list http://www.spout.com/ Recent community activity around Sid and Nancy on Spout Copyright 2005-9 Spout, LLC Spout RSS http://www.spout.com/images/SpoutLogoRSS.jpg http://www.spout.com/ 136 30 http://www.spout.com/films/Sid_and_Nancy/31221/default.aspx Title: Sid and Nancy
Year: 1986
Director: Alex Cox
Plot: Punk rock's first great embodiment of the motto "live fast and die young," Sid Vicious joined The Sex Pistols when they were already established as the most controversial rock band in British history; and it soon became apparent that he couldn't play his instrument, had a magnetic attraction to chaos, and possessed a dangerous thirst for booze, drugs, and violence. Sid and Nancy opens shortly after Sid (Gary Oldman) joined the band, when he meets an obnoxious American punk groupie named Nancy Spungen (Chloe Webb). Nancy claims that she can get drugs, and Sid naively gives her his money. Nancy doesn't show up with the goods, but when Sid runs into her a few days later, she has a tall tale about getting ripped off - and Sid sympathizes with her. Before long, Sid and Nancy have fallen in love, and while they argue with uncommon vehemence, they also depend completely on each other. When The Sex Pistols break up, Sid has few prospects and an increasingly voracious appetite for heroin, and Nancy's attempts to "manage" his career only hasten his downhill slide. Former Clash leader Joe Strummer wrote the film's theme song, "Love Kills," and The Pogues, The Circle Jerks, and Pray for Rain contributed to the soundtrack. ~ Mark Deming, All Movie Guide
Times Tagged: 4
Number of Lists: 22
Number of blog posts: 6
Number of discussion threads: 2
SpoutRating: 3
]]>Mon, 13 Jul 2009 01:13:33 GMTSid and Nancy1986Alex CoxPunk rock's first great embodiment of the motto "live fast and die young," Sid Vicious joined The Sex Pistols when they were already established as the most controversial rock band in British history; and it soon became apparent that he couldn't play his instrument, had a magnetic attraction to chaos, and possessed a dangerous thirst for booze, drugs, and violence. Sid and Nancy opens shortly after Sid (<a href="/players/P____53946/default.aspx" style='text-decoration:underline'>Gary Oldman</a>) joined the band, when he meets an obnoxious American punk groupie named Nancy Spungen (<a href="/players/P____75150/default.aspx" style='text-decoration:underline'>Chloe Webb</a>). Nancy claims that she can get drugs, and Sid naively gives her his money. Nancy doesn't show up with the goods, but when Sid runs into her a few days later, she has a tall tale about getting ripped off - and Sid sympathizes with her. Before long, Sid and Nancy have fallen in love, and while they argue with uncommon vehemence, they also depend completely on each other. When The Sex Pistols break up, Sid has few prospects and an increasingly voracious appetite for heroin, and Nancy's attempts to "manage" his career only hasten his downhill slide. Former Clash leader <a href="/players/P___113096/default.aspx" style='text-decoration:underline'>Joe Strummer</a> wrote the film's theme song, "Love Kills," and The Pogues, The Circle Jerks, and Pray for Rain contributed to the soundtrack. ~ Mark Deming, All Movie Guide4Slightly Tagged (1-5)22623http://www.spout.com/ProductImages/u43986zywkp.jpghttp://www.spout.com/films/Sid_and_Nancy/31221/default.aspxFilm http://www.spout.com/blogs/karina/archive/2009/2/3/40196.aspx Post By: Karina
Post To: Karina on SpoutBlog
Post Date: 2/3/2009 12:02:47 PM
Body: It was 30 years ago this week that Sid Vicious rang the death knell for punk rock, overdosing on heroin on February 2nd while awaiting trial for the murder of girlfriend Nancy Spungen. So in honor of the spike-haired rebel who was the face (if not the sound) of punk, and whose chaotic life ended at the tender age of 21, I present five punk rock films that really rock. Suburbia Suburbia was released in 1983, and though Sid Vicious had flamed out along with punk’s heyday years before, America’s hardcore scene was in overdrive with bands like Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys reinventing the music by playing at the speed of light, pumping up the adrenaline from coast to coast (and causing this minor threat to later consider the Ramones as slowpoke as The Beatles.) Director Penelope Spheeris, best known for docs like Decline of Western Civilization and her later forays into sellout Hollywood, thrillingly applied the original punk DIY ethos to filmmaking, using guerrilla tactics and nonprofessionals to create a time capsule of L.A.’s underground scene. In other words, the film not only documents punk, it is punk – and a must-see for a young punk as much as the latest Bad Brains album was a must-hear. In fact, I must’ve seen this film about a group of runaways who form a punk family a dozen times during my anarchistic teenage years, never sober and usually with my own extended, Mohawk coiffed, leather-and-chain-wearing family. Indeed, the image of lead character Evan kicking at white walls like a trapped animal, futilely trying to fight his way out of society’s cage, often would be the last I’d see before passing out next to a spike-toed Doc. Repo Man Emilio Estevez has never been as good as he was in Repo Man. Appropriately released in that Orwellian year of 1984, Alex Cox’s surreal take on the world of mercenary repossession agents is every bit as bizarre as anything Terry Gilliam ever put onscreen. As punk rocker Otto, Estevez stoically faces losing his job, being dumped by his girlfriend, UFOs and government conspiracies – not to mention a quintessentially slimy Harry Dean Stanton as his mentor – all set to a soundtrack featuring everything from Iggy Pop to the Burning Sensations (whose ditty “Pablo Picasso” has some of the punkest lyrics ever written: “All the girls would turn the color of an avocado/ When he’d drive down the street in his El Dorado/ Though he was only five-foot-three girls could not resist his stare/ Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole…not like you”). Sid & Nancy I’ve already waxed rhapsodic about Sid & Nancy in my recent Criterion Collection essay at The House Next Door, but suffice to say that this true love story of the Sex Pistols’ bassist Sid Vicious and his junkie groupie-turned-girlfriend Nancy Spungen is anything but your typical tabloid biopic. Alex Cox’s 1986 film is nothing less than a masterful visual translation of the greatest punk rock story ever told. As with Repo Man, the director digs deep, discovering the surreal in the everyday while mining the humanity and even humor of the nihilist 70s. Songs by The Pogues and the late Clash front man Joe Strummer round out the soundtrack. And of course, Gary Oldman and Chloe Webb are equally unforgettable as the leads. Valley Girl Martha Coolidge’s 1983 film is basically “Romeo and Juliet” set in the San Fernando Valley with