A "Fearless" Trek Into the Spiritually Uncharted

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Jet Li's Fearless is quite possibly the best wushu film ever made. This is a work that transcends the cliches associated with the kung fu genre to emerge as an odyssey of spiritual redemption. Very loosely based on the life of Chinese folk hero Huo Juanjia, founder of the Jingwu Sports Federation, Fearless works both as memoir for Jet Li (at least, in a metaphorical sense), and as an allegory on human foibles.

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Directed by Ronnie Yu (The Bride with White Hair), Fearless glides effortlessly between brutal action and pastoral tenderness, between wry humor and somber musing. It's a straightforward, simple tale, told largely in flashbacks, but Yu's pacing immerses the viewer in such a way that it feels like the flow of a river. Coupled with Poon Yang Sang's cinematography, the film becomes visual poetry. Scenes are framed with the Golden Mean in mind, and filmed with the delicacy of a watercolor landscape.

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That's not to imply that martial arts film fans will be disappointed with the action sequences of Fearless. This is, after all, a martial arts film, and the fight scenes are beautifully choreographed by Yuen Wo Ping of Kill Bill and The Matrix fame. In his hands, the rapidfire physicality of the violence becomes almost a brutal ballet.

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But the heart of Fearless is in its story. Li portrays Huo initially as a man beset by demons he doesn't even realize dwell within him. His only goal in life is is to be recognized as the best fighter in China. When his reckless ways result in the death of a rival, his self-made world is utterly crushed, as his mother and daughter are slaughtered in an act of revenge. What follows is a Siddhartha-like journey of redemption and humility. When he returns at last to Shanghai, he finds his homeland a shadow of its former self, ridiculed as "the sick man of Asia." Overrun with both Westerners and the Japanese, the country is no longer united and has lost face in the eyes of the world. Huo, changed and contemplative, takes it upon himself to restore the honor of China through a series of staged fights with the West's best fighters.

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Jet Li has stated unequivically that Fearless will be his final martial arts film. Of course, he'll still be doing action films, but in the future, he plans to concentrate more on drama. Last year's excellent, but underrated Unleashed may offer a glimpse as to where his career is headed. If Li is serious about leaving the wushu genre--and there's no reason to doubt him--there could not be a worthier film than Fearless to cap his career. Li wanted his last kung fu movie to transcend the conventions of the genre. He wanted it to be more about the true nature of martial arts, the philosophy, rather than focus solely on pandering, cartoon violence prevalent in much of the genre. He views Fearless as the culmination of his life's work, and of his philosophy, as well.

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The resultant product is a work that is one of the most visually stunning films of 2006. Scenery, costuming, cinematography and pacing all work synergystically to create a tableau that speaks volumes. Sparse in dialogue, it is a film that tells its story simply but effectively--letting the viewer's perceptions fill in the blanks. On a somewhat related note, http://www.jetlisfearless.com/game gives viewers an opportunity to paste scenes in whatever manner suits their fancy. It doesn't alter the story, but it can alter a viewer's perception of it.

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Like Hero and House of Flying Daggers before it, Fearless elevates what used to be perceived as puerile chop-sockey into a rarefied idiom that quietly, if sometimes brutally, speaks to a universal truth. Violence may rule the world, but it doesn't have to rule us.

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Ahmet Ertegun 1923-2006

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Ahmet Ertegun, founder of Atlantic Records and a visionary who was instrumental in defining pop culture as we know it, has died. He was 83.

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He was linked to music until the end. It was during a Rolling Stones performance celebrating former President Clinton's 60th birthday, that Ertegun slipped and fell, sustaining head injuries. He slipped into a coma in early November and died Thursday.

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The son of a Turkish ambassador, Ertegun founded Atlantic Records in 1947, with a $10,000 loan from his dentist. The label initially made its mark bringing African-American music into the mainstream, signing artists such as Big Joe Turner, Ruth Brown and the legendary Ray Charles. He's also credited with propelling Aretha Franklin to her status as the Queen of Soul.

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A true visionary, Ertegun realized the potential of rock in the sixties and diversified, signing the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Cream and a number of others. His influence in shaping the music industry as we know it earned him induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1987 (which he also founded.

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He was a man who loved the music scene, and his like will not be seen again.

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"I've been in the studio when you go through a track and you run down a track and you know even before the singer starts singing, you know the track is swinging ... you know you have a multimillion-seller hit — and what you're working on suddenly has magic," he said. "That's the biggest."

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It was that passion that made Ahmet Ertegun more than a record executive--he had an uncanny ability to tap into into the pop consciousness and interpret

it into hit music. And he did it for almost sixty years.

