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Review: Feminist artists cast a skeptical eye at the linking of gender and nature in new L.A. show

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Review: Feminist artists cast a skeptical eye at the linking of gender and nature in new L.A. show

“Life on Earth: Art & Ecofeminism” is a somewhat difficult exhibition to grab hold of, but that’s mostly because its important subject is so much larger than a diverse but relatively modest presentation can encompass.

Ecofeminism rejects the idea of human dominance over nature. The inaugural show at the Brick, an independent art space formerly known as LAXArt and recently relocated to Western Avenue, features 18 works by international artists and collectives that touch several intriguing bases of ecofeminist art launched since the 1970s.

Insistence on the supremacy of people over the natural world is cited as the primary source of environmental destruction. Furthermore, the practice is tightly bound to the seemingly intransigent social marginalization of women. Remember Mother Nature? If we insist on regarding the natural world in such feminine terms, then authority over women is an essential — and equally destructive — corollary to authority over nature.

The show’s earliest piece might be an analogy for the whole. In 1972, when Aviva Rahmani was a student at the California Institute of the Arts, she directed and documented in slides a performance titled “Physical Education.” Filling a plastic bag with tap water, she and a performer drove 50-plus miles from the suburban school in parched Santa Clarita to the Pacific Ocean, stopping four times along the way to deposit teaspoons of water on the side of the road, then replacing each with a spoonful of dirt.

While a student at CalArts in 1972, Aviva Rahmani documented wasteful water practices in Southern California.

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(Christopher Knight / Los Angles Times)

When Rahmani got to the beach, the muddy bag was emptied out in the sand and refilled with sea water. She promptly drove it back to CalArts, reversing the process. Upon arrival, she flushed the dirty water down a toilet.

In the exhibition, a cycle of elemental return and fundamental waste unfolds in slides projected from an automated tray onto an ordinary freestanding screen. The setup, common for pre-digital Conceptual art, is much like the way folks used to show the neighbors happy pictures of their summer vacation. Here, water transport assumes a form that is grandly ritualistic if decidedly prosaic.

None of the individual photographic images in “Physical Education” is especially distinctive. The artful feature of the work is instead embedded in the installation’s composition.

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Rahmani’s pictures don’t come close to filling the screen, although they could easily have been projected that way like snaps from the family trip to Disneyland or Yosemite. Rather, they nestle down in a corner, modestly flashing by, one after the next, as the slide tray clicks in nonstop rotation. The mostly empty screen’s larger blankness implies that there’s plenty of room for many more pictures awaiting exposure. This work of ecologically minded art is positioned as just one self-aware fragment of a much bigger worldview that needs to be seen as holistic and systemic.

Nearby, a pair of large, documentary performance photographs made five decades later by L.A.-based yétúndé olagbaju resonates against Rahmani’s historical piece. At left in “protolith: heat, pressure,” the artist is seen from behind, dressed in a white robe and headscarf. They emerge from within a rocky outcropping in an otherwise grassy field and hold up their hands, as if in benediction. On the right, the composition is roughly the same, although now their hands press against the massive stone.

Off in the distance, a fence is glimpsed, suggesting a cultivated landscape rather than a wild one, while a lone telephone pole identifies the rural location as tethered to community via modern communication. The photographs smartly picture the classic irresistible force paradox. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Can an artist alter a deeply established cultural relationship to the natural world?

Come to think of it, in these photographs, which is the force, and which is the object — the person or the rock? Or are they interchangeable?

L.A.-based artist yétúndé olagbaju performed a ritual laying on of hands on a rural stone outcropping.

L.A.-based artist yétúndé olagbaju performed a ritual laying on of hands on a rural stone outcropping.

(Christopher Knight / Los Angeles Times)

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It takes a moment, but olagbaju’s gesture of first blessing, then touching a seemingly immovable boulder shifts your perspective, and that might be enough to generate at least incremental change. Like the steady drip-drip-drip of water on stone, which over millenniums reduces a monolith to sand, human contact will have its way.

The exhibition is not a comprehensive history of ecofeminist art. Pioneers of the genre such as Agnes Denes, who once transformed a Manhattan landfill into a wondrous urban wheat field, and Helène Aylon, who commemorated the end of the Cold War with anti-nuclear performance art, are absent. The Brick presentation is instead a provocative sketch suggesting that a museum would do well to undertake a full historical overview of ecofeminist art from the last half a century.

It’s also disappointing that no catalog accompanies the show; one is said to be in the works, but publication is not expected until next year, presumably so that new commissions, installations and mixed-media works can be documented and included. Art spaces used to deal with such complications by publishing a two-volume set — a primary one to accompany the exhibition as it opens and a small supplement to record additions. But that traditional practice seems to have fallen by the wayside.

