Saskatoon made film hits theatres
Writer/Co-director Tim Boechler on his new feature film "Finding Emily" arriving on the big screen this weekend
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National Post
an hour ago
- National Post
Michael Madsen, star of Reservoir Dogs and Kill Bill, dies at 67
LOS ANGELES — Michael Madsen, the actor best known for his coolly menacing, steely-eyed, often sadistic characters in the films of Quentin Tarantino including Reservoir Dogs and Kill Bill: Vol. 2, has died. Article content Madsen was found unresponsive in his home in Malibu, Calif., on Thursday morning and pronounced dead, Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department Watch Commander Christopher Jauregui said. He is believed to have died of natural causes and authorities do not suspect any foul play was involved. Madsen's manager Ron Smith said cardiac arrest was the apparent cause. He was 67. Article content Article content Madsen's career spanned more than 300 credits stretching back to the early 1980s, many in low-budget and independent films. He often played low-level thugs, gangsters and shady cops in small roles. Tarantino would use that identity, but make him a main character. Article content His torture of a captured police officer in Tarantino's 1992 directorial debut Reservoir Dogs, in which Madsen's black-suited bank robber Vic 'Mr. Blonde' Vega severs the man's ear while dancing to Stealers Wheel's Stuck in the Middle with You was an early career-defining moment for both director and actor. Article content Madsen told the Associated Press in 2012 that he hated having to do the scene, especially after the actor playing the officer, Kirk Baltz, ad-libbed a line where he begged for his life because he had children. Article content 'I just said, 'Oh my God,' I couldn't do it, I didn't want to do it,' Madsen said. 'Acting is such a humiliating profession.' Article content He would become a Tarantino regular. He had a small role as the cowboy-hatted desert dweller Budd, a member of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, in 2003's Kill Bill: Vol. 1, then a starring role the following year in the sequel, in which he battles with Uma Thurman's protagonist The Bride and buries her alive. Article content Madsen also appeared in Tarantino's The Hateful Eight and Once Upon a Time… In Hollywood. He was an alternate choice to play the hit man role that revived John Travolta's career in 1994's Pulp Fiction. The character, Vincent Vega, is the brother of Madsen's Reservoir Dogs robber in Tarantino's cinematic universe. Article content Article content Article content His sister, Oscar-nominated Sideways actor Virginia Madsen, was among those paying him tribute on Thursday. Article content 'He was thunder and velvet. Mischief wrapped in tenderness. A poet disguised as an outlaw. A father, a son, a brother — etched in contradiction, tempered by love that left its mark,' she said in a statement. 'I'll miss our inside jokes, the sudden laughter, the sound of him. I'll miss the boy he was before the legend. I miss my big brother.' Article content His Hateful Eight co-star and fellow Tarantino favourite Walton Goggins celebrated him on Instagram. Article content 'Michael Madsen… this man… this artist… this poet… this rascal…' Goggins wrote. 'Aura like no one else. Ain't enough words so I'll just say this…. I love you buddy. A H8TER forever.'
CBC
an hour ago
- CBC
For George Takei, coming out has been a lifelong process
Social Sharing At a young age, George Takei learned that he was different — and being perceived as different could be dangerous. The actor who's best known for playing Hikaru Sulu on Star Trek spent his childhood in two internment camps during the Second World War, when people of Japanese descent were forcibly and wrongfully incarcerated across the U.S. and Canada. Takei wrote about that experience in his 2019 graphic memoir, They Called Us Enemy. After the war ended, Takei and his family moved to a low-income neighbourhood of Los Angeles where he quickly discovered that there was something else about him that made him different: he was attracted to other boys. "I decided I didn't want to be different again," the actor tells Q guest host Talia Schlanger in an interview. "I started acting like the other boys…. I was able to build another kind of barbed wire fence, an invisible barbed wire fence that kept me confined in my body and not visibly identifiable." Now, Takei has released a new graphic memoir, It Rhymes with Takei, which unpacks his experience living as a closeted gay man until 2005, when he publicly came out at the age of 68. In the book, he explains that coming out isn't as simple as opening a door — it's a lifelong process. "I use the metaphor for a long, narrow, dark corridor," he says. "But then you come to a window that allows a little light in … and you keep walking down that corridor and you finally reach that doorknob and you make a decision: you grab it and you open it, ready for combat, if you will." After being punished for his differences in childhood, it's understandable why Takei was fearful of revealing his true self. Even just 20 years ago, he thought disclosing his sexual orientation would mark the end of his career. "But the very opposite happened," he says. "Media seemed to love it. And I started getting calls from CBS, NBC, ABC, from various magazine periodicals. They wanted to know the story behind gay George Takei. Or they wrote roles, like on The Big Bang Theory, for gay George Takei in my Star Trek uniform. And my career blossomed."
