Choices (or, Breakfast on Brokeback Mountain)

I know I had to stop reading all the reviews for Brokeback Mountain because it was just so much praise I didn't want to have high expectations and then be disappointed.

Needless to say, I wasn't disappointed by any means. While not perfect, the movie is basically as good as everyone makes it out to be. It tells the tale of two cowboys, Ennis (Heath Ledger) and Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal), who fall in love but can't admit it to themselves or anyone else (they knew men who were killed because of rumored homosexual tendencies). They go on to marry, have children, and see each other for "fishing trips" once or twice a year.

Over the course of twenty years, you witness two poor, hard-working, virile, lonely guys become desperate, angry, repressed, lonely men who make the only choices their/our culture offers. And you witness how those choices, or lack thereof, slowly rip apart from the inside out these two exemplars of masculinity and everyone around them.

It was strange to watch this after having just seen Breakfast On Pluto, a new film on the other end of the spectrum from Brokeback. Cillian Murphy (28 Days Later, Batman Begins, Red Eye) stars as Irish transvestite Patrick/"Kitten" who moves to London to find the mother who abandoned him as a baby. Directed by Neil Jordan (The Crying Game, Interview With a Vampire), the film is a rollicking, sometimes playful, sometimes disturbing account of one man's gender-bending adventures from wearing dresses as a nine-year-old to joining a punk band to being accused of a terrorist bombing attack to performing at a peep show.

Watching Kitten's travails through 1970's war-stricken Ireland and London - always looking fabulous in colorful thrift store coats and glittering blouses, always so determined to apply a sunny, optimistic attitude to every situation to the point of dillusion - I was struck with how much more successful this tranvesite is at navigating through his threatening world of oppressive Catholicism and homophobic media and militia than the cowboys of Brokeback are at making their way through a world dominated by masculinity and rigid gender rules.

Granted, Kitten falls down a lot (not literally...girl knows how to work the heels) - she gets beaten up and arrested, dumped by her rock star boyfriend, exploited by her magician boyfriend, and almost killed by a client while hustling the streets - but somehow, through it all, she uses her vivid imagination and almost obsessive need for optimism to finally settle down. When asked about her disciplined cheeriness, Kitten admits that if she acknowledged her real feelings she "might cry and never stop." It reminds me of the Doves song, "Catch the Song," in which they sing, "Catch the sun/before it's gone." Even though her world isn't very sunny, Kitten is going to catch as much of it as she can. You can't help but root for her - she's totally determined to be who she is, no matter who doesn't like it.

Conversely, watching the slower, quieter, heartbreaking Brokeback Mountain, I didn't think of any pop song metaphors. I didn't chuckle to myself at the thought of some light-hearted moment. I didn't walk away with a sense that the protagonists were going to succeed despite their obstacles. I could barely speak, because what I walked away with was anger.

It made me angry to watch these two otherwise decent men screw up their lives and the lives of the women who loved them.

It made me angry that they were barely even making these choices but doing what they were basically forced to do to survive in an unforgiving environment.

It made me angry that they weren't given the ability to know what they were feeling, and even angier to know that deep down inside they knew exactly what they were feeling but couldn't put it into words because that meant abandonment, shame and even death.

It made me angry that we watched this movie over Christmas break in a theater filled with loud cell phones and giggling teenagers who laughed at all the wrong places and swooned over Jake Gyllenhaal as if the movie were a two-hour Tiger Beat ad.

And it made me angry to know that despite all the PR claiming this movie will "change minds" that, despite how great the movie really is, if you made a bunch of extremely conservative, homophobic assholes watch it, the final scene would fade to black and they would say out loud, "Well, they got what they deserve," because even though we'd like to think that we're so different than the narrow-minded mentality of the conservative, rural 1960's, most of this country isn't so different at all, even as we near 2006.

Define This

My friend, Stacey, lent me The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan, and in his chapter exploring the desirable beauty of the tulip, he comes up with one of the best definitions of art I've ever read:

"Great art is born when Apollonian form and Dionysian ectasy are held in balance, when our dreams of order and abandon come together."