no sword fights, a happy ending and, most importantly, as Sparks would say, “music that you can dance to.” Nicolas Cage plays the punk rock, knight-in-shining-armor Randy to Valley Girl Julie (Deborah Foreman) with just the right mix of lovesickness and weirdness. Equally impressive is the soundtrack, with such classics as Josie Cotton’s “Johnny, Are You Queer Boy?” and songs by virtually every new wave band that mattered, from The Psychedelic Furs to Sparks to The Plimsouls. And as an added bonus, it contains one of the best pickup lines ever, “I like tacos, ’78 Cabernet and my favorite color is magenta.” Totally awesome! This Is England My awestruck review pretty much sums up my passion for Shane Meadows’ semi-autobiographical 2007 film about growing up skinhead in the early 80s of Thatcher’s Britain. Defying every cliché with subtlety and specificity Meadows follows 12-year-old Shaun whose dad has been killed fighting in the Falklands War as he discovers a father figure in the leader of the local skins, taking tough love and hard lessons from his new Doc-stomping, Ben Sherman shirt clad family. In fact, This Is England is the perfect companion piece to Spheeris’ Suburbia , released nearly a quarter century before, proving that punk rock really didn’t die with Sid, and that it never lost its heartfelt cool. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth
]]>Tue, 03 Feb 2009 17:02:47 GMTKarinaKarina on SpoutBlog2/3/2009 12:02:47 PMIt was 30 years ago this week that Sid Vicious rang the death knell for punk rock, overdosing on heroin on February 2nd while awaiting trial for the murder of girlfriend Nancy Spungen. So in honor of the spike-haired rebel who was the face (if not the sound) of punk, and whose chaotic life ended at the tender age of 21, I present five punk rock films that really rock. Suburbia Suburbia was released in 1983, and though Sid Vicious had flamed out along with punk’s heyday years before, America’s hardcore scene was in overdrive with bands like Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys reinventing the music by playing at the speed of light, pumping up the adrenaline from coast to coast (and causing this minor threat to later consider the Ramones as slowpoke as The Beatles.) Director Penelope Spheeris, best known for docs like Decline of Western Civilization and her later forays into sellout Hollywood, thrillingly applied the original punk DIY ethos to filmmaking, using guerrilla tactics and nonprofessionals to create a time capsule of L.A.’s underground scene. In other words, the film not only documents punk, it is punk – and a must-see for a young punk as much as the latest Bad Brains album was a must-hear. In fact, I must’ve seen this film about a group of runaways who form a punk family a dozen times during my anarchistic teenage years, never sober and usually with my own extended, Mohawk coiffed, leather-and-chain-wearing family. Indeed, the image of lead character Evan kicking at white walls like a trapped animal, futilely trying to fight his way out of society’s cage, often would be the last I’d see before passing out next to a spike-toed Doc. Repo Man Emilio Estevez has never been as good as he was in Repo Man. Appropriately released in that Orwellian year of 1984, Alex Cox’s surreal take on the world of mercenary repossession agents is every bit as bizarre as anything Terry Gilliam ever put onscreen. As punk rocker Otto, Estevez stoically faces losing his job, being dumped by his girlfriend, UFOs and government conspiracies – not to mention a quintessentially slimy Harry Dean Stanton as his mentor – all set to a soundtrack featuring everything from Iggy Pop to the Burning Sensations (whose ditty “Pablo Picasso” has some of the punkest lyrics ever written: “All the girls would turn the color of an avocado/ When he’d drive down the street in his El Dorado/ Though he was only five-foot-three girls could not resist his stare/ Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole…not like you”). Sid & Nancy I’ve already waxed rhapsodic about Sid & Nancy in my recent Criterion Collection essay at The House Next Door, but suffice to say that this true love story of the Sex Pistols’ bassist Sid Vicious and his junkie groupie-turned-girlfriend Nancy Spungen is anything but your typical tabloid biopic. Alex Cox’s 1986 film is nothing less than a masterful visual translation of the greatest punk rock story ever told. As with Repo Man, the director digs deep, discovering the surreal in the everyday while mining the humanity and even humor of the nihilist 70s. Songs by The Pogues and the late Clash front man Joe Strummer round out the soundtrack. And of course, Gary Oldman and Chloe Webb are equally unforgettable as the leads. Valley Girl Martha Coolidge’s 1983 film is basically “Romeo and Juliet” set in the San Fernando Valley with no sword fights, a happy ending and, most importantly, as Sparks would say, “music that you can dance to.” Nicolas Cage plays the punk rock, knight-in-shining-armor Randy to Valley Girl Julie (Deborah Foreman) with just the right mix of lovesickness and weirdness. Equally impressive is the soundtrack, with such classics as Josie Cotton’s “Johnny, Are You Queer Boy?” and songs by virtually every new wave band that mattered, from The Psychedelic Furs to Sparks to The Plimsouls. And as an added bonus, it contains one of the best pickup lines ever, “I like tacos, ’78 Cabernet and my favorite color is magenta.” Totally awesome! This Is England My awestruck review pretty much sums up my passion for Shane Meadows’ semi-autobiographical 2007 film about growing up skinhead in the early 80s of Thatcher’s Britain. Defying every cliché with subtlety and specificity Meadows follows 12-year-old Shaun whose dad has been killed fighting in the Falklands War as he discovers a father figure in the leader of the local skins, taking tough love and hard lessons from his new Doc-stomping, Ben Sherman shirt clad family. In fact, This Is England is the perfect companion piece to Spheeris’ Suburbia , released nearly a quarter century before, proving that punk rock really didn’t die with Sid, and that it never lost its heartfelt cool. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth http://www.spout.com/blogs/spoutblog/archive/2009/2/3/40193.aspx Post By: SpoutBlog
Post To: SpoutBlog on spout.com
Post Date: 2/3/2009 12:01:46 PM
