From, Dusk ‘Til mm Bua written by iter by pg tino Rodriguez "Super-Sellout-Schlock" should be an appropriate phrase for this sassy little flick. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. | think it's the films strength. Rodriguez uses the best of Hollywood cheese to create an absolutely absurd movie drawing from a number of genres. Guns a'blazing, our two heroes, who are themselves cold-blooded killers, are thrown into the realm of the supernat- ural as they run for the border with their stolen loot—go figure! Within what passes for a plot the film shifts from a Tarantinoesque gangster flick into a fast paced witty dialogue in the style of David Mamet, and then half way through switches abruptly into a Hollywoodish action flick full of violence, boobs, and stylized special effects. This movie says, "Shut your mind off and enjoy the ride.” It's stupid but fun. There is only one major problem: Tarantino's acting. PHEW! it stinks. Moreover, his character lacks a strong connection to an already meager plot. Luckily for the viewer, Rodriguez offs Tarantino early, and also keeps Juliette Lewis rela- tively muzzled.(That trailer park yokel stereotype she always plays is starting to get on my nerves— give it a break already!) People should have mixed feelings about this flick. A sellout to Hollywood it is, but made with maximum effort. You have to give Rodriguez credit for that much. And besides, vam- pire films are cool. P.S. Look for excellent performances by Cheech Marin and Richard Roundtree of Shaft (Can you dig it) fame. Also, don't wait to see this one on video; you'll lose the full schlock potential in the transference to small screen. <@, —jamie lamberton. Tetees much says it all, Be n H a rpe r and | doubt that anybody who was at that show would beg to differ. This man has soul. Pardon me, | should say, SOUL. That'd be with a capi- tal "S". He speaks with the eloquence of a prophet, and wails like a banshee, hair flying like hummingbirds, with words that sting like bees... he could be the love child of Bob Marley and Mahalia Jackson; Gil Scott- Heron and the girl-next-door Don't search for him in the record store under blues, rap or jazz; Harper belongs to the sum of all parts called music. The album is called Fight For Your Mind. Own it. s@s Richard's on Richard's -Kelsey Finlayson Boo Ne FE R F eee | O R leis a BY DAVID FRANSON I've had enough of boring- ass, politically correct, ultra-theoreti- cal art that only a curator or a critic could love. Cut funding for the arts now! There are some good reasons why a lack of public funds may pro- duce a more vibrant culture. (Warning: this is a rant, and some strong opinions are expressed herein. You may disagree with these opin- ions, and that's okay. I'm open to discussion on these points. But if you're the sort of person who gets passionately wrathful when some- one's opinions differ from yours... go hang yourself. You'll never be happy on this earth, so get it over with and save the rest of us from your misery. Thanks!) Point the first: You know better how to spend your own money than the government ever will. When government is in charge, look at what we get: piggy pensions for Senators (let's see... screw the country, and get paid! sounds great!), national defense (I guess someone has to beat up the Somali teenagers), BC Place (a place for those undead Stones to prance about in leotards: | barf... And when you're in charge, you get... whatever you want! Like, maybe even some good art. Now imagine everyone in the country getting what they want, with their own money. Be open-minded: the choices of the average Canadian may not.be yours. They might actually like BC Place. But remember that you're free to get what you want, and other people should have that freedom too. Maybe the arts would- n't be any better off, but we'd be happier, wouldn't we? Point the second: All bureaucracies, including bureaucra- cies which fund the arts, will eventu- ally resemble the Department of Motor Vehicles. It's true! They all turn surly, inefficient, wasteful, and just plain nasty. Now go on down to the FEBRUARY. - MARCH 1996 / EMILY 27 N prioprm Ts DMV and have a look around. Unappealing, isn't it? While you're there, ask yourself the following question: Do you really want these people running our culture? Ask your- self, because these people will - peo- ple just like the DMV clerks and driving inspectors, but with MFAs. Failed artists, just like Jim Jones, Pol Pot, and Adolf Hitler, but with less ambition and a taste for civil service. Point the third: Politics makes for brown noses. The people who get grants are the people who are friends of the people who give grants. They should just do away with application processes and use the money to throw parties where everyone who wants some funding can come over, get a little bit tipsy, and take turns sniffing the asses of cultural bureaucrats while trying to say "Just like roses!" with the kind of natural conviction that actors on "Xena: Warrior Princess" can only dream of. It would be more honest. It might be more fun. Point the fourth: When art is publicly funded, it tends not to be very good art. What does get funded is “art" from the established, the trendy, and the wordy. At this institution (ECIAD) we are subjected to endless justifica- tions, explanations, and defenses for what is essentially mediocre and unexciting. Everything is taken too seriously, and much is made of the emotional impact of two bits of yarn tied to a fence. The "artist" feels validated, ties more string to more fences, duti- fully documents these deeds, writes thousands of words about the juxta- position of string and fence and its relation to the conflict between terri- toriality and community in a late capitalist society, and hey-presto! a body of work is born and another reputation made. This is the sort of thing that gets funded because nobody can understand it; and if nobody can understand it, then nobody will really be able to question the choice of the cultural bureaucracy. Then the bureaucrats can be right all the time, and keep their cushy jobs forever. Most “artists" and art pro- fessionals (be they students, teachers, self-important poseurs, grant-givers, or the army of naive nobodies) don't seem to understand is that creating something really good, something worthy of being called “art" instead of "stuff", "decoration", "things", or even "garbage", is really, really hard. Or sometimes, if you're lucky, very easy. But one thing that exceptional creations aren't, is com- monplace. Fortunately, grant-giving institutions are on the way out, so maybe we won't have to look at so much of the commonplace being so handsomely rewarded. Perhaps we as a culture will be fortu- nate, and artists will return to doing what they are inspired to do, and turn away from doing what they can merely justify or get funding for. Then, perhaps, we will all be cn equal footing: the highly trained insider and the untrained outsider, labouring only to produce what really matters to them.