My gripe with Teeny Boppers…LOL

I like kids. They’re adorable little creatures dosed with a healthy sense of curiosity, cute feet and innocence.

“This world will ruin them,” I often say. 

But in no time, these beacons of purity and unbridled joy transition into a phase that makes my Christian blood boil. They evolve into a brand of person I bundle with Zombies, racists and necrophiliacs. They can be boy or girl, 12 or 22, but invariably share the same maddening insensibilities.  

They go by the name ‘Teeny Boppers.’

Their world is filled with schoolyard gossip, excessive masturbation and the drama of finding out a friend is into studying. It’s a small world perpetuated by things like glitzy magazines and Twilight, (no, I’m not referring to the phenomenon that takes place when the sun sets, but rather a movie series focused on a teenage girl and her decision to engage in bestiality or, surprise surprise, necrophilia.)

With Hollywood greasing the Teeny Bopper gears, these hormone-infused teenagers roam the streets and spill their silly problems all over the public sphere. Take the train commute home for example.

“I think tonight I’m going to kill myself. Yeah…I think tonight is the night.”

When I heard that on the packed train home from North Sydney, my ears prepped. I intended on approaching this stranger, on enlightening her on all of the things right with this world, on encouraging her to seek professional help, on showing her people care.

“Did he notice?” she followed up. She wanted Dean’s attention.

Dean had a lip ring. I didn’t like Dean.

The rest of her conversation was just as mind numbing with highlights including her random one-night stands and her iPhone. She was still wearing her school uniform.

The Bopper epidemic can spill into the workplace. You’ll receive post it notes signed with ‘XOXO,’ uncover their reliance on Facebook and witness an impressive power play that involves welcoming asocial members of management into their world of gossip.

Let’s face it: Boppers don’t scream ‘professionalism.’

But worse yet—worse than the reasons listed before it—is the one thing about Teeny Boppers that grinds my gears the most, and that is they remind me of a younger version of myself.

Their wayward values resonate with a version of me that didn’t quite know who he was. The biggest thing in his world was school, and he filled it up with its academia and gossips alike. At the time, when his parents were enduring a nasty divorce, he didn’t know the walls that made up his world would soon make room for real problems, like the ongoing war in the Middle East, having his heart broken and losing a beloved relative to an incurable disease. He was naïve, immature and unsuspecting of adulthood.

I feel for Teeny Boppers. They approach an age of maturity that washes their innocence away and replaces it with the enlightened burden of truth. They are awakened by knowledge and an understanding their footprint is several sizes too small—for the time at least. Looking at them, at their naivety, I now realise the transition from kid to adult isn’t an easy one and hope they hold onto their innocence for as long as possible. 

By Tony Ibrahim

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Law Abiding Citizen Resides In Se7en's Shadows

Unlike many movies before it, Law Abiding Citizen focuses on a character who is already imprisoned when he performs most of his crimes, and the intriguing methods he employs.

Gerard Butler plays Clyde, a loving husband and father who is beaten by two criminals one night. They leave him on the floor, bleeding heavily, causing him to black in and out of consciousness. For the brief time he is conscious, he watches a criminal savagely rape and murder his wife. Then another kills his infant daughter. In an attempt to pursue justice, Clyde hires an attorney named Nick (Jamie Foxx).

Nick fears both criminals could walk free. Believing that some justice is better than none, he accepts a plea where one criminal cops the death penalty and the other completes a small prison sentence. Although Clyde witnessed both criminals, he cannot understand how the supposed justice system would let such an obvious crime go unpunished.

Featuring many explosions and some stunning visual aesthetics, action is further delivered through suspense and mystery. After Clyde is imprisoned for his first crime, he continues to exact revenge and discipline while he is behind bars. The extraordinary efforts employed and the absence of information engages audiences, as they actively look for clues and hints explaining Clyde’s methods. Is he doing this completely on his own? Or is someone helping him? And better yet, who could it be?

The rest of the action is dispensed through the ongoing debate between Nick and Clyde, concerning the validity of the legal system and its ability to enact justice in an unjust world. Although this theological debate is intriguing, and is purported under the guise of two interesting characters, it hides behind exploding cars and breathtaking visual effects. As a result, what should be the driving force in this movie is deemed a subplot, much to the film’s detriment.

Between the philosophical debate and intense action scenes, audiences will find moments of humour. Even though this is a dramatic flick, the brief moments that cause audiences to giggle and laugh come very naturally. It’s the combination of these elements—humour, action and psychological insight—that makes Law Abiding Citizen a worthy watch. It’s just a shame that it is lacking what it needs to be remembered.

By Tony Ibrahim

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127 Hours: Who knew Franco was a credible Actor? Oh Danny Boyle!

By now, everyone has heard about Aaron Ralston and his story. It is one of a cocky guy who falls into a crevice, has his hand pinned by a rock and is stuck there for five days. After running out of food and water, he comes face to face with a horrifying dilemma: would you cut off your own arm to live?

But why would audiences fleet to the movies to watch a story they already know? Heck, I can think of countless other ways to spend my $15 on something else more original. After all, the premise comes off as static and claustrophobic. The truth is though, under Danny Boyle’s direction, your fifteen dollars is well spent.

While Ralston is pinned beneath the boulder, Boyle reaches out to his audience and brings them into Ralston’s intimate space. In the same way Ralston’s arm is pinned under a boulder, the audience is pinned to their seats, watching him scurry for his made-in-china knife, ration the few hundred mills of water, and find solace in the little natural beauty the confined crevice can offer him.

What plays out on screen isn’t a location bound narrative, but the chronicles of a man’s psychosis, tested. Through dehydration, starvation, desolation and fear, the audience shares Ralston’s many life-threatening struggles. There are no CGI car chases and gunfights barraging the audience. The imminent threat of death is dealt with in a real and simple fashion: if this daredevil doesn’t drink or eat, he will die.

To pass time, and more importantly stay psychologically astute, Ralston reaches out for any signs of life. He records the flight path of a raven, the hour the sun’s ray of light will extend its reach to his foot, and the feel of the rocks that encompass him. Life has been reduced to fundamental elements that everyone is familiar with, but also that everyone takes for granted.

As the hours turn into days, Ralston begins to reflect on the relationships he has failed to value. Turning to his digital cameras, he reaches out to his family and friends, leaving them the intimate messages only death motivates.

Even though Ralston is arm deep in claustrophobia, the audience isn’t. Boyle is skillful in drawing a contrast between the tight confines of Ralston’s space and the vast, desolate Utah desert. He creates an environment that audiences can empathise with emotionally, without replicating it visually. Flashbacks, hallucinations and dreams, coupled with sensory shots, create the experience of claustrophobia without that uncomfortable sensation. 

There has been lots of controversy regarding the visceral scene at the end where Ralston is forced to amputate his arm. Take it from a (squirmy) man; it is difficult to get through. You will cringe, and the odd person or two will feel lethargic—there are even reports of people vomiting. Bearing these difficult scenes prove rewarding, as the film’s close is pregnant with emotion.

This is a properly brilliant film, distinguished by intelligent direction and a surprisingly good performance by Franco, who up until now has been no more than a pin up boy. The dynamic narrative structure provides for an honest account into events that are naturally astonishing, and Boyle’s decision to not sensationalise or tread horror territory has paid off. Instead of embellishing the story, he gives the content time and space to shine.

Walking into the cinema, bracing myself, I was adamant that 127 hours only merited a one-time viewing. Like I am Legend, I envisioned it to be difficult to watch, and although a good film, a second viewing would be redundant. But not only is Boyle and Franco’s collaboration beautiful, it has left me eager to see it again. And again. It tests the measure of man, and I must say, man measures well. 

By Tony Ibrahim

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