Body: It was 30 years ago this week that Sid Vicious rang the death knell for punk rock, overdosing on heroin on February 2nd while awaiting trial for the murder of girlfriend Nancy Spungen. So in honor of the spike-haired rebel who was the face (if not the sound) of punk, and whose chaotic life ended at the tender age of 21, I present five punk rock films that really rock. Suburbia Suburbia was released in 1983, and though Sid Vicious had flamed out along with punk’s heyday years before, America’s hardcore scene was in overdrive with bands like Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys reinventing the music by playing at the speed of light, pumping up the adrenaline from coast to coast (and causing this minor threat to later consider the Ramones as slowpoke as The Beatles.) Director Penelope Spheeris, best known for docs like Decline of Western Civilization and her later forays into sellout Hollywood, thrillingly applied the original punk DIY ethos to filmmaking, using guerrilla tactics and nonprofessionals to create a time capsule of L.A.’s underground scene. In other words, the film not only documents punk, it is punk – and a must-see for a young punk as much as the latest Bad Brains album was a must-hear. In fact, I must’ve seen this film about a group of runaways who form a punk family a dozen times during my anarchistic teenage years, never sober and usually with my own extended, Mohawk coiffed, leather-and-chain-wearing family. Indeed, the image of lead character Evan kicking at white walls like a trapped animal, futilely trying to fight his way out of society’s cage, often would be the last I’d see before passing out next to a spike-toed Doc. Repo Man Emilio Estevez has never been as good as he was in Repo Man. Appropriately released in that Orwellian year of 1984, Alex Cox’s surreal take on the world of mercenary repossession agents is every bit as bizarre as anything Terry Gilliam ever put onscreen. As punk rocker Otto, Estevez stoically faces losing his job, being dumped by his girlfriend, UFOs and government conspiracies – not to mention a quintessentially slimy Harry Dean Stanton as his mentor – all set to a soundtrack featuring everything from Iggy Pop to the Burning Sensations (whose ditty “Pablo Picasso” has some of the punkest lyrics ever written: “All the girls would turn the color of an avocado/ When he’d drive down the street in his El Dorado/ Though he was only five-foot-three girls could not resist his stare/ Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole…not like you”). Sid & Nancy I’ve already waxed rhapsodic about Sid & Nancy in my recent Criterion Collection essay at The House Next Door, but suffice to say that this true love story of the Sex Pistols’ bassist Sid Vicious and his junkie groupie-turned-girlfriend Nancy Spungen is anything but your typical tabloid biopic. Alex Cox’s 1986 film is nothing less than a masterful visual translation of the greatest punk rock story ever told. As with Repo Man, the director digs deep, discovering the surreal in the everyday while mining the humanity and even humor of the nihilist 70s. Songs by The Pogues and the late Clash front man Joe Strummer round out the soundtrack. And of course, Gary Oldman and Chloe Webb are equally unforgettable as the leads. Valley Girl Martha Coolidge’s 1983 film is basically “Romeo and Juliet” set in the San Fernando Valley with no sword fights, a happy ending and, most importantly, as Sparks would say, “music that you can dance to.” Nicolas Cage plays the punk rock, knight-in-shining-armor Randy to Valley Girl Julie (Deborah Foreman) with just the right mix of lovesickness and weirdness. Equally impressive is the soundtrack, with such classics as Josie Cotton’s “Johnny, Are You Queer Boy?” and songs by virtually every new wave band that mattered, from The Psychedelic Furs to Sparks to The Plimsouls. And as an added bonus, it contains one of the best pickup lines ever, “I like tacos, ’78 Cabernet and my favorite color is magenta.” Totally awesome! This Is England My awestruck review pretty much sums up my passion for Shane Meadows’ semi-autobiographical 2007 film about growing up skinhead in the early 80s of Thatcher’s Britain. Defying every cliché with subtlety and specificity Meadows follows 12-year-old Shaun whose dad has been killed fighting in the Falklands War as he discovers a father figure in the leader of the local skins, taking tough love and hard lessons from his new Doc-stomping, Ben Sherman shirt clad family. In fact, This Is England is the perfect companion piece to Spheeris’ Suburbia , released nearly a quarter century before, proving that punk rock really didn’t die with Sid, and that it never lost its heartfelt cool. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog
]]>Tue, 03 Feb 2009 17:01:46 GMTSpoutBlogSpoutBlog on spout.com2/3/2009 12:01:46 PMIt was 30 years ago this week that Sid Vicious rang the death knell for punk rock, overdosing on heroin on February 2nd while awaiting trial for the murder of girlfriend Nancy Spungen. So in honor of the spike-haired rebel who was the face (if not the sound) of punk, and whose chaotic life ended at the tender age of 21, I present five punk rock films that really rock. Suburbia Suburbia was released in 1983, and though Sid Vicious had flamed out along with punk’s heyday years before, America’s hardcore scene was in overdrive with bands like Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys reinventing the music by playing at the speed of light, pumping up the adrenaline from coast to coast (and causing this minor threat to later consider the Ramones as slowpoke as The Beatles.) Director Penelope Spheeris, best known for docs like Decline of Western Civilization and her later forays into sellout Hollywood, thrillingly applied the original punk DIY ethos to filmmaking, using guerrilla tactics and nonprofessionals to create a time capsule of L.A.’s underground scene. In other words, the film not only documents punk, it is punk – and a must-see for a young punk as much as the latest Bad Brains album was a must-hear. In fact, I must’ve seen this film about a group of runaways who form a punk family a dozen times during my anarchistic teenage years, never sober and usually with my own extended, Mohawk coiffed, leather-and-chain-wearing family. Indeed, the image of lead character Evan kicking at white walls like a trapped animal, futilely trying to fight his way out of society’s cage, often would be the last I’d see before passing out next to a spike-toed Doc. Repo Man Emilio Estevez has never been as good as he was in Repo Man. Appropriately released in that Orwellian year of 1984, Alex Cox’s surreal take on the world of mercenary repossession agents is every bit as bizarre as anything Terry Gilliam ever put onscreen. As punk rocker Otto, Estevez stoically faces losing his job, being dumped by his girlfriend, UFOs and government conspiracies – not to mention a quintessentially slimy Harry Dean Stanton as his mentor – all set to a soundtrack featuring everything from Iggy Pop to the Burning Sensations (whose ditty “Pablo Picasso” has some of the punkest lyrics ever written: “All the girls would turn the color of an avocado/ When he’d drive down the street in his El Dorado/ Though he was only five-foot-three girls could not resist his stare/ Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole…not like you”). Sid & Nancy I’ve already waxed