I Reject This Rose

Jojo Fletcher, not good enough for the last bachelor, but good enough to fight off 25 douches.

Alright cats and dogs...when I'm feeling a little down slash bored, I'll pop a Xanax and watch The Bachelorette. I have no problem admitting that. And this season, although it's only been the first episode in, is none stop bananas. It's so unintentionally camp it might actually be genius. It's like Valley of the Dolls without the fun stuff: pills, boobies, and musical numbers. Although there's a lot of boozing it up. I immediately loved how all of the guys in the house started drinking like famished water buffalos because they'd never seen a girl as beautiful as Jojo Fletcher...the Bachelorette. She got dumped by the last bachelor ergo she's the new bachelorette. But seriously fellas? The most beautiful woman ever? I mean she's fine, but she's not Charlize Theron. She's your standard basic bitch with a really annoying giggle, sparkly dresses, and your average passé balayage. 

Someone get this girl a water hose. 

But the guys vying for her eternal love (because that is something that definitely exists in the reality TV universe) are perhaps the most hilarious bag of strays the producers could find. First, they fling the athletes at her, and by athletes I mean guys who failed to make it to the pros because of a 'troubled past', like that trope isn't getting tired. Then the about 10 or so 'real estate developers'. And then, my favorite part; the freaks. There's a guy dressed as Santa (awesome), A half Chinese half Scottish guy who came in a kilt, which I think is hot considering I spent a year in Scotland, but he immediately gets shade from everyone in the tapered Men's Warehouse suits. My favorite is the 'professional Canadian'. I shit you not, under his name, where your occupation goes the producers chose to write 'Canadian'. Because those are so goddamn rare in the continental United States. It's like a white tiger. The limo gimmicks are the best, I DVR those. This time they were pretty boring. I think one guy threw an internet meme at her that fell flat on its face, and another 'bro' made her drink wine from the bottle...classy.

Usually there's like one or so hot mess the first night that immediately gets eliminated, I mean this isn't Rock of Love: Bus, but it seemed like that first night they were all knocking them back. It was kind of like watching my worst nightmare in HD. You know that one guy at the bar, who's so drunk and full of himself he sounds like Matthew McConaughey with a speech impediment and starts to mansplain your life to you even though he just met you? Yeah it was like 25 clones of THAT GUY, poor Jojo. 

Ok now sit on the plexiglass, and try to look as pretentious as possible. Yes, creepy relentless smile, good...also we love that you're into sparkly Taylor Swift dresses from 6 years ago.

Alas, I don't know what she's thinking, based on how she talks I imagine it's just like butterflies and unicorns in her cabeza, so she kept the drunkies, the mansplainers, and the too-boring-to-be-called-anything-but-douche-lords. Why am I throwing so much shade? For all of the ironic fun I get from watching garbage and texting my friends about how garbage the garbage is, this is ultimately what's wrong with the world. It was a fun little reality gimmick, but now it's going on it's like 20th or so season? I mean there's a guy on the show who's 'job' is 'professional Bachelor superfan', I don't know how he's going back to his family without a disguise after this. Yeah, it's fun to watch, just like eating whipped cream with a spoon sounds like a good idea; it's a nice substitute for feeling your feelings. But, I'd rather take a healthy dose of a Bravo show that doesn't take itself so goddamn seriously and makes people believe they'll actually live happily ever after because of the show, because magic exists. At least with the Real Housewives, I can laugh with them and enjoy myself. This is perhaps the ultimate waste of time. It's basically the Taco Bell of reality TV. It looks fine on the outside but for the love of god, don't think too hard about what's inside.

What is Bravo Trying to Tell Us About Our LifeStyle?

Brandi Glanville joined the cast of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills after 3 seasons and enjoys her time as resident trouble maker, binge-drinker, and wine-thrower. She's the classic Bravo celebrity.

To preface, Jennifer Lawrence is a self-proclaimed reality TV junkie, ergo there's no shame in it. Whatever J-Law does is cool mmmkay? There's no greater cesspool of reality bacteria than that on the Bravo Network. Spearheaded by the indelible Andy Cohen who rescued the network from reruns of 'Inside the Actor's Studio' and the lowest ratings in TV history into the most watched channel across the continental US, Cohen keeps coming out with franchise after franchise, none of which has seen more success than 'The Real Housewives of...'

Now, even a junkie like me has to cherry pick. I have pride. I only religiously tune in to New Jersey, Orange County, and my beloved ladies of Beverly Hills. Out of the ashes of Beverly Hills, when post-menopausal women doing yoga and going to botox parties became less and less interesting, came the irreverent 'Vanderpump Rules'. Let me explain. Lisa Vanderpump is a 'housewife' which is ironic because she's a working woman, and a Beverly Hills transplant from England. Anyway! She has two (now three) restaurants in the greater Los Angeles area. Villa Blanca in Beverly Hills...you know, who cares? the newly opened gay bar Pump (which I heard is abysmal, also being next door to West Hollywood's Abbey Food & Bar, a landmark in the gay community) suffice it to say, it's not getting much business despite the pretentious and overpriced drinks. The third is a bar and lounge that I used to frequent back in my LA days called SUR also in the heart of West Hollywood. It's kind of like Abercrombie & Fitch for drinkers. She only hires young hot actor/model wannabe's filled with righteous indignation, body glitter, and draaaaaama with a capital F. 

