Ah, it feels like old times. Back in New England again, turning on the TV, and- what's this? Another OJ perp walk? It's just like 1995 again, only I have less hair!
Now I have to wonder who all will be back for the reunion tour. Kato is out, as I'm sure he's moved on to bigger and better things, and it would be a stretch to figure out how to involve him in the plot this time. Some of the Dream Team have died, so they'll either be replaced by lookalikes or CGI. Johnny Cochran, for instance, will be done by the same motion-capture guy who played Gollum in the Lord of the Rings films.
This time out, things will have to be slightly different, but still largely follow the same formula. Maybe next season, OJ can break back into prison, but this year let's not rock the boat too much. Episode II: Electric Boogaloo will instead involve boots that don't fit properly, a small green alien that only OJ can see and hear, and an American Idol-style competition to find the Next Big Judge Ito Dancer. Due to environmental considerations, the slow Bronco chase will now be performed in a Prius.
Thanks to the internet, this time out we can conduct live polling on IsOJGuilty.Com, watch streaming video on WatchOJFry.Com, and learn about the care and feeding of your own OJ on WhatOJsEat.com. You can friend OJ on MySpace and read his confessional "If I Did It" blog. Just be careful, he might try to kill you.
And so. It begins. Remember, we're just days into what promises to be months of speculation-fueled media frenzy. Savor it. If he goes away for thirty years, it's going to be an awfully long time before we're treated to another trial.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
New: Old Britney
Last night, Britney Spears attempted a comeback, performing on MTV's video awards, the name of which only serves to remind us of the days when MTV showed videos. *sniff* Excuse me, I'm getting a little verklempt...
Brit was widely panned for being out of shape, forgetting her own lyrics, having her hair weave come undone, being outperformed by her own backup dancers, and generally looking and acting as confused as we were.
But! BUT, I say! These critics simply don't get it. See, Britney could have gone out and done a rehash of her stage career as it existed through the end of 2003. A "Young Britney" moment, full of faux-lesbian makeout sessions, horny writhing across the stage, and competent vocals. But that would be living in the past. Been there, done that!
No, instead she chose the more daring route- jumping straight to the "Old Elvis" stage of her career at the ripe age of 25! She even chose to kick it off in Las Vegas, where a similarly paunchy, drugged-out King twilighted his career trying to keep his breath while belting out "In the Ghetto" in gaudy sequins. And look! Britney has gaudy sequins too! Let's make a chart, for comparison's sake.
Brit was widely panned for being out of shape, forgetting her own lyrics, having her hair weave come undone, being outperformed by her own backup dancers, and generally looking and acting as confused as we were.
But! BUT, I say! These critics simply don't get it. See, Britney could have gone out and done a rehash of her stage career as it existed through the end of 2003. A "Young Britney" moment, full of faux-lesbian makeout sessions, horny writhing across the stage, and competent vocals. But that would be living in the past. Been there, done that!
No, instead she chose the more daring route- jumping straight to the "Old Elvis" stage of her career at the ripe age of 25! She even chose to kick it off in Las Vegas, where a similarly paunchy, drugged-out King twilighted his career trying to keep his breath while belting out "In the Ghetto" in gaudy sequins. And look! Britney has gaudy sequins too! Let's make a chart, for comparison's sake.
- Flabby belly? Check! (Although Elvis didn't expose his.)
- Dazed and confused look of incomprehension? Check! (Yes Brit, we know it's called "Music Television", even if their schedule is entirely My Super Sweet 16 reruns.)
- Unkempt appearance? Check! (Although Elvis' hair was real.)
- Slumping over from exhaustion, and having to be hoisted around by helpers? (Wait, even Elvis didn't need that...)
- Driven from venue in tears by Sarah Silverman's mocking? (Elvis never let Don Rickles follow him on stage.)
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Yo Gabba Gabba, or, The Party in My Tummy
Hey! Want to be scared? Sure, we all do! And it doesn't take a viewing of the Halloween remake to do it. Why, you can be frightened out of your wits in the comfort of your own home, and bring the kids along for the ride!
Somehow, Biz Markie (he's got what you ne-EEd) was allowed to have a career again. Only this time, he's appearing on children's television. He makes several appearances on Yo Gabba Gabba!, a freakish hybrid of Godzilla, Power Rangers and the Mr. Men books, conceived by the Aquabats.
The setup is this. DJ Lance Rock (think Mr. Rogers in a tracksuit, only more condescending, like he's dealing with the retarded) plays with and feeds his living action figures in a giant cut-out diorama. The figures come to life in the form of people in rubber monster suits, and the camera zooms into the diorama and shows them close-up, taking orders from the good DJ. They stomp around, dance, and shoot each other with lasers. Their costumes are particularly disturbing, with one appearing as a big, nubbed, rounded red cylinder that looks like a dancing dildo. Segments are broken up with retro 80's video game graphics set to hyperactive Japanese anime music. Sometimes Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo shows up to teach the monsters how to draw.
