Monthly Archives: November 2019

Amsterdam has a golden opportunity to emerge from the tumult of Brexit as the pre-eminent creative scene in Europe.

Counting Nike, Diageo and Panasonic as well as agency shops like Wieden+Kennedy and 72andSunny among its residents, the vibrant and internationally minded city has become a coveted base for creatives. But can Amsterdam handle this surge of creative talent; can it maintain its healthy prioritisation of culture despite the flux of foreign individuals, or is it likely to buckle under the pressures and expectations of international clients?

While hubs like Hong Kong, London, and New York have adjusted their pace to meet the increased demands of international marketing, Amsterdam has refused to conform, with creatives continuing to regularly clock off at 5pm.

The Anglo-Saxon working culture is not as productive, says FutureFactors CEO and creative partner, Nick Bailey. Although people are working longer, they're working less efficiently.

Dutch businesses trust their employees to manage their own time, work autonomously, and complete the job as necessary. The Brave New Nows CEO and co-founder, Hazel Livingstone, explains: In the Netherlands, they treat employees like adults in terms of work-life balance.

Bert Hagendoorm, chairman of Dutch Digital Design, agrees: The city offers better healthcare, social security, more affordable cost of living, great working hours and a better work-life balance than other cities. But in the end, theres quite a difference in salary when compared with New York or London.

Dam drawbacks

Yet despite Amsterdams admirable work-life balance, marketers admitted that sometimes it can be difficult to get employees to go the extra mile for the creative work.

Its tough to get the best out of your team, says Bailey. In a market like London, people take a lot of personal pride in their work, whereas here people do what's asked of them and, as far as they're concerned, it's done. That can be challenging to change.

This culture may be problematic for Amsterdam-based agencies looking to secure international clients, who expect them to be available at all hours. Anthem Beneluxs head of growth Kirsty Cole says those expectations put pressure on agency teams: I expect people to take accountability of their work and their client relationships.

Wilderness managing director, Meredith Mogensen agrees: When you're working with the rest of the world, you have to behave like the rest of the world.

Those expectations may find it hard to take root. Overseas, harnessing a strong in-house culture is almost essential to offset the amount of work expected of the agencys creatives. Yet in Amsterdam, promises of ping pong tables and bar tabs fall flat as younger employees prioritise other benefits.

Chris Adams, CEO of social creative agency The Honey Partnership, says that leads to a situation in which agencies struggle to employ Gen-Zers long-term, as although theyre digital natives and more prepared to work at all hours, theyre also more likely to know the worth of their expertise: When a client walks into a room, they look for a 22-year-old to tell them how to outperform on Snapchat, he said. But often it means Gen Z are missing out on our agency's competitiveness.

Way To Blues EMEA business director, Poppy Mason-Watts, wonders whether Amsterdam could start losing agency people to brands. They might see the city as a gateway to the big brands; with creatives planning for an agency job only to seek out later opportunities at Adidas, Nike, Diageo or Panasonic, she said. That could be a threat.

That threat isnt necessarily just from traditional brands, either: As Karen Monnich, partner and client service director from Big Amsterdam puts it: Amsterdam is the Silicon Valley of the Netherlands. We have big companies that started out here, like Instagram, and we have a strong tech reputation We're getting there.

The new competition

Culturally, the Dutch are very shy and modest about the work that theyre creating. While this may be refreshing in a brash industry, it also means that a lot of Dutch work goes unnoticed, with some local clients not even knowing which agency was behind a campaign.

Entering work into international awards helps If you want to be a global agency with a global reputation, youve got to be part of that conversation; you've got to be proud of the work you produce, said Cole.

Amsterdam operates on a very level playing field, especially compared with other creative capital cities around the world. Competing agencies even cross-collaborate with The Humblebrags founder Lucy von Sturmer believing that by doing so everyone becomes aware of what their strengths are and how they can combine those trends to create something better.

But as Amsterdams creative scene continues its unconventional rose to the top table of marketing hubs, that international focus and pressure to conform to compete risks the unique aspects that made it so appealing to so many creatives.

