“Do you think that your 16 year old daughter hasn’t masturbated already? Like, do you really think there’s anything in that scene that this chick hasn’t already tried when the lights go out at night, or in the bathroom, or in the tub, or with the shower head or something like that? I’m telling you, man, I’m not teaching this broad anything new. If I were to create a rating system, I wouldn’t even put murder right at the top of the chief offenses. I would put rape right at the top, and assault against women. Because it’s so insanely overused and insulting how much it’s overused in movies as a plot device, a woman in peril. That, to me, is offensive, yet that shit skates.”—Kevin Smith (director) on the ridiculousness of movies about sex receiving NC-17 ratings while extremely violent movies get by with R ratings (via phillip-gallagher)
The true perversion, though, is the sense you get that all of this illicitness has been tossed in as a little something for the ladies, out of a justifiable fear, perhaps, that no woman alive would watch otherwise. While I do not doubt that there are women in the world who read books like Mr. Martin’s, I can honestly say that I have never met a single woman who has stood up in indignation at her book club and refused to read the latest from Lorrie Moore unless everyone agreed to “The Hobbit” first. “Game of Thrones” is boy fiction patronizingly turned out to reach the population’s other half.
Apparently “Game of Thrones” is a “boy show” and the only thing there to draw women in is sex.
I haven’t read this particular series, but based on what’s said about it in this review, and from that little comment about The Hobbit, obviously I disagree.
To people like this NYT reviewer who try to put my interests into a box just because I’m a woman, I have one thing to say:
She goes on to say that fantasy is dumb, and we all hunger for languages ‘for which we already have a dictionary’.
It’s like because she has the imagination of a lump of undigested grits she thinks we all do. I love how she doesn’t really review the series, but whine about how it’s fantasy, and girls don’t liiiiiike fantasy.
There’s only one conclusion here; if you didn’t like this movie you don’t like fun. You probably hate rainbows, and puppies, and breasts, and robots, and bunnies, and mental patients in slutty schoolgirl costumes. You’ve probably never listened to cheesy 80’s music in an ironic way, and you’d probably complain that this movie didn’t have a ‘story’ or ‘character development’ or that it was ‘some pretty blatant misogyny poorly disguised as female empowerment’. Well, take a sip from your diamond encrusted champagne flute and slide back on your baby seal skin-rug, baron, cause we don’t take too kindly to your sort round these parts.
I don’t actually remember too much of this movie, partly because watching it is the mental equivalent of dropping acid at a serial killer bordello and partly because I put off writing this for a few days because I think I liked the movie more than I wanted to. Anyway, we’re gonna tackle this fucker, so HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS!
Much like the horrible birthday cake from the Japanese restaurant near my house, here are three layers to this movie, and just like said cake, each subsequent layer has more medicine-flavoured frosting and chance of death upon consumption.
Layer one is the real world. They start off on a stage, give you speech about how your angels will always save you, and then jump right into an opening montage set to a very pretty cover of ‘Sweet Dreams’. Emily Browning is cute, and pouts, which the English majors amongst us will soon recognize as a theme in this movie. Then her mother dies and so her and her little sister cry while their stepfather celebrates and drinks some wine that is probably actually the blood of orphans. But his celebrations are cut short, because the mother has actually left all the money TO HER CLOSEST BLOOD RELATIVES, HER FUCKING CHILDREN.
To get some revenge on the chitlins or to fill his asshole quota for the day, the stepfather decides to start boning Emily Browning on the regular (a decision I wish I could make). On his first attempt she scratches his face so he locks her in her room and goes for the little sister instead. Em uses the time-tested method of crawling out of her billionth story window in her pajamas in a storm and getting the gun her stepfather keeps in his car (presumably to take pot shots at Buddhist monks) then going back in through the front door (how she had keys to the window, the car, and the house without having one to her own room is not actually a question you should be asking at this point) and ambushing her stepfather.
He thinks she’s bluffing with the whole ‘I’m pointing a loaded gun at the man who single-handedly ruined my life and is now trying to rape my kid sister’ thing, so she fires off a shot, completely missing him but exploding the hall lightbulb and killing her sister in a single shot! HA! SHOWED YOU, MOTHERFUCKER! She loses all of her intestinal fortitude at this point and lets him pack her off to an asylum where she’s going to be lobotimized before the world’s slowest and most idiotic detectives show up and realize that Satan is trying to accuse a cute pouty chick of first-degree murder. And all of this to a Eurythmics cover!
