Leonardo Da Vinci's "Mona Lisa"

There’s something about her smile. The way the lips curl on the most famous femme fatale of all time is mysterious as it is eternally sexy. There is no fuller more vivid career in the history of art then Mona Lisa’s. She got her start with genius Leonardo Da Vinci in 1503, yet it is her long journey following her inception that made her the superstar we know and love today. She was exclusive with some of the most powerful men in history including Louis XIV and Napoleon, and played muse to Salvador Dali, Marcel Duchamp and Andy Warhol among numerous others. She has had her fair share of scandal; one notorious example being her two year tryst in Italy with art thief Vincenzo Peruggia during which she stayed completely out of the public eye. Following her absence, Mona made a triumphant return to the spotlight in a successful world tour before returning to her current residence, The Louvre. There has been controversy with the work the aging diva has had done including several facelifts. Nevertheless, her striking depth of beauty at 500 years old ascends any dissatisfaction one may have about the state of her aesthetic purity. Lisa is a survivor and has endured as an important and interminable icon whose haunting smirk is forever in our subconscious, a rare and commendable feat. Today Mona Lisa lives and works in Paris and is focused primarily on her career and fans, still smiling after all this time.

Gustav Klimt's "The Kiss"

On a florid knoll in a golden abyss, two lovers pose intertwined in each other and exotic vines. Such is the scene of Gustav Klimt’s most recognizable work, “The Kiss”. A prime example of work from Klimt’s gold period, the painting is several different depths of metallic and paints a picture of a decadent and sensual embrace between a beautiful woman and a dashing stud with flowers in his hair. Flowers seem to overwhelm the piece, covering the pair’s garments and the foreground. Looking at the painting from a 21^st Century perspective, it is easy to see the transition from an Art Nouveau piece such as “The Kiss” to the psychedelic art and ephemera of the 1960’s and 1970’s. Perhaps that is what make’s the work seem so overindulgent and irrelevant today. Perhaps it is overexposure to Hallmark Valentines and the Midwestern, suburban interior decorators of our time that render “The Kiss” cliché. Gustav Klimt’s attention to detail and meticulous craftsmanship are impressive to this day, but studying the “The Kiss”, one may be troubled to find anything commendable past the aesthetic plastic of the painting. It’s nice to look at. That seems to be about it. There is a reason “The Kiss” seems right at home above granite counter tops, next to stainless steal appliances, over “Truly Taupe” painted walls- because it is.

Black Dogs

Inked editor Jason Buhrmester’s debut novel Black Dogs is a comical rock and roll crime novel based very loosely on the 1973 incident when Led Zeppelin was robbed of $203,000 cash while on tour in New York City . The novel’s setting, dialogue and cast of dirty, grimy young criminals will keep you reading even if the predictable plot does not.    The story center's around Patrick, a nineteen year old criminal from the bleak streets of 1970's Baltimore who has just returned home after a year working and mingling with the biggest bands of the decade through a catering gig in New York City.  Upon returning home, Patrick attempts to rally together his own band of thieves to convince them to embark on the greatest heist of their careers: robbing Led Zeppelin.  The gang is comprised of Frenchy; a bit of a guitar prodigy among his friends, Alex;fresh out of Jail for robbery, and Keith; essentially a dumbass.  What starts as simply robbing Led Zeppelin (As simply as robbing Led Zeppelin can be) quickly becomes a vortex of disarray amid Christian bike gangs, garage funk bands and the Maryland chapter of the Misty Mountain Hoppers (aka stoned stupid Zeppelin fans).  The gang eventually ends up in New York City at the Drake Hotel where the band is staying.  They then proceed to commit possibly the greatest robbery in classic rock, or so the title says. 

           

The plot of Black Dogs is Elmore-Leonard-light, but still incredibly pleasurable.  The characters and references are practically as good as Leonard’s, and with a palpable rock and roll flavor.  The allusions to classic rock and 1970’s America are implemented flawlessly.  Especially the fabulously weird references to the now defunct television program Hawaii 5-0, somehow the favorite television show of this group of gritty delinquents, which will make you laugh out loud.  The book also accounts for all of the musicians Led Zeppelin stole from (sweet retribution for anyone who’s ever had to put up with real Misty Mountain Hopper’s) but smartly follows with the reflection vocalized by Keith, “If I put peanut butter and jelly on bread its not the most original sandwich in the world, but you’d still eat it.”  Ah, so true Keith, so true.

 

The novel has its flaws, but the fast pace and ruthless dialogue will make you tear through it’s pages.  The female character’s are definitely lacking, but then again all the characters in this book are morons who would risk jail and death to commit crime and thievery rather then using any of their vast number of skills to make an honest living.  At the heart of their irrational risk is the spirit of Rock and Roll.  And in Rock and Roll the risk is the payoff.