Despite that, the citys rise seems inexorable. As Irne Winterkorn, FutureFactors connections director, says: Its very easy to see Amsterdam as a hub for Europe that's how people are starting to see us.

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Roundtable: hedonism and humility in Amsterdam - The Drum

Saying goodbye to the gangster.

I miss classic gangster movies.

The Godfather, Scarface, Goodfellas and Casino, along with all the other odes to violent men and their adrenaline-fueled hedonism, first sparked my passion for cinema.

Italian gangsters give off a peculiar warmth, or at least, they do on screen. Sure, Im saying this as another guy with a vague claim of Italian identity and a Goodfellas poster on the wall, but other ethnically defined criminal organizations are always depicted as colder, more intense, less lovable than the Italian mob; the sight of hardened criminals carefully preparing pasta in prison is ridiculously charming, their every action imbued with comedic exaggeration, whether theyre playfully slapping a friend on the cheek or kicking a victim into concussion.

On film, Italian gangsters are cool. The protagonists always slide into despair and isolation, eventually, but not before enjoying a wild, gloriously tacky life of debauchery and danger.

But great gangster stories are dead, and The Irishman officially draws the curtain. Here, Martin Scorsese completes his saga, getting the old gang back together for a poignant farewell to the dark, seductive fantasy of the criminal underworld.

Its nothing short of a masterpiece, a reunion for the Holy Trinity of Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Joe Pesci, the three delivering powerful, nuanced performances, of men bound by their terrible choices, aging faster than they anticipated.

Pacino and De Niro have starred in a cluster of increasingly crappy movies over the last few years, while Pesci has been enjoying retirement, so its a treat not just to see the three reunited on screen, but to see them at the very top of their game, in a beautifully crafted, perfectly paced film. Pescis subtle performance is particularly impressive, and in sharp contrast to his unhinged, wildly insecure characters that drenched Casino and Goodfellas in anxiety.

The world of organized crime has never felt less appealing, more hollow. Fulfilling the role of financial provider, offering violent solutions to minor problems, De Niros character assumes that he is taking good care of his family, unable to understand the value of emotional intelligence, that hes separating himself from their love with every house he paints.

He and his companions live under the shadow of death, the film constantly reminding us that the vast majority of these men will die violently, at the hands of their closest friends. The outrageous wealth, power and influence that they wield will fade fast, and theyll succumb to the ravages of time just like everyone else; nobody wants to spend their twilight years behind bars.

I found the de-aging technology surprisingly convincing for the majority of the film, the slow, creaky movements of the actors being the main giveaway that they are no longer in their prime. But this is a story of squandered years, and it felt strangely appropriate that the three never emit youthful energy; theyve grown old before their time.

The final hour is incredibly compelling and emotionally intense, the poignant final shot dissolving any notion of gangster glamor; this is a sad, pathetic way to live, and none of the classic crime movies have ever managed to communicate that despair so effectively.

The golden age of gangster movies has been over for quite some time, and in the years that followed, theres been a revaluation of the meaning of masculinity, of the values that society installs in their men. The flawed notion that a mans role is to fiercely protect his family like a rabid dog, that feelings are flaws and that wealth is the mark of a successful man, is close to crumbling, and the waning relevance of the gangster seems to reflect that.

The Irishman feels like the culmination of years of reflection, a look back at a testosterone-fuelled time of twisted priorities, the last gasp of the gangster before he fades from the centre of the collective unconscious, and into the realm of nostalgia.

Link:

Martin Scorseses The Irishman Marks The End Of An Era - Forbes

Even in San Francisco, where Burning Man was born, the event has diehard haters people who deride its perceived elitism, faux utopianism, and out-of-reachism. Never mind that these haters may have never been to Burning Man or met anyone who has. Like people who despise movies theyve never seen or countries theyve never visited, the Burning Man naysayers are resolute about their resoluteness.

Now is their chance to consider changing. No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man, which runs through Feb. 16 at the Oakland Museum of California, demystifies the Burning Man experience including its art component, which is an essential part of the annual Nevada event. So in Oakland, you get to enter (for free!) an ornate wooden temple thats similar to temples built for Burning Man. In fact, artist David Best,one of Burning Mans biggest names whos designed and coordinated the construction of around half the events temples created the Oakland structure, which hes labeled a place for visitors to mourn the loss of family from violence, deportation, immigration, incarceration, suicide, or alienation. Burning Man has a deserved reputation for hedonism, but organizers also provide venues for introspection and self-reflection where Burners can go to cry, close their eyes, and mourn for things that are painful to consider.

Inside Oaklands ticketed exhibit is the opposite of mournful: Burning Man art thats instantly joyful, wondrous, silly, and playful, like Richard Wilks Evotrope a giant, bike-like zoetrope with spinning, eye-festooned wheel that seems straight from Alice in Wonderland. Then theres Capitol Theater, by a group called Five Ton Crane, thats an open-air, art deco movie theater on wheels complete with screening film and 1950s-era neon. And next to that is Shrumen Lumen two 7-foot-tall origami mushrooms, by the collective FoldHaus, that expand and contract and make the kind of noise youd expect from a creaking house. Neat!

No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man is no substitute forBurning Man. Inside Oaklands museum, people arent collaborating with strangers on arrangements for food and sleeping. Theres no collective gathering around burning objects or high-minded ideals like radical inclusion and communal effort. Instead, its a lot of gazing at art objects, sartorial wonders, and exhibit displays a continuous traipse of eye candy.

David Bests outdoor Temple of Reunion is the exception. Oakland visitors have written on the temples wooden walls, and theyve tucked small wooden notes into crevices just like Burners do at Burning Man, and just like people have done at theSmithsonian American Art Museums Renwick Galleryin Washington, D.C., which has situated a David Best temple inside a second-floor indoor gallery. With high ceilings, expansive carpet, and perfect mood lighting, the Renwick temple really feels like a bona fide place for contemplation. SF Weekly recently visited Renwick Gallery, which organized the traveling No Spectators exhibit thats now in Oakland, and witnessed people there who were in deep thought and practically praying. On the exterior of Oaklands temple, people have written notes likeRIP dad, andRest. Robbie. You went too soon, and Goodbye to who I used to be.

No Spectators: The Art of Burning Manwont answer the question, Is Burning Man worth attending? That question is unanswerable until you go to the Playa yourself. And the exhibits Oakland iteration all but says that Burning Man is as much a mental state as a physical one.Whether its the middle of the night in Nevada or the middle of the day in Oakland, Burning Mans art is supposed to smooth the way to entering that state of mind. You cant blame the art if you dont reach that state. Maybe youre not in the mood, and even Burners would say thats okay.

Street art

BiP, which is short for Believe in People, has become one of the worlds most important street artists. SF Weekly has profiled his work over the past five years, and did an exclusive interview with him in 2017 about his giant San Francisco mural called Figurine. In August, when BiP began to do another in his series of large-scale works here this one located near the corner of Franklin and Oak called Baby with a Handgun he said it on Instagram with great triumph and celebration: There was BiP on the roof of the location, wearing his white, hoodied painting suit and sunglasses, stretching and bobbing like a champion boxer about to enter the ring. A drone video recorded BiPs embarkation toward a work that promised to be provocative and a visual triumph. But three months later, its all gone to hell. Baby with a Handgun is finished but so is BiP, he says, after the San Francisco Chronicle revealed the location of his studio inside the building.

The reveal happened in the papers November profile of BiP and his work thats critical of police brutality. The artist had the Chronicle remove the floor number from the article, which now has an editors note to that effect. BiP said on Instagram that the information led the police to his studio and that there was a security incident.

I stayed up all night thinking and Ive decided Im just walking away from BiP, the artist says in the Instagram post. I just want to be a normal guy in SF and work behind the scenes.

So for now, thats it. No more BiP. His last Instagram posting, which announced his de facto retirement from upfront, public artmaking, featured a single, black screen as if it were a funeral wrap that covered a coffin. For everyone that was with me all these years thank you so much, he wrote. I tried really hard and I can let that be enough now. I will never give up on what I feel is the greatest city in the world. Long live SF and the people that make this a great city.

On Instagram, BiPs fans are hoping his hiatus is just temporary. In addition to denigrating the Chronicles reporter, theyve correctly noted that, Your art will never die. Which is true. Baby with a Handgun is still at the corner of Franklin and Oak. Still inspiring pedestrians to stop and look. Still prompting them to take photos. Still causing people to wonder what exactly the giant artwork is saying. The baby has a skeptical look on its face. Its finger isnt on the trigger, so were seeing a moment of intense decision-making. To shoot or not to shoot? Its ridiculous, of course, that an infant is even in that position. But that ridiculousness is a big theme in what might be BiPs last San Francisco work.

No Spectators: The Art of Burning Man through Feb. 16 at the Oakland Museum of California, 1000 Oak, Oakland. $12-$21; 510-318-8400 or museumca.org.

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Get a Taste of Burning Man Without the Burning Man - SF Weekly

Tom Hanks' first movie was really cheesy. Seventh-billed in a 1980 stalker "thriller" called He Knows You're Alone, the 24-year-old actor played a bushy-haired psych student who tries to impress young women at an amusement park with his alleged ability to spot the criminal type. There's absolutely nothing here to suggest that this seemingly affable but unprepossessing fellow would go any further than the other young actors in this defiantly talent-free film, none of whom was ever heard from again.

But the kid with a vagabond California childhood pressed on, soon winning roles on popular shows such as The Love Boat, Taxi, Happy Days and Family Ties and, for two seasons, on Bosom Buddies (he turned down Fantasy Island). As Hanks told Oprah Winfrey in 2001: "Several things always separated me from a herd of other actors. Whenever I auditioned for a part, I'd think, 'I'm probably better than 50 percent of the actors here, because half of these people are self-conscious in ways I'm not.' I would do anything I didn't care. But many would not make fun of themselves the way I'm willing to."

In 1984, he got his big break in cross-species love fantasy Splash, in which the wet embrace of unbridled hedonism on the part of Daryl Hannah's free-spirited mermaid proves more than a regular guy like Hanks can resist. Audiences immediately were drawn to Hanks' how-lucky-can-a-guy-get incredulity at being favored by this natural-born, unembarrassed sensualist. And they have remained drawn to him throughout the subsequent 35 years. The worldwide grosses for his films will shortly reach $9 billion, leading Time magazine to anoint Hanks as one of the nation's "Top 10 College Dropouts."

Hanks, who will receive the Cecil B. DeMille Award at the Jan. 5 Golden Globes, has been an anomaly among actors, and even more so among movie stars, since he arrived on the scene. Except for the flat-out funny guys like Eddie Murphy and Robin Williams, nearly all the dominant male stars in the 1980s and '90s were hunky tough guys, often with gun in hand, who were awfully good at causing and surviving mayhem. Most of them were conspicuously great-looking, especially with their shirts off, which in at least some cases suggested that they were putting in more hours at the gym than studying acting. It was the time of Arnold, Sly, Clint, Mel, Burt Reynolds, Tom Cruise, Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis. Average Joes were out, hard bodies were in. So where was this pleasant, amusing, quintessential nice guy going to find his niche in Hollywood?

Hanks is the only movie star around today who projects a specifically American brand of decency, which suggests an implicit bond with common folk and a straightforward way of thinking and talking that harkens back to earlier generations. He's the only contemporary actor of stature whose manner, bearing and presumed sense of fair play suggest a link to revered actors of the past, particularly James Stewart, Henry Fonda and Spencer Tracy all of whom, it should be remembered, also were awfully good at comedy.