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Why the Grinch Is My Yuletide Hero

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The Grinch is about to turn fifty, and he's spent forty of his years stealing Christmas on the small tube. I'm pretty sure I've watched it every one of those years-- in fact, the season doesn't kick in for me untill I've had my annual Grinch fix.

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See, I have an aversion to schmaltz that fringes on the clinically obsessive. The holiday season (which, I believe, now unofficially begins approximately 2.4 weeks before Halloween) only heightens my anxiety. The most insipid versions of Christmas songs are piped into every retail outlet, an insidious tactic that I'm certain is designed to make shoppers buy everything, anything without conscious thought. They'll buy and buy, and go to superhuman lengths to make their purchase-- anything to escape those morbidly mundane renditions of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town."

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Round the clock screenings of It's A Wonderful Life, peppered with commercials telling me why I need a Ford truck under the tree this year, make me think it's anything but. Then I have to be concerned about the possible faux pas, regardless of how I say "I wish you well."

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How the Grinch Stole Christmas brings a smile to my face, though. He's a character I can relate to. He's been unfairly villified, to the point his name is synonymous with a lack of Christmas cheer. In point of fact though, he didn't steal Christmas-- he liberated it. From his vantage point on Mt. Crumpit, he was able to look down on Whoville and see a populace obsessed with conspicuous consumption. It wasn't the spirit of Christmas that bugged him--it was the commercialization of the holiday that turned him desperately sour. So he took away all the commercialization--anarchistic, perhaps, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

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It was a flawed plan at best. But thanks to Theordor Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss, and legendary animator Chuck Jones (of Bugs Bunny, Marvin the Martian, etcetera, on and on fame), the exploits of the oft misunderstood Grinch became an integral part of the Holiday season.Dr. Seuss laid the foundation with his original book, and Jones added a dimension of frailty that universally resonates in us. After all , the Grinch has a dog named Max, who faithfully follows his master's plan. Jones's depiction of the hapless Max as he faithfully follows his master, is genius. With an arch of an eyebrow or a desperately dismayed drop of the jaw, we knew instinctively that the plan was going to go awry.

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Not a spoiler alert, at least, not for anyone born in the last forty years

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When the Grinch looks down from on high, and sees that the celebration goes on, without or without gifts, he rewards the citizenry of Whoville by personally returning the gifts. And Grinch, in an odd turn of events, gets the key to the city, so to speak, when he carves the roast beast. It gets dangerously close to schmaltzy, but it ends there--no fanfare, no lecture.

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For my money, How the Grinch Stole Christmas is the absolute best holiday TV film. Period.

Dr. Seuss was a genius at wordplay, and his simple tale embodies the yuletide spirit. Chuck Jones, through his mastery of visual characterization and slapstick humor, fleshed out all the characters and imbued them with something that touches us all.

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The fact that it makes you laught, no matter how many times you've seen it, doesn't hurt at all. And isn't that what the season is all about?

The Big Bang Bang Theory

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To say that the Bang Bang's first and only album is the stuff of mythology is is an understatement at best. They recorded just one album, with only nine tracks, and even that was never released. Yet, the tragic tale of conjoined twins Tom and Barry Howe, played out all too briefly in 1975, remains a major canon in the origins of British punk.

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When controversial promoter Zak Beberwick signed the twins to a one-year renewable contract, he envisioned a band in the Bay City Rollers mode, but with the twist of the heartthrob frontmen being siamese twins. What he got instead was a band that defined the frustrations and anger of disenfranchised youth. The Howes knew full well that they were to be marketed as a sort of bubble gum freak show, but they had other ideas.

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From the outset, the Bang Bang were known for their live performances. They were loud, they were raw, they were outrageous, and mostly, they were rock unleashed. That first gig, at the notorious Shangri-La in January 1975, in front of an initially hostile audience of about forty or so, set the tone for their brief career. As the story goes, the small crowd, thinking the twins were another glam band, heckled them mercillessly until Barry ripped open his shirt to expose the fleshy pin that connected him to Tom. Thus are legends born.

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The following months propelled the Bang Bang to the top of the London scene in 1975. Their meteoric rise as a live band made them the darlings of rock journalists, and the public eagerly awaited their debut album. The Bang Bang were poised to become the Next Big Thing. But with the twins' untimely death (rumors have it as a suicide), the album was never released. Inexplicably, Bedderwick pulled the plug on the entire project.

