Reno and Becka: Reality TV's Kate and Sawyer...But Sweatier

I don't know, but I think this is Reno's promo photo for 'The Colony', but it looks more like a headshot for the porn remake of said show.

It's 113 degrees outside, you haven't slept in days, you just boiled rotting pig carcass to make bio-deisel...do you fuck Reno? This is the main question posed by Discovery's second season of the wildly popular social experiment program The Colony (2009- present), in which a group of strangers is dropped into the Gulf Coast and told to survive without running water, power, or supplies. How is this different from Survivor you ask? There is no cash prize, there is no voting off contestants, or tribe councils. The task is simple: stay the fuck alive. You don't get airlifted into a Hilton if you decide to just say; fuck it, I need a shower. You're stuck there for 50 days and signed all of the legal waivers. 

Here's the upside. In your 'colony' they are going to include a really muscly, tan, wavy haired stud who's presence will distract from the severe but slow starvation depleting your brain from all rational thought. He will be sweaty, and he will be shirtless, and the show will slowly begin to build him up to be your 'protector', it will be very much like a Kate and Sawyer scenario and you will grow to be very attached to him, because you're stranded in a chemical waste dump in the middle of the post-Katrina Bayou in the dead of summer.

The show is a 'controlled experiment' where the producers keep throwing monkey wrenches into their colony's survival tactics. One of which was to hire actors who look like thugs to kidnap the youngest, prettiest girl in the bunch; Becka the former model, who does little more than whine about not being able to wash herself and picks berries. 

After she was detained for a good couple of days, Reno let his emotions run away with him and decided to forfeit about 90% of the colony's food to get her back. It was very valiant, but everyone else in the colony was pretty pissed. The general consensus was that Becka was getting picked off sooner or later, and no one doubted that she would eventually wash the fuck out. But thinking with our genitals as we do sometimes, Reno was overcome by an unflinching desire to fight for the damsel in distress. 

The good people at Discovery are aware that you can't just have a show that interests people with 8 or 9 people surviving by eating cockroaches all day, you have to throw a love story in there...and if you can, some good T&A. And with Reno, the 28 year old construction foreman, they achieved it. Every once in a while they let you take a break from wondering if you would be one of those people that kills others for meat after the apocalypse and just marvel at Reno's perfectly sculpted washboard abs, and amazingly meticulously combed facial scruff which somehow never grows into a filth beard. 

The show recently became available on Netflix Instant, and I've decided to re-watch it, the only thing I remembered from it the first time, was there was some hunky beefcake named Reno on it. Recently, on his public Facebook page, Reno (who calls himself an actor/director) admitted to boning both useless Becka and the voted leader of said colony, 28 year old tomboy Sally, who was a car mechanic in her former life, which surprised absolutely no one, the only thing being, we're all wishing Discovery would have aired it, and made it a cheesy two-last-people-on-earth-love-making scenario just to give us a break from all of the mechanical jargon i have a hard time following and close ups of bugs, feces, and pig carcasses. But I understand that they couldn't go there, if for no better reason than no one has brushed their teeth or washed themselves in weeks and it would probably be gross for everyone involved. But if this show has taught us anything, it's that even when your vital organs are in the process of shutting down, and your lack of nutrition is shutting down blood flow to your brain, one of the few things in your biology that makes it through are your hormones. 

In the middle of the season, the controlled experiment introduces a new character, a former Special  Ops Marine named Tick, who's also young and hunky, and way more sufficient than the entire colony put together which impresses the token pretty girl Becka, and makes Reno visibly jealous. This is just one of the examples of how most of the tension and politics that exists amidst the survivors is all based on sexual frustration and envy. It's actually quite amusing at times, and I think illustrates that the need for human contact and affection, be it sexual or not, is one of the necessities of survival besides food, water, and shelter. 

The show is extremely gritty and not for the weak hearted, which is actually refreshing in the midst of glossy faux survival doc programming like Survivor and foul ridiculousness like Fear Factor, but it doesn't shy away with allowing people to slip into their natural roles when stripped down to nothing and confront the elements of romantic desperation. Later, in a twist, Reno expresses his feelings of devotion in a 'not jealous boyfriend kind of way' as he puts it to Sally, with whom he has worked on every project to sustain the colony's survival including a makeshift windmill and bio-deisel powered tractor. He gave her the whole 'if anything happened to you...' talk which was kind of sweet if it wasn't so misguided, but the heart wants what it wants. 

