BEST OF 2015

BEST OF 2015

by Alexis Faulkner

The worst movie I watched on an airplane: Entourage. Watched it on the plane ride back home from Hawaii via Los Angeles.

The best movie I watched on an airplane: Amy. A fantastic documentary about Amy Winehouse. I was amazed at the amount of raw footage of her that exists, including lots of recordings made before she was famous and didn’t think it possible that she could make a career of singing. I’d like to note that she wasn’t putting herself down as a singer, she just didn’t think of it as something she could do as a career. It made a fan out of me, though I only took so long to appreciate her music because I hadn’t much previous exposure.

The best place I went: Kauai with my mom & sis. The island is overflowing with elaborately colored roosters and many chickens. My mom convinced me the bushes were overflowing with eggs, but I didn’t check.

Best food: Cart food or maybe cheap sandwiches, $3.50 at a deli near me. DELIS! CARTS! Chicken over rice, man. *When I say cart food, I mean hallal, specifically. I want to make special mention of the delicious food available at the Barclays Center. It is fancy and well prepared, and they have lots of Kosher options, too.

Best Holiday Occurrence: Cooking most of the Thanksgiving dinner while drinking Kahlua and coffee and then later adding vodka having it all come out pretty okay.

Best date: This goes over the course of a couple of dates, actually. I went out with one person several times and they kept explaining how a potentiometer works. It was super interesting.

Best venue visited: I went to 3 sports arenas that I hadn’t visited previously in 2015, and that’s a personal best as far as visiting new sports arenas goes. Some friends and I drank Coors Lite on the Finnerty’s gamebus on the way to Citi Field, and even though we watched the Mets beat the Giants (may the Mets championship dreams rest in peace) it was great fun. Without being terribly rowdy, and attracting far less attention than I expected, a whole sections’ worth of San Francisco fans- mostly expats- sat together and cheered not only the Giants, but the Golden State Warriors, too. The Dubs were playing game 4 of the finals that night, and the game started while we sat in a muggy summer sweat that marks baseball in June on the East Coast. The stadium itself was very clean and easy to navigate, though not particularly charming in terms of architecture. Perhaps the character will come with time.

Yankee Stadium, where I saw the Yankees beat the Mets, was also very clean, well organized and full of particularly edible arena eats. And also very concrete and stale. A nice place to see a baseball game, but with few particularly attractive features, save the fact that you can see the train going by from most seats in the park. It’s nice to know that you are nestled neatly in the Bronx, right there in the mix. The Barclays Center in Brooklyn was my favorite.

This choice was difficult, as I much prefer baseball over basketball, however, the Barclays Center has a very interesting design, with its circular strip of screen that you can see while standing underneath the open structure in front of the entrance gates. The outside of the structure itself is a raw-looking metal that is covered in copper rust, and it has mossy greens covering part of it, as well. The seating inside arena goes up very high, the nosebleed sections are steep indeed, but it seems you can see the action well from any seat. They played good music during the game, lots of 90s hip-hop, among other crowd pleasers. There was a lot of Jay-Z too, which was probably just a coincidence since he no longer has a stake in the arena. The worst thing about the Barclays experience was their sound system. The music sounded awful; the tracks sounded blown out and the volume was low at times. This was highly surprising, considering the newness of the venue and the typical auditory fanfare that goes with live sports events. A final exciting note about the game I attended specifically: about half the audience was wearing blue and gold. There were audible cheers for Stephen Curry, there was applause, and it was not just in our bay area gamebus section. I am so thankful that I got to witness a game during the Warriors historic season starting streak of 2015.

Best change: Leaving Whole Foods Market after four solid years of working there. Grateful for the friends I made, grateful to be creatively explosive upon leaving. New Beginnings, that’s what happened.

Best annoying thing I did: Make out in subway stations, at the bar, on the train. All over town, basically. At some point during 2015 a New York native told me that New York is a sexy town, and I think he was right. I see more public displays of affection than back home, that’s for sure.

Best movie: Love & Mercy. I saw it with my mom and I think it was a little dark for her. The story was inspiring and very sad and Paul Giamatti was very twisted and terrifying. John Cusack, who plays Brian Wilson as an adult, did an excellent job of talking in that fairly shy yet halting manner while still managing to highlight the humanity in a diseased mind through an evolution of a loving relationship. Paul Dano, with delicate execution, showed us the genius of Wilson’s musicianship, particularly as an arranger. He too was quite good at showing the internal pain and confusion as his disease first unfolded.

This is just one of three movies that Paul Giamatti starred in this year. Dr. Eugene Landy certainly was his finest roll. Playing a somewhat similar musical handler of sorts in Straight Outta Compton, he was a much more subtle villain, but still convincing, and in San Andreas he was a weak nerd.

Best album release: Marilyn Manson- The Pale Emperor. Just kidding, I haven’t even heard that record. But I like the name because it’s ridiculous. That man loves bein’ freakin’ pale. And since I don’t like Drake and I wish that band UFO was more interesting, I will go with Justin Bieber’s Purpose. Also, I’m really thankful that Snoop Dogg went back to such a name after being Snoop Lion and starring in hot pocket commercials. ***Really though, Dave Rawlings Machine record was cool.

Best celebrity sighting: None. There are no celebrities in New York City. ALTERNATELY: I recognize no one outside of my own family and I refuse to answer this question. Actually, I suffer from face blindness.

Best NY chillers: Thankful to all of the people who came out to New York and made a point to say hi. This includes my sister, my dad and his girlfriend, Eden, Derek, Mark and Crystal, Scott, Sam and Maggie, Nikos, Walter, Lynne, Victor and Hannah (thanks for taking me to Yankee Stadium), Christine before she moved to New York officially, running in to Anthony on the street in Williamsburg, Talia. Can’t wait for Kat to get here on New Year’s Even— you’re gonna love it here.

Best concert: Thee Oh Sees with Zs as their opener at Warsaw in Bushwick, Brooklyn. This took me by surprise, since I’ve never been a huge fan of this SF originating band. However, their sound has changed quite a bit since I’ve last listened in. Perhaps their move to LA did them some good. They were tight and groovy with a big, rowdy, double drum set set-up. Zs was great, very interesting, but I was so infuriated and distracted by the rudeness of the audience that I feel ill-equipped to critique their set. The echo of the audience talking over their performance is what I remember most.

Most entertaining TV moment: Steve Harvey announced the wrong winner for the Miss Universe competition. He had to correct himself on live tv, leading to an extremely awkward moment whereby the crown had to be taken from Miss Colombia and given to Miss Philippines. Harvey compounded this mistake by offering an apology via a (since deleted) tweet in which he misspelled both countries. He was a great host up until this moment and I loved watching him anyway. 


Alexis Faulkner is Unicorn Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 

All Of Our Fault

by Gary Pryor

The movie San Andreas is what is commonly referred to as a “popcorn movie” which, according to

Wiktionary makes it “a motion picture without serious dramatic content, a weighty message, or intellectual depth, which serves simply as enjoyable entertainment.” But much like the snack food from which it takes its name, the real source of worry is the toppings of the popcorn. Just as light, harmless popcorn can be slathered in butter flavored chemicals and salt, what seems like a harmless, fun movie is drenched in sexism, mindless patriotism, and fear mongering.

We'll start by addressing the film's sexism, since that will let me introduce the cast. First there is the subplot featuring Paul Giamatti (known for his great roles such as Heckler #2 and Guy in Sleeping Bag, according to IMBD) playing a character who is essentially the same scientist who appears in every disaster or monster movie who has figured out everything already but is sadly ignored. He is presented as a generally non-sexual character (likely because he is educated and middle aged) though he still manages to “rescue” the female reporter barely-a-character (played by Archie Panjabi) by pulling her under desks several times during the film.

The main cast which consists of a divorcing husband and wife, their daughter, the wife's evil boyfriend, and an out of place pair of brothers who pal around with the aforementioned daughter. The father figure (who may have had a name, but is so often referred to as “father”, “dad”, or “husband” that I didn't remember it—for simplicity's sake we will just call him the Patriarch) is played by Dwayne “I don't want to be called the Rock anymore” Johnson (known for his roles of having his head animated onto a giant scorpion, and wearing a speedo while yelling at rednecks, according to me). The Patriarch is the man's man, he is here to rescue you, and he will (especially if you are related to him). He enjoys the fun attributes of having no character defects, being strong enough to rip off a car door, having inexplicably caucasian offspring, and having the sound of his voice warp reality in such a way that if you do what he says, no harm can come to you. He does feel bad about the death of another daughter, which he only mentions enough to prove that he is humble and ready to discuss his feelings with his estranged wife, thus reclaiming her. He also spends most of his screen time saving women in distress with his earthquake defying helicopter or making lewd sexual innuendos toward his wife as countless people die all around them.

Next we have the wife (played by Carla Gugino known for being the mother of spying children and having sex with a guy in an owl costume according to IMBD), who hangs around to be the target of the aforementioned innuendos, drive various vehicles while the Patriarch is busy rescuing people, and turn on her new boyfriend in the first 20 minutes so that the central family can reunite before the credits roll. With the exception of the minimal driving, she could easily have been replaced by the family dog—which would have had the benefit of making the innuendos seem really strange. Or with a little more work, a dog could drive and it would be awesome (see San Andreas director Brad Peyton's previous work on Cats & Dogs: Revenge of Kitty Galore).

Now we have the new boyfriend played by Ioan Gruffudd (famous for being THE Horatio Hornblower as well as being the voices of lots of things in lots of American cartoons, according to IMDB). He starts out being portrayed as a well meaning nice guy, but “abandons” the daughter after going for help and taking a severe blow to the head, for which he is never forgiven. We only see him twice after that, his only purpose is to have a character you don't mind getting earthquaked. The Patriarch never directly slanders him (but praises his wife for doing so), showing that he reclaim his prize without breaking proper bro etiquette. A true gentleman indeed.

Finally, we get to the daughter played by Alexandra Daddario (who is famous for having breasts in True Detective and for being in a bunch of TV shows I've never seen, according to IMBD). She is our eye candy, from her introductory scene in a bikini, to several plot points where she has to remove clothing for some contrived reason, spending most of the last portion of the movie soaking wet. The camera lets you know what it wants as it continually happens to look down her shirt. She is characterized as both smart and brave like her father, though she cannot complete any heroic action without yelling about how she learned it from her father, undermining any sense of her being independently brave. She has two companions: a 20-something male love interest and his kid brother, who both compliment her looks in just about every other scene. The manner in which she is the primary sexual focus of the film intercut with scenes of her parents searching for her and talking about parental love just feels wrong. Am I supposed to simultaneously want to fuck her and want her to reunite with her uber-macho dad? The combination of her being the damsel in distress (in spite of being portrayed as capable) and the dissonance between the goal of reuniting with her family and the visual of constantly looking at her cleavage are representative of the film's problematic portrayal of women.

I'll address the film's mindless patriotism next. The Patriarch is introduced in the first scene as an Iraq war veteran, which is supposed to help identify him as a hero. Right or wrong, the idea that people who like dumb things (like this movie) also like the military runs deep in Hollywood. You are here so you most be dumb, so you must love America. Do we really need to see the filmmakers drape the American flag over a ruined Golden Gate Bridge like we are proud that our shit fell down? All I can say is that, for me, every time a movie throws propaganda on the screen to try to convince me that I should like somebody more because he was in the military or happened to live in the U.S., it is a waste of the filmmakers' time and mine.

Lastly, I will discuss the film's fear mongering. I am convinced that the movie is a “what if it happened here” reaction to the Tōhoku earthquake. The Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami of 2011 took place on March 11, 2011. Not coincidentally, according to Wikipedia, “on December 1, 2011, it was announced that New Line Cinema was developing an earthquake disaster film.” So earthquakes were trending, people in the U.S. were scared about it happening to them. Hollywood could never pass up such low hanging fruit. The problem is there are 15,891 confirmed deaths from the Tōhoku earthquake. Real people. Not a fun summer movie—real people who have died. And because people are reasonably afraid of natural disasters, it is incredibly easy to sell people a ticket to a fantasy world where the perfect dad swoops down in a helicopter to save you at the last moment from an exciting disaster. Also according to Wikipedia San Andreas grossed “a worldwide total of $461 million, against a budget of $110 million.” So this capitalizing on actual deaths and legitimate fears sure as hell worked. Surprise! Hollywood is terrible. New Line Cinema should be ashamed of cashing in on an actual tragedy, and you should be ashamed for buying a ticket (even if your girlfriend made you like mine did). So all in all San Andreas was a terrible experience on every level: it's a terrible movie, and you are terrible for watching it.

Gary Pryor is an asshole who complains about movies, has other first world problems, and is an all-around white guy.