Completely Unnecessary

It has been widely observed that I can’t enjoy movies because I insist on analyzing them. This is not true. For instance, my favorite part of Transformers was about a four frame cut of two elderly Qatarian men. They looked on blithely as seven marines were chased, guns blazing, by an enormous, scorpion robot. They both had a look that said, “Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

As usual, I laughed alone. But I did enjoy myself.

Over at The Stranger, Transformers was described as “retarded Republican-scented fascism porn”. Maybe not, but were some definite smacks of gung-ho Americanism.

Most notably - Bumblebee. All the Autobots were good ol’ fashioned GM American cars, but they beat it a bit over the head with Bumblebee. In the cartoon he was a VW Bug, but that kind of national socialist bullcrap doesn’t sit so well with America, so he’s a Camero instead. Not only that, but he actually attacks a yellow bug sitting next to him that… whatisname is maybe going to buy. American automotive engineering is aggressively superior to that of other nations.

It’s not.

But it is in this movie - there are alien robots, anything could happen.

Second - aliens attack Earth and AGAIN they’re fighting in the southwestern desert. It’s almost as if that’s where most of our ‘undesirables’ turn up. What with immigration reform being a hot topic the last few years, I can’t imagine why they’d make a movie about Americans fighting aliens in the southwest.

That being said - this movie is a bit different because the battles take place in podunk towns. I can’t remember where they said it was occurring (somewhere in Nevada?), but it sure wasn’t LA or New York, the two usual suspects for disaster fiction. Message = terrorism/immigration can happen anywhere.

A brief aside: Can John Turturro please be in every movie? Thanks.

I’m less excited about this project than I was as it was running through my head in the shower this morning. Work, class and a glass or two of wine will do that to you. Also, I’ve been reading Wonkette’s live blogging of the CNN/YouTube/Morons debate and I feel like writing in bullets instead of complete thoughts.

Which brings us to my last point, which is: I don’t consider myself hugely affected by September 11th. I wasn’t in NYC, I don’t know anyone who was directly affected - I’d feel kind of cheap to say that it ‘touched my life’. That being said (and minor spoilers, I guess), during the big fight Starscream takes Optimus Prime through a skyscraper. He’s in complete plane mode, so it’s basically a jet driving straight through a skyscraper. I was pretty upset by that image, actually. I thought it was tacky, at best. Worse, if they were using it intentionally, which they probably were. I don’t think too many Americans would have missed that one.

So Republican fasioporn? A bit. There were some complexities - for instance the bad guys were almost uniformly instruments of war. Then again, (spoilers if you’re dumb!) they were defeated by the American Army and not by the other aliens. Rah America.

It was still overly long and kind of crappy (sorry Paul - I don’t think he reads this). Seriously, cut some stuff, Mr. Editor! I do not need to watch people hunt for an object in a bedroom for half an hour! Yes, yes, it yielded numerous masturbation jokes. He he. Hilarious. Cut to the action.

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Okay, so my undergrad thesis was on this terrible 1987 movie called The Believers, and how the film both reflected and created images about Cuban immigrants, Santeria, and the various ritual/satanic abuse nonsense that was going on at the time.

That is the single most concise manner in which I’ve ever described my thesis. You’re welcome.

Anyhoo, I’m becoming increasingly obsessed with a new genre of films called ‘torture porn’ - basically, Saw, Hostel and the like. Here’s a perfect description from an LA Times’ review of Hostel II:

…the plot finds three nubile coeds trapped in an Eastern European sadism club where fiends on vacation pay to slowly carve up strangers.

They’re part of a specifically post-9/11 genre, and seem to have a lot to tell us about fear of the unknown, the the emasculation created by such fear, and its relations to femininity. These films (as well as things like Law and Order: SVU - my least favorite television program this side of According to Jim) differ from slasher films of the 1980s, though they are in some ways closely related. I could write all sorts of a thesis on this.

But I can’t watch them.

I’m the girl who made jw sleep in my bed with me after The Ring. Andrew and I had to walk out of Severance at the Chicago International Film Festival (a selection I’m sure I’d be hearing about for years if only he could remember going). I even pretended I wanted to read my book at Danielle’s second-grade birthday sleepover where we watched A Nightmare on Elm Street. (In my defense, it was a highly inappropriate choice for seven-year-olds.)

fourfour is my inspiration for this post, though I ultimately disagree with many of his points. Here’s the quote from Hostel and Hostel II’s director that set me off:

I had been looking for stuff you could do to girls that would be awful but not so horrifying that you felt like you couldn’t watch it or you felt like you had been kicked in the stomach.

