from a Digg commenter, on the Jodie Foster movie “Contact”:
“After I saw that movie, I began to think maybe it’s best we don’t talk to other worlds. We might inadvertently convert the aliens into to believing in a guy who died two thousand years ago cuz he was telling the religious leaders of his time they were all wrong. What did we do? We built another religion around his teachings. Something tells me that’s SO not what he had in mind.”
I finally watched “Twilight,” because it was such a pop-culture phenomenon I felt I had to.
Because I am not – contrary to reports – a teenage girl, I’m afraid I just didn’t get it. The two leads were not attractive or interesting in any way, and no character in the movie was allowed to advance beyond the “plot device stereotype” level. Something like “True Blood,” with all its problems, has much more life and juice than this leaden exercise.
The cinematography is beautiful, when you can see it through the shroud of darkness that hangs over everything. But without a real story or characters you care about, it’s not enough.
It was inevitable that this movie, based on a blockbuster book series, would be made. But just because we can do something doesn’t mean we should.
Two movies, both adapted from books by Chuck Palahniuk. “Fight Club” was directed by David Fincher of “Seven.” “Choke” was directed by Clark Gregg, best known as the ex-husband on “The New Adventures of Old Christine.”
The outcome is seemingly self-explanatory.
Which is too bad, because my love of Sam Rockwell (“Confessions of a Dangerous Mind” and a sexy and funny Zaphod Beeblebrox in “Hitchhiker’s Guide”) knows few bounds. I haven’t read “Choke,” but with Palahniuk I have a feeling that the source material is exponentially more wild and interesting than was put on the screen. Well, maybe next time.
I remember clearly being in the grocery store just days after Dale Earnhardt had crashed his car in the Daytona 500 and died. There on the magazine rack was a one-off publication with the headline “Dale Earnhardt: American Hero.”
What a crock. Earnhardt drove fast in a sport where people don’t want to watch drivers crash and die – they want to watch drivers crash and walk away. He failed even in that measurement. And to say that endless fast left turns are the criteria for an American hero is, frankly, insulting.
So last night my mother calls me, all upset at Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps for taking a few bong hits. “Doesn’t he know he’s a role model? He should be more responsible than that,” she said, passionately.
Well, in this I have to disagree with her. Michael Phelps wasn’t a role model to anyone, except perhaps people who want to win swimming competitions. He’s an expert in a vanishingly narrow field, with a talent that is never going to advance the course of humanity in any respect. That’s not what makes a role model.
Let him smoke in peace. And let’s buy a sense of perspective as a nation, shall we?
…is VH-1′s “Tool Academy.” Seriously.
Well, maybe I should say “most entertaining.” But come on – let’s be honest. We watch reality TV to feel better about ourselves; to look at those poor souls on the screen and think, “at least I’m not them.” And nothing has provided the heroin-like hit of that emotion with more of a punch than “Tool Academy.”
It starts with the idea that the “tools,” the muscley, gelled-up, inked-over manwhores who star in the show, thought they were taking part in a program called “Mr. Awesome.” Little did they know that they would be joined by their skanky girlfriends on a show actually called “Tool Academy,” where they would have to work on their relationships through group therapy and reality-TV-style challenges. But they stayed, because hey, 1) they’re still on TV, and 2) they could win $100,000.
So begins the parade of male chauvinism, shirtless posing, endless cries of “bro” and “man,” and acres of tattoos, gelled hair and fake nails.
“I knew I was in serious trouble,” said Shawn, the bulked-up blonde with the fauxhawk and giant sideburns who had just been exposed in therapy as two-timing the girl he started the show with, “because this challenge is about infidelity. And I’m the biggest infidel here.”
Tonight’s contest was dancing the tango – won by Jenna and Ryan, an apparent refugee from Japanese anime who calls himself “Matsuflex” and compulsively refers to his underwear as “man panties.” (I am not making this up.) The couple, who has not yet had sex (although he is a constant “infidel” and she has had three previous boyfriends, all black men), won as their prize in the tango competition: a conjugal visit.
Is there any wonder why I love this show?
To all those contemplating buying a Snuggie:
You already own several “blankets with sleeves.” They’re called sweaters.
Doofus.
“Most people find their other half. I just have to wake up and accept, already, that maybe there is no other half for me.”
-Robert Barone (Brad Garrett), “Everybody Loves Raymond”
Say what you want about Keith Olbermann. But he says things no one else is willing to say.
That’s sad. But thank goodness we have Keith Olbermann.
Last night, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert had two of my favorite people on as guests: Paul Rudd and Rachel Maddow, respectively. When I see either of them, I just smile, and I’m filled with warm and fuzzy feelings. I want them to move in with me and be my friends.
Oh, and we have a new President. That’s cool, too. 
Looking for something to distract you in these last 48 hours before the election? I would recommend DVDs of “Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist,” an animated series from the late 90s with a fantastically dry, droll sense of humor. Tons of comics appear as the patients, including Joy Behar, Stephen Wright, Ray Romano and Dave Atell. It’s an antidote to the hyper, non-sequitur, pop-culture-saturated animation of things like “Family Guy” and “South Park.” I’ve watched the first season, and I feel better already.
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