On the surface, the distribution company for Guillarmo Del Toro’s new masterpiece, Pan’s Labyrinth did a fairly poor job of marketing exactly what the film was in its commercial spots. Not to say that their vision of a dystopian fairy tale made for adults is technically wrong, but they completely neglected to mention the entire plot of the film, that of the ravages of World War II and the people stuck in the middle.

Pan’s Labyrinth is a beautiful movie in every sense of the word. From the opening scene to the very final shot, it’s crafted with the careful precision of a man working from memory, as if the film had played in his head one million times before. The imagery is so carefully constructed and forcefully engaged that there isn’t a single scene in which you cannot find and extract some precious nugget.

As I mentioned it is set in the fascist Spain of World War II, 1944 to be exact. Starting only days before Allied Forces invaded the shores of France, and carrying through to some undetermined time afterward, this is not only a tale of little Ofelia and her trips to the Faun’s labyrinth, but of a world trying to cope with its ordeals, of a ravaged man trying to define himself and the evils he commits to do so, and of how exactly Ofelia fits into such a violent, destructive society.

Her mother, recently remarried to the Captain of a local garrison in charge of feeding and caring for local villagers is pregnant with her little brother. On their trip to the garrison to meet up with the Captain, Ofelia runs across a ruin in the woods and a rather large bug which she names as a fairy.

The bug returns to her multiple times and leads her to the labyrinth, buried deep within the woods near the garrison. The faun greets her as the long lost daughter of the King of the Underworld and sets to her three tasks to complete before she can return to him.

As she attempts to complete her tasks, the world around her dives further and further into chaos as rebels in the woods infiltrate the garrison through their spies within and the captain displays just how ruthless he can be. Ofelia’s mother is incredibly ill in her pregnancy and all the while a war rages on. Crossing between the horrors of her reality and the responsibilities pushed upon her by the fantasy, Ofelia is stuck in between, and yet never once is she anything but stalwart. She never shies from her calling and oddly enough is never scared, considering what she is faced with.

Del Toro litters his film with allusions to the great “Other world” tales of that passage from childhood to womanhood. Ofelia’s green dress is a stark Spanish reimagining of the Blue Victorian fare of Alice before she descended into Wonderland. Many similar instances arise, all of them darker, less fantastic and more disturbing (yet oddly compelling in their magical fare). Ofelia’s fairy tale is one of danger and dark foes, both in her own life and in the life behind the door in the floor.

What truly makes this film work is Del Toro’s dedication to the true story here. While his film is at its heart a tale of coping with loss and grief, and yet staying true to those pure ideals of human decency, something only a child can display so easily, the crux of the film is much more. He doesn’t flood the screen with images of his fantastic vision. Instead, he slowly blurs that line, showing a film nearly entirely composed of violent imagery, bloody discourse, and the descent of each of its characters into a grief that does not fit in with the image of a fairy tale.

Pan’s Labyrinth is a truly magical film because it still manages to ascend beyond such dark themes and in its last shot, after such horrible occurrences, emit a sense of completion and joy that one wouldn’t expect from such a film. Del Toro’s vision in this film is at times beautiful and disturbing, but it never falters, and each scene speaks as a painting of such masterly affection that it’s hard to imagine a better film released in the last year.

I’ve lived in Seattle for almost five years now since graduating High School and every year I’ve tried to stretch a little further and actually see the bits and pieces of the city and enjoy it. That said, I’ve failed miserably. I mean come on. It’s really easy to sit around and stare off into the sky and think entirely about the fact that I have class or work or something else random and self absorbed.

I dig the city though, so it’s weird to me that I haven’t taken further advantage of it - the hundreds of beaches, concert venues, and random places I could be other than my bedroom typing this right now. I say all this because I was up in Capital Hill last night and realized that I didn’t know what half of the area had. Over the course of three hours, I managed to find a couple dozen great restaurants, stores, and clubs I didn’t know existed, toured a campus I’d never seen before and realized there was a hospital a few blocks south of the movie theater that I always end up in the area.