I’ve highlighted the operative word there. Granted, the two originators of the genre (Saw and Hostel) were both male-based. Ultimately, however, I think you could argue that all of the films are about emasculation and its regeneration through violence (with a healthy dose of xenophobia thrown in through Hostel, Severance, and Turistas).

But who really knows? I can’t bring myself to even watch these films without a guardian. I need Brandon Simmons, who successfully shepherded me through Silence of the Lambs without my ever seeing anything ugly/rotten/overly-scary.

Roth says that his films are political commentary. On a Fox talk show he created a stir by blaming President Bush for the recent torture horror. He called it all art responding to a world of ugly violence and a country disdainful of other cultures.

I don’t buy it. If Roth is honest and his films are commentary, he’s still not addressing the increasing sexualization of violence we’ve been seeing in many films and, disturbingly, many more television shows. I may have to suck it up and watch these films. Who wants to take care of me before/during/after?

A Queasy-Does-It Guy [LA Times/calendarlive.com] via fourfour

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At the NYT.

Following A.O. Scott’s review of Black Snake Moan is the usual movie rating and reasons.

“Black Snake Moan” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). Half-naked nymphomaniac chained to radiator.

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For a nymph.

Or so the website for Black Snake Moan says.

Whilst on the website, you can click on the “Mess Around” link (click Menu first) to get to the “Are You a Nymph?” quiz. You answer a number of sex history questions, and the site generates your “nymph” level: tame, moderate, or extreme. But as Sam so aptly put it:

This is fucked! You get bagged no matter what!

She’s right - because no matter what level of nympho you are, you’re still criticized by the site.

An ‘extreme‘ nympho gets:

Wow, you have some major damage control that needs to be done.

In order to overcome your sexual addiction, we recommend the use of restraints.

A ‘moderate‘ nympho gets:

You ain’t right yet. Sex continues to affect your everyday life.

Slow down. You can’t continue to rub up on anyone you find attractive.

And a ‘tame‘ nympho gets this:

…Sex doesn’t control your life… what’s the matter with you?

What.the.fuck. This quiz totally belies what’s at the heart of this advertising campaign, if not the film itself. The ostensible goal of the film is the de-slutification of a wayward girl, and yet it’s being stuffed to the gills with sex. All the posters, the trailers, the site (where, incidentally, you can feed pills to Rae and watch her collapse) are selling nothing but Christina Ricci. And, of course, the threat of a young, white woman having sex with and/or being controlled by a older, black man.

I know I can’t judge the film until I see it, but I’m documenting as much of the site as I can. The damed if you do, damned if you don’t attitude towards women’s sexuality in the US is so, so, so, so utterly appalling and upsetting. Fuck it. I’m going to the Night Market.

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Last blog today. I swear. I didn’t want to read about media regulation anyway.

So apparently, this exists. Here’s the poster! And here’s a still:

Also, here are some excerpts from the moviefone website:

There was a time when Lazarus (SAMUEL L. JACKSON) played the blues; a time he got Bojo’s Juke Joint shakin’ back in the day….

The God-fearing, middle-aged black man quickly learns that the young white woman he’s nursing back to health is none other than the town tramp from the small Tennessee town where they live…Abused as a child and abandoned by her mother, Rae is used by just about every man in the phone book…

Refusing to know her in the biblical sense, Lazarus decides to cure Rae of her wicked ways – and vent some unresolved male vengeance of his own. He chains her to his radiator, justifying his unorthodox methods with quoted scripture… Unleashing Rae emotionally, Lazarus unchains his heart, finding love again in Angela (S. EPATHA MERKERSON). By saving Rae, he frees himself.

And the trailer, which you have to watch before we can proceed and which I’m having trouble embedding.

