You know when someone's US Weekly career consumes his big-screen one like a flesh-eating disease? And you see so many still photos of said person that you start to forget he actually moves? Well, today Lindsay Lohan and the on-again Funny or Die remind us that, hi, LiLo has a voice. And sometimes it's even witty and self-deprecating.
Variety has a swoon-swoon-over-the-moon review of the Clive Owen and Julia Roberts thriller. STEAMY. It's one of the two spring movies I'm really hot for, so really I didn't need the big sell—but maybe you do? Or maybe you want to go see with me?
Since you asked, the other is I Love You, Man, which I can totally vouch for. Buy your tix. It's adorable. Paul Rudd adorable. Girl pals who aren't lame stereotypes adorable.
I just remembered how much I loooove the three-episode Zach Galifianakis video interview series called "Between Two Ferns." It's the kind of comedy that M would describe as "eeeeeh, AWKWARD" (while tugging at the collar of her shirt), and it cracks my shit up. The whole dang set below:
The Oscars. I know, you guys: Heath Ledger, Kate Winslet, Slumdog Millionaire, blah, blah, blah. But! While the actually event may be wiped clean of any drama or suspense, the behind-the-scenes business is still riveting. The Daily Beast has a fascinating (if a little jumbled) article about the stylists who control the carpets (you know, those red ones?): Cristina Ehrlich, Jen Rade, Rachel Zoe, and Estee Stanley. There are too many juicy bits to round up here, so read the whole thing. It reminds me of the 90 seconds of television (captured here in an unembeddable video—Thanks, Jezebel!) during which Jennifer Garner and her Oscar dramz of 08 won my heart.
This week, K and I checked out Confessions of a Shopaholic. To call the movie good would be beyond generous: It's two redeeming characteristics were that Isla Fisher (like Amy Adams) can make any obnoxious character significantly less annoying and a good chunk of the film was shot in our 'hood (which K would acknowledge by squeezing my arm excitedly...ha). But while the film is no classic, it does achieve a certain amount of value when you consider its message. Many criticized its release, pulling the whole, "A movie about shopping?! In this economic climate?!" Actually, though, it's a movie about debt. When you exit the dark theater, you want to pay off your credit card, not rush to Barney's—a wave of emotion that is helped along by the fact that the clothes in the movie are AWFUL (way more Ab Fab than even The Devil Wears Prada).
Many people assume the film’s release is terrible timing. If they only knew the truth: Becky does not shop so much as lie, cheat and scheme to keep her secret from being detected. As a comical allegory for the last 15 years, when fashion-mad consumerism, among several other things, drove the world’s economy to new heights, the film stirs up prickly issues about the complex interplay of women, fashion, spending and identity.
And as a panicked Becky (who works as a financial journalist, no less) conceals her mounting debt and dreams of a magical bailout, the story has a painfully familiar ring. Frothy as it is, “Confessions of a Shopaholic” glorifies overshopping about as much as “Trainspotting” glamorized heroin.
“I think it’s amazing timing!” said Madeleine Wickham, alias Sophie Kinsella, who wrote the original novel 10 years ago. In New York for the film’s premiere last week, she agreed to have lunch—and do a little shopping—at what might be Becky’s mother ship: Bergdorf Goodman.
“This story is about someone who has too much credit thrust upon her too young, and she goes out and gets loads of lovely shiny things, then she goes bust and has to deal with it,” Ms. Wickham said. “If we’re not all going through that now... ” She trailed off. “We’re all Becky Bloomwood.”
...Or so says this blog Film School Rejects. This artist Mitch Ansara has given the middle finger to those stinkin' Hollywood types who keep swiping their movie ideas from classic books ("The Curious Case of an F. Scott Fitzgerald Story Only KIND OF About What That Brad Movie Is About," anyone?). Instead, he's turning the most important movies of our time into sixties-style books—well, sixties-styles book covers, at least, that look pulled straight from bins at Strand, worn edges and all. My favorites are below, and the rest are on M.A.'s Flickr.
Note: All of the designs aren't in black 'n white 'n shocking pink—just the ones for my choice films. This clearly says something (and something not that highbrow) about my movie taste.
First of all, let me just say that going to work every day is really hard. This is something you realize when you go back to the office after two weeks and are bomb-fucking-barded with business that just haaaas to be sorted on Jan. 5. And this stuff that had been sitting in your inbox while you pretended that your remote email access wasn't working so that you could watch Jerry Maguire again (yes, watched it twice over the vacay)? Well, this makes it impossible to catch up what's happening in the news, and the 352 unread Perez Hilton posts in your Google Reader start to make you about as sane as John Trovolta (didn't miss the "what's autism?" Jett thing—don't worry).
