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ZEFR-U Guest Speaker: Matt Johnson

Matt wrote the scripts for Torque, Into the Blue and the upcoming 50-Cent feature, The Pursuit. 

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ZEFR SOUNDS Vol. 14

ZEFR SOUNDS Vol.14  is finally out!  Contributors: Allen Baclig Music Content  Emily Timmons Product Listen and Enjoy. ZEFR SOUNDS Vol.14

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Mad Men - “To Have and to Hold”/“The Flood” Recap

Erin Klingsberg

I’m not sure why I couldn’t find the time to write a review of last week’s episode, especially considering it was my favorite kind, an episode of Mad Women. Maybe it was because I knew what I’d be writing about and it made me weary. See, the thing about AMC is that most of their shows center around a male protagonist. The other thing about AMC shows is that said male protagonist isn’t really a guy you root for, not even in an anti-hero sense. This is a bold way of storytelling because it’s difficult to pull off. But I believe “Mad Men” and “Breaking Bad” do it expertly. But when you mistake your male protagonist for the character you’re supposed to be rooting for, even as he’s entrapping his wife in misery, you’re missing the point. I’m looking at you, Skyler haters and Walt apologists. Newsflash, the show knows Walt is the villain, why don’t you? But I digress. What I’m saying is that I knew I’d be writing a review once again praising and defending Megan and once again begging you to see that there’s so much more to Pete. That was all well and good though, I love getting revved up about divisive characters, until I realized Don was the enemy. I know longer wanted to find the theme of the episode and use it to psychoanalyze him because he sucks and I’m over it. Frankly it seems that most viewers are over it. You can make a compelling movie about a man who can’t change and it’s his own fault (i.e. one of my favorites, “Five Easy Pieces”), but stretching it six seasons has become exhausting. I’ll get to Don, of course, because I have a hunch that this frustration is intentional. But I’ll start with Joan. Everybody loves Joan.

In 6x04 we saw a really perplexing and sad Joan storyline. Joan, much like the men of SDCP, is becoming a relic of the old times. So when she goes out on the town with a friend it seems odd, it seems juvenile and beneath her. But alas, she’s a single mother in 1968 and she’s gotta do what she’s gotta do, right? But her storyline emasculates her. Joan, the pillar of female power and authority in the office and in the show, is brought down hard. Harry’s anger over her firing his secretary unleashes the ever present but ever quiet sexism and misogyny that lives within seemingly good men. He thinks he should be partner. He says he can do his work in the daylight. It’s harsh. It’s true in that Harry does a hell of a lot for the company, but he didn’t have the luxury of watching the episode last season in which Joan prostitutes herself for a partnership and he has no idea what the real circumstances were. Still, she realizes that her partnership doesn’t do anything in terms of elevating her to something more than the head secretary in most of the men’s eyes. In a setting where she typically rules, she’s crippled, weak and vulnerable. And I suppose it’s that knowledge that made her third wheeling and psychedelic make-out session on a couch rendez-vous seem so sad. It dawns on her that as much as tries not to be, she’s still ruled by men. As much as she tries to be taken seriously as a partner, she’s accused of pettiness. Joan has lost the power she usually has. She still exudes it, it’s her armor, but you know it’s lost.

Now of course no one sided with Harry (although his bravado in front of Roger and Bert was kind of amazing) because Joan is a beloved character. Even if his reaction is a little bit fair, at least understandable, it still drips with sexism and any man treating Joan in that way is unacceptable. So I wonder, is it still acceptable for Don to bed anyone he pleases while punishing his wife for doing nothing at all except her job? I don’t care that he was morally against Joan sleeping with the Jaguar guy for the account last year, he’s not one of the good ones. He loves Megan, but only insofar as she remains his. And that means his in every way. her independence as a working woman means she has a life and job outside of him and his control. And when she tells him she’s being given a love scene on her soap opera, she’s nervous. This is Megan Draper and she knows her husband. And she knows that when he shows up on set to stoically and silently gaze his sour gaze, it’s for nothing except to try to ruin her success and her happiness. “You couldn’t stop it. So I guess ruining it was enough for you,” she tells him. It’s the only time he’d even bothered to show up to her work, and it was to make her as miserable as possible, all while continuing to sleep with the neighbor’s wife. But Megan Draper can’t possibly kiss another man for her job! And like any good misogynist, he accuses her of enjoying it, forgetting what the definition of acting means. Ironic, since a couple of episodes ago he was burdened by the realization that maybe he’s just a whore, whereas his wife is not at all a whore and yet he’s happy to imply that she is. Double standard thy name is Don Draper.

