After spending the past year directing/producing WHAT PEREZ SEZ for VH1, I've kind of become a little less awestruck by celebrities. Ok, that's not entirely true. When I met Pink, I asked her if the other gaped-mouthed producers and I could just stare at her for a minute before continuing on. Oh! And Janet Jackson had a similar effect on me. I will admit to a little girlcrush on Mika, and being inches away from Mary J. Blige on her pimped out tour bus with her Alexander McQueen boots that had a heel you could literally die for, well, who wouldn't wet their pants just a little bit?
But here in LA, where Reality "Stars" prowl the aisles of WHOLE FOODS and are as prevalent as CGI extras from The Lord of The Rings, it's become more and more difficult to make me drop my Yogotango if perchance Ryan Seacrest were to stroll by with his parents in tow. True story...although I was in the LUSH store, didn't have a frogurt on me, and simply stopped my shopping for about three seconds to check out if he had a cute ass when not wearing Armani suits. The answer is, "Meh!"
Ok, so maybe I've become one of those awful arms-crossed, "impress me!" assholes who pretends to be disinterested in the comings and goings of this town's Prom Kings and Queens. But there are still a couple people left who turn me into a stupid drooling moron, and Shelby Lynne is one of them.
I was first introduced to her back in 1999. I randomly ran into Mark Patton, who starred in a film I worked on in the 80s, A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 2. Yes, the one with all the gay subtext. If you've never seen it, NETFLIX the hell out of it and read between the VERY obvious lines. Mark was also great as the young Karen Black in Robert Altman's COME BACK TO THE FIVE AND DIME, JIMMY DEAN, JIMMY DEAN. Netflix the shit out of that one and allow it to help you forget that A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION was Altman's last film.
..
Years after working together, I ran into Mark at a party and reintroduced myself. We socialized a little and one day he told me about this singer he was obsessed with named Shelby Lynne. The way he put it, "She looks like a porn star but sounds like Dusty Springfield" had me intrigued. I immediately went out and bought I AM SHELBY LYNNE, her Grammy-winning major label debut. When she won, she snidely commented that it took 13 years and 6 albums to be awarded the Best Bew Artist Grammy. What a feisty little minx, I thought! [Actually, I bet that's what Simon Cowell thought].
Anyhow, one listen to her record and I was hooked. There's an aching quality to her voice and phrasing that gets me in the gut. I've been a "first day" purchaser of her albums ever since. Her latest one, JUST A LITTLE LOVIN' features her interpretations of 9 Dusty Springfield songs plus one of her own.
It's a hauntingly beautiful record. Buy it! Own it! Love it!
Shelby has never really gotten the consumer recognition she deserves. Fuck Carrie Underwood. This is the real deal. She means what she sings and you can feel it.
Anyhow, I have a friend named Heather. We've known each other for about 17 years. We met as volunteer Safer Sex Educators at AIDS Project Los Angeles and quickly became the Dream Team of presenters. We'd go out to schools and do a 3 hour workshop on how to negotiate safer sex with your partner/s. We became lifelong friends.
Fast forward to several years ago. We were shooting the shit one day talking about one of our favorite topics, music. I mentioned Shelby Lynne and Heather stopped cold.
Heather: Are you serious?
Me: Yeah, why? You don't like her? How could you?!!!
Heather: No. I love her. I mean, I really love her. She's kind of like a part of my family.
Huh? Long story short, Shelby has a special bond with Heather and her family. Heather explained it all to me, and it's way too involved to describe here. Needless to say, Heather promised that we would go to a Shelby concert and hang with her some time.
A few years and a couple of albums went by, and our schedules never seemed to match up. Heather lives down near San Diego, which can be a 6 hour drive in traffic (even though it's really only 100 miles away. I HATE LA!!! AAAAAARRRGH!!!)
But I digress. FINALLY, the stars aligned and Heather took me to see Shelby Lynne in concert this past Sunday in Solana Beach. The venue, THE BELLY UP, is small and intimate. A small crowd of a few hundred people listened in awe to Shelby's strong set of Dusty covers and originals. My favorite, "Jesus on a Greyhound" even got some play, so I was very happy.