rhapsodic about Sid & Nancy in my recent Criterion Collection essay at The House Next Door, but suffice to say that this true love story of the Sex Pistols’ bassist Sid Vicious and his junkie groupie-turned-girlfriend Nancy Spungen is anything but your typical tabloid biopic. Alex Cox’s 1986 film is nothing less than a masterful visual translation of the greatest punk rock story ever told. As with Repo Man, the director digs deep, discovering the surreal in the everyday while mining the humanity and even humor of the nihilist 70s. Songs by The Pogues and the late Clash front man Joe Strummer round out the soundtrack. And of course, Gary Oldman and Chloe Webb are equally unforgettable as the leads. Valley Girl Martha Coolidge’s 1983 film is basically “Romeo and Juliet” set in the San Fernando Valley with no sword fights, a happy ending and, most importantly, as Sparks would say, “music that you can dance to.” Nicolas Cage plays the punk rock, knight-in-shining-armor Randy to Valley Girl Julie (Deborah Foreman) with just the right mix of lovesickness and weirdness. Equally impressive is the soundtrack, with such classics as Josie Cotton’s “Johnny, Are You Queer Boy?” and songs by virtually every new wave band that mattered, from The Psychedelic Furs to Sparks to The Plimsouls. And as an added bonus, it contains one of the best pickup lines ever, “I like tacos, ’78 Cabernet and my favorite color is magenta.” Totally awesome! This Is England My awestruck review pretty much sums up my passion for Shane Meadows’ semi-autobiographical 2007 film about growing up skinhead in the early 80s of Thatcher’s Britain. Defying every cliché with subtlety and specificity Meadows follows 12-year-old Shaun whose dad has been killed fighting in the Falklands War as he discovers a father figure in the leader of the local skins, taking tough love and hard lessons from his new Doc-stomping, Ben Sherman shirt clad family. In fact, This Is England is the perfect companion piece to Spheeris’ Suburbia , released nearly a quarter century before, proving that punk rock really didn’t die with Sid, and that it never lost its heartfelt cool. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog http://www.spout.com/blogs/karina/archive/2009/1/8/39245.aspx Post By: Karina
Post To: Karina on SpoutBlog
Post Date: 1/8/2009 11:01:28 AM
Body: I’ll never forget the first time I heard the Sinatra standard “My Way”, while sitting in the balcony of an art house in Denver, chain-smoking Benson & Hedges ultra-light menthols, staring nearly hypnotized by the sight of sexy Gary Oldman transforming himself into the swaggering embodiment of punk rock, tearing through both cover song and screen. Sid and Nancy (along with Howard Deutch’s Pretty In Pink which also came out in 1986, and Martha Coolidge’s 1983 Valley Girl) was nothing less than a revelation to this teenager with Aqua-netted hair, Doc Martins and ripped fishnets, because it actually portrayed “my people,” spoke to me in my own musical language. And my feeling of identification probably was not unlike that experienced by a certain segment of the movie-going public 31 years before Alex Cox paid tribute to the junkie romance of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen, who witnessed another tale of fucked-up love, possible homicide, and enduring heroin chic. Heartthrob Frank Sinatra would not sing “My Way” in Otto Preminger’s groundbreaking 1955 The Man With The Golden Arm, but he would play the fictional Frankie Machine, another lean and hungry musician of dubious talent weighed down by both a needy blonde and a monkey on his back. With a sizzling jazz score by Elmer Bernstein as perfectly wedded to image as Joe Strummer’s powerful sound is in Cox’s film, and with production design every bit as hyper-real as the addict’s hallucination style of Sid and Nancy, Preminger’s movie, like Cox’s, uses its sleek, feline, magnetic lead to shed light on a hapless guy unwittingly the helpless victim of his own charm, a plaything to both ruthless women and greedy men who take advantage of his naïve nature. Sinatra’s Frankie is a kindhearted, charismatic card dealer just out of rehab, trying to follow his dream of being a drummer, but he’s stuck with a scheming wife in a wheelchair (Eleanor Parker, who seems to be doing a camp version of a Tennessee Williams heroine) and a sometime employer/drug dealer (the appropriately slimy Darren McGavin) who uses heroin as an ace in the hole to control the fragile Frankie. Sid likewise was just a young, working class punk who suddenly found himself stuck with a scheming groupie/junkie/drug dealer (played by Chloe Webb who manages to make Nancy both annoying and endearing), a bass he could barely play, and a Machiavellian manager in the form of Malcolm McLaren who used all the Sex Pistols band members as his own personal puppets. Sid never wanted to be a nihilist icon any more than Frankie wants to deal cards; they’re just so damn alluring, so good at what they do, that others demand it! And pretty soon the lifestyle – including heroin – they’ve nodded into becomes all they know. Tellingly, the most sexually fraught scenes in The Man With The Golden Arm occur not between Frankie and his mistress Molly, played by va-va-voom Kim Novak, but between Frankie and his dealer Louie. It’s Louie who is forever massaging Frankie’s back when he’s tired, intimately cooing in his ear like a lover, taking him arm in arm back to his flat as Frankie swivels his head like a two-timing spouse, for he’s more nervous being seen alone with Louie than with Molly. In one scene a tired Louie begins to relax and get undressed, even takes off his shirt before shooting up that golden arm. Neither Molly nor Frankie’s wife Zosch ever show that much skin in front of Frankie! Indeed, towards the end of Sid and Nancy the bond between the couple isn’t sex, isn’t love, so much as a shared insatiable lust for the drug, the third party in their fatal ménage a trois. For the pursuit of the fix is sexual in itself. And yet the most painful truth in Sid and Nancy is laid bare in that one scene in which Sid destroys everything around him, slaughters that old Sinatra standard in a big ironic “fuck you.” For in a world where outside forces like sex, drugs and rock and roll can determine an individual’s fate there is no such thing as “My Way.” SEX SCENES is a weekly column in which Lauren Wissot watches old films, new films, indies and blockbusters, and tells us what turns her on. If you’ve got a film, a star, a genre or an issue that you’d like Lauren to tackle, let us know in the comments. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth
]]>Thu, 08 Jan 2009 16:01:28 GMTKarinaKarina on SpoutBlog1/8/2009 11:01:28 AMI’ll never forget the first time I heard the Sinatra standard “My Way”, while sitting in the balcony of an art house in Denver, chain-smoking Benson & Hedges ultra-light menthols, staring nearly hypnotized by the sight of sexy Gary Oldman transforming himself into the swaggering embodiment of punk rock, tearing through both cover song and screen. Sid and Nancy (along with Howard Deutch’s Pretty In Pink which also came out in 1986, and Martha Coolidge’s 1983 Valley Girl) was nothing less than a revelation to this teenager with Aqua-netted hair, Doc Martins and ripped fishnets, because it actually portrayed “my people,” spoke to me in my own musical language. And my feeling of identification probably was not unlike that experienced by a certain segment of the movie-going public 31 years before Alex Cox paid tribute to the junkie romance of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen, who witnessed another tale of fucked-up love, possible homicide, and enduring heroin chic. Heartthrob Frank Sinatra would not sing “My Way” in Otto Preminger’s groundbreaking 1955 The Man With The Golden Arm, but he would play the fictional Frankie Machine, another lean and hungry musician of dubious talent weighed down by both a needy blonde and a monkey on his back. With a sizzling jazz score by Elmer Bernstein as perfectly wedded to image as Joe Strummer’s powerful sound is in Cox’s film, and with production design every bit as hyper-real as the addict’s hallucination style of Sid and Nancy, Preminger’s movie, like Cox’s, uses its sleek, feline, magnetic lead to shed light on a hapless guy unwittingly the helpless victim of his own charm, a plaything to both ruthless women and greedy men who take advantage of his naïve nature. Sinatra’s Frankie is a kindhearted, charismatic card dealer just out of rehab, trying to follow his dream of being a drummer, but he’s stuck with a scheming wife in a wheelchair (Eleanor Parker, who seems to be doing a camp version of a Tennessee Williams heroine) and a sometime employer/drug dealer (the appropriately slimy Darren McGavin) who uses heroin as an ace in the hole to control the fragile Frankie. Sid likewise was just a young, working class punk who suddenly found himself stuck with a scheming groupie/junkie/drug dealer (played by Chloe Webb who manages to make Nancy both annoying and endearing), a bass he could barely play, and a Machiavellian manager in the form of Malcolm McLaren who used all the Sex Pistols band members as his own personal puppets. Sid never wanted to be a nihilist icon any more than Frankie wants to deal cards; they’re just so damn alluring, so good at what they do, that others demand it! And pretty soon the lifestyle – including heroin – they’ve nodded into becomes all they know. Tellingly, the most sexually fraught scenes in The Man With The Golden Arm occur not between Frankie and his mistress Molly, played by va-va-voom Kim Novak, but between Frankie and his dealer Louie. It’s Louie who is forever massaging Frankie’s back when he’s tired, intimately cooing in his ear like a lover, taking him arm in arm back to his flat as Frankie swivels his head like a two-timing spouse, for he’s more nervous being seen alone with Louie than with Molly. In one scene a tired Louie begins to relax and get undressed, even takes off his shirt before shooting up that golden arm. Neither Molly nor Frankie’s wife Zosch ever show that much skin in front of Frankie! Indeed, towards the end of Sid and Nancy the bond between the couple isn’t sex, isn’t love, so much as a shared insatiable lust for the drug, the third party in their fatal ménage a trois. For the pursuit of the fix is sexual in itself. And yet the most painful truth in Sid and Nancy is laid bare in that one scene in which Sid destroys everything around him, slaughters that old Sinatra standard in a big ironic “fuck you.” For in a world where outside forces like sex, drugs and rock and roll can determine an individual’s fate there is no such thing as “My Way.” SEX SCENES is a weekly column in which Lauren Wissot watches old films, new films, indies and blockbusters, and tells us what turns her on. If you’ve got a film, a star, a genre or an issue that you’d like Lauren to tackle, let us know in the comments. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog » Karina Longworth http://www.spout.com/blogs/spoutblog/archive/2009/1/8/39244.aspx Post By: SpoutBlog
Post To: SpoutBlog on spout.com
Post Date: 1/8/2009 11:01:12 AM
Body: I’ll never forget the first time I heard the Sinatra standard “My Way”, while sitting in the balcony of an art house in Denver, chain-smoking Benson & Hedges ultra-light menthols, staring nearly hypnotized by the sight of sexy Gary Oldman transforming himself into the swaggering embodiment of punk rock, tearing through both cover song and screen. Sid and Nancy (along with Howard Deutch’s Pretty In Pink which also came out in 1986, and Martha Coolidge’s 1983 Valley Girl) was nothing less than a revelation to this teenager with Aqua-netted hair, Doc Martins and ripped fishnets, because it actually portrayed “my people,” spoke to me in my own musical language. And my feeling of identification probably was not unlike that experienced by a certain segment of the movie-going public 31 years before Alex Cox paid tribute to the junkie romance of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen, who witnessed another tale of fucked-up love, possible homicide, and enduring heroin chic. Heartthrob Frank Sinatra would not sing “My Way” in Otto Preminger’s groundbreaking 1955 The Man With The Golden Arm, but he would play the fictional Frankie Machine, another lean and hungry musician of dubious talent weighed down by both a needy blonde and a monkey on his back. With a sizzling jazz score by Elmer Bernstein as perfectly wedded to image as Joe Strummer’s powerful sound is in Cox’s film, and with production design every bit as hyper-real as the addict’s hallucination style of Sid and Nancy, Preminger’s movie, like Cox’s, uses its sleek, feline, magnetic lead to shed light on a hapless guy unwittingly the helpless victim of his own charm, a plaything to both ruthless women and greedy men who take advantage of his naïve nature. Sinatra’s Frankie is a kindhearted, charismatic card dealer just out of rehab, trying to follow his dream of being a drummer, but he’s stuck with a scheming wife in a wheelchair (Eleanor Parker, who seems to be doing a camp version of a Tennessee Williams heroine) and a sometime employer/drug dealer (the appropriately slimy Darren McGavin) who uses heroin as an ace in the hole to control the fragile Frankie. Sid likewise was just a young, working class punk who suddenly found himself stuck with a scheming groupie/junkie/drug dealer (played by Chloe Webb who manages to make Nancy both annoying and endearing), a bass he could barely play, and a Machiavellian manager in the form of Malcolm McLaren who used all the Sex Pistols band members as his own personal puppets. Sid never wanted to be a nihilist icon any more than Frankie wants to deal