Beverage Review: BALTIKA EXTRA 9 (2008, Russia)

Stars: 1 of 5.
Maker: Baltika (the second-largest brewery in Europe, after Heineken).
Home Country: Russia.
Where procured: Bodega, corner of Manhattan and Nassau in Brooklyn.

Well, right off the bat we got problems. I don't even know where to begin. It's meant to be a 40 (Alcohol Volume 8.0%), but it's actually 75 fluid ounces (2 Quarts, 11 oz. is what it says on the bottle). This thing is a behemoth. And it doesn't even come in glass. It comes in thin plastic with a strange, dimpled texture. It looks like the odd cousin of a two-liter soda. And I can see already the wheels in your head are turning- if it's not in the extra insulated glass, how are 75 ounces of this tripe gonna stay cold for more than six minutes? And the answer is, they're not. More on that later. There's other fundamental problems too, even beyond the fact that the "Best Before Date" box is empty. Now, it seems to be entitled "Extra 9 Lager." And everyone schooled in how these things work knows that there are two types of beers, lagers and ales. Well, okay, this one is a lager, then. But then, up in the right hand corner of the label, it says "Ale." Well, which is it? 'Alright,' you say, 'just crack it open and find out for yourself.' Alright, I shall. You crack it open, and you get kind of this sweet smell. It's a smell that seems to contradict the fact that you just paid 2.3 cents per ounce for this stuff. If you later examine the ingredients list, you'll find that the smell is probably just the "High Maltose Corn Syrup." I'm not sure what that is, and after I tried this, I'm not sure I care to find out. Anyway, by the time you've finished taking in the oddly sweet smell it produces, the liquid within has probably jumped a good ten degrees in temperature. So it's time for that first, fateful sip. Even cold, even ICE cold, this stuff tastes exactly like sweaty gym shorts. 'Have you even actually tasted sweaty gym shorts?,' you ask. Well, try a sip of Extra 9 and come tell me where you stand on that issue. It tastes EXACTLY like sweaty gym shorts. And that is not a good thing, even when you're trying to imbue your life with extra kitsch value. And remember by the time you're 6 minutes into this gargantuan endeavor, it's gonna be room temperature. You thought it tasted like gym shorts when it was ice cold? You are in for some hard, unfortunate truths at room temperature. And then, of course, there's the question- do I put it back in the freezer and get it cold again at the risk of losing carbonation, or do I stick it out here at a rapidly rising room temperature? Do I jeopardize throwing away my $1.75 investment with the additional risk of appearing to be less of a man? These are actually some pretty weighty questions for malt liquor to be asking. In any event, I continued on, if only for the sake of this fine beverage review. And let me tell you, by the time I got to the foam at the bottom, lukewarm gym shorts were sounding pretty good. Words truly have no dominion over the shapeless, slavering, gangrenous Lovecraftian monsters that lie in the foam abyss at the bottom of this dimpled bottle. I must say I don't think it's worth finding out for yourself. One star.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (1981, Steven Spielberg)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 115 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, John Rhys-Davies, Denholm Eliot, William Hootkins, Paul Freeman, Ronald Lacey, Dennis Muren, John Williams, George Lucas, Pat Roach, Alfred Molina, Lawrence Kasdan
Tag-line: "The Return of the Great Adventure."
Best one-liner: "You want to talk to God? Let's go see him together, I've got nothing better to do."

Ah, Indiana Jones. A true hero for America. He's basically a grave robber, a cultural appropriator, sucker-punch thrower, a 'shoot first and ask questions later' kind of guy. He feels justified in everything he does, and when he gets called out on it, he defuses the situation with a smarmy grin. And the film acknowledges it, with Belloq's whole "shadowy reflection of you" speech, which is the screenwriter Kasdan beautifully channeling the days of Hawks and Huston. According to the original RAIDERS novelization, college-age Indy seduced 16-year-old Marion, promised her the world, and then left her. His friend and favorite professor's daughter! She was so broken down that she followed her dad to Nepal, he promptly died, and she had to work as a prostitute for some years in order to survive.

Now, with THAT subtext, watch their reunion scene, and soak in what a dick Indy is.