The Worst Movie of 2005

I haven't seen every movie of 2005 and need to catch up before I compile my own year-end top-ten list. But I know, no matter how many more movies I see, none of them will be as bad as the one that takes the cake as worst of the year:

The Aristocrats.

For those of you not familiar, The Aristocrats is a documentary made by Penn Jillete (the one who actually talks in the comedy act Penn & Teller) and Paul Provenza. They interview over 100 comedians to put their spin on one of the oldest, dirtiest jokes. The basic set-up for the joke is this:

A family walks into a talent agent's office and claim they have a great show. The talent agent says he doesn't book family acts, but tells them to show him what they can do anyway.

This is where the comedian telling the joke gets to improvise. They can make the family's act whatever they want, and it usually involves sex, feces, incest, violence, all sorts of bodily fluids and basically whatever is the grossest thing the comedian can think of.

When the family is done, the talent agent sits in stunned silence, then says, "That's a hell of an act. What do you call yourselves?"

The father replies, "The Aristocrats!"

So the actual punchline isn't really the punchline at all. It's the build-up to the punchline that's the funny part.

I was so excited to see this movie. There wasn't a single bad review from anyone*. Not one single critic had a major problem with the movie. Some admitted that not every comic nailed it, but most reviews were basically licking the movie's ass, some even claiming it's the funniest movie they'd ever seen. So maybe the film got a little too hyped up and thus, my standards may have been too high.

So I saw the film with a friend and we sat there in a silent movie theater, chuckling maybe twice (which is two times more than everyone else in the audience). When the lights came up, we looked at each other and had the same expression on our faces: "Um, is that it?"

They get some of the biggest, funniest comedians of our time - George Carlin, Robin Williams, Jon Stewart, Phyllis Diller, Chris Rock, Eric Idle - over 100 comedians in all. But then most admit that they're not going to even try to tell the joke because they know the filmmakers are interviewing dozens of other funny comics and they don't want to even try to compete, so most of them just explain why the joke is funny (which is never a good idea), or where they first heard it, or the history of the joke. Only George Carlin actually succeeds in being interesting as he navigates us through the joke's history from Vaudeville to now. So they advertise that this is over 100 comedians telling the filthiest joke ever, and less than half of them even attempt to tell it.

And then, out of those comics who actually bother, most half-ass it, because, again, they don't want to really try hard and then look bad if the're being shown right after someone else who was funnier. I can name five comedians who were funny: Sarah Silverman, Drew Carey, Andy Richter, Whoopi Goldberg and Gilbert Godfried. Five comics who managed to be funny out of 100. And when Gilbert Godfried is one of those five, you know the movie has a problem. (Although, the version told by the boys of South Park was also funny, but seeing as that's not an actual comedian, it doesn't get added to my list. To see Cartman tell his version, click here).

Contrary to popular opinion, Bob Saget was NOT funny. Since he's best-known for being a non-funny dweeb on Full House and America's Funniest Home Videos, he apparently gets a free pass to the "Funniest Rendition" title simply because we're hearing Bob Saget use the word "fuck." But, Bob Saget saying the word "fuck" over and over again is not, in and of itself, funny. And it's especially not funny when he stops himself EVERY FIVE SECONDS to say, "Whoa, I can't believe I'm saying this. What am I doing? This is so crazy. What am I doing? Whoa." Just shut up and get through the joke already.

Halfway through the movie, an older comic (whose name escapes me) actually tells a non-raunchy yet pretty funny version of the joke. His twist? He changes the punchline to "The Sophisticates," which actually is funnier. Here's the bad editing: it's not until twenty minutes later, after we've seen countless other comedians talk about the joke, does Penn begin to ask his subjects what they think of the new punchline, "The Sophisticates." And basically every comic thinks about it for a second, nods, and agrees that that is funnier. What? You just got a bunch of comics to admit that the very punchline that the movie is named after is not even the funniest option? Good lord.