This season of 'Vanderpump Rules' saw a goddamn wedding. Backstory: that girl in the ridiculous crop-top wedding dress is Scheana Marie whom we were introduced to in Real Housewives of Bev-Hills because she cheated on the husband of one of the cast members, and now like every girl pushing 35, she decided to settle for some boring nothing. I don't have to tell you anything about him, the picture says it all. 

Juxtaposing these two shows together it's actually quite surprising considering the ladies of 'Vanderpump Rules' seem to have it more together and more of a clear head on their shoulders being in their late 20's early 30's than the parakeets in their 50's of the Real Housewives cast. 

Let's talk marriage. It's very ironic calling the franchise 'Real Housewives of' anything. Most are divorced or going to be, usually for the dumbest reasons, while the ladies of Vanderpump though all aboard the hot mess express on a regular basis at least have their men in check. Example: 'Tequila' Katie from the Vanderpump cast finally sat her slacker boyfriend down and said; 'listen bitch, you have six months to propose to me or I'm moving on'. You go girl. I'm not saying that this is an agist thing. Yes a lot of the housewives look like melted barbies (especially in Orange County) but their god complexes get in the way of actual happiness, this is all considering that optimal happiness for them means more than 5 pairs of Louboutins. 

Kim Richards; the hot mess. Was anyone really surprised that she fell off the wagon and lied about it through an entire season of Real Housewives? Not I. 

Now, on to lifestyle choices. Let's branch out. Bravo seems to be very hypocritical and also a bit exploitive of people's drinking issues. They tend to cast people right on the cusp and push them over the edge. With all of the open bar parties they stage for the cameras, they could be considered one giant enabler. Hell, Andy Cohen will sit down at a reunion show with you or inside his 'clubhouse' and make a margarita in your mouth right after an episode airs which brings up your 'drinking problem'. The last season of the 'Real Housewives of Beverly Hills' centered around Kim Richards (former child star extraordinaire and general psycho) and the giant question mark regarding her 'sobriety' since she admitted on live television that she had gone to rehab for her alcoholism, and this season it's apparent to everyone with eyes that she's not exactly following through. The last episode was 45 minutes of the six cast members arguing about whether or not the word 'intervention' was actually used in conversation regarding her. Talk about stretching content. And then it comes out that she got wasted at the Beverly Hilton and kicked a cop, were any of us surprised? No. Is Andy Cohen secretly happy because he gets to have a 1 on 1 special with her now? Yes. 

The new show 'Southern Charm' is a bit of a sleeper hit. Small cast, cute city (Charleston), and though the cast like everyone else on Bravo, is loaded, they are very self-aware of that and how obnoxious they can be. Just like on basically every other Bravo show, there is a character whom we can already see going to the dark side. Previews of his intervention are in the works. Now, Andy is not stupid, when someone busts out with their alcoholism, that makes for excellent TV. Though no Emmy in sight for him in the near future. 

The cast of the 2nd season of 'Southern Charm' behind the million dollar smiles and designer dresses, there is drama-a-brewing.

Now that Bravo has decided to (gasp) go scripted with shows like 'Odd Mom Out' and 'Girlfriends' Guide to Divorce' the well of vodka-soaked divorce-ridden drama has clearly run dry. But I'm sure the great and powerful Andy Cohen still has a couple tricks up his sleeve. And alas, against everyone's better judgement the Real Housewives franchise is still going strong. The first one was 10 years ago if you can believe it, and as long as they keep up the formula of pure schadenfreude they'll be ok. There is always going to be an endless stream of cutaways to people taking copious shots, girls crying, and guys fighting. On that alone, Bravo has built one of the most successful TV empires known to man. As far as guilty pleasures go, it's one of the best. As Cameran (cast member on 'Southern Charm' and the definitive 'voice of reason' of the show) ever so cleverly quipped; All aboard the hot mess express. Toot, toot!

Intros to some of these shows below. Because, why not?

Grab an Old Fashioned, Old Don is Back!

Drinking buddies for life.

I don’t know about you but I found the premiere of Season 6 of one of the most dynamic and incendiary shows on TV right now to be somewhat of a snoozefest. It was all about showing us symbolically (and sometimes outright) how people had changed in the time’s passing. It’s almost 1970, and the men have grown ridiculous beards, including Pete Campbell’s new mutton chops (I mean what the fuck was that).

The most interesting transformation was that of Peggy who now seems more masculine in her new gig, as if she’s becoming the new Don Draper, she has people coming to her for advice, orders others around, hair cut more prim and proper and in total control of her emotions. Cool as a cucumber, and androgynous as fuck.

Party like it's 1969. Drop your keys in the bowl on your way in.