I don’t even know where to start with this movie, though I should probably figure it out before I write my thesis on it next year. Things that come to mind, just off the top of my head:

• No pants on Christina Ricci at any point
• The name Lazarus
• Yet another appearance by the ‘magical black man’! (I mean Eko was killed off on LOST, so…)
• “Everything is Hotter Down South” as the tagline
• The racial and sexual double entendres in the title
• Curing a woman of her sluttishness
• Chaining a woman against her will in your home
• The comedic holds in the trailer
• Moms cause sluttishness!
• That Christina Ricci still has not gained any weight

Shit, I can’t even do this today. I’m supposed to be napping, but now I’m not going to be able to sleep because this movie is so horrific and wonderful. Plus, I’m going to need the time to work “blackfemreligiousploitation” into popular vernacular.

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The Academy Awards were predictably uninspiring, aside from Diane Keaton’s obvious intoxication and a small moment when I got all teary-eyed at the thought of a non-George W. Bush presidency. Here’s the thing, though - my biggest disappointment of the entire evening was a movie I didn’t even like that much (and not only because I lost my mittens).

Seriously, how could Children of Men have not received some technical awards - namely, cinematography and editing? The former, at least, should have been bestowed. Yes, yes, The Departed shot many people in the face, but we shouldn’t always look to the vice president for cultural cues. Children of Men had some seriously beautiful, not to mention technically difficult, sequences.

Oh well! Who cares?

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Not auspicious.

The Student Information System has been down all weekend, meaning that, unless you’d managed to write down where your class was this morning, you had no idea where you were going. The same was true if you’d decided that maybe you’d like to change one of your courses. Perhaps, for example, you’d thought about taking Researching Audiences instead of a different class and wanted to sit in on it to see how it was. You’d be surprised to find out - after waiting in a hugely long line - that you’d just missed it.

Also, you’d be pissed.

The two classes I did manage to attend were good, but since we still haven’t sorted out whether or not I’m going into the 2 year program, the 1.5 year program, or the 1 year program, I’m currently thrust in classes with both post-grads and fourth year undergrads. Actually, all we did in my film class was watch a film called A Woman is a Woman (1961), which was charming. Do, however, watch it on a slightly lower volume than my prof chose. He made up for it, though, by saying, “Oh, I’m just such a romantic. I’m such a sucker for these things. I mean, Julia Roberts? Yes, please. Okay, maybe Sandra Bullock instead.”

Anyway, the Oscars are on in a couple hours. I have to make a decided effort not to accidentally find out who won. If it’s Little Miss Sunshine, I’m going to go batshit crazy. It’s been a stressful day here - with an utterly shocking number of students milling about. There will be no unfunny, ew-why-is-grandpa-teaching-his-granddaughter-how-to-strip movies winning majors awards.

Oh shit, I think I just accidentally saw Jack Nicholson with an award. I guess The Departed won Best Picture. I disagree, but better than Steve Carell with his sleeves rolled up, exposing his recently cut wrists. I know if I’d just slit my wrists, that’s what I would do. Please.

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One of my friends just posted that she wants to see 300. It looks visually stunning (and the trailer ran some music used in Titus). They’re not even running the trailers here yet, so I don’t know that much about the movie, but… it seems like it’s about a tiny number of the ‘civilized’ standing up to the hordes of the Persians (Iranians). Three hundred Spartans, America has 300 million citizens - obviously a vast difference in actuality, but the number 300 can’t be lost on anyone. Am I reading these trailers wrong, or is this movie about how we need to stop the brown (Islamic) hordes? The Persians aren’t Arabs, but I don’t think too many Americans are going to be familiar with that distinction.

This reminds me of that movie with Bruce Willis from a few years ago, when a white man had to go to darkest Africa to save some white lady and a bunch of orphans or something.

So, who knows more about this movie and would like to comment - because on this side of the world, it reads like, “death to a-rabs”.

ps - I have a home! and a bike! and a kitten! (not my kitten)

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I am a wonderful audience member. And it’s not just because I laugh in a completely inappropriate manner at jokes you haven’t been getting a laugh on. It’s because I’m so gullible. For a person of my cynicism and generalized intellect, I am ridiculously predisposed to believe any old tripe you’d like to throw my way. Pointing at the ceiling? I’ll look up. Making a movie where the family members in peril from ghosts are actually the ghosts themselves? I’ll watch it with the wonder of a small child with Shrinky-Dinks.

And yet, watching The Prestige last night, my wee and credulous brain failed me completely. I love Christopher Nolan, with his big, gloomy set pieces and his apparent MGM-style contract with the wonderful Christian Bale (and also Michael Caine). Scarlett Johansen was even mildly tolerable and there were lots of fun magic tricks that I couldn’t figure out.