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The story might have ended there, had it not been for Brian Aldiss's 1977 novella "Brothers of the Head," a fictionalized account of the Bang Bang' story. That work refueled interest in the Howe Brothers, culminating in the 2006 "faux documentary" Brothers of the Head," by Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe. The legend of the Bang Bang was reborn and repackaged for a new generation.

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Marketed as Brothers of the Head: Music From the Motion Picture, the nine songs that were never released have finally, thirty years later, seen the light of day. What is most astounding about it is it sounds so fresh, you're tempted to believe it was recorded this year. But when you begin to listen to the album, and pay attention to its references, it soon becomes apparent that that what was originally to have been titled The Bang Bang is a product of its time.

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Consciously or otherwise, much of the album draws its vibe from some of the fringe stars of the time. The influence of David Bowie, in his Man Who Sold the World phase, is there, as is that of Marc Bolan's T. Rex. There are even traces of Iggy and the Stooges and Slade. Admittedly, the Howes didn't write a lot of their material--in fact, Barry's "Sink Or Swim" is the only tune credited to the twins on the album. Most of the material was written for them, in keeping with Bederick's original bubble gum vision.

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The Bang Bang, however, took those songs, turned them inside out and transformed them into something restless, something dangerous--in short, something that was the essence of punk. "Two-Way Romeo" was originally envisioned to be a sort of theme song for the Bang Bang, along the lines of the Monkees. The band's delivery was something decidedly different--it's uptempo theme was infused with a mockery of the period's sexual mores. Similarly, "Sitting in a Car" was intended as a musical sightseeing tour of London. The Howes saw the tour through jaded eyes, and the resultant cut was awash in the blase attitude that would become the benchmark of BritPop in the eighties. But it was their blistering "Doola and Daula" that was destined to become their trademark tune, and is widely regarded as the single tune to chart the course for bands like the Sex Pistols and the Buzzcocks.

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Obviously, the Bang Bang did not lay the foundation for punk--underground bands in New York and Detroit had already set those wheels in motion. What they did accomplish was formidable nonetheless, particularly considering their career spanned a mere ten months in 1975. We can only speculate what they might have done had the Howe brothers lives not been cut so short.

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Brothers of the Head: Music from the Motion Picture offers at least a glimpse of what might have been. Besides the nine tracks from the proposed LP, the disc includes nine bonus tracks. Mostly alternative versions and demo outtakes, the bonus cuts provide insights into the twins' creative process. Taken together, the eighteen tracks on this disc represent the complete known body of the Bang Bang recordings.

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The alternate reality of the Bang Bang, and the music scene that might have been, will be discussed and debated in critical circles for years to come. With this album, we can finally draw our own conclusions. Coupled with the documentary film Brothers of the Head, the long-lost Bang Bang album is an essential piece of rock history. One thing is certain. The Howe Brothers and their band will no longer be a footnote.

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Remembering John Lennon

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This evening, 8 December, marks perhaps the singlemost tragically senseless day in the history of rock. It was on this date 26 years ago that John Lennon was gunned down by Mark David Chapman.

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It was also on this date that popular culture was robbed of one of its most precious assets. Lennon wasn't just an ex-Beatle--he inspired many of us to accept a sense of responsibility in our creative endeavors. He was, and remains, an inspiration to those of us who hold to the naive proposition that music (or film or writing or art) can, in fact, change the world.

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The Nixon-era Feds apparently believed him, too. After "Give Peace A Chance" became an anti-war anthem for Vietnam protestors, the Nixon Administration built an FBI file around his activities. When Lennon announced plans in 1972 for a world tour to encourage voter registration and protest the war, the Federal government pounced with a deportation order.

All of this is chronicled in the film The U.S. vs. John Lennon. And to make a brutally long story mercifully short, Lennon eventually won the case.

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Adversity often fuels a creative spark, and it was during this time that Lennon was at his most adventurous. He wasn't concerned about making a hit record so much as he was concerned about using his superstar status to affect social and political change. It just so happened, though, that he made some infectious, rockin' tunes in the process.

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The U.S vs. John Lennon: Music From the Motion Picture showcases some of Lennon's best work from this period. An interviewer once asked him if he considered himself a genius. Lennon's reply was, "If there's any such thing as a genius, then yeah." It was that ability to be both self-effacing and sarcastic in a single phrase that made him one of the true rock greats. More than that, he was a spokesman for a generation. He was, in so many ways, our voice. What we were thinking, he said. And he said it in a way that was often angry, always tinged with humor, and never weighted with pretension.

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A song like "Gimme Some Truth," with lyrics like "I've had enough of reading things by neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians" rings as true today as it did in 1972, regardless of one's political leanings. "Give Peace A Chance" has outlived any controversy initially surrounding it to become a universal mantra in our unsettled global state. "Working Class Hero," banned at the time because of its use of the F-word, takes on a new significance in this age of economic uncertainty.

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Even at his angriest, Lennon maintained his sense of humor. "I believe time wounds all heels," he said when asked if he was concerned about his deportation hearings. He believed the way to wage a revolution was to use humor as a weapon. He was a brilliant, if often overlooked, satirist.

The classic "Ballad of John and Yoko" offers incontrovertible proof of that. With its bemused look at the press hoopla surrounding the couple's "bed-in" for world peace, it also showed he knew how to work a room.

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But Lennon was more than an angry clown. He was capable of touching the core of the human condition with a profundity rarely seen in pop music. "Imagine" resonates with a common chord we all feel, that elusive dream of a world without conflict. (Ironically, it was the song that allegedly set Chapman on his course to kill Lennon.) "Love" illustrates Lennon's attempts to define the indefinable. To him, love was the one universal that held the cosmos together. He expands on this theme with the unlikely holiday greeting card, "Merry Xmas (War Is Over)."

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The U.S. vs. John Lennon soundtrack highlights some of Lennon's best work. It offers us a reminder that he was a man beset by inner demons, but he never let them get the best of him.

Rather, he shared them with us, and invited us to listen as he shook them from his soul. And as we listened, we came to realize we shared those demons. And realizing that, we were inspired to make our creative urges mean something more than a three chord progression. The three chords were fine. He showed us how to fill them.

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"Okay, flower power didn't work. So what? We start again," he said. And that, my friends, was the beginning of a movement. Lennon knew change was in the air. He was at the forefront of it.

He wasn't content to be a Beatle. He wanted to change the world.

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Chapman had other ideas. He couldn't stand being a nobody anymore, or so he said when asked why he killed Lennon. I really don't care why he killed John Lennon, any more than I care why Sirhan Sirhan killed Bobby Kennedy. Tiny brains are incapable of evolving. It's that simple. Since they can't evolve, their only recourse is to destroy.

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Listening to John Lennon tonight, I realize tiny minds rot in their own bile. The rest of us--well, we remember forever, and move on. That's how Lennon would have wanted it.

Living and Dying, Grieving and Lying in the 'Burbs
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The domestication of Dexter continues in "Father Knows Best." This is another of those episodes that quietly explores the dichotomy of his personality while revealing more of his past. A lot more.

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If there was any doubt that Dexter has finally accepted that he's in a relationship with Rita, this episode quells them. It opens with the couple showering together--or at least attempting to. Before any good stuff can happen, though, the kids break things up, as kids do, with an ill-timed need to pee. If that's not "family-oriented", than nothing is. We also find out that Dexter has a nasty scar running down his side, and as with most everything else in this series, its origins are shrouded in mystery. Dexter plays it for laughs, though, telling the kids he got in a swordfight.

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The day seems to be off to a good start, but when Dexter gets to to work, Deb presents him with a registered letter that brings more mysteries come to the fore. Seems Dexter's real father has died and left Dexter his house. This comes as shocking news to both Dexter and Deb, since Harry had raised Dexter with the belief that his real parents had died in "a horrible accident" of unspecified details. And we all know that Harry was nothing if not honest.

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Still, Dexter's curiosity is piqued, and so is Rita's. She finds a sitter for the kids, and informs Dexter she's going with him to Dade to help him clear up matters. As I said, Dexter, like it or not, is in a serious relationship now. Apparently, so are Deb and Rudy, since they show up, unannounced, at the house to help put this inconvenience behind him. (Hmm... Dex and Rita, Deb and Rudy. Are the writers playing games here, or drawing connections?)

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Meanwhile, in subplot land, Doakes is involved in the shooting of a fleeing suspect. Complications ensue when Doakes's version of what happened don't jibe with the evidence. We do learn, however, that Doakes was involved in Special Ops during the Haitian Crisis, and that the man he shot was a member of death squads there. It makes you wonder if Doakes is quietly dispensing his own peculiar brand of justice.

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Getting back to the main thrust of this episode, Dexter--carefully plotting his every move Dexter--has finally come face to face with the Ice Truck Killer, and apparently has no clue that Rudy, his foster sister's lover, is his nemesis. Given that discovering his real father didn't die in a horrible accident, and all that Harry had made him believe is a lie, this is understandable. DNA tests prove that the dead man, Joe Driscol, is Dexter's "biodad", much to Deb's dismay. Dexter is the only family she has left, and this development threatens that stabilizing thread in her life.