It makes me wonder what other corners of this tiny world in which I live I may have missed. There seem to be dozens of different options for me to take in the wonderful world of boredom, and yet I tend to tap away here for the masses or watch TV. I do like my TV though…I mean, who doesn’t.

I just realized that this post was more or less a waste as I don’t actually have anything good to say…oh well, I’m putting off some chore or another…so you get to hear of my lethargy.

As a child of the 1980s, I’ve spent my fair share of time watching ridiculous mutated amphibians fight crime. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were essentially the single best phase I went through as a kid, complete with boxes of toys missing arms and heads and birthday parties and Halloweens devoted to the green foursome. I loved the turtles, and as a 7 year old did not fully appreciate how incredibly ridiculous the premise actually was.

Not to take away from how awesome the Ninja Turtles are either. They were a tongue in cheek slap at the corporate toy machine, but they were also the biggest cog in that machine after a while, and I was gladly willing to wait for whatever might pop out next.

Fast forward 17 years later, and the Ninja Turtles are staging a comeback. At first in the form of a mediocre cartoon on Saturday mornings involving the magic, world skipping formulas that have tried their hardest to emulate what makes anime so popular. And now in the form of a full length feature film crafted in glorious CGI. When I first heard about the new Ninja Turtles film I was ecstatic. The prospect of a brand new film devoted entirely to the turtles, and without those rubber suits, that was incredible. (Don’t get me wrong, those rubber suit movies were great).

The film itself was nothing less than what I walked into the theater expecting. First off let me clarify a few things, especially in response to the scores of reviews from other critics who have eviscerated this film on the grounds that it’s “not good”.

It’s not supposed to be good. I may be speaking through the eyes of a 7 year old boy, still enamored with the ridiculous premises and paper thin plot holes that riddle any store of giant talking rats and turtles, but can you really expect a film about giant ninja turtles to be genuinely good. No. And the problem is that they’re defining good in the classical sense of the word – that is, the presence of a substantial plot, emotional rise and fall, decent dialogue, a lesson. All that sugar coated nonsense that passes for good these days.

TMNT is a film based on the premise of placing the tongue firmly in cheek and making fun of what passes for entertainment these days. And as a friend pointed out to me, regardless of whether the plot is good or not, it’s more fully realized than the last ten animated Disney releases.

Basically though, the film is about magic portals and world transferring, and evil creatures from beyond, the whole of the action taking place after the events of the original film trilogy and the defeat of Shredder. The result is a film with a plot that only serves as a catalyst for the turtles to reunite, fight, reunite again, and kick some butt. A fairly decent percentage of the film in fact is about the turtles interacting and fighting, and that’s what the film should be.

Dialogue is in fact incredibly bad. There’s no getting around that. After 10 minutes of film, I remembered more acutely just how awful that original show was written, and how I still loved it. The writer and director either emulated the original sensation wonderfully, or have no idea how to write dialog. For my money, I’m banking on the former.

And what could have passed as a three part TV episode needed the boost that technology could offer it. This movie looked beautiful. Mikey skateboarding down a sewer drain never looked so good, and the details in the turtles faces and expressions has never been so detailed. The slick, hyper stylized format worked perfectly and made the climactic battle scenes incredibly engaging, more so than you would expect from a Ninja Turtles movie.

Ultimately, I was massively pleased with the TMNT outing. As a long time Ninja Turtle fan, I got exactly what I was expecting from it, and I imagine new fans under the age of 12 will be just as enthralled. That’s not to say that a 35 year old who has never seen the Turtles before walking into the theater would necessarily enjoy it. It is after all a technically bad movie. What he doesn’t know, is that it is supposed to be.

There are some things in life that people will look at you and laugh about. They might find you eating habits unhealthy or your love life a joke. You might have horrible hygiene and say stupid things. But, if you stay up all night and live to tell the tale they’ll usually preface their snide remarks with a moderate acknowledgment of respect, something alone the lines of “I could never do that.”

