Aaron Johnson

FILM REVIEW: ‘Savages’ Gets Stoned

Somewhere between Showtime’s increasingly cartoonish Weeds, Steven Soderbergh’s superlative (and prescient) ensemble piece about the absurdity of the drug wars, Traffic, and a rejected spec fashion film for Hugo Boss Resort Collection lies Oliver Stone’s Savages.  I have so much to say about this film both good and bad that I don’t know if a simple post is enough to cover everything, but let me try, and squeeze in a list to boot.

Oliver Stone is a larger-than-life character, both to himself and to the world in general, and all of his films reflect that.  His works is almost always engaging to some degree, as intellectual as commercial cinema is allowed to get.  Even if you are thrown off by an odd performance on screen, there is usually something to distract you visually while you wait to move on to the next set piece.

The Beatles have a pillow fight by Harry Benson

Mozart vs. Bach


Am I shamelessly brown-nosing our one and only advertiser (so far), Taschen Books, by kicking off the week in review with an item about the launch on Wednesday evening of their book Harry Benson. The Beatles?  Hell, yeah.  What, we’re supposed to kiss up to Groupon like other sites?  Um, no.  This is PFC.  We loved Taschen before they even knew we existed, so we’re thrilled for any attention they give us.

While Tuttle, Dame Bea and I waited for local radio station KCRW to muddle through technical difficulties before their interview with Mr. Benson, I looked around the store and said to Tuttle, “Taschen really are a good match for us.  It’s what we’re about visually and philosophically.  Look at how they mingle tits and ass with intellectual fine art, and are so big and bold about it.”  And in that moment my gaze landed on one of the blown-up Albert Oehlen collages that decorate the store’s walls, an image of a leering Tom of Finland fetish cop groping the ass of a boy from what looks like an early Pablo Picasso painting.

Just. So. Us.