With Amores Perros and 21 Grams, director Alejandro González Iñárritu (along with screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga) trademarked his filmmaking style: overlapping storylines and characters connected in seemingly random ways; a technical approach that includes gritty locations and hand-held camerawork; and a Big Theme that overarches all. His latest, Babel (read Dennis Harvey’s Guardian review here), is Iñárritu’s most ambitious effort to date.

Alejandro González Iñárritu with Gael García Bernal on the set of Babel. (Photo: Eniac Martinez)

The cast, which includes Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, and Amores Perros star Gael García Bernal -- as well as several non-actors -- is enormous, and its multi-layered tales circle the globe, with segments set in California, Mexico, Morocco, and Japan. Iñárritu’s similarly whirlwind tour in support of Babel’s release landed him in San Francisco recently, where I caught up with the Mexico City native for a chat about the film and his career to date.

Short notice, but what the hell -- there's an awfully cool doc playing tonight and tomorrow at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts on seminal yet underappreciated Boston post-punk band Mission of Burma. Not a Photograph: The Mission of Burma Story, from co-directors David Kleiler, Jr. and Jeff Iwanicki, kicks off as the band is prepping for its first public performance since 1983 -- the New York City show that launched their rapturously received 2002 reunion tour.

photo by Kelly Davidson © 2006

"I bought it for myself but never used it," he said. "I was tempted, but I never used it." - Ex-National Association of Evangelicals prez (and George W. Bush bud) Ted Haggard to reporters regarding his alleged meth use, 11/03/06

That's kind of like saying he smoked pot but didn't inhale -- except way more hilarious, ain't it??

If you're following the absolutely delightful Ted Haggard kerflaffle (sfgate.com has the latest AP story here), have a look at my interview with one of the directors of Jesus Camp, which features jabs at a pre-scandal Haggard (weirdly hammy on-camera, he's the only featured subject to publicly denounce the film).

By G.W. Schulz

The New York Times reported yesterday (and NPR followed up with a little piece) that Google planned to start selling advertisements in the print editions of 50 major newspapers for a test run. Considering the search-engine giant's business still relies on advertising at the end of the day despite where it's hunting lately for new investments, it looks like the "do no evil" kingpins of Wall Street are hoping to build an alliance with the old guard of journalism and information dissemination.

According to the Times:

"Advertisers can log into Google's main advertising system, known as AdWords, and click to go to the newspaper section. They will see a list of the participating papers and the sorts of ads that are available. They can then enter a bid for a certain type of advertisement, specifying the section and date range. Newspapers in turn see these bids and accept the ones they want."

Hell, maybe we'll see a full-size Fleshbot ad in the Orange County Register by the end of the Month. Likely not.

Anyway, Google appears to be trying to figure out what to do with its mountains of cash and now globally recognized brand name. They couldn't throw $1.6 billion at YouTube and its tangle of litigation fast enough.

So, where to next, Google? Selling gorilla graffiti spots on sidewalks?

Before I ever met Darin Klein I used to see him: this cute-hot, friendly-looking, tall skinny guy with eyeliner and tattoos who'd show up and have fun at Q-Tip (Queers Together in Punkness) events back when the Epicenter by 16th and Valencia still existed. Then, as years went by, I'd hear about him: one friend would talk about something Darin had made for her, another about an event Darin put together. Sometime around 2000, Darin threw a one-night show of book arts at New College, and that's when I knew for sure he did awesome things. Others definitely agree, because some people who took part in that largely buck-for-a-book party have gone on to sell works for hundreds or thousands of dollars (or sell thousands of works).

(Friendly Skies by Young Chung, from Darin Klein's book/box compilation Exes Editions: Relationships I've been in usually ended with a break-up).

Now that I've had a few chances to hang out with him, I can say for sure that I admire the damn funny, unpretentious, and whip smart Darin Klein. No one has better stories about mistaking Gwen Stefani for a drag queen or attempting to give Kenneth Anger customer service. He lives in LA now, so I recently emailed him about some of his video curating and book projects, including his most recent compilation, the staple-bound penis art collection Thing.

Tomorrow night at the Parkway Theater -- local writer-director Kevin Hahn premieres his new film Stoner's Run. Judging by the cover art (below), I assumed it was gonna be in the grand tradition of Up in Smoke or Half-Baked, which is to say, a pot comedy all the way. I'm not sure if it's a spoiler to tell you that the giant joint never actually makes an appearance.

Provocative intern Justin Juul weighs in with a seethingly envious assessment of the latest creation belched forth from the land of Vice:

I wish I had more hands -- and the ability to lie through my teeth -- so I could give this travel DVD from Vice magazine four thumbs down. These jerk-offs are just too much, man. First they took a crappy Canadian ‘zine and turned it into a pop-culture phenomenon, and then, instead of selling out to the highest bidder, they reinvested their money into other creative outlets. They now have a monopoly on “cool,” with a record label, clothing line, and flawlessly designed website constantly reminding the rest of us how uncool we are in comparison. As if all this weren’t enough, the founders of the Vice empire have recently decided to change their image completely. Their publication, once easily ridiculed as a tragically hip fashion catalog masquerading as a subversive youth culture magazine, has suddenly morphed into a monthly ethnographic study of obscure subcultures with art, music, and fashion coverage thrown in as an afterthought. Those Vice fuckers are always one step ahead of the rest of us -- and for that they suck -- but put your jealousy aside and check out their newest venture.

Finally, a horror movie that can be called both subtle (despite gleeful bloodletting) and refreshing. Another Hole in the Head pick The Hamiltons, codirected by the Butcher Brothers (the nom de screen of Bay Area filmmakers Mitchell Altieri and Phil Flores), imagines a family of naughty orphans who just can’t stop themselves from trapping and killing any vaguely expendable human who crosses their path. What makes the Hamiltons different from the Texas Chainsaw fun bunch or Rob Zombie’s skeezy butchers is that they’re just so freaking normal, conducting their nasty business behind a white picket fence in the suburbs.

An early victim (Brittany Daniel) contemplates her basement-bound fate in The Hamiltons.

Straight out of American Beauty is video camera-wielding teenager Francis (Cory Knauf), who embodies that tossed-off Heathers line about teen angst bullshit having a body count. Will the awkward Francis keep it all in the family or will he develop a conscience as a side effect of growing up? And what’s motivating this strange clan’s bloodlust anyway? To say more would spoil the pleasures of The Hamiltons, though it’s safe to say the character-driven film represents the best possible melding of indie-film family drama and splatter cinema.

Recently, I talked with Altieri and Flores, both of whom are understandably excited about the success of their first Butcher Brothers production.

Francis (Cory Knauf) documents his home life -- which happens to involve quite a bit of bloody murder -- in The Hamiltons.

Yesterday, I posted my interview with Mitchell Altieri, one half of the filmmaking team known as the Butcher Brothers -- the Bay Area not-really-brothers (though they are tight-bros-from-way-back-when) responsible for The Hamiltons, described by Altieri as "a horror coming-of-age story." (More on the film in my entry below). Here, I chew the fat with the other Butcher Brother, inner Sunset resident Phil Flores, who spilled on casting, the true genesis of the Butcher Brothers, and the film's ending -- though any potential spoilers were strictly off the record, of course.

Our controversial bike-fiend Duncan Davidson on VeloSwap (this Saturday 11/18 at the Concourse)

The VeloSwap PR folks chase the opening zinger “the largest consumer cycling show in the world,” with this dubious enticement: “It is the place to feel the pulse of the cycling community and rub elbows with like minded cyclists.” No doubt said elbows are clad in those weird spandex arm-socks that turn a short sleeve jersey into a long-sleeve. I’m dubious, or maybe just disinterested, because I don’t consider myself a “cyclist.” Don’t get me wrong--I’ve got nine bicycles--everything from BMX race bikes to downhill mountain bikes. I race in four disciplines and ride skateparks and street, plus collect vintage BMX bikes.

But I’m not a cyclist: I’m a biker.

Today in London, Turner Prize nominee Phil Collins held a press conference in which people who’ve appeared on TV discussed their experiences -- specifically, how their lives were damaged or altered by their participation in “reality” shows. British newspapers and television are already reporting on the conference, part of the second installment in Collins’s country-hopping series The Return of the Real, and one aspect of his entry in the Tate Britain exhibition.

Phil Collins

Last week, I talked on the phone with Collins, allegedly one of the ten most important artists in the world, according to Flash Art. I know I count him as a current personal favorite, partly due to his Baghdad Screentests (2002), a rare example of Andy Warhol-influenced, attracted but not embedded contemporary reportage. It sets silent video portraits of young men and women to some of Collins's favorite pop songs, with the pensive men sometimes inspiring swoons ranging from “Well I Wonder” to “I Feel Love.” The relationship between image and sound is a basic and yet rich one: the songs can resonate as personal expression by Collins, as commentary on the oncoming Bush-sanctioned bombing and occupation, and (only perhaps, and if so, only occasionally) as an imagined first-person voicing of the the subjects' unspoken thoughts. This type of meta-commentary on mediated image dates back to at least 1999 in Collins's art. That year's How to Make a Refugee steps into and back from a photo shoot depicting a family from Kosovo.

Replacing the profound stillness of Baghdad Screentests with hired (and increasingly tired) movement, Collins’s answer video to a relevant '60s film, They Shoot Horses (2004), stages a dance marathon in Ramallah, Palestine; his video triptych from the same year, The Louder You Scream, the Faster We Go, tweaks the music video form by taking artistic license with songs by unsigned acts, turning them into soundtracks for visions of elderly ladies’ dance classes and a hand job update of Warhol’s Blow Job.

Still from dunya dunlemiyor, a video installation by Phil Collins