wichita lineman

Sigh. Glen Campbell is singing to my soul lately.

all dressed up with nowhere to go

Young Adult essentially riffs off of an old, familiar story line (young woman goes to messy, stalkerish lengths to win back old flame a la My Best Friend's Wedding), but screenwriter Diablo Cody and director Jason Reitman's film is the freshest comedy of the year.  Cody has observed, "I don't think coolness used to be such a commodity among adults. And now it is.  When I was growing up, the moms on the playground had pants pulled up to their boobs and curlers in their hair. And now, when I take my son to the playground, there is this weird clique mentality; you still have to be hot. And you still have to be 'with it.' I think everybody's in this state of sustained adolescence."  In Young Adult, Charlize Theron, who disappeared into serial killer Aileen Wuornos in her Oscar-winning turn in Monster, disappears here too, with mesmerizing intensity as divorced Mavis Gary, who lives in a nondescript highrise in Minneapolis with her neglected, skittery little dog, ghostwriting Sweet Valley High-esque teenybopper romances (something that's already becoming dated), swilling Diet Coke (like a baby to a formula bottle), watching bad Kardashian reality TV, and obsessively listening to the tunes of her past (90s pop litters her iTunes, and she drudges up a mix tape, that the film cleverly and movingly shows the inwards of in the dazzling opening credits).  In many ways, I found myself relating to her more than any character I could think of from this year, and perhaps Mavis will be a refreshing icon for lost thirtysomethings, but her selfishness, utter disdain for others (she squints ruefully at her manicurists who strip off her cuticles and lacquer her whittled-down nails... "fresh starts," whatever they may be, is one of Cody's main themes) will potentially offend.  When Gary receives news of a new baby from her old boyfriend Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson), she returns to her laconic suburban town named Mercury (which conjures 'poison') and attempts to win him back or at least, connect with him emotionally and sexually again.  Slade (a riff, I wonder, is off of the word 'slayed' since 'slaying the dragon' is a popular young adult adventure story trope and basically could be metaphorical of the film's journey), who seems like a genuine, lowkey guy, is married to a special needs teacher named Beth (Elizabeth Reaser).  Much of the film depends upon its ride, so I won't give too many details away, but there's a key scene when Mavis learns of Beth's profession and shoots a look that's both incredulous and envious; her insecurity is palatable (it's a pitch perfect moment of many by Theron).  Patton Oswalt plays a former classmate who runs into Mavis at an old bar hangout.  He's been scarred and left permanently handicapped from an incident in high school.  Hobbling on a crutch (symbolically so, as Oswalt and Theron point out in a later, bitterly funny scene), he shares advice and moonshine with Mavis, while simultaneously pining and pitying her.  Oswalt, painting the muscled figurines of superheroes he can never physically be (but on an emotional level, he, in a way, becomes) is the film's most sympathetic character and he helps soften some of the film's (and Mavis's) callow edge.       

Reitman and Cody teamed up for the big hit Juno: a smart, observant comedy about an adolescent who accidentally gets pregnant and mulls over keeping or giving her baby away.  Young Adult is essentially an extension of that movie, and a richer and darker (less crowdpleasery) tale.  It lacks the sweep of Reitman's Up in the Air but is perhaps a deeper and more acute character study.  He knows how to strip gloss and expose flawed characters and American embarrassments.  Mavis travels to Mercury's quiet shopping mall, which appears as desolate as they all do these days (a ghostly reminder of the throne of bustling 90s teen culture) and flinches at all the newly constructed strip malls and 'Kentaco Hut.'  It's the first film I can think of since, perhaps, Ghost World that actually shows an authentic American suburban environment!  Young Adult's cinematography may be overlooked for showier affairs but it's filmed with a distinct look by Eric Steelberg and edited with flair by Dana E. Glauberman.  As mentioned before, the opening credits, backed by Teenage Fanclub's "The Concept" (the opening track to their album Bandwagonesque which beat out Nirvana's Nevermind in a 1991 Spin year-end album fan poll) are a stunner.

Young Adult is the caustic, sadder sister to Kristen Wiig's Bridesmaids.  Spilled punch isn't slapstick here, it's a devastating moment, and an emotional trigger for Mavis's public breakdown, written and performed with sadness, wit, particularity and ambivalence that the film as a whole beautifully orchestrates.  Mavis may be a hard one to cheer on, but she's a veritable embodiment of the difficulty of shaking off the past and starting anew. ****

-Jeffery Berg

we need to talk about tilda: a guest post by karen g.

Ever had one of those people in your life that you just love to look at? Behold my girl crush, Tilda Swinton (recently appearing in the film We Need to Talk About Kevin). Devastatingly refined and fearless about an ever-changing image, Tilda has transformed herself more times than we have space to showcase. As a girl who loves fashion and make-up, I’ve always embraced the stars who aren’t afraid to take it to the next level.

Cambridge-educated, pale-skinned and green-eyed, Tilda (“Swilda” to her friends only – sadly – I’m not one of them) has always had a taste for the truly bizarre. Her diverse roles, no matter how off-beat, have always been engaging, thought-provoking and delightful to watch. From the diabolical angel, Gabriel, in the fantasy DC comic book adaptation of Constantine, the perfection-driven and murderous attorney, Karen Crowder, in Michael Clayton to the eerie White Witch in C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia, Tilda has always immersed herself fully into every role she’s played.



A close friendship with the late experimental director Derek Jarman pushed Tilda to consider more “gender-bending” roles. Below are some fashion photographs that just leave me in awe of this living artwork. Enjoy.

-Karen G.

Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.

     - Ralph Waldo Emerson

frontier psychiatrist's top 50 songs of 2011

It's end of the year list time!

Check out Frontier Psychiatrist's Top 50 Songs of 2011 here.



1. M83 – Midnight City
2. James Blake - The Wilhelm Scream/Enough Thunder
3. The Weeknd - What You Need/Initiation
4. Fucked Up - The Other Shoe/Queen of Hearts
5. Frank Ocean - Thinking About You/Swim Good
6. Balam Acab - Oh Why
7. Chris Thile & Michael Daves - Cry Cry Darling
8. EMA – Marked
9. Tyler The Creator - Yonkers/Sandwitches
10. Youth Lagoon – Montana

11. Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie XX - My Cloud
12. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues
13. Girls – Vomit
14. Battles - Ice Cream
15. Mr. Muthafuckin’ eXquire – Huzzah (Remix)
16. Wild Beasts – “Playthings”
17. A$AP Rocky - Purple Swag/Trilla
18. St. Vincent – Strange Mercy
19. Gang Gang Dance – Adult Goth
20. Shabazz Palaces – Swerve…the reaping of all that’s worthwhile (Noir not withstanding)
21. Atlas Sound – Terra Incognita
22. David Bazan - Wolves At Your Door
23. Tom Waits – Chicago
24. Adele - Someone Like You
25. Ty Segall – Goodbye Bread
26. Decemberists – Calamity Song
27. Pure X – Dry Ice
28. MellowHype - F666 Tha Police
29. Bon Iver – Calgary
30. Drake – Marvin’s Room
31. Radiohead - Lotus Flower
32. Oneohtrix Point Never- Replica
33. Wilco - One Sunday Morning
34. Real Estate – Green Aisles
35. E40 – Drugs
36. Pusha T - Trouble On My Mind
37. The War On Drugs – Come To The City
38. Ford & Lopatin – Too Much MIDI (Please Forgive Me)
39. Mike G - Forest Green
40. Clams Casino – I’m God
41. Liturgy – Generation
42. Cults - Abducted
43. The Men – Bataille
44. John Maus – The Moon
45. Burial – Street Halo
46. I Break Horses – Winter Beats
47. Kurt Vile – The Creature
48. White Denim – No Real Reason
49. Destroyer – Kaputt
50. Antlers – I Don’t Want Love

track appreciation: "someday we'll be together" - a guest post by jerome murphy

The Supremes' swan song, and the last number one hit of the Sixties, ended an era with a bittersweet promise, and sent Berry Gordy's groundbreaking brand name out on a high note with one of the purest pop tracks ever recorded.

First, cutting into silence, a string riff that sounds like the creeping approach of a single one of Wagner's Valkyries, trembling into the blossoming of the orchestra. Then the plucking, a cocoa-butter balm over some bittersweet wound you neglected, of the acoustic guitar refrain. The heart-beating bass and the percussion start up their organic machine, while the strings pull together the threads of a narrative compelling enough to stand by itself (as shown in the instrumental version).

Then, into this billowing water bed, roll the voices - the gospel-sweet, wistful voices whose mmm-mmms savor the tang of their own harmony, offering a return to some childhood that could never have existed - or at least not with such caramel sweetness. "Someday," croon these voices, with the exalted certainty of churchgoing aunts,"we'll be together."

Against this choir enters the cooing, unearthly echo of Diana Ross's most skillfully detached performance, which never once strains for its sentiments - supple, svelte, playful as she delivers the banal lyrics and simple rhymes that speak of lost love, regret, and hope. It's the simple acceptance and matter-of-factness that saves what would otherwise have been insipid, as well as the jazzy semi-scat of her phrasing as the song progresses. "You're far away/ from me, my love/ but just as sure, my, my baby/ as there are stars above/ someday ... we'll be together."

If she sang any harder than she does, you wouldn't believe her. It's her calm assurance that convinces the listener she knows the truth of the situation between these lovers, and accepts it with verve.

By accident, songwriter Johnny Bristol's coaxing ad-libs were engineered into the backing recording, and retained when Motown's quality control realized how perfectly they complemented Ross's vocals. You tell em! interjects the disembodied male voice, as if in response to a sermon, to ground the angelic aspects of the song in a soil of gravelly soul.

The song's real climax and emotional coda comes not with the high note at the bridge - "cry, cry, cryyyyy!" - but a few moments later, with the singer's breathless orgasmic confession that I long for you -- every, every night, punctuated by a single perfectly pitched angel-coo that sums up Ross's inimitable cotton-candy appeal.

Wearing its layers lightly, "Someday We'll be Together" achieves a more puzzling and compelling interplay of elements than would some more straightforward arrangement. Is this a sad song? A joyful song? A hopeful or wistful song? The portrayal of a deluded lover's dream? A danceable soul track? A slow song to listen to alone, with headphones on? A song for the soldiers in Vietnam, as if Lady Liberty herself were making the titular promise over the airwaves? An ironic commentary on the launch of Diana Ross's inevitable solo career (her backup singers on the track were the Andantes, not the latest lineup of the Supremes)?

Multifaceted, "Someday We'll Be Together" sounds both light and monumental, echoing through through the radio ages as both divinely inspired and amiably run-of-the-mill.

It's hard to believe that even at the time, it sounded like something from the present, rather than from an earlier time. It's like the memory of an ice cream cone you had as a kid - one that tasted uniquely sweet before it fell from your fingers. The one you're holding now doesn't quite compare, but surely someday you'll taste something that good again.

- Jerome Murphy

liz on display

It was bittersweet to view Elizabeth Taylor's jewelry, art, and dresses at Christie's.  The eclectic, sometimes breathtaking collection is on display until a December 13th auction.  The jewelry is incredibly beautiful.  Many of which were gifts from Mike Todd and Michael Jackson.  And the famed ‘La Peregrina’, a pearl and Ruby Cartier necklace from Richard Burton.  Taylor kept meticulous care of her items, even labeling all of her jewelry in boxes and who they were from.  I was surprised by how many dresses were on display, and how gorgeously new some of the pieces looked, including her yellow chiffon wedding dress from 1964.  There are also immaculately-kept, intricately detailed dresses by Versace, Christian Dior, and others.  It was a reminder that she was truly one of a kind.

shame

Chic's "I Want Your Love" spins on the record player in the apartment of Brandon Sullivan (Michael Fassbender in another devastating performance) where his sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) has broken into.  The song not only illustrates her perpetual neediness and her want of something deeper from her soulless brother, but it's also a ghostly reminder of promiscuous, (but perhaps, more emotionally vibrant?) pre-AIDS Manhattan.  In the same way that John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy took us to the grit and grime of New York in 1969, in Shame, the gifted director Steve McQueen takes us to a very of-the-moment wealthy, Bloomberg-era Manhattan.  Here, Brandon takes a run past sleek, mysterious and nondescript glass offices (one of which he works in) and Chase banks and glimpses the Hudson River, with its rotting stumps of the infamous abandoned piers once hothouses for sexual hookups.

In a city that's constantly revamping, for good and bad, Brandon and Sissy seem unable to change their lives.  Pale and dead-eyed, Brandon is addicted to no-strings-attached sex and sexual imagery of all kinds. For whatever reason, (he comes "from a bad place," as his sister lets us know), he's just not cut out for relationships. When he attempts a date with a workmate (an incredibly present and believable Nicole Beharie who figures in two of the film's many great , long take scenes), he fails miserably, unable to be considerate or even create "small talk."  Sissy is suicidal and lost (her relationship with Brandon has shades of incestuousness), staying at Brandon's apartment, trying to find work as a singer.  In a heart rendering ode to pain and vulnerability, Mulligan sings a weak, small-voiced version of the usually bombastic "New York, New York."  It would never happen in reality, but McQueen forces the lounge (and the film) to stop to listen and watch.

McQueen's harrowing Hunger viewed the Irish hunger strike of Bobby Sands with a startlingly aesthetic eye (it attempted to create beauty out of its perfectly composed shots of excrement-streaked walls and Sands' emaciated body).  Bold and bleak, Shame speaks the language of the emotionally barren Brandon while taking out the aestheticism of what is usually aesthetic. ****



-Jeffery Berg