You might be thinking the same thing, I could never do that, but you’re wrong. The human body needs its sleep but at the same time is surprisingly resilient and stores a whole lot of energy away for future use. It’s not a matter of physically being able to, but of mentally being able to.

First off, you need to be prepared. Don’t spend the entire day running marathons if you plan on staying up all night writing a paper. Eat a decent dinner, but not too much and don’t drink too much alcohol (though the right amount can yield the same results, you’ll find that the next day will be spent sleeping). We’re assuming you have a reason for doing this. If not, why would you bother?

Stay preoccupied. If you have a meeting at 5 in the morning and don’t get home until midnight and decide to not bother sleeping, don’t sit and watch TV while you wait. You’re asking to fall asleep and miss your meeting. Do something mentally active. When you focus and your body and mind are working in tandem you tend to forget how tired you are. Write emails, play a video game, or talk with your girlfriend, but don’t sit and read a book or watch a movie. You will fall asleep.

Diet is key here. Don’t eat a bundle of junkfood before when you’d normally go to sleep. If you do your body will crash and you’ll likely go with it. You’re going to want to have an ample supply of caffeinated beverages, some carbo-loaded snacks (no sugar though) and a decent breakfast on the horizon. It’ll keep you moving but not hibernating.

Take a shower early. If you shower at three instead of four before you leave, it’ll make the last hour or two a lot easier. It’ll wake you up and keep you from accidentally falling asleep and forgetting to shower at all.

Don’t harass your friends or family. Don’t keep other people up to keep you company or call someone in the middle of the night to bug them when you’re bored. The internet’s for that. Find someone as sleep deprived as yourself and commiserate in silence. The slumbering world will thank you for it.

Basically, it’s necessary to remember that your body needs sleep. But, if you trick it into not remembering what it needs, you’re good to go. It’s like boiling a frog in a pot. Slowly turn up the heat and he won’t jump out. Slowly ease into the night and you’ll have no problem staying up past dawn. Just be prepared to collapse the next day around three.

Okay, so this one doesn’t actually count right off the bat, because it’s not really a con, just a shortcoming in myself that tends to manifest when given the freedom to do so. Sitting at home all day working means that I’m also sitting at home all day wanting more than anything to go and lay down or play a video game. Not because I’m tired or have a new game to play, but because I’m at home and that’s what you do at home, right?

Converting any space of thehome into a full-fledged office is nearly impossible. You have to remove all of the distracting elements; the tv, the food, the pets. It all has to go in favor of a quiet, distraction free workspace that will allow me at least a couple of hours of uniterrupted work time in the middle of the day. Very rarely does it work out that way either.

Another obstacle is the lack of deadlines to keep me in line. Often, projects are due weeks away, or not at all, written on spec to meet only my own needs for rent and food money. To take the extra bit of effort and tell myself that on Tuesday my day needs to consist of X amount of completed projects and Y amount of leisure time, where X and Y are inversely proportionate is incredibly hard. Why can’t they both be astronomical numbers.

The mindset that follows is my desire to take full advantage of my at home status. I’m not employed by any human being, so why shouldn’t I sit at home and relax. Why not? Because my roommate would eventually begin to ask where the rent money is, shortly followed by a couple of credit card companies and the Federal Government harping on my student loans.

And yet, laziness creeps ever onward, infiltrating the deepest corners of my psyche, telling me to forget everything and have a beer and watch the game. So, what do I do to tackle this massive issue? The first step is taking apart my room as I mentioned. Unfortunately, the TV cannot leave. I don’t have an office, so my bedroom will have to do, and because of that, my TV will also have to do. But, doors can be closed, shades pulled, and dogs left to their own devices while I work. Music is kept quiet and unintrusive, and often the television is (against all better judgment) kept off while writing.