Truth be told this is the first season in which I’ve had it with Don. He’s never been a good person. He’s always had demons. But he was interesting. He was complicated. And I don’t know if it’s his inability to change that’s making him worse, if he’s actually becoming worse, or if my patience has worn thin, but at the end of the day Don Draper is really nothing more than a mean, selfish, broken man who’s incapable of love.

And my sentiment towards Don continued in “The Flood”. This episode covered Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, and similarly to its JFK episode, the characters are flooded with news and must figure out how to act and react accordingly. It’s monumentally interesting in every way. In fact most characters are in shock, upset, but treat it with distance. They’re nervous of increased racial tensions, and they generally detach themselves, deeming it a much more personal issue to their African-American employees. But when Harry begins to complain about losing money due to preemptive news broadcasting, Pete pops up as the moral compass of the episode! How awesome. No, seriously. He lashes into Harry and it’s a great, great confrontation. He says it’s a shameful, shameful day, that MLK was a great man and he had a wife and children. God, it’s so beautiful. I’m not sure how I can express how much I loved this, and his phone call to Trudy, and the last shot of Pete ordering delivery and standing alone in his apartment. But I’m going to try, because I’m pretty sure Pete has become my favorite character and Don my least favorite.

I’ve written previously about Pete and how he should be seen as much more than a slimy, terrible person. The fact of the matter is is that Pete wears his feelings about things on his sleeve. More than that, he readily offers up his feelings on a silver platter. And more often than not these sentiments have been pretty appalling. He’s not a stand-up guy and his values are questionable at best, but isn’t that true of everyone else on this show too? The unique and wonderful thing about Pete is that he’s different than Don, who’s made of stone, or Roger, who deflects everything with sarcasm. He’s more outwardly earnest than any man at SCDP, and he’s always been far more emotional. His father died in a plane crash, he was arguably the most affected by JFK’s death, so it’s very on point and in character that he feels this one strongly too. He feels these things so strongly that he reaches out for love, but finds none from Trudy. He’s kind to his delivery man and asks how it is out there, but gets a polite nod in response. In day to day life Pete has no problem living for himself and acknowledging the coldness of people and society around him, but on days like this day, it’s different. He wants connection. He wants community. And he finds none.

Meanwhile Don naturally reveals no feelings whatsoever. Megan even comments on it. He was just about to win parenting of the year award until he forgot to pick up the kids, and Betty makes him get them anyway even though I’m pretty sure there was a curfew at the time due to rioting. In an even better example of excellent co-parenting, Bobby isn’t allowed to watch TV for a week so Don takes him to the movies (ha!). They go to see Planet of the Apes, and we’re gifted with two clips, of the Apes talking about the stupidity of man, and the end in which Charlton Heston pounds his fists on the sand, realizing he’s on Earth and that they’ve destroyed New York. It hits hard in some Matthew Weiner themed way, and they stay to watch it again. Bobby reaches out to an African-American movie theater usher and asks if he’s seen it, because when people are sad they go to the movies. Bobby’s also been ripping his wallpaper off the wall to get to what’s underneath so this boy is obviously deep.

Cue Don’s emotional flood.

Don comes home and gets pathetically drunk, Megan scolds him for his inability to explain anything to his kids in a time of tragedy, and then he gives an epic monologue about not loving his kids. Now, Jon Hamm is a better actor than most people in the universe, so it was a damn heavy hitting scene. When Don describes his inability to love his kids until one moment in a movie theater when all of the feelings he’d been pretending to feel came flooding in and his heart felt like it were going to explode, it’s pretty stunning. (Also note that Megan is wholly comforting and supportive so tell me again why you hate her please because I do not understand). Except the problem is, Don, that you just said you never loved your kids and I hate you. Of course we knew this was true from his actions over the years, but to actually vocalize this is the least relatable thing I can possibly imagine. There are fathers out there who are  just as absent and awful as he is but who actually, in some warped way, do love their children as much as they are able. I don’t care if he felt love wash over him for the first time, it’s too little too late, which may or may not be my theme for him this season.

I’ve lost my empathy for Don Draper, but I wonder if that’s the intention. Does Matthew Weiner want to turn him into a self-made man of stone by the end of the show? Is it his criticism and his punishment of a man who can’t change who he is? We know there is no redemption for Don, so can someone like Pete change before the end? What if the end of the show finds Pete as its hero because he was able to feel and change and adapt? If that happens I’m going to laugh and cry hysterically at the same time because it would be the best.

In other news Ginsberg is virgin and most likely related to Woody Allen in some way. Peggy and Megan were the only SDCP employees nominated for an advertising award, both of them are women and neither of them even work there anymore. A+.

all images from AMC.com

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"Riding in the HOV Lane with Kanye by Jay-z"

Andrew Kuzmic

PART THREE (PART ONE, PART TWO)

Kanye ran after the assailants as fast as a man who was running roughly nine miles per hour. Like I mentioned earlier, metaphors weren’t exactly my strong suit. 

I didn’t watch what happened to him, as I sped off in the opposite direction. Gunshots echoed from behind me. I couldn’t tell whose gat they were coming from, but there sure were a lot.

“Are we just gonna leave him behind?!” Justin yelled to me from the backseat.

“He jumped out of here on his own free will,” I responded. “I ain’t his daddy.”

“In that case, I’m taking shotty,” Justin said as he struggled his way into the front seat.

I didn’t know if I was ever going to see Kanye again. The odds were against him. Kanye never really struck me as the sharpshooter type. His aim was atrocious. He was the type of person who would put the gun right up to the TV screen when he played Duck Hunt, yet still find a way to miss. How he expected to take on four Beamers full of armed men, I had no idea. 

“Hey, if Kanye dies, can I have his Xbox?” Justin asked.

“Don’t you have your own Xbox?”

“Yeah, but his has this really cool sticker on it. I want it.”

Why did everyone I ever meet act like a ten-year-old?

I drove for a little bit, not sure where I was going. My mind was racing all over the place. In all likelihood, Kanye West was dead. While I was a self-admitted Kanye hater, knowing that I would never get to see him again really dampened my spirits. Maybe I actually did like the little cornball after all.

“So, are we gonna go track down those Tupac lyrics?” Justin asked after a long silence. “We could do a duet, split the profits right down the middle.”

“Bitch you crazy?” I responded. “There ain’t no Tupac lyrics. There is no secret vault and your tie is not a key.”

“But Carlita said so.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“She works in the cafeteria at Capital.”

“You’re taking advice from a lunchlady?”

“She told me to pick up Alfred Morris in my fantasy league last year, she knows what she’s talking about!”

Justin was trying his hardest to top Kanye in sheer ridiculousness. And he was just one psychotic breakdown from making that happen.

I decided it was best to head back home. I probably should have reported the shooting situation to the authorities, but hindsight’s 20/20. Plus, I didn’t really feel like talking to the fuzz, not after my near run-in with them earlier.

I turned and rolled down an empty street. Well, it was empty until I saw the outline of a biker in my rearview mirror. I thought nothing of it, but I did note the biker was going fast—really fast. Easily thirty miles faster than me, and you know I always roll at at least twenty over. 

I stopped at a red light. I assumed the biker would stop behind, but that didn’t appear to be the case. The bike didn’t slow down at all. I thought for sure it was going to crash into me. Instead, he whizzed past me, blowing through the red light and nearly hitting a car crossing the intersection. He flew down the road as his engine screeched.

But then a most curious thing happened. The biker turned around, and zoomed straight towards my Lexus. He went through the red light again, stopping directly in front of my vehicle. He wore a black leather jumpsuit with a helmet and vision of the same shade. I couldn’t tell who it was.

“Da fuck is this?” Justin said, giving his best Kanye impersonation.

Before I could call him out on that, the biker raised two pistols and pointed them straight at my whip.

“Duck!” I yelled as I pushed Justin beneath the dash. The biker unloaded shot after shot into my windshield, shattering it and covering the two of us with tiny specks of glass. Once the shots ended, I stayed down. I didn’t want to look back up and see the attacker waiting for me with two fresh clips loaded and ready to call my forehead their new home. Luckily, the squeal of tires and roar of a motorcycle engine tipped me off that the attacker had left.

We sat back up in our seats. I kicked out the remains of the destroyed windshield before turning to Justin.

“He must be after the Tupac lyrics,” he said.

Who knows, maybe he was right.

I was still lost for words. I just drove, not even waiting for the light to turn green. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. Despite my tough, street façade, that was the first time a gun was ever fired in my general direction. Unless you consider those wooden, Amish made pistols that shoot rubber bands guns. Then lots of guns have been fired in my general direction.

As I continued driving, I once again saw that all-too-familiar flash of red and blue in my rear-view. It was just one of those days. I pulled over and waited for the officer to approach me. Who knows, maybe this time it will be Lance Bass?

“Son, do you know what I’m stopping you for?” the officer said. Real original.

“I’m sorry officer, but no, I do not,” I replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Mr. Hova,” the cop said. “I’m talking to him.” He pointed straight towards Justin as another cop approached the passenger side.