Cause that's exactly it. Indiana Jones is a dick. Case in point, in the Nazi sub base, Indy is dressed as a Nazi soldier. His mission- which risks not only his own neck and that of a woman he loves, but possibly the fate of the entire world- hangs in the balance. Yet, when he sees Belloq, he's willing to risk it all just to smack his shoulder into him. Of course, Belloq assumes it's a clumsy Nazi, and exits disdainfully, but Indy could have ruined the entire plan right there. Just so he could be a dick.





And look at that final, smug look of self-satisfaction. That really sums it all up.

Yet... when it all comes down to it, we love Indy. Because in the context of the films, he's usually fighting the most vile, venomous enemies the planet has ever excreted. So keep fighting the good fight, Indy, but cool it with the hypocrisy. There's a pretty blurry line between elitist private collection, 'public' museum, and Hovitos Temple. Aww, there you go with that lopsided grin again. Damn it. Fine. Five stars. But this is the last time!

-Sean Gill

Music Review: SEINE GROSSE ERFOLGE (1969, Heino)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 42 minutes.

I'm not going to lie to you... this album is exceptionally painful. The songs are about all kinds of stuff like Mexico, the Latin sun, Rio de Janeiro, whiskey, and things of that nature. I kind of envisioned this as a series of Heino reviews, but let me tell you, one just may be enough. The initial premise is enough to carry it pretty far, however: totally creepy deep-voiced German- in tight woolen Mod clothes, and sunglasses that he never takes off- sings fanciful songs about South America. He was frequently accused of designing music expressly for Nazis on the run in Latin America, which kind of makes you feel dirty, since nobody really wants to be in the same target audience as Josef Mengele. Maybe some of his later albums were designed with others in mind, like his tribute to Mother (which would go really well with Mr. T's "Treat Your Mother Right" rap from BE SOMEBODY OR BE SOMEBODY'S FOOL).

The music itself is pretty lackluster, and should be familiar if you've listened to 60's German folk-type albums in the past. Whether it's yodeling, calypso, traditional German folk, or whatever, it always seems like a good idea at the start, like you're going to have a kitschy fun time of it, and then you only make it about two tracks in before it becomes boring. That is the case here as well, and the only one I really analyzed was the title track, "Carumbo, Karacha, ein Whisky." The song is simple. Heino has evidently made some big mistake with a woman named Dolores, things have been ruined, and it seems to be the fault of whisky and gin. It also may have happened in Rio de Janeiro, because it is mentioned as well. It's been a while since I took German, but this seems to be the gist of it. There's even an accompanying music video, but it's not nearly as good as you might imagine.


There's lots of shaky cam, drinking, and Germans, and the Germans just tip their glasses to one another for the duration. It's quite eerie actually, as if these stiff pencil necks, these marionette people, perpetually tipping their glasses to one another in a foreign land, have reduced happiness, fun, even life itself to one banal movement, the tipping of a glass.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: GRAN TORINO (2008, Clint Eastwood)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 116 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Clint Eastwood, Clint Eastwood, Clint Eastwood, Kyle Eastwood, John Carroll Lynch.
Tag-line: "Clint Eastwood."
Best one-liner: "Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn't have messed with? That's me."

"Let's go. We'll leave the Mick alone so he can... play with himself." This film is amazing. Just as amazing as the completely ludicrous trailer. Every bit of insanity and ridiculousness promised in the trailer is delivered, and in spades. Clint is so legendary, so committed to his work, so damn old, his pants pulled up so high, that no matter what he does, it's going to be entertaining and have some weight to it. His performance here is not being lauded cause people feel bad for him, like John Wayne's in TRUE GRIT. He has truly earned each and every accolade. Whether or not this is indeed Clint's farewell performance (both BLOOD WORK and MILLION DOLLAR BABY carried with them this possibility), he presents himself as a man transformed. In UNFORGIVEN, we saw Clint reinvented- wearier, worldlier, wiser- and we also saw a return to form with the nearly supernatural "Angel of Death" revenge finale. Back then, Clint was old, but here, he is truly ancient. He's a relic. His affected squint is now permanent. He no longer harshly intones, he growls. He doesn't even move his teeth as he snarls his terrifying reinvention of "Get off my lawn!"