So, I'm easing out of OOO mode by first posting about the sometimes charming, sometimes batshit (or, as J would say, PILLS) crazy that monopolized my couch movie watching during the last lazy days of 2008: Mr. Cruise. What's fascinating about him to me—beyond his omfg-adorable toddler—is that there is seemingly this societal need to make him MEAN something. This week, Stephen Metcalf of Slate wrote a really fascinating article about how Cruise's ups and downs mirror those of the ol' Dow Jones. He explains:
"But note a curious fact about his career: It maps perfectly onto the 25-year bull market in stocks that, like Cruise, is starting to show its age. Nascent in the early '80s, emergent in 1983, dominant in the '90s, suspiciously resilient in the '00s, and, starting in 2005, increasingly prone to alarming meltdowns. For both Cruise and the Dow Jones, more and more leverage is required for less and less performance. Place Cruise next to Nicholson, Newman, and Tracy, and he is a riddle. Place him next to Reagan, and he is not so confounding at all."
And, a couple months ago, I read this ridiculously gripping essay by Anne Peterson (a film studies grad student) about, among other things, how Tom Cruise's couch leap from grace explains what it means to be a celebrity in the age of cum-strewn internet photos. These are far from the only cases, and why is it that T.C. deserves such constant analysis? Think of other actors that came to rise in his era who have lost their edge—guys like Charlie Sheen (hi, crappiest show on television) and John Cusack (Must. Love. Dogs.). They stood for youth and love and whatever else back in the day, and no one thinks about them with such fervor—even C.S.'s n-word voicemails to crazy daisy Denise were just circulated, not broken down, and they knocked the bizarro socks off Cruise's antics.
Sometimes, I get the random urge to watch forgotten romantic comedies like this one, staring the forgotten Freddie Prinze Jr., the forgotten Julia Stiles, and a slutty Selma Blair. Can someone please tell me where I even saw this movie in the first place? Probably on a brown basement couch.
Not that we've had a real break from Palin news since the election or anything, but for the first time in a couple weeks I've read something smart about the woman (and Hillary) that has nothing to do with Africa (the continent!) or NAFTA (US, Canada, Mexico!). This, from Amanda Fortini's NY Mag story about the female stereotypes that were reinforced this year:
"In the grand Passion play that was this election, both Clinton and Palin came to represent—and, at times, reinforce—two of the most pernicious stereotypes that are applied to women: the bitch and the ditz. Clinton took the first label, even though she tried valiantly, some would say misguidedly, to run a campaign that ignored gender until the very end. 'Now, I’m not running because I’m a woman,' she would say. 'I’m running because I think I’m the best-qualified and experienced person to hit the ground running.' She was highly competent, serious, diligent, prepared (sometimes overly so)—a woman who cloaked her femininity in hawkishness and pantsuits. But she had, to use an unfortunate term, likability issues, and she inspired in her detractors an upwelling of sexist animus: She was likened to Tracy Flick for her irritating entitlement, to Lady Macbeth for her boundless ambition. She was a grind, scold, harpy, shrew, priss, teacher’s pet, killjoy—you get the idea. She was repeatedly called a bitch (as in: 'How do we beat the … ') and a buster of balls. Tucker Carlson deemed her 'castrating, overbearing, and scary' and said, memorably, 'Every time I hear Hillary Clinton speak, I involuntarily cross my legs.'"
For me, if Hillary is Tracy Flick of Election, then Palin is Elle Woods (of Legally Blonde or, better yet, of Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, & Blonde where our main character was working in Washington). She's a well-heeled charmer who doesn't get wrapped up in silly things like policies. Who cares about words and ideas as long as you have enthusiasm and great shoes?
In both of these roles, Reese Witherspoon is playing charicatures. Of course all public figures become cartoonish to some extent, and so it's not shocking that we align them with similarly two-dimensional characters. But both Tracy Flick and Elle Woods were meant to be laughable. They weren't just exaggerated—they were there for comic relief.