This was needed because guess who’s back? The OLD Don Draper. We find him wasted at Roger’s mother’s funeral and throwing up which was hilarious, and then by the end of the finally he’s got Lindsay Weir of all people (Linda Cardellini) lying on top of him. Basically, Old Don is back. There’s no longer the soul-searching, happily married, fatherly, sober, boring Don. Now the womanizer, the chain smoker, the boozer Don is back, and I couldn’t be happier. Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce was getting to be a bit drab, but now with Old Don, and Joan as silent partner (yet not so silent) I have faith that even without Layne (rest in piece on a rope), they will continue to thrive, mutton chops and all.

Trouble looming on the perfect marriage? Most definitely

The question remains is how are they going to deal with the sexual revolution impending on everyone’s heads now that the 70’s are looming and they’ve already taken acid trips and tried to see the Rolling Stones in the flesh. The only thing left is wife swapping, so getting with the times, I suppose Don is going to partake, while Roger gets involved in a really gross 70’s orgy, the kind you see in the worst of John Holmes movies, but those are questions waiting to be answered, and I for one can’t wait. Hopefully this premiere episode wasn’t an indication because I’m sick of all of the existential self-aggrandizement that Don experience mmmmmmm…every single fucking episode. I want the old Don back, and I’m glad they’ve answered my prayers.

Who’s The Biggest Pervert on Arrested Development?

(Warning: Contains endless Arrested Development quotes) Let’s see, what do I do with my time? Like what do I watch how do I keep current? Well since I have a job (It’s something you apply for, and they pay you…) I only have about a couple hours a day. One in the morning when I wake up and get ready, and one in the evening when I get home. After I work out, and before I shower and eventually crash. So I leave those time slots open for my current sick obsession with everything Benedict Cumberbatch, so I’m watching Sherlock (2010 - Present), which I’ve already blogged about, so douche chill…

The only other show I watch is of course The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (2009 - Present) because it makes me feel better about myself, though I have to watch it through a hole I cut in a paper plate because of all the HD shiny. As you know, I blog a shit ton about that show as well. So basically outside my office, I have those two things to tell me about the world around me. Skinny blonde bitches in Loubitins and ridiculously complicated and convoluted crimes in England that I’m too stupid to almost follow. But instead of silently saying a prayer that they combine the two shows and have one of the housewives found in a pool of her own blood  (I can’t say which one because ‘that’s a lawsuit’ but we all know who I mean) with Benedict standing above her saying something smug and demeaning, I’ll get back and go full circle (ugh, mixing metaphors) to the show I’ve loved the absolute most since it entered my muddy world and made it beautiful back in 2003; Arrested Development, which Netflix had the wherewithall to renew for a season showing exclusively on their website (Them?)

They’ve basically told everyone else to fuck off, even if it means them taking a chubby, they will suck it up. Now, let’s get out of our excited-as-fuck skirt and put on our thought-process Barbara Streisand in the Prince of Tides ass-masking pants suit.

I mean this is huge. The show was cancelled almost 7 years ago and we STILL talk about it. It’s probably the biggest hit cult series there is, and FOX execs are pieces of shit. I’m sorry, but you are. But let’s not dwell on our anger. I want to go through that beautiful magic of the first three seasons and decide finally who is the biggest perv of the series. And I’ll tell you one thing, it’s probably not who you’re thinking. 

You’re thinking GOB because he dates whores, underage girls, and throws freezing cold water over the shirts of his entirely female baseball team and almost always makes an impromptu sexual innuendo when speaking, but it’s not. That’s just part of his adorably ridiculous character, that even I’ve grown to love. 

Tobias' acting resume headshots

Next, you’re probably thinking it’s Tobias, because literally everything that comes out of his mouth is a sexual reference of some sort, usually attributed to the ‘is Tobias gay question’ that always lingers in the background. But hey, you didn’t get any body chocolate, and actually that’s not even his major arc so no dice on that one.

Then we have the idiot somewhat savant-ish brother Buster, who is one hell of a freak. He comes home sometimes at 7, 8 at night, peanut brittle on his breath, and builds pillow forts with Liza Minelli. I mean he’s a fraaaak. But he’s completely clueless. Remember when he was dating Michael’s rabid assistant and terrified when she wanted to take things to the next level? Mother complex or not, he’s an innocent. 

'my own brother...Michael'

Then of course we have Michael. The hopeless romantic who’s ‘sensitive like a woman’, and just can’t help himself when it comes to a gal with a giggly smile and a pair of soft blue eyes, the lack of sex with which would make anyone crave a 15$ thing of candy beans. But it is his romanticism that crosses him off the perv ladder, because all he’ll ever do to you in bed is hold you close and whisper shit in your ear and you’d get bored if not for the wondrous adorable-ness of him.