cards; they’re just so damn alluring, so good at what they do, that others demand it! And pretty soon the lifestyle – including heroin – they’ve nodded into becomes all they know. Tellingly, the most sexually fraught scenes in The Man With The Golden Arm occur not between Frankie and his mistress Molly, played by va-va-voom Kim Novak, but between Frankie and his dealer Louie. It’s Louie who is forever massaging Frankie’s back when he’s tired, intimately cooing in his ear like a lover, taking him arm in arm back to his flat as Frankie swivels his head like a two-timing spouse, for he’s more nervous being seen alone with Louie than with Molly. In one scene a tired Louie begins to relax and get undressed, even takes off his shirt before shooting up that golden arm. Neither Molly nor Frankie’s wife Zosch ever show that much skin in front of Frankie! Indeed, towards the end of Sid and Nancy the bond between the couple isn’t sex, isn’t love, so much as a shared insatiable lust for the drug, the third party in their fatal ménage a trois. For the pursuit of the fix is sexual in itself. And yet the most painful truth in Sid and Nancy is laid bare in that one scene in which Sid destroys everything around him, slaughters that old Sinatra standard in a big ironic “fuck you.” For in a world where outside forces like sex, drugs and rock and roll can determine an individual’s fate there is no such thing as “My Way.” SEX SCENES is a weekly column in which Lauren Wissot watches old films, new films, indies and blockbusters, and tells us what turns her on. If you’ve got a film, a star, a genre or an issue that you’d like Lauren to tackle, let us know in the comments. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog
]]>Thu, 08 Jan 2009 16:01:12 GMTSpoutBlogSpoutBlog on spout.com1/8/2009 11:01:12 AMI’ll never forget the first time I heard the Sinatra standard “My Way”, while sitting in the balcony of an art house in Denver, chain-smoking Benson & Hedges ultra-light menthols, staring nearly hypnotized by the sight of sexy Gary Oldman transforming himself into the swaggering embodiment of punk rock, tearing through both cover song and screen. Sid and Nancy (along with Howard Deutch’s Pretty In Pink which also came out in 1986, and Martha Coolidge’s 1983 Valley Girl) was nothing less than a revelation to this teenager with Aqua-netted hair, Doc Martins and ripped fishnets, because it actually portrayed “my people,” spoke to me in my own musical language. And my feeling of identification probably was not unlike that experienced by a certain segment of the movie-going public 31 years before Alex Cox paid tribute to the junkie romance of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen, who witnessed another tale of fucked-up love, possible homicide, and enduring heroin chic. Heartthrob Frank Sinatra would not sing “My Way” in Otto Preminger’s groundbreaking 1955 The Man With The Golden Arm, but he would play the fictional Frankie Machine, another lean and hungry musician of dubious talent weighed down by both a needy blonde and a monkey on his back. With a sizzling jazz score by Elmer Bernstein as perfectly wedded to image as Joe Strummer’s powerful sound is in Cox’s film, and with production design every bit as hyper-real as the addict’s hallucination style of Sid and Nancy, Preminger’s movie, like Cox’s, uses its sleek, feline, magnetic lead to shed light on a hapless guy unwittingly the helpless victim of his own charm, a plaything to both ruthless women and greedy men who take advantage of his naïve nature. Sinatra’s Frankie is a kindhearted, charismatic card dealer just out of rehab, trying to follow his dream of being a drummer, but he’s stuck with a scheming wife in a wheelchair (Eleanor Parker, who seems to be doing a camp version of a Tennessee Williams heroine) and a sometime employer/drug dealer (the appropriately slimy Darren McGavin) who uses heroin as an ace in the hole to control the fragile Frankie. Sid likewise was just a young, working class punk who suddenly found himself stuck with a scheming groupie/junkie/drug dealer (played by Chloe Webb who manages to make Nancy both annoying and endearing), a bass he could barely play, and a Machiavellian manager in the form of Malcolm McLaren who used all the Sex Pistols band members as his own personal puppets. Sid never wanted to be a nihilist icon any more than Frankie wants to deal cards; they’re just so damn alluring, so good at what they do, that others demand it! And pretty soon the lifestyle – including heroin – they’ve nodded into becomes all they know. Tellingly, the most sexually fraught scenes in The Man With The Golden Arm occur not between Frankie and his mistress Molly, played by va-va-voom Kim Novak, but between Frankie and his dealer Louie. It’s Louie who is forever massaging Frankie’s back when he’s tired, intimately cooing in his ear like a lover, taking him arm in arm back to his flat as Frankie swivels his head like a two-timing spouse, for he’s more nervous being seen alone with Louie than with Molly. In one scene a tired Louie begins to relax and get undressed, even takes off his shirt before shooting up that golden arm. Neither Molly nor Frankie’s wife Zosch ever show that much skin in front of Frankie! Indeed, towards the end of Sid and Nancy the bond between the couple isn’t sex, isn’t love, so much as a shared insatiable lust for the drug, the third party in their fatal ménage a trois. For the pursuit of the fix is sexual in itself. And yet the most painful truth in Sid and Nancy is laid bare in that one scene in which Sid destroys everything around him, slaughters that old Sinatra standard in a big ironic “fuck you.” For in a world where outside forces like sex, drugs and rock and roll can determine an individual’s fate there is no such thing as “My Way.” SEX SCENES is a weekly column in which Lauren Wissot watches old films, new films, indies and blockbusters, and tells us what turns her on. If you’ve got a film, a star, a genre or an issue that you’d like Lauren to tackle, let us know in the comments. Originally posted on:SpoutBlog http://www.spout.com/groups/Movie_Games/Re_The_meeting/598/37807/1/ShowPost.aspx Post By: csprague
Post To: Movie Games
Post Date: 12/1/2008 4:21:02 PM
Body: [quote user="Ravie13"] Sid and Nancy were sitting in a delicatessen looking rather dazed and confused. Walking the Line between the good, the bad and the ugly they sipped on ther cocktails. It was the point of no return between them. They knew what they wanted and this meeting was the last resort. Nancy looked at him. She was a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown but she kept up the charade of a happy-go-lucky valley girl. But, nervously, she pushed the drink away and looked into his tired eyes. "Sid, I want a divorce." [/quote] wow. that was impressive :) I want a divorce. lol. I can't believe that's a movie title.