Reading the reviews, you would think that film critics never went to grade school or high school, because that's all the humor this film consists of. A bunch of people sitting around, going "This guy fucked that girl who peed on that guy.." and thinking it's comedy. I went to high school with 15-year-old boys who basically joked about the same stuff every day. I don't want to sit in a dark theater for two hours and hear more of the same.

I know most people who see this might think, "Well, he doesn't have a sense of humor." I do have a sense of humor, that's how I know when something is not funny. And all The Aristocrats is doing is patting itself on the back for being funny instead of, you know, actually being funny. It's a waste of time, a huge disappointment, and a waste of a good idea that could have actually been a really great movie.

*Blogger Update: I have since learned I'm not the only that feels this way. If you check out this round-up of Worst Top 10 Lists, you'll see The Aristocrats there at least twice. And Roger Ebert said, "'The Aristocrats' might have made a nice short subject. At 87 minutes, it's like the boozy salesman who corners you with the Pinocchio torture."

Is It Just Me...

...or is it unsettling to see the following headline: "'West Wing' Actor John Spencer Dies at 58 - Yahoo! News"?

It's not just the information itself - death is always unsettling, especially at the relatively young age of 58 - but the way it's immediately followed by "Yahoo!" is just plain wrong. Because, even with the hyphen, it still takes a second to realize the actual headline has ended and you're now just reading the news source.

Or maybe it's just me.

You can read the article here.

Stick To Acting, Your New Baby, and Your Dawson's Creek Alumni Wife, Please

In last week's Entertainment Weekly, they featured an interview with Heath Ledger regarding his new film, Brokeback Mountain. As anyone who's not living in a cave knows, the film is about two cowboys who fall in love.

They talk about how difficult the love scene was between his co-star, Jake Gyllenhaal, and him. After director Ang Lee made them repeat it thirteen times, Heath states, "Neither of us wanted to do it again any time soon." You're straight. Got it, Heath.

Then he pulls this bon-mot out of his newly sore ass: "But in the end, it was just like kissing a person."

Um...ya think? Are you sure there, Heath? Are you sure it wasn't more like kissing a dog? Or Cousin It? Or a duck-billed platypus?

Maybe the reason it felt just like kissing a person was because you were kissing a person. What a douche-baggy thing to say.

Sigh.

Despite all this, however, I am still very excited to see this movie, which comes out tomorrow. And Mr. Ledger is supposed to be excellent in it, so hopefully his stupid remarks won't taint the experience too much.

Sweet, Yet Again

So my post about the latest Barbara Walters special was chosen by Blogcritics.org as the Pick of the Week. Here's what their editor had to say: "In his irreverent look at the ho-hum Barbara Walters Special: The Ten Most Fascinating People of 2005, Don Baiocchi hits the nail on the head with every keystroke. Thank you, Don!"

No, thank you.

You can read the post with pictures here or at the Blogcritics website here.

Project Runway Sashays Into My Heart

Tonight, December 7, 2005, the second season of Project Runway debuted. Now, I am truly happy.

In case any of you don't know, the show's first season became a ratings hit for the Bravo network (which was airing Manhunt and Queer Eye at the time and was/is the gayest network ever. Take that, Logo). Executive produced and hosted by Heidi Klum (now Klum Seal after marrying...Seal), the show pitted twelve designers against each other, giving them outrageous challenges each week. The first week they had twelve hours to make sexy evening gowns made exclusively with materials found at a grocery store (a corn husk dress won, but the lawn chair-and-placemat dress was a close second). Another week they had five hours to make swimsuits that could also be worn to a cocktail party (because, as we all have done ourselves, so many people climb out of a pool, jump in their car, and head on over to a swanky cocktail party). One designer was eliminated each week, and the final three got to show a collection at New York Fashion Week. Funny man Jay McCarroll was finally chosen as the winner.

Now it's back and literally bigger than before. The first hour they had sixteen designers, which is way too many for even the most devoted viewer to keep track of. Luckily, two of them were cut at the end of the first, ho-hum challenge (they had a week before arriving in New York to design a dress that reflected them as a designer...yawn). Arrogant Santino ("I have a hard time making something that's mediocre") was crowned the winner with his green baby-doll dress pictured on the right, although my favorite was Nick's cinnamon suit pictured below.