The next step of course is much harder. Instilling mandatory deadlines upon myself is almost painful at times, turning my once glorious haven of a bedroom into the site of a totalitarian work regime. Where are the baseball games, the online RPGs, the stacks of unwatched DVDs? They must wait, because I have a project that I forced my way into and told the client that I’d have done within a week, forcing near constant attention to getting it done, lest I fail completely. Ah, glorious deadlines.

Now, my at home time is akin to when I was in school, constantly pressured, wondering if that one email I’m waiting for with project details arrived, and constantly thinking to myself how much I’d love to be ahead for tomorrow by just writing one or two more articles….oh laziness, how I miss thee (and loathe thee).

In my last year of high school, my American History professor decided he would show us Saving Private Ryan. The result was a litany of forms to be signed by parents for those not quite 18, and questioning by most students why this was necessary. Only the year before a film had been pulled from an English class in the same school, only rated PG-13 for its portrayal of 19^th century sex, but here was our teacher showing us an extremely bloody, violent battle ridden film. The argument – “it’s history”.

Violence has long held a certain mystique, the ability to stand tall above the censors and display endlessly gratuitous imagery for all ages. But it’s always been sex that truly upset the stuffy conservative minds of this country. The MPAA arose not because of excessive violence in films, but because of worries over indecent imagery related to sex.

Only last year a video game was pulled from the shelves and slapped with an Adult Only rating (the only time ever given) because of a possible unlockable sex scene. The game is one of the most violent offerings around, Grand Theft Auto. It’s an epic assault on every law written, complete with random shootings, drug dealing, and cop killing. But, sex put it over the top.

Left to their own devices, the sex and violence in film has flourished, finding routes of their own, slowly but surely pushing the censors to the borders and squeezing as much as they can out of an R rating. The result is a numbing of audience receptors to the true ferocity of some violence.

If one is to show a particularly disturbing scene, it’s necessary to take it to an entirely new level of grotesque. Realism is the next key, in which these scenes are made to look as wholly and truly realistic as possible. Gone are the hokey squirts and sprays of dismemberment. Film makeup has gone beyond that. That limb can really come off and it will look incredibly disturbing.

This cult of violence in our films has bred a new way of approaching it entirely. Instead of submitting to the desires of a so many blood thirsty film goers, directors are starting to experiment with how to turn violent imagery into an art form, not mere grotesquery to satiate the masses.

Exploitation films have been around since the 70s, when the splatter genre arrived in films like Dawn of the Dead and Friday the 13^th. Those films took violence and made it so ridiculously over the top, especially in the case of Jason and his hockey mask, that they made it fun to watch. The idea was to be scary, but in truth it was a chance to watch horrific images so ridiculous that they toned down what you might see in everyday life.

Similar films came out of Asia in time, high flying martial arts films with explosive bloodletting, almost comical at times in its lack of realism. A samurai sword to the shoulder blade might produce more blood than a typical adult male carries in his body. Anime took it to the next level, with gallons of blood spraying free of a severed limb.

Today’s experimental film makers are taking heed of the results and rewriting the violence code once again, crafting movies with all the sensibilities of a 70s splatter-fest or sword skewering anime in homage to a style that exploits. Comic books are proving a superb source for these films as well, the works of Frank Miller in particular finding a home on screen when most assumed they never would. Sin City and more recently 300 are hyper-stylized affairs rimming with violence, the kind that you’d see on an ink drawn page, so carefully planned and executed as to be art rather than violence.

Quentin Tarantino started a trend all on his own when he filmed Reservoir Dogs, infusing what some would have seen as mindless violence with reams of witty dialogue and well crafted plot, begging the question of whether the movie could be the same without those bloody scenes. Pulp Fiction’s gritty, humorous back and forths couldn’t exist without the explosive, disturbing images to offset them. It’s the perfect balance of that which both naturally disgusts and intrigues you and that which you find funny. The humor is only enhanced by all that blood.

Kill Bill, arguably Tarantino’s most exploitative homage is a combination of all the stylistic elements he’d been developing, a campy plot with tons of splatter film derived frivolities, but more than enough serious, revenge driven action to drive the plot.