Afterwards, we wer able to use our kickass backstage passes to go hang with Shelby and her entourage on her tour bus. Look at this badass photo that graced the pass:
It's basically screaming out, "If you don't hang with me on my bus, I'm gonna kick your fucking ass, you deck!"
So on the bus we went. Shelby was genuinely glad to see Heather and I just kinda sat there and watched. I only really said a few things to her like this VERY deep exchange:
ME: Heather and I bet each other what song you would open with and I won.
SHELBY: What did you win?
ME: She has to buy me breakfast tomorrow.
SHELBY: You guessed JUST A LITTLE LOVIN'?
ME: Well you have a new album out, so it made sense that you would do Track one as the opener.
SHELBY: I like starting the show with a slow one and gradually getting faster until the end of the show is just rocking out.
ME: Yeah, you really sucked us in.
(Silence)
I felt like such an idiot, which is a good thing, because it meant that I was impressed. Real talent does that to me sometimes. I swear I would be ridiculously articulate, calm and centered around Miley Cyrus!
Heather (with that kickass backstage pass affixed to her boob) and Shelby
So I drove home yesterday and listened to my Shelby collection all the way, just like I used to do before and after concerts I went to as a teenager. When I got home, I was spent. I crawled into bed and napped for about four hours. Starfucking takes a lot out of you!
I read TOWLEROAD every day, and thank God, or else I would have never come across the story of openly gay democratic candidate, Jim Neal, running for U.S. Senate in uber-conservative North Carolina against Elizabeth Dole on the Republican side of all people! This is the state that brought Jessie Helms to the world folks! This is Jim’s first bid for any type of political office and he has chosen a state (his home state) that hasn’t been too kind to his kind, if you know what I mean. He is only the second openly gay person attempting to become a nominee of a major political party in American history.
So why, you may ask, is a guy like me from Los Angeles, using up valuable MYSPACE blog pages to go on about a guy thousands of miles away?
Well, not only is it important that EVERYBODY in the country get involved in the political success of candidates who stand for equal civil rights for all, who have clear visions for heathcare, for the economy, and who campaign in a Hybrid, but it’s also important to stand behind a guy who is operating totally at a grassroots level and is currently garnering approximately 20% of the votes in the primaries.
Oh....but I buried the lead. Here’s the clincher. I know Jim. Very well. He was my next door neighbor for years. He lived in the apartment behind me. We shared walls. We hung out all the time. I had dinners with him and his two wonderful sons, James and Winston. We marched together from West Hollywood to the Hollywood Bowl in 1991 when then-Governor Pete Wilson vetoed A.B. 101, a gay rights bill. I know, from a daily basis, how smart, dedicated, kind, and passionate this man is about the world around him.
I immediately called his campaign office, donated $100, and folks, I’m unemployed at the moment! I left a message and Jim called me right back. He was so appreciative of my contribution and my support. And now I want to pass that torch on to you as well. Go to his site: www.jimnealforsenate.com JIM NEAL FOR SENATE
Read his take on the issues. If you agree with him, then support him. Get the word out. He doesn’t just need the votes of the people of North Carolina, he needs all of us to get behind him and make change in a state that sorely needs it. It will affect us all. We don’t want to backslide to the days when Jessie Helms called Clinton’s openly gay appointee, Roberta Achetenberg a "damn lesbian". Support Jim Neal!
Ok - and if you’re over political announcements on blogs, I leave you with this little tidbit from BIG BROTHER.
Natalie, who looks like Cheri Oteri and is a member of Team Christ, is often the go-to gal on the show to provide voiceover descriptions of the challenges. At last night’s Power of Veto Challenge, she described the backyard setup as such:
"When I go outside, I see a bunch of palm trees, and a big giant face made of stone and rock and all these lizards and sand. It just looked like a desert paradise!"
This may not translate well in a blog, but just try to imagine someone cooing this with that little scratchy baby-talk voice and you’ll get the picture.