Below is a segment from episode 4 of season 2 in which Becka is abducted and the colony is faced with the choice of fighting for her and giving up their basic life source, or letting her go. Reno leads the negotiations and lets his feelings for the girl affect his decisions. The way it's shot and executed is very telling of the unspoken romantic subplot of the otherwise grim series...and kind of makes him out to be a tool. 

Robert Pattinson: Sex God or TeenyBopper Fad?

Promo for the highly anticipated Cosmopolis, adapted from the book by Don DeLillo, directed by David Cronenberg...and starring Johnny Depp if it was being made 15 years ago. Rob, don't let us down.

A question I've asked myself a lot lately is what is going to happen to Robert Pattinson's career? Because I'm sad, and silly. Will he be neatly placed into the category of teen sex-symbol forever etched into every 15 year old girl's first sexual fantasy or will he develop his sexual persona on screen for a broader audience and one day do Vincent Gallo-type roles? 

I don't think it's to inconceivable to believe that second part. In one of his first film roles, he already scored a masturbation scene and a guy-on-guy love scene, albeit in a pretty awful film, Little Ashes (2008) but still, that's a good start.

Let's just put aside the whole Water for Elephants (2010) fiasco for now, because I think we'd all like to pretend it didn't happen, and even so, it was very strangely incestuous considering Reese Witherspoone had played HIS MOTHER a few years earlier in Vanity Fair (2004), all made even more creepy by the fact that Pattinson pointed it out saying something like, 'I've played your son, and then i got to fuck you...' I can't remember verbatim, but it was so awkward.

This leaves his Twilight legacy to be considered. It's highly likely that Pattinson will be remembered solely for this, which is fine. Do any of us believe that Daniel Radcliffe will be remembered for anything other than Harry Potter no matter how many plays requiring full nudity for its entirety he does? Pattinson's position is of course different. He was brought in to step into a nationally recognized sexual identity much like Clark Gable did with Rhett Butler for Gone with the Wind (1939). But in Gable's case, the public had envisioned him in the role way before the film was even in pre-production, so the casting was an obvious decision. With Pattinson, we have to ask ourselves a few more questions (or at least I did) before we can accept him into the sprawling history of sex in cinema, particularly male sex symbol status.

Vampires in film have a long history of being the seducer and corrupter on both ends of the gender spectrum, so Pattinson had some seriously big shoes to fill. And did he? Or did he get stuck in teenybopper limbo where because you're cast in the role, you're automatically adored by millions of screaming young girls who are not even sure why they find you tantalizing. Within the context of the Twilight premise, Pattinson is safe, he has a steady and loyal following while he serves as the embodiment of a character that thrives on the fantasy-wild minds of pre-pubescent girls. But he's showing signs of wanting to be more than just a wet dream or source of highly misguided fan fiction a la Orlando Bloom, but the question is; is he capable of this? 

Below is a still from the first installment of Twilight (2008), and below that is a still from the upcoming Bel Ami (2012). Agreed that he needs more than just the one facial expression on his resume?

His next project, Cosmopolis (2012) (directed by well established manipulator of cinematic perversions David Cronenberg) will prove to either make or break his trajectory. This is where we see if Pattinson's route will be that of transition from teen-icon to sex-icon, in my opinion. Clearly he's trying to experiment with more meaty parts (no pun intended), but it's been mostly miss and miss rather than hit and miss. Now that the Twilight Saga is mercifully on the last half of its last installment, we can truly see how he fairs with someone who is not Kristen Stewart, and if he can keep his momentum going. I don't think anyone is doubting whether he is a serious actor or not, and honestly, i don't think any of us really care. It's whether or not his sexual persona has staying power to transition into that of bona fide icon or will it fizzle like a Paul Walker balloon when the saga ends? 