If you were thinking Lucille all along, then ding ding ding. You’ve won the grand prize, which is respect from me. Think of it, she’s the classic pervert, more so than any of the men in her life put together. She seduced not only George Sr. but his brother Oscar, and can basically make them do anything she wants (More touching!). She likes to go ‘downtown’ and being ‘lied on’ rather than ‘lied to’.  And that wink of hers could be the most perverted thing I’ve ever seen, but at least we don’t have to ‘say goodbye to these because it’s the last time!!!’ because I have no doubt we’ll be seeing them on Netflix soon enough. Now get me a Vodka rocks. But it’s breakfast? And a piece of toast. 

Her?

Honorable mention goes to: Kitty, George’s fiercely loyal assistant, Maeby for her obsession with idiot Steve Holt and unabashed attraction to her own cousin, Marla Michael’s assistant who was bitten by a rabid dog and has a cryptic attachment to Quincy Jones, and of course, Lucille II…because it’s Liza and that’s all I need. I leave you with the best of...

 

Housewives Recap: Everyone’s an Alcoholic and Paul is a Douchebag

Taylor chatting it up with Yolanda Foster's hubby David Foster about absolutely nothing after hitting the wine glass a couple dozen too many times. As Yolanda said 'there's nothing uglier than a drunk woman' well, let's put it this way 'There's nothing uglier than a drunk Taylor'

Finally caught up on my Real Housewives of Beverly Hills because my life had become an empty void, and I gave in, just like Taylor does to a bottle of wine every so often. I was in Real Housewives rehab but I relapsed and bad. And what did I miss? Well here’s the gist. 

We all know Brandi is being sued by Adrienne and her hubby Paul the surgeon, who never stops talking about the fact that he’s a surgeon even though we’ve not once seen him perform surgery this season because he’s too busy playing second banana to his wife’s shoe-line ambitions. Adrianne is worth approximately 100 million dollars according to celebritynetworth.com (as you can see I use my spare time wisely) and Brandi is worth lets say nothing considering she hasn’t had a modeling gig since 1997 and her only income is selling incendiary stories to US Weekly. So basically that’s a shitty move on Adrianne’s part. 

Hypocrisy alert! Kim the former alcoholic, who apparently relapses later in the season, confronts Taylor about HER drinking problem now that she's in a 'better place'....really?

But here’s what’s happening now. For Kim’s new nose, she decided to throw a Kim’s new nose coming out party, it was the most bizarre thing I’d ever seen, but probably par for the course in Beverly Hills. During which, sisters Kim and Kyle which kind of remind me of the two wicked stepsisters from Cinderella get a rather strange phone call from Taylor saying she’s going to Beaver Creek and also implying she has no idea where her young daughter Kennedy (that’s right, that’s what she named her) is. This raises red flags. Then Bravo has the wear-with-all to show us other times that Taylor wasn’t how shall we say ‘aware’ and tipsily yapping about god knows what. Ergo, Taylor’s got a drinky problem, so says Kim the former alcoholic, and by former I mean for 3 months. 

What are you talking about I'm fine...glug glug glug.

So that now makes 2 out of 6, but lets face it, Brandi’s quite the frat girl herself, if you look closely, not that you would because your eyes would burn off from all that shiny, you’ll notice Brandi always has a glass of wine in her hand and tends to be pretty chatty and say things she shouldn’t. Red flag? Um yeah.

And in this day and age where in Beverly Hills it’s easier to get botulism than a driver’s license these girls are still picking alcohol as their main problem? Puleeeease. Get addicted to valium or cocaine like a proper Beverly Hills housewife and stop boring us with your sorority girl moments. 

Adrienne talking emphatically about nothing as usual, and Paul pretending to laugh at his wife's jokes because he loves her....paycheck.

Also, Paul’s being a cunt basically. That’s as much as I have to say about that. If you watch any promo it hints that he and Adrienne are headed for divorce court and all I can say is it’s not going to end well for him. It was mentioned in Season 2 that the two signed a pre-nup so he’ll definitely be taking that depressed divorced man’s condo while she keeps the billion dollar home in the hills, the dogs, and probs the kids so good luck to him, especially with that face of his.

That’s all. Ciao for now!

Pramface – Teen Moms Meets Modern Family Through the British Filter

This show was constantly running promos on HULU so I finally dug in out of desperation for something besides House of Cards and Downton Abbey. I needed to fill that void of delicate dry British humor and all the crap on Lifetime, and Pramheads fit the bill perfectly.

It involves a girl Laura (Scarlett Alice Johnson) who gets impregnated by a 16 year old who can’t even put on a condom properly. I mean come on British people, I know instructions aren’t written on the side of the plastic but didn’t you ever practice with a banana? Laura’s about to go to Uni (that means college to us Americans) and decides ‘hey, I’m just going to ride this out until it’s just about too late and see what happens'. She ignores being basically a statutory rapist that is with child and decides she’s going to remain drinking buddies with her best friend from High School Yay! Totally awkward and predictable situations ahead!

Jamie (Left) and his best friend contemplate strange and impractical ways of dealing with the situation; this is the major source of the comedy throughout the beginning of the series.

