Evan's Blog

Does this make every topless guy on Tinder a potential Patrick Bateman?

Patrick Bateman, from American Psycho, would've loved selfies.

Perfectly sculpted, ab-bearing, gel-coiffed dudes oversharing their selfies on Instagram is annoying and lame, but recently published scientific research suggests that it might point to something far more sinister than being a mirror-addicted loser. Put it this way: if Patrick Bateman had an iPhone 6 and an Tinder account, his profile pic would be probably be a selfie.

Researchers at Ohio State University examined 1000 men aged 18-40 and discovered that those who regularly post images of themselves across social networking sites are more likely to score highly on psychopath tests.

The study, published in Personality and Individual Differences, examined the dark triad of three pathological personality traits: narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy. According to the researchers, this triumvirate of negativity all "share common threads of deceitfulness, self-promotion, coldness, disagreeableness, exploitation, and aggression".

Guys who post a lot of pictures of themselves scored higher on measures of narcissm and psychopathy. This doesn't mean that every selfie obsessive is necessarily a psycho – it just means they exhibit higher than average levels of these anti-social traits. So swipe right with caution.

Lead researcher Jesse Fox told Ohio State News: "It’s not surprising that men who post a lot of selfies and spend more time editing them are more narcissistic, but this is the first time it has actually been confirmed in a study. The more interesting finding is that they also score higher on this other anti-social personality trait, psychopathy, and are more prone to self-objectification."

Fox says she's in the middle of follow up research that is proving that women who post a lot of selfies score higher on psychopathy and narcissism tests. She says that because we all spend so much time on Instagram and Facebook, we're beginning to self-define through appearance more and more.

So there you have it, our generation is just one million reflections of psychopathy.


Image credit: Taringa.net

Source: Dazed

The '90s star and first-time feature filmmaker made a passionate plea at last night's New York Film Critics Circle awards gala.

With film critic Armond White ousted from the New York Film Critics Circle last year, after allegedly heckling "12 Years a Slave" director Steve McQueen during McQueen's acceptance speech at the organization's annual awards ceremony, this year's edition was unsurprisingly a more muted affair; and all the better for it.

Freed from the negativity that plagued last year's event, last night's ceremony -- held for the first time at TAO, the cavernous Pan-Asian eatery located in Manhattan's Meatpacking District -- was a wholly celebratory one, attended by most of last night's winners, including Richard Linklater, Marion Cotillard, Patricia Arquette, J.K. Simmons and Timothy Spall. Everyone was gracious in accepting their awards. Simmons fondly recalled his time living in New York and how much it means to receive an award from the city's film critics. Spall spoke of his long career and how he "fucking loves" being recognized for his work.

Rose McGowan at the 2015 New York Film Critics Circle Awards on January 5, 2015 in New York.

But arguably the best speech of the night didn't come from one of the night's winners, it came from Rose McGowan, one of the night's presenters. The actress -- who spoke with Indiewire before the show got underway about her feature directorial debut, which is currently in the works -- was on hand to award Best First Film to Australian newcomer Jennifer Kent for her startling horror film "The Babadook," and accept the honor on Kent's behalf since Kent couldn't make it out.

The Babadook

McGowan kicked off her speech by singling herself and Kent out as part of the paltry six percent of female filmmakers currently working in the industry. While she said she wasn't there to "rehash statistics" she deems "depressing," she did champion the need for more female voices in film with infectious passion.

"Let's give the six percent a shot," she at one point said. "'Cause that represents 50 percent of the audience, of which I am a member. I am not being served and I am not being heard. I ask you to take up the hand of the female director until we no longer say 'female director.' It is a unisex term. I am a director. Jennifer Kent is a director. Let’s do smart, let’s bring it. She did. I think she's thrown down the gauntlet. When they say, 'Oh, the box office is down,' it's perhaps because we don’t more fucking superhero movies! It’s time. It’s getting a little old and Jennifer is a wonderful, dedicated director and I can’t wait to see what she does next."

We can't either.

Source: Indiewire

Happy New Year!