Lets not forget his new role as ruthless Lothario Georges Duroy in Bel Ami (2012) based on the classic novel by Guy de Maupassant. The most we can hope for is that he plays it sans all of the idiosyncrasies he picked up while playing Edward Cullen for 5 years straight, because I have to say, in the trailer, it looks like he's playing Edward in a Victorian costume. 

So Pattinson, here's my advice to you. Put down the styling mousse, brush up on your interview skills, and read a Rock Hudson biography because all of those teenagers eventually grow up into adults will eventually lose interest....most of them.

Below is the trailer for Bel Ami (2012) 

Also, here's the trailer for the little known and little seen film Little Ashes (2008) where he played, get ready for it...Salvador Dali. It was...bad.

It's Time to Give Out Gold Nude Men With Big Swords

Brace yourself munchkins, because the mother of all self-aggrandizing faux-important arbitrary pretentiousness in award shows is right around the corner. That's right, It's Oscar time. Or as the late great George C. Scott famously called it: it's 'meat parade' time. Get ready for actors shakily thanking their parents and pointing to the heavens through tears, snarky documentary filmmakers giving condescending political rants, and really dated show business jokes from Billy Crystal. Not to mention the inflated cost of elaborate sets the industry will use for just one night and not even recycle, and the bloated fatheads of big money studio executives nodding along as they clap for films they shoved down the academy's throat all year.

I don't know why I'm so bitter honestly, considering how much I obsess over the Oscars every year, and shamefully know basically all of its history backwards and forwards like a 2nd grade math test. But perhaps its that very reason that I'm raving against them. I'm tired of them building me up every year and then letting me down by not even nominating said year's best films or performances because they were too 'controversial' lets put it that way. Instead, they give one to Kevin Spacey or Colin Firth and go on break. They are just too predictable, too long, too schmaltzy, and after they're done you're wondering how the hell you can get out of having to listen to winners who should have been losers gush on CNN the next day about how hard they worked and how they never expected it. 

The Academy reminds me of Capitol Hill, just a lot of out of touch rich old folks who hide away in their Brentwood mansions watching themselves over and over again in a private theater talking about the good 'ol days of the Hays Censorship Board and the iron fist of the studio system a la Norma Desmond. Sure they let in people like Jesse Eisenberg and Scarlett Johansson, but I think that's just for show that they are still 'with it'. 

Knock it off with the redundant history-of-the-movies montages (even though back in the day those were the best part of the telecast) and give me something I've never seen before instead of regurgitating the same old shit. And I swear if Billy Crystal opens with a song this year (as he almost most definitely will) i'm having a fit. 

Of course, to me, and relevance to this blog, a huge snub this year was Michael Fassbender for Best Actor in a Leading Role in Shame (2011). But it was such a predictable snub, I wasn't for a minute thinking that he would make the list. Leave it for the critics to judge a performance based on 'merit', the Academy has backs to pat and asses to kiss. And if there's even a hint of penis in there, you can kiss your chances at Oscar glory goodbye. 

Of course this is all relative, because there was that year (1969) when Midnight Cowboy took home Best Picture honors, the first and only film with an 'X' rating to do so, though it's pretty tame by today's standards. And let's not forget Halle Berry's win for Monster's Ball (2001) or Charlize Theron's win for Monster (2003) or Glenda Jackson's win for Women in Love (1969) (she was smart enough not to show up that time, or again when she won for A Touch of Class in 1973) but those are anomalies in an otherwise mundane self-censoring trend that the Academy follows. 

Below is a clip from Women in Love (1969) based on the novel by the fabulously perverted D.H. Lawrence, directed by one of the greatest fabulous perverts of all time, Ken Russell. These are the kind of films that used to win Oscars, but that was a different time. 

This year, the nominees are a joke. Basically all of them, except for The Artist (2011) which was fine, but its going in as the film that's slightly better than 'just ok', and hopefully it will win, but when you win in a year of crap then are you really winning at all? And let's not forget just how prude the Academy is. Even if the individual Academy voter is very open minded, and progressive, the Academy as a whole is very hypocritical like that. They will nominate Brokeback Mountain (2005) which was the clearest and best contender for Best Picture honors that year but they wouldn't let it win, and gave it to Crash (2005) instead? I'm still not over that. And don't kid yourselves Rooney Mara is not going to win this year...nor should she.