So they go to the asylum where a really short and non-threatening orderly promises to get her lobotomized before the fuzz shows up. They go into the room with the stage from the beginning and briefly explain that the mom from Spy Kids is a Polish doctor who has girls act out their abusive pasts. Then there’s ANOTHER! montage (now it’s a Pixies cover) where Em pouts and is cute for five days and then gets lobotomized. Then it turns out she’s just some girl named Sweet Pea, and all of this is some sort of sexual fantasy play about mental patients being directed by the Spy Kids Mom, who is now a BDSM Dance Mistress! So they send Sweet Pea’s sister, Rocket, out to show Em around the asylum, and suddenly everything is covered in red velvet and gold tassels, the orderly has a zoot suit and a pencil stache, and all the patients are super-hot hookers! You have now entered layer 2, the brothel!
Don’t worry too much about the real world any more, it only shows up once more, at the very end when Em gets a spike driven through her face by Don Draper and almost lobotomy-raped by the orderly nothing really happens.
So it turns out that all of these girls are orphans (including Em- her stepfather is actually an Irish priest) and now work at a dance-hall/brothel owned by short orderly (hehe) and dance/screw fat dudes for a living. Congratulations, pouty, your name is now Baby Doll and you’re a professional ho!
The lobotomy turns into the ‘high roller’, the hot pimp daddy who’s coming in five days to take her virginity. Other hos laugh at her and then she has to DANCE because it’s what they do to orphans. She panics, and so to get her skank on she imagines that she’s fighting giant robots in a japanese snow-temple at the behest of Jack Crawford a wise old guy. Lots of cool shit happens, and you think “oh, cool, she’s actually doing something besides pouting, hey, Snyder said this was feminist empowerment and look! I, oh wait-” and then you remember that she’s just pretending that she’s doing cool shit. She’s actually humping the air to turn on impotent old men who are gonna bone her friends.
Anyway, as the movie progresses two things happen; Babydoll does her weird ho dance (never seen, because Snyder is talking the talk of Rodriguez and walking the walk of Disney) for assorted gross men while her accomplices (the Asian schoolgirl sexual fantasy, the buxom bubbly brunette sexual fantasy, the helpless pixie girl sexual fantasy, the badass bitch sexual fantasy, you get the drill)) and her imagine that they’re actually fighting world war two against Nazi zombies! And dragons! And evil robots! But don’t worry, they all bleed light/gas/sparkles, so you can bring Grandma to this one.
Anyway, it’s cute, really. Zack Snyder was like “I can be a feminist and still love me some objectification, because it is an escape for women, too!” and went on to prove himself incredibly wrong. I’m pretty sure that not many girls would imagine themselves not in an asylum but in a brothel where the capable head physician is actually the orderly’s bitch, and he grinds you all the time and uses bad metaphors and throws you into mirrors. But don’t worry, that in itself is just another bad metaphor- in the real world, he’s an orderly, who, through a penchant for forgery, runs fucking EVERYTHING. Don’t worry lady, even if you think you’re in power chances are that some short dude is running it all.
I don’t care enough to go that far into it, but although it’s fun and pretty, it has no discernible message besides half-naked hot chicks are good and when they blow shit up it’s better (agreed) and when they only THINK they’re doing these things and are actually mentally incompetent and completely under your control it’s best! (I’m gonna have to pray on that one and get back to you).
It doesn’t really have thaaaaat bad of a message, it just doesn’t have one at all, and tripped itself up in pretending that it did. It is really pretty to look at and listen to though, and well-shot, and there’s a scene where the mayor walks into the brothel to the tune of a Queen/rap mashup that is worth the price of an Imax ticket alone. There were some pieces of brilliance (aka story), but like my self esteem they were lost in a bevy of babes and the short dude who groped them.
The action scenes are pretty cool, but not much actually happens. They get a map of the brothel/asylum, a lighter, and then they’re going for a knife when IT ALL GOES WRONNNNNG! Rocket gets stabbed by a fat chef who was trying to rape her earlier, Vanessa Hudgens snitches for the lead roll in the upcoming school musical but gets shot instead, and then so does another one, presumably for not having big enough boobs. Oh god, all that’s left are Babydoll and her friend! How will she escape!?
The answer is she doesn’t. She’s like GO ON SWEET PEA I WILL DISTRACT THE JOHNS. BY DAAAAANCINGGGG. But actually she kicks one in the nuts with no provocation, which is probably the first cool thing she’s done the whole movie. And then gets lobotomized by Don Draper, the biggest womanizing alcoholic douchebag of them all. Coincidence? Probably not to Zach Snyder, but actually yes. The orderly is found making out with Babydoll’s still hot but kind of drooly self, the chef gets away with it because he was inbred and talked funny, and the police are called, but they’re all men so probably nothing happens except a sexy lapdance and a mental Blitzkrieg. And then Sweet Pea -who you know really nothing about except that she is hot, she was sad that her wimpy sister died and she is kind of a bitch- escapes onto a bus driven by the wise old man and into the SUNSET, where she presumably murders the entire population of a preschool while dancing sexily, believing that they are evil Nazi imps sent to steal her lighter.