Yet again, there's so much happened in our last 11 months and 31 days. We've finally moved to a more whole new level in 2015! The year of 2014 has left us so much to discuss, to regret, to love, and to the other things we could do. But let's cut the crap, the deal for a new year is to celebrate and start again (basically continue, but that's what people say). Basically, all you have to do is just celebrate, because it's obvious that none of us would really not celebrate this new year (except those who doesn't have time). You see, some might have just gone to sleep after lighting up their fireworks, messages, and tweets. And there are some of us who's still waiting, preparing and yawning (not after this post getting expired). So, should we really take a look back?

Well, in short, there's just so many happened, period. Angelina Jolie got married, Ebola, Anaconda, Renee Zellweger's face, Malala Yousafzai, nude hacking, Sony Pictures hacking, Amanda Bynes, Gaza, obituaries, Mariah Carey lost her voice, Oscars' selfie, Jay Z/Solange/Beyonce lift saga, not to mention Kim Kardashian breaking the internet, and God know what else. Basically, it means a LOT and you can't handle it. What the point is, people get older in every new year. And what's better to do is just deal with it and continue your life, because new year has never been about starting a new page, it has always about continuing your life and your pet's life. So, don't sit on a couch, because I'm not giving a therapy session.

Our last year, has been good, bad, poignant, (mention your desired expression), full of ineptitude, faux pas, and you know what else. So keep what's good and don't just sit waiting for a new year's miracle, because it's just the same day you wake up. So why the heck couldn't you (I'm fine) do a lot better, crazier, more breathtaking, and other more to spice up the new year, 2015!

Closing this, I'm sorry if you got irritated reading this. I just wanted to write something, so thank you for reading. God bless for the next 11 months and 31 days.

Happy new year! Feliz año nuevo! Gelukkige nuwe jaar! Bonne année! Frohes neues Jahr! An nou fericit! С новым годом! 新年快乐!

Image credit: Women Deliver

New Dawn

Photography

MARK SQUIRES

Interview

ANEL PLA & CONNER WHITE

FLATT: Your current film Dawn has the look of a bygone era. What films inspired the aesthetics and the tone of the story?

ROSE McGOWAN: I did the production design, so what really, really inspired the aesthetic was the original with Hayley Mills, Maureen O’Hara, and Brian Keith. There’s this color palette that is just peaches and pinks when they get to the California section of the movie. Dawn’s bedroom was a direct knock-off of the bedroom in The Parent Trap. I modeled the mother in dawn as kind of a cross between the Columbia pictures woman, you know, holding the fire, and Maureen O’Hara in that movie. And loneliness is a real character in the movie for me as well. It’s a look, loneliness. And the look for loneliness that I wanted was of an Edward Hopper painting. I wanted to somehow palpably to feel the loneliness you feel when you look at a Hopper. And then the tension is night of the hunter. But other than that, it was really just about The Parent Trap. That was my real color palette inspiration. The rest is paintings.

FLATT: It’s funny you say Hopper, because that lonely tone on the outskirts of town definitely has that feel. gas by Edward Hopper definitely looks like an inspiration.

ROSE McGOWAN: Design is also such a huge influence in my life. My house now is like Seventies Pierre Cardin and Milo Baughman pieces primarily. My house before this was all directly tied into the movies, doing productions, putting every piece of furniture in place. I learned by restoring houses how to do that, like a set design. All these things that I always called useless talent, it used to be, oh, useless talent number 72, now they’re all coming into play, and it’s been a really great time of life.

FLATT: You restored houses before? Oh, wow.

ROSE McGOWAN: Yeah. My dad always liked craftsmen, so I grew up taking field trips to Frank Lloyd Wright — not field trips, but like trips. I broke into Frank Lloyd Wright’s Ennis house actually. I climbed up the tree, across a wall, and then I had to get into the house, all the while not being noticed by the minder, who was off on the side of the property. I broke in so I could look at Frank Lloyd Wright’s dining room furniture because I had never seen it close up. It was a very exciting . I’m a design freak. Then two days later I was in Rio and I met the realtor for the Ennis house in line at a restaurant. And he told me, I can get you in to see it any time. I was like, yay!

FLATT: Do you typically find paintings inspiring for scenes of your films?

ROSE McGOWAN: When I would be on set as an actor, I would see paintings all over the place, or what could have been an interpretation of a painting. Maybe that was the frustrated director in me seeing it. I see that a lot. I mean, I think film is hard. It’s living art. It’s moving art. I feel like any artist is inspired by artists before them. And what was before film? Obviously photography, and then paint, paintings.

