Quite a good stand-up show; despite the usual sterotypical stuff, the bits about children is really, really funny. I applaud how he uses arbitrary comparisons to take jokes to other levels. Still, I felt this stand-up show had its ups and downs, but it’s approaching masterful levels at times.

You know death is coming in this franchise, and it’s a whole lot of fun. Death doesn’t discriminate, and I find it incredibly uplifting to see teens of all sexes die left and right, in intricate ways. Other than that, there’s nothing going for this film but stupidity. But I like this!

If it weren’t for Javier Bardem – who has the fortune of playing a nicely written, old-school Bond villain – this film would be quite boring. Well, it contains enough nods to the olden days but now it’s just a bit drab. Bond, ultra-man. Sadly, I don’t think Daniel Craig pulls it off with his stone face routine. Still, bits of this film awakens the boy in me – e.g. the intro fighting scene. Sadly still anti-feminist in its core, these jaunts.

This film took an unexpected turn and – to me – exposes what pains one person can put so many through, at the same time as it unfurls what beauty one person can expose and enchant the same world with. Epically tragic, from romantic and legal points of view.

Growing up isn’t easy to do. But this film puts beauty in that pain, without a lot of crap music and easy direction. Au contraire, this is hard work but the message comes out simple and beautiful.

Quite the unkempt film, being as it is from Pollack, with Penn and Kidman in it. This could have been so much better, even like Hitchcock’s “Spellbound” or Pakula’s “All The President’s Men”. Instead, this is fragmented and hyper-written.

This is a lot better than volume 5, which to me was more of a fevered sprawl of a collection rather than this, a focused epic tell that leaves behind a trail of the unknown and a waft of promise of what might turn into a more complicated turn of plot.

Tommy goes further into the maze that is the cabal, while trusting his companions; the enemy gains ground also, and a Mesopotamian fable is unfurled.

All in a day of the life of, you might say. The seasoned reader knows what to make of this.

This book is better than expected: a lot of people – major players as well as people who happened to start a fanzine or attend a club – have their say in stanzas of interviews, some people saying a lot more than others, e.g. Alexander Hofman, and there’s a lot more repetition than there should have been, but still: this is a document of a past age, and it’s direct and doesn’t waver. It’s the only recollection I have of my days of yore other than through pictures, people and the music itself.

Oh yes, the music. And here is the Swedish side of it, not only from the musicians, but from people who distributed the first synthesizers in Sweden, those who booked bands (imagine Front 242 playing in a shanty in Eskilstuna) and experienced “synthesizer-based music” first hand as the scene blew up and kind of fell apart, over a period of 20-25 years.

Synthare. A Swedish word at its core. It means “person who listens to synthesizer-based music”. Which today is everybody, really. But back in the day, in Sweden, people carried prejudice about music that was made on synthesizers, and some of the bands were spat upon for being too gay or too nazi.

But the stories, oh, the stories. Of parties, starting bands, not knowing what you were doing when playing/dancing/cutting up fanzines/meeting people/whatever. I think one of the most beautiful things about it was the punk aspect: do it yourself, and never mind reading the manual before you go.

What was expensive and hard to record in the beginning of the book is now very cheap and easily done with the advent of software and the Internet. In a way, I prefer the hardware: the cassettes, the waiting for ages before you had access to music. You couldn’t preview shit! You had to trust your reviewers! In Sweden we had the Hot Stuff music catalogue from where you ordered your music and even if what you received and paid dearly for didn’t sound very good, so what – you were part of a scene. A very tightly knit bond of people. Who stood up for each other. It’s like discovering other people who like The Smiths. It’s tight shit.

All in all: in need of an edit, but it’s a testament of time. Kudos!

P.s. I love seeing pictures of friends in this book, of course from back in the day. Wonderful.

I love the delivery in this film, as I feel it came across as honest and cared for. We follow Mia, a 15-year-old girl who lives a hard life in an English suburb. The first scene where she dances is just so telling, and the film goes on from there. It’s epic, yet not showy in the least. No soundtrack telling the viewer what to think. No made-to-shock dialogue. “Kitchen sink” is a bad term, but this does somewhat fit in with “A Taste of Honey” and “Saturday Night, Sunday Morning” but stands very much on its own legs. Brilliant acting, great script and beautiful direction.

This is a hard documentary to stomach both from human, judicial and political views. We get to see the every day existence of American military veterans who have been raped and then disbelieved by their own and then discarded like trash, left to pick up the pieces of themselves with little money to do so. This documentary exposes the many flaws in the take-care-of-your-own inner workings of the American military so-called justice system; women are often systematically treated like shit if they report rape. We follow some persons and learn of their background, what happened and where they are now. These are some extremely strong individuals. I highly recommend watching this.