“Mr. Timberlake, please step out of the vehicle,” the officer said. Justin didn’t even get time to step out on his own will, as the cop’s crony practically ripped off my side door and pulled Justin out.

“You’re under arrest,” the cop said as Justin was placed into handcuffs.

“What for?!” Justin asked.

“One count of first-degree cop car stealing.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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Netflix Rec. Punch Drunk Love : You Are Now Exiting Your Comfort Zone!

Piers Telford

The first day I was brought home from hospital my mum told me she handed me to my older brother. After he had taken a good look at me she proceeded to ask him what he thought of this future Zefr employee now resting in his arms. My then three year old brother answered like I would imagine all loving siblings would in loving prose saying, "He's fine, but you did know I wanted a sister right?" Such is the nature of siblings, days old and I am already receiving my first criticism. Fortunately for my self-esteem my brother's initial insolent denigrations of my gender and character have dissipated with age.  In Punch Drunk Love  we see a man that has no such luck.

In this unique romantic dramedy from Paul Thomas Anderson, Adam Sandler plays Barry Egan. Barry is by all means an unhappy man whose day to day from work to home is plagued by constant harassment from his seven overbearing sisters. From repeated phone calls with inane questions to embarrassing stories of his childhood, they rarely give him a moment's piece. The majority of Barry's being because of this is spent unsuccessfully trying to contain his aggression and self-loathing within a failing veil of passivity. Once this veil slips, however, we see a truly passionate man whose only goal is a life where he feels comfortable and loved. 

What really intrigued me about this film is not the touching romantic pay off, however, though as romantic pay offs go it is fantastic. Instead I was more interested in the heightening stress level of Barry Egan and how surprisingly it manages to infect its viewer. Utilizing every aspect of his cinema tool kit, Paul Thomas Anderson rips you from your comfort zone to where you yearn for comfort as much as the main character. Starting with the dialogue, Anderson crafts the conversations in such a way at times that is so hyper realistic and fast you would think it was a shoot out with words. There were moments where I literally had to breathe for Adam Sandler because he sure as hell wasn't doing it. 

Then you start to notice the camera is really almost an extension of Barry. There is a scene where Barry is on the phone in his living room and the Steadicam is pacing along with him. In this scene the cameraman actually bumped the lens into a table causing the frame to jump away from Sandler and to an out of focus part of the set then quickly refocused. Anderson apparently liked the effect so much they recreated it giving the illusion that the camera is just as stressed out as Barry is in the scene. 

If neither of those get you biting your fingernails or pulling out your hair then the score sure is going to. Filled with odd percussion sounds and utilizing unusual instruments like the harmonium, Jon Brion composed the score unconventionally while filming took place. The direct result of this is the overall uneasy tone of the film.  I am not ashamed to admit as well that it made me so uneasy that I had to pause the movie fifteen minutes in because I felt almost in a panic. 

On top of all this there are amazing performances all around by Adam Sandler, Emily Watson, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and Mary Lynn Rajskub alike. I won't lie though. It takes courage to watch this. For my money though any truly great piece of art must elicit an emotional investment from the audience and as the viewer you must be equally willing to make that investment. Paul Thomas Anderson has put together one of those great films here and next time you find yourself scouring the Netflix universe, it is definitely worth your time to test your nerves on Punch Drunk Love.

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The Bar Scene -If there’s a bar scene in heaven, you want Palma Violets to be the house band.

Matt Keeney

 A while back my buddy Phil tells me Craig Finn of the Hold Steady tweeted about how he saw this British band Palma Violets 6 times in 8 nights. He sends me the single, Best of Friends.  I listened to it. A couple hundred times. It is wonderful. Loud, drunken bar music in all the best ways. We awaited, anxiously, the release of a proper full length. It came. It's called 180. We were not disappointed. If none of the tracks are quite as good as Best of Friends it's because that track is probably the best of the year.

  So I went to The Echo in Echo Park to see them last night.  It was sold out and I had been tasked to try to photograph the damn thing. Four bars into it, this became difficult. The movement and energy in the room was everything that is great about live music. This is the kind of thing you take your friend who says he doesn't really dig live music to.  

  Succumbing to the pit and giving up on photos beyond the first couple songs was inevitable. And the whole point I guess. Screaming choruses with sweaty strangers that you suddenly know intimately. This is the point. This band is another in the great tradition of musicians who sound twice as good live. The communal experience can not be recorded, so it will likely always be so.

    By the end of the thing there were a at least dozen people on the stage. Myself included.

  Go see live music. It'll make you feel 19.  

  (Palma Violets - Best Friends)

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Only God Forgives Official International Trailer #1 (2013)