]]>Mon, 01 Dec 2008 21:21:02 GMTcspragueMovie Games12/1/2008 4:21:02 PM[quote user="Ravie13"] Sid and Nancy were sitting in a delicatessen looking rather dazed and confused. Walking the Line between the good, the bad and the ugly they sipped on ther cocktails. It was the point of no return between them. They knew what they wanted and this meeting was the last resort. Nancy looked at him. She was a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown but she kept up the charade of a happy-go-lucky valley girl. But, nervously, she pushed the drink away and looked into his tired eyes. "Sid, I want a divorce." [/quote] wow. that was impressive :) I want a divorce. lol. I can't believe that's a movie title. http://www.spout.com/blogs/usesoap/archive/2008/11/25/37619.aspx Post By: usesoap
Post To: usesoap Blog
Post Date: 11/25/2008 12:44:47 PM
Body: During last year’s “Juno” zeitgeist, I received a response from a reader who took umbrage with me slamming the film. “I guess you don’t remember what’s it’s like to be a 16-year-old girl who is unpopular, non-conforming and pregnant,” she sniffed. I always thought this to be an odd line of reasoning for an argument. By that statement, does that mean I must have spent time as a gladiator to enjoy “300?” Must I have gone through heroin withdraw after cutting short my career in punk music to appreciate “Sid and Nancy?” A film need not have leads with character traits that duplicate my own in order for me to appreciate it (“Trainspotting” immediately comes to mind). It does not even have to have leads that I respect, for that matter (say hello to my little friend “Scarface”). What it does have to contain is an involving story and, in lieu of, or addition to that, characters which captivate my attention long enough for me to want to spend two hours with them in a darkened theater. The novel “Twilight,” written by Stephanie Meyers, is not meant for me. Nor, I gather, is the film. It was meant for the two texting tweeners sitting next to me in the theater – the ones who giggled at the first sight of Edward, the ones who cheered on Bella, but also the ones who spent the majority of film bathed in the blue light of their flipped-open cell phones, apparently interested in anything else but what was on the screen. (Maybe we could find common ground.) But there were certainly enough fans to give this film a record-breaking weekend at the box office last weekend. Fandango, the online pre-sale ticket hub, reported that tickets for “Twilight” were being sold at a rate of five per second prior to the first screenings. And they are not going away any time soon; after a phenomenal Friday box office, Summit, the tiny studio that produced the film, announced plans for a sequel and perhaps a third to be filmed back to back. And for that audience, I certainly understand (and even, at times, appreciate) the appeal. For beneath “Twilight’s” façade of forbidden love, mortal danger and blood-sucking vampires lies a very chaste, safe escapist fantasy for young girls who want their films with more danger than awaiting what college Zac Efron will select upon graduating high school. And when it comes to sexuality, a subject typically intertwined with the vampire mythology, these beasties don’t even grow those phallic fangs when they get excited, but rather just chomp away with normal incisors and bicuspids. These young girls can sit in the theater and completely ignore the sociological underpinnings of “Twilight,” and instead choose to retreat into the more fairy tale aspects of the story. There are certainly worse role models for young girls than that of young Bella (played by Kristen Stewart). She’s apparently smart, plainly pretty, a little tomboyish, and the new kid at school. She’s also immediately the center of attention of fellow classmates, the object of desire from the hunky, mysterious, aloof Edward (played by Robert Pattinson) and apparently responsible enough to be given carte blanche by her separated parents. There is a kernel of an interesting tragic story in the forbidden love of its leads (too bad neither actor seems interested in really emoting it, though). The fact that she’s human and Edward’s like, totally undead and could at any moment get all bitey on Bella makes this aspect compelling, especially for a youngster. Yet for anyone old enough to drive, though, is where “Twilight” begins to wither and shrivel under scrutiny. For vampire enthusiasts, this is perhaps one of the worst treatments of the mythology since Don Rickles turned into a vampire in the woefully bad John Landis mobster-vampire hybrid “Innocent Blood.” In fact, it tosses so many of the elements that make up the creatures’ mythology (the most long-standing in film history, by the way), one wonders why Meyers did not create a mythological beast all her own. For example, when these vampires are exposed to sunlight, their skin does not singe, it twinkles. Also, Edward and his surrogate “family” are “vegetarian vampires,” meaning they feast not on humans, but tear into woodland creatures like Sarah Palin on a weekend hunting expedition. But the lack of doom and gloom with its vampires are not the stake through “Twilight’s” heart. Between their sporting more pancake makeup than a crown at a Cure concert, Edward’s family’s passion for playing a good ol-fashioned game of baseball, or even their superhuman abilities, (which are amusingly in need of a larger budget), they are extremely difficult to take as seriously as director Catherine Hardwicke wants us to. The other splash of holy water is Stewart as Bella. Edward, who is revealed to be about 90 (that’s a lot of high school biology classes to slog through!), claims he’s waited his life for someone like her. Really? Why? Do you want to borrow her lipstick? Honestly, Stewart plays her as such a serious, mopey bore, it’s really hard to see just what it is about her that is so striking to anyone, particularly someone who has spent the last nine decades chasing high school chicks. Look, I am happy to see film aimed at an oft-neglected segment of film-goers, giving them a fantasy world that does not involve crass commercialism or power through sexualization (and I hope after this initial encounter Bella goes home and has some serious “Buffy: The Vampire Slayer” marathons for tips on being more strong willed). But the fact that this was apparently based on a wildly popular young adult novel makes me sad to realize just how few options there must be out there for our daughters to read.