It's beyond obvious who I relate to/side with. Never mind the millllllions of Palin-bashing posts: I call one of them by her first name and the other by her last. But, anti-girl politics aside, some of this S.P. hate stems from the fact that she represents everything girls of our generation were told wouldn't matter for us. We could wear cute dresses to the office and not worry about it helping our hurting our career climb. We could just be women without playing the woman card. (Some of these feelings are highlighted in this Jezebel post by Jessica Grose that I was OBSESSED with. It's also mentioned in the article.)
At the end of her story, the writer gets at that space between bitch and ditz that all ambitious, opinionated women have to navigate, nevermind those 18 million cracks.
"But among the darker revelations of this election is the fact that the vice-grip of female stereotypes remains suffocatingly tight. On the national political stage and in office buildings across the country, women regularly find themselves divided into dualities that are the modern equivalent of the Madonna-whore complex: the hard-ass or the lightweight, the battle-ax or the bubblehead, the serious, pursed-lipped shrew or the silly, ineffectual girl. It is exceedingly difficult to sidestep this trap. Michelle Obama began the campaign as a bold, outspoken woman with a career of her own, and she was called a hard-ass. Now, as she prepares to move into the White House, she appears poised to recede into a fifties-era role of “mom-in-chief.” It will be heartbreaking if, in an effort to avoid the kind of criticism that followed Hillary Clinton, the First Lady is reduced to a lightweight."
Go sink into another cozy seat with a big box of Sour Patch Kids and see Slumdog Millionaire. It's the story of a kid who grew up in the slums (get it? slumdog?) of Mumbai who—with like zero education—wins the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (get it? millionaire?). It sounds cheesy, I know, but it's actually smart and touching. Basically, the film (from Trainspotting director Danny Boyle) uses flashbacks to explain how our hero attained his unlikely knowledge, and those flashbacks include kids that are sooooo f-ing adorable that you'll want to go home and watch Jerry Maguire again just so you don't have to come down off your adorableness high.
The other day, Y made the huge, over-sized, Big & Tall store-worthy mistake of dissing Love Actually. As far as I'm concerned, L.A. IS Christmas, and, furthermore, I'd have a mural of Hugh Grant painted on my bedroom wall if that was a socially acceptable thing to do. But, really, what's not to like about this movie? There's a Monica Lewinsky-style hookup, Emma Thompson, a naked old dude, and a little boy who looks like a hamster. 'Tis the season, you guys.
Remember how pretty Meg Ryan looked in the last scene of When Harry Met Sally? With her big hair and glossy lips? "I hate you, Harry! I really hate you!"
A commenter over at Defamer today wrote a response to a post about whether The Dark Knight or Wall-E have a better shot at taking home best picture in, oh, four months from the big summer blockbuster category. And it blew my f-ing mind. (How did I end up reading this business? Yah. GREAT question. It was obv a busy day.) Onto the comment:
Weird theory. McCain wins? Batman Returns. Obama wins? Wall-E.
Ok, let's just go ahead and take this further cause now I'm obsessed. There is a bananas town case to be made that these candidates (and their campaigns)—the big FALL blockbusters, if you will—basically ARE these movies (and their main characters).
THE DARK KNIGHT and JOHN MCCAIN'S CAMPAIGN: -Both leading men are heroes with loonnnng histories. -Expectations were incredibly high, but the last minutes/days were a letdown and kinda ruined the enjoyment factor of the whole shebang. -No one could get enough of the coverage, especially after the 11th hour tragedy of the key supporting character. -The critics called them "dark, complex and unforgettable." -In the end, we pretty much got what we expect of this stuff.
WALL-E and BARACK OBAMA'S CAMPAIGN: -Both appealed to the kids right away and then, surprisingly, wooed the grown-ups. -The leading men seek out new sources of energy, adopt whatever technology they come across, and came onto the scene outta nowhere and with little experience. -They were whipped into shape by outspoken, alpha-females. -The stars remind us of super-duper iconic players in their worlds (Charlie Chaplin, JFK). -The critics described them as "charming, audacious, and timely."
Guess which movie I talked about for, oh, three months? Yah, saw Wall-E twice. And will buy it on DVD. Because I love that sweet little robot with the emotional, wobbly eyes. Let's just pretend that DK didn't make twice as much at the box office. Sad face.
It took me until 2008 to realize that writing things on the internet doesn't (necessarily) make you the most annoying person in the universe. Then my friend had a dream that I had a blog where I posted a photo of myself in an orange sequined dress. Hot.
THE DARK KNIGHT and JOHN MCCAIN'S CAMPAIGN:
WALL-E and BARACK OBAMA'S CAMPAIGN: