#seventy-seven

[indelicateink]

holy shit what the fuck

[theplaylistfilm]

“EXPLODES IN THE GUT with a powerful mix of pain and pleasure. Like the reggae music that pulses through it, Babylon is RICH ROUGH and REAL. And like the street life of the young black Londoners it portrays, it’s THREATENING, TOUCHING, VIOLENT and FUNNY. ” —Simon Perry, Variety

“REMARKABLE. Its hard edge is undeniable. Never lets go for a moment.” —Derek Malcolm, The Guardian

@kinolorber Repertory, in partnership with Seventy-Seven, announce their acquisition of the North American rights to Babylon, one of the most highly regarded British cult films. An incendiary portrait of racial tension and police brutality set in Brixton, London, the late Franco Rosso’s Babylon has never been released in the United States until now. Rated X in the U.K., it world premiered at Cannes Critics’ Week in 1980, went to Toronto for its North American premiere, but was passed on by the New York Film Festival: the Time Out headline from the film’s cover story upon its British release in November 1980 read, “the movie the New York Film Festival found too hot to handle.” Punk doyenne Vivien Goldman, who wrote the article, cited the reasons: “being too controversial, and likely to incite racial tension.”

Babylon follows a young dancehall DJ (Brinsley Forde, MBE, frontman of British reggae group Aswad) in Thatcher-era South London as he pursues his musical ambitions, while battling fiercely against the racism and xenophobia of employers, neighbors, police, and the National Front. Written by Martin Stellman (Quadrophenia) and shot by two-time Oscar® winner Chris Menges (The Killing Fields) with beautiful, smoky cinematography that has been compared to Taxi Driver, Babylon is fearless and unsentimental, yet tempered by the hazy bliss of the dancehall set to a blistering reggae, dub, and lovers rock soundtrack featuring Aswad, Johnny Clarke, Dennis Bovell, and more.

Long in the making and taking inspiration from both Mean Streets and The Warriors, Babylon was written by Rosso and Stellman in 1973-74  as a “Play for Today”: the BBC’s acclaimed weekly filmed play series at which many directors cut their teeth, including Mike Leigh, Stephen Frears, Alan Clarke, and others. But the BBC wouldn’t touch it: “There was absolutely nothing that was about the life of young Londoners. Absolutely nothing. We were operating in a complete vacuum,” (Stellman).  It took Gavrik Losey, director Joseph Losey’s son, to sign on as the producer and convince Chrysalis Records and Mamoun Hassan, the visionary new head of the National Film Finance Corporation, to back the project.

Babylon was negotiated by Kino Lorber President Richard Lorber and Director of Repertory Theatrical Distribution and Acquisitions  Jonathan Hertzberg and AMBI. “Like many of the films we champion on our Kino Lorber Repertory label, Franco Rosso’s Babylon is a great movie from the past that remains relevant today and which, for various reasons, has flown under the radar in our country up until now,” says Hertzberg. “When we found out that our friend and collaborator Gabriele Caroti was as passionate about this lost classic as we were, it was an easy decision to team up and ensure that the film’s rollout is as tallawah—strong and robust—as it so richly deserves.”

This will mark the debut of boutique film label Seventy-Seven, which will release Babylon alongside Kino Lorber Repertory. Seventy-Seven is Gabriele Caroti’s label focusing on vintage, underseen, and underappreciated fare. Back in 2012, Caroti curated a reggae film series pegged to Jamaica’s 50th anniversary of independence in which he programmed the film: “Babylon forms the trinity of great reggae films alongside The Harder They Come and Rockers, but this one’s the best—toppa top. It transcends. It’s extremely powerful and very relevant 40 years later,” says Caroti. “When discovering it was never released stateside, I was shocked and then thought that I had to be the one to do it—also being an Italian expatriate reggae-head. So after leaving BAM, I started exploring that possibility and, lo and behold, my friends at Kino Lorber were as well so we’ve decided to join forces. I’m thrilled. It’s been a dream to make this happen.”

Babylon will be rolled out March 8,  followed by streaming, VOD, and home video.

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seventy-seven

[barbh]

What Do You See? (#77)

Choose 4 things within 4 feet of you and write for 4 minutes. One sentence each. <><><><><> Sleeping with the windows open meant that I awoke to the sound of birds chirping. 🐦 A sweater or two hangs on the back of the kitchen chair; alas, it will be near 80 degrees today, and the sweaters will be ignored. 🧥 The side table is piled high with a well-worn pencil case, dog-eared notebooks, and an…

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[barbh]

6 Word Poetry #77

6 Word Poetry #77

I will share new six-word poems with you each Monday AND if you leave one in the comments, I will share it the following week & tag your blog. Enjoy this week’s offerings. ~~~~~~ A day late, I apologize profusely 😟 Cooler temps and open windows…ahhh! 🪟 Mandatory class taken – Done & done!! ✅ Homemade pasta sauce for dinner…mmmm!!! ~~~~~~ Cat’s suck at being alarm clocks 😺⏰ – M No truer…

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[blackpalm]

[notsoevilpepsi]

100 Themes Writing Challenge

Her mother was having one of her good days. It was a Saturday, so Riya didn’t have to spend most of this one in school.

They were in the kitchen decorating the cookies they’d made—cliché as hell, but they didn’t have much else to do—when something was placed atop Riya’s head.

Raising one sugar-covered hand to feel what it was—trailing sugar through her hair—she found a sort of flower crown. She looked up at her mother questioningly.

“Thought you might like it,” was the only answer she got in response as the woman went back to decorating the cookie in front of her.

With a broad grin, Riya stood up on her chair and tugged on her mother’s arm until they were facing each other. She stood on her tiptoes to put her nose against Pamela’s as her smile grew. “Love you, Momma.”

“Love you, too, Riya darling.”

She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips and let Clarice pull her into a tight hug.

*

She was ten years old, it was a warm Thursday afternoon, and her parents still cared about her. Or they pretended to, at least. This was before she started getting into trouble, so maybe they did still love her then.

They’re all at the park, with a basket of food and some drinks. They let her pick the spot—right underneath the biggest tree, smack-dab in the middle—and set up the picnic there.

They stayed there all afternoon, eating and playing and laughing until the sun started to set. Then she was swooped into her father’s arms and they walked back to the apartment.

She was smiling, even as a tear made its way down her cheek, and she shifted slightly on the couch—her gaze on the ceiling though she wasn’t really seeing it.

*

She was young. Her father’s village was nearly destroyed, and her fire was wrapped around her entire torso despite the ice-covered hands wrapped around her upper arms.

She couldn’t hear a word coming out of his mouth, or any of the screams or shouts coming from the others of the village. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, the fire roaring over small wooden houses and the way her father’s ice sizzled as it made contact with her skin.

Jerking free of his grip, she raised her arms slightly, gazing in a wonder that never faded at the striking oranges and reds and yellows wound around the pale lengths of her skin. It was a dangerous sort of beautiful, and if she was completely unaware of what was going on around her she would have stared all day. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down.

She could feel the flames receding. When she felt them only around her wrists, she opened her eyes and carefully extinguished them. Looking around at the damage and the fires still going around, she murmured a quiet spell. The fire disappeared, leaving only the burnt shells of homes that were hopefully empty behind.

Biting her lower lip, tucking blonde hair behind one pointed ear, she looked up at her father through long lashes. “I’m sorry.”

Her fingers moved, perceptively warmer than usual but not bringing forth any fire. With a sigh, she strummed another cord on the guitar in her lap.

*

Thirteen. Konja’s standing in front of her, towering over her much smaller frame. He’s eighteen now; his muscles are bigger, more defined. He looks more intimidating than he had before.

“Leave me alone.” Her voice too quiet, lacking conviction. She’s too tired to fight with him now.

“Why should I?” Brown eyes staring down at her, his head cocking to the left. “There’s nothing stopping me from doing a thing now. No uniforms, no witnesses . . . it’s just you and me now, kid.”

A sigh. Tired eyes lifting to look at him. “You won’t come near me. You do and you’re not gonna walk away without something to remember me by.”

As if daring her to do something, he took several steps forward. He didn’t stop until there were only a few scant inches between them. “What you gonna do? Stab me with that dinky little knife’a yours?”

A few moments later he was leaving, a hand held to his side in an attempt to stop the blood. “You stupid bitch! Wait’ll I get my hands on you again!”

She couldn’t help the slight grin, left hand moving to grasp the hilt of her dagger in a sort of reassurance. 

[shmutopia]

SEVENY-SEVEN An unexpected visitor.