99iSifl
Saturdays
Free slice of pizza
with a pint!
IVMVIhau.
Community
Canter tor the
Performing Arts
8th &
Lincoln
■ Tonight.
Proii;
Vebemance, lyndipytm,
Hard Rod
t:M pm, $10 advance, $12 door
• Friday ■
Summer lam 200j,
Mackdub, Coot Nutz, Maniac Lok, Evil,
Todd G, Bullet, NDO, DZO, Michael Kay,
Vocab, Dynamite TNT, Dl PSl
Rap
l:oo pm. $10 advance, available at Tickets West
• Monday ■
Hie Hum, Ro^er Miret £ Hie Disasters
800 Octane, The Empty
Punk Rock
l:oo pm, tl advance, $10 door
All Ages Welcome
6X7-2746
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Extra large selection of
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mm mum WM
Mon.-Pri. Lunch 11:30-230 DinnerS-lOpm • Saturday Dinner 5-10pm
199 E. 5th Ave. #7, Eugene • 484-1334
NEED CASH ?
We buy used texts and other good books
throughout the year
768 East 1 3th 525 Willamette
(541) 345-1651 (541) 343-4717
one block from U of 0 near the Post Office
www.smithfamilybookstore.com
1973's The Wicker Man'
toys with religious themes
Christopher Lee plays Lord
Summerisle, the leader of
an island of creepy pagans
By Ryan Nyburg
Senior Pulse Reporter
It's surprising how few films take
religion seriously. The numbers are
even worse for horror films, which ei
ther use religion as a stand-in for "the
power of good" or simply co-opt the
_ heaven/hell
FORGOTTEN
FILMS
mythology
to introduce
demons
into the mix.
The whole
attraction is that it provides a clear
black-and-white moral universe that
translates easily into the simple
minded structure of most film scripts.
"The Wicker Man," originally re
leased in 1973, takes faith seriously
while avoiding any clear-cut moral
answers. Part mystery, part horror, part
who-knows-what, the film deals with
a strict Christian police sergeant Neil
Howie (played by the nearly stoic Ed
ward Woodward) who flies to a small
isolated Scottish island to investigate
the disappearance of a young girl.
Upon arriving, he finds the island is
inhabited by a modern-day pagan
community which claims to never
have heard of the child.
From this, "The Wicker Man,"
seems to have set itself up as an inter
esting, if light, mystery story. But as
the story progresses, further layers are
revealed, and the film becomes a
morality tale setting the devout
sergeant's Christian beliefs up
against the more nature-oriented,
erotic beliefs of the islanders. From
there, the film slowly descends into
a nightmare world of conspiracy, pa
gan rituals and murder.
Odd stylistic choices can be spotted
throughout the film, beginning with
the strange, seemingly out-of-place
music, which consists of odd folk
tunes which break out in the same
style as in most Hollywood musicals.
Yet these never distract from the film,
instead adding to the increasingly
bizarre tone. Garish colors, strange
costumes and seeming irrational be
havior sit side by side with the dank,
moody atmosphere of the town.
Soon, the film gains a dreamlike
mood, which only gets darker and
more perverse with every scene.
While the police sergeant is set up
as the heroic character, this distinction
becomes less and less clear. While the
actions of islanders might at first seem
sinister, much of it is explained away
by the island's ruler, Lord Summerisle,
played by the excellent Christopher
Lee. While Lee is more often known
for his villainous roles, for much of
this film he plays a man of gentle hu
manism who does not seem per
turbed in the slightest by Sergeant
Howie's condemnations, although
how much of this is a front and how
much real is left unclear.
By the film's halfway point, the
sergeant is no longer sure whether
Turn to WICKER, page 11
Ml RAH
continued from page 8
the guitar or we split it up, and some
times I'd be playing and sometimes
he'd be playing and we pieced it to
gether on tape. Most of the recordings
aren't recorded very live. Only a couple
of times have we done that. Like the
song 'Light the Match' from 'Advisory
Committee' — that was recorded live
and I'd hardly ever done that before —
everyone playing at the same time."
Mirah began playing guitar when
she was 19, during her second year at
The Evergreen State College. She start
ed attending college when she was 17
years old. After she mentioned that,
we all had something in common —
my friend started attending college
when she was 16, and so had I.
Before I started rolling tape for the
interview, I expressed my issues with
being an interviewer; I tried to eschew
the traditional question/answer for
mat and actually have a conversation.
"I forget to also ask questions and
be engaged in a reciprocal way," I said,
"because it feels like I'm the wall and
I'm getting these words bounced at
me, and I have to respond, and it's not
that natural."
With that said, I didn't feel like just
jumping in with another question.
Rather awkwardly, I continued: "We're
just having breakfast." Breakfast with
a tape recorder rolling, that is.
About the time Mirah's food finally
arrived, the topic of conversation had
shifted to voting.
