Where There’s A Will, There’s A Weapon: Lord Of War

Meet international businessman Yuri Orlov. Son of working class Ukrainian immigrants who opened a restaurant in Big Apple’s Little Odessa, Yuri has achieved the “American Dream.” He’s got a glamorous wife. A handsome son. A posh penthouse. An impressive collection of three pieces, sunglasses, and suitcases for every occasion. He only has one little problem.

Yuri is an international arms dealer.

At first, Yuri (played with customary deadpan charm by Nicholas Cage) doesn’t see anything wrong with his chosen line of work. Like so many others who profit from other people’s misery, he constructs elaborate rationales for his behavior. Like the NRA says - Guns don’t kill people, right? He’s simply a businessman fulfilling a need. “There are 550 million firearms in the world, one for every twelve people,” he observes at film’s beginning. “The only question is – how do we arm the other eleven?”

Written and directed by Andrew Niccol (Gattaca, The Truman Show), “Lord of War” adeptly uses the fictional life of one man to reveal some unpleasant truths about one of the world’s most profitable and deadly industries. Cage’s Orlov, who narrates much of the story, goes about his business with wry wit, and an appreciation for the many ironies involved with selling weapons to some of the richest and the poorest people on the planet. “I sell to every army but the Salvation Army,” he says at one point. “But I never sold to Osama during the 1980s – back then, he was always bouncing checks.”

But here’s another problem. Selling arms in many parts of the world is illegal, at least in theory. Yuri’s trophy wife (Bridget Moynahan) doesn’t ask any questions. But Interpol agent Jack Valentine (Ethan Hawke) is not so forgiving. Pursuing Orlov from one side of the globe to the other, Valentine serves as the film’s somewhat moralistic voice of reason. “You get rich by giving the poorest people on the planet the means to continue killing each other,” he snarls at Orlov. But even Interpol agents, as the film reveals, are not able to bring down a trade as lucrative as Yuri’s, who also must fight off rival suppliers competing for his business.

Not since director David O. Russell’s “Three Kings” (1999) has a Hollywood film tackled uncomfortable truths about the way the world really works. Niccol and Cage delivers the goods, making “Lord of War” a story driven by cynical sound bites and moments of cinematographic brilliance. The film opens in mesmerizing fashion with a “bull’s eye view” of a bullet’s production – from domestic factory meltdown to its journey into war-torn foreign lands – where it embeds itself, slow-mo style, in a child’s skull. Playing over this montage is Buffalo Springfield’s “For What Its Worth.” There’s something happening here, indeed.

In another key scene, Orlov is in the middle of a trans-oceanic tanker journey, secretly transporting a giant cache of weapons under an assumed identity, when he gets word that an Interpol vessel is ten minutes away from boarding. Orlov drops his crew of sign painters over the ship’s side, gets on the horn to his computer people, and within moments has transformed his ship’s identity, while managing to disguise the weapons under a crop of rotting potatoes.

The most remarkable moment comes when Interpol forces Orlov to land a cargo plane full of weapons in Sierre Leone. While Orlov manages to give the weapons away to African villagers before Interpol arrives to make the bust (“They’d find more guns on a plane-ful of Quakers,” Cage wryly notes), Niccol gives us a 24-hour time-lapse scene In which the entire cargo plane is systematically dismantled for scrap. The scene lasts a mere ten seconds – but is a stunning illustration of the global gap between rich and poor.

And I won’t ruin the ending for you here, other than to say that Niccol gets to the heart of the matter in the film’s closing moments, and then leaves the audience seeking solutions that the film simply refuses to provide. While “Lord of War,” pulls more punches than it throws, Niccol and Cage have teamed up to give us one of the edgiest and most provocative films of the year. Don’t miss it.

First published in the “Valley Reporter.”

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Fleeting: James Kinne’s Music Is Here To Stay

There’s a new singer/songwriter in Mad River Valley, and his name is James Kinne. Kinne, a New York City native, began playing drums at age 10, and brings a wealth of musical talent and experience to our little Vermont community. A brief bio is in order to appreciate the depth and experience of this man’s musical mojo.

While most of us spent our teenage years learning new instruments, Kinne celebrated adolescence by honing his drumming chops on the New Jersey club circuit playing shows throughout the state. After an eight year stint touring and sharpening his string skills with a band called “Angry Salad” (a band name any Vermonter who grows a garden can appreciate), Kinne formed a group that Spin Magazine called “The Best Unsigned Band” of the year: “Chasing Gray.” Their musical exploits saw them touring throughout the United States, making national television appearances, and sharing stages with such globally-recognized groups as The Barenaked Ladies, Tonic, Run-DMC, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Counting Crows, Live, The Samples, and Violent Femmes. Impressive stuff.

After “Chasing Gray” parted ways, James began assembling solo projects. He recorded and released his first solo CD, “Between,” to critical acclaim, and has now just released his second CD, an eleven-song project called “Fleeting.” I’ve been spinning Kinne’s new CD for a few weeks now, and the more I listen, the more enjoyable his tunes become, for a whole host of reasons.

For starters, Kinne displays all the signs of a “together” singer/songwriter. As a lyricist, his writing is spare but (at its best) incredibly hooky. He displays a penchant for what “Tipping Point” author Malcolm Gladwell would call “sticky” songs – tunes that get stuck in your head (and this is a good thing.) This sticky quality is apparent right out of the audio gate with “Fleeting’s” very first track – the pop radio-friendly “Sleeping In Saturday” - where Kinne sings:

Sleeping in on Saturday/
Wasting all our time away/
Caught up in the games we play/
Sleeping in on Saturday….

And before you know it, you are walking around your house singing the same.

Kinne is also a fine vocalist. Think “Toad The Wet Sprocket” soul-full sound, combined with a more intimate aesthetic sensibility, as delivered on tunes such as “Somewhere” and “I Become,” two beautiful songs that move right along, thanks, in no small measure, to Kinne’s arresting vocal inflections.

But it gets better. Kinne is a multi-talented instrumentalist. Want proof? He plays all the instruments on “Fleeting.” That’s right. Every single one. Drums. Bass. Acoustic guitar. Electric guitar. Percussion. I’ve heard independent projects where musicians have tried to pull this off – and failed miserably. Kinne makes it work. Just listen to his Billy McLaughlin-like riffs on “Heaven Sent,” or his screaming electric guitar work on “142,” as well as the tight arrangements throughout the eleven song project.

And this brings us to what may be Kinne’s greatest asset – developed, no doubt, by all those years of touring and band work. He is a fine producer and arranger of songs. In the musical world, great performers are often lousy arrangers. Kinne’s “Fleeting” indicates that he has the in-studio knack for choreographing sounds in a powerful way. My two favorite tunes on the project – “Finally Home” (Track 9) and “Writing On The Wall” (Track 10) – showcase Kinne’s conductor-like skills beautifully, almost as if he spent the first half of the album warming up with more spare numbers, and then decided to unleash the full power of his arranging skills for the grand finale. Everything comes together in spades at CD’s end – and the listener is left wanting even more.

But don ‘t take my word for it. You can hear James Kinne for yourself at the Purple Moon Pub on Saturday, September 24 at 8:00 pm, along with his duo “Nothing But Grover.” Pick up his new CD “Fleeting” at the show, at the Paradise Deli up on the Sugarbush Access Road, or buy it online through www.jameskinne.com or www.CDbaby.com. And, if you buy “Fleeting” through CDbaby, 100% of the profit goes to the Red Cross.

The Valley is fortunate to have James and “Grover” partner Tara in our midst!

Historian, media educator, and musician Rob Williams is Action Coalition for Media Education board president, and the associate publisher/web editor of Vermont Commons, a statewide organization championing Vermont independence.

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“Finding The Doorbell:
Comic Storyteller Cindy Pierce Comes to the Flynn”

By day, Cindy Pierce is co-proprietor of Pierce’s Country Inn and mother to three young children. By night, however, she is emerging as one of New England’s funniest comic story-tellers, a performer who draws her tales from her own life’s various (mis)adventures in a way that makes audiences laugh and shake their heads in astonished agreement. Born the seventh of seven children, raised in Etna, New Hampshire where she skied, played soccer, and made the most out of high school, this former ski coach and first grade teacher, a self-proclaimed recovering Catholic and New England Patriots fan, is bringing her one-woman show “Cindy Pierce: Finding The Doorbell” to the Flynn Theater on Saturday, October 1.

Describing Pierce’s show is not difficult, Think Eve Ensler’s “Vagina Monologues” without the edge, a hilarious ode to everything about the female anatomy, from orgasms, self-stimulation, (her riff on various names for the big V is side splitting), birthing, and the like. The good news here is that guys in the crowd will appreciate her humor, as well, because she invites everyone, in a genuinely non-threatening (and rather helpful) sort of way, on a tour of the female body, complete with her own trade mark brand of comedic physicality (“let me perform an interpretive dance for you”) and stand-up delivery.

The Vermont Guardian interviewed Cindy for this week’s issue.

Q. When did you first know you wanted to be a comic storyteller?

A. I really didn’t know I wanted to be doing this until my friends, who also make up my inspiration team (director, editor/humor consultant and publicist), nudged me into doing a small show about a year and a half ago. The next thing you know they were encouraging me to do a bigger one at Dartmouth (120 people) and then my last show at the Lebanon Opera House (sold out at 840 tickets). This wasn’t really in my plan because I am buried in parenting – with three children under seven - and running a New Hampshire Inn with my husband. But the storytelling comes very naturally to me - both finding material and delivery. And my husband feels it is about time I make money for the entertainment I have been providing for free.

Q. Have you always been attracted to stories?

I come from a family of storytellers. Generations of storytellers. My father always called me a “raconteur” when I was a kid. I grew up in this inn, and after the guests would leave, I processed my experience and observations of the guests through imitations and sharing observations. I was a Harriet the Spy kind of kid. But the real nudge to do this came from a women’s ski trip out west. Two of the women on that trip pulled me aside and told me I should take this storytelling to a professional level. I promised I would when my life calmed a little bit (three kids and an inn…wasn’t going to happen). Brenda Buglione was one of these two women. She was on her way to judge the Aspen Women’s Comedy Festival. The other was Kristi Graham, who lives across the river from me. Now, she is my director and is sharp, funny, organized and has such a good eye.

Q. From where do you draw your material?

A. After being shamed by boys as a kid, many of whom were also friends, I made a decision at some point that I wasn’t going to cower to the degrading humor they tossed our way. I developed tough skin and an edge that helped me establish some boundaries with that. As I got older, the edge softened with a sense of humor. It is interesting how we all find a way to survive middle school.

By college, I was banding together some women to laugh at ourselves and our experiences with men. I was fortunate to meet older women on my UNH ski and soccer teams who were great role models of having healthy relationships with men, but openly processing their unhealthy relationships with me and other friends. I guess I learned that laughing at myself before others laugh at me dismantles any shameful feelings that I would otherwise take on.

Redirecting negative energy is a family theme. And I have the good fortune of being around some funny sisters and sisters-in-law who have been modeling the humor of birth, menstrual cycles, birth control, sex, hair removal and the works since I was a kid. When you open to those topics with humor, the story supply is endless. Just wait until menopause. Finding humor is a positive way to grow up, develop, have babies and age. Age brings wisdom and more material. Being the youngest in my family has helped me embrace aging.

Q. Describe the process of taking a vague comedic idea and turning it into a stage bit - how do you do that?

A. I am rarely embarrassed because I am too busy spinning it into humor. When I am discussing experiences with my sisters, husband, and friends, things strike me as funny. When I verbalize or retell these situations, I get a strong sense if the humor is universal or not. Sometimes things are so funny to me, and my husband will tell me that I am alone with that. He hears me tell a friend and lets me know what it isn’t funny.

Everyone has had bodily moments that are painful and scarring. I think people are so grateful to hear someone share their own experiences which are the same as their own or worse, so they feel normal and not alone. I feel like this is a purpose of mine on this planet: to help people feel ok about their experiences by laughing at myself.

People always express gratitude for sharing certain things they relate to. Men are grateful that I shed light on the elusive clitoris that has a mind of its own - pleasure zones seem to change campsites on any given day or time of day without leaving a map to the next zone and women just expect their fellas to locate the new campsite. My feeling is that most campgrounds come with maps. Give the guys a verbal or physical map of the day and clarify the shifts clearly unless you have all night. I work full time, have three kids and need sleep to function - I don’t have all night. A map doesn’t take all the mystery and fun away - it just helps them feel like a good camper with a solid idea of which way to go. My feeling is that women have a strong role in our level of satisfaction. Let’s face it, it is much less challenging to bring a man to orgasm. Even the first time you find yourself in that situation, you are likely to succeed in one way or another.

Women are grateful and liberated with the stories of birth, bras and nursing. I get some good stories from the women who just need a slight nudge to tell their tales. Oftentimes, they blocked out some of the birth scenes, but the details rush back when hearing others share. My husband calls me the “can opener” because people tell me a lot about themselves after they hear me do a show or have a conversation with me.

Q. Do you make a distinction in your own mind between humor that is personal and humor that is political?

A. My humor is so personal that I don’t worry too much about who I offend. Hardcore Christians and devoted Catholics would not dig my show. George Bush would be horrified if he heard what I have to say. My stories are so personal that they can only pray for me to be saved. They can’t erase or take away what I am or have done. My experiences shape me. I talk about birth control with gusto. I am a believer in birth control, premarital sex, abortion, living together before marriage. I am a heathen in many people’s minds. Growing up as a Catholic helped me figure out where I stand on a lot of these matters. My mom let me choose, at age 12, whether I would go to church anymore. I chose not to keep going and found comfort and freedom without organized religion.

Q. What’s the hardest thing about performing your show?

A. The hardest thing about performing the show is watching my husband go out to introduce me with maxi pads taped under his arms to keep from sweating through his shirt. It is the only time my heart raced was when he worried about a leak right before he went out. It all worked out, and he was very funny and a huge hit. No leaks. He wore pads when we got married too after soaking through suits just ATTENDING weddings watching friends make that big leap.

The hardest part about preparing the show is keeping up with all the deadlines for promotion efforts. It is a lot to juggle that with the parenting piece and inn-keeping. Most of this stuff I have to do after bed time, so I don’t have to explain some of the topics that are flying around to my kids when I am in conversations on the phone or with Bruce. It is dicey. At this point, they know I tell stories for adults and that my face was all over town on posters before the last show. I tell them some of the stories without the graphic details or swears or references. They seem to think they are still funny.

Q. What advice would you giver aspiring performers interested in the kind of stuff you do?

A. You know, I am such a newbie doing this full on grass roots style with my posse of smart and talented friends, that I can only say to recruit the help of people you trust and love to hang out with.

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Pique Oil: The End Of Suburbia
by Rob Williams

One upon a time there was an American geologist named M. King Hubbert who suggested, using data modeling, that the United States would reach a point where it would no longer be able to discover and produce any more domestic oil beyond a certain “peak” amount to meet existing and future U.S. demand. It was mid-20th-century, oil flowed freely out of red, white, and blue soil, and Hubbert was laughed out of the room by both the geological and business communities for having the audacity to intimate something so absurd.

As it turned out, with hindsight, Hubbert proved so right he even nailed the exact year. In 1971, just as the marginalized geologist had predicted, the U.S. reached Peak Oil, and subsequent oil price hikes and attendant economic shocks pushed the United States government to look overseas for more oil and natural gas supplies to feed the lifestyle of its ever-expanding fossil-fuel driven consumer population. I was in 6th grade in 1979, when the second of two economic oil-soaked recessions swept across the United States. My neighbor and I made a killing selling coffee, donuts, and newspapers to frustrated drivers waiting in long lines for gas at the local filling station down town. Now, with 20 million barrels of oil being burned up each day (40% of the black stuff going to fuel our auto fetish), the United States consumes more oil and natural gas than ever before in its history, and hurricane Katrina, that class five whirlwind that just knocked 20% of our country’s oil supply offline in a matter of 48 hours, is a grim reminder of how dependent, addicted even, all of us are to the “black gold.”

As we enter the early 21st century, some geologists are suggesting that the entire planet may soon reach the Peak Oil precipice, and then take the slow but inevitable plunge down the back side of the curve, watching our recoverable fossil fuels slowly dwindle away as we grasp for energy alternatives that don’t yet exist. The impact of this sobering situation cannot be over-estimated. And a new documentary film called “The End of Suburbia: Oil Depletion and the Collapse of the American Dream” drives right into the heart of this pessimistic prognostication for a look around.

“Suburbia’s” filmmakers are smart enough to wrap this depressing news around some hilarious historical footage plugging the post-war suburban experiment – grainy color images of Cleaver family types gamboling through the back yard, puppies and tail-finned appliances in tow, gleefully grinning at the wonder of it all. But they don’t hold back serving up the sauce, either. After a few minutes of romping, they trot out the talking heads, beginning with Long Emergency author and longtime social critic James Howard Kunstler, who serves as both the film’s voice of doom and comedic cut-up. We’ll look back and see the suburban project as “the greatest single misallocation of resources in human history,” he notes. “The days of the 3,000 mile Caesar salad are numbered.”

We also hear from an impressive cast of characters who’ve spent plenty of time and energy researching the Peak Oil question, including Power Down author Richard Heinberg; eminent geologist Colin Campbell, founder of the Association for the Study of Peak Oil (ASPO); investment banker and Bush confidant Matthew Simmons; and investigative reporter Michael Ruppert of From The Wilderness.

The beauty of “Suburbia” is found in the way it manages to deliver hard-to-hear information in a clear and provocative way without being alarmist or apocalyptic, and it’s blend of humor and disturbing news is provocative. That said, the film drags a bit towards the end, and offers little in the way of solutions beyond acknowledging our predicament.

But make no mistake. “Suburbia” is an important film, one that needs to be seen and absorbed in the company of others. Exxon will not solve the Peak Oil dilemma for us, and neither will the federal government, awash in energy money and in denial about the unique and epochal nature of our situation. Only in smaller communities might we make our way out of this oil-soaked mess. As gas prices skyrocket to $3.00 a gallon and above these next several months, “Suburbia” serves as a road map for defining the problem – it is now up to us to discover solutions.

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