But to describe the show with words does injustice to the sheer terror that will envelop you as you watch this. Some clips are much more disturbing than others. Do you have a party in your tummy?
So. In about twenty years, we can expect the pharmaceutical industry to make record profits, as an entire generation tries to block out the damage incurred during their fragile, warped youth.
Somehow, Biz Markie (he's got what you ne-EEd) was allowed to have a career again. Only this time, he's appearing on children's television. He makes several appearances on Yo Gabba Gabba!, a freakish hybrid of Godzilla, Power Rangers and the Mr. Men books, conceived by the Aquabats.
The setup is this. DJ Lance Rock (think Mr. Rogers in a tracksuit, only more condescending, like he's dealing with the retarded) plays with and feeds his living action figures in a giant cut-out diorama. The figures come to life in the form of people in rubber monster suits, and the camera zooms into the diorama and shows them close-up, taking orders from the good DJ. They stomp around, dance, and shoot each other with lasers. Their costumes are particularly disturbing, with one appearing as a big, nubbed, rounded red cylinder that looks like a dancing dildo. Segments are broken up with retro 80's video game graphics set to hyperactive Japanese anime music. Sometimes Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo shows up to teach the monsters how to draw.
But to describe the show with words does injustice to the sheer terror that will envelop you as you watch this. Some clips are much more disturbing than others. Do you have a party in your tummy?
So. In about twenty years, we can expect the pharmaceutical industry to make record profits, as an entire generation tries to block out the damage incurred during their fragile, warped youth.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Road House 2, or, Why I'm an Atheist
Jenn tivoed Road House 2, which was airing on Spike at 2 in the afternoon today. You know a film is bad when you can't even convince Patrick Swayze to come back in a cameo. This is a straight-to-video fiasco of epic proportions. We tried to tackle it sober (Jenn is now fixing that situation...) and, as she mentioned in her post, we've managed to survive Battlefield Earth in its entirety. We only made it through about half an hour of RH2 before deleting it and popping in the original as a palette cleanser.
How bad is it? It's like aliens, completely ignorant of our culture, somehow got their hands on the original movie and decided they would communicate back to us using a similar, but entirely foreign duplication of the film. These aliens concentrated very hard on recreating every scene exactly, often using the same dialogue line for line, but missed the part about making it somewhat watchable. No more than thirty seconds can pass before a character knowingly spouts a familiar phrase, then looks at the camera and all but winks. Tee hee! We're in on it!
A loving god wouldn't allow such an affront to a classic of cinema. The original Road House looks like Citizen Kane in comparison. The classic RH had Ben Gazzara as a drunken, pink-bathrobed criminal mastermind. The sequel gives us Jake Busey (Gary was busy, but the Busey brand of insanity is well-known) sporting a Flock of Seagulls haircut and bling. The original had Jeff Healey as a blind guitar savant in the house band. The sequel gives us a soundalike band with a dancing midget. The original gave us Patrick Swayze as single-named philosopher-turned-bouncer Dalton, who had a man-sized mullet. The sequel gives us his mulletless son Nate, a DEA agent-turned-bouncer, who reveals his dad's first name was "Jack". That's like finding out Darth Vader is really just Steve, from Accounting.
Why, oh why?! If it was absolutely necessary to continue Dalton's saga, could it have maybe been done by technically competent people, who know how to place words together to form sentences? Who can frame a shot by placing the actors in front of the camera? Who would beat the living crap out of anyone who tried to pass this abomination off as being in any way linked to the cherished 1989 classic?
Excuse me, I have something in my eye.
How bad is it? It's like aliens, completely ignorant of our culture, somehow got their hands on the original movie and decided they would communicate back to us using a similar, but entirely foreign duplication of the film. These aliens concentrated very hard on recreating every scene exactly, often using the same dialogue line for line, but missed the part about making it somewhat watchable. No more than thirty seconds can pass before a character knowingly spouts a familiar phrase, then looks at the camera and all but winks. Tee hee! We're in on it!
A loving god wouldn't allow such an affront to a classic of cinema. The original Road House looks like Citizen Kane in comparison. The classic RH had Ben Gazzara as a drunken, pink-bathrobed criminal mastermind. The sequel gives us Jake Busey (Gary was busy, but the Busey brand of insanity is well-known) sporting a Flock of Seagulls haircut and bling. The original had Jeff Healey as a blind guitar savant in the house band. The sequel gives us a soundalike band with a dancing midget. The original gave us Patrick Swayze as single-named philosopher-turned-bouncer Dalton, who had a man-sized mullet. The sequel gives us his mulletless son Nate, a DEA agent-turned-bouncer, who reveals his dad's first name was "Jack". That's like finding out Darth Vader is really just Steve, from Accounting.
Why, oh why?! If it was absolutely necessary to continue Dalton's saga, could it have maybe been done by technically competent people, who know how to place words together to form sentences? Who can frame a shot by placing the actors in front of the camera? Who would beat the living crap out of anyone who tried to pass this abomination off as being in any way linked to the cherished 1989 classic?
Excuse me, I have something in my eye.
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