On on they send, on without end, their joyful tone to every home.

I don't know what's happening. I'm sorry. I seem to be in some strange sort of mood. I'm sorry - it's very rude of me. I seem to be unravelling.

Clarissa Vaughan, played by Meryl Streep, in The Hours (2002).

The first thing I think of when I think of Christmas is ‘X-mas’. I’m reassured by the fact that ‘X’ is a symbol for Christ. The next thing I think of is ‘Happy Holidays’, the politically correct substitute for ‘Merry Christmas’. Then I think of how I think of Santa before Christ. I think of presents. Saying that giving is better than receiving is not necessarily true. Sometimes I enjoy one more than the other and the other way around. I remember being a child on the lap of a mall-Santa pulling a fake beard away from a middle-aged and startled face. I remember being dismayed, but thinking, not that there was no Santa, but that this impostor wasn’t the right Santa. I remember the wonder I felt when I tugged on a real beard. This is him. The real deal.

I remember waking up as a child and seeing that the cookies really were eaten! It’s true! He exists! And I know my parents were sleeping; I saw them go to bed! Then, poof! Presents. There’s a Santa. I loved the smells. That Christmas tree smell. It seemed to pervade my house. I remember how my mom made me read either the Luke or the Matthew passage and faking that I was interested because all I wanted to do is tear open my presents with all the frenzy of a crazed maniac. I remember not being able to sleep the night before. It was so magical. I remember trying to stay awake so I could hear the reindeer hooves hit the roof. I’d run to my window to catch one quick glimpse. Maybe I could sneak outside and get a sneak peak of his back, or hear snorting. I’d run back to my bed under my covers. I couldn’t be caught; that would mean ‘no presents’, I’d reason. Why couldn’t I ever hear the presents being wrapped?



I remember the cold. It was a poignant frost. Filled with bitter-sweetness. I remember really getting angry at my classmates who said they swore Santa didn’t exist. They’d insist they caught their parents in the act. So what?, I’d think. That proves what exactly? Maybe you were bad and you’re parents were making up for it. Maybe you caught your parents wrapping only a certain portion of the presents you got. I remember when my mom sat me down to tell me the news. I feigned indifference. But even as I type this, I remember feeling a level of despair I hadn’t known up to that point. I remember my dad not wanting the news to be broken to me this way. My feelings of romanticism had been abruptly snuffed. But then the years went by.

I remember being a little more mature and stumbling across the story of St. Nick, a Greek bishop, with a reputation for secret gift-giving. I always remember The Christmas Carol, The Grinch, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, The Christmas Story, Scrooged, and let’s not forget Die Hard. I remember all these memories with a melancholy I haven’t truly felt until now. I miss my childhood very much. I miss the mystery and the innocence, when you really discover things for the first time. This next Christmas is really reminding me that I need to cherish all the blessings God has given me, and do it now in the present, and stop being so self-absorbed and worrying about tomorrow. I remember a time when I was more myself, before I wasn't diluted with all these other invading personalities that morphed my true self whichever way they did. That’s the word. I feel diluted. A child is so its true self because it doesn’t know enough to deceive itself. Once you start growing up, you start wanting to be other things besides what God made you to be, and you actually start changing yourself, bit by bit, little by little.

As another Christmas begins to go by, like a caboose on a train, I’m reminded of my mortality, but I’m also reminded that I need to not take anything God puts into my life for granted, to love my family and friends while they’re still here, while I’m still here. I need Christ so bad. So very bad. I can’t say it enough. We’re all Scrooges and we all need those ghosts sometimes to remind us of what was really important. No movie does this better than It’s a Wonderful Life. I watch it every Christmas. On that note, each one of us is George Bailey, settling for a life we didn’t plan for, sorting out our own despair, dealing with our own demons, our Mr. Potters, and hoping for that time when God sends some angel (whatever form that’ll take) to give us some deep insight into what’s really meaningful in life, and we come full circle to realize that we’re NOT islands.