Jamie (Sean Michael Verey) , said father-to-be adorably and clumsy 16 year old tracks her down until she finally has to face the fact that she’s going to have a bloody baby and bloody hell it’s going to be bloody difficult to make this bloody decision.

She decides eventually (SPOILER ALERT) fuck off, it’s in the first episode, that she’s going to keep it, and now there’s going to be a particularly British clash of manners involved when Laura’s parents who are what we can call of the Intellectual Class have to now interact with Jamies', who are not Chavs per se (again American translation – white trash) but are somewhat LOWER middle class. 

Scarlett Alice Johnson is actually quite good as 18 year old preggers Laura who has to somehow tell her no-longer-speaking-to-each-other WASPY parents that she's not all they thought she was, and she's made one huge tiny mistake.

The whole thing permeates of unimaginably easy ways of dealing with unimaginably difficult scenarios, and is actually a lot of the time just plain scientifically inaccurate, but I suppose that a suspension of disbelief goes along with any comedy serial. All in all, this is not too bad, and has some serious actors in it. No I mean it, like RADA actors like Angus Deayton, Anne Chancellor, and Bronagh Gallagher (whom I love, I mean I am so happy she’s still working, she’s a highly underrated actress).

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is skip the Teen Mom marathons on MTV and log on to Hulu to check out this cute little show, it’s little more than that, but it’ll put you in a good mood. 

Promo below.

Based on the Half Hour of Liz and Dick That I Watched Here Are My Thoughts

I think from the side, Lilo's lips look even more hideous.

Oh where to start where to start, I imagine dear reader that you believe someone like myself reviewing something as gloriously cheeseball as Liz and Dick (2012) is like a kid on a field day after smoking the best crack he's ever had and drinking 13 red bulls. Alas, it's all rather depressing. There are so many points I want to make, yet all of them seem redundant. I mean let's talk about the veritable truths that bind together all of mankind. Lindsay Lohan is an awful train-wreck, made-for-tv biopics are the kiss of death, no one compares to Elizabeth Taylor nor should ever try to play her period, and gaudy costumes and breathless delivery do not make a movie. How many times do I have to say this before people actually listen is the real question. Unfortunately the answer is forever...or I develop rheumatoid arthritis in both hands. 

Cut, print, shit.

So why did I turn on the TV? Well I had just completely an arduous 7 hour drive back from the Bay Area to Los Angeles, unpacked and turned on Lifetime enough to catch LiLo as Lizzy getting Richard Burton (Grant Bowler) drunk in her dressing room because he was way too hungover to perform ANYTHING on one particular day in the Roman heat dressed to the nines as Mark Antony, and her rather dowdy and frumpy, and so not nearly as fabulous as Elizabeth Taylor was back then, extra weight and everything. She calls him the 'Welsh Don Juan' and expresses her fears of being 'just another notch on his belt' like that phrase hasn't been done to death, thank you writers. 

Eventually they fuck and all is well in spouse-cheating land. That is until this new phenom enters the picture, these mosquito-like buzzing photographers that squat in bushes and jump out in front of cars. They mention how Fellini coined the term for the little fuckers called 'paparazzi', thanks for that impromptu film studies lesson idiots. Fellini is crying in heaven that you dare mention his name. Moving on.

Aside from everything else wrong with this picture, did anyone else notice how 'glazed over' LiLo seemed to be the whole time? I mean, I've heard of method acting, but I don't think that's what this is.

 There's a montage of fucking, which is highly gross considering even made up as Liz Taylor LiLo is beyond undesirable. She's definitely an 'if-i-had-to' kinda girl, but even then I could almost see the Hep-C being transmitted as Grant kissed her with the most faux passion he could muster without gagging. 

Oh and beyond that, they have to dumb it down by having the two leads sit in directors chairs and talk about each other in the third person basically explaining what just happened in the previous scene to us like we're all completely retarded. The only piece of method acting that LiLo is able to apply to this travesty is how well she smokes her cigarettes. For some reason I hate it when you get a non-smoking actor to play a chainsmoking character. They always go at the cig like they're performing fellatio on it...so I guess good job there, LiLo. 

Right as the Ambien was taking effect and I was about to rid myself of this shitshow, a drunken Burton makes the startling announcement that would destroy dear Liz's 4th marraige to Eddie Fisher in front of Eddie Fisher; they are in love, and fucking like a lot, so uh if he wouldn't mind getting the hell out of the way everyone would really appreciate it. 

Playing dress up is always fun, so is recreating iconic photos, but this is people's lives here, not Halloween k folks?

Then LiLo runs her pretty head off outside in tears; 'oy the mess i've gotten myself into again' certainly permeating through her head. And then there's another fuck montage. As I have actually read bios on Elizabeth Taylor and just finished 'Furious Love' (2011); the definitive account of Burton-Taylor crazyballs shenanigans, I knew what was going to come next and I was not in the mood. Fucking and fighting seem to go hand in hand in the story of Liz and Dick, but in this film, each is equally as displeasurable as the other. Also, just like Meg Ryan, Lilo's lips had become a fixture. I was tired of looking at them. They seemed to overwhelm the screen and there was little else I could pay attention to. So I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and woke up the next morning with a bitter taste in my mouth. It was not the bitterness of disappointment I assure you, as I had prepared myself for this for months. It's hard to be disappointed at something you knew was going to be stanky garbage to begin with, but I felt it unfair that people had to be subjected to it, though I knew no one would ever take this seriously. It happened, and now we can all move on.

