Audacious and knotty as it is viewer-friendly, Greek filmmaker George Lazopolous’ first and (seemingly) only film mines a territory at once strange and familiar. A wry tale which takes in Greek mythology, punk-rock rebellion and the influences of the American suspense-drama, Medousa is an effective and curious little thriller about myth and obsession. For such a low-budget effort, it shouldn’t be nearly as entertaining as it really is. Lazopolous, however, manages a fine balance with the many disparate elements he has at his disposal.
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Los Angeles’ pop artist MILCK (a.k.a. Connie Lim) started out playing the pop game and trying to conform to gender and racial stereotypes, but’s she too smart and creative to have kept that up for long. Renaming herself MILCK, she cast off the expectations of others and decided to focus on developing her unique voice. In doing so, MILCK has become an artist to watch for her truth to power approach to her new music.
Paul Carr: Over rudimentary beats and the barest of bass lines, Sleaford Mods address the collapse of one of the UK’s oldest and most famous department store chains. Rather than a furious protest anthem for the 99% or a rousing anthem against the fat cats that get rich at the expense of the little man, it is delivered as a pithy statement of fact. A tacit acknowledgment that there is no fairness in society and the rich man is, inevitably always going to win, leaving the vultures to pick over the carcasses they leave behind. Moreover, the band maintains their ability to describe the grubby mundanity of everyday British life. There is no grandeur or attempt to explore life’s big questions. No real stylistic “growth”. This is what Sleaford Mods do, and it is what it is. Just don’t come looking for answers. [7/10]
Event is a mystery that revolves around whether or not we can trust an AI. It’s a standard story conceit in sci-fi—the suspicious computer—but event adds its twist to the trope by highlighting the unique tragedy of artificial life. This is one of the few games that acknowledges the ugly implications of a computerized intelligence.
As I wrote this, from the corner of my eye, I could see CNN providing coverage of a gargantuan hurricane, racing resolutely towards the eastern coastal arc of the US, extending from Florida all the way up to the Carolinas. The footage shows fierce winds roiling the waters of the Atlantic; wave after wave, crashing against the shore, slopping out over the edge of the sea wall. It could have been an event such as this that prompted J.G. Ballard to write The Drowned World—a forerunner of a genre, dubbed in the 21st century as “climate-fiction”—in which he paints a nightmare landscape, where the seas have swelled and swallowed up the land.