Both Splash and the even more successful Big, in 1988, branded him as a popular romantic comedy actor and farceur who provided a perfect match to young romantic comediennes. Swinging the other way into big-time serious fare, he starred in his biggest clunker of all, Brian De Palma's film version of Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities, in 1990, which Hanks dubbed (in his 2016 interview with Oprah) "one of the crappiest movies ever made." He was on safer ground as the boozy manager of a female baseball team in Peggy Marshall's very popular A League of Their Own.

In 1993, Hanks took the big leap from the safe sphere of comedy to the risky realm of a drama about AIDS, Jonathan Demme's Philadelphia. The performance, beginning with the youthful swagger of an on-the-rise attorney, passing through the initial shock of infection and gradual withering and deterioration, is acutely sensitive and moving.1255952Hanks won his first Oscar for the turn and doubled his pleasure the following year with Robert Zemeckis' Forrest Gump. The humorless, emotionally blank, athletically gifted idiot savant who manages to take part in an exceptional number of historical events is a role not softened by Hanks, whose maintenance of an almost Buster Keaton-like deadpan throughout miraculously works to the film's immense favor.

These two films launched Hanks' greatest decade. But as if these were not enough, there is a third role, from 1995, that in the long run will no doubt eclipse all the rest, because it will be watched and enjoyed for generations to come: Woody in the Toy Story series. How absolutely wonderful that part is, both in visual execution and vocal dexterity. To say that Hanks makes this doll come alive is an understatement; he's probably the most recognizable and beloved sheriff in film history.

To top it all off, Hanks began producing during this period, and his track record in this regard puts to shame many for whom it's a full-time occupation. In 2002, Hanks personally produced a little indie-styled project called My Big Fat Greek Wedding and walked away with something like $20 million for his efforts. And as an executive producer, he's had a hand in many television projects, including the long-running Big Love and, closest to his heart, several major history-oriented miniseries, including Band of Brothers, John Adams and The Pacific.

If this man for all seasons has an Achilles' heel, it's in the realm of directing. He's tried it a few times, mostly on television but twice on the big screen, with That Thing You Do! in 1996 and, 15 years later, Larry Crowne. Both centered on small-town guys, played by Hanks, trying to make something of themselves, but neither gained significant creative traction.

Still, the major successes continued. Hanks wasn't sure he was the right actor to star in Saving Private Ryan, but Steven Spielberg proved him wrong. The Spielberg collaboration has continued apace ever since, ranging from the very fine (Catch Me If You Can and Bridge of Spies) to the not bad (The Post) to the terminally awful (The Terminal). It's supposed to continue with In the Garden of Beasts, in which Hanks would play the U.S. ambassador to Hitler's Germany before the war.

If any film proves beyond doubt Hanks' ability to hold the audience in the palm of his hand, it's Zemeckis' Cast Away. As a FedEx employee whose plane crashes into the Pacific, leaving him stranded on an uninhabited island, Hanks is obliged to become a new Robinson Crusoe and figure out how to survive. Aiding this effort is a volleyball nicknamed Wilson, with whom one might say the man established a good rapport. Few actors could pull off a performance as demanding as this and not overstay their welcome, but Hanks pulls it off as if it were second nature.

Although wildly successful, the three Da Vinci Code films seemed like time-wasters as far as Hanks' abilities were concerned, and his adventurous outings in the 2000s with such worthy filmmakers as Mike Nichols, Sam Mendes, the Coen Brothers and Stephen Daldry didn't quite jell. More successful were his studies of two portraits of real men of transport: as the seaman whose cargo ship is hijacked in Paul Greengrass' Captain Phillips and as the pilot who landed his jet in the Hudson River in Clint Eastwood's Sully. And life simply wouldn't have been complete had not Hanks also taken on, and nailed, playing Walt Disney in Saving Mr. Banks.