This newest Clint is colorfully disdainful of modern society, its youth, its forced integration, its gang cultures, its multicultural tendencies. Everything which to him represents "the other" can be mocked, derided, and ridiculed (there are probably 4 or 5 racial slurs per minute), but not quite torn down. This is what he resents more than anything. The ease with which things can be torn down. His banter with John Carrol Lynch's barber is the perfect illustration. He says it's "how men talk." It's a carefully choreographed ballet of insults and racial epithets- there's no room, in his mind, for hamfistedness or outright denigration. This leads straight to bloodshed (and the barber indeed draws his gun when Thao, the young man Clint later takes under his wing, oafishly jumps straight to the crassest, least clever insults when training to "speak like a man").

Clint's personas over the years and his character Walt Kowalski here both are excellent at killing and dispatching violence. But Walt's attitude is far more Zen. He finds it more fulfilling to aim a gun comprised of his forefinger and thumb, to cut people down in his mind because there'd be no point to do it for real. He'd be taking himself down to their level. That is not to say that Clint can no longer brandish an actual gun to back up the one made by his fingers, but now he's above it all, so close to death, that he can't concern himself with the evil machinations of foolish men. This Clint is not a god of destruction, but a builder. And he spends this performance building up some relationships, that, while they could easily stray into after-school special territory, seem, for the most part, real. And when they're not, it's a mawkishness of CLINT's creation, so it's not actually corny. So pass the Pabst, close your eyes, and listen to Clint growl out the final song, "Gran Torino." It's earthy, weatherbeaten, and damned old. But it's also soft and comforting. And it just might be Clint's swansong.

-Sean Gill

COMING SOON: My vaunted end-of-the-year 'best films' list.

Film Review: ROCK 'N ROLL HIGH SCHOOL (1979, Allan Arkush & Joe Dante)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time:

Notable Cast or Crew: The Ramones, P.J. Soles, Paul Bartel, Mary Woronov, Roger Corman, Dick Miller, Clint Howard. Giant mouse FX by Rob Bottin (THE THING, ROBOCOP, TOTAL RECALL).

Tag-line: "Hey, ho, let's go!"
Best one-liner(s): "I'm FIRST in line! and if you don't like it, you can put it where the monkey puts the nuts!"
Best anecdote: Dee Dee Ramone was such a fine thespian that his lines were cut from five down to two, in the dressing room after the concert: "Hey, pizza!" and "Hey, pizza! It's great! Let's dig in!"

ROCK 'N ROLL HIGH SCHOOL is like that friend of yours who's eating salted nuts and licking their fingers while you're riding the subway together. And you're like 'Where did you get those nuts?' And you know what, your friend is eating those nuts out of their nasty lint-lined pocket. And they don't care. And that friend is like this movie- irreverent, random, and lettin' it stuff hang out all over the place. This film is a damned fun time. This is producer Roger Corman and directors Joe Dante and Allan Arkush at the height of their campy, infectiously fun powers. We've got the new evil principal played by Mary Woronov in a performance that would make most drag queens proud.

We got the legendary B-director and actor Paul Bartel as the formerly square Ramones-fan-in-training music teacher.

(And this is yet another of the over twenty collaborations between the legendary Mary Woronov and Paul Bartel (of EATING RAOUL fame) who you're bound to hear much more about on this blog.) We got Clint Howard as the high school equivalent of James Garner in THE GREAT ESCAPE. We, of course, got the Ramones, reveling in the fact they don't know how to act but excel at whipping high schoolers into a frenzy. And, finally, we got P.J. Soles as the incorrigible Riff Randell, who truly is the REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE for her generation,

leading revolts, skipping class, heckling the administration, and finally actually BLOWING UP THE SCHOOL in an act of youthful defiance (with a pyrotechnics shot which the penny pinching Corman continued to recycle, most notably in MUNCHIE STRIKES BACK).

Five stars of high school giddiness and a true last hurrah for 70's B-movies.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: FACE/OFF (1997, John Woo)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 140 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: John Travolta, Nicolas Cage, Joan Allen, Margaret Cho, Nick Cassavetes, CCH Pounder, Gina Gershon, John Carroll Lynch (of ZODIAC and DREW CAREY), Alessandro Nivola, Dominique Swain (of Adrian Lyne's LOLITA), Matt Ross (THE LAST DAYS OF DISCO, BIG LOVE), Thomas Jane (that makes two Patricia Arquette husbands in this movie), Chris Bauer, Tommy Flanagan (the scarred heavy from SIN CITY and SMOKIN' ACES), Kirk Baltz (the cop who loses an ear in RESERVOIR DOGS).