Saturday night, I brought my best gal pal, Allan, to Perez Hilton’s Big 30th Birthday Party. It was chock full of goodness, like the photobooth they set up compliments of KY LUBE.
The place was chock full of random celebs. All I could think of was Dave, the guy who did the voiceover intros in WHAT PEREZ SEZ barking in that fake cheesy voice of his..."Look, there’s Heidi and Spencer from THE HILLS sitting in a corner talking to nobody! Isn’t she adorable? It’s Amanda Bynes! Are those designer celebs Marc Jacobs and Andrew Christian? What’s up home skillet? It’s Andy Milonakis!"
The open bar featured absinthe, which I’ve always wanted to try every since Ewan McGregor hallucinated about a Kylie Minogue Green Fairy in Moulin Rouge. They even authentically dripped water through sugar cubes into it, because I guess that adds that special LSD touch. It definitely was trippy, and although I saw lots of fairies at the party, none of them were green....except the one who drove the Prius, obviously.
This shit will blow your mind
We ran into Randy Barbato, that big fucking muckety-muck exec at World of Wonder, my big boss and cutie patootie big cheese in charge of the Perez show...that show I’ve been forcing down your throats this past year. Randy was standing in a corner when we saw him watching his friend dance by himself on the main floor. I was about to say, "There is always one guy dancing alone at every party," when I realized it was Ru Paul. So I kept my mouth shut and just laughed somewhere deep inside my sick little soul.
Randy and Allan bookend me
It took Randy and I several takes to get a picture either of us liked.
Ok, the exposure sucks, but that is Ru Paul!
There was entertainment galore. Some dude who enjoys driving big bolts through his face, the Pussycat Dolls (which we missed because we went to another party), and my favorites, Kiki and Herb. Typical of LA, they didn’t know who these NY sensations were, so the applause, when people bothered to at all, was tepid at best. Assholes! Those guys are LEGENDS!!!
A King, A Queen, and Two Random Women
What would a Perez event be without a little promotion? Besides the KY promo, there was a Burger King and gift bags filled with everything from t-shirts to coffee, gum, and, of course, some lube.
I gave Perez a bunch of gifts for his beloved Cockerdoodle, Teddy. A pink dog bowl, a pink chew toy, and another chew toy shaped into a dried up piece of poop...well....because.
World of Wonder also made a clip reel of the best from Perez’s show followed by me and the gang all yelling, "Happy Fucking Birthday, Perez!" at the end. Perez was so thrilled by it. When you see it all together, it’s kind of amazing all of the different people we had on the show, and all of the places we traveled...Vegas, Miami, Chicago, New York. And damn, Perez is looking better and better these days. Bitch got a facial, his hair is frighteningly a normal color, and he’s been dieting and working out and the weight loss is really obvious. I bet he’s gonna be getting laid all over the place in no time. Happy Fucking Birthday, Perez!
Even the vicious gays have to admit he’s looking better and better these days
Hey y'all - - - it's been months since my last blog. What can I say. I have been swamped producing/directing the next WHAT PEREZ SEZ show. This time, it's all about the DIVAS and we have a winner, folks!
Just look at the list of names we have for you - - Janet Jackson! Dolly Parton! Gloria Estefan! Mary J. Blige! Pink! Jill Scott! Chaka Khan! Keyshia Cole! Tori Amos! Natasha Bedingfield!
So what were they like? Here it is in a word or four:
Janet Jackson: Sweet and on time! Dolly Parton: Exactly what you want! Gloria Estefan: Kind Mary J. Blige: Reasonably wary of Perez Pink: Cool as fuck Jill Scott: Happy Chaka Khan: Hilarious Keyshia Cole: Sweet girl, big entourage Tori Amos: Gentle Natasha Bedingfield: Girl next door
Perez redefines and deconstructs the word, "DIVA" and brings you up close and personal to a bunch of women who live their lives on their own terms and always ask for the best sheets! It all goes down on Tuesday, February 19, at 10pm on VH1. Check your listings, as it will repeat often as well.