]]>Tue, 25 Nov 2008 17:44:47 GMTusesoapusesoap Blog11/25/2008 12:44:47 PMDuring last year&rsquo;s &ldquo;Juno&rdquo; zeitgeist, I received a response from a reader who took umbrage with me slamming the film. &ldquo;I guess you don&rsquo;t remember what&rsquo;s it&rsquo;s like to be a 16-year-old girl who is unpopular, non-conforming and pregnant,&rdquo; she sniffed. I always thought this to be an odd line of reasoning for an argument. By that statement, does that mean I must have spent time as a gladiator to enjoy &ldquo;300?&rdquo; Must I have gone through heroin withdraw after cutting short my career in punk music to appreciate &ldquo;Sid and Nancy?&rdquo; A film need not have leads with character traits that duplicate my own in order for me to appreciate it (&ldquo;Trainspotting&rdquo; immediately comes to mind). It does not even have to have leads that I respect, for that matter (say hello to my little friend &ldquo;Scarface&rdquo;). What it does have to contain is an involving story and, in lieu of, or addition to that, characters which captivate my attention long enough for me to want to spend two hours with them in a darkened theater. The novel &ldquo;Twilight,&rdquo; written by Stephanie Meyers, is not meant for me. Nor, I gather, is the film. It was meant for the two texting tweeners sitting next to me in the theater &ndash; the ones who giggled at the first sight of Edward, the ones who cheered on Bella, but also the ones who spent the majority of film bathed in the blue light of their flipped-open cell phones, apparently interested in anything else but what was on the screen. (Maybe we could find common ground.) But there were certainly enough fans to give this film a record-breaking weekend at the box office last weekend. Fandango, the online pre-sale ticket hub, reported that tickets for &ldquo;Twilight&rdquo; were being sold at a rate of five per second prior to the first screenings. And they are not going away any time soon; after a phenomenal Friday box office, Summit, the tiny studio that produced the film, announced plans for a sequel and perhaps a third to be filmed back to back. And for that audience, I certainly understand (and even, at times, appreciate) the appeal. For beneath &ldquo;Twilight&rsquo;s&rdquo; fa&ccedil;ade of forbidden love, mortal danger and blood-sucking vampires lies a very chaste, safe escapist fantasy for young girls who want their films with more danger than awaiting what college Zac Efron will select upon graduating high school. And when it comes to sexuality, a subject typically intertwined with the vampire mythology, these beasties don&rsquo;t even grow those phallic fangs when they get excited, but rather just chomp away with normal incisors and bicuspids. These young girls can sit in the theater and completely ignore the sociological underpinnings of &ldquo;Twilight,&rdquo; and instead choose to retreat into the more fairy tale aspects of the story. There are certainly worse role models for young girls than that of young Bella (played by Kristen Stewart). She&rsquo;s apparently smart, plainly pretty, a little tomboyish, and the new kid at school. She&rsquo;s also immediately the center of attention of fellow classmates, the object of desire from the hunky, mysterious, aloof Edward (played by Robert Pattinson) and apparently responsible enough to be given carte blanche by her separated parents. There is a kernel of an interesting tragic story in the forbidden love of its leads (too bad neither actor seems interested in really emoting it, though). The fact that she&rsquo;s human and Edward&rsquo;s like, totally undead and could at any moment get all bitey on Bella makes this aspect compelling, especially for a youngster. Yet for anyone old enough to drive, though, is where &ldquo;Twilight&rdquo; begins to wither and shrivel under scrutiny. For vampire enthusiasts, this is perhaps one of the worst treatments of the mythology since Don Rickles turned into a vampire in the woefully bad John Landis mobster-vampire hybrid &ldquo;Innocent Blood.&rdquo; In fact, it tosses so many of the elements that make up the creatures&rsquo; mythology (the most long-standing in film history, by the way), one wonders why Meyers did not create a mythological beast all her own. For example, when these vampires are exposed to sunlight, their skin does not singe, it twinkles. Also, Edward and his surrogate &ldquo;family&rdquo; are &ldquo;vegetarian vampires,&rdquo; meaning they feast not on humans, but tear into woodland creatures like Sarah Palin on a weekend hunting expedition. But the lack of doom and gloom with its vampires are not the stake through &ldquo;Twilight&rsquo;s&rdquo; heart. Between their sporting more pancake makeup than a crown at a Cure concert, Edward&rsquo;s family&rsquo;s passion for playing a good ol-fashioned game of baseball, or even their superhuman abilities, (which are amusingly in need of a larger budget), they are extremely difficult to take as seriously as director Catherine Hardwicke wants us to. The other splash of holy water is Stewart as Bella. Edward, who is revealed to be about 90 (that&rsquo;s a lot of high school biology classes to slog through!), claims he&rsquo;s waited his life for someone like her. Really? Why? Do you want to borrow her lipstick? Honestly, Stewart plays her as such a serious, mopey bore, it&rsquo;s really hard to see just what it is about her that is so striking to anyone, particularly someone who has spent the last nine decades chasing high school chicks. Look, I am happy to see film aimed at an oft-neglected segment of film-goers, giving them a fantasy world that does not involve crass commercialism or power through sexualization (and I hope after this initial encounter Bella goes home and has some serious &ldquo;Buffy: The Vampire Slayer&rdquo; marathons for tips on being more strong willed). But the fact that this was apparently based on a wildly popular young adult novel makes me sad to realize just how few options there must be out there for our daughters to read. http://www.spout.com/groups/Movie_Games/The_meeting/598/37562/1/ShowPost.aspx Post By: Ravie13
Post To: Movie Games
Post Date: 11/23/2008 4:54:31 AM
Body: Sid and Nancy were sitting in a delicatessen looking rather dazed and confused. Walking the Line between the good, the bad and the ugly they sipped on ther cocktails. It was the point of no return between them. They knew what they wanted and this meeting was the last resort. Nancy looked at him. She was a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown but she kept up the charade of a happy-go-lucky valley girl. But, nervously, she pushed the drink away and looked into his tired eyes. "Sid, I want a divorce."
]]>Sun, 23 Nov 2008 09:54:31 GMTRavie13Movie Games11/23/2008 4:54:31 AMSid and Nancy were sitting in a delicatessen looking rather dazed and confused. Walking the Line between the good, the bad and the ugly they sipped on ther cocktails. It was the point of no return between them. They knew what they wanted and this meeting was the last resort. Nancy looked at him. She was a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown but she kept up the charade of a happy-go-lucky valley girl. But, nervously, she pushed the drink away and looked into his tired eyes. "Sid, I want a divorce." http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/music/MemberTagFilms.aspxmusic
Number of films tagged: 4341

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]]>Mon, 16 Nov 2009 19:17:56 GMT90043169Tag http://www.spout.com/members/0/tags/punk/MemberTagFilms.aspxpunk
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