We are members of a community. We need to help each other, since we’re all one in Him.

Taking the Long Way

Every once in awhile an album comes out that aligns perfectly with the moon and the stars, the sun and the Venus. An album that brings kings to their knees and oceans to a boil. A collection of songs that shakes the very ground we walk on. This type of occurrence is rare, but does happen. Such examples are limited but include the following: Ratt, 'Out of the Cellar', Lynyrd Skynyrd, 'Gimme Back My Bullets', Marilyn Manson 'The Golden Age of Grotesque' and Dixie Chicks, 'Taking the Long Way.'

'Taking the Long Way' is, as of 2010, the Dixie Chicks most recent studio release. After a four year break from 2002's 'Home' and a four year constant bombardment of harassments, death threats and over all media damnation the Dixie Chicks broke the silence with 'Taking the Long Way' in 2006.

Now for those of you that weren't alive or consciously aware of the turmoil and heartache that took place in the lives of these sweet southern girls in the post 9/11 world, let me refresh you...
In March of 2003 at a concert in London, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks said, and I quote; "We do not want this war, this violence, and we’re ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas."
Not a huge deal right, I mean who really likes war? Just making a statement whilst having a microphone in front of you at a country music concert shouldn't be that big of a deal. right?

WRONG.

After this remark the Dixie Chicks were virtually blacklisted from everything and made out to be communist Nazis worthy of being stoned to death on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. I'm not making this up people, you can research if you want or just think back to just a few short years ago when Dixie Chicks albums were being burned in church parking lots. (I guess there was a shortage on Beatles Memorabilia at that time.)

If this seems ridiculous it's because it is. I think Dave Chappelle summed it up best when he said, "Why would anyone care about what the Dixie Chicks have to say about politics? They're just three bitches that can sing good." Exactly. Why does anyone care about musicians and movie stars stand points on religion or politics or anything? They're entertainers not life coaches! Their views on anything, whether you agree or disagree shouldn't interfere with your opinions or how you judge their art!

I'm getting side tracked..

Never the less the Dixie Chicks were able to rise out of this sea of ignorance and deliver, in all seriousness, one of the best albums I've ever heard. Maybe the main reason why they haven't released anything since 'Taking the Long Way' is because they know it would be a ridiculously hard act to follow...? It's a possibility. In the career of musicians there are albums that define you, and then there are albums that RE-define you. Redefining albums take the best qualities of what you became known for in the first place and then add to that a new and invigorating sense of style, determination, quality and in this case, sassyness.

If the Dixie Chicks were renaissance painters 'Taking the long way' would be their Sistine Chapel. Put it on heavy rotation.

The Animal Within: Black Swan

But I was still cursed with my duality of purpose; and as the first edge of my penitence wore off, the lower side of me, so long indulged, so recently chained down, began to growl for licence. Not that I dreamed of resuscitating Hyde; . . . no, it was in my own person that I was once more tempted to trifle with my conscience. However, this brief condescension to my evil finally destroyed the balance of my soul.

- Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde



I am very excited about the new movie from Darren Aronofsky called Black Swan, starring Natalie Portman playing Nina Sayers (The Swan Queen), and Mila Kunis, playing Lily (The Black Swan). You might remember Mila Kunis as Mona Sax in Max Payne (2008), a mediocre revenge pic. Black Swan, as far as I can gather from the trailer, looks to be a very deep movie about the human condition. We talk flippantly about the dark side of our natures, a theme touched on often enough in the humanities, but what we tend to gloss over in casual conversation the arts need to emphasize, so in our times of leisure at the cinema, we can come to see the full dimensions of what God comes to save us from; and to those who have dipped their fingers into the icy, chilling water of spiritual death, they can feel that numbing sensation they felt when once they so dabbled.

Nina Sayers is a professional ballerina for the New York City ballet. Her entire life is consumed with the art of the dance; her drive and ambition deliver her to the upper echelons of competition within her profession. When Thomas Leroy (Cassel), the artistic director, needs to choose the best ballerina for the production 'Swan Lake', his eyes land ineluctably on Sayers. But the smooth transition of Sayers into the lead part presents some problems. The part demands of the character a duality of personality, with the White Swan exemplifying all the traits of purity, spotlessness, and innocence, and the Black Swan the polar opposite, representing sensuality, a sort of twistedness, a bent-ness. Things are further complicated when Leroy's attention is fixed on Lily, who exudes these qualities effortlessly. Nina, in her drive to win the part, and pushed along abusively and obsessively by Erica (Hershey), her mother, begins her slow descent into the darker, and so spiritually perilous, regions of the more sinister and foul part of her nature.

I have high expectations from Aronofsky, who has Requiem for a Dream, The Fountain, and The Wrestler under his belt. The trailer for the film is very affective, with Natalie Portman looking like she'll deliver the performance of her career. Along with P.T. Anderson, Aronofsky gets me very excited about whatever movie output they'll eventually have. This movie will be sure to illuminate the whole universal motif of the duality of human nature and what happens when someone is lead irrevocably toward the path of spiritual destruction. As soon as the movie hits theaters in Biloxi, I'll be sure to buy a ticket, and get more than my money's worth.

Jean-Claude Van Damned

Jean-Claude Van Damme. Part of the 80's Rat Pack of muscle-bound action stars in cheesy, fun action movies with company such as Stallone, Schwartzenegger, Seagel, Norris, and Willis. My earliest memories are watching Kickboxer, where Van Damme is training in some tropical wilderness, his shirt off, tan, muscles exposed, with lots and lots of karate. I wanted to be like him. Bloodsport got his career into high gear and he was soon one of the most sought after action stars of the 80's and early 90's. His signature spinning, round-house kick delivered as the end-all knock-out hit near the end of his fights was enough to make me clench my fists with adrenaline. But something happened.

Somewhere around the mid-90's, his career started hitting some snags. His movies began to make less and less money. At least his movies were still hitting the theater. But as movie producers started noticing the trends, they realized Van Damme wasn't a good investment anymore. Suddenly a barrage of straight-to-video films swept through Blockbuster. He became a joke. Anytime you saw him in one of these later films, you could never take him seriously. Not only was there every action movie cliche, but there was every Van Damme cliche. Overblown plots, terrible scripts, long stretches of boring scene development, and an inability to take his acting any more seriously than a Hulk Hogan or an Ernest movie. How could such a titan of action-movie superstardom become a dive, almost a comic figure in a tragedy, becoming the butt of any joke having to do with ruined careers and trainwrecks?

Now I don't know much about Van Damme's personal life, but this downward spiral in movie output is almost entirely a reflection of it. He had everything. He was a modern day Solomon, having many wives, had sex with countless women, became entangled in a destructive drug habit, struggling with his financies, losing custody of his children, all with full cognizance if his career's momentum as becoming a joke. He was unraveling. He tried everything the world had to offer and saw that it was nothing but a chasing after the wind. Out of nowhere, he had somewhat of a spiritual reawakening. I don't know the details, but somewhere, somehow, he came to see the futility of living out an existence based on mere pleasure. It is so strange to realize that the hammiest actor you know, from the lead to the background characters, to the guy responsible for the lighting that Christian Bale exploded on, are real, rich, full, beautiful, drama-filled lives that, if thier lives were a movie, would all be worthy of an Academy Award.



Enter a very strange movie called JCVD (2008), which stands for Jean-Claude Van Damme. It is a foreign film and the characters speak in French. He plays himself and consciously puts emphasis on real aspects of his life: his financial struggles, his family issues, his personal demons. The plot is mundane and more a vehicle for Van Damme to play a Hamlet than be delightful in its own right. After we see him in his struggles, he is at a bank where he realizes he has no money. Just then, a robber knocks him out, but due to some communication problem, the police think Van Damme robbed the bank and is now holding everyone who was present hostage. He uses this time to tell those present about his real life apart from his celebrity status.



