Feature Video: Geese - Taxes
Directed by Noel Paul, whose résumé includes music videos for the likes of Danny Brown, Mitski, Black Midi, Father John Misty and too many more works that will be familiar to regular rage viewers. Noel takes us down, down, down into this slow yet inevitable descent into madness and chaos, with all the bloody violence of a mosh-pit from in the depths of hell, and the painterly sensibilties of a baroque-period master.
"The idea of a crowd in a small rock club going crazy came from the band." says Noel of the video's concept. "My approach was to take inspiration from medieval paintings of damned souls writhing in hell and chiaroscuro Caravaggios of people getting tortured and stuff."
Observant viewers will be able to pick out all kinds of nods to mostly baroque artworks, emerging out from the tenebrous blackness of the dancefloor; Rubens, Carravaggio, and even some Francisco Goya. But even if you don't catch every musuem-worthy reference, the real intention of all this mayhem is just straight vibes.
"To make sure it was more about vibe and less about heavy-handed references, we massively undercranked the camera so the footage would fly by so fast that people wouldn't have time to think about it." Says Noel, of the camera techniques that give the latter half of the video an ethereal, dreamlike quality. "My DoP Lea Taillefer, her team, my movement director Monica Mirabile , and our awesome cast did a great job moving in the way you need to move when you're shooting at such low FPS."
With a music video that features crowds clawing at one another in the darkness, it's pretty apt that 'Taxes' arrives as the lead single off of Geese's third studio album Getting Killed, which is due out in September.
Like the saying goes, nothing is certain except death and…
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ABC News
27 minutes ago
- ABC News
Sex and the City reboot turns interesting women into bumbling fools
When Howard Hawkes's now-classic comedy, His Girl Friday, was released in 1940 starring Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant, the film critic of The New York Times, Frank Nugent, savaged lead character Hildy Johnson — a divorcee newshound chasing one last scoop before she heads off to re-marry — as "a wild caricature which should not be taken seriously". He was wrong, of course. Two years earlier, Katherine Hepburn had gone up against Grant at warp speed in the immortal Bringing Up Baby, and the idea of the fast-talking, ambitious, well-dressed, somewhat madcap woman had been a commercial success ever since Claudette Colbert hitched her skirt to hitch a ride with Clark Gable in It Happened One Night. These movies created a female character lead who became an American cultural classic. Every film and TV show that came afterwards featuring a headstrong, smart-mouthed woman owed a debt to what became known as the "screwball comedies" of the 30s and 40s. Their lineage is undeniable. You wouldn't have The Mary Tyler Moore Show, or Golden Girls, or 30 Rock, or Parks and Recreation without these films and this type of female character. Lena Dunham's Girls is the genre's granddaughter, but the HBO smash Sex and the City was the golden child of the "screwball comedy": it took all those romantic misunderstandings, outlandish scenarios, and the traditional "battle of the sexes" and wrapped them in enviable designer clothes and unapologetic sexual appetite. Like the classic films that defined the genre, SATC delivered strongly written female characters, handed them sharp dialogue and clever repartee and dropped them in situations just a few degrees south of what any romantically exhausted bachelorette might encounter in 1998: weird men with oral sex fetishes; married men who were compulsive liars and a dating roster of the odd, angry and addicted. Just another Friday night in Manhattan. This is a long run-up to where I know you suspect I'm going with all this but bear with me, because the horror of the present really only makes the most sense when you place it in its correct historical context. SATC was a success because the madcap was served with a withering millennial scepticism about love and sex, and the show made one key change from the screwball original: it switched out the male romantic lead for several female ones. The four women of SATC were each other's "love of their lives" as the toxic Mr Big finally figured out. And it made the romantic follies of single NY women bearable that, in the end, they always had each other. OK — we can't avoid it anymore: here