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Complicating matters even more is the fact that Dexter is convinced that Joe was murdered, and not the victim of a heart attack, as the death certificate says. Proving that might prove to be difficult, though, since Joe is cremated before Dexter can uncover the proof of that.What he does find out, though, is that had a visit from the cable guy right before he died. Anyway, that's what the old lady across the street tells him. Admittedly, she's not the most reliable witness around, since she does tend to ramble. Dexter and Rita leave Dade with a whole new bag of questions.

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But as Deb and Rudy prepare to leave, the old lady recognizes Rudy as the cable guy. She just wants a cable problem repaired, of course. We, on the other hand, realize that Rudy killed poor old Joe, and the nice, but senile, old lady is now in harm's way.

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Before "Father Knows Best" fades to black, we find Rita back at home in Miami with an unexpected guest. Paul, the -ex, greets her in his customary abusive way. This time, though, Rita fights back, giving him a well-deserved (and long-awaited) whack upside the head with a baseball bat. She quickly gathers up the kids and flees, presumably to Dexter's house.

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There are three episodes remaining in this run of Dexter, and things couldn't be much more taunt. I'm thinking Rudy must be related to Dexter, but what secret was he squashing by murdering Joe? And what did Joe do to prompt Harry to lie to Dexter the child? There must be a connection between Joe and Harry, but since they're both dead, will it progress beyond ambiguity? Will the nice old lady be the Ice Truck Killer's next victim, or is Deb the ultimate fool for love? Is Doakes some kind of government assassin with a cop cover? Will Dexter have to eliminate the Paul problem, or will Rita handle matters on her own? (My money's on Rita. After all, the family that slays together, stays together.)

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We have approximately 156 minutes, spread over three episodes, to unravel the mystery. I suggest taking some serious notes through the duration.

Brothers of the Head: A Soul at War With Itself

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Leave your preconceptions at the door, please. You won't be needing them when you're done here. Brothers of the Head is a film the likes of which you've not seen before. Ostensibly the story of cojoined twins who rise to rock stardom in the mid 1970's, it spits out inherent cliches to emerge as an ultimately tragic tale of isolation.

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Based on the novel by speculative fiction author Brian Aldiss, and scripted bu Tony Grisoni (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas), Brothers of the Head is presented as a fictionalized documentary. But don't label it a "mockumentary"-- this film immerses the viewer so deeply in its alternate reality that one is almost convinced that it really did happen. Co-directors Keith Sulton and Louis Pepe (Lost in LaMancha) are best known for their documentaries, and it is to their credit they continued this approach with Brothers of the Head. This is a story that could not be properly told in a linear style.

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Tom and Barry Howe were born cojoined at the sternum, and their mother during childbirth. Their grief-stricken father, fearing he would lose them both, refused to consider separating them surgically. They spend their formative years relatively isolated on L'Estrange Head, an island off Eastern England. But when a promoter approaches the father with the idea of turning the boys into a musical act, he accepts immediately, and pretty much sells the twins to the promoter.

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This set-up would be trite, but it's layered into the film via interviews and "footage" chronicling the rise and fall of the brothers' band, the Bang Bang.

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It's pretty much a given that it's impossible to write a great rock and roll drama,since the nature of the beast dictates that the story has to center around the rise to glory and the inevitable fall from grace.Brothers of the Head takes takes that premise and spins it into the darkly surreal.This isn't really a rock movie--the proto-punk London of the mid-seventies is only a backdrop for the story of a soul in conflict with itself. Tom and Barry are a singular soul trapped in separate bodies, forever linked by the appendage that binds them.
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By presenting the film as a "documentary," Fulton and Pepe are able to exploit the conflicts the twins feel without involvement. In fact, it's twice removed from involvement in that much of it is based on an "unfinished Ken Russel film" about the Bang Bang, to have been called Two Way Romeo. We know from the beginning, through interviews and news footage, that the twins are deceased, so the film focuses on how the tragedy came to be.
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It's a story of exploitation and how society seizes on that exploitation to mass produce, and finally destroy, its manufactured heroes. It's also a story of defiance, in that the twins spit the exploitation back into the face of their tormentors, and play it for all it's worth. Finally, it's a story of the futile quest for individuality.
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As portrayed by real-life twins Luke and Harry Treadaway, Tom and Barry represent the duality that resides in us all. Even when making love to their girlfriend (Tania Emery), one is impassioned, the other sullen. Connected as they are, they can never connect fully to another, including each other.. This spills into all aspects of their life, with Tom emerging as the quiet artist, and Barry playing the role of the raucous rocker. The result is an arresting portrait of inner chaos.
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The burgeoning punk setting adds fuel to the metaphor. The twins' conflicts and rivalries fuel their anger, and mirror the angst of disenfranchised youth that gave rise to the original punk movement in England. The music here--all original-- is raw, basic and perfectly conjures up the the ennui and anger of those times. (The soundtrack stands on its own, and will be reviewed separately.)The dialogue, the audience scenes, the sheer feeling that something is about to change, all ring true.
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Brothers of the Head may very well be the strangest movie you'll see this year. But it's a strangeness that rings uncomfortably close to our perceptions. It's a film that will haunt you for a long while.

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Breakthroughs, Breakdowns, Brain Games All Around.

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Let's face it. The past few episodes of Dexter have represented trying times for our protagonist. Considering what he's been through--paranoia that the jig was up, letting go of his toys, abject disappointment at the identity of the apparent Ice Truck Killer, complications in his relationship with Rita--it's a wonder he hasn't completely cracked.

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"Shrink Wrap" opens in the proverbial "dark and stormy night," with Dexter and Jesus at a crime scene, playfully comparing blood splatters to Rorschach blots. The victim in this case is an obvious suicide, after all, so there's not a lot to investigate. It would be the most horrendous of cliches in lesser hands, but in the case of this episode, it's fitting. The night is there Dexter is most comfortable, and the events of recent episodes have signaled an oncoming storm.

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We're not talking a cloudburst here--the horizon is boiling ominously black, and by all indications, Dexter's Miami is potentially in the path of a hurricane of dark motives. And at the eye of the approaching storm is the inevitable showdown between Dexter and the Ice Truck Killer. The problem is, the winds are blowing from every direction imaginable.

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First, there's Deb's growing infatuation with Rudy, the doctor who fitted Tucci with crude prosthetics. She even consumnates her relationship with him, and in a post-orgasmic comment , he tells her she brings out "the animal inside" in him. Then there's Paul, Rita's abusive -ex, gradually entrenching himself as the dominant force in her life. In a particularly chilling scene, when he's playing with the kids, he bellows, "Here comes the monster!" Finally, there's LaGuerrta, battling the beauracracy of the LAPD. She knows from her unorthodox interviewing techniques that Perry cannot possibly the Ice Truck Killer. Still, the DA, sensing a PR opportunity, intends to bring the case to trial.

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All these threads are plot points that almost certainly will play significant roles in the final outcome of the season's run. But as tantalizing as they are, they serve as backdrops to the main thrust of "Shrink Wrap." Something about the suicide doesn't feel right to Dexter-- the victim was a prominent woman who seemed to have everything going for her, though she did suffer from depression. As he pokes a bit deeper, he discovers a pattern of suicides among high profile women who all were seeing the same shrink, one Dr. Meridian. And while the good doctor appears to be squeaky clean, he doesn't slip below Dexter's predatory radar. But, in accordance with Harry's Code, he has to know for certain that Dr. Meridian is a killer. To get the goods on Meridian, he goes undercover as a new patient.

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That Meridian is doomed is a given-- Dexter doesn't make mistakes when it comes to choosing his prey. The twist here is that the therapy sessions actually help Dexter in coming to grips with some of his deep-seeded issues. Through flashback sequences interspersed within the therapy sessions, we find Harry was a major factor in his foster son's later inability to connect with others on an emotional level. It was Harry who instilled in Dexter the notion that if you lose control, you become powerless, and that you must put on a facade to mask your true self. Harry was a hard taskmaster, it turns out. We're left wondering what Harry's motives actually were. And how much did he actually know about Dexter's origins?

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While it's tempting to write an entire article about that aspect of the character's evolution, for now suffice it to say that Dexter does have a breakthrough, and finally opens up to Rita, at least sexually. It's not easy, though, and after a failed attempt, Dexter realizes he needs one more session before he can kill Dr. Meridian. Apparently, this breakthrough takes, and Dexter and Rita have rough, sweaty sex--finally. And one layer of Dexter's carefully applied mask falls away.

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Dr. Meridian's mask has fallen into shreds, though. It turns out that he got his kicks by preying on the weaknesses of his distraught patients. He denied them theire anti-psychotic meds, and then preached the virtues of suicide to them, encouraging them to blow their brains out. Kinky fetishes like that cannot go unpunished, especially when Dexter has incontrovertible proof. The doctor made videos of his final sessions with the women, and saved them as trophies of a sort.

Dexter dispenses his slice and dice version of retribution on the shrink, but not before thanking him for helping him with his own neuroses. Dexter is nothing if not mannered.

