February – March 2015
WEST COAST PREMIERE!
Q&A filmmaker Keirda Bahruth and Jerry Casale from Devo
No matter how messy, beginnings are exciting. Especially when what happens next endures the test of time. For DEVO the beginning happened in the basements and garages of Akron, Ohio. The songs they wrote were raw and unfiltered with no commercial intent. They called it Hardcore DEVO. In the summer of 2014, DEVO performed 10 shows playing the seminal, experimental songs they created between 1974 and 1977. They have not played most of these songs that pre-dated any fame or record contracts since that time. This film captures these ground breaking artists performing the songs that started it all. It’s DEVO unmasked, coming face to face with their past and paying tribute to their fallen brother, Bob Casale. It’s their “thank you” to everyone who believed in them before it was safe to be DEVO!
Director: Keirda Bahruth. 2014. Digital. 94 minutes.
NOISE POP EXCLUSIVE PREMIERE!
Q&A with special guests
One of the best filmmakers of his generation (and indisputably the greatest music video director ever) Spike Jonze learned his craft in the last remaining Wild West for filmmakers growing up in the ‘80s and ‘90s – skateboard videos. From early work with World Industries through his contemporary contributions to Lakai and Girl (of which he is a co-owner) Spike’s grasp on the formal restraints of the genre – namely, a loose interpretation of trespass and copyright laws – were immediate, and the boundary shattering imagination he applied to his skate videos changed the game forever. As skate videos, they’re thrilling and hilarious and super cool; viewed as a sort of sketchbook for a restlessly creative artist sharpening his craft, they’re invaluable. Join us for a survey of Spike’s skateboard videos.
Director: Spike Jonze. 2014. Digital. 90 minutes.
WEST COAST PREMIERE!
Q&A with director Scott Crawford and Mark Haggerty (Gray Matter), Meghan Adkins and Nicky Thomas (Fire Party)
They weren’t the first and they weren’t the last, but they never got hit by the adult crash. SALAD DAYS tells the story of birth, childhood, awkward adolescence and triumphant young adulthood of Washington, D.C.’s extremely tight-knit and world renown punk scene. From all-ages shows to straight edge hardcore to Go Go music to Revolution Summer to Repeater, it’s all here in this sprawling love letter to the most vibrant regional music scene of the last forty years. Featuring jaw-dropping, archival footage and interviews with Ian MacKaye, Henry Rollins, Dave Grohl and many more, SALAD DAYS is mandatory viewing for punk lifers and social anthropologists alike.
Director: Scott Crawford. 2014. Digital. 103 minutes.
“Reputedly one of Seijun Suzuki’s finest works and unquestionably very stylish in its ‘Scope framings (Jim Jarmusch copied a few shots from it in his Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai)”
-Jonathan Rosenbaum, Chicago Reader
A hit-man, with a fetish for sniffing boiling rice, fumbles his latest job, putting him into conflict with his treacherous wife, with a mysterious woman eager for death and with the phantom-like hit-man known only as Number One.
Directed by Seijun Suzuki, 91min, 1967, Japan
Branded to Kill review – genuinely bizarre Japanese thriller
Seijun Suzuki’s Branded to Kill is a very 1960s metaphysical thriller, a cult item treasured by connoisseurs as the kind of film that – for all its delirious craziness – could even be a truer product of Japan than the higher artefacts of Ozu and Kurosawa. It is an erotic and dreamlike pulp noir, and its disdain for any sort of conventional plot infuriated the director’s employers at the Nikkatsu studio. Jô Shishido is Hanada, a hired killer with a sexual fetish for the smell of boiled rice; a bungled job brings him into mysterious contact with Misako (Anne Mari), a woman who hires him for three hits. He becomes obsessed with her, and finds himself in a duel with the legendary top killer, the No 1 (Kôji Nanbara). The obvious comparisons are with Melville’s Le Samouraï or Godard’s Pierrot le Fou – this film holds up against these perfectly well – with hints of John Boorman’s Point Blank and Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner. It is, however, closer to Luis Buñuel in its gleefully disquieting insistence on sudden horrific closeups: the glass eye removed from the skull, the bullet hole, the bleeding head in the toilet bowl. Where Godard had his jump-cut, Suzuki has his disorientating ellipses, his sudden dreamlike time-slips. Genuinely fascinating and bizarre.
Peter Bradshaw, The Gurdian