Podcast Schedule: Look for new episodes every Friday.
Fancore is the ultimate movie lovers’ radio show, broadcast across the web for passionate fans of the very, very cool shit that is out there. Or is it possibly the haters’ refuge for people that want to tear stupid movies apart and over analyze the most inconsequential minutia? Actually it’s both. Let’s be honest here. Movie fans are usually a bit of both, but what you’re going to find on this site is 100% honest and true opinions that are not trying to sell you on a movie unless we think it’s really that good!
Our staff is made up of industry professionals that run or own comics shops, editors and writers for magazines and even a lawyer thrown in to make sure we end up in hell! Above all, Fancore’s rotating hosts are all fans of genre cinema and pop culture.
The site produces about one episode a week that could either be a review on a new movie just in theaters, an old classic that you need to see or a bootleg of some Asian cinema masterpiece. We’ll bring you interviews from stars, directors and writers. From time to time the site will also be host to other realms of pop culture like comics or toys.
Among some his favorite directors are the likes of John Carpenter, Tony Scott and Walter Hill, a shallow dip into his favorite director list. In a collection of literally thousands of DVDs, there are special areas carved out and set aside for his genre flicks. Sections for horror, action, biker, post-apocalyptic, kung fu, noir, crime, blaxploitation, western, etc. Many of his evenings are spent lurking in the back of his mind, trying to figure out whether Alien belongs with the Ridley Scott films or in sci-fi or horror. Deep stuff I know.
His knowledge of comics is also fairly impressive. Holding to a strict code for his reading habits he believes that, “the characters aren’t as important as the writers behind them”. To that, he owes an allegiance to men like Ed Brubaker, Geoff Johns and Brian K. Vaughn for making him become the previously unthinkable; a fan of Captain America, Green Lantern, Flash, Doctor Strange and Iron Fist (which, to those out of the loop, is not a porno!).
First into the fray to claim the position of devil’s advocate (also a pretty good movie!), Jonny will argue Christ off his cross, annoy the piss out of him and then just for giggles, swap sides and argue him right back up there again! Never short of an opinion, he will always open his mouth, even if it’s only to put his foot in it!
Knuckles white — My grip on the worn shaft of my hockey-stick morning-star was tight, maybe too tight. That last one was close, he might have nicked me. Oh shit, he had. The blood began trickling into my eyes, but I could still just make him out through the veil of crimson.
My opponent was fighting the dizziness of alcohol withdrawal, but he was back on his feet and winding up for another ruthless swing of his aluminum baseball bat. *WHAM* The air cracked like thunder as my garbage-can-lid buckler absorbed the next blow, sending me reeling to the ground. I was helpless. So, is this how it ends? In an ill-advised but brief moment of distraction, I caught sight of two men exchanging bills with the bookie. “Five hundred on the homeless one.”
“Which homeless one?” The Bum Fights official replied snarkily. Me. They were betting on me. They believed in me! I gathered my remaining strength and lurched to my knees. One powerful, wild swing. That’s all I needed. There was too much at stake: Three quarters of an Egg McMuffin, a mickey of Potters Vodka, and a modest gift certificate to Swiss Challet. I let it fly! The braided shoelaces went taught as the can of processed food lashed to the curve of my blade gained momentum — and then nothing. I had missed. The nausea that precedes unconsciousness began to take hold, and I felt myself slipping away. I’ll never forget the smell of Larry ” The Lysol” Anderson’s urine-caked jogging pants as he stood over me victorious. The McMuffin was his.
I woke up at the Fancore studio – what day is it? What year was this? The door to my quarters clanked open, and as my eyes began to adjust I recognized the inky silhouettes in the rectangle of light. The same pair had staked money on me at the match, and were counting their winnings. Wait — I shook off the confused thought, and soon learned their names: Jonny and Rovin. They hadn’t nursed me back to health, but they went halves on a high-class prostitute who had. Jonny glanced knowingly towards Rovin, “We’ve tried the stick, I think it’s time we tried the carrot…” Rovin chortled, then nodded with a smile. Was it true? Were these gentlemen social engineers of the highest order? Had they orchestrated my fall from the Fortune 500 and ascent through the ranks of Bum Fighting in order to harden me? To mold me into the perfect machine? To unlock the power they quite irrationally saw within me to become: Another sad Fancore Host!?
Sean S. Yang
The question we should be asking is not who Sean S. Yang is, but rather, who Sean S. Yang is not. We perceive our ego — our thoughts, feelings, experiences, memories, desires, tendencies — as “our self,” as a subject, but the ego is, in fact, not a real subject: it is an object, or stream of objects, because we perceive our egos. We can be aware of our egos; our egos arise in some awareness which exists prior to our thoughts, feelings, experiences, memories, desires, and tendencies. This awareness is the absolute Subject, which some call our true Self, or the Witness, and this one Self is undeniable. Even if we were to deny its existence, there is something doing the denying, an that something is fundamentally indistinguishable in all sentient beings: that which separates us, differentiates us, bounds us, all arises within that awareness, within the One Self.
In this sense, all of manifest existence is like a movie: we may witness life, experience life, but we are free of it, because we do not identify exclusively with phenomena which arise and fall within awareness.
Even after realizing the One Self, one boundary remains: the Witness and that which is witnessed. This Witness is, in fact, the final “contraction” in awareness, the subtlest form of the separate self-sense. The One Self must die, or dissolve, into everything that is witnessed, such that the universe manifests in and as that awareness.
In this very real sense, Sean S. Yang watches the movie, but Sean S. Yang is also watched as the movie. The subject/object duality collapses: movie and watcher are not-two in awareness. This is very simple, very obvious. Like a Zen Master said when he got his enlightenment in a Michael Bay film, “When I heard the giant robot explode, suddenly there was no ‘I’ and no ‘giant robot,’ just the explosion.”
Are you not Sean S. Yang, reading words written by you?
The name is Jordan C. and if you know anything about the Hip-Hop scene in Vancouver, BC, you probably know about me. Being the founder and editor of Canada’s longest running Hip-Hop publication, Thick Magazine / ThickOnline.com, is one way I’ve been making my voice heard. While being a founding member of the infamous 108 collective has made me a guiding force in a scene in need of direction. So, how do I fit into the Fancore side of things? Well, I’m a pop culture fiend and info addict, and therefore can wax poetic on quite a vast number of topics including music, film, comics, collectibles, etc. You’ll know I’m on the podcast because I completely lack the ability to stay on topic and am a regular victim of “tangentia” (my trademarked term that combines tangent and dementia).