In 1999, the film adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club became an obsession for aimless twenty- and thirty-something males, who closely identified with its examination of the alienation felt by the so-called “middle children of history”. The film continues to resonate with disenchanted corporate drones and Ikea shoppers everywhere who work jobs they don’t want so they can buy things they don’t need.
Though Palahniuk has written nearly a dozen books since that movie premiered, it has taken until now for a second adaptation of his work to reach the screen. But it remains to be seen whether Choke, another tale of young men struggling to give their lives meaning through questionable means, will have a comparable impact.
For a band that has spent the last ten years plumbing the depths of human misery, The Black Heart Procession sure do put on a fun live show. Playing to an eager crowd last Friday, the San Diego natives drew from various eras in their impressive catalog to assemble a set that was both a great introduction for newcomers and a satisfying playlist for the devoted.
As front woman of indie-rock stalwarts Rilo Kiley, Lewis has infused each album with her distinctive persona, and in 2006 she and the Watson Twins released Rabbit Fur Coat, a terrific collection of songs that favored Americana-tinged fairy tales over the takeoffs and landings of her usual rock and roll. Now, we finally have Acid Tongue, the first officially solo album from Ms. Lewis, and it’s one of her greatest achievements to date.
In the past ten years, screenwriter Alan Ball has given us two of the most scathing examinations of the frailty of human nature in general, and American life in particular.
Ball’s screenwriting debut, American Beauty was nothing short of a cultural phenomenon when it was released, and though the film doesn’t quite hold up under close scrutiny, its strongest moments likely remain etched in the minds of viewers. His HBO series Six Feet Under benefited from having five years rather than two hours to examine human nature in all its contradictory glory, and its insights into what makes people tick tended toward subtle incrimination and unbearable heartbreak. In Towelhead, his film directing debut, Ball once again tries to walk the razor’s edge of placing flawed but sympathetic characters in shocking but realistic circumstances.