It’s a loss. Yes, the two-tome process is more expensive to produce. Yet, for the benefit of the art audience, it should simply be regarded as necessary.

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Still, smartly organized by Brick curator Catherine Taft, with curatorial assistants Hannah Burstein and Kameron McDowell, “Life on Earth” manages to cover a good deal of territory. In this contribution to the Getty-sponsored festival “PST Art: Art & Science Collide,” the breadth, both aesthetic and geographic, is wide.

A graceful mermaid swimming around in an industrial-strength water treatment plant in Lithuanian artist Emilija Škarnulytė’s film “Riparia” becomes a perilous siren, luring the unsuspecting to the rocks. Leslie Labowitz Starus, who has operated an urban farm in Venice for decades, puts sprouts on poetic display. Carolina Caycedo carves a trio of enormous seeds — squash, beans, corn — from wood as elegant sculptural abstractions. Projected videos of rushing rivers and roiling seas mix effortlessly with disparate photographs of human gender fluidity, which marks the people in A.L. Steiner’s exuberant collage environment papering gallery walls.

Fluidity describes gender and nature in A.L. Steiner's installation of photographs and video.

Fluidity describes gender and nature in A.L. Steiner’s installation of photographs and video.

(Christopher Knight / Los Angeles Times)

Steiner’s installation helps unravel perhaps the oldest, most powerful source of the problematic fusion of nature and womanhood in ordinary cultural conceptions. The Book of Genesis doubled down not long after tagging biblical Eve as the agent of the fall from grace in the Garden of Eden. “Be fruitful and multiply,” the command then came, “and replenish the Earth, and subdue it.”

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And subdue it. Subjugate women, subjugate nature. Think about that awful binary as the climate continues to change, while stormwater rises and fires burn.

‘Life on Earth: Art & Ecofeminism’

Where: The Brick, 518 N. Western Ave., L.A.
When: Tuesdays to Saturdays, through Dec. 21
Info: (323) 848-4140, www.the-brick.org

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Movie Reviews

‘Deep Water’ Review: Renny Harlin’s Double-Dip Disaster Movie — Plane Crash + Shark Thriller — Has His Signature Schlock Touch

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‘Deep Water’ Review: Renny Harlin’s Double-Dip Disaster Movie — Plane Crash + Shark Thriller —  Has His Signature Schlock Touch

When a once-successful director finds himself stranded in a wilderness of misguided projects and indifferent audience response, he may try to reignite inspiration by going back to the ingredients of an iconic hit. If he can replicate the perfect storm of elements that made the earlier film work, maybe the new movie will put him back on top.

This kind of thing happens often enough — examples range from William Friedkin shooting for a West Coast “French Connection” with “To Live and Die in L.A.” to John McTiernan making “Die Hard with a Vengeance.” But we’re in a far more degraded realm of return-to-glory-days syndrome when it’s Renny Harlin out to recapture the low-trash spark of “Deep Blue Sea,” his well-liked exploitation action thriller. Talk about a 1999 movie that wasn’t about the brave new movie future!

It was about killer sharks (with enhanced intelligence!) eating people, and about a scientific experiment — something to do with curing Alzheimer’s — that was there to fill up the space between chompings. But “Deep Blue Sea,” whose big star was Thomas Jane, went down as a summer sleeper (it bit its way to $73 million domestic), and the nostalgic fondness that a lot of people have for it surely fed into why we’re now getting “Deep Water” (opening May 1), Harlin’s most lavishly scaled production in quite some time.

In the 1970s, disaster films had titles that described exactly what they were. “The Towering Inferno” was about a towering inferno, “Earthquake” was about an earthquake, and then there were films like “Meteor” and “Avalanche” and “The Swarm” and “The Hindenburg” and “City on Fire.” In that spirit, “Deep Water,” which is very much a neo-’70s disaster film. should have been called “Airplane Crash into a Sea of Jaws.” As it stands, the word in the film’s generic title that echoes that earlier Harlin movie is more than a bit ironic, since “deep” is just the word to describe what Renny Harlin’s movies are not. They are shallow. They are dramatically flat. They do not have interesting characters even on a schlock B-movie level. As a director, he has a sixth sense for how to reduce actors to walking slabs of pulp.

Yet there’s no denying that Renny Harlin, in his utilitarian action-hack way, has some chops. “Deep Water” starts out by introducing the main players on an intercontinental flight from Los Angeles to Shanghai. Aaron Eckhart, with his likable downcast valor, is the First Officer, a stalwart fellow who’s a bit of a ne’er-do-well (that’s why he’s never become a captain); he’s suffering from an oblique family trauma we can kind of suss out. Ben Kingsley is the captain, a jaded overseer on the verge of retirement who is introduced singing “Fly Me to the Moon” in a karaoke bar, where he somehow imagines that his crooning is going to have a seductive effect on the flight attendants seated at a table. (The truth is that he looks rather frighting in his sand-brown goatee.)