FLATT: About what age did you become interested in art in general?

ROSE McGOWAN: Well, my father was an amazing painter, and that was his only job he ever had his entire life. So I grew up in Italy, I got to go to museums all over the world. And my family and I are very steeped in the art world – my sister works in the Pace Gallery in New York, my other sister runs a gallery in Denver. It’s just kind of part of the fabric of my family.

Growing up in a creative family was a godsend looking back. I don’t know — I don’t know any other way to grow up, so it wasn’t even that we were always making things or doing things, although I think we probably were, but it was just . . . interesting. I have seven brothers and sisters, so there was just a lot going on at any given time. When I would go out into the world, we would be looked at as the weirdo family. I was okay with that because I thought everybody else was weird. Basically that’s it. I thought my brothers and sisters had tremendous minds and spirits and humor and talent, so I didn’t understand when people thought we were weird. I just thought it was so sad for them that they couldn’t see what we saw.

FLATT: Can you tell me about maybe a memory of art having an impact on you at an early age? Maybe something your father showed you?

ROSE McGOWAN: There was this statue, this life-like rendering of a woman, her name was Linda. I remember this was at a museum in Denver and I was nine and a half and had just come to the U.S.. I was having troublesome time. The piece looked just like my mother to me, who I was separated from at the time. I set off every alarm in there five times in a row because I wouldn’t stop touching her hair. I couldn’t understand how they made something like the folds of her skin and all of that. Growing up going to the Vatican, you’re seeing what people can do out of marble and stone…Growing up in Italy, it’s all around you. It’s not even a specific thing. It’s just really an art- everywhere kind of place. You just have to look up. I’m also an inveterate reader. I started reading when I was three, proper books by four, and whenever I wanted to escape growing up, all I would do is read. I traveled, I traveled a lot in my life, but I also traveled a lot through books and through art.

FLATT: Any books in particular or authors?

ROSE McGOWAN: I re-read The Count of Monte Cristo every year. I always had a mad crush on Edmond Dantes, which I know is hopeless. It’s a hopeless crush, Edmond and I. The unabridged version, I could have lived in that book, I could have stayed in that book. But I also just recently re-read The Stories of Eva Luna, which is Isabel Allende, which is amazing. And Marquez I’ve re-read. I’ve read Love in the Time of Cholera every year since I was 14, just because I found the pacing in that novel just insane.

FLATT: You are connected to storytelling. Dawn is your directorial debut – Why this project? Why this story?

ROSE McGOWAN: I was originally supposed to do a Flannery O’Connor short. I was doing A Good Man is Hard To Find. And I had all four locations for Dawn–it wasn’t Dawn, now it’s Dawn –locked down for A Good Man. And this amazing script. I had Piper Laurie, who was going to star in it, who was the mom in Carrie, who’s just unreal. And then when I was leaving the fourth location lock down, I got a call from the Flannery O’Connor Foundation and said they had sold the rights to make a feature and they could no longer let me do the short. So now I have locations and so much money sunk into it, and no script. No story. And I’m going to shoot in a month.

So the writers who were tremendously talented people, Joshua Miller and Mark Fortin – I locked them in a hotel room for two days and I said, these are my four locations, this is the last line that I need and the last situation: Go. And they saved my ass. It turned out to be for the better, absolutely. And so there is some Flannery in it, there is some Southern Gothic going on there.

FLATT: Got the Southern Gothic, that’s cool.

ROSE McGOWAN: I like the South.

FLATT: Can you describe your role then in the script writing process?

ROSE McGOWAN: I was not part of the screen writing process; I didn’t have to be, the script was so well done. It’s better to let it breathe. My job was painting. I love words. And I can’t paint with my hands (it’s one of my life’s frustrations) but I can capture with a camera what I see, and I can capture it with words. I can take words and I can paint with them, and that’s my job as a director, that’s my job as a writer. I am writing other things but not this.

FLATT: Tell me a bit about what led you into film making from acting?

ROSE McGOWAN: Well, you know, the acting is a long weird story anyway. Basically I was standing on the street corner in front of a gym and I got discovered. What led me into filmmaking is what led me into acting, which is just my love of film.

I just grew up with not just an appreciation, but the desire to break down the study of film. Okay Rose, let’s study the Lumière Brothers, who invented the moving camera. Let’s now study and focus on this. So when I was discovered for acting I thought, oh, this must be what I’m meant to do. But I was never comfortable in the role of basically being voiceless. I worked with some seriously misogynistic directors. And people get a pass because they’re directors – but you don’t get a pass for being a bad person, you just don’t. I don’t think any job. I got really tired of being sexualized. There was a moment, I was on the cover of Rolling Stone, with a fake tan and gun belt around me and breasts, they gave me some big bouffant hair and glossy lips, and I just was like, I’ve had it, I have just had it. I’m like sick of being sexualized, I’m sick of this. So I just checked out and I ran around and I had the most fabulous time. I figured out finally what was wrong. It was not that I wasn’t meant to be an actress, it was just that I was meant to be in film, and I just was literally cast in the wrong role in life. And I’m good at acting, I like exploring different worlds and I like disappearing, but I spent 15 years disappearing into other people’s bodies, into other people’s minds, other people’s clothes, eating what other people would eat. It wasn’t that I didn’t have amazing moments or got to do amazing things, absolutely. I’m an artist, but I never felt like I was an artist as an actor. Not because of how I was treated, because that’s not how artists are treated, or should be treated, or people should be treated.

FLATT: Can you talk to me a little bit about women in film making? We’re sort of at a halcyon moment, at least in the history of film making, where women are being afforded more opportunities.

ROSE McGOWAN: I think it’s a great time for women filmmakers. Women are being afforded greater roles in their destiny, or roles in art, or roles as directors, but why should women be “afforded” anything? I shouldn’t just be allowed to have something – it is my right. It is my right to create as much as it’s another human being’s right, and I think that comes first. Somebody asked if I thought a man would have made Dawn, and I don’t know if they could have. I don’t know if it would have occurred to them.

The Seattle International Film Festival, God bless them, put me and dawn was in the festival, which was an honor, but then under genre, they put “woman director.” I feel bad because then of course I go on Twitter and I was like, ‘Dear Friends on Twitter, please explain to the Seattle International Film Festival why a woman director is not a genre.’ I got a letter back from them saying we can assure you: we are neither sexist nor racist. I was very confused by that one, and I said no. It’s a passive sexism and that’s dangerous. All the people that looked at that to go into the program, nobody waved a flag at that one, because it’s normal. And that’s what has to change, I think.

FLATT: For sure. Can you tell me a little bit about some of your feelings leading into making this film?

ROSE McGOWAN: I was never nervous filming Dawn. I kept waiting for a panic to happen, and it never happened. I felt like I was wearing pants that fit me correctly for the first time. When I act, it is such a cliché, but the night before I first start shooting, I always have nightmares that I forget my lines, that I’m letting everyone down on set, and the stress. And I had none of that when I was directing. It just felt right.

FLATT: Can you tell me a little bit about your work outside of the film industry? Maybe some of your philanthropic efforts?

ROSE McGOWAN: I support Children of The Night, they are who I earmark for things and anybody who’s going to donate on my behalf, they work to support children and teen runaways. I’m involved in are working at Walter Reed Hospital. I’ve been working with the military in the USO for years. I’ve been to Afghanistan and Kuwait, and I’ve done a lot of stuff in the last seven years military. I’m very, very close to that world. I have the utmost respect for them, and it’s beyond that. I think I would have been a really good soldier or officer, frankly. Except for I probably would have gotten kicked out for some reason or another, I’m sure. But I’m a fighter, I’m a born fighter, and I respect fighters, in any capacity.

Source: Flatt

In Any Given Life Hair is Shorn

Interview

MATTHEW BEDARD

Photography

MARK SQUIRES

I’m going to tell you about the Nine Lives of Rose McGowan. They’re lives of intersection, lives of expression, lives occasionally glazed with death, the macabre, the dying. They’re lives of spotlight, scrutiny, sex, and longing. They’re lives not yet lived, and lives long forgotten.