In addition to that, we've been shooting our next two episodes simultaneously. We've traveled to Florida and New York (during Fashion Week) to bring you even more exciting shows.
Here are some pics from the many many DIVAS shoots:
OMG! It's Chaka Khan!
What do you say, Mary J?
It's Miss Jackson if you're nasty! I wonder how many people have written that caption when posting a picture of them with her.
My Big Fat Gloria Estefan Gay Wedding!
Pink felt up my moobs!
As if we get to hang with Dolly Parton in a recording studio every day.
Me with our aerialists, Tania and Max. They are both sooooo hot! At the telestrator session - Perez wrote a filthy message! Such a dirty boy.
As the Producer/Director of WHAT PEREZ SEZ, I get to do some fun stuff. The following is a music video we shot (pieces of which were used in the WHAT PEREZ SEZ...ABOUT 2007 Special currently airing on VH1). This is the whole song, of which I wrote the lyrics. We had about an hour to shoot this and no money, so please forgive the lack of smashing glasses, bling, tricked out cars, and digitally-enhanced water effects. Lucian Piane did the music, with Aimee Allen providing excellent backing vocals. Check out her site here on MYSPACE - she is amazingly talented. While you're at it, check out LUCIAN too. We recorded Perez's vocals in Lucian's closet, which was the first time in a long time that Perez has found himself there. Lucian's sister is a choreographer, and she came up with the backup dancer's routine pretty much on the spot. The male dancer, James, was last seen as one of the lucky guys who got to go to the Vegas rounds on SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE? Remember him? I don't...but I will from now on.
Yesterday was the most magical Thanksgiving E-V-E-R! Forget about the fantastic dinner at Emily's....forget about waking up at 3am and then again at 5am because I had to pee (yes, I'm that old folks...so shut up about it already)......but yesterday was great because Allan and I went to go see ENCHANTED at the El Capitan. The movie was fun....but the best parts were before and after the show.
(The Gayest Organist EVER!)
Beforehand, we were given green wrist bands as we entered the theatre...like so many Mayan Circuit parties from yesteryear. Then, the organist played his merry holiday tunes and had this gigantic floral arrangement looming over the whole contraption. It was gayer than the organist at the Castro Theatre, only because this was Disney.
(Andalasia welcomes white families of all stripes)
(I think Allan was the only Asian in Andalasia)
After the film, our $20 tickets and wrist bands granted us entree into Andalasia World! Princesses! Ariel from THE LITTLE MERMAID! A random rock climbing wall to teach kids how to become future contestants on THE AMAZING RACE, no doubt.
(The excitement before the show)
Allan and I posed with Giselle, the day player actress hired to look, speak, and most importantly, sit like Amy Adams in the movie. She told us we both posed so well, to which we both replied in unison, "We've had a lot of practice." Allan and I will be doing the Catskills Comedy Circuit after this gig, because we are ON FIRE!!! Boo ya!!!
THINGS THAT I’M DIGGING AND NOT DIGGING - NOVEMBER 2007
Word of mouth is a funny thing. It can make or break so many of our decisions. It can often trump critical mass. I'm often more inclined to stay away from something if a friend tells me to, regardless of the popular concensus.
- BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU'RE DEAD - the tidal wave of great reviews for 83-year-old Sidney Lumet's latest film is what got me into the theater. A "so-so" response from my friend Allan is what kept me from seeing it for it's first few weeks of release. He and I don't always agree on films. He said that this film was slow and didn't have much in the way of twists. It just kind of unfolded. It sounded like the cinematic equivalent of a flag. So I resisted....but something kept pulling me in. A lot of it is my intense respect for its director. Sidney Lumet has had a long career of making unfussy films. Some great (NETWORK, SERPICO, and DOG DAY AFTERNOON come to mind) and some hdieous (A STRANGER AMONG US and THE MORNING AFTER are two of many examples), but what they all share is a director's touch so subtle as to be invisible. He knows exactly where to put the camera without telling you that he knows. He's not afraid of long takes and gives his actors plenty of room to express themselves without becoming overindulgent. BEFORE THE DEVIL is an over-the-top Shakespearean melodrama, but it was remarkable to watch the noose tighten around its characters, most of whom are pretty reprehensible. By the end, I was so grateful that somebody made a film where greed, banality and fear have been mixed together into such "an intoxicating brew". And yes, that's the pull-quote from this review, simply because I've waited my whole life to call a film, "an intoxicating brew". Take that Peter Travers!