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We’re also introduced to the passengers, who are real Jane and Johnny one-notes, though we do take special notice of Dan (Angus Sampson), a long-haired slovenly bellicose chain smoker whose bulky red plastic suitcase the camera tracks onto the plane. For a while, we think it must have a bomb in it. It doesn’t, but it does contain something that randomly ignites, setting a fire in the cargo pod, which becomes an explosion, which ricochets into the cabin, at which point a hole gets blown in the side, one of the engines catches fire, and this thing is going down.

It doesn’t take excessive skill to make a plane crash scary, but Harlin executes this one with stylish flamboyance, as bodies get sucked out of the plane and flying wine bottles turn into shrapnel. Our heroes want to try landing at an airport in Guam, but that plan goes out the window, as they barely manage to ground the plane in the middle of the ocean.

There were 257 passengers aboard, all but about 30 of whom are now dead. The plane is in pieces, the main two chunks being the cockpit and the fuselage, both of which have been reduced to floating canisters with wires popping out of the sides. The plane’s pieces are now, in effect, life rafts (though there are some actual oversize yellow inflatable rafts aboard that will come into play). If the proper distress signal was set off (there’s some question about whether that happened), they should be rescued in a matter of hours. But until then…sharks!

They are mako sharks, which to my movie-trained eyes don’t look all that different from the great white shark in “Jaws,” as they flop their giant razor-toothed mouths aboard the rafts. “Jaws” was scary because it was about anticipation and sudden fear and the power of suggestion. “Deep Water,” on the other hand, has little in the way of suggestion, which is why it’s more gory than scary. Harlin stages the shark attacks in an overt here-ya-go way, with the one consistent suspense issue being whether the shark will consume a victim whole or bite off his or her limb or simply leave them with a nasty gash (which happens quite often).

Meanwhile, two bros (one American, one Chinese) start off as enemies but get over that, the scurrilous Dan continues to assert what a dick he is by smoking and snapping at everyone, and Eckhart’s character bonds with Cora (Molly Belle Wright), the now-orphaned young girl aboard, which triggers a reappraisal of his own domestic situation. Human drama! Not. (Or, at least, not very much.) Yet there’s a way in which it matters not, since even back in the ’70s the “human drama” of disaster films was just the frame on which to hang the sensationalist fantasy of death porn and survival. “Deep Water” isn’t terrible for what it is, but what it is is disaster product.

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Jada Pinkett Smith asks court to make Will Smith’s former friend pay her $49,000 legal bills

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Jada Pinkett Smith asks court to make Will Smith’s former friend pay her ,000 legal bills

Jada Pinkett Smith is asking a judge to make Bilaal Salaam cover the $49,000 in legal fees she racked up fighting claims he made in a December lawsuit.

According to a motion filed April 20 and obtained by The Times, Pinkett Smith is asking that Salaam pay $49,181.23, consisting of “reasonable attorneys’ fees incurred” in connection with Pinkett Smith’s successful special motion to strike Salaam’s complaint, “plus further fees and costs associated with this motion.”

Salaam — Will Smith’s former best friend of 40 years who also goes by Brother Bilaal — filed a lawsuit against the “Bad Moms” actor in December, alleging emotional distress and seeking $3 million in damages.

Salaam claimed that in September 2021, he attended a private birthday party for Will Smith at the Regency Calabasas Commons. According to his lawsuit, he was in the lobby of the movie theater when Pinkett Smith approached him with about seven members of her entourage and threatened him. Salaam’s suit claims that Pinkett Smith told him he would “end up missing or catch a bullet” if he kept “telling her personal business.” She also allegedly pressured him to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

In November 2023, Salaam appeared on the “Unwine With Tasha K” podcast and alleged that he walked into Duane Martin’s dressing room and saw Will Smith having a sexual encounter with the “All of Us” actor. He also made claims about Pinkett Smith’s sexual habits.

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Pinkett Smith swiftly responded during an appearance on “The Breakfast Club” and said that Salaam started the rumors as part of a broader “money shakedown” and that his claims were “ridiculous and nonsense.”

“It’s not true and we’re going to take care of it,” she said. “We’re about to take legal action.”

Salaam beat Pinkett Smith to the courthouse and sued her in December, but Pinkett Smith asked the judge to toss the case in February.

According to the motion filed this week, the former “Red Table Talk” host argues Salaam should pay her hefty legal bills because she “prevailed on her anti-SLAPP motion” and the court struck all allegations relating to media statements “that formed the basis for Plaintiff’s three causes of action, as well as additional allegations regarding a cease-and-desist letter.”

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‘Michael’ Review: A Perfect Puzzle With Major Missing Pieces

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‘Michael’ Review: A Perfect Puzzle With Major Missing Pieces
Lionsgate

SPOILER NOTICE:

The following movie review does not contains direct spoilers for the film Michael, however general information in regards to the plot, characters, key climax points, biographical information and themes explored in the film will be heavily discussed. Please read at your own discretion, or after seeing the film in theaters.

There have been, so far, four films that aim to depict some portion of the beautifully tragic life of late pop music pioneer Michael Jackson, otherwise known to the world as The King Of Pop.

You’ve got The Jacksons: An American Dream, the near-perfect 1992 ABC miniseries that gave MJ, his brothers and verbally abusive father Joe Jackson equal screen time in order to make for a proper origin story. Then there’s Man in the Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story, an abysmal 2004 VH1 TV movie that acts as a spiritual sequel yet truly should’ve never been made. Almost a decade ago we got Michael Jackson: Searching for Neverland, the 2017 Lifetime Network attempt to cover his final years of life, told from the perspective of two bodyguards employed by him for merely two-and-a-half years.

Today (April 24), the world finally gets to see Michael. The 2026 true-to-form biopic boasts the biggest budget compared to the previous three projects, distribution handled by the renowned Lionsgate Films, a director’s chair occupied by Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, Brooklyn’s Finest) and MJ’s own nephew, Jaafar Jackson, starring in the titular role alongside a glowing supporting cast that includes Colman Domingo (Rustin), Nia Long (Love Jones), Miles Teller (Divergent) and Larenz Tate (Menace II Society) just to name a few. Not to mention, it’s got full backing from The Jacksons family and 100% musical clearance to assure his biggest hits are heard on the big screen.

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With all that said, you might be expecting a masterpiece that borrows the best aspects from the original and rights the wrongs of the last two. Unfortunately, that’s not the case when it comes to Michael. Thankfully though, there’s so much more to love about this film in addition to a very strong potential for more.

Yes folks, we may very well be getting the first-ever sequel to a biopic sometime in the near future.

RELATED: You, Me & Tuscany Review – Sappy, Sweet, C+ Rom-Com

Before we get ahead of ourselves by discussing a potential sequel, let’s first start off with what you get out of Michael. The film covers Joe’s formation of The Jackson 5 in 1966 and ends with MJ’s iconic 1988 Wembley Stadium stop on the Bad Tour. The filler in-between covers their Chitlin’ Circuit days, the Motown era, run-ins with Gladys Knight and The Pips, finding his voice with Off The Wall, the epic creation of Thriller, the Motown 25 NBC special and the infamous Pepsi burning incident. Each of these scenes are done with great detail and a passion from all involved to get it as close to the real-life moments. However, what’s missing stands out like a sore thumb.

Both Rebbie and Janet are nowhere to be found — they each requested their likeness not be depicted — and neither is MJ’s longtime muse, Diana Ross. It was reported that actress Kat Graham was actually casted in the part, only to later have her scenes cut completely due to legalities. Off The Wall also gets painted as his solo debut of sorts, completely ignoring the four successful solo albums that preceded it when he was just a preteen. Also, while it’s perfectly clear who the movie is about based on the title, it does feel a bit off to see the closest people in his life demoted to barely-speaking supporting characters, save for Domingo’s powerful portrayal as mean ol’ Joe, Long as the ever-caring Mrs. Katherine and longtime bodyguard Bill Bray played by KeiLyn Durrel Jones.

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On the positive side, Michael ultimately does more good than confusion. Jaafar is simply captivating when it comes to embodying his late superstar uncle, nailing everything from those easily-recognizable voice inflections to the classic dance moves. The film ends in 1988, right before MJ invests in Neverland Ranch, so don’t expect the heavy topic of his acquitted child sexual abuse allegations from 1993 and 2003 to be brought up either — well, yet anyway.

If in fact a “Jackson” sequel is in the works, we can only hope his full story is told with care, respect and most importantly the truth. Other important aspects we’d hope to see be depicted include an honest look at his vitiligo journey, the toll he suffered mentally as a result of the trials, the marriage, the kids, the dichotomy of balancing unprecedented riches against a substantial amount of debt and, yes, the prescription drug abuse that ultimately ended his life.

Overall, for everything Michael lacks there is something just as good to love about the film, and the potential for a sequel gives us hope that the best is still yet to come.

Watch the trailer for Michael below, and see for yourselves how The King Of Pop’s story began as his latest biopic hits theaters starting today:

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