Trailer below. 'Are you convinced?' ....never was.

The Master is the Gayest Movie You'll See All Year

Just warning you, this is written assuming those who read it have seen the film already, so I'm giving a lot away, don't like it? Don't give a shit. I had this overwhelming sense of dread while walking into the theater, you know the kind you get from knowing you're walking into an over-hyped art-for-art-sake long-as-shit-for-no-reason film that all the snooty critics can't stop buzzing about? Remember when we paid money to see Tree of Life (2011)? It was that kind of dread.

Paul Thomas Anderson has always been a hit or miss kind of director to me, and this was definitely a miss. The only thing I could find to justify this clumsy misfire, is to look at the homoerotic angle in the film, which to me was very prevalent, but everything is gay to me. Anyway, it's an interesting angle to think about and has been mentioned in quite a few reviews on the film, and anyone with more than two braincells clicking away upstairs is sure to catch it.
I kept thinking about what Gore Vidal said to William Wyler while in pre-production for Ben-Hur (1959). He was disconcerted writing the script as he basically deduced that there wasn't enough in the plot to make it a 2 and a half hour long movie; A Jew and a Roman used to be friends, now they disagree on politics and fight. That's barely interesting as far as he was concerned so he suggested that the two main characters played by Charleton Heston (Ben-Hur) and Stephen Boyd (Messala) were lovers, and the conflict between the two of them was actually because Messala wanted to start the relationship back on and Ben-Hur wasn't interested. Throwing sex into the mix always makes it more interesting. And hey, it ended up working didn't it?
Here's the dirt on The Master (2012). Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) is a plethora of mental disorders. He's bipolar, manic, borderline, and he's an alcoholic and a sex addict. H has PTSD, ADHD, OCD, so basically he's beseeched by acronyms. Ergo, he's brilliant fodder for 'The Cause', the Scientology-esque movement sprung from the mind of Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman) who takes an instant liking to him, and takes him under his wing. 

Lancaster Dodd (PSH) posing in a picture Freddie (Joaquin Phoenix) takes of him. it's one of the most intimate parts in the whole movie as Freddie gently adjusts Dodd's hair with the tip of his fingers and the two men stare deeply into each other's eyes and then it's back to business.

As the relationship develops between the two of them, we learn their most depraved secrets, particularly those of Freddie, who is a much more developed, nuanced character than that of Dodd. It seems as though every woman in his life has abandoned him from his mother to his child-bride, and now he unsuccessfully strives to find wholeness in empty marathon fuckfests that always end up being his undoing. Dodd, sensing his self-destructive nature makes Freddie engage in a series of depracating and humiliating tasks or 'tests' based on the teachings of 'The Cause', and in the emotional climax of one in particular Freddie exclaims 'I can leave anytime I want to but I choose to stay!' and the entire audience is left wondering; 'um, why exactly?' PT Anderson never actually reveals the answer. This is a director who's fear of not being subtle enough yields the exact opposite, it's too subtle to the point of being confusing. To me, the answer was very clear - he stays because he's in love with Dodd. It's an intense, adult kind of love and affection that of which he had never achieved in the past, and he allows it to consume him.
In turn, in the last scene (I told you, if you haven't seen it, don't read this) when Dodd invites Freddy to England (or perhaps he doesn't and Freddie dreams the invitation, that's never made clear either) he sings to him; 'I'd like to get you on a slow boat to China...all to myself alone' the rest of the lyrics go something like 'get you and keep you in my arms evermore', basically spelling out to Freddie that he loves him too. Both men cry because they are aware that whatever it is they had is over forever despite their best efforts. 

Amy Adams plays the almsot terrifyingly controlling wife of Dodd who always seems to have something to say or do against Freddie, and almost always has an strong opinion to assert.

Also, from the beginning, there is a wedge driven between the two by Dodd's wife, Peggy (Amy Adams). She makes her presence in Dodd's life, particularly his sexual life perfectly clear when she for lack of better terms, jacks him off, whilst telling him how bad Freddy is for The Cause, asserting her sexual prowess over him. She increasingly becomes more and more hostile towards Freddie as she feels her influence over Dodd dwindling and becomes threatened and resentful by his position in their life together. And the entire time you're watching her you're wondering why exactly is she such a shrewish bitch, and it's because she's jealous of the love those two men share for each other. It's actually pretty simple. 
So basically, what I'm saying is The Master is not an exposé on Scientology, nor is it a character study, nor is it a mental-masturbation all over the audiences face in 72 mm, though that was my initial opinion of the film. It's a love story between two broken society outcasts looking in desperate confusion for answers and solutions to their ever present loneliness. In that sense it's rather beautiful, but then again, I'm not sure at all if that was PT Anderson's intention all along. I'd like to think so because that's the only redeeming quality the film has. 

