Murmur Digital Radio

We continue to talk about the movies that bother us. World-building has been strangely silent since The Matrix (1999), a concept originally left for dead, pushed forward into standard by will, belief, and a corps of indelible artists. Geof Darrow and Steve Skroce - two craftspeople first to join the legion - assemble here to add their DNA to our dish. Filmmaking with vision is a winnable war-of-art; to wit, the great irony of a film is can’t know we need one until it’s been made.

Oh, f'it, let’s actually talk about the film FIGHT CLUB @ Twenty - still the smartest delinquent in the room - with the man whose book-as-rolling-ball-of-art-and-confusion began a movie birthed by an apropos society of full-throated artists: Chuck Palahniuk. The film still can’t drink, but it’s no less a danger to society. Its meta and mythos are more than meets the eye, and its fever-pitch lives in Chuck’s own agnostic baptisms. Write what you know, perhaps; film what’s to remain, please. Oh, and, slide.

Henry Rollins — Professor Emeritus, The Modern School of Film — joins us in lovely, lovely Lima, Peru to triptych his life in three acts (i.e. three films) and continue our journey In:Pictures. His selections are as raw and ready-made as Henry; one indie, one Epic, one film family-photo one would sooner forget, but cannot. Blissfully, Robert Duvall came up a few times (read three) to boot. Henry never forgets, and his cinema, unsurprisingly, unforgiving. Welcome back, Professor. Thank you, Peru.

Once upon an art-form, the term "classically trained" meant something. For better and for worse. Wesley Snipes is the former, and we're the former for it. Dr. Snipes joined us in Monaco to look back and ahead at his range, his craftsmanship and, most importantly, to teach us how to take a punch. And a kick. All in a dance move or two.

Like the man sang, "It's never over". More than an 80's-lyric, though, while function is transient, what form's us, eternal. And gift-able. Singer/writer Ingrid Michaelson tiles the walls of both her home and her art with love and legacies that neither date, nor diminish. What transports her is the photo of the photo; the time of the time. Perhaps, in a world where the future is far less sexy, and less inconceivable, than ever, what's past is Epilogue. All those moments not lost in time. Rather held. Imperishable.

Though rings of hell vary, we all travel through as a form of learning. There is very little understanding gained if we aren’t faced with uncertainty or with loss or with decay; or, frankly, with death. Thom Sonny Green of Alt-J is in touch with his heights because he’s faced-off with his depths. Amongst his antagonisms, his own physical well-being — diagnosed with Alport Syndrome at the age of 12, by then having lost a majority of his hearing and signaling the need for a kidney transplant — a cause for many to question their very journey, let alone architect a purpose. Thom cannot teach you what he’s learned, yet, as is the case with best of teachers, he chooses to candidly reviews his times, his trials and his continual triumphs. Most things, we can’t truly know ‘til we get there; however, getting a firm dose of relativity never hurts.

We've all asked where things come from; so, let's leap-frog that by asking where they go -- "somewhere" is not the right answer. Two from the frontline, though, know. Partners in life and in use -- Adam Gardner (who has been moonlighting with Guster for 20 years) and Lauren Sullivan (who had us at "perseverate") -- have been keeping global score for 15 years with their advocacy/progeny, Reverb; rallying artists to make "best use" of sonic bullhorns to repurpose the wakes that spread into the ties that connect. Ties that are never plastic. And, if so, never single-use. So, listen-up, then act. But not necessarily in that order.

Few states deadlock past/present/future in an immediacy all too real. And, though its sources constipate , its feels can softly (and not) extend into frontiers of fear, panic, paranoia, dread; and, in doses, motivation and movement. It lives with us, is not us, but is all about us. Matt Berninger of The National bravely sources the ubiquity of his anxieties and the agreement he’s struck — blessings are curses and vice versa. He’s here to draw a map, not a line; and to sit with, not run from, the disconnections we mistakenly deduce make us less than normal. So listen, think again, repeat.

What do you get a film that has everything? Let's start with a thank you, hand-delivered. Legendary filmmaker John Woo allows us in to his office and mindset as THE KILLER came of age thirty years ago. All films are documentaries, still some are templates. Such was THE KILLER and the touch of its creator -- a disciple of cinema, a priest of its power. When a film embraces hard choices, yet feels as innocent now as ever, 30 years fall away. Armed with two mics -- one in each hand, in the spirit of the Killer, himself -- we look back at the film with Master Woo at a culture and a generation of film that hasn't been the same since.

If ever a genre was meant to appear, cloud, clear — then cloud again — it's the Western. Since it's birth, this most cinematic of forms has been chalked-up as storytelling scavenger, dusted, and left for dead, all ‘round the same campfire; only to see the most majestic of practitioners defending its frontier as reflector of morality, spinner of spirituality, and builder of fences around the seemingly unfence-ible [sic]. Unconvinced? Give a legend a shot — he has the pelts. Walter Hill digs up his unbreakable solace in the singularity pure/impure Western form; and, for no good measure, unearths a personal walk-through of its master gatekeepers, of which is he is a last artist standing.