Tag-line: "In order to catch him, he must become him."
Best one-liner(s): "It's like looking in a mirror. Only... not. "

"Hello, Doctor. I hope you don't mind: I took a few of your groovy painkillers. I'm just enjoying some of your greatest hits here. Oh God, this is excellent. Oh, bravo. Bra-fucking-vo." So it's TANGO AND CASH meets DEMOLITION MAN meets FREAKY FRIDAY. And it's been directed by Tony Scott on a meth binge- John Woo. Damn! This movie really takes it up a notch. It's a symphonic ballet of particles; Woo's genius lies in the simplicity by which the film itself can be reduced to just objects in motion- tumbling men, flying glass shards, rotating debris, flapping doves, hurtling papers, cascading bullet casings. There would be no MATRIX without this. It's Peckinpah to the Nth degree, choreographed and concocted by a true mad scientist of cinema. The performances beg for hyperbole that goes beyond "over the top"- Cage and Travolta seem entwined in a battle to gorge themselves, to voraciously devour as much scenery as possible.



And Woo ensures that they never run out of scenery to chew upon. Joan Allen and Nick Cassavetes even get in on the action with, respectively, some ridiculous gasping,

and the probably ad-libbed line "THEY'RE LIKE COCKROACHES!"

There's WILD AT HEART references, inappropriate use of "Over the Rainbow," and lots of talk about 'tongue sucking.' In closing, this film perhaps should have been titled, FACE/TOUCHING.

There is more face touching than in any other movie I have ever seen. So try the FACE/OFF drinking game; take one drink every time someone touches someone else's face, and by the close, I guarantee you will be almost as crazy as Nick Cage.

"If I were to send you flowers where would I... no, let me rephrase that. If I were to let you suck...my tongue, would you be grateful?"

-Sean Gill

Film Review: A GIRL CUT IN TWO (2008, Claude Chabrol)

Stars: 5 of 5.

Running Time: 115 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Benoit Magimel (of Chabrol's THE BRIDESMAID and THE FLOWER OF EVIL and Haneke's THE PIANO TEACHER), François Berleand (everything from CAMILLE CLAUDEL to Breillat's ROMANCE to THE TRANSPORTER 2) , Ludivine Sagnier (of Ozon's SWIMMING POOL), Mathilda May (from THE JACKAL...hah), Caroline Sihol, Thomas Chabrol.

Tag-line: "One man's love is another man's lust."

Awards: Golden Arena at the Pula Film Festival, Bastone Bianca Award at the Venice Film Festival.

Chabrol is a subtle filmmaker. He's long lived in the shadow of Hitchcock (try and find an article, review, or appreciation that does not use the tired phrase "the French Hitchcock"), but his films are much more subtle, vague, and 'RULES OF THE GAME meets Agatha Christie,' than Hitchcock, which sometimes works in his favor, and sometimes against. I don't understand the preponderance of negative reviews. Obviously, this is not an ideal entry point into Chabrol's work (I would suggest LES BONNES FEMMES, MASQUES, or LA CEREMONIE for starters), but A GIRL CUT IN TWO is a very well-constructed film. Based on the Nesbit/Thaw/White love triangle from turn of the century America, Chabrol constructs a film with multi-layered characters (most of them total self-serving dicks), superb acting,

(particularly Chabrol favorite Benoit Magimel as the simpering, unstable dandy), hidden motivations, and the unsettling creepiness of what goes on behind the closed doors of the rich and lecherous. Chabrol does require you to meet him halfway- a crucial event might be faded out on, then referenced in innuendo or half-divulged remarks, and much of the enjoyment comes from piecing together the mysterious motivations, almost as if you are a member of the social circle figuring things out from half-heard conversations or hearsay. By now, you should know if this is the sort of film you'd like or not. It's not BASIC INSTINCT or SLIVER, no matter what the poster may insinuate. But consider Chabrol a fine red wine compared to the mixed fruit-flavored special brew St. Ides malt liquor that Hollywood generally serves up as a romantic psychological thriller.

Sometimes you need that special brew, and it gets the job done. But, ultimately, you're gonna get a lot more out of the red wine. I hope.

-Sean Gill

Music Review: ST. IDES MALT LIQUOR JINGLE (Ice Cube, 1992)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 22 seconds.
Best line: "The S. T. Period. I. D. E. to the S.!"