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Ordinarily, this would be where the episode ends. But Dexter is rapidly approaching a climax. Rudy, the altruistic doctor who is also dating Deb, sends Dexter an IM, saying, "we'll share a cold one soon." Then we see him toying with a Barbie doll head as he walks into a refrigerated room cluttered with bloodless body parts. The Ice Truck Killer is finally revealed!

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Or is he..?

Robert Plant and the Middle Eastern Metal Blues

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Stadium shows are all well and fine, in the sense they provide fans a momentary sense of solidarity. It doesn't matter that you're packed in with thousands of complete strangers, or that the stage is light years away from you, or that the sound is so dissipated it might as well be a Martian broadcast. What matters is the event, and the "I was there!" bragging rights, along with the raggedyass tee-shirt you paid four prices for, and which dates you forever within a week of that drunken purchase. We've all been there, and we'll proudly proclaim 'til our dying breath, "That (fill in appropriate band) show was the best freakin' concert I ever saw!"

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To really appreciate an artist, though, you have to see them in a more intimate setting. Clubs, where the nuances of the music interact with audience reaction most intently, are the ideal venue. Smaller halls, particularly those with amphiteatre-style seating aren't quite as personal, but the acoustics in those environments, coupled with their casual atmosphere, nonetheless leave you with the sense you've witnessed a performance. And that stays in your memory a lot longer than a stadium show ever will.

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Robert Plant, especially during his Led Zeppelin days, did a lot of stadium shows. That's why Robert Plant and the New Sensation, his first-ever solo DVD release, is an unexpected pleasure. Originally aired 29 June 2006 as an installment of PBS's Soundstage concert series, this is a seamless performance that showcases Plant and his latest band, the Strange Sensation, in a relaxed environment.

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Plant and the band ease into the show with a Middle East-inspired version of "No Quarter," heavy on accoustic, dreamy percussion and loping rhythms. If it comes across as a bit stately, it's because it quietly sets the tone for the rest of the concert. This is a show that moves at its own pace, unfettered by preconceived expectations. Sure, the obligatory Zeppelin tunes are in there, but sprinkled judiciously between tunes mostly from his Mighty Rearranger album. The version of "Black Dog" here sounds familiar, but the arrangement takes the song into new territory.

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At heart, Plant has always been a blues singer, and throughout the concert, he works that aspect of his talent into all of the material. While some say he can no longer hit the high notes he did in Zep's glory days, I'm inclined to believe his voice has evolved into something closer to the source influences. Either way, he can still belt out a tune better than most. He no longer need to hit the high registers to prove a point--his stylings are rife with authority. A listen to, say, "Gallows Pole" will dispel any doubts to the contrary.

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A singer is only as good as his band, though, and the Strange Sensation may be the best group of musicians Plant has worked with in his solo career. Clive Deamer (drums) and Billy Fuller (bass) are a formidable rhythm section, often enhanced by Justin Adams on the darbouka. Adams, like Plant is fascinated with the music of Northern Africa and the Middle East, and is largely responsible for the dreamily exotic sound inherent in the show. He balances it with some amazing blues guitar riffs, especially on the intro to "Whole Lotta Love." John Baggot (keyboards) and Skin Tyson (guitar) counterpoint the exotic with straight out, unabashed rock runs.

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Ultimately, what this DVD does is paint a portrait of Robert Plant as an artist who is not content to relive his past triumphs. Sure, he acknowledges them with a respectful wink, but the focus of his solo work has always been to landmark new musical territory. His interest in Moroccan rhythms, coupled with his Celtic and blues influences, set him apart from most of his contemporaries. While Rod Stewart may be content to recycle questionable classics, Plant is more akin to Peter Gabriel in his approach to his music. Like Gabriel, Plant , with each new work, attempts to redefine his previous boundaries. And while he may not always be wholly successful, the journey is never anything less than interesting.

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Robert Plant and the Strange Sensation is a rarity in concert videos. Largely because of the Soundstage format, the viewer has a sense of closenes with the performers. But it's Joe Thomas's direction that enhances the "live" aspect of the program. A total of eleven cameras, including a gib mount and a steadicam, film the entire event, and Thomas intercuts the various angles with an artisan's eye.

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If I have any complaints at all, it's only that, at 66 minutes, it ends too soon. But what an incredible 66 minutes! I highly recommend it.

Dexter: Duplicity, Double Crosses and Double Wides

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Let's just say Dexter's life is in overdrive. The past two episodes, "Return to Sender" and "Circle of Friends", have shifted the emphasis from Dexter as Dark Avenger to Dexter as Serial Killer Covering His Tracks. The eyes peering from the broken trunk lock turned out to belong to a Cuban refugee child who, fortuitously enough for Dexter, spoke no English, and was still possessed with a dreamy sense of wonder.