- I'M NOT THERE - on the flip side of enjoyment comes Todd Haynes' extremely disappointing jumbled mess "biopic" ostensibly about Bob Dylan. More pretentious than a French Waiter correcting an American tourist on the correct pronunciation of the word "oeuf", this film is a fragmented, incoherent look at a bunch of characters who seemingly represent different parts of the folk singer's psyche. None of them are called Bob, but they do seem to emanate from his music, his style, his whole mysterious oeuvre (and no, you don't pronounce this word anywhere near the pronunciation of "oeuf"). Cate Blanchett shines in her brief but tic-filled role as the "electric era" Dylan, but I came away knowing less about the man thanwhen I came in. Allan and I saw this together at a screening, and I kept looking over at him and telling him how much I hated it. I said at one point that it felt like a series of very long shorts all strung together. His squirming, his nodding off, and his slumped over body language told me he agreed. Afterward, Todd Haynes did a Q&A and basically told us how light and funny the film was. Thanks Todd. I still think you're an amazing filmmaker. SAFE, POISON, and FAR FROM HEAVEN will be etched in my memory forever. There is some great filmmaking in I'M NOT THERE, and it will also be etched in my memory forever, as the epitome of staggering boredom. Is this enough to keep you from seeing it? You tell me. I'm all for supporting challenging, original filmmaking, and Todd Haynes has certainly earned our respect....but, bitch please.
- NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN - my expectations were huge for this one. The reviews have been among the best of any film this year...yet my albatross, I mean, Allan, told me he was let down by this one. He said it had great sequences, which it does, but he also said it ultimately doesn't work. For the first two-thirds, I have to say, it worked like a motherfucker. I was on the edge of my seat for the first time in a long time where the urge to pee wasn't the root cause. The film is stunning in its use of sound editing and quietly ratcheted tension. All of the ingredients are here for a classic cat-and-mouse thriller...and then....WTF? I still want you to see this one. It deserves many of the accolades, but it needs a good wrist-slapping for throwing so much of it away in the last 20 minutes. You know how sometimes in a film, you tune out a character's exposition-laden speech because you know you can play visual catch-up with it anyhow? Well, late in the film, a character starts rattling on, but I figured we'd have a cathartic action scene after that to put a stamp on it. Without giving anything away, it ended without a postmark. WTF? WTF? WTF? I know it's kind of original and goes against our expectations, but it's so unsatisfying.
- PUSHING DAISIES - for the first few weeks, I was so caught up in this gushy romance, this AMELIE meets THE ADDAMS FAMILY magical realism concoction. The story of a Piemaker with the gift of reanimating the dead, it's one part love story and two parts murder mystery. I love the love! Talk about an obstacle. The lovers can't touch or else the Piemaker's gal will die. His powers, however, are used each week to what amounts to the "A" storyline of a who-dun-it. Every episode, we are given huge dollops of exposition about some guest star's death that I have grown accustomed to tuning out almost entirely. I just don't care. Is the love story enough to drive this series? Probably not. But enough with the long-winded back stories to characters we will never see again. I say, "Shut your piehole!"