CBC
3 hours ago
- CBC
Between 'simps' and sandworms, there are many ways to measure success in Quebec cinema
Le Bel Écran is a monthly column about Quebec's screen culture from a local perspective. What does success in the arts look like? Awards, money and prestige? In cinema, the question is complicated by technology and heavier costs than art forms like painting, writing or music. As a result, even the most prolific filmmakers optimistically only release a few films a decade. That isn't the case, though, for Quebec filmmaker Denis Côté. Alternating between self-financed and government funded projects, Côté churns out nearly one film a year. His movies screen at festivals like Cannes, Berlin and Locarno. He's a critical darling; a name most people would recognize on the festival circuit. But, while his films win awards in Europe, they have very little impact on the local box-office. While some Quebec filmmakers are household names, Côté remains certifiably niche, celebrated by many but known by few. Does Denis Côté dream of sandworms and spice, or is he exactly where he wants to be? Côté's latest film, Paul, is a self-financed documentary about a "cleaning simp" and content creator. Paul, the subject of the film, creates short-form video content documenting his attempts to lose weight by cleaning houses for women. For the most part, these women are sex workers, specializing in dominating and humiliating men willing to pay. Though ripe for exploitation, Côté's gaze remains neutral if not outright tender, in his fly-on-the-wall approach to Paul's unusual routine. A quick survey of Côté's filmography reveals an eclectic array of subjects from bodybuilders to nymphomaniacs, zoo animals to hermits. Anything but pedestrian, some common themes nonetheless emerge; alienation, isolation and outcasts. His movies can feel distant; they're quiet and adopt a distant, almost neutral point of view. Using few cuts and wide shots, time seems to unfold in a way that mirrors reality. This realism is deceptive though, as many of his films play around with the concept of artifice. Even his documentaries are touched by a sense of recreation and fiction, the boundaries of reality blurred and ambiguous. Paul's unusual predilections have an irresistible appeal, but it's clear that what fascinated Côté is that blurred line. Where does the performance begin and end with Paul? Côté describes Paul as a socially anxious young man who struggled to meet women. He spent most of his 20s gaming with his cousin in a small apartment. "No light coming in, just gaming all day long and ordering fast food. Then, at 27, he decided to find a trick to meet women," he says. "It had nothing to do with being a submissive, that's why he's a bit different." Even after making the film and hosting several q&as, it's clear that Paul remains an enigma for Côté. How is someone who is so introverted and shy also making videos sharing the most intimate aspects of his life? Côté even wondered if Paul was toying with him. "Sometimes we'd come back from a day of shooting and I'd feel like he played with us today. It wasn't the real him. It was for the camera. Is it really Paul or a character?" Their correspondence is limited, as Paul isn't too keen on interacting with men, but he'd regularly message Côté whenever he saw a boost in his followers. If he expressed apprehension about the new attention, he also reveled in it. Part of what makes Paul, as a film, so fascinating is its approach to Paul's own "content creation." The film isn't just about his submission, but also his artistry, and his exhibitionism. In some ways, the argument can be made that with over 10,000 followers on Instagram, Paul has a bigger audience than Denis Côté. His most popular reels have well over 40k views. But, how important is reaching an audience for Côté? Pragmatic, Côtê is well aware of where he sits on the cinematic podium. His success with institutions has very little to do with his box-office appeal. "Institutions are very sensitive to international representation," he explains. Whereas films like Nos Belles-Soeurs might earn over $3 million at the box-office in Quebec, Côté's films are seen by diplomats and politicians. They play at international festivals. " Paul will end up with 35 festival screenings, which is a lot," he says. "I'm okay with the institutions as long as I ask for under 3.5 million." "I feel good because I know I can be myself and be supported. Of sixteen films, I had seven financed. I'm fine traveling the world and shaking hands and being screened to 27 people," he says. "I'm not depressed about it. Do I want to be more famous? No. Do I want to be more respected? No." He explains that the normal trajectory for filmmakers in Quebec is that they work through the low-budget trenches and then start making big budget films, or even head to Hollywood. "Pascal Plante may make one or two films, then ask for six million. I want to continue making my weird little films." While some people dream of Dune or Blade Runner 2049, Côtê says he's not interested in making a film over $3.5 million. "A lot of people have a curve of ambition; it's human, it's natural. I'm Hong Sang-soo," he explains, invoking the South Korean filmmaker who self-finances his projects on minimal budgets and churns out two to three films a year. "It's not because you get money that it's good and once you understand that, you're free."