Anyway, make sure you load up on plenty of white wine, because next Sunday's festivities are going to be a giant snoozefest without it. I say, cut it out with all of the pretentious congratulatory bullshit and go back to when it was nothing more than what it was originally created to be, a publicity vehicle for the year's films and all of the awards were doled out in 10 minutes. There's nothing worse in the movie business than being boring and Oscars, you've been guilty for a while now. PS, letting Anne Hathaway and James Franco host is unforgivable.

Unanswered Questions of the Grammy's 2012

Is Nicki Minaj more theatrical than Gaga? Is Bruno Mars the hottest thing alive right now? Has the music world completely forgotten about Etta James? Does Rihanna get a Grammy for Best Camel Toe? And finally, Will Adele win Grammy's every time she's nominated from now on? The answers to all of these lingering questions is of course yes. Let's address the highlights and snooze fests of the evening. Bruno Mars, the cutest pretty boy in cute pretty town brought down the house with a fabulous James Brown-Little Richard-Elvis-Prince performance of Runaway Baby and brought back spangly suits, saddle shoes, and pompadours like nobody's business. Bruno, if you would catch a grenade for me, then I would kill a small animal for you, or watch all of Conan the Barbarian with a straight face for you.

Watch his stellar performance here:

Moving on, Rihanna's red carpet dress was a bit much. It was very sexy don't get me wrong, but if you're wearing a plunging V-neck line that goes down to your bellybutton, then your dress shouldn't be backless. Don't get me wrong, Rihanna is delicious, and if I had a body like that, I'm sure I would be rocking the 1/3-of-a-dress-dress, but with her hair styled like a 1982 streetwalker from 42nd street, she wasn't as polished as we usually see her. For her performance, she put on some goth black lipstick and a pair of high-rise leather booty shorts and aside from the gratuitous camel toe, it was pretty hot. She performed with usual snooze-fest band Coldplay, and I'm sure that Chris Martin would have gotten an erection if he weren't dead below the waist (which is what having sex with Gwyneth Paltrow will do to you...just to clarify).

Everyone's performance and/or acceptance speech had a Whitney clause in it, and that's fine, she deserves it, but it seems like the whole room completely forgot about the passing of music legend Etta James, because I don't think she was mentioned more than once...and that pissed me off. 

I don't know who else noticed, but funnily enough, she wore a glittered portrait of herself on her own outfit. I thought that was ab-fab.

The big controversy was Nicki Minaj's catholic-church-exorcism-medieval-shackled-fire-levitating performance. I just included everything that her number had, so you know it's kind of all over the place. It reminded me of Gaga's performance on the VMA's of Paparazzi which I always thought was overly dumb and misguided. Remember that one where she gets stabbed, and there's blood everywhere and then she's lifted up and hanging off of a chandelier, and everyone thought it was brilliant, not knowing that something completely random had just happened in front of them. My very close friend and I who are both highly opinionated, had a pop-culture-argument (those are the best kind) about this today. I took team Minaj, and she took team Mother Monster (or whatever it is that Gaga calls herself). I know that I'm in the minority here, but I actually liked the performance, because I recognized it for what it was supposed to be: over-the-top, ridiculous, campy, and farcical. I think Minaj has a joyous sense of humor about performance and it shows that she doesn't take herself too seriously and for that, I thought the performance was great. I got a good kick out of it. I also think it was hilarious that she showed up to the red carpet looking like an extra from Twilight's New Moon (2009) and an old man she probably found on Craigslist on her arm dressed as The Pope. I think she's an artist who isn't concerned with being sexy or even appealing. She's a beautiful woman, completely gorgeous in my opinion, but doesn't try to play that up for the sake of her artistry. I think she has staying power and will be around long after Gaga's star has faded. I really do.

Now, on to the star of the evening - is it any surprise that Adele basically sweeped and got no less than 6 standing ovations? She did put out an album that is the best compilation of music in the passed 10 years, and no I am not speaking in hyperbole. Long after we're all gone and some graduate student is putting together the most important music that was ever written, it will be like Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, the first Velvet Underground record, and Adele's 21. Adele, you're fabulous, and your music brings me to tears every goddamn day. Thank you for that. Sincerely, and without sarcasm, Vera. PS. I'm starting to think that you only own one sleevy sequin black dress. 

Enjoy this clip of Adele winning album of the year. Cheers girl. 

50 Years Ago, Someone Had Sex With the President Who Wasn't His Wife

JFK on a day off.

I'm going to stray again and not write about something related to film or televisino, though distantly it can be I'm sure. But there was this explosive story that hit stands recently when a woman who looks like everyone's senile least favorite grandma went on Today and promoted her new book which was released this past week called redundantly; 'Once Upon a Secret', which sounds like a cheap cheeseball romance novel...it is, there's only one catch, it's not fantasy, and it involved President Kennedy. 

Apparently when this corpse bride was an impressionable flat-chested dinky looking teenager she interned at the White House while JFK was in office. On her fourth day, she gets asked by the president's right hand man if she would like to go for a swim on her lunch break...I know, I didn't think the White House had a pool either. I wonder where they keep the S&M dungeon and the crack den, downstairs somewhere I reckon. 

Anyway, after the cool splashdown, the President took time out of his hectic schedule of saving the world from a Soviet nuclear attack and lured her into his private residence where she apparently lost her virginity to him that very same day. According to her, even the president with his Ivy league education and aristocratic pedigree couldn't avoid stupid utterances during sex such as 'is this ok for you?'. Thanks for ruining the sexual appeal of the President miss Mimi Alford. Next thing you're going to tell me was that he had cartoon kitties on his underwear. 

Mimi Alford at 19, the age that she was when she popped her cherry with JFK apparently in Jackie's bedroom.

According to Mrs. Alford, the affair lasted on and off for almost a two year period, which is so ironic considering how much flack we gave to Bill Clinton just for coming on a girl's vesty pants-suit. But it's no surprise that JFK was somewhat of a sex junkie, and this new tell-all is just a drop in the bucket along with a slew of women who claim (and probably accurately so) that they had long-standing yet unrequited love affairs with the Commander in Chief.

From the excerpts read on air, this really sounds little more than a book with a wind-swept oily Fabio on the cover, and now I've made you all picture JFK in a long flowy blonde wig with a ripped-open pirate shirt on hanging off the side of a boat. There's a lot of 'caressing' and 'tenderness' and apparently childish playfulness involving rubber ducks not in a gross way, which I have to admit is rather intriguing because I don't know about you, but I've always wondered what sex with JFK would have been like...I've also wondered that about Bobby, Ted, and John Jr. Sue me. 

On the whole, this book corroborates every similar story that preceded it, basically stating that the president was a bit of a philanderer and put on the guise of 'caring' about a girl just so he could have her at his sexual beck and call...why? because he's the president and he can. Rules have changed since then, and if any of those girls went to the press with a mysterious stain on her person I'm sure it would have been her that would be ruined rather than what happened with Clinton. 

Long story short, the book is not professionally written, nor is it really a tell-all, or any great revelation. It's basically 'hey guys, I slept with JFK' and our collective response is 'yeah who hasn't?' When I read it I just hope it's more sordid and filthy than what I have been able to preview watching her interviews.

Lets Smash and Smush

Katherine McPhee on the left and Megan Hilty on the right as the two main contenders for Marilyn Monroe

So the highly anticipated musical/drama series Smash premieres tonight and if you're like me, you couldn't wait to get into the Broadway spirit and watched it on your computer last night on Hulu. Here's a rundown. Katherine McPhee (from American Idol fame) plays a down and out actress/waitress originally from the midwest who has the talent but doesn't have the luck in the show business game, until two quirky lyricists (Debra Messing and Christian Borle) decide to milk the idea of a musical based on the life of one Marilyn Monroe. Sound corny yet? Hang in there.

There will be a baseball number, and a lot of glittery pink dresses, it's going to be that Marilyn story that everyone has been waiting for since her untimely demise back in 1962, and there's already a favorite for the lead; a busty, buxom, center-of-attention blonde named Ivy Lynn (Megan Hilty), she looks the part, and she can sing, but enter mousy, brunette Karen Cartwright (Katherine McPhee) and now the show has some competition on its hands.

It takes them no more than one episode to show the 'seedy underbelly' of this business we call show by introducing a tyrannical sleaze bag director (Jack Davenport) who loves to proposition young naive auditionee's promising them a meaty part if they blow him (like that never happens). 

Over all, the pilot was actually a bit underwhelming; I was expecting it to be this huge middle finger to Glee which it kind of was, but wasn't anything we hadn't already seen, and seemed just a tiny bit clap trap. But then again, it is a pilot, and we should give it just a bit more time to develop.

What's more important is that considering this is a show about the theater, there is a lot more creative license allowed with the suspension of disbelief that is created when putting on something like a musical based on the life of the biggest pop-culture icon of the 20th century next to Charlie Chaplin. You don't have to get her exactly right is what I'm saying, and that's a good thing, because most attempts at that fall flat (I'm talking to you Michelle Williams!). Ivy and Karen both seem like interesting contenders for Marilyn immortality on the stage. Ivy's got the boobs, sultry voice, and unbridled sensuality, while Karen has the vulnerability, charm, and heart. 

This one has a really stellar cast and an interesting premise, I'm excited to see what kind of sexy fun everyone brings to the table in the upcoming weeks. Here's a clip from the pilot featuring the first song written for the musical 'The National Pasttime'.

Here are those NSFW naked photographs of (mostly) dead actors you didn't ask for.

Yul Brynner. You'd have to have known he'd end up on this list. 

Joan Crawford. 

Pearl Bailey. 

Douglas Fairbanks Jr...you know...who cares...this photo was probably taken by his wife at the time Joan Crawford. 

Lucille Ball. I've ruined Saturday morning TV for you...or perhaps made it better?

Tab Hunter. 

Pixelated Errol Flyn peen. 

A very very young Mae West. 

Sophie Loren makes us all hate our boobs. 

Burt Lancaster. Teeth and testicles. 

Downton Abbey - Aristocratic British Sex - Second Season Orgasm and Third Season Make Up Sex

And we're back. Sybil has of course run off with Branson and been knocked up, going to give birth soon to enough Socialist babies to populate the newly established Soviet Union. Matthew Crawley has had sensation return back into his man parts which told him that marrying Plainy McPlainFace was the wrong decision, and perhaps the reason his Sherman was working again was because of Lady Mary's tender affections, so he finally proposed. And we all almost came.

There are a lot of older blonder men that have been entering and leaving the picture, courting 2 of the 3 Grantham sisters (Sybil was off limits because she was in a constricting and frumpy nurses uniform for most of the season). Lady Mary almost had to wed what I assume is a British composite of William Randolph Hearst, while Lady blonde-one proved she had the strangest taste in men ever by falling for a man three times her age, and one half times the amount of arms she has, oh and his Lordship, the Earl of Grantham (or is it Duke...or Count) Went passionate-crazy for an under-maid (no pun intended) and almost ravished her, but being British, restrained himself and apologized later about it.

One of Lady Mary's suiters, a self mad man that just wants some affection damn it.

The Christmas Special also saw the welcome return of wait for it...Nigel Havers! The most British man in British town whom we first saw chasing down his Olympic competition in Chariots of Fire (1980) where he played *shocker* another Lord. Not to worry all, he's still as British as ever, even though the last time we saw him his name was Leslie...or Linsday...either way. But turns out that he's somewhat of a cad, though I'd still hit that. It seems like every time someone decides to be above everything and follow their heart, marry for love, and all that crap, there's someone else who wants to crush youthful idealism and passionate barn sex into a nub and marry for money and status. Oh British people...Why can't we have both? Perhaps Mary and Matthew will prove to be the confluences of that dream, Sybil is probably too busy dying her babies swaddling clothes red, while Edith is definitely going to be the spinster of the three let's not fool ourselves. I would love for a bohemian forward-thinking painter character to arrive and stage a 'happening' or a reading party. How amazing would it be if the Granthams went to one of Scott and Zelta Fitzgerald's soirees? We'll have to wait for next season, but cheers to you Downton Abbey and for the unrelenting sexual tension you've brought to television. 

Won't you join us for next season?