- THE MEN OF DANCING WITH THE STARS - the women have provided all of the drama this season - from Jane Seymour's losing her mother to losing her lunch...from Marie Osmond losing her consciousness to losing her father...and from Sabrina Bryan just losing. The men, however, have provided the va-va-voom. Cameron Mathison may be a roid-raging frat boy, but he is pretty hot for white bread. Albert Reed may have gone home early, but his hip action lives on forever. Helio Castroneves is corny, and crooked-toothed sexy, AND he has what I like to call, "the spirit of the dance" - which is always needed to win this competition. I don't think he's going to ultimately win, but I take his spirit with me wherever I go. [Please don't tell anyone I just said that. Thank you]
- BRIAN KENT - BREATHE LIFE - Brian and I have been friends since we volunteered together at AIDS Project Los Angeles in the early 90s. He has recently released his first album, BREATHE LIFE, which is a collection of dance pop. His voice is strong and very reminiscent of Erasure's Andy Bell. The title song is one of those gay anthems that will stick in your head longer than the image of your last trick....and it's way more infectious....unless of course your last trick has crabs. Check him out on iTUNES....and tell him I sent you. After all, word of mouth is everything.
"TEAM PEREZ is doing whatever it can to finish WHAT PEREZ SEZ in time"
For the past few months, I've had the privilege of working on WHAT PEREZ SEZ as it's Director and one of its Producers. A VH1 Special featuring the Gossip Gangtar himself as he gives his unique take on the MTV Video Music Awards, the show is jam-packed with music industry stars and brilliant newcomers who, in a perfect world, will become them soon. The show is also pretty hilarious. Perez, who calls himself the Queen of All Media, is like the Gay Howard Stern. He has a knack with his guests to get them to relax, open up, and just be themselves, or at least a better version of themselves than you usually see on Entertainment Tonight.
Anyhow, we are working like crazy to finish the show in time. We've been shooting all sorts of segments in advance of the VMAs, which are in Vegas, Baby, this year. Then we head to Sin City next Thursday to shoot lots of fun stuff on the red carpet and more. Then the real fun begins. We will have less than 24 hours to turn all this material around and get it to the network in time to air on Tuesday, September 11th at 9pm on VH1.
I'm proud of the work everyone has done on the show, and am especially happy I got to hire my nephew while shooting in Chicago. Freshly graduated from High School, he served as our Production Assistant as we trudged through the city doing several celeb interviews in one fun day.
If the show's a hit, we'll do five more. Who's a train wreck? Who's gay? Who's an asshole? Who is the shizz? You know all this intel means the world to you. Seven million or so web hits a day on www.perezhilton.com don't lie. So watch the show, dammit, or I'll pee on your homework!
I can't discuss specifics about the show until later, but when I can, you'll be glad you came back here for them.
The world keeps getting smaller. Sure, you can measure this in Skype usage, the most commonly visited websites, or the availability of thousands of TV programs from around the globe. Whereas in the past it would takes weeks or months to find out about some incident thousands of miles away, is simply a mouse click or a brushed finger on an iPHONE away. We can find out anything about everything whenever we want.
In times of financial troubles, it used to be that you could take the temperature of the economy by how well the flower stores were doing. If people were still shelling out $20 a week to keep their homes smelling like lilies, you knew everything would still be ok. Nowadays, I like to think we can measure it in ice cream.
It seems the world's gone ice cream crazy. Maybe it's just the summer heat, but our palettes are getting choosier when it comes to this delicious treat. Gelato is the new soft serve. You don't need to book a vacation to Florence anymore when you can just go to McDonald's for some gooey Italian fun. Frozen yogurt used to taste like ice cream, only with less calories and fat. Now, we're in a war for the most authentic, the tangiest, the yogurtiest.
It all seemed to start with Pinkberry. Nestled away around the corner from the 24 Hour Fitness Center in Weho, I laughed when the store opened right across the street from its far more successful competitor, an old school frogurt palace. I went in and scoffed at their two flavors offered (plain and green tea). How could they compete with the chocolate, marshmallow, peanut butter, banana and other assorted flavors not 100 yards away?
Little did I know that people were craving what was purported to be REAL yogurt...with all of its live cultures, good bacteria, and refreshing aftertaste. I thought people just wanted a sugar rush to get them through that post-dinner boredom that is the hour wait until BIG BROTHER comes on.