As the fourteen remaining designers assembled at a party, they were told that the second challenge was to create an entire outfit with only the clothes they were wearing. Well, you can just imagine the horror. Asking a designer to cut up their favorite leather jacket is like asking Courtney Love to give up insanity. This time cute little Chloe won with a simple (I would say too simple) clean blue and black dress with pockets (a nice touch).

While the robotic Klum gets to be host (thankfully she only appears at the beginning and end of each episode), she also judges the creations with designer Michael Kors (fair yet sometimes bitchy with great one-liners: "It's a little too Garanimals for me") and the fashion director at Elle magazine, Nina Garcia (much harsher yet will also lavish praise when deserved). Each week they usually have a guest judge as well, like tonight's "legendary" Diane Von Furstenburg.

Although it's still early to really know the contestants, we already had one nervous breakdown courtesy of Andre, who started bawling and yelling at the ceiling when asked to defend his shredded denim dress (apparently it represented something symbolic to him...although no one could understand what the hell he was talking about). And vapid L.A. designer Daniel Franco is back after having been the first contestant eliminated from season one. But Mr. "Follow Your Bliss" is said to have had one of the strongest showings at season two's auditions, so therefore his presence isn't some kind of gimmick.

With teasers of the upcoming season complete with tears, fighting and some crazy-ass dresses, hopefully the editors will remember that, no matter what crazy/bitchy/funny things the designers say or do, it's focusing on the creative process that sets this show apart from the Survivors and Fear Factors. The viewers don't cheer for or against people - with last season's villainous Wendy Pepper as the exception - they cheer for or against the dresses. Rating works of art or laughing at gaudy pieces of crap is the truly fun part.

I don't read fashion magazines or follow the latest trends or even watch reality TV shows, but Project Runway has me hooked. I don't have the new Project Runway magazine and I might not go so far as to post on Bravo's message board - I swear I don't do that - but I will be tuning in every Wednesday night with scorecard in hand.

Holy F%@K

This isn't pop culture or food or Chicago or me but when I saw this at Pop Candy., I had to share. I don't know if it's crazy or genius...maybe both.

I just have one question and one comment:

Question: What the hell is that song? And why not a Christmas song? (OK, that was two)

Comment: So glad I'm not their neighbor.

Check it out the three-minute video here.

Rent? More Like Buy! As In, A Ticket! As In, To This Movie! As In...OK, I'll Stop Now.

After its Broadway debut in 1996, Rent won the Pulitzer Prize and the Tony for Best Musical. I saw the national touring company when it came to Chicago, and although I found it to be flawed (some of those lyrics...good lord), it was still so much more loud and fun and crazy and raunchy and sexy and touching than any other musical I'd seen. Now, nine years later, it makes it to the big screen.

The story takes place in 1989 and follows two New York roommates, documentary filmmaker Mark (Anthony Rapp) and rock singer Roger (Adam Pascal), as they try to avoid eviction by their landlord/former friend, Benny (Taye Diggs). Roger starts a thing with the stripper living below them, Mimi (Rosario Dawson). There's also Angel (Wilson Jermaine Heredia), the sweetest drag queen ever, who hooks up with Mark and Roger's friend, Tom (Jesse L. Martin), an NYU professor.

And let's not forget about the lesbians. Mark's ex-girlfriend, performance artist Maureen (Idina Menzel), is now dating Joanne (Tracie Thoms), a lawyer.

Aside from Dawson and Thoms, all the original Broadway actors have returned, which is kind of weird considering most of these characters are supposed to be in their twenties and now the actors are well into their thirties. It's one thing to see some recent film grad be all "fuck the system, man!" But when thirty-ish Mark says it, and then we see his awful documentaries that wish they were as good as a film student's, it's just kind of sad. Seriously, is he trying to make a poor man's "Real World"? Because that's what his movies look like.