"I was really excited for the first time I
could vote. It wasn't like, 'Yay, I can fi
nally make a difference, this is going to
mean a lot,' but I was excited to try it. 1
voted for Bill Clinton. It was (his) first
term, because I thought, 'An independ
ent candidate's never going to win, and
this is what I should do. It is my right to
have this power to cast a vote' So I voted
and afterwards, I felt so shitty. I felt so
used — immediately. I had a very dis
empowering experience," Mirah said.
"Then I started realizing local politics
does make a difference, like who's on
the city council, and that stuff."
Earlier, Mirah had asked my friend
Amy whether she had real maple
syrup with the waffle she ordered.
Ttoo months out of every year, Mirah
makes maple syrup at her family farm
in Pennsylvania.
"During sugaring season, we seri
ously just drink it. Because, you
know, you have to test each batch,"
she said. "It's a lot of hard work,
which I find fun."
Mirah began singing when she was
young because her family always
sang. She recently toured with her sis
ter, who is also a musician.
"My sister is amazing; I think her
voice is more beautiful than mine,"
she said.
To which I responded: "I don't
know about that."
During her shows, Mirah often
sings a capella songs.
"It's such a different experience to
be singing a capella because when
there's a lot of other sounds going on,
you have to try to listen to all these
different things, and check everything
all the time. It's not just some natural
thing that's coming out of your body
— it's like your ten arms. When I sing
alone, I'm more present in my body."
Surprisingly, Mirah's beautiful full
guitar progressions are not grounded
in theory. She played violin when she
was young and could sight read then,
but she has since lost the knowledge.
"It didn't occur to me that I had
learned a language and it would be
useful for me to remember it and in
corporate it into my life," she said. "I
do regret that. It's not quite important
enough for me to go there. I'm not
theory based at all with either my
songwriting or guitar progressions. I
don't keep track of what chords I'm
playing. It's just by ear."
By the time our time had expired, it
was 10 a.m., so we hurried off to class.
Mirah moved outside to finish her
breakfast with her bandmates, and as
we rode past on our bicycle, we waved
goodbye one last time.
Amy Lee Seidenverg contributed to
this reporter's notebook.
Contact the Pulse editor
at aaronshakra@dailyemerald.com.
LUERS
continued from page 7
examples of sources of global warm
ing on June 16,2000, he said he took
every precaution to make sure no
one was injured. Still, starting a fire
in a public place is an act even Luers'
supporters find unwise.
"I don't think what he did was
strategic," Avakian said. "We're only
against the length of his sentence."
University Spanish instructor Jesus
Sepulveda said Luers' act was harm
less in comparison to the damage
SUVs are causing to the planet. Luers
has been called a "terrorist" by some
authorities, but Sepulveda believes his
act fought against terrorism.
"It was a political statement and he
didn't intend to hurt anyone," he said.
"It was a political statement against vi
olence — violence is anything that
harms living creatures. The only real
terrorism here is state and corporate
terrorism, which goes against people
and the planet."
Some supporters believed that po
lice had been monitoring Luers, who
was a well-known activist, and even
followed him the night of his crime
and watched him set fire to the vehicles
without stopping him so they could ar
rest him for arson. Luers' supporters
feel he was evaluated and sentenced
not for his crime, but for his political
beliefs. Eugene resident Carly Deicher,
who raises awareness with different or
ganizations about Luers' case, said his
punishment was entirely unjust.
"He received such a lengthy sen
tence because what he did had politi
cal motivation," she said in an e-mail
interview. "Had he done it for money
or some other 'socially acceptable'
reason his sentence would have been
the same as others — usually about
three to five years. Rape is frequently
an eight-year sentence — manslaugh
ter might be 10 years. What Jeff did
was property destruction. His crime
involved no violence against a human
being, and for him to receive a sen
tence more than double that of a vio
lent crime such as rape or manslaugh
ter is clearly unjust."
The reason for Luers' term of 22
years and eight months is Oregon's
mandatory minimum sentencing
guideline, which requires Luers to serve
seven years for each car burned plus
additional time for possession of in
cendiary devices and attempted arson.
Currently, Luers continues to be
active in prison. He has published
writings and artwork and is taking
sociology and paralegal courses. His
appeal process is coming up in July,
which could possibly lead to a re
duced sentence.
"He is very strong and is making
the most of his time and his situation,
but he is locked up, a condition that
is torture for anyone, but especially
someone who is so connected to and
concerned with the environment,"
Deicher said. "There is nothing natu
ral around him in prison. He is sur
rounded by men, many of whom he
has nothing in common with except
that they are forced to live in the same
concrete and barbed wire structure."
WOW Hall is located at 291 W.
Eighth Ave. The show starts at 7:30
p.m. and tickets are available for $5 at
WOW Hall's box office.
Contact the Pulse reporter at
natashachilingerian@dailyemerald.com.