 

 

Cop Out

Balls, poop, shit, fuck… yup, this is a Kevin Smith movie! Just not one with any humor. Cop Out is Smith’s first time directing a film he didn’t write, although it’s questionable if anyone was actually directing this movie. The film opens with promise as Tracy Morgan does his impersonations of lines from famous cop movies, but is immediately brought down by Bruce Willis’s obviously acted performance. Willis plays Jimmy the older and wiser cop of the pair, while Morgan plays the goofy partner in crime (or should I saw law) Paul. Cop Out centers around these two characters and plays like a stale 1980’s buddy cop film instead of satirizing one.

After unprofessional behavior on the job leads to the getaway of a suspect in a Latin drug gang, NYPD cops Jimmy and Paul have their badges taken away and must endure a month long suspension. Jimmy must then find a new source of income to pay for his beloved daughter Ava’s wedding or else her step father will and Jimmy would face the ultimate emasculation. In the process of selling his valuable baseball card, the memorabilia shop is held up at gun point and Jimmy’s card is stolen. It just so happens the number one Latin drug lord is a huge baseball memorabilia collector and Jimmy and Paul end up getting involved in the very case they were banned from. Hilarity and mishaps ensue, but Jimmy and Paul come out on top, taking down the mean Mexican drug dealers and saving the prostitute with a heart of gold that they found in the trunk of the gang leader’s Mercedes! And it ends with a white wedding!

Willis, who is totally capable of comedy as evident by his role in the television series Moonlighting, came off obnoxious. Tracy Morgan played Tracy Morgan, which in light of the rest of the movie was rather enjoyable. Rashida Jones and Michelle Trachtenberg who are both well endowed comically (Jone’s in “I Love You Man” and Trachtenberg’s role as a queen bitch on “Gossip Girl”) are way underused and play typical female roles. It’s not the casting that’s off as much as the delivery. The film is not smart enough or dumb enough to be funny. It has off-putting graphic violence that is confusingly followed directly by toilet jokes. All the characters are heavily stereotyped and in the case of the Latino gangsters it almost feels a little racist. The jokes aren’t intended to be about how silly stereotypes are, but about Mexican’s talk funny. It didn’t come across as a satire of other buddy cop movies as much as it was just another buddy cop movie.

If you must see this film the awesome 80’s hip hop and synth soundtrack will get you through the 107 minutes that is Cop Out. You’d be better off seeing Avatar again.

The Fame Monster

There were two blondes who were prevalent in pop culture in 2009.  One wears prom dresses and sparkly guitars around her tiny frame while the other prefers to let her fantastic pale bottom hang out of latex leotards and yields a glow in the dark “disco stick”.  One sings of unrequited love and growing pains, the other of a sick obsession with fame, fortune and fashion.  Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga share few things in common, their rise to fame in the past year is one of those things.  It’s easy to see why Lady Gaga blew up; she’s loud, she’s flashy and she has pop anthems with hooks Beyonce would kill for.  Taylor Swift is a more pleasant surprise; her voice is not incredible but what she sings about is. 

 

Having said that, Lady Gaga’s latest release The Fame Monster is a monster.  The charm of her first album The Fame has been swallowed by the monster and all that is left is synthetic white noise.  It serves its purpose as a solidly produced pop album, but it disappoints on being truly great because it has no sense of humor which all great pop music should have.  The Fame Monster’s lyrics just don’t resonate the way The Fame’s tale of a struggling Lower East Side Pop artist did.  Fantasizing about fame and touting about it are two different things and an America in recession can tell the difference. 

 

After all Lady Gaga is actually a brunette, Taylor Swift is a natural blonde. 

 

 

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The Fame

Stefani Germanotta is a good Italian girl who learned classical piano because her mother forced her to sit at a piano bench for an hour every day. She is also a New Yorker, a college dropout and an unnatural peroxide bleach blonde with a penchant for wigs. Stefani Germanotta is a lot of things because Stefani Germanotta is Lady Gaga. And Lady Gaga is the Elton John/David Bowie/Madonna/Alice Cooper of the second decade of the new millennium.

Lady Gaga’s debut album The Fame is a narrative of the desperate and ugly climb to fame and fortune wrapped up in delicious pop music. It has boisterous beats and clever lyrics woven elegantly throughout. Lady Gaga somehow has the ability to sing the line “Let’s have some fun this beat is sick, I wanna take a ride on your disco stick” without sounding lewd or unintelligent. She lets us know it’s a joke and allows us take her lightly. It’s everything enjoyable about pop and hiphop in the last twenty years in leather and a hair bow.

If you hate her music, you should at least acknowledge the woman’s capatalistic genius. In a world where reality shows and youtube have brought real meaning to Andy Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame theory, Lady Gaga produced an album about creating one’s own fame. More and more it seems when a child is asked what they want to be when they grow up the answer is movie star or rock star. Firefighters and doctors seem kind of dull when you can be on the cover of magazines every week and have your own fragrance. The Fame is a soundtrack for the millions of American youth who long to be harassed by paparazzi and have their lives chronicled by Star Magazine. And for everyone else, the firefighters and doctors included, the album is great pop escapism for those long drives to work.