Below is the ridiculous 3 minute trailer that basically shows you the entire film and saves you $12.50 

 Below, that Gore Vidal thing I was talking about - 

 

I Miss Gogol Bordello!

Eugene Hütz has become somewhat of a sex symbol in his own right and rightfully so.

It was 2007, I was living in the East Village finishing up my miserable BA in Cinema Studies. My good friend Erin was always down to meet me at the local watering hole slash only place we ever met for drinks, the now closed Cooper 35 in Cooper Square  near the Bowery, and one of these nights we were talking music. I mentioned this band called Gogol Bordello which everyone in New York between 19 and 25 seemed to be in fervent love with. After about 5 or 6 whiskey sours, we decided we were going to walk, yes walk to the Lower East Side to this bar we'd always heard of but not yet had the balls to visit called Mehanata. The story was that it was a Bulgarian bar in existence for over 20 years and was basically the hub in which Gogol Bordello was born. 

Gogol Bordello, a band that fused authentic Eastern European gypsy folk songs with American punk rock. It's a good thing.

I made eyes with the door guy and he let us all in for free. We walked into a dim smokey bar playing Easter European fusion punk gypsy music. The air was illuminated with red tinted christmas lights and revealed a few strange New York City types sitting around, speaking Russian to each other with a bottle of Vodka at each table. We made our way to the bar and the bartender insisted that we drink Rakia, a kind of Bulgarian moonshine not even available in the states unless you bought it on the black market which they always did. It was delicious, and we got wasted in a matter of minutes. Then we went downstairs. 

Downstairs was a whole different animal. It felt like a seedy club. There was a DJ booth, and a few crystal balls from 1972. Strobe lights were the only source of light down there, and myself and Erin soon learned that we didn't have to walk all the way through people and up the stairs to the outside to chain smoke; our favorite activity. You could apparently do it on the back stairs whilst a drunk girl leans up against your knee and tells you you're beautiful. 

Eventually it started getting crowded and around 1am Erin and I decided that we needed fresh air to have a cigarette in (oh the fucking irony) and we shimmied our way through dancers and goosestepped our way over drunks until we were at the entrance. We lit up and talked about god knows what for a few minutes. All of a sudden, I see her eyes get extremely wide and her speech getting instantly slow. She seemed to be looking at something directly over my shoulder, and I was horrified at the thought that there might be a really tall ghost breathing just on the back of my neck. After a few seconds of drunken hesitation I turn around only to be shoved slightly into her direction (she was in front of me) and I felt bangles hit the small of my back. Before I had a chance to look and see what was behind me, a pair of large hands steadied me from behind and a soft voice spoke 'scuze me doorling', and I knew exactly who it was. 

Don't get too excited, I don't like Madonna, here's a still from her film Filth and Wisdom (2007) with Eugene Hutz who basically plays himself, and Gogol Bordello appears in the film as his character's band.

It was urban legend that Eugene Hütz, the charismatic, enigmatic and eccentric lead singer of Gogol Bordello still showed up to DJ at the bar that had made him famous, and all of a sudden, there he was, decked out in striped skinny jeans, a spangled gypsy scarf wrapped around his waste and that unmistakable handlebar mustache, bumping into me. I was stunned. It was up to par with a normal person bumping into I dont know...Brad Pitt. He was even more amazing in person. Around 6'3, with the most commanding presence, we immediately followed him in and basked in his presence at the bar, trying to non-chalantly stare at him. Neither of us had the nuts to talk to him, but we did end up dancing our asses off, and were at Mehanata every Saturday hence forth until I moved to to the Upper West Side when I began my Master's at Columbia (humblebrag!) and it was just too far to travel. I listened to them all day and all night for a good year after that experience until they stopped coming out with new music, and I'm just wondering two things, well three things; 1. Why have they not recorded a new album? 2. When can I come back to New York and go straight to Mehanata from JFK? 3. Miss Erin Kenealy, will you still come with me when I go? 

Here are some videos and clips, get into them, they're awesome! 

The first one is a video for their most famous song 'Start Wearing Purple' which was actually filmed right in Mehanata when the band was starting out and had no money, having to shoot at wherever they were welcome. 

Below is a trailer for a film that Zhenya (that's a casual way to refer to someone named Eugene in Russian btdubs) called 'Everything is Illuminated' (2005) and turns out he's a bloody good actor too. 

Below the trailer for 'Filth and Wisdom' (2008), where Hutz basically plays himself. 

Come On British Press! Show Us Ye Olde Royal Peen.

The now infamous photos leaked by TMZ last week afterwhich the palace quickly threw a muzzle on the British Press, hence the kitschy red star on the right.