we are, in 2025, and deep into the mystery confounding viewers worldwide: what the hell happened to these women? What the hell happened to the TV show that millions loved? We are now in series three of And Just Like That, the reboot of SATC, and this strange show has become without question the most awful, cringeful, embarrassing television most of us have probably ever persisted with. Don't take my word for it. And yet, we can't stop watching it. This bunch of smart, successful young women apparently grew up and lost everything — their sense, intelligence, social radars, insight, ability to read a room, their furniture and — in one case — apparently all their money. I must admit, I probably always hate-watched SATC — Carrie really was the most awful person — but my dread-watch of its bizarre reboot, And Just Like That, sits now at abysmal levels. Most of the great screwball comedies were, unsurprisingly, written by straight, white men (notably, except for Bringing Up Baby) and yet those blokes seem to have had a truer grasp of what drives a woman in love, or drives her mad, than do the ultra-hip writers' room of this show. This quintet of hand-waving hysterics seem to have forgotten how to negotiate an introduction, deal with an attractive co-worker or manage a pernickety neighbour, and have even forgotten their own personal histories. Why is Miranda, a woman who was for years a senior partner in a New York law firm, homeless and living in Airbnbs? Why does Seema, another former partner but of a real estate firm, have no savings at all? Why did Lisa apparently forget that her father was already dead in season one? These previously gimlet-eyed women are presented as stammering, stuttering idiots, fumbling basic social cues, agreeing to a five-year hiatus in their relationship and contradicting their own character arcs. In one episode, Carrie is bewildered and unable to ask her boyfriend even the basic meaning of his text messages; in another, she becomes a stone-cold bitch to her closest friend, Miranda, when she bells the obvious cat of Carrie's flirtation with her neighbour. I'm sorry for the repetition, but: who are these women? In this strange show, in which nothing ever happens (Seinfeld should sue for IP infringement), the women of SATC have devolved into the kind of unflattering caricatures of befuddled older women that would never have flown in the Golden Girls days. Everyone is asking but no one seems to know why. And Just Like That features several writers who also worked on the original Sex and the City, including Julie Rottenberg and Elisa Zuritsky, and showrunner Michael Patrick King continues to play a significant role in the writing and creative direction of And Just Like That, and of course, Sex-meister Darren Star, the original showrunner, is at the helm. You have to assume that the original writers and the newbies cherish these characters as much as their legions of fans do — and yet they twist them into strange and ludicrous shapes that are at the least insulting and, for me, verge on the misogynistic. I can't name a single female character from all my decades of consuming film and television as absurd as these women. My discomfort grows as I watch erstwhile capable women presented as bumbling fools, without the reassurance of well-written comedy or clever satire. Instead, the writing is woefully banal and the women are simply presented as unexplained absurdities. It feels as if it's all a bit of a send-up, as if depicting women in their 50s navigating their version of love, dating, marriage and romantic failure and success simply isn't worthwhile unless you turn them into idiots. Even the (male) titans of Hollywood's so-called "Women's Pictures" knew that'd be a folly: their audiences were smart; their female characters had to be smarter. Instead, in keeping with the general devolution of civilisation, in one of the most popular television shows in the world right now, the depiction of women has gone backwards. Kate Hepburn would smack them all over the back of the head. This weekend, the life of a working woman from a very different perspective: why is it so hard to get a job that provides enough to just live a life and enjoy it? Have a safe and happy weekend and don't forget to listen to the Hottest 100 of Australian music this weekend from 10am on Triple J It's going to be the biggest party in town. Consider this a frantic, last-minute vote: go well. Virginia Trioli is presenter of Creative Types and a former co-host of ABC News Breakfast and Mornings on ABC Radio Melbourne.
News.com.au
2 hours ago
- News.com.au
Brad Pitt's $2 million ‘green flex'
Brad Pitt isn't just portraying a Formula 1 driver in films — he's also a true car enthusiast in real life. The Hollywood star's collection features a roaring V12 Lamborghini, sleek electric Porsches, luxurious 4x4s and one of the world's rarest cars. His car collection itself is estimated to be worth approximately $6.3 million. Here's a look inside his extraordinary car collection. Lamborghini Aventador One of the most impressive vehicles in his collection is the Lamborghini Aventador, a V12-powered machine capable of accelerating from 0 to 100 km/h in approximately three seconds. It's unclear which specific version he owns, but with any Aventador, the screaming V-12 engine can accelerate from 0 to 100 km/h in around 3 seconds. Aston Martin Vanquish Carbon Edition Another head-turner in his collection is the Aston Martin Vanquish Carbon Edition, a 2015 model gifted to him by his ex-wife Angelina Jolie. Audi R8 Spyder There's also an Audi R8 Spyder, and it's pretty easy to see why Brad Pitt owns it. Packing over 600 horsepower and capable of speeds beyond 320 km/h, it's a fitting match for someone chasing the F1 thrill even off-set. Bentley Continental GT For a touch of British luxury, Pitt has a Bentley Continental GT. While he's rarely seen in it, the car is believed to be reserved for special events and award nights. Porsche Taycan Brad Pitt has been seen cruising around Hollywood in his 2023 Porsche Taycan. Depending on the model, the Taycan can have a dual-motor all-wheel drive that's capable of producing up to 751hp and can accelerate from 0 to 100 in 2.4 seconds. While it's unclear which Taycan Pitt owns, photos of him driving it around Los Angeles suggest it could be his new daily vehicle. Two Tesla Model S There's some bad history with one of his two Tesla Model S. In 2018, one of his two Teslas was involved in a three-car crash in Los Angeles. The Tesla Model S produces 670HP and has a top speed of around 320 km/h. It can also accelerate from 0 to 100 in just over three seconds. Mercedes-Benz G55 AMG Pitt is often seen driving his 2008 Mercedes G-Wagon. It's a black Mercedes-Benz G 55 AMG SUV that's fitted with a 5.5-litre supercharged V8 engine that can do 0-100 km/h in 5.5 seconds. Audi Q7 Brad Pitt has chosen the Audi Q7 as his go-to vehicle for picking up his kids and everyday tasks. It's a popular choice among many celebrities and can do 0-100 in 7.7 seconds with its 280hp engine. BMW Hydrogen 7 This could be Pitt's rarest car in his collection. The BMW Hydrogen 7 has a unique engine, allowing drivers to switch between hydrogen gas and petrol. These were built between 2005 and 2007 as part of BMW's exploration of hydrogen-powered vehicles, and only 100 were ever produced. The car has been described as a 'green flex' given it's astronomical price tag. It's said to be worth around $2m. He was last seen driving this car while attending the premiere of Ocean's 13. 'HIGHEST OF HIGHS' A month on from the release of his F1 film, Brad Pitt has opened up about his behind-the-scenes racing experience, sharing which legendary Formula One circuit left him 'breathless'. While reviews of the movie have been mixed, it's clear that Pitt received a front-row seat to one of the world's most prestigious motorsport events. While filming the F1 movie, he drove on various race tracks that comprise the Formula 1 calendar. And now Brad Pitt has opened up and shared his experience on which Formula 1 track left him feeling the 'highest of highs'. During a recent podcast interview with Tom Clarkson on Beyond The Grid, Pitt opened up about his new-found appreciation for the world's most iconic circuits like Silverstone and Abu Dhabi. However, there was one track that made him feel completely different from the rest. And that crown belongs to Belgium's Spa-Francorchamps, commonly referred to as Spa. 'But the high of highs? Spa. Oh my god! 4.3 miles, 100-metre elevation … It's such a smooth, graceful feeling,' Brad Pitt said. 'And then of course, Eau Rouge, we went to the bottom of Eau Rouge, turned behind, looked up the hill and waited. 'Fernando Alonso went by, and it literally sucks the air out of your lungs. It is unbelievable. It is unbelievable. 'That was that same weekend we were driving, I'd been out, but I wasn't doing what Fernando was doing!'
News.com.au
2 hours ago
- News.com.au
‘Lives have been detonated': Terrifying fact about Coldplay CEO
The memes, oh, the memes! In the week since Andy Byron, the married CEO of Astronomer, and the company's similarly married head of HR Kristin Cabot were caught embracing on camera at a Coldplay concert, the internet has responded by what it does best: Copying and pasting. Heads and TV characters and politicians. The meme output of Coldplaygate has been brilliant, prodigious, hilarious and the whole saga has been social media spawned, obsessively followed schadenfreude-laced soap. In short, the internet has been having a right good old time of it. But with the vast benefit of more than seven days of hindsight, Coldplaygate should scare the pants off all of us. Never before in history has one mistake, one moment, one stupid word or selfish deed or bad choice had the power to tear apart lives and to devastate peoples' worlds. To err is human – but for someone to film that erring and share it and have it so noxiously trend is decidedly 2025. Andy Warhol argued that everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame; today that phrase sounds less like a promise and more like a chilling threat. What Coldplaygate lays bare is the danger of what happens when the very human impulse for shaming and a good old fashioned pile on is combined with the ubiquity of phones and the terrifying swiftness of the algorithm. Virality and internet fame are now so often not a shortcut to celebrity and cash, something to aspire to, but something to fear. What did Bryon and Cabot's lives and families look like at 6pm on Wednesday, July 16, the actual date of the concert? Very cookie-cutter, American dream-ish by all accounts. Spouses, kids, successful careers, impressive houses. Both were (and reportedly are) married and had big jobs at Astronomer, a billion-dollar AI company. Then, in the space of 12 hours, Byron and Cabot went from being anonymous professionals to having hit a degree of internet infamy I'm not sure we've ever seen before. That Wednesday night they attended a Coldplay gig at Boston's Gillette Stadium where the roving 'kiss cam' zeroed in on them as Byron held Cabot in his arms. Their immediate, instinctual reaction was called out by the band's frontman Chris Martin who told the roughly 55,000-strong crowd, 'Either they're having an affair, or they're just very shy.' The kiss cam moment had been filmed by 28-year – old Coldplay fan Grace Springer, who later that night, about 1am Boston time, posted the moment on TikTok. The app's black box algorithm did its thing and within two hours the internet was reportedly already on the case and Byron and Cabot's identities were being ferreted out. By about 3am there was an uptick in Google searches for their names, Business Insider reports. Before Springer had gone to bed the video had 'a couple of thousand views,' she later said. 'I woke up to seven million.' Byron and Cabot's lives and their families' lives, had been detonated and the internet was hoovering it up, devouring the messiness, the stupidity, the ego. The video only spread and spread. By midday on Thursday, less than 12 hours after Springer had posted the clip, it had generated more than 30,000 posts on X, per Insider. A few hours later, by that afternoon, Byron had been Googled more than two million times. Within 48 hours he had resigned as Astronomer CEO and his wife Megan Kerrigan Byron, had removed 'Byron' from her surname on her Facebook account before deactivating the page. Cabot has also since resigned from Astronomer and was photographed this week without her wedding ring. The terminal velocity of this is breathtaking. When Cabot finished her working day on that Wednesday, the day the video was filmed, she was a seemingly normal 56-year-old; now Us Weekly, Page Six and the Daily Mail are doing background pieces about her. The New York Times, The (London) Times, The Wall Street Journal, CNN have all reported on this story. On Friday the Mail published photos of her in her garden at home. Just think about that – two weeks ago she was nobody and now she has a paparazzo outside her house. The numbers around the Coldplay video are impossible to rationally compute. On Springer's original account alone, the clip has been viewed more than 127 million times. On the X accounts of leading Gen Z celebrity news sites Pop Craze and Pop Base, it has racked up more than 217 million views. The combined viewer count on these accounts alone – 344 million – equated to every man, woman and child in the United States and four million Canadians having watched Byron and Cabot canoodling. That is a nightmarish level of exposure. George Orwell warned about a dystopian, governmental Big Brother – he could never have predicted that we would be both the watchers and the watched. We are everyone else's big brothers. The degree of surveillance we now all live under, the fact that cameras are everywhere, means that mistakes and bad choices can devastate multiple lives in a way they never have before been able to. RIP privacy. Anywhere and everywhere. Someone is always watching. For a life to change in a moment, it used to take a bad diagnosis, being in the wrong place at a violent time, Mother Nature running her angry course. Now you just need to have someone pointing a phone in your direction at an inopportune moment. What has also become clear in recent days is that Coldplaygate says something about how, in 2025, internet shaming, as New York University professor and investor Scott Galloway has argued, has become a form of group entertainment. Some time around the 900s, the English took a break from getting the plague to invent the stocks. It was about ritualised, communal humiliation and shaming, a community being given permission to jeer and use up rotten spuds, a wrongdoer punished not physically but humiliating them. Coldplaygate is a replay of that, minus the mouldy, lobbable marrows. Who wins here? Byron and Cabot's spouses maybe but what a humiliating, gut punch of a way to learn about alleged infidelity. Even Grace Springer who filmed it and now has more than 51,000 followers (and 11 million likes) has not really tangibly benefited, telling British breakfast TV this week, 'I've actually made no money from the video itself or the views'. This week she added a link to her TikTok account for donations to pay off her reported $121,000 in student loans. She has not revealed if anyone has given her a $1.