Remember the voice from the beginning, the one that said you could do anything if only you were a japanese schoolgirl ultimate fighting champion?
Insidious is a thing with things in it. That’s mostly what I remember.
It was fun and kind of a thing, but it didn’t know if it was scary or cheesy. It started off with all these terrible effects and a very bright red title card with screamingly mad violins, so I was all excited for bad, old-fashioned fun. Then it proceeded to take itself really fucking seriously for two hours (except for strangely amazing comic relief ghostbuster dudes who were totes rarin for each other’s dirty hate sex the whole time). Its mix of cheesy and deadpan was sort of like Supernatural, except Supernatural is probably the best thing on the planet and I can’t explain why, and this was a thing.
Before I went to go see it I knew there were four things in it: Patrick Wilson, Lin Shaye, Tiptoe Through the Tulips, and Darth Maul. Those things were all in it, so it wasn’t disappointing on that front.
But aside from slaking my lust for things, Insidious also raised some questions, mostly one:
Why did anything in this movie happen?
Why is Lin Shaye wearing a bondage gasmask for her seance? Why are all the ghosts props from the local charity haunted house? Why does that lady look so much like Winona Ryder? Hey, isn’t that the mom from Black Swan? Didn’t she have to be around Winona Ryder at some point in her life? How is she out of therapy so early? Why isn’t Patrick Wilson naked? Doesn’t he demand like ten nude scenes a movie? Why is Darth Maul wearing fuzzy legwarmers? Why does anything happen?
I’m pretty sure the answer is “because it’s spoooooooooooky”. There’s something about Astral Projection (which I’m pretty sure is a metaphor for wet dreams, so watch out for your splooging tweens or else old women and former sith lords will try to chain em up and metaphorically bone them in the main room of a rejected Evanescence video) and some scenes that would be pretty freaky if they didn’t expose the ghosts/demon so much. Think that looming shadow is creepy? Don’t worry folks, he’s actually Meatloaf circa Rocky Horror, and for some reason we’re really eager to show you that. A small ghostly child running through your house? No prob, he’s just the anemic extra from the local elementary’s production of ‘Oliver’.
There were no answers or really anything too much to do with story and so many jump scares I’m pretty sure everyone in the theatre peed at least once. During a great moment in which a pale dude is behind cheesecloth, I squawked like a disturbed parrot in fear that wasn’t even out of my mouth before my body totally shut it down in shame. I like to think I improved the viewing experience and terror of those in the theatre with me by convincing them that they were actually in the presence of a deranged and homicidal bird.
If you need some real terror injected into your life, go watch Watchmen, where adorachubz Patrick Wilson is penetrated by a horrifically bad actress on a floating metaphor for venereal disease. Or just go see him be a pedophile, or someone who’s mortally terrified of pedophiles, or go see Lin Shaye be a stewardess on a motherfucking plane filled with motherfucking snakes.
If you didn’t know, Lunar Park is the fabulously self-centered book by the fabulously self-centered Bret Easton Ellis in which he doesn’t get laid and is startled by a Furby. Both of these are new themes in his writing, and although he does make out with some hot pair of underage tittays in his wife’s bathroom and spends several parts of the book not being startled by the Furby, these are big things to take on and I really feel like he took them in his minimalistic, self-aggrandizing stride.
I am saying lots of words like ‘self-aggrandizing’ and ‘self-centered’ and ‘weeny douchebag’. Don’t get me wrong- I am all three of these things. I think writing is basically the best form of masturbation in which one (weeny douchebag (namely me)) can partake, and while you’re at it you might as well write a fictionalized autobiography in which you are married to the world’s hottest starlet and she is still not hot enough tittays to distract you from all the hot young tittays who throw themselves at you around every fucking corner in your beautiful seaside town where you are recognized and swooned over wherever you go (caution: the tittays throwing themselves at you may indeed be Furbies, disguising themselves with the intention of startling you).
If you use the word tittays like me you’re ridiculously anti-misogyny but still say shitt(a)y words like tittays because they make you laugh because you are FIVE.
This is actually a really awesome book. You feel surprise right along with the author at the deception of the Terby (he leaves it up to you to discover that the Terby is a BOOTLEG FURBY (FUUUUUUUUUUUCK)) who lives with his six-year-old daughter and eats a light diet of flower petals and live horse intestines. It’s actually pretty frakkin scary and fun and icky and weird and all those other good things that make me love BEE (and his initials are a bug! a cute bug! What a fucking boss). There’s also stuff about kids and dysfunction and confusion and writing and loneliness and mysterious bathing shorts and shit like that. And yeah, it’s self-indulgent. So?! Suck his dick.