A lot of prominent rappers performed original songs for St. Ides commercials in the early 90's. According to a September 27, 1994 Entertainment Weekly article,

"The St. Ides brand has made use of celebrity endorsements in the past. Ice Cube was one rapper who was almost certainly compensated by St. Ides; he had an endorsement deal with the company and even wrote and performed several rhymes for St. Ides commercials. Other rappers who performed original songs for St. Ides commercials include 2Pac, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Warren G, Nate Dogg, MC Eiht, Scarface, Wu-Tang Clan, Project Pat, King Tee, DJ Pooh, The Notorious B.I.G., Eric B & Rakim, EPMD, Method Man & Redman, Cypress Hill, RBL Posse, and The Geto Boys. Chuck D appeared in a St. Ides advertisement once, but sued the brand's then-owner, the McKenzie River Brewing Company, for using his voice without his permission; he had long taken a strong stance against malt liquor advertising."

I feel as if, however, this particular contribution to the genre by Ice Cube manages to plumb some very specific heights and depths of not only malt liquor advertising jingles, but perhaps music itself, managing (not unlike malt liquor itself) to distill into a mere twenty-two seconds a tremendous amount of moody lyricism, unexpected poignancy, and even some tips and recommendations on how life ought to be lived. Giving the piece some extra weight right off the bat is the fact that the beats used come from Cypress Hill's hit 1991 single "How I Could Just Kill a Man." You don't see Coca-Cola using beats of that magnitude to shill their shanty sugar water. Ice Cube is not a mere huckster here, he's a purveyor of truth- but don't just take my word for it, let me show you.

The song begins with Mr. Cube exiting his car with furrowed brow. He begins: "Once again this song/I'm goin' out the front door/Ice Cube in the glass house headed for the sto'/to get a beer that's better than the rest/ the S. T. Period. I. D. E. to the S!"

Cube begins with a brief window of insight into his life as a celebrity. "Once again this song"- he's always asked to perform the same songs over and over, and it becomes tiring in the sense of existential ennui. He refers to leaving his home, the "glass house" in which there is no refuge from the media, the fans, the masses...and where does he go, but to the sto' (shortened form of 'store'). The sto' is the only place that he can find sanctuary from the demands and stressors of his tortured and all too public life. And the reason the sto' offers respite is because the sto' offers St. Ides Malt Liquor. His joy at obtaining St. Ides is so evident that he sings a little jingle within a jingle in its honor. The exhilaration is so evident that the final 'S' in St. Ides even does a little twisty dance in tune with the undulating beat.

Cube continues: "And it'll put hair on your chest/in the black can/ so whydon'cha grab a six pack and/ Get your girl in the mood quicker/ Get your jimmy thicker/ with St. Ides Malt Liquor." Now I can see already that you're bristling. There are a lot of claims made in that last couplet. I think Cube means it on a more of a theoretical level, as I found no claims on the official or FDA pages that denote St. Ides has the capacity to increase chest hair growth, get your girl in the mood quicker, or make your jimmy thicker, though I feel several of those lines are open to poetic interpretation. Left unexplained are exactly which of your girl's moods will be hastened or to what exactly 'Jimmy' refers.

It is also interesting that Cube recommends the six-pack instead of the classic 40 oz. option, as it is common knowledge that canned St. Ides is far less smooth and more metallic in flavor than its glass-encased brother. Also flummoxing is the fact that Cube gives a less than helpful pointer for finding St. Ides, encouraging the listener to grab 'the black can.' Unfortunately, this could refer to any number of malt liquors from 'Evil Eye' to 'King Cobra.' More helpful might have been 'look for the can or bottle with the crooked "I" and the evocative graphic of windblown grain.'

It is for these slightly misleading statements that the song rates only a 4 out of 5. But consider the fact that in a mere 22 seconds, Ice Cube offers an analysis of his life, fame, and the respite that is St. Ides; and then proceeds to give some pointers on how to obtain it, and the effects that may or may not result from drinking it. In that respect, Cube perfectly fulfills his roles as poet, singer, salesman, and purveyor of cultural observations. Bravo, Mr. Cube. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Coming soon:
As Junta Juleil continues its exploration of all aspects of relevant culture-
Some bona fide food and beverage reviews!