This weekend I FINALLY had the opportunity to see the critically acclaimed documentary, "Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work," which follows the once revolutionary and always iconic comedienne through a year of her roller coaster career, when it seems to have come to a tragically discouraging low point. I went into this expecting big things, and my expectations were met and even surpassed.
Most people of my generation regard Rivers as a mere caricature that is the constant source of parody and endless mockery. A plastic surgery cautionary tale and a red carpet gadfly. What the documentary illustrates is how she's aware of, okay with and participates in that the parody is for the benefit of her career, and the alternative to it, is not having a career at all. And one thing Rivers is not okay with, is abandoning the pursuit of artistic relevance. Her place on the comedic hierarchy is one that has shifted drastically and is fascinating to see chronicled in a documentary, as it is also fascinating to see the psychological results that that shifting can have on a real individual in relentless pursuit of their passion.
Piece of Work also shows how the purpose of comedians in society is to fill that role, making things that could be construed as tragic as humorous and more bearable. The difference between Rivers and many comedians though, is her level of credibility amongst the general public has suffered because of her ability to manipulate her image and turn it into shtick.
Part of this is obviously because she is a woman, and female comedians are certainly coming from a disadvantaged position as they're limited by the bounds of societal propriety about what they can joke about and how they're allowed to perform their funny. But Joan has defied those confines throughout her entire career making her presence as a pop cultural feminist justified, relevant and productive.
I don't just want to gush here about how much I love her and what she's done for women in comedy and how her resilience is so fairly portrayed in this film without indulgent glorification or the public's oversimplification of her, BUT, I will say that if you haven't heard of this movie watch the trailer here and go see it because you won't regret it!
Promoting her summer-action flick Salt, Princess of the Global Poor and aspiring Cleopatra impersonator, Angelina Jolie, has a cover shot and feature article centered around her in the increasingly irrelevant Vanity Fair magazine, where she addresses her lifelong career as an actress, her high profile life partner Brad Pitt, and her famous brood of Jolie-Pitts as collected from each of the continents featured in Disney's theme park attraction It's a Small World. In the article one perhaps actually productive thing she seemed to do was address the scrutiny that she and her FOUR-YEAR-OLD daughter were receiving from tabloids and the public as resultant from her choice of clothing and short haircut.
Personally I think she looks insatiably adorable, but come on it's Brad Pitt plus Angelina Jolie, without some sort of mutated gene chances are you're gonna turn out alright. Photos of her rocking this style and haircut in several different situations were printed back in March with headlines hypothesizing about the potential doom that this implied and the confusion she must be having thrown upon her by her obviously oppressive and liberally-minded mother insisting on her to push parameters (see here).
In the VF piece, Jolie addresses the look by saying: "Shiloh, we feel, has Montenegro style… It's how people dress there. She likes tracksuits, she likes [regular] suits. She likes to dress like a boy. She wants to be a boy. So we had to cut her hair. She likes to wear boys' everything. She thinks she's one of the brothers." More on the piece here.
Back when all of this was being printed I was really annoyed with the attitudes that were being spewed all about newsstands policing gender normative behavior and styles for this toddler. I'm glad that Jolie addresses it without perpetuating the alarm and gender panic that was unwarranted from the start.
I work at a community center where we have youth programs and over the summer we house a summer camp program. We have one class of three and four-year-olds who have a morning session where they do different arts and crafts, athletic games, songs etc. Everybody that enrolls in camp gets a tee-shirt that they have to wear when they go on trips and to the pool. This year, the preschool program's tee-shirts were hot pink. Nearly everyone's reactions upon hearing this went something along the lines of, "Oh my! What about the boys?"
What about the boys. Yes. Because when they're three and four there are so many biological differences that have already manifested themselves that vastly differentiate the boys from the girls. They can't possibly have their three and four-year-olds masculinity threatened by wearing pink tee-shirts! It will confuse them and deeply offend their parents. Well, only if their parents are as close-minded as one who a couple months ago thought his son needed to go to a preschool that catered towards children of special needs because his son only played with the girls (TRUE STORY!).
I know I'm making the grave assumption here that the attitude that gender is a socially constructed and reinforced system of control and status-quo is the dominant attitude (which evidently it certainly isn't), but even if you have something vested in the idea of a scientific and infallible connection between your genitalia and your greater social role, doesn't it seem like an obviously arbitrary correlation to make between femininity and pink? Between masculinity and short-hair and track suits? Why do we insist on policing one another and children into prescribed normative behaviors with no real backing behind those behaviors and assumptions?
I think that progress comes when more parents are able to accept without judgment the choices of style and appearance that their children are inclined towards despite the standard set by traditional notions of a masculine/feminine binary. Only through allowing them to challenge these representations can we escape the binds that they put upon us for no real reason. There is as much variation within the categories as there is between the standardized idea of each of the categories, especially when dealing with toddlers! They're basically all gender-queer at that point, not yet inescapably poisoned by the oppressive ideas of the gender binary and the necessity to conform to it.
For further reading and suggestions towards parenting children without genderalizations, click here.
Some of the women I work with are big fans of the reality T.V. competition "The Biggest Loser." The show, if you're unfamiliar with it, takes overweight contestants, generally with tragic personal tales of loss or abuse, and motivates them through competitions to lose weight for a cash prize. Their methods on the ranch are intense and based around rigorous diet and exercise and a lot of emotional purging and largely negative reinforcement.
Recently NBC gave Jillian Michaels, one of the shows' hosts and trainers, a show all of her own where she visits overweight families across America for a week and formulates action plans for them to live a more healthy lifestyle. At least, that's what the intention of the show is claimed to be. After sitting through an episode of the show, and having read many of the follow up horror story accounts of contestants on The Biggest Loser, I think that what Michaels does is more about size than health and is more about effective and profitable television than personal and familial growth.
Michaels's attitudes around the people that she works with on these shows is condescending and militant. She screams at them as they are working out, telling them they've been killing themselves for all this time and repeatedly asking them don't they want to be skinny, don't they want to be healthy. She repeatedly without problem equates health with thinness, an attitude that has manifested itself so deeply in contemporary American culture that many people don't see a problem with it at all. Her attitudes about fat and about the contestants have also been illustrated through press interviews.