Against all odds, he gives a very powerful peformance, with critics agreeing. The foreign-film status gives it a more realistic feel and you don't have to hear Van Damme trip over the English language. And since he is playing himself and not a character, his performance has an effortlessness about it that is refreshing. In all his other films, I almost feel my stomach tie in knots because all I can think about is some foreign actor playing a cheesy action role and it distracts from the character and the story. JCVD solves both these problems. There are pathos-filled scenes, like a court scene in which Van Damme is losing custody of his daughter mainly because his daughter is teased at school when one of his films is on at her school. Touches like those are perfect because they touch on something everyone is feeling. He becomes his own worst critic and his criticisms are noteworthy. He takes aim at not just his movies but his self. Give it a view.

1994

1994, the year my life revolves around.

I think everyone would agree 1994 wasn't a bad year, we had the 25th anniversary of Woodstock, some lovely winter Olympic games in Norway, "Schindler's List" won 7 Oscars, Brazil won the world cup and O.J. Simpson got away with murder. Now these things are all great and wonderful but let's talk about the things that changed my life and made me the man I am today.

First off '94 was the year the greatest motion picture of all time was released..."Forrest Gump." If you ever want to witness a grown man weeping like a 7 year old orphan, watch "Forrest Gump" with me. When Forrest meets his son for the first time and when Forrest visits Jenny's grave, both scenes make me cry like a woman watching "Casablanca" or "The Wedding Planner" or whatever the hell makes women cry. Damn that Tom Hanks and his beautiful acting. Point is, that movie has deeply impacted me. It makes me feel good about life and myself and comforts me in the same way a grilled cheese sandwich prepared by my mother does.

Also in April of 1994 Kurt Cobain was found dead in a room above his garage at his home in Lake Washington, Seattle. At the time I was only 6 years old but even then I was still aware of how big of a deal that was. Granted at 6 I didn't fully understand just how tragic and detrimental this loss was to the world of music but as I have grown up few bands and few individuals have affected me as much as Nirvana and Kurt have. A couple months later MTV and Geffen records released Nirvana's 'Unplugged in New York' album which is one of my favorite albums of all time, if you have never heard it or seen the live performance on tv or dvd you are missing out.

Here is a little four minute taste...



Okay, let's continue.

Now, the movie "Jurassic Park" was actually released in '93 but I was not privileged enough to see it until the next year so I still count it as one of the wonders of 1994. If you were a kid who grew up in the 90s and you didn't love "Jurassic Park" I didn't want to be your friend. If you're an adult living in 2010 and you don't love "Jurassic Park" I still probably don't want to be your friend. Besides all the obvious fantastic things about JP; Jeff Goldblum, velociraptors, John Williams musical score, Jeff Goldblum, JP also released an absolutely amazing line of toys after the success of the film. I spent a good two years of my life sending Doctor Alan Grant, Ian Malcolm and a giant T-Rex on all sorts of crime fighting missions with Batman, the X-Men and what ever else assortment of odd ball toys I had acquired.

I could honestly keep going on and on. "The Shawshank Redemption", "Dumb and Dumber", and "The Lion King" all came out in '94, 2pac recorded the album 'Me Against the World', Beavis & Butthead and Ren & Stimpy ruled the television airwaves and Ben Affleck started on his journey to the top of the world. All of the things I just listed are very near and dear to my heart. The only thing that could have made this year any more epic and more vital to my existence would have been if Jordan and the Bulls could have won the championship for a fourth year in a row.

Music: A Confession

I am not ashamed to admit that my musical taste was initially formed by my father. I remember when I would ride with him from soccer practice, youth group, whenever...He would always have 107.1 THE FOX playing. It was here that I was introduced to such juggernauts as Led Zepplin, Deep Purple and AC/DC. It was also in these moments that I learned that KISS is a terrible band (Absolutely terrible, who legitimately likes this band?).