Dozens of film makers have followed suit and not only have we seen a resurrection of the horror film industry as a result, the Tarantino-esque attempts of many directors to deftly combine slick gangster violence with humorous exchanges and a wickedly sadistic plot pop up annually.

Film’s cult of violent intrigue is one that some find disturbing and still more find disgusting, but one thing remains true – human beings enjoy it. Whether it’s built into our genetic code, a throwback to caveman values and primal instincts, or an internal desire to find solace in all the violence that isn’t real to better absorb and digest the excessive destruction we wreak on each other in reality, violence has a particularly soft spot in our hearts, something that will always slide under the radar as the staunch censor-happy few pick apart the latest revealing sex scene.

No posts tonight, because I’m feeling the hurt of an unnecessarily busy day of work, hence too much typing, hence I’m tired of it…hence, why am I still typing.

I first heard of Alfonso Cuaron with his brilliant Y Tu Mama Tambien, a coming of age tale set in the Mexican countryside that not only dared to do something taboo and provocative, but solidified Gabriel Garcia Bernal as a world class actor.

He took an interesting turn immediately afterward by taking on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban as his next project. While it can be arguably said his was the best of the Harry Potter films thus far, it was a project that didn’t seem to sync with his talents and what the world expected from him after his breakout success.

Two years later however, he returns with the brilliant adaptation of P.D James’ Children of Men. As a film, Children of Men is a powerhouse of emotion, born on a strong allegorical base, the kind that in this day and age is impossible to ignore, as well as a poignant commentary on our past as a species.

Cuaron isn’t content to merely point out the foibles of worldwide stances on immigration, social welfare, and government interaction; he eviscerates them with as pointed and dystopian a view of the future as modern cinema has ever seen.

The world of Children of Men is one of death and dying. The year is 2027 and it has been 18 years since the last human baby was born, since then all women have become infertile and through a combination of the downturn of human society as Cuaron sees it today and the devastation of any kind of future for humanity, the world has devolved into civil war, in which England has remained as the only uniform government and millions of immigrants try to cross her borders every day.

These illegal immigrants are not merely turned away, but bound and caged, taken to concentration camps and thrown into swampy ghettos. In scenes reminiscent of Schindler’s List, men and women are stripped of their clothing, thrown from buses and beaten, only to be shown later, lined up on the ground, dead.

The imagery is so striking, and so authentic, that it is hard to keep reminding yourself that it is the future you are watching, not a battle in some third world country overseas. When Theo, the ex-husband of a resistance leader is recruited to help smuggle a Fugee (refugee or illegal immigrant) out of the country, things become intense. As he soon learns, this woman, Kee, is pregnant, the first woman pregnant in over 18 years.

The ensuing race to save her baby, outrun the resistance groups who only want to use her, and avoid the collateral damage of the fully fledged war zone that is England rivals anything that’s been filmed in recent years. Emmanuel Lubezki, Curaon’s cinematographer for Y Tu Mama Tambien shoots one of the most incredible films of the year by putting the camera into the action, drawing the viewer in and never daring to look away. A car chase scene, preceded by numerous lines of dialogue, exploding cars, mobs of people and complex motorcycle chase is done in a single shot, deftly maneuvered from within the car.

Similarly, the film’s climax, shot in the war torn, battlefields of the ghettos is a destructive tour de force, once again maintained with a single camera shot, so attached to Theo as he maneuvers through it all that your heart has no choice but to beat along with his – as fast as possible.

This film is incredible for two reasons. It doesn’t pander to its audience first off. Every single shot in this film, every idea, every line of dialogue is striving for a goal. There are no empty exchanges or displays of violence. When a limb is removed surreptitiously by a mortar, it is done for a reason.

The brutality of the human race in those end days, when the youngest person on the planet’s murder is cause for international mourning, goes beyond the realization that there is no future. These people cry for the realization that a child will be born, but in the end only want to use that child, and continue fighting regardless.

Children of Men is a monumental accomplishment, a commentary on the brutality and senselessness of war and a nudge from a director who sees the human race going in the wrong direction. His messages are plenty and this film will unveil them only one at a time as you watch, subtly through its violence. In that, Alfonso Cuaron has made a truly great film.

A few weeks back I reviewed an album that I found last summer from one of the most intriguing, genre flipping bands around today, Gym Class Heroes. While the guys were, at the time, privy to a massive Myspace following, I had never heard of them until I did a random search to see which Myspace bands had the most hits. In the top ten, and boasting an intriguing mix of hip-hop, classic rock, and funk, I was immediately intrigued. You can read my review of their amazing second album, As Cruel As School Children, here.

Last night, at the smallest, stuffiest of Seattle’s many, sneery staffed venues, El Corazon, they put on one of the most energetic shows I’ve seen so far this year. It’s not just that they have a solid sound, that their music is something different and well written, these guys can work the crowd and were born to play live. In fact, I remember saying that last year when I first found their album and passed it to some of my friends. “These guys would be great live.”

And they were. Whether or not squeezing Travis and friends onto that tiny stage in an assuredly sold out show was a good idea or not doesn’t really matter, save the sweat drenched t-shirt that’s on the top of my laundry basket, and the numerous quantities of 16 year olds who may or may not have deserved to be smacked upside the head (damn being an adult).

And to be honest, that’s got to be the worst possible thing about any Friday night, all ages show, especially for a band that found its greatest success on Myspace - the legions of kids. Maybe I was spoiled by my Modest Mouse outing on Wednesday, but I forgot just how many 16 year olds will come out for a show that they can actually get into. I’m not bashing on the kids though. They make the music scene happen. I’m just pointing out that when one is only 16 years old and finds it necessary to continually elbow me in the chest you will very likely find yourself facing a couple of much older, and mildly angered concert goers. That’s all.

Forget the kids though. One thing they’ve got is energy, and Gym Class Heroes are a band that thrives off of energy. Travis, the band’s MC and writer, is something else as a frontman, a 6′5″ tower of energy, trying to ignite as much of the female fueled love in the room as he can. And for that matter, he does a pretty damn good job, often slowing down the set, getting to know the audience and talking up the set and the show.

It’s not your typical hip hop bravado though. It’s not about trash talking or dishing insults; it’s hip hop poetics infused as much with love and sensuality as good old fashioned goofing around. El Corazon never has offered the best in sound or stage space, but its a great venue for up close, close quartered fun with a band like Gym Class Heroes. Whether belting out their most popular tracks, B sides from early EPs, or freestyling on literary theory references, Gym Class Heroes never quite let the energy die down.

If you’ve ever had the urge (and if so, you probably had a McJob) to look up the denigrating term “McJob” in the dictionary, that big fat OED or Merriam Webster at the Library that comes in every year, or google “define:” it, you’ll know that, yes, McJob is actually in the dictionary, and that it is a noun meaning, “a low-paying job that requires little skill and provides little opportunity for advancement”.

For anyone who in the past has had a McJob, and reports say that about 1 in 8 of us have, you know this to be the absolute truth. So, why is McDonald’s trying to have the word stricken from the dictionary. I’ve used it. So did my parents. So, it’s a word. I will in fact make sure to use the word at least 10 times in the next 24 hours, merely out of spite.

Here’s the thing. Those 7 of the 8 who have not worked for McDonald’s or any of the other jobs that “provide little opportunity for advancement” know that the definition is dead on. It’s a crap job. Trust me, I had one.

Those people might find the argument that the term is degridating to the company, borderline lible. However, I would argue that if the term is incredibly true, and it is more painful to work for the Arches than have a molar tugged by an 800 pound gorilla, why should they feel it necessary to rescind the warning. I think our nation’s youth, those unskilled, untrained masses to know what they’re getting into. It’s not like they have much of a choice anyways.