The episode of the show that I watched is very effectively recapped in the AV Club post here. The episode ended with the family losing weight before the daughter's wedding, providing the producers with an opportunity to make a charitable gesture in financing this heteronormative ceremonious right of passage, and providing them with an accompanying institution to justify the success of the process that they've all gone through, and that viewers have witnessed. My heart is warmed.
Never mind the fact that the show promotes widely problematic attitudes of fast easy results and doesn't address the greater systemic issues of why our country is so fat, and doesn't address our relentless panic around that alleged epidemic. An issue the show does address, but perhaps inadequately, is the idea of our cultural attitudes about food being linked to our inability to communicate with one another within our sociological units, particularly the family. If you can't hold a conversation with a group of people, why not bring an element into play that will facilitate some kind of action and fill the time? Why not just eat? Though I honestly feel that this is an oversimplification of the problem.
What Jillian Michaels and her widespread success illustrate is the perversely unhealthy attitudes around food, weight and body image that we practice as a culture. Fatshionista wrote a piece (here) that expresses the idea of how Michaels, through this process, becomes a savior to these people, a savior who ultimately abandons them as to further her career and her brand and the brand of the show, and then they are left at risk of feeling more hopeless than they did to begin with. This makes sense to me. As does the fact that contestants on Biggest Loser have reported how the show's methods were so unhealthy that in certain instances they were so dehydrated they were peeing blood (here) or developing serious eating disorders (here).
We can't allow ourselves to justify the ineffective and destructive attitudes and methods of competition-based reality television shows and the personalities birthed through them because of deeply seeded panic we have as a culture around fat people. If you're worried about obesity, why not examine the way food is made, marketed and manufactured throughout this country? Why not look at how cities are designed furthering the car-centric layout we've thoughtlessly created and perpetuated? Why not examine how advertisers create unrealistic representations of people that leave us all hating our bodies and suffering from destructive feelings of inadequacy? Losing it with Jillian Michaels is not about solving the obesity crisis. It's about salvaging a false sense of control through force that is so tempting to us in a society that is driven on contempt for ourselves but faith in the systems that govern us and dictate our perceptions of reality.
Well as tiresome and allegedly insensitive and ignorant as it can be to draw implications about one's sexual proclivities based on their choice of wardrobe, this outfit is the outfit of a man strutting proudly down the streets of Provincetown trolling for a comparably pastel-clad princess to have a little bit of fun with.
I found this picture as a headlined article on Gawker today and it reminded me of a piece I had read on Congressman Schock last summer in Details. The article lauded his success in becoming the youngest living congressman and the first member of the Millennial elected to the House of Representatives. The question the interview framed the article within was would Schock be able to maintain the relevance of the Republican party despite our generation's present day favoring of a more progressive agenda, and our preferring of the Democratic party as the source of such progress.
What was interesting in light of this photograph and Schock's record on issues of gender equity and gay rights, is the way that the article undercut the old school conservative image that Schock has built himself within and around with the obvious suspicion of his homosexuality, drawing comparisons to his facial structure to Neil Patrick Harris, making note of his "carefully mussed hair and pastel ties," and making explicit mention of how his lack of romantic prospects have lead to people quesitoning his sexuality, which he has maintained is hetero.
If you're going to prance around in fitted white linen pants with a baby blue belt, don't even get me started on the checkered shirt, you better be going to a Vineyard Vines themed fraternity party or a pride parade. (Really though aren't those oftentimes one in the same?). Plus he appeared in the Details feature in May of 2009, and then did a shoot in different designer suits in different locations in and around the Hill in GQ only four months later. Details and GQ are both owned by Conde Nest. Huge narcissist. We gays are a narcissistic people I'll admit. Though he is a politician, one whose voting record against gay marriage and against including gender identity and sexual orientation in federal laws concerning hate crimes. Self-hating homophobe? Probably. To me, all signs point to gay.
I realize that I'm operating under the logic of stereotype here leaving lots of holes in my argument. But I would not hesitate to say that I strongly suspect he is this overzealous closeted midwestern glory boy who can't bear to identify as or with anything that would compromise his status within his party which promotes traditional family values that are, in my opinion, ignorant and hateful. Despite his presence as the youngest member of Congress I don't feel that he is representative of the attitudes of our generation, political and otherwise, particularly involving issues involving gay rights.
To anyone interested in issues of sexuality and the way that power is manifested through sexual identities, DC is a clear manifestation of what can happen when in order to advance within the established hierarchy you need to hide certain desires you may have because they are perceived as unnatural by the dominant culture. The HBO documentary Outrage centered around how DC is a hot bed for closeted individuals. Schock I do not believe was included in that documentary but seems as though is a continuation of that practice of furthering homophobia to protect your political interests and suppress your real desires.
My Oscar load is finally about to blow and though this season the majority of the awards seem blatantly predictable, I will never falter in my viewing and will always watch for tears and gowns. AND PENELOPE CRUZ!
Here’s my predictions as well as who I feel most warrants the award for several of the major categories, i.e. the only ones anyone outside of the film industry, and many insiders as well, care about in the first place.
Best Supporting Actress Will Win: Mo’nique for Precious Should Win: Mo’nique for Precious There’s really nothing to be said for this that hasn’t already been said. She shocked and terrorized audiences with her fervor and emotional depth. Plus the Academy owes her from snubbing her for her brilliance in Beerfest.
Best Supporting Actor Will Win: Christoph Waltz for Inglourious Basterds Should Win: Christoph Waltz for Inglourious Basterds Though I admit I still haven’t seen The Messengers and probably never will see The Lovely Bones, this one is Waltz’s to lose. Plus is it weird that I find him really attractive in an older and would take care of you but control you kind of way? Maybe I’d best keep those sentiments to myself. Although I did feel that they could have cut on the Matt Damon nomination and given one to Brian Geraghty for his playing a violently conflicted military man in The Hurt Locker whose existential crisis frames arguably the most horrific turn of events for any of the characters in the movie.
Best Actor in a Leading Role Will Win: Jeff Bridges for Crazy Heart Should Win: Morgan Freeman for Invictus I am very conflicted about this one. And I do feel as though on many levels it is an advantageous position in terms of winning Oscars to be playing a specific character that really exists, as Freeman did, mastering the mannerisms and delivery of Nelson Mandela. Whereas Bridges was working more with an archetype, with less of a solid example against which to measure the value of his work. Eh fuck it give them both Oscars.