Rose McGowan is drinking tequila with muddled jalapeños, her shoulders exposed from a white dress to a balmy Santa Ana breeze atop a boutique hotel in Hollywood, her hair cut short in a punishing bob. Our opening exchange is taut and tense, warm and nuanced, marked as much by polarity as the subsequent conversation that follows. To wit: McGowan’s digesting today’s closure of the agency that currently represents her for acting, Resolution, run by former ICM chairman, Jeff Berg, while enjoying a declaratively charmed review of her directorial debut, Dawn, by The New York Times.

Life, in this moment now, is moving like a current through McGowan, knotted up and ready to incite something, anything. It’s when she laughs—as she’ll do while chewing on ideas of art, fame, sex, expectation, power, and spiritual renewal—that this is most evident. It’s a stage laugh, capable of rattling the nosebleeds, almost superhuman.

Yet, here is someone wholly human, with their mistakes, their faults, their missteps, and their successes. Here’s a human who has lived on the streets, experienced the murder of a lover, spent some 17,000 hours on set [under the guidance of Gregg Araki, Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez, and Wes Craven, among others], kept romantic company with other celebrities, ceased working with glamour teams for photo shoots or red carpet, has partnered on a forthcoming three docu-series with Relativity Television, and who, at 41, shamelessly bears it all for Flaunt in the photos herein.

Dawn, too, in its way, bears it all. The crown jewel of eight currently touring films from the Sundance Film Festival, Dawn is a period piece (1961) that—despite its short format—sears, positioning McGowan as a potential earthmover behind the camera, in the increasingly droll American film scene. McGowan’s turn at the camera results in a gauzy, tummy-stirring piece that harkens Flannery O’Connor’s iconic short story, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” with similarly bewitching restraint and seraphic imbue. But that’s merely a referential pivot point, not the film’s winning gravitas.

Dawn tells the tale of an adolescent girl lured into a sexually explorative—albeit dark—moment in time, the long-term scars and marks that go unseen on those involved. As well, there’s tenderness, and shameless play, and an ending we won’t spill here, but somehow fitting for whom we’re enjoying reposado with. What’s winning about the 19-minute piece is that its tonality and directional maturity depict much of what makes Rose McGowan a person now—despite, or perhaps because of—the aforementioned lives lived and led.

Everything is bleeding over at this particular moment in time, and that’s cool by McGowan. Fear is dead weight, regret is for character roles, not waking life, and the entertainment machine is fickle. Life will not surprise her, no matter its turns. For as O’Conner was known to say: “The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.” So now: a summary of our conversation in Nine Parts.

I. Sometimes, in life, things repeat themselves.
I meet Rose McGowan in the back of an Uber during Art Basel Miami Beach 2013 before we let loose our divinities at a Benoit & Sergio show at The Electric Pickle downtown. She’s a friend of a friend, and we’ve rung her ahead of time to ask for some tequila from her mini-bar. She obliges. There’s no jalapeños for muddling, but she does tell me briefly about Dawn and its acceptance into Sundance, where it will screen to charmed reviews seven weeks later. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here,” she says, speaking to the art parade and carnival that overtakes Miami annually, relieved we’re leaving the beach for the bass, I ask over her shoulder what Dawn is thematically about and she pauses for a moment, before softly announcing over the satellite radio:

Rose McGowan: A girl.

II. Sometimes we need to breathe. Because before all this: Breath. Because with breathing, we go on, we regulate. We keep the fire burning.
Dawn, for me, was about rebirth. I got off on the wrong track for an extended period of time. I’ve had a lot of fun, I’ve had an amazing time. But the last seven years I largely took off.  I had gotten stuck into a lot of things that were other people’s artistic visions, which sometimes were very limited visions. And I’m not oil on someone’s canvas, I’m much more than just an oil.

III. Sometimes, impact: reversals, returns.
A real impact? How about this: making a left turn into a car that smashes into my seat. The side airbag shatters glass into my right eye. Cuts my face open. That was a point of impact. And I wonder if I broke a massive mirror, maybe the Versailles Hall of Mirrors. Because I had about seven years of tremendous bad luck. But that’s okay. There had to be something really intense to shake me out of the life I was stuck in. It took my dad dying, it took my arm being paralyzed on a set, it took my dogs dying, it took a lot to get me out of the fame bubble. At that time, in 2008—when I basically peaced out of Hollywood—it was the real zenith of Perez Hilton power, Page 6 power. All this bullshit that doesn’t matter at all. Just bullshit. And there was no Twitter yet so you couldn’t fight back. As an actor, it’s arguably the only voice you can have. Before, what? They do a retraction on page 46, big deal. So after the car accident, things just went haywire.