There was a time I wanted to have the exact same taste in music as my Dad. If he liked it, I did. If he hated it, as far as I was concerned it was crap.

It was a dark day in the Johnson home, the day I began to develop my own taste in music, especially when these tastes diverged. For example, Archie Johnson is not a fan of the Rolling Stones. He cannot stand Mick Jagger and not until college did I finally develop an appreciation for one of the single most significant rock bands of all time.

My dad started me on a road that has not ended yet. I have developed an appetite for music that is not easily satiated. This desire to seek out the classics as well as the underground sensations have introduced me to some gems. Some, like Bob Dylan took a bit longer than others. Some, I just cannot get on board with. Some of these bands I am ashamed to admit that when people talk about them or when they are played on the radio (does anyone listen to the radio anymore?) I quickly change the channel.

So, here is my confession. I have secretly kept to myself when people talk about certain key bands. Bands like The Cure or The Smiths. Or more modern versions like Vampire Weekend, Beach House or Yeasayer. This is not to say that these bands do not have a song or two that tickles my fancy, but I am just not interested in their wider catalogue.

When I love a band, truly love a band I seek after their music. I want to everything they've done. I scour the internet for interviews, b-sides and rarities so that I can have a holistic experience with the band. (I have almost 2 days worth of the Beatles for example)

This has been a extremely vulnerable time. I hope that this does not taint the good Matt Johnson name or the untouchable reputation of The Heretical Review.

(This blog does not reflect the thoughts or opinions of other contributors)

Below I have provided a short list of bands I really could care less about (Keep in mind all of these bands have at least a song or two I do like):

The Cure

Elvis Costello in any formation (This pains me. I've tried, I really have)

The Pretenders

Beach House

Vampire Weekend

Depeche Mode

The Smiths

Talking Heads

This is not an exhaustive list, I'm sure there are plenty of other bands I could do without. These are the ones that come to mind initially. Also, these aren't the bands I hate. That list would include KISS and early non-cheesy Aerosmith.

My heart is an open Nook

I recently started using my Nook. It is an amazing piece of technology. But it invites a question. It is really a sufficient substitute? Aesthetically, almost nothing beats a room with a bookcase, with rows and rows of beautiful spines shining out. Even if left unread, they're great looking furniture. But lets consider them as read. If you read a book, you have to have the right lighting, you have to be lucky enough to be aquainted with the right font, and the size of the font has to be just right to meet your eye's expectations. You also have to be armed with a bookmark because the last thing you want to do is dog-ear a page, unless it's a book you don't really care about. And even if you leave the book for a matter of minutes, there's always the slightly annoying interval where you're trying to find out exactly where you left off, and if you were off by just a little, you're stuck wading through a part you don't really pay attention to because you've already read it; you're just waiting to bump into the unfamiliar so that the pleasure of your reading can continue on unabated.

I find that the Nook takes care of all these inconveniences. I just remembered. A huge inconvenience with owning a mound of books is that if you move, they have to go with you, which means you have to start collecting boxes or buying plastic containers to store them in, and then you have all the labor that goes into loading them and unloading them, and then unloading the books themselves and reshelving them into some kind of order. Up to 2,500 volumes can be stored on a Nook, and it comes equipped with bookmarks. It is easy to navigate and you have access to and are able to buy newpapers and magazines too! But what is it about a book that makes it irreplacable? I have the convenience of having quick access to 'what is read'. But what is it that I miss about the real book? Do I miss the smell? Do I miss the feel of the pages in my fingers? Do I miss the fact that I love the little work it takes to make it through a book? Do I miss the fact that the book itself becomes a sort of friend, that you can personalize it, mark it, underline, make notes? But you can do this with a Nook.

Is it the digital medium that makes it less personal? But what's personal about physical pages compared to digital prose? I'm enjoying my Nook, but I feel like I'm missing something.