Before long, the lines were down the block. Pinkberry is on a permit parking street, yet customers didn't care. These Yogurt Addicts (YoDicks?) took over the neighborhood....double parking, illegally parking...it didn't matter. PINKBERRY was the shit and we were all taking a collective one on Huntley Drive.
It was a wonderful honeymoon. How I craved a small plain dish with pomegranates sprinkled on top. I learned this was a winter treat only and despaired when springtime came....but mangoes and kiwi filled the gap quite nicely on what they called, "Swirly Goodness".
Yep, that's all they would tell you about their product - -that is was SWIRLY GOODNESS. They refused to disclose the actual ingredients, but merely teased us instead with such obvious nutritional morsels like no fat, no cholesterol, etc. But SWIRLY GOODNESS? Come on. This is not a good term to use in West Hollywood, where parking is THE most sought-after commodity. It raised the antennae of one particular queen who most likely lived next door and was tired of seeing little white cups strewn all over his lawn every night. "NOBODY opens a yogurt store without claiming it's real yogurt on my watch!" I could almost hear him say. "It's on, Pinkberry. It's on!"
The guy decided to sue the chain, which has taken over every failed small business property in LA. He wanted them to fess up and admit they use powedered milk in their recipe instead of real yogurt. Pinkberry wouldn't play ball with him, so what did he do to retaliate?
(WARNING: The following paragraph is mere conjecture, has no basis in fact whatsoever, and should not be trusted. It exists only to make you seem interesting at your next cocktail party.)
This Angry Weho Dude decided to open up similar stores EVERYWHERE! I swear the man owns Yogurtpia, Yogotango, Mangotango, YogurtsRUs and more. I haven't yet noticed that any of them claim to use real yogurt either, but the implication is there. The gauntlet has been thrown down. Give us real frozen yogurt or make way for the first fat free gelato store, dammit!
I guess, despite the fact that we're in a real war and going trillions of dollars in debt, we must be doing ok. We still have the need for evening strolls and a medium-sized bowl of powdered whatever topped with blueberries and Captain Crunch. We still have the energy to wage battles for our godgiven right to have tang on our tongues. I bet they like tangy tongues in Iraq too. What a small world.
Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It has been 19 days since my last posting, but my excuse is a good one. I've been traveling in support of LEZ BE FRIENDS and have also been producing a super-duper top secret tv show which premieres in a couple of months. More on that later. In the meantime, here is what I've been obsessing about in the hour or two I've had free -
- BIG BROTHER HOTTIES - between Mike, Nick, and kinda-sorta Dustin, I don't know where to look. Thank goodness Mike's ouster has narrowed the field, or I swear I'd die of whiplash. If you still miss Mike, check out his MYSPACE page for more hot pics and video of his appearance on GAY, STRAIGHT, or TAKEN, some random commercial spoof, and a music video he appeared in. This is not the last we've seen of Mike Dutz, folks, if I have anything to do with it!
- JERSEY BOYS - finally! The perfect bridge and tunnel show. Any Broadway show that wants to succeed knows it has to cater to the folks from Jersey. They buy the subscriptions that are any theater producer's bread and butter. What to do? make a show ABOUT Jersey! What is essentially a revue masquerading as a musical drama amounted to a 2 1/2 hour swoon for me. When Frankie and the Boys performed CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OFF OF YOU, I was simultaneously in 60's TV variety show heaven, dancing to the Pet Shop Boys version at London's Heaven, AND remembering Christopher Walken's character in THE DEER HUNTER before he went off to heaven and was happy dancing around the pool table singing this song. A much better pool scene than that stupid Tom Cruise in COLOR OF MONEY, no?
- GUILTY PLEASURE POP - the perfect pop song requires three things - understated vocals, an infectious beat, and nonsensical repetition of a word or phrase. Look it up. It's true. Between Paris' "da-da-das" and Enrique's "do you knows", I've found the blissful antidote to that sludgy bullshit they're calling "music" these days. Tear up your POLICE reunions tickets and save yourself $250 and 2 1/2 hours of faux jazz noodling and surrender yourself to 6 minutes and 47 seconds of pure pop bliss.
- SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE HOTTIES - