Would the end of the New York Times be such a big deal?

This is the provocative question at the heart of director Andrew Rossi’s compelling new documentary “Page One: Inside the New York Times.”

Forget for a moment that the New York Times, far from being a “liberal” newspaper (whatever that means), tends to toe the status quo imperial party line on issues ranging from cheerleading for neoliberal corporate-friendly globalization (Thanks, Tom Friedman) to generally supporting the U.S. of Empire’s God-given right to make piles of money for the military-industrial-media-energy complex by invading other countries, blowing up their stuff (and people, who equal “collateral damage”) and rebuilding (and privatizing) whatever remains.

Let’s assume, instead, that the New York Times is U.S. civilization’s most important daily “newspaper of record” (whatever that means), and that sustaining “all the news that’s fit to print” really matters.

Big picture, for a moment. As even casual observers know, the newspaper industry is in a deep black-and-white dog pile. New media NYU professorial cheerleader Clay “Here Comes Everybody” Shirky pegs this journalism crisis to two general trends: the free-fall collapse of print-based advertising, a newspaper’s lifeblood, and the meteoric rise of the participatory Internet, which has stolen advertising (thanks, CraigsList and Monster.com) and eyeballs away from slower-moving traditional print newspapers. “The newspaper is dead,” notes news critic Jeff Jarvis at film’s beginning, but “news,” on the other hand, is very much alive and well. Perhaps the fault, dear Brutus, lies not in the stars, but in the delivery mechanism (trees to paper to print to your doorstep - so slow, so 20th century), or so conventional logic would have it.

If the New York Times is on the analog (read: ass) end of these monumental changes, Julian Assange’s Wikileaks web site represents the prototypical beneficiary in “Page One” - digital, fluid, mobile, and instantly global in the sense of being everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, thanks to the world wide web’s ubiquity. Assange’s high profile and controversial emergent media news outlet serves as a foil for the Times, illustrating the technological and cultural impact of the past 2 decades on a rapidly evolving news and information environment.

The fun of “Page One” lies in Rossi’s insistence on taking us into the daily workings of the Times - the personalities, the problems, and, most of all, the process of news gathering, shaping, and distribution (the elephant in the living room, in terms of both speed and cost). Old curmudgeons like David Carr (who is mesmerizingly funny), new media acolytes like Brian Stelter (“I don’t understand why every journalist is not on Twitter”), and hoary editors like Bill Keller all weigh in on the Times inevitable (?) demise, and argue for the importance of the editorial process in a hyper-mediated age in which anyone with access to a free Internet blog site can essentially say whatever they damn well please. True, national NYT news scandals surrounding Jason Blair (who fabricated NYT stories) and Judith Miller (who continually reported what turned out to be faulty intelligence information about Iraq pre-U.S. Invasion) haven’t helped the Times’ image in recent years, but “Page One_ takes a surprisingly nostalgic look at the culture of the Times and manages, amazingly enough, to make us feel wistful about the hole dug for it by the turbulent communications transformations of the past 2 decades.

And then there is the lip service paid to journalism’s most important job. Remember? “The function of journalism is to publish the best obtainable version of the truth,” explains famed Washington Post Watergate reporter Carl Bernstein. “We need institutions that can, both financially and culturally, bring news that other institutions can not.” Or, as Bill Keller notes, “News sources that gather and report information are essential to a functioning democracy,” a fact lost on Sam Zell, Rupert Murdoch, and any other media mogul who elevates profit maximization over factual verification and truthful storytelling. Or so conventional thinking goes.

In “Page One,” we attend a “Media Armageddon: What Happens When The New York Times Died” workshop, the humorous name given to a conference plenary hosted by SxSW on the future of the Gray Lady. And, more seriously, the forum title may one day pass as the obit for one of the oldest and most influential daily print newspapers in the United States. I’m not sure I’ll be as sorrowful as our filmmakers will be, if and when that day comes. But will it be a milestone in journalism history? Undoubtably. And “Page One” may be remembered as the film that captured these “End Times.”

Full disclosure.

James Kinne and Erica Stroem, the two musicians who comprise new Mad River Valley acoustic duo “Last October,” are both friends and Phineas Gage band mates. And, as their third Phineas phriend, I promised them an objective review of their brand-new CD “Last October,” which has been in the works for an entire year.

Simply stated? I love their new “Last October” CD.

Kinne, it should be noted, has toured the world as a professional musician with “Chasing Gray” and “Angry Salad.” He can sing, he can play, he can write, and he can record – his audio studio engineering skills are top notch in our small state. And Stroem is no slouch, either, having performed as a one woman songstress and in bands out west for years. Anyone who has heard her sing appreciates her captivating vocal range, from the quietly romantic to the soul-beltingly ripsnorting, Stroem has got some serious vocal chops.

Put these two musicians together in a quiet Vermont living room for several weeks with a couple of guitars as fall turns to winter, and what do you get? All this tremendous talent – Kinne and Stroem together - bottled to near-perfection on “Last October.”

“Down This Road” kicks off the CD with Kinne’s bright and shuffling instrumental invitation to enter this lush musical world, and by the time we reach “Catch A Moment” (track #2), the intertwined vocals of Stroem and Kinne hook the listener….in a big way. Sonically speaking, “Last October” alternates between the contemplative (“Wait Out The Storm” - even more fitting in our post-Irene Vermont universe) and upbeat, and everywhere in between, including the hauntingly beautiful “Kismet Dance,” which begs the listener to meditate and gyrate, all at the same time.

My favorite tune, though, (at least this week) may be “Eastern Horizon,” with Kinne’s upbeat guitar riff accompanied by the twosome’s gorgeous layered harmonies, calling on the listener to find inspiration in those around us as we look forward to better days ahead. Good advice, given the times in which we live and the season of the year.

Don’t miss Stroem and Kinne performing as “Last October” at the Purple Moon Pub on Friday night, October 21 @ 8:00 pm.

Back in the U.S. republic’s early days, 99% of the new nation’s three million Americans farmed.

Today, in a nation of 310 million people, fewer than 2% have ties to the land.

Fuel and food are human civilization’s two great drivers. As Americans enter the 21st century, fossil fuel energy prices are trending inexorably upward, and so are food prices. Why? Because Americans live in the most fossil fuel intensive food economy in world history, burning between 10-20 hydrocarbons of energy for every calorie of food we produce. From the oil/gas-based fertilizers and pesticides we use to grow crops, to the thousand(s) mile journeys our food travels daily, oil and food are inextricably interconnected.

And all that is about to change, as more and more Americans recognize that, in an era of Peak Oil, we must return to the land, rediscover our “farmer power” roots and grow our own food once again.

Enter the Greenhorns, a national non-profit organization based in the Hudson Valley of New York that recruits, supports and promotes young farmers in America. Using radio, blogs, film, new media, original resources and live events, The Greenhorns build agrarian culture by connecting young farmers with land, resources and each other. And one of their own, film director Severine von Tscharner Fleming, has finished a film spotlighting the Greenhorns. “We’re making a film about young farmers, their struggle and their valor,” she says, sporting a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a “Make Cheese Not War” T Shirt, “the redemptive force they have for our culture, our society, our agriculture, for our countryside, for our nation.”

Idealistic? Absolutely. But practical, as well –just like the many farmers spotlighted in the film. Meet Pilar Reber, who grows plants by hand in a good-sized greenhouse; Brooke Budner, who began a San Francisco urban garden by borrowing land from her neighbors; John Brenner and Stacey Bliss, who run Broadturn Farm in Scarborough, Maine; Chris Velas, who runs a nursery despite his Dad’s wish that he might become an “insurance salesman,” Vermont’s own Pete Johnson of Pete’s Green’s in Craftsbury, and a variety of other Greenhorns who have decide to roll up their sleeves and jump into the hard, dirty, and rewarding work of farming. “I’m not relying on some economic structures that benefit some and hurt others,” explains Amy Courtney of Freewheelin Farm in Davenport, California. “I think that makes me feel a little bit safer in a world gone mad.”

Greenhorns is intended as an inspirational movie. Fleming glosses over thorny political questions – like what happens when some local farmers manage to successfully tap into federal dollars that put them at a competitive advantage over their hard-working but under-funded neighbors (see Hardwick, Vermont, as a case study), or how federal and state regulatory regimes are designed to favor large scale farmers at the expense of the little guy (Read Eric Schlosser’s Fast Food Nation or anything by Michael Pollan.) But dammit, we need some inspiration. In a recent article for the E.F. Schumacher Society entitled “Fifty Million Farmers,” Peak Oil observer Richard Heinberg suggests that at least 20% of the American population will need to get back into the business of food production to ensure that this project called “American civilization” survives for the next 100 years. If he is right, Greenhorns is the right film at the right time. Farmer Power, indeed!

Mutants among us, possessing extraordinary powers, made so by genetic mutation. The entire “X Men” series has been built on the cultural tension that unfolds when humans and mutants are thrown together and must get along - or not. “Mutant and proud,” says one genetically “groovy” gal to a similarly “deformed” guy in an Oxford pub in 1962, uber tongue-in-cheek, as the new X-Men film opens.

The central conceit of the compelling new “First Class” X-Men film is to catapult us back in time to recount the early adventures of Charles Xavier, Magneto, Raven and the whole cadre of mutants as their careers begin. Magneto (played by the electric Michael Fassbender) is shaped by his exploitation as a young boy at the hands of the Nazis in occupied Poland, and seeks revenge on the men who destroyed his family. Xavier (a sexy and cerebral James McAvoy), meanwhile, grows up a pampered English scientist and intellectual who uses his wit and smarts to woo sexy mutant ladies, and studies the neurophysiology of genetic mutations. Xavier’s attempts to convince U.S. intelligence agents of mutants’ utility goes nowhere at first, but his persuasive powers manage to win the day, bringing him into contact with Magneto, and setting off a chain of events that throws mutants into conflict with one another against the backdrop of the Cold War craziness between the USSR and the US.

An all-star cast drives “First Class” forward. On the Soviet side, Herr Sebastian Shaw, Nazi-turned-mutant ringleader, (Kevin Bacon) conspires with Emma Frost (babelicious January Jones) and a host of baddies to wreak havoc on international Cold War relations and start World War III. The telepathic Xavier and metal-bending Magneto meanwhile, go on a mutant recruiting mission on the CIA’s behalf, combing the countryside (and the occasional strip joint) for undercover mutants and bringing them together for team-building, butt kicking, and cool moniker generating action: meet Angel Darwin, Havoc, Raven, and…well you, get the idea.

The linking of the CIA (Wall Street’s bagman agency, in the real world) and mutants like Xavier is actually, oddly enough, a compelling fictional plot twist for the “X Men” series, when set within a dualistic Cold War storyline where the white hats and black hats are easily discernible. And “good versus evil,” of course, is what Hollywood summer blockbusters are all about.

And did I mention how badass (mostly) the special effects are?

The newest X-Men is indeed, “First Class” summer entertainment.

Question: What kind of a movie lands in theaters when director J.J. Abrams (See “Lost”) and producer Steven “I never met an alien I didn’t like” Spielberg combine forces behind the camera?

Answer: With “Super 8,” a damn fine one, mostly.

Late 1970s. Lillian, Ohio - town of 12,000. Joe Lamb is a student at Lillian Middle School who has lost his Mom, Elizabeth, in an industrial accident in the town’s mill. His grieving father Jack, the local sheriff, wants to send him to six weeks of baseball camp, but Joe would rather make zombie movies with filmmaking pal Charles and his Super 8 posse.

One fateful summer midnight, Joe (newbie actor Joel Courtney), his Orson Welles wanna-be friend Charles (an energetic Riley Griffiths) and their tweenage production team sneak out to a nearby train station platform to shoot the climactic scene of their zombie film. While filming, they witness a high-speed train derailment up close and personal, caused (insert deux ex machina) by local science teacher Dr. Woodward, who survives long enough to warn the budding filmmakers to fear for their lives. Mysterious events unfold, involving weird little cubes, the United States Air Force, missing dogs by the dozens, elextro-magnetic pulses, and things that go bump in the night.

So begins “Super 8,” a “Stand By Me” like summer buddy movie that kicks into overdrive as a mysterious sci-fi thriller that unfolds like a cross between “E.T.” and “War of the Worlds.” For older viewers, half of “Super 8”s fun is reliving the ’70s - from the music (Debbie Harry’s “Blondie” and Ric Ocacek’s “The Cars”) to the fashion and technology (the arrival of cassette tapes and the Sony “Walkmans”). “Kids with their own stereos? It’s a slippery slope,” warns one member of local law enforcement, right before getting whacked. And, of course, let’s not forget the Super 8 camera.

Director Abrams is a peripatetic force behind the camera (the train crash scene is monumental), but the film bears deep Spielberg’ian influences. Spielberg has long been interested in the collision between the absurdly normal (what could be more so than 1970s Lillian, Ohio?) and the supernatural: witness “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” “Minority Report,” his recent remake of “War of the Worlds,” and, most famously, “E.T. - the Extra Terrestrial.” This is old and familiar ground, but in an age of high tech, uber-action, CGI-laden films, Spielberg’s “Super 8″ seems oddly new and refreshing, especially when the film focuses on the intimate moments that emerge in the friendship between Joe (the deputy’ son) and Alice (the town troublemaker’s kid, brilliantly rendered by actress Elle Fanning, who steals every scene she is in).

Sure, some of Spielberg’s moments seem cliché – dysfunctional family relationships miraculously healed by a traumatic encounter with the otherworldly alien(s) does get old after a while – but for younger audiences, in particular, “Super 8” may resonate.

And then there are larger questions - what is it that is terrorizing Lillian’s residents? Why is the USAF taking over the town? Will Charles ever finish his zombie movie?

See “Super 8″ to find out.

Avast!

The 2011 Hollywood summer season leaps into high gear with director Rob Marshall helming the 4th “Pirates of the Caribbean” film, “On Stranger Tides,” which cost a reputed $400 million to make, and clocks in at 2 hours 17 minutes (short, actually, by this scurvy franchise’s epic standards.)

(I could point out that 400 million dollars might be better spent paying down the U.S. of Empire’s national debt, but to do so would violate the first rule of summer movie watching, which is “turn off your brain and enjoy.”)

I was skeptical going in.

The third film, as you may recall, was an uber-lengthy dud, with a “plot” (I use the term loosely) equally convoluted and senseless, and at least half a dozen too many gratuitous action scenes.

And this new film has no Keira Knightley (what idiot made that casting decision?), though the story replaces her with Penelope Cruz, who has a certain je ne sais quoi, si si, all her own. And, for all you ladies, no Orlando Bloom, either, who I am told is worth the price of admission.

I will say, also, at the outset that this lack of “ménage a trois” frisson is one of the biggest problems with Pirates 4.

Yes, yes, Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow is androgynously, quirkily brilliant (watching Johhny Depp’s Sparrow do simple things like run is highly entertaining) and I could watch the mesmerizing Geoffrey Rush (the pirate captain Barbossa) all day long. And of course, Rolling Stone-turned-moss gatherer Keith Richards is back for a 2 minute cameo.

But is “On Stranger Tides” any good?

Richards and Depp actually answer this question, albeit obliquely, in an early exchange. “Does this face look like it’s been to the Fountain of Youth?” “Depends on the light,” Sparrow replies.

Whether you like Marshall’s “Pirates” or not depends on what you seek.

A quick inventory.

Mutinies and countermutinies? Check.

Memorable privateer personas? Mostly, and the addition of Blackbeard (Ian McShane) to the roster makes for a new engaging sketch.

Mermaid massacre? (The scariest scene for the kids.) Yep, in the quest for a mermaid tear, a necessary talisman, the story goes, to catalyze the fountain of youth. (And these are some bad-ass mermaids, let me tell you).

And plenty of memorable one-liners delivered with somewhat distracted aplomb by Jack Sparrow himself.

If this list of items doesn’t make for the very definition of a Hollywood summer blockbuster, stay out of the theaters until September.

But for me, at the end of the day, Pirates 4 failed the simple “I wanted to keep looking at my watch” test. Too long. Too predictable. Not nearly engaging enough.

“A pirate’s life for me,” savvy?” says Sparrow at film’s end.

Arrgghh!

It’s May!

Time to forgo all high-minded movies and plunge headfirst into mindless summer Hollywood blockbuster season, complete with memorable one liners that will be quoted (gods help us) for years to come.

Like “Don’t mistake my appetite for apathy!” (One well-fed Norse God to another, as they argue over how to handle the latest mishap in the Norse realm.)

Yeah, baby. Bring it.

So “Thor.”

Here’s the first potential twist.

Serious Shakespeare’ian thespian dude Kenneth Branagh directs the first big action movie of the summer: “Thor: God Of Thunder.”

The good news? Brannagh doesn’t hold back on the camp, kicking off “Thor” with a mythical battle for the future of the universe between the Frost Giants and the Norse Gods.

Amidst the CGI-infused gold and pomp of the Norse kingdom, advice is dispensed from father Odin (a one-eyed and bearded Anthony Hopkins) to his two sons Thor and Loki: “A wise king never seeks out war, but he must always be ready for it.” (A short leap from here to the doctrine of preemption, but I digress).

On the verge of becoming king, older son Thor makes a mistake born of reckless hubris (in true godlike fashion) and is cast out of the Norse kingdom, to Earth and exile, leaving the more demure but clever Loki next in line for the throne.

So begins “Thor: God Of Thunder,” a story about arrogance, recklessness, pride, vanity, leadership, and a bad-ass boomerang’like hammer. This is Hollywood summer fun at its best - eye candy actors, lots of mythically-inspired action, good CGI FX, and not too much heavy mental lifting.

Down on Earth, Thor (a chiseled Chris Hemsworth) gets off to a fairly rocky start. He lands in a fiery crater in the middle of New Mexico (”The Reservation” - Aldous Huxley would be pleased), where he is immediately grazed by a truck, tasered, sedated at the hospital while being treated for post-wormhole-travel recovery, and then hit by the same truck once more. (At least Natalie Portman as Jane Foster the scientist is driving - all astrophysicists should be so physically compelling, and we might actually put colonies in space in record time. But I digress. Again.)

As Thor heads west to the crater site, Jane and her scientific posse suddenly find themselves sans scientific gear, courtesy of G Men from D.C., who confiscate their stuff in the interest of “national security.” “I’m on the verge of understanding something extraordinary!” protests Jane. No matter. So much for science. Meanwhile, up through the wormhole in Norse country, all is not well with Odin’s kingdom, courtesy of son Loki (that trickster).

How this all plays out, I leave for you to discover. Listening to Jane and Thor’s banter (”Thor” drinking game - quaff ‘em every time he utters the word “realm”) is not nearly as painful as, say, listening to Portman and Hayden Christensen try and make a go of it in the “Star Wars” films.

And when all else fails…

It’s hammer time!

In 2002, football player Pat Tillman walked away from his professional contract and enlisted in the Army Rangers. Articulate, good-looking, and quietly charismatic, Tillman’s public persona – that of a high caliber athlete selflessly serving his country to fight the “war on terror” – took a tragic turn when Tillman was killed in a fire fight in Afghanistan. Tillman’s death was portrayed by both the U.S. government and the U.S. “news” media as a moment of heroic and patriotic sacrifice. The truth, however, proved even more tragic: Tillman, it turns out, was killed by “friendly fire,” and, concerned about the consequences, the U.S. government and top brass engaged in a massive cover-up that reached into the highest levels of U.S. military and political chain of command.

Director Amir Bar-Lev’s “The Tillman Story” is not so much about Pat Tillman himself, though the temptation must have been there. Tillman’s life and career as an athlete make for a charismatic story, best chronicled, perhaps, by Jon Krakauer in his compelling book “Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman.” Instead, Bar-Lev wisely keeps the film’s focus on Tillman’s remarkable family, and their tireless efforts to uncover the truth about Tillman’s death in the mountains of Afghanistan. Pat’s mother, Dannie Tillman, literally spends months on the phone, interviewing various players, requesting documents (often redacted), and piecing together the puzzle, while Pat’s father rattles the cage in his own way (I won’t ruin it for you here). Pat’s two younger brothers, one of whom served alongside him in the Rangers, each bring their own perspective to Bar-Lev’s recounting of the Tillman story. And Dannie, in particular, is a remarkable figure: quiet, unassuming, and tenacious, she is determined to get to the bottom of the Tillman story, she leaves no stone unturned in her quest for justice for her son.

Which, as you might guess, is never delivered. The Tillman family finally get a Congressional public hearing into the circumstances surrounding their son’s death, chaired by Henry Waxman, and not a single high-profile politician or general takes the fall for the cover-up cloaking Tillman’s “friendly fire” incident. In fact, in the most heartbreaking moment in the film and as a matter of public record, one high profile figure after another denies really even knowing much about the circumstances surrounding Pat’s passing – and Waxman and his panel go willingly along, acquiescing with a spinelessness that seems surprising even on the floor of the U.S. Senate.

And then there are the supporting voices that undergird Bar-Lev’s story. Tillman’s fellow soldiers weigh in with some surprisingly honest recounting of what actually happened that fateful day in Afghanistan. And then there is Stan Goff, a retired U.S. marine-turned-independent investigative journalist who helped break the story of Tillman’s “friendly fire” death in the pages of Michael Ruppert’s “From The Wilderness” journal and the alternative press more generally, and helps contextualize Tillman’s tragic story in a much broader context.

Beyond his tremendous prowess as a professional athlete, what made Pat Tillman a true American hero, in the minds of many, was his genuine openness to the world, his quiet and charismatic ability to connect with others, and his willingness to balance duty to country with his fearless asking of hard questions (an avid reader of Noam Chomsky, Tillman publicly acknowledged the illegality of the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan even as he faithfully served as a soldier).

Alas, Bar-Lev’s film is a reminder that, as the old adage goes, “Truth is the first casualty of war.”

Once upon a time, before Google, Facebook, and YouTube were ever invented, there was a movie called Tron which purported to take us inside the circuits of a free and users-friendly grid-like computer video game for epic adventure and fantasy. Starring a young Jeff Bridges as computer maverick Kevin Flynn (Bridges went on to give us “the dude” in Big Lebowski), Tron piqued the collective imagination of our emerging techno-digital pop mind, long before films like “The Matrix” pushed the cyber-millennial envelope.

Now Tron is back (and in 3D at select theaters) - a feast for the eyes on the big screen - starring Jeff Bridges (again), 20th century pop tunes, and a whole bunch of CGI mojo. As the film opens, Kevin Flynn’s son Sam, #1 shareholder in his missing father’s ENCOM company, busts into ENCOM HQ and uploads the company’s new and valuable proprietary OS to the web - where it can be downloaded for free (much to the chagrin of fellow stockholders.) We soon learn that Sam still secretly yearns to reconnect with his rogue father, presumed dead (or “chillin’ in Costa Rica”) and uncovers a lost factory/laboratory storing his father’s tools for reconstructing “the Grid.” (Plenty of nostalgia here for 20th century geeks in love with LED displays and 20th century video game tech.) Suddenly, Sam finds himself falling into the real Grid - complete with flying spaceships, cyborg-like creatures, and, yes, his father.

First things first. Even in a 21st century post-Avatar world, Tron’s special effects and CGI wizardry are arresting, shaped by the familiar deep blues and bright reds of the old game, but married to the latest in what’s technologically possible, with the sharp clean lines of that early and more simple era in gaming culture. I saw Tron with my 2 kids - they were mesmerized – for 30 minutes or so.

And the story? Well, that’s the big problem here.

Tron is what it is, which is a mishmash of mostly incoherent nuttiness - a mix of father-son Oedipal’esque struggle, gladiatorial gaming in high-tech, the obligatory snatches of utopian global philosophical tradition, isomorphic manifestations of digital transcendence, and corporate intrigue thrown in for good measure. Bridges plays Flynn, oddly, as the Big Lebowski, with one too many “dudes” to take him at all seriously.

In the end, sadly, Tron doesn’t at all hang together, and by the time we arrive at what purports to be the climactic scene at almost 2 hours into the movie, I found myself just praying for Tron to be over.