IVa. Sometimes, there’s fate in these lives we lead.
I was discovered standing on a street corner. So I didn’t have the same trajectory as other people that, you know, understood how to get agents, managers, lawyers, and do all that. I just didn’t understand it. And I didn’t understand those people, I’d never been around people like that. And frankly they were terrifying. Terrifying because what was considered valuable and valued in that world is not what  I consider valuable in mine.

IVb. Sometimes fate means loss. Other times we have gain. Sometimes we gain in loss.
I’m not scared of anything. I’m not scared of the people that I find scary. Like I’ve done horror movies, and I’ve never seen them. Because I just don’t like things that frighten me. Not frighten me like I need to fight for my life, but frighten me in a way that just turns my stomach. Repulsive. About lack of empathy, lack of quality of life. On a comfort level, that period was high quality. A comfort level in your soul? Not so much. But that’s okay. It’s all about art now.

V. Sometimes we move on, we change, we redirect. Sometimes we wholly let go.
Past lives? I worked at a funeral home for my first job dressing bodies for viewing. It was a lot of past lives I was dealing with. My life has been threaded with death, more than anything. I’ve only been to two weddings. The second was my own [to artist Davey Detail]. Some people just get nailed with it. Some people just have more of it and eventually it will catch up with all of us. But it is intense when you’re younger and dealing with death. It’s not that you’re not prepared for it. You can never really be prepared for it.

VI. Sometimes, it all boils down to moments.
Standing on a street corner crying after my boyfriend was murdered in L.A., and I had nowhere to live—that was a moment. The scowl on my face…the tears running down. I was couch surfing—I was staying at my friend’s house. He actually wrote Dawn. I have so many moments, but that would be one. Or this: some woman approaching me and asking if I knew who Gregg Araki was. And of course I didn’t, because I was only raised on classic stuff. And I said, “No,” and she said, “Would you go to meet him in The Valley?” And I said, “No,” and she said, “Why?” And I said, “The Valley is very far.” Eventually they got me to The Valley, and here I sit today.

VII. Sometimes, it’s as if we’re not living. It’s as if we’re made into something else.
I’ve been dehumanized, I’ve sexualized. I was very sexualized. And I went part and parcel with it, in a way, because it was just like: this is the trade off. Once you promote films, you have to. And it’s not about being nude. I think nudity is beautiful. I feel in a weird way I’ve been like Cindy Sherman. I’ve just been paid to be that way. It just wasn’t my choice. It would be like Cindy Sherman being told what she had to look like in each photo.

VIII. Sometimes, cats are said to live Nine Lives. They spend these lives, so they say: playing, staying, and straying.
Survival was my staying. Looking back now at fame, it’s almost like I was on a ship. And I just hold myself, in a way, before the storm ends. Because I had nobody protecting me. I never had a fighter for a publicist, or a rep, anything like that. And I was taking all the blows. Because I didn’t come here pursuing it, I didn’t understand this masochistic business. And I opted out. And life opted me out. But then I opted back in. But not on anybody else’s terms. Just because things have been done a certain way for so long doesn’t mean that they have to still be done that way. How boring. I think Hollywood just needs to become a lot more progressive. It’s time. It’s not going to survive any other way.

IX. And yet, the cat will stray.
I’m not in a rat race. You’re told you have to be in this studio movie even though you hate it and it’s about wrestling. Because then they’ll hire you for other movies. No they won’t, assholes. Now I’m just stuck in a stupid wrestling movie, you assholes, you dicks. I don’t listen to what people say in that way. That’s straying. Was it Malcolm Gladwell who said you’re a master after 10,000 hours? In that case, we’re all masters; we just have to realize we are. I spent over 17,000 hours on sets. That’s a conservative estimate. And I’ll meet a director that’s done two movies, and it’s like, “All right. Chill out. Simmer down. Let’s just be people.” That’s the number one thing.  I think there’s a kind of movement going on right now. I think there’s a real move towards us being human.