All Stories
Everything we've published, newest first.
Brocka’s brain
Nora Aunor carries her cross of water containers to Vienna: a Lino Brocka retrospective at the Künstlerhaus, unexpected and overdue.
Vienna International Film Festival pays tribute to Brocka: V for Viennale
Autumn in Vienna for the Viennale: Lars von Trier’s Antichrist, Tilda Swinton retrospectives, and Nora Aunor on screen in Lino Brocka’s Bona.
Vienna calling
A bratwurst stand at one in the morning, a drunken geezer serenading me in German, and the question of what could be scarier than history.
Manuel Ocampo’s anarchy in the R.P.
The Manuel Ocampo conversation concludes: anarchy in the R.P., institutional critique, and hell according to Seinfeld’s Elaine.
An apocalyptic chat with Manuel Ocampo: Swastikating between art and death
Manuel Ocampo, between Bosch and Cracked magazine: an apocalyptic conversation on painting, death and the institutional critique of himself.
Mamba No. 3
Kobe Bryant in his Mamba years: from ball hog to facilitator and orchestrator, with the eternal Jordan comparison hanging overhead.
The return of the claw daddy
Hugh Jackman comes down a steel cable onto Cockatoo Island, an entrance only Stan Lee could have written, for the Wolverine press junket.
Black is the color and none is the number
Autumn in Sydney, the bluest skies, and a DVD-store crawl through gallows comedy, Cheech and Chong, and documentaries about dictators.
Moscow and the morning after the night before
Bogatyrs, troikas, Ivan the Terrible and Rasputin, from a tour guide who will not discuss Rasputin. Plus a Moscow hangover, richly earned.
City of blinding light
To run or not to run, I ask myself, rushing past the Winged Victory of Samothrace and Eva Mendes, also touring the Louvre, herself a work of art.
The devil, the Danes and the damned
We are listening to an old man talk about the day the devil went to Denmark, in a Jutland manor five hours from Copenhagen.
The filth, the fury, Makuhari
The Sex Pistols at Summer Sonic in Chiba: four old punks who should have been dead by now, playing tight to a thousand trembling Japanese lambs.