Best Actress in a Leading Role Will Win: ::mumbled through gritting teeth:: Sandra “Miss New Jersey” Bullock for the remake of Mighty Joe Young Should Win: Gabourey Sidibe for Precious It’s Erin Brockovich all over again. Who knows? Maybe the Academy is smarter than I’m giving them credit for and is realizing that there is potential for danger when marketers will be able to sell movies like, All About Steve by saying, “featuring Academy Award Winning Actress, Sandra Bullock,” and that maybe we shouldn’t reward performers who continuously put out product as low-quality as Hope Floats. There’s a strong possibility this could go to Meryl, who really should be as inundated with awards as she has historically been with nominations. Who knows. There will be hell to pay and a strongly-worded letter though if by the end of the night Sunday, Practical Magic stars two Academy-Award winners.
Best Animated Feature Film Will Win: Up Should Win: Fantastic Mr. Fox I don’t care if you call me a pretentious hipster! The story and the style through which it was told was innovative and artful. LOVE YOU WES. RIP ROALD.
Best Director Will Win: Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker Should Win: Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker Blah blah blah first woman to win this award. ZOMG James Cameron's ex! Who cares? She made an artful and emotional but apolitical and contemporary war film that was packed with adrenaline but was not neither gratuitous nor tacky.
Best Writing, Adapted Screenplay Will Win: Jason Reitman and Sheldon Turner for Up in the Air Should Win: Jason Reitman and Sheldon Turner for Up in the Air If you haven’t seen it yet see it. Yes it is excessively clever to the point that it may sacrifice verisimilitude, but I like wit in my dialogue and I value dialogue in my film. Jason Reitman knows how to do it. Fuck you Juno-haters!
Best Writing, Original Screenplay Will Win: Mark Boal for The Hurt Locker Should Win: Quentin Tarantino for Inglourious BasterdsI don’t have much to say about this one as much as this is the award I’m most likely to be wrong about and it’s likely to go to Tarantino. I just have a hunch.
Best Picture Will Win: Avatar Should Win: The Hurt Locker What I think I am doing here is expecting nothing as to avoid disappointment kind of thing. Though I have a strong suspicion that the Academy will award accessibility, heavy-handed metaphor, technological innovation, and James Cameron’s relentless arrogance and lack of appreciation for mankind aside from himself and give it to the blue-people. It would not be the first time that they split the Best Director/Best Picture honors, Ang Lee won for Brokeback Mountain but Best Picture went to Crash (which is just absurd and the fag in me wants to scream homophobia though who knows really) and Steven Spielberg won for Saving Private Ryan but Best Picture was Shakespeare in Love (Judi Dench What WHAAAAAAT). I do very much hope that the little war-film that could triumphs through and I am surprised, as I honestly feel that The Hurt Locker, and several of the other nominees, were superior films, but for now I’ll put my money on Avatar taking home the big one, and viewers will be forced to sit through the king of the world give himself a blow-job up at the podium.
Well, this was bound to happen. And I was bound to have something to say about it. And what I have to say about it is perhaps predictable and has probably already been said, though maybe not, as I feel people are often more hesitant when criticizing "good intentions," but who knows. Let's get on with it.
The 25th Anniversary rendition of Michael Jackson's charitable musical collaboration, "We Are the World," was unveiled to the masses after the opening ceremony of the Vancouver Olympics and left me feeling disheartened at the blatant exploitation of a nation's tragedy to try and reinforce the illusion of cultural and cosmic significance felt by members of an ailing industry, but really served as a testament to the depressing state of said industry and revealed their narcissism and exposed their lack of potential for longevity.
Let me break that down so I don't sound like the pretentious fuck that I ultimately admit to being: The remake sucked. The calibre of the artists who participated in it, for the most part, pale in comparison to the original roster of musicians. Nobody can honestly say that Lil Wayne is as talented or culturally significant as Billy Joel, that Miley Cyrus is as vocally capable as Tina Turner, that Jamie Foxx is as musically charming as Stevie Wonder. Yet by participating in a remake of the original they place themselves on an even-playing field and almost assert a challenge that they can do it better. That they can somehow make it contemporary and more accessible and enjoyable for a 22nd century audience. Sorry Justin Bieber but your overly produced auto-tuned nightmare of an opening is just not cutting it.
And stop trying to make Nicole from the Pussycat Dolls happen. She's NOT, going to happen.
By blanketing it as a charitable gesture, they make it controversial to question their intentions. But sincerity, I feel, (again, for the most part) is not among said intentions. Perpetuating the celebrity industrial complex for these meritless entertainers by associating them with Michael Jackson's hit seems to be the underlying intention in my opinion. And it's an attempt to claim lasting cultural significance for a group of entertainers whose longevity and significance is questionable if existent in the first place.
In addition to manipulating the disaster in Haiti for their shameless self-promotion, they're manipulating Michael Jackson's image and influence by aligning themselves with it. Many of the people involved in the remake have made confident claims that this is what he would have wanted and this is what he would have done. It's easy to speak for the dead because they can't speak for themselves. And given the history of manipulation that Michael Jackson as a cultural figure has notoriously had perpetrated against him, I take all claims of understanding of his intention and posthumous wishes with a grain of salt. And let's be real, that editing job of Janet's face across the screen was creepy as shit. Plus did anyone even hear a harmony in there or was she just tagging along with him?
I'll level with fans of the remake though in saying that J Hud always does bring tears to my eyes and this was no exception. I'll also say that though I prefer Cyndi Lauper's distinctive shriek, my girl Celine really let it rip on that part quite well. But come on it's fucking Celine Dion is she really gonna let us down?
Conclusively, on a collaboration that's supposed to serve as a barometer of the current state of the musical industry and include a representation of the best of the best in pop cultural figures, the absence of Jay-Z, Lady GaGa, Beyonce, Rihanna, and more was notable to say the least, and when several of those artists were vocal in their declining of the invitation to the project, you have to wonder why. Though after seeing the result, it's not so hard to figure it out.
For those of you who would criticize, I would like to make it perfectly clear that I know the Golden Globes were on Sunday, and that the three days that have lapsed between then and now are constituted as an eternity in internet time. Regardless, I have a couple of things to say about the ceremony, and apologize for any potential redundancy.
I was actually on a plane for the majority of the festivities so I missed most of it all happening in real time and was informed of a lot of the awards via text message from loyal friends and fellow cinematic enthusiasts. Believe me when I say I am eternally grateful to them for this service and believe me when I say I was visibly stressed about missing it on television to the point that I drew several concerned glances as I tapped nervously on my suitcase, annoyed that every bar in the airport was broadcasting the goddamn Jets game (congrats to THEIR fans though).
Because of the fact that I found out about the awards either like that or from reading the blogs when I got home late Sunday night, this won’t necessarily be in the order that the awards were given out. I’m also only going to talk about the movies, because much of the TV I don’t watch. I will just say Michael C. Hall made me cry like a baby. But let’s get into the meat of it all shall we? Ricky Gervais’s humor can be an acquired one, but I found him to be well-received in a setting unfamiliar to a host role and I loved his jab at Angie and Mel Gibson in particular. Basically I think nobody should be allowed to host award shows anymore that isn’t him or NPH. In conclusion for that vein, love the host, keep it coming HFP, two thumbs up indeed.
Without a doubt the Hollywood Foreign Press and The Academy make a wise choice in its placement of Best Actress in a Supporting Role as the first award of the night. It’s one that most viewers care about, rather than something like screenplay or technical awards, but it isn’t positioning things to peak too soon. It also tends to be awarded to an actress who is disproportionately grateful for it compared to other recipients of the awards because she and her career, at some point, weren’t necessarily regarded with such prestige.
Mo’nique is a classic example. If you had told me this time last year that Mo’nique would become a Golden Globe winner in the next year and would be a strong Oscar frontrunner, I would have guffawed in your face. I don’t know what that would have looked like but I would have done it. Mo’nique in her speech just killed me. Really. Thank God I didn’t watch the thing live. I would have just died. My friend texts me saying, “Mo’nique for Best Supporting Actress. You would be weeping right now.” Yeah. No shit!
Plus the girl looked great in her strapless beige dress, better than the rest of the army of actresses who rocked this year’s excessively represented flesh-toned look (Nicole Kidman looked like she ripped off her bed sheets and turned them into some Grecian disaster). Her speech was earnest and moving and emotionally packed, setting a great precedent for the evening.
Christoph Waltz was a shoe-in and will win an Oscar. The man was brilliant in Inglorious Basterds. RDJ for Sherlock Holmes I’m okay with, though I was rooting for Joseph Gordon Levitt, who is incomprehensibly adorable. I haven’t seen Holmes yet though. When I do I’m certain that between RDJ and Jude Law I’ll need to bring an extra pair of pants for the inevitable load I’ll blow everywhere. Tasteless, I know. Moving on.
I have yet to see Crazy Heart, though I heard that Jeff Bridges was exceptional in it, and when it does play here I will without a doubt see it cause it’s got my girl Maggie Gyllenhal. Plus having seen all the other performances I’ll say his only serious competition would have been Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela or maybe Colin Firth, if you didn’t fall asleep in the excessively lugubrious A Single Man.
Now the part that I’ve been dreading. Sandra Goddamn Bullock for The Blind Side. When I got this text letting me know of this appalling news I called my friend as to verify that this was not sort of sick and offensive joke she was playing on me. But alas, Sandra Bullock is a Golden Globe-winning actress. Initially I was irrationally annoyed at this, but then I had to stop and think, “Okay, well, so is Madonna.” And my perspective was regained.
But so help me god if I live to see the day that Sandra Bullock is an Academy Award winning actress. I mean, she’s funny, she’s cute, and she’s a powerful woman in Hollywood. But I regard her as possessing the acting chops of Jennifer Aniston without the tabloid drama. And I very sincerely hope I never see the day where critics are speculating Oscar potential for Jennifer Aniston.
Her speech though was humble and did give her points in my book, certainly not enough points though for me to forget she won over the allegedly exceptional Carey Mulligan in An Education, Emily Blunt in The Young Victoria (who didn’t seem to hide her disdain at her loss), and the promising novice Gabby Sidibe for Precious (LOVE her!). I’m hoping that Meryl’s able to sweep up the lead actress statuette for Julie and Julia, which was another non-surprise of the evening.
I have nothing to say on The Hangover winning Best Picture Comedy/Musical as I, embarrassingly, still haven’t seen it. I do know that Nora Ephron made a move as contrived as her scripts in ostensibly ripping up her acceptance speech as its victory was announced. Sorry Nora. Maybe make something with less irritatingly blatant messages and cheesy scores.
Last but not least, the astronomically worth-accruing beast of a film, Avatar. Again, I am one of the last people in America who still hasn’t seen it. Recently I was called out by a coworker for being a movie snob who doesn’t go into a movie without a preconceived opinion and confirmation bias to prove.
Living in the south has put me into an environment where viewers are responding with particularly strong fervor to this trite, watered down inspirational sport flick which has, admittedly, bolstered my disdain for its relatively high regard. "The Blind Side," for anyone living under a rock, is the "true story" of All American Football player Michael Oher and his journey from homelessness to the NFL through the help of Leigh Anne Tuohy, a wealthy mother and interior designer with the drive of Christian charity and semblances of white guilt.
Though I admit to be a little late on the boat with this post, I haven't written anything on here in awhile and have found myself increasingly frustrated with the amount of times I have had to explain to people that "The Performance of Her Career" is hardly a momentous superlative when you're referring to an actress whose career highlights include "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" and who brought us great franchise flicks such as "Speed" and "Miss Congeniality." To be frank one of the most excruciating parts of all of it is that her southern accent is probably the only variation on the quirky but assertive woman role that Bullock has shown us time and time again and it was probably the worst attempt at a twang I've heard since Julia Roberts in "Steel Magnolias."
In the film, Michael is able to attend a private, Christian high school with influence from the school's football coach, who sees a promising athletic potential from Michael's above-average build. Michael is depicted as struggling in the new academic setting, as his educational experience before his attending the school was faulty if not lacking entirely. Born into an environment tainted with a crack-addicted mother, a neighborhood sustaining itself largely on welfare or crime, the odds are heavily painted against him. Though as I'll mention later these portrayals are more watered-down caricatures of a reality most fans of this flick could not handle.
After a school atheltic event where Michael is portrayed as picking up after the gym to retrieve scraps of popcorn and any other leftovers, Tuohy insists to her husband that they bring him home, like a lost puppy in need of a loving home and family. The Tuohy's grow close to Michael and begin to appreciate and treat him as a member of their family and his "protective intuitions" are illustarted as beging particularly valuable to them.
As the film progresses Michael's atheltic prowess is harnessed and perfected, with the help of fast-talking, straight-shooting Leigh Anne, and he becomes the school's star football player and a top recruit for many colleges.
If you haven't noticed yet, this post is packed with plot spoilers aplenty. But the film in itself is a plot spoiler, in that, as A.O. Scott put it, it is "a movie made up almost entirely of turning points yet curiously devoid of drama or suspense." It's structured with this large conflict, quick resolution formula that is reflective of another trend I noticed in the plot of coddling its, majority white, viewers from any harsh realities of urban poverty, systemic inequalities, or human suffering. The film bolsters the incorrect attitude that isolated acts of charity are a sustainable and inspirational means at creating social change.
It also demonstrates the point that the only way for poor, urban, black children to succeed in our stratified society is for them to be taken under the wing of the white majority and to adapt to the dominant culture. And they will only be successful in doing so if they show an interest and talent in the athletic arena, highlighting the theory by Michigan State sociologist Ronald E. Hall in his essay, "The Ball Curve: Calculated Racism and the Stereotype of African American Men." Protective instincts? Athletic exception? Is this a person we're referring to or a golden retriever?
When I've discussed this criticism of the film's inspirational message being contingent on an attitude embedded in racism people have told me that that is the reality of the situation and that that gives the film a higher degree of merit because of its relation to truth. Whether or not that is the case is disputable but if it is then I don't find it to be inspirational I find it to be more depressing than anything. And it furthers the point that the film is designed for white viewers to distance themselves from their position of privilege by making them think that this isolated act is a groundbreaking tale of the possibility for goodness.
Though some people have tried to convince me that my disdain for this film comes from my inability to appreciate sports dramas I can just say that when John Lee Hancock made a less superficially offensive sports drama that I, in the right mood, could cry upon viewing, "Remember the Titans," I appreciated it for what it was and did not dispute its value as an inspirational story dealing with issues of race, athletics, integration, etc. But "The Blind Side" is a story too pat and unwarrantedly acclaimed to ever give me any reaction aside from distaste and boredom.
This Thursday the finale of the initially controversial Season 6 of Project Runway will be on my TV on the Lifetime Network, but I will be watching it not with eager anticipation as I have runway shows in the past, but merely out of devotion to the concept of the show and the inspiration and art that I've seen it is capable of harnessing. This season though, has indisputably disappointed me and all runway viewers with whom I've discussed it, and I hope that, as promised by Nina Garcia, Season 7 will have rectified the errors that have made this season so dull and uninspiring.
To start, the most commonly noted shortcomings of this season have been the inconsistency of the judging panels and the lackluster results from challenges coming from the lackluster nature of the challenges themselves. Sensible explanations have been given for the issue of the judges but mostly the problem was the show's relocation to Los Angeles made it difficult for Michael Kors and Nina Garcia to regularly attend judging panels, as their primary businesses are located in New York. Frankly, I'm not sure why they moved the show in the first place. If we learned anything from the snooze-fest that was the 2008 VMA's, it's that things are always better in NY than in LA, and that goes for reality television both competition based and otherwise. Season 7's in NY, so check on that problem.
In terms of the challenges, to me, the only ones that demanded the exceptional creativity demonstrated in seasons past were the newspaper challenge and (MAYBE) the divorcee wedding dress challenge. Literally every other challenge could have been shortened to be, "Make a pretty dress," and then you through the Bob Mackie at them and tell them it has to be sequined and fabulously tacky, and you get that slick feathered black number that Carrol Hannah made, like, come on, to use the lexicon of the show, it felt a little safe for the challenge.
But that seemed to be what the producers and the judges were going for throughout the season. The designers who seemed to have a particularly innovative or experimental aesthetic were very quickly auf'ed and we were left with a bunch of vanilla collections you could most successfully market at Target.
Irina, Althea and Carol Hannah, what do they have in common? They're all designers who are going to Bryant Park who if cast in a different season never would have stood a chance. Irina at least gave the editors a storyline to work with by positioning her as the bitch. But that really got tired when you realized her bitchiness was generally harmless and reserved for the interview room. This feels a good place to transition from the mass market stylings of this season to the personalities and the judges' and editors' reactions to them.
Did anyone for a minute believe that there was any potential romance between Carol Hannah and "man's man" Logan? No. Didn't think so. Go out and change the tires on your pick-up man's man and stop making monstrously tasteless or inexpressibly bland looks that you somehow get away with even over more talented designers. Plus the fact that they played that up so much while having ignored homo-relationships in past seasonsdemonstrates the show's latent and perhaps unexpected heteronormativity.
Next thing, WHAT THE FUCK IS HEIDI'S BEEF WITH GORDANA?! Yeah, okay, what she made for the Christina Aguilera/Bob Mackie challenge was a bit of an embarrassment construction wise, but it was hardly the most mortifying of the season and did not warrant the berating she received from Frau Klum, plus the undercutting Gordana got when she was announced the winner of the divorcee challenge. Is it an ageism that makes Heidi harbor such resentment for Gordana? I don't know. But I enjoyed her perspective and appreciated her not beating us over the head with her humble upbringings a la Cry-stopher. Tom and Lorenzo at Project Rungay did a great interview with her you can readhere. The episode where the judges' vendetta against Gordana was most apparent was in the final episode where they didn't even name a winner of the Getty Museum challenge, pretty clearly, because it would have been her but they couldn't justify awarding her with that and not sending her to Bryant Park. Whatever.
Their auf'ing of Gordana was one of several auf'ings that I was more than a little perturbed about. My fury has actually grown incrementally since their dismissal of Malvin, the soft-spoken, admittedly pretentious, but into conceptual andorogony New Yorker whose chicken egg was, truthfully, bizarre ad unflattering. But it only annoyed me so much because it was very evident at that point that Mitchell lacked the technical skill to succeed in the PR setting and was not watchable enough of a personality to justify their keeping him. I was also angered and saddened by their auf'ing of Epperson over pretty-boy man's man Logan, which was a poor decision I feel like, and perhaps again resultant from an ageist attitude, and I was really annoyed by their auf'ing of Ra'mon over Louise.
A lot of these annoyed me so much because of the aforementioned issue of the inconsistency on the judging panel. It puts the players at a clear disadvantage because it doesn't give them sufficient time to tailor their individual aesthetics to the judges' tastes, since those tastes are constantly changing, and it doesn't give them the benefit of the judges seeing week by week what the contestants are cumulatively capable of. Many of the blogs I read on the show are saying that these problems swayed the results towards a Real World demograph amongst the three finalists and I'd say that's an accurate assessment. You have three attractive, young girls who don't seem to push the envelope in their designs or their personalities but are generally likable but probably forgettable.
Lastly, and, maybe this should have been sooner because, this element was so endlessly irritating, was the overstatement of the models' significance throughout this season. The models' role in Project Runway was always an important one, but it's importance was anecdotal, circumstantial and tended to be arbitrary, just like the function of models in high fashion on a runway. To say that viewers and contestants did not take the models into consideration is certainly a fallacy but this season it was as if they were nearly as important as the designers themselves, having a challenge catered entirely towards their taste and a companion series following every episode. Maybe it was Lifetime trying to squeeze every second of lucrative ad time from the highly watched series, but I have yet to meet someone who is actually attached to any of the models or their personalities.
I do hope that Season 7 is less dissapointing because Project Runway does have an extremely entertaining formula that makes viewers feel like a part of an industrial sphere that has historically been regarded as distant and elite, but I think that if the show continues to cater towards the aesthetic tastes of the average American it'll lose a core of its viewership. Then again I'm no entertainment shaman. So I'll just say that if nothing else, I'd quit watching it!
I have a tendency around benchmark holidays (Christmas, 4th of July, in this case Halloween) to refer to roughly the three weeks prior to the actual calendar date of the holiday as "[Insert Holiday Name Here] Season." To honor the commencement of said season I love to engage in activities that are associated with said holiday. I don't think that this is such an unusual practice but after my 14-year-old sister responded dismissively about the cultural existence of "Halloween Season" I found it necessary to give a thorough explanation of how I conceptualize this three weeks. Because Halloween Season is upon us, I know have the insatiable urge to watch as many horror movies from my past as possible.
Furiously digging through the depths of my parents' VHS cabinet for relics from my former cinematic tastes which included leading ladies the likes of Neve Campbell and Jennifer Love Hewitt, I was disappointed to discover that most of my slasher collection hadn't survived the move south. But one lone soldier remained, 2002 classic The Ring. Generally I was (and still kind of am) too freaked out by movies whose scare center lies in demonic possessions or paranormal elements. I tended to prefer murders or things that were within human control when I would watch a horror movie. But last night I was feeling bold and wanted to share the primary viewing experience of this freaky flick with my 14-year-old sister, still perturbed by her dubious response to the existence of Halloween Season.
After a brief cajoling which included my selling this proposition to her by telling her that The Ring was actually a romantic comedy about a surprise engagement between two Midwestern Waffle House employees named Peggy and Bill, and that it was titled The Ring because of Peggy's surprise at the proposal and the beautiful engagement ring offered to her by Bill, (she obviously didn't buy it), my older sister insisted that the familial revisiting of The Ring was essential to our evening. Thanks Lauren!
I have to admit, moments before the movie began I was revisiting the same feelings that I had when I had first called my friend my sophomore year of high school and said, "Do you want to see The Ring tonight in Huntington at 7:30?" It was an immediate, "Oh shit" reaction, an, "I can't believe those words just came out of my mouth" kind of thing. I immediately regretted the suggestion and wanted more than anything to take it back. But my friends had been sold, as had my sisters. Again, thanks Lauren.
But this time rather than being terrified by the seemingly senseless inclusion of various neurosis and random assortment of freaky ass shit, I was just kind of annoyed by it. The construction of the narrative that's intended to weave together the fear factor elements is sloppy, inconsistent and at times borders on absurdity. Nothing in the movie tends to make sense. Nothing in the movie means anything. It's sole intention is to freak you out and it does, the first time, in theatres. After that it feels as though the movie itself is just a broader reflection of the video that the girl makes, a nonsensical threading together of hauntingly bizarre images and occurrences that maybe later lurk in your consciousness but don't directly infiltrate your way of thinking.
What I mean to say is that The Ring is a movie that once I knew what was coming, viewing it made it not mind blowingly frightening but more frustrating in its incongruencies and seeming lack of subversive message. What's also frustrating and could potentially be attributed to the lack of symbolism in the movie, is the lack of explanation given for a huge chunk of the plot. How did this girl get these images onto film? Why did she spare the life of Naomi Watts but not her husband Deadbeat Dad Noah? What's with the nose bleeds? Though metaphor is admittedly frustrating when heavy handed, to a thinking viewer it's more frustrating when it's understated or completely absent, and even more annoying when its absence causes a sloppily constructed storyline.
There were glimmers of messages about overstimulation from television as media when our female protagonist is out on her apartment porch, peering into the large windows of her neighbors and internally counting how many of them are watching television which seems like a subtle ode to Hitchcock but, again, that message is quickly dropped if intended at all. And there's also the stretch at saying the film deals with absentee fathers as the two characters whose deaths are most graphically included match that archetype. But, again, it's a stretch.
I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say on a greater level aside from the fact that The Ring, as an admittedly iconic horror movie, is one that is worthy of canonical status only because of its success gauged by box office revenue and ability to be so haunting, even if only the first time, while still maintaining a PG-13 rating. There are certainly films that I could revisit that I'm sure would still scare me as much as when I had seen them the first time, The Exorcist terrifies me every time I've seen it since the 7th grade. But I need more congruence and subversiveness in the film's metaphor for it to have a lasting fear factor for me as a viewer.
Maybe it's my own fault for not having taken the time to see The Ring 2. Maybe everything comes together in the unsuccessful sequel and my criticism is resultant from ignorance of the greater narrative at work here. Well at least my parents didn't get rid of the epic I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, Brandy and a dred-locked Jack Black really were the glue that held those flicks together.
Tyra’s got a few more tricks up her sleeve, doing the same shit over and over again, cycle after cycle, but always finding innovative presentations for the same tired formula. And you know what? I love it. So I know I haven’t been super on top of my posting and for that I apologize. But I have been diligently following this cycle and did enjoy last Wednesday the deconstructive presentation of the brilliance of Tyra’s SMIZE! Look, she even taught Larry King to do it!
The remaining girls quickly got over the loss and were brought to their next challenge where they were introduced to Super Smize (which was really just Tyra in a silvery jumpsuit and cape glaring into the camera and calling it smiling of sorts.) They then were put into unflattering neon jumpsuits, reminiscent of those oompa loompa outfits from the Mike TV song, and challenged in Tyra’s Fortress of Fierceness in pairs over who had the best Smize. Of course that designation was determined by Tyra and was perceived by me to mostly be arbitrary, but really you don’t watch the show for the authenticity factor.
The winners of said challenge were treated to a fancy dinner with the CEO of Wilhelmina and the losers were their dishwashers, perhaps a reminder of the painful possibilities if they continue to fail in this competition, GASP, real people labor!
The next day they were told that their challenge would be posing nude on a horse with a jockey. Some of them, notably the sweetly southern simpleton Laura, were adorably delighted by this prospect, “I just like nudity!” (LOVE HER!!!). Bianca, who has been edited to play the role of the token bitch, was put into a blonde wig, obviously as an instigator for her volatile nature, and my sister compared her masculine bone-structure and full lips juxtaposed with the flowing blonde hair to Ru Paul, which apparently Jay realized to, as he referentially called her a tranny, comparing her photo to Isis, the trans contestant from Cycle 11.
Whatever though, at the end of the episode, Bianca was again in the bottom two with the gimpy Courtney who was sent home for having given up during her shoot but still given Tyra’s good blessing, “You have a lot of fight in you.” Other good things included LC as a guest judge, which I really didn’t hate, mostly because she really liked LuLu, who happens to be my fav (she referred to her photo as “sweet and natural”), we learned that Jennifer suffers from a ptosis of the eye, basically a lazy eye, which I anticipate will lead to her inevitable demise, and we learned that when models are told to think of something that gives them a strong emotional response and can motivate them to smize, answers are likely to include beef noodles, sheet cake, and pepperoni pizza. Way to shatter those preconceived notions Tyra.
My prayers were answered last night at Radio City Music Hall. Any event that brings two of the most power American cultural figures together, Buzz Aldrin and Kermit the Frog, is an event well executed and certainly worth watching all three and a half hours of (gotta do the preshow).
My immediate reaction as the show began was, “Oh shit. Madonna’s here” and I knew right then, that MTV realized that if they were gonna make up for the snoozer of an award show they put on last year, they needed to pull out the big guns. Madonna proceeded to introduce an inexpressibly moving tribute to Michael Jackson, admittedly intertwined with the typical Madonna narcissism, but I’d say she was a most appropriate choice. Every time I watch any tribute to Michael Jackson I constantly find myself overwhelmed by the longevity and incomparable range of his career. It’s just something I’ll never get over.
Janet’s joining of the stage dancers when “Scream” came on and there was that great shot where him dancing was on the big screen behind her as she mimicked his moves in the lower right side of the shot, really touching stuff, Janet really did it, setting a precedent for the night that was met over and over again.
Then kill the lights, cue standing ovation, cue Katy Perry slaughtering another American classic as we introduce Russell Brand, our host for the evening, still sexy, still getting little to nothing from the crowd. What are you gonna do though? (Side note: The only host I really ever remember loving from the VMAs was Jimmy Fallon, who Brand later referred to as this generation’s David Letterman, I sure as hell hope not for the sake of our generation, love the guy, but his talk show sucks.) Whatever, he made some joke promoting public health care, wore unflattering pants and talked about his erections and being British all night, pretty much sums it up.
After that was the evening’s big shocker and, what I would say, the opening of the fairy tale narrative the VMA’s adopted. I’m gonna quit talking in a linear sequence now because, if I keep going I’ll never shut up, and this story really must be told as it would be told outside of a debriefing.
The first award given out of the evening was for Best Female Video, the presenters, if my notes serve me correctly, were Shakira and Taylor Lautner (werewolf dude from Twilight—SheWolf with a Werewolf, I don’t know, I loved it!). A dark horse in the race, Taylor Swift, took the moon man for “You Belong With Me” despite her stiff competition including Lady GaGa’s “Poker face” and Beyonce’s “Put a Ring on It.”
T. Swift, in her infinite adorable sincerity and humble nature, looks genuinely shocked as she covers her mouth in her long, silver, princess-y gown (she showed up in a pink horse-drawn carriage—Thanks MTV!) and goes up and gets all of like, fifteen words out about how happy she is to receive this “VMA award” because she’s a country singer and these things don’t usually happen to them…when Kanye, in his infinite and boundless arrogance, takes the mic from her and proclaims how he’ll let her finish, but that this was a sham because Beyonce made one of the best videos of all time.
All right, Kanye, duh. Everybody knows that. But do you really use MTV Video Music Awards as your pop cultural relevance barometer? Do you really think that Beyonce, who is a Grammy Award, Golden Globe nominated performer and superstar was really banking on putting that stainless steel astronaut above her fireplace in her palace with Jay-Z (I like to think of them as living in a palace but also hosting really fun barbacues—I actually often say that of any celebrity couple theirs is the barbecue I’d most want to be invited to…anyway).
The night goes on and not only did the event make little Taylor look like she was going to burst into tears, but it interrupted the opening of what I thought was a hilarious skit of Tracy Morgan and Eminem, Em training Tracy to become Best New Artist, “I could be Tracy GaGa,” hysterical. Thanks a lot Kanye for overshadowing that line. Come to think of it they would have been pretty adequate and hysterical hosts. Whatever. (Side note: My favorite part of that bit was the Cyndi Lauper cameo—now that’s a perfect reference MTV).
Taylor went on to perform her hit via a subway car, an admittedly nauseating performance where her vocals were proven to be way weak live, but I was so in camp T. Swift that even I cheered from here in Cackalack. Every mention of Kanye is met with wild boos and chants of “Taylor! Taylor!” from the audience, loves it. And Beyonce goes on, to KILL, KIIIIIIIIILLLLLLL in her performance of Single Ladies, starting with the bridge, which was smart, cause that part of the song is HOT, looking great, despite what some have said, and, whatever, I can’t even, I was in tears. If you didn’t see it YouTube it now. Loves it beyond expression. I can’t even.
Anyway the really good part of this story comes as Andy Samberg and Jimmy Fallon present the award for Video of the Year, which went to, what do you know, Beyonce. Girl goes up there, looking fucking fabulous in that short, pocketed low cut red dress, presumably from House of Dereon, and says about how she remembers her first VMA and how it was when she was 17 and it was with Destiny’s Child and what a special moment, and how she wants Taylor to come out here and have that moment.
I, died. Couldn’t even handle it. All right cynics, I know that it was very ostensibly a premeditated move and probably mandated by the producers of the show. But the way that she did it with such grace and humility and understanding, and then Taylor Swift comes out and is just, again, adorable, thanking her brother’s high school which Beyonce got a cute chuckle out of.
You know what it reminded me of so much? Dream Girls enthusiasts will get this. It was like that moment in the end of Dream Girls when Deena Jones (Beyonce) says at their farewell concert, “But you know there aren’t three Dreamettes, there are four…” and introduces, “Effie!” and Jennifer Hudson comes out in that ridiculously sparkly gown and the crowd goes wild and she proceeds to kill that song with Deena doing back up, pleased with her good deed and justice having been served. I like to think that Beyonce took a page out of Deena Jones’s book there After all, it was the film of her life.
Then Jay-Z came out and performed with Alicia Keys and it settled it for me. I need to go to a Jay-Z and Beyonce barbecue. They’re my America’s Sweethearts. (Side note again: what the fuck was with Lil Mama jumping on the stage at the end of that shit? Please, you’re the Paula Abdul of America's Best Dance Crew, you carry no social capital, knock it off.)
Other highlights included Lady GaGa looking like a lunatic in the periphery of every shot of Beyonce as she was sitting right behind her and wore outfits including a feathered neck corset, red lace jumpsuit that covered her face, and an Eskimo/sea anemone beard. My friend Lindsay made the best comment about GaGa: “The only thing I like about Lady GaGa is that she makes Katy Perry look like a total amateur.” Amen. The only two things I can say about her performance, because this is long already, is that number one, I completely forgot how musically capable she really is, and number two, I completely underestimated her limits (she basically mock hung herself on stage as the finale of her performance of “Paparazzi”—now MJ didn’t off himself, but I still found it tasteless in light of recent events.) I also have to say I did love that in her acceptance speech she yelled in between obscenities, “This is for God! And for the gays!”
Love a good shout out, especially when delivered next to a visibly uncomfortable Eminem.
Love that there was still love for Brit Brit, winning best pop video for that absurdly sexy masterpiece “Womanizer.” As she’s on tour now she accepted via somewhere with her band of dancers and also, did anyone else notice that Max, as in the magician-waiter from The Max in Saved By the Bell, was on tour with Britney? Apparently his name’s Ed Alonzo. Who knew?
Final thoughts:
Why did Eminem win Best Rap Video for that dreadful song proclaiming insults and slurs about pop cultural happenings that we had long stopped caring about, what, do only twelve-year-old white kids vote for that category?
Love that Serena Williams, a. was there and b. made a joke about crossing the line.
And lastly, Who the fuck is Muse?
In closing, Kanye, way to leave yourself open to shameless parody:
For the record, I'm going to post more on the VMAs later. However, I wanted to give a shoutout to the gracious Beyonce, the evening's true heroine, and say Congratulations on her winning Video of the Year for Put a Ring on It, which, yes Kanye, is a well executed video that has earned an honored position in the pop cultural canon.
What's hilarious, I think, is the video is Fosse inspired from a choreographed routine he made starring his dancer lover Gwen Verdon called "Mexican Breakfast" which birthed the brilliantly in sync adaptation shown below. Enjoy.
There are certain evolutions in popular culture that I've totally gotten myself onto the band wagon for, many, in fact. I'm not the type to bitch about reality t.v. or the media's changing of landscape increasing subjectivity over hard facts or celebrity over talent (celebrity is a talent in by its own merit, media manipulation is a lucrative and challenging skill to develop). But the VMA's is a tradition in entertainment that I feel has shifted its appeal to be one that is, well, really unappealing.
The VMA's were always to me pop culture's shameless mockery of itself. It was like the night where everyone that had been feature in an issue of US Weekly throughout the curse of that calendar year could show up and act as complete caricatures of themselves and the identities that the had guided the media in having constructed for them. It was like a costume party where every celebrity in attendance went as themselves. For example:
Do you think that Geri Halliwell would ever wear that nauseatingly patriotic, leather bathing suit thing with a faux-fur coat unless she wanted to be self referential in that she, and her group, has become a commodity for the American public? Absolutely not. But the VMA's provided celebrities and viewers with circus style exaggerations of entertainers' personal brands.
Last year, when I watched the VMA's with a room full of friends who were, like me, expecting the typical freak show of celebrity that we look forward to each year, we were at the very least disappointed in what we saw. It was as if everyone had pre-partied for the award show by having a group bible study and moving furniture around for the post-party hoe down they were planning. I mean, when the most highly antcipated appearance at an event is the Jonas Brothers, you hafta just expect cold oatmeal. When was the VMA's anything more than a mildly pathetic obligation on your social calendar and guarantee that something excusably inappropriate and outlandish might occur? Why do these nit-wit baby tween idols take al this so seriously?
Wwhen watching the low brow cultural enthusiast's event of the year, I don't want Jordin Sparks lecturing me about sexual habits weaing an unflattering strapless dress. I want something harmlessly riskier. I want Vanessa Hudgeons out there in a nude suit making jokes about how the only way she can get press is if she keeps "accidentally" showing up naked all over the internet. I want celebrities spitting back in the faces of the American public trying to police their behavior, not trying to further their appeal and make themselves accessible to the straight laced, midwestern twelve-year-old girl.
Bring back the absurdity MTV! It's just not a sufficient amount of absurdity that you're hosting an award show based on music videos when you don't even show them anymore. I want shameless self-mockery! I want you to show me just how self aware you are of the product that you and the media and their interactons with the public have helped to shape! Just do eaxctly what you used to do, have britney and Christina present an award together, have Mariah and Whitney do it wearing the same dress! Have a mob of Eminem look alikes swarm Radio City. Something that will regain my faith in your programming.
You could start with bringing back a hell of a lot more performances like this:
And a lot less of anything involving Katy Perry or anyone who got their start on the Disney Channel post Mickey Mouse Club. Thanks, good luck tonight, I'll be watching.
