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The Hooksexup Insider
A daily pick of what's new and hot at Hooksexup.
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Your daily cup of WTF?
Hooksexup@SXSW 2006.
Blogging the Roman Orgy of Indie-music Festivals.
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An intimate and provocative look at Siege's life, work and loves.
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two best friends pursue business and pleasure in NYC.
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The lustful, frantic diary of a young London photographer.
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A sassy Canadian who will school you at Tetris.
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Houston neighbors pull back the curtains and expose each other's lives.
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Hooksexup's TV blog.
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The Screengrab

  • Take Five: Days of the Week

    Opening wide this Friday is David E. Talbert's First Sunday, which should represent the final nail in a coffin which contains the mouldering remains of Ice Cube's reputation as an American nightmare.  Younger Screengrab readers may not realize this, but Cube was once a rapper who so terrified white America that they put him on the cover of national news magazines, where he sneered and scowled his way right into your scaredy-bones.  Now he just makes comedies that Steve Martin is too busy to bother with.  Anyway, Talbert is being claimed as the new Tyler Perry, which, depending on your inclinations, is either a refreshing change or a dire threat.  We were sort of hoping that First Sunday would function as a pseudo-sequel to the Friday films and would, at the very least, treat us to the spectacle of Cube and Katt Williams having to sit through a really long, dull sermon while stoned out of their gourds, which is an experience we've all had at one time or another.  Unfortunately, it's no such thing, so here's some other movies you can look forward to after this endless Sunday is over.

    STORMY MONDAY (1988)

    Back before Mike Figgis hit it big, he directed this quirky little neo-noir thriller.  It hasn't proven to be one of his lasting legacies as a filmmaker; for everything it does right, it goofs up in some profound way that nearly sinks it — its plot is pretty thin even by the standards of such potboilers, and two fine lead performances by British actors (Sting and a young Sean Bean) are clumsily countered by two dopey ones by American actors (an ultra-hammy Tommy Lee Jones and Melanie Griffith, clearly letting the clock run down on her fifteen minutes of fame).  That said, it's worth watching for two reasons:  first, it gives you an important stepping point in the development of Figgis' career, should you be interested in pursuing such a thing; and second, it's crazily gorgeous to look at.  It features some nearly perfect cinematography by the estimable Roger Deakins, all rain-slicked streets and cheap neon and hazes of cigarette smoke and shadows that people fall into and never emerge.  It's all surface; you'll find no depth here no matter how hard you look.  But if surface is all you're looking for, you could do a lot worse than Stormy Monday.

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