For the first time, the Norwich Radical Film Festival is proud to present a new release as part of it’s monthly screening series. This is an East Anglian première of a radical new film that gives a voice to people often ignored by society; sex-workers. It has been short-listed at festivals New York, Portland and London – and we are proud to bring it to Norwich’s Forum Auditorium on the 18th of May at 7pm.
“The Red Umbrella Diaries” is a feature documentary directed by David Kornfield that tells the personal stories of seven diverse New Yorkers who work in different sectors of the sex trade and come together to tell their tales on stage at Joes Pub. The story-lines explore the question: what happens if people ignored by the mainstream media take control of their own stories, and how they are presented to the world?
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Jeez. 2015 was a stinker. Mostly, it was a year racked with cinematic let-downs – as a long list of franchises made big budget returns to the screen only to disappoint. Like going through the motions with a former lover, Jurassic Park, Star Wars, Terminator, the James Bond franchise all reused their same stale old tricks while sadly tarnishing the memories of a pristine and exciting affair from long ago. And yes, I appreciate Star Wars 7 wasn’t an utter disaster. But really, can you look me in the eye and tell me it worked as a standalone film? If this were the first one you saw, would you be queueing outside Odeon in the bleak December cold waiting for tickets to its sequel? I doubt it. Anyway, I digress – Star Wars was not really interesting enough on either end of the scale to register on this list. The rules are the same as last year, “definitive best and worst lists are so impossibly selective, and rely on a reviewer seeing literally everything in order to be credible. This is not that.” So here goes, the best 3 and worst 3 I never reviewed – and one of each that I did. Let’s make the best of what was a disappointment of a year, and hope that surely in 2016, things can only get better.
IT’S JUST ONE HOUR UNTIL THE DAY ITSELF. We at Hollywood Hegemony hope that your stockings are crammed with goodies. But if it’s coal then at least you’ll have this Christmas gem to wake up to; our very own ‘analysis’ of Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas. So, merry Christmas to all, and to all a good nightmare.
Traditionally, ghosts are usually the anonymised remnants of souls who perished unjustly – who return, damaged and riled by the experience, to extol revenge from the living. They are the people who die in pain, misery and poverty, having been hounded to their graves – even in the modern day – by elites who see nothing monstrous in that – only normality. Elites who overthrow their own reason by refusing to acknowledge those forces inside themselves which they simply cannot understand – and who subsequently cannot foresee a backlash to their actions. And that’s why ghost stories like Whistle and I’ll Come to You are ever so essential ingredients to Christmas tradition – as a warning to those ‘more fortunate’.
“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy…”
Following a disasterous vote in Parliament yesterday, where 66 “Labour” MPs voted in favour of shelling Syria, the news has been awash with sycophancy, none worse than the glowing reviews currently being slathered over Hilary Benn’s over-done performance.
The Shadow Secretary for Murder made what has been described as a “powerful,” “emotional” and “compelling” case for a bombing campaign that “moved MPs to tears” according to the Blairite rag that is the New Statesman. Every other say on the matter has basically been airbrushed from history – in favour of celebrating a speech that has dragged Britain into another blood-stained shambles of a conflict. Hooray for war. Hooray for slaughter. Hooray for repetitive strain. Continue reading →
It’s been a poor year for gangster cinema – Cell Magazine‘s Laurence Langan writes for Hollywood Hegemony on why Johnny Depp’s latest vehicle, Black Mass, does little to buck that trend.
You’re in the pub. Everyone’s talking. Politics, T.V or general gossip, it doesn’t matter. You’re having a good old gab. You jump in to the conversation with a flourish, monologuing passionately about the way the world is. Cement solid points and clever informed witticisms flow forth. Then, as you go on, you sort of lose track of what you’re saying. First you’re generalising. Now you’re quoting something out of context. Then you’re just plain making something up. Soon, you trail off and mutter a sort of open ended, vacuous moral and quickly pretend you need to go and use the facilities. Exit stage left.
This kind of social awkwardness is what watching Black Mass is a bit like. A muddled, pointless ramble with zero self-awareness. Continue reading →