Come on British press, we all struggle. Just leak one or two we won't do anything with them, except photoshop them into oblivion and send them all around the interwebs with asinine memes posted underneath. But in all seriousness, we're just curious. We don't have a royal cock over here, so we just want to get a peak. Unless you're a sad sad cave person with stolen mannequins behind the alley at Macy's that you dress up and seat around your living room to pose as friends, you've heard by now that NSFW photos have been leaked to TMZ of a drunken romp Prince Harry had in Vegas before returning to combat training. Oh dear god, I hope the world doesn't collapse on itself. 

First of all, what's the big deal? He's third in line people. Which basically means, he's not in line. More than likely, he's never going to be king. But he's young, rich, and hot. So why not get in a naked hottub psuedo-orgy before you go defend your country in a foxhole in the goddamn desert with nothing but a dehydrated meal and your AK-47 by your side? You're in Vegas. That's what Vegas is for. Do you think anyone has ever not been naked in Vegas? I don't even think it's legal to be inhabiting a hotel room in Vegas with clothes on. It's a state law. 

If anyone gives me the whole 'royal duties' speech one more time I might projectively vomit all over them.

Cadets around the world give Prince Harry a naked salute. Cheers lads.

Prince Harry is a prince, but he's no where near needing to fulfill any 'duties' except be young, have fun, and be irresponsible. He's L'enfante terrible, the rogue brother. If one of the bro's has it down in terms of duty, take a break and go party in Vegas with naked sluts.

Of course the palace put a royal kibosh on the photos so now we can only see them with an unseemly Photoshopped 'star' over what i'm sure is a really toned royal ass.  The other picture, I get it, he's covering HIMSELF up, but there's something else their keeping from us, I can just feel it, no pun intended. Now it's being revealed that VIDEO footage exists of naked Harry's hairy bird. (Yay! the most unoriginal alliteration ever!) 

And I'm pretty good at rummaging the internet for 'lost' or 'leaked' celebrity video...no I'm not...and I couldn't find one single lead on this. I'm lost in the woods. I mean when the palace says 'no', I guess it really does mean 'no'. But hey, we have the Associated Press here in the States that would gladly crawl all over this like flies on shit. What? Did you think we have integrity? We follow Lindsay Lohan around for chrissake. There is no 'bottom line' to our celebrity press. And hey, it's not like he's our Prince, to us, he's just a hot guy who's got a lot of money, and is the bad boy of his family, and who on this side of the pond doesn't find that irresistible?

A Few Best Men - Australia's Version of The Hangover

you can tell they mean trouble because one of them is already drinking out of the bottle.

Tonight, I went to a screening of Stephan Elliot's new film A Few Best Men (2012). Lest you forget, he directed the comically brilliant Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994), and we haven't really heard from him since, unless you were one of the 5 people that saw Easy Virtue (2008). The director introduced the film by saying that it had all three 'B's'...bestiality, blow, and bum-fucking. So I was in for a treat. Usually that kind of college-humor gives me a good chuckle, as it did with this, but I couldn't help thinking how this film was pretty much Australia's version of The Hangover (2009). It involves a group of British boys that come to Australia to marry off one of their mates to an Aussie daughter of a senator. It's virtually identical to the instant classic from two years ago, except the jokes were re-written for an Australian/British sensibility and sense of humor, just didn't work.

Xavier Samuel plays the British version of Justin Bartha, a boyishly handsome unfortunate who desperately wants to get married to the girl of his dreams, even though ridiculous circumstances seem to constantly get in his way, hissy fits and comically overdone sunburn included. Character actor and British goof ball with a dangerous side Kris Marshall is Bradley Cooper's counterpart; he's too cool for school, taller and cuter than every one else and always seems to have his shit under control. Then there's the chubby trouble maker-awkward-creepy-in-an-endearing-way scene stealing character originated by the incomparable Zach Galifianakis, played in this version by Kevin Bishop, not nearly as precociously nor amusingly. But I guess fat people getting into improbable shenanigans is funny in all countries. Instead of having a certain amount of time to get a tiger back to Mike Tyson's mansion, the group of rag tag drunks, coke heads, and sexually frustrated misfits has only a certain amount of time to get a prized ram back to it's stable house and get the lipstick of it...long story...and really not too interesting.

There's a lot of bare asses, shit jokes, and excessive and unrealistic drug consumption...oh and Olivia Newton-John is there too, but sadly all of these elements fell flat on their face. I'm not one who cringes easily but my dinner was slowly and gradually making it's way up my wind pipe. I was more frustrated than anything, because I hate it when a film promises dirty jokes and doesn't deliver. There's only so much of a man sticking his full arm up a sheep's ass I can stomach. I think this film tried to be raunchier than The Hangover but it fell short ironically. Mishaps at weddings are a great sub-genre, but the mother of the bride getting loaded on cocaine and hitting on the groom is small beans next to the wedding band playing 'candy shop' in their most disgusting undertones with a jazz beat.

There is of course the element of the crazed up drug dealer from whom the protagonists have stolen who chases them down through the film, and in this case, no one one-ups Ken Jeong. So i'll just leave it at that. See it if you must, but I wasn't crazy about it, it was pretty predictable, and filth wise, it was a bore.