Warning: Not really any spoilers, per se, but I’m afraid that if you know too much about the structure of the film, it could spoil it.

Early in the film, Bale’s character rebuffs a request for a trick’s secret from his wife, saying that once the audience figures out how the trick is done, they lose all respect for the magician. I learned this was true after I figured out the first twist with about an hour left, and the second one with a good 15-20 minutes left. After that, I was mostly left to ponder the fuckedupedness, while a good portion of the audience sucked in shocked breaths.

End Fakeo Spoilers

What is the point of going to see a decently-written, well-acted, surprise-ending movie if you’re not surprised? Especially in a movie called The Prestige – the word indicating the third part of a magic trick where the sawed girl is revealed to be unharmed – the final reveal should be amazing! This should also be true when you’re Christopher Nolan and have given the world one of the biggest reveal endings in Memento.

This is not to say that it wasn’t a good film. I really enjoyed the performances of Bale and Jackman (and David Bowie and Andy Serkis have some fun, too). I like the way Nolan twists the idea of what the prestige should be, and I’ve found myself thinking about the skewed nature of the film since last night. So overall I’m just disappointed in my brain for it’s first ever act of smartness. Never would I have thought that I would miss my doey-eyed naiveté. This had better not happen again.

Did anyone else see this movie? Please tell me you figured it out, too, and that I’m not suddenly and horribly prescient.

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Last night I went to an event for Porchlight Theater, a celebration of their new space. I’m not sure what I expected, but I was definitely anticipating enough people that a girl who auditioned for them only once would be allowed to grab some free food and wine relatively unnoticed. Instead, there were about 15-20 people, most of them dressed up for the ribbon cutting and clearly close friends with the theatre. No record skipped when my unfamiliar, jeans and bright yellow leg warmers-wearing self turned up, but I was definitely observed heading to the wine table. (As a side note, finding merlot as the only red wine selection is always disappointing.)

After visiting the food table, I sat and sipped my merlot, staring repetitively at the various show posters to avoid conversation with the other obvious free-wine vagabonds like myself. Over the top of my plastic cup, I noticed an unshaven, sweatshirt-clad stranger heading my way. There is a certain type of middle-aged man that wears glasses that scream, “I am poorly socialized!” My new friend wore a pair of exactly this sort of glasses.

“Is that Brie like the cheese?” he said as a greeting, referring to my nametag and the most overused query in response to my name.

“It is indeed,” I replied.

Unbidden, he took a seat and began to chatter. I learned that he was on the Porchlight email list because,

“I do thea-ate-er walking tours around downtown.”

I learned also that there is a professional guild of some nature for people who lead walking tours. So, between the guild and the email lists of various “thea-ate-ers,” my friend was well connected.

Halfway through the bolting of my second glass of wine, the promised musical selections from their new show finally appeared. Luckily, as they ended and my friend began his monologue anew, I remembered that I had forgotten to put a quarter in my meter. This was an actual life event, as opposed to merely an excuse, but it was so effective that I plan on using it in the future. I took my leave of my new friend, threw on my jacket, and quietly praised the Dept. of Revenue as I arrived at my unticketed car.

In a much more pleasant activity last night, I watched Bringing Up Baby for the first time – well at least the first hour. Hilarious! My favorite line when a fluffy robe-wearing Cary Grant bellows, “Because I went gay all of a sudden!” into an old woman’s face. I also love the way Katherine Hepburn says, “Leopard.” I never knew that word had so many syllables.

In less romantic news, it is often the plight of women to find their hair in annoying locations. The worst of these is stuck in one’s bra, resulting in a great deal of itching and looking and then reaching down one’s shirt in public. Sometimes hair even winds up in underwear. I shed like a banshee; it happens.

Occasionally, you will also find friend’s hair somewhere on or in your clothes. My most frequent friend-hair-finding is from Elissa, whose long, dark locks differ so much from my own and identify her as the culprit. Elissa, however, is a close friend, and finding her hair isn’t such a big deal.

As I said, I shed a lot (Ana J once found my hair in our fridge), so I’m pretty blasé about loose hairs. But I will say this, finding a hair in your underwear that isn’t yours and isn’t identifiable as that of a close friend is really, really disturbing.

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