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Monday, September 20, 2004
My Prerogative
I almost feel sorry for Britney Spears. Almost.
Look, at this point, the girl can’t take a shit without someone taking a picture of it. But when she’s stupid (and gross) enough to take that shit in a gas station restroom and walk in and out of it barefoot? Come on. Eventually, you’re either smart enough to think it out ahead of time, or you deserve the public trashing you’re going to take.
She snuck off and got married this past weekend for the second time this year, this time to her skuzzy looking backup dancer Kevin Federline. That’d be the same guy who dumped his seven-month pregnant girlfriend to take up with Ms. Spears. Obviously not a genius, ya know? So now Brit, at the paltry age of twenty-two, is a step-parent of two. Hopefully she’s not in charge of teaching them hygiene while the two kids are around on Kevin’s weekend.
Honestly, though, does anyone expect this marriage to last? Her first marriage was a Vegas affair that was quickly broken up by her parents. That guy was a childhood friend from her hometown, and he almost seemed like he had a few things going for him (like, say, not abandoning the mother of his children while she’s pregnant), but apparently things like actually being single and knowing their daughter for a long, long time weren’t cutting it for the Spears clan. They’d rather have the guy with stupid looking facial hair and a gift for future paternity suits. Good thinking, those Spears folks.
If I were from the south, I would find the entire Spears family an embarrassment to my heritage. Britney is pretty much the living embodiment of every “Farmer’s daughter” joke ever told at this point, and her family are right behind her. Jeff Foxworthy must watch these people and take copious notes. You might be a redneck if… you appear in public wearing a t-shirt that says, “I’m A Virgin… but this is a really old shirt.” Classy. Brit mad such a big deal out of her virginity early on in her career, before Justin Timberlake got to hit it, but now you wonder if it wasn’t all a big smoke screen. Maybe she was warming up so that down the road she can marry a cousin or something and it will all just seem natural. Has she covered a Jerry Lee Lewis song yet?
Oh yes… speaking of covers. Her latest song is a cover of Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative,” and it’s an abortion. I’m sure Brit felt like she was making a statement about taking control of her life and not caring if people thought it was fucked up and absurd. Whatever. Brown’s song was a danceable “fuck you” to those who felt like he shouldn’t do anything but sing with New Edition for the rest of his career, and it rocked out. But poor Brit… poor, poor Brit. I think it’s much more likely that her attempt at “fuck you” will be met with a mighty yawn from the buying public. And that’s their prerogative.
7:15 PM
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Saturday, September 11, 2004
Legends For The Fall
Over the summer, I made the mistake of adding another TV show to watch that I hadn't before. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
One night, relaxing after a long and hideous day, I found myself sucked in by a marathon of SCRUBS being shown on NBC. It was so well-written, so strongly acted... God, was I pissed. Because I knew the ratings for the show were always a bit shaky, I found myself cringing inwardly. It was absurdly unique television, witty and smart, expecting the viewer to play on its level and refusing to back down and play dumb. Normally, this is a sure sign a show is doomed, particularly on network television. Immediately, I was addicted.
The new season is off to a tremendous start. Episode two last week was a gem, with a joke at the denouement that was both disgusting and subtle at the same time. One of the episode's plots revolved around a man arriving at the ER with a light bulb fully inserted and stuck in his rectum. Now, plenty of jokes were made about this predicament, and yet they still didn't cross the line into obvious or stupid. It was astonishing. Instead, the episode played out as a treatise on conflict resolution and receiving proper credit for doing good work, the light bulb playing an ultimate role in righting a wrong against the doctors who are able to eventually remove it without breaking or it putting the patient into surgery. It was brilliantly, awesomely done.
The show's cast is a terrific ensemble, having found its rhythm at an early point, I'd guess. The star turn belongs to supporting cast member John C. McGinley, an outstanding character actor for years who has found the role of a lifetime as the mentor to the younger doctors on the show. Every scene, every bit of dialogue from his mouth, is a revelation of just how good an actor an be when paired with the right role.
Adding film actress Heather Graham has not been nearly as intrusive as I would have figured upon, and the show has made good use of her "outsider" status, having her build a full relationship with only Sarah Chalke's Elliot while their friendship creates tension with the rest of the cast. It's the perfect way to blend her in to the show.
It's also worthy to note that Zach Braff's success with GARDEN STATE hsn't gone to hie head, as he continues his low-key approach to the show and his willingness to humiliate himself at the drop of a hat. SCRUBS is, without any doubt in my mind, the best written comedy on the air right now. I just hope it sticks around.
3:22 PM
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Monday, September 06, 2004
”QUARTERBACK… NEW YORK JETS…”
I was sick one day last week, and I couldn’t help myself. I suppose that means I was sick in two ways.
Flipping through the program guide, daytime was its usual wasteland of shitball programming. But crossing through the movies section, one listing jumped out at me: FLASH GORDON. Yes, that one. The horrible, cheesy, piece of shit sci-fi “classic” from 1981. Featuring the acting “talents” of Sam J. Jones and Melody Anderson.
I couldn’t turn it on fast enough.
When it came out, I loved it without reason. Somehow the horrible acting, witless plot, garish sets, and laughable special effects whizzed right past me. Max Von Sydow slumming his way through the scenes, trying his best not to laugh about the fact he’s stuck in that turkey. Brian Blessed chewing the scenery like he hasn’t been fed in weeks. Topol offering up enough ham to feed New York at Easter. A pre-Bond Tim Dalton doing his best to play the film seriously and praying it doesn’t take his career down the tubes. It’s brilliant in its badness.
Seeing it now, not only are those things magnified to the viewer, but also the sheer level of monetary waste and skimping is amazing. Where the special effects look like they cost about $6.99, the ornate costuming is stunning. Each world of Mongo has differently dressed natives, but none quite so well dressed as Ming’s local subjects and concubines. Apparently the production spent the majority of its budget on silk and sparkles. I suppose that ensured that erections-a-plenty would spring up in their teenage audience and bring them back for repeated viewings.
I have no idea if that worked.
Still, it was worth the two hours to walk down that nostalgic path. And yes, I will admit, I giggled like a kid more than once, and not only because of how bad the film is. It’s instructive to go back and look at the things that helped us along on our way into becoming who we are and developing our tastes. Sometimes, it’s the best way to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes and regurgitate the meal.
4:12 PM
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