of cinema. I am heartened by my colleagues who take a moment to protect the global majority cinema’s legacy by keeping their ear to the ground and their sights on something beyond profit. And to the moviegoers who know what’s at stake for Black film’s future and see it in the same realm of political participation, remember that you can vote with your dollars too.

And Nate Chinen remembers the late Jack DeJohnette at NPR:
On [DeJohnette’s] first night in [New York City] as he recalled last year in an episode of The Late Set podcast, he headed to Minton’s Playhouse in Harlem and sat in with trumpeter Freddie Hubbard, who immediately counted off a supersonic tempo. (It was so fast, he said, that the bassist resorted to playing at half-speed.) He handled this trial by fire with no problem whatsoever. “Basically, to play that way, you have to be relaxed,” he explained. “You can’t have any tension whatsoever, so that you can focus on your ideas instead of how you’re dealing with it physically.”