(T)ERROR is an eye-opening look at one place where our war on terror, taxpayer dollars are going.
Executive produced by Eugene Jarecki (“The House I Live In,” “Why We Fight”), and winner of the 2015 Sundance Special Jury Prize for Break Out First Feature, co-directors Lyric R. Cabral and David Felix Sutcliffe’s (T)ERROR is an eye-opening look at one place where our war on terror, taxpayer dollars are going – namely to guys like the doc’s main subject Saeed “Shariff” Torres, a sixtysomething FBI informant and onetime Black Panther. Though the flick has the distinction of being “the first documentary to place filmmakers on the ground during an active FBI counterterrorism sting operation,” what’s most notable about (T)ERROR is not the dubious tactics Shariff uses to befriend an (American) Taliban-loving target. No, it’s the way the Bureau itself has created a sinister system, one in which down on their luck dudes like Shariff are lured then entrapped in a disturbing economic cycle, building case after case just to get to the next payday.
The procedural doesn’t have to be inherently dull, but it often is.
As US television moves towards May sweeps, the inevitable discussion over bubble shows is beginning to percolate through gossip sites and trade magazines. Everyone wants to know which shows are in, which ones are out, and which are poised to go either way—and some networks seem to enjoy dangling it over our heads for as long as possible while they wait for ratings, advertisers, and focus groups to weigh in.
This is another America where The Motor City hovers somewhere between Hurricane Katrina and the largest municipal bankruptcy in U.S. history.
The “Lost River” of the title of Ryan Gosling’s directorial debut is actually a submerged series of towns deliberately drowned to make a reservoir and pump new life into Detroit’s doppelganger city sometime back in the 50s or 60s. Locals talk in hushed tones about an evil spell cast when the last town faced the manmade deluge. Only when something from the town is returned to the surface will the curse be broken.
Where is Game of Thrones going? Can we expect the show to be able to keep up with the incredible tangle that it has backed itself into?
Conspiracies wrapped in conspiracies, wrapped in feather comforter investments, because winter is coming—and it may be too big to fail. Game of Thrones slammed back onto US televisions this week in a record ratings opener for the programme, which is opening its fifth season. That’s in part because HBO is providing such a myriad of viewing options that it’s suddenly become extremely easy to catch an episode on a television, any other device, or at any time; the network is finally stepping up to the savvy set and offering a subscription for cord-cutters, and it was a smart move.
Not since early Steven Seagal movies has an action hero breezed past so many heavies without breaking a sweat.
“Men should be either treated generously or destroyed, because they take revenge for slight injuries-for heavy ones they cannot.” Russian mob boss Viggo clearly hasn’t brushed up on his Machiavelli lately or he would have put two to the dome of hit man extraordinaire John Wick years ago. Viggo owes his current position as crime prince of New York largely to John Wick’s audacious gun-fu skills. John Wick is so badass according to Viggo that he explains, “John wasn’t exactly the boogeyman. He’s the one you sent to kill the fucking boogeyman.”
Where on earth are the mommies in “mommy porn”?
I hadn’t heard of the phrase “mommy porn” until I started reading reviews for the 50 Shades of Grey movie. Then it seemed like it was everywhere, from respectable news sites to Urban Dictionary. ABC explained why mommy porn is “hot.” Hip feminist site, Jezebel, reflected on whether or not the best selling mommy porn was “worth the hype.” Huffington Post also got in on the fun, writing up it’s very own “realistic” version of mommy porn. But even as every review I came across declared 50 Shades mommy porn, I couldn’t help becoming more and more confused. What is mommy porn? And if I am a mommy (which I am, although I prefer to go by “mami”), why do I feel like slowly sinking into a murky pond at the mere thought of watching it?
“Snow In Paradise” is a crucial milestone in the development of the British Gangster genre.
Dave is the real face of multicultural Britain; his best friend Tariq is a rapper and his uncle Jimmy is a racist gangster selling overpriced coffee to young professionals by day and cocaine to them by night. Dave’s a wiry force of nature, forever moving like an East End squalus against the tide of gentrification. No white flight for Dave’s family in the 70s and 80s they stood their ground in their council houses and gradually watched their estates become cheap crash pads for city boys and then extortionate rentals for middle class media hipsters.
One thing is for certain: these programmes will force other creators to up their game, and that’s a very good thing.
Russell T. Davies may be particularly famous for his revival of Dr. Who and spell as showrunner from 2005 to 2010, but before then, he made the shortlived series Queer as Folk, chronicling the lives of the gay community in Manchester. He’s returned to that theme with a recently concluded interlinked series: Cucumber, Banana, and Tofu. The three programmes explore sex, sexuality, and queer life from a variety of angles and perspectives, bringing a new and dynamic approach to the handling of these issues on television.
Most reviewers will tell you that The Children Act is either about Jehovah’s Witnesses and their belief structure, but The Children Act is actually about middle-aged rancour and loneliness.
When picking my holiday reading this year, one book that was front and centre on my list was Ian McEwan’s latest, The Children Act. I was intrigued by the premise, had seen some positive reviews indicating it was a complex and compelling story, and confidently expected to enjoy it.
Peggy Carter is not just a bad ass. She’s so much more than that.
In the next few months, you’re going to hear a lot of feminists reflecting on if Marvel’s latest dip into television, the mini-series, Agent Carter, is “feminist or not.” With a show that features a woman in the title role and the woman is a tough woman navigating an action filled largely male world, it seems almost inevitable that that feminist critiques will debate how “bad ass” Agent Carter (played by the magnificent Hayley Atwell) is and if she and the series are worthy of the title of “feminist media.” In these days of limited representation of women in the superhero genre, it’s an interesting discussion, but one that entirely misses the point. Peggy Carter is not a bad ass. She’s so much more than that, and that’s where her importance lies.
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