Some of the other details are funny, too. Roger and Mark are so poor that their electricity is cut, so they use oh, say, about a hundred pillar candles to light their apartment. And how does Roger afford the gallons of mousse necessary for his awful, feathered, Kato Kaelin-meets-Jon Bon Jovi hair? Also, when we first meet Tom, he's beaten up in an alley by some thugs. Angel, drumming on a plastic bucket for money on the street, hears him moaning and goes to help. Yeah, because in 1989 New York, I'm sure if someone heard strange noises in a dark alley they'd immediately go investigate and then help whatever stranger they found. The dude is just asking to be the victim in some horror movie.

Anyway, the whole thing is directed by Chris Columbus, the director of such films as Home Alone and the first two Harry Potter movies. He obviously doesn't doesn't know what to do with his actors when they start singing. They're either just stand there and singing or moving around so much it's frenetic and irrelevant to the song. For example, since Maureen is supposed to be a charismatic, life-of-the-party type gal, Colummbus has her climb on top of a table during her rousing duet with Joanne, "Take Me or Leave Me." And then she just stands there. And sings. And it's not that crazy or life-of-the-party-ish. It's just a girl singing on a table.

Part of the problem may be the actors themselves. Maybe some of them thought they'd have to tone down their performances for the screen, but that was a mistake. This is supposed to be a rockin' musical (as much as a musical can be rockin'), but apparently no one knows how to rock. While Menzel has moments of proving why she was originally cast as the ultimate party girl, sometimes her face just doesn't match her studio-recorded voice she's lip-syncing to. You can hear the raw power in her voice, but you don't always see the corresponding tension or emotion on her face.

And Roger. Oy, don't get me started on this guy. First of all, the character just sits around all day, wanting to write music but instead just stares out the window and sulks. That's boring and not very dramatic for such a drama queen. Second, Pascal has all the charsima of a doorknob. I have no doubt that his voice can fill an auditorium, but with a camera up close he's blank. There's just nothing going on there. His hair is the most interesting thing about him and his hair is awful.


Luckily, there are some highlights. Dawson easily slips into the shoes of Daphne Rubin-Vega, Broadway's original Mimi (who was pregnant during filming). While her voice doesn't match Rubin-Vega's sultry, smoky sexiness (yea for alliteration!), she more than carries the screen alone as she slithers across her club's stage during "Out Tonight."


And can we have a round of applause for Martin and Heredia? Both are so awesome and so sweet, you can't help but root for them. As they skip down the street singing "I'll Cover You," even the most conservative, homophobic asshole would get swept up in their giddy romance. Martin commits to his character with such force in each scene that it's fascinating to watch him create an entire background and reality for Tom that's not there in the script. Although I'm partially biased because he sings my favorite song in the show/movie ("Sante Fe," a song both melancholy and hopeful - Martin really brings the house down with it), I was just blown away by his physicality and emotional depth.

The movie also does a surprising job of knowing what songs to cut and what to keep. Although I would have loved to see a filmed version of "Contact," a raunchy, kinky, funny song about all the couples hooking up, it really is an awkward transition into the sad, gospel-tinged reprise of "I'll Cover You" as performed at a funeral. The movie creates a much more sensible passage of time.

To top it all off, there's a hilarious, out-of-nowhere cameo by Sarah Silverman. How random and cool is that?

Overall, I'm ambivalent. Some things I liked. Some things I didn't. Roger Ebert, giving it a "hesitant thumbs up," predicted that the movie will be most satisfying to those who have already seen the stage version and can project all their positive associations onto the film. I'm not sure about that. I think it might be those very "Rentheads" who might be the most disappointed.

I have to admit, though, that for all the many flaws, Jonathan Larson did write some truly uplifting, moving songs (such as the opening of the movie, "Seasons of Love"). And even though the movie ends with yet another horrible documentary by Mark, as long as the cast is together, singing yet another anthemic "no day but today" chorus, I left the theater feeling pretty good. Should that affect how I felt about the whole movie? I'm not sure, so I think I ended up at the same place Ebert was at: a "hesitant" recommendation.