In his latest film, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, Hanks catches the unique charm and charisma of yet another mild-mannered sage, Fred Rogers. What is it about this actor that allows him to range so far, from the innate goodness and likability of Woody and Fred Rogers, the vulnerability of an AIDS casualty and the blank slate of Forrest Gump to the deep sensitivity of his prison guard in The Green Mile and the unifying force of astronaut Jim Lovell in Apollo 13? Hanks really is the last throwback to pre-Vietnam War American masculinity, a stable guy you feel you can count on, a quietly persuasive moral force around whom people can gather, a man whose natural bent is to gradually gather consensus. He doesn't insist upon your attention, nor does he wear a visible ego. There's no mystery here Hanks is a good man, and you're glad to be in his presence whenever you can.

This story first appeared in a November stand-alone issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.

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Todd McCarthy Reflects on Tom Hanks' "Specifically American Brand of Decency" - Hollywood Reporter

The first time I ever cared about Ducks football was earlier this year, when I found out that Big Boi, from legendary Atlanta rap duo Outkast, had a son who played on the team.

Visions of Big Boi, real name Antwon Patton, gracing local stages on a weekly basis flashed through my mind. I imagined running into him at House of Records, or seeing him at Saturday Market with an oversized fur coat and gold chains. I pictured an Outkast reunion at Autzen stadium, where most of the students would lazily fumble through the last verse in Roses, and only know the chorus to Mrs. Jackson.

Its a privilege for Eugene to have a small connection to Atlanta rap royalty and that connection is finally paying off for fans on Friday, Nov. 29, at the McDonald Theatre, where Big Boi will grace the stage in Eugene for the first time since his son, Cross Patton, began playing for the Ducks earlier this year.

Big Bois career spans the better part of three decades. As Outkast, he and Andre 3000 released five studio albums between 1994 and 2006. In 2010, Big Boi would release his first debut album, Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty, which managed the near-impossible task of satiating both mainstream critics and underground hip-hop fans, who want nothing more than slick talk and bone-rattling bass.

The same experimentation that gave Outkast its stripes in the late 90s is evident on Big Bois later solo material as well. In 2015, he released Big Grams, a collaborative album with alternative darlings Phantogram, where Big Boi took a stab at psych-pop and mostly succeeded. This eclectic love for any sound that makes people move is what distinguishes Big Boi from other aging hip-hop acts.

Big Bois longevity as a relevant hip-hop artist is a testament to his strength as a lyricist. He seems to be everything at once: witty, cunning, funny, aware. He never sold out because he never had to. This authenticity has allowed Big Boi to seamlessly transition into an elder statesman of hip-hop. He even managed to perform at this years Superbowl halftime show and have it not be corny or controversial something not many artists pull off.

Big Bois DNA can be found in almost every subgenre of Atlanta rap. He was only one piece of the larger puzzle that is The Dungeon Family, a rap collective from the 90s that featured future rap luminaries Goodie Mob, Cee-Lo Green, Killer Mike, Sleepy Brown and an innumerable number of associated acts and offshoots. Through colorful lyrics and intoxicating southern slang, The Dungeon Family defined the sounds of Atlanta hip-hop before trap music gained momentum in the early 2000s.

But one cant exist without the other. The tragedy and hedonism we all love from our trap music is evident in early Outkast records as well. Big Boi has never shied away from the harsh realities that still plague the community he grew up in. In 2006 he launched a non profit organization to help youth in Atlanta called the Big Kidz Foundation. In 2010 he expanded the foundation to Savannah, Georgia.

Unlike the reclusive Andre 3000, Big Boi continues to release new music, with an album hopefully around the corner. Earlier this year, he released two new songs With Dungeon Family alum Sleepy Brown and Killer Mike. Yes, its true. The chances of a 2019 Outkast reunion in Tracktown U.S.A. seem slim to none, However, the chances of Big Boi putting on a one-of-a-kind show in the home of the Ducks is overwhelmingly high.

Via email, Big Boi had this to say about his upcoming performance in Eugene: Eugene is like a second home. Ive been waiting to perform for the Ducks crowd. Sco Ducks!!!!

Big Boi plays 8 pm Friday, Nov. 29, at the McDonald Theatre; $35 advance, $40 door.

Excerpt from:

A Small Connection to Rap Royalty - Eugene Weekly