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That shouldn't imply that Dexter was his usual cool and collected self in "Return to Sender." He spends most of the episode sweating bullets, as well he should, considering Valerie Castillo, the coyote wife he didn't have time to properly dispose of has resurfaced on the very killing table in the very trailer where she met her demise. While I said in the previous post bodies tend to not stay submerged forever, this was unexpected. Dexter quickly surmises that the Ice Truck Killer must have placed her back at the scene of the crime.

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For the first time, we see the usually unflappable Dexter begin to unravel, at least internally. "Nothing lasts forever," he muses. "Just ask a Ford Pinto." On the one hand, he's resigned to the fact that he, like all serial killers, will be caught. On the other, his predatory instincts convince him that he has a little more killing to do before that time comes. Complicating that is the fact that the Ice Truck Killer has seemingly double crossed him. What had been mutual, if twisted, admiration for each other's work has been transformed into a set-up to destroy Dexter.

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Deb isn't helping matters either, as she constructs a spot on profile of the dead woman's killer. Dexter knows it's a matter of time before he's found out, and his thoughts turn to Rita, and the effect it will have on her and the kids. Rita, meanwhile, gets a call from the ex, out of prison and wanting to reestablish ties with the family.

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Dexter doesn't know this, of course-- he's busy dumping the tools of his trade, and anything else that might expose him, into the deep blue. It's an oddly poignant moment, as we watch him fondly reviewing his slide collection. When he comes across Valerie's slide, he finds a smiley face has been etched into the blood. Dexter realizes that his "friend" has given him a hint as to how to extricate himself.

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Desperate times call for desperate measures, and even though it violates one of the tenets of Harry's Code, Dexter uses a bit of the blood to implicate the husband in her murder. Since he lies in pieces at the bottom of the ocean, he'll never be found. Dexter lives to kill again.

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But killing is not what Dexter is really about. The genius of the series lies in its ability to empathise with the emotions that drive Dexter. For someone who claims to feel nothing, he nonetheless involves himself in the lives of everybody who surrounds him. Sure, a case could be made that it's just part of a sociopathic nature, but it goes deeper with Dexter. As "Circle of Friends" illustrates, this is a character who desperately wants to connect, despite his inner dialogue to the contrary.

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Dexter has a lot on his plate this go-around. Deb and Angel have apparently tracked down the Ice Truck Killer, and it turns out he's a nondescript taxidermy hobbyist, who lives in an aluminum double wide mobile home. Dexter cannot believe this turn of fate, and neither can LaGuerta-- both expected something a bit more imposing from the notorious killer. Still, the suspect, Neil Perry, knows things only the Killer could know, including details on how he drained their blood. It's an airtight case, especially after a search of his double-wide uncovers photos of all the victims.

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As if that weren't enough, Jeremy, the teen murderer Dexter spared in Episode Three is back, and he hasn't heeded Dexter's admonishments. This time, he's killed a high school student because he wanted to "feel something different." Doakes and crew quickly arrest him, but before he's arraigned, he commits suicide. Taken out of context, this would be only filler, but the scenes between Dexter and Jeremy, dialogues centering on the isolation and emptiness they have in common, subtly advance the direction the direction the series appears to be heading.

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Meanwhile, Rita's ex, Paul, has returned, and is determined to reestablish his role as the "alpha male" in the kids' lives. Given that he is a wife abuser, this means his agenda is to reestablish his role as a wife beater, as well. Rita knows this full well, and mutters she wishes he would "just go away forever." Since Dexter has already bent Harry's Code, that could very easily happen before the season's end.

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Early on in this episode, there's a seemingly throwaway scene in which a party is thrown for Tucci to celebrate his newly acquired artificial limbs. I say "seemingly" because nothing is throwaway in Dexter. We're introduced to the doctor who fitted Tucci with the prostheses, and learn that his mother lost both legs in an auto accident. He wanted to put her back together, "but the pieces wouldn't fit." Deb finds him fascinating, as do we, but for different reasons.

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Despite all the evidence against Perry, I think it's safe to assume he's not the Ice Truck Killer. In a cliffhanger ending, Dexter finally confronts his alleged nemesis. Perry looks at him blankly, and says, "Who the fuck are you?"

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With only five more episodes left before the end of the twelve episode run, the tension is building. We know Dexter will preservere, since Showtime has announced the series will be back for a second season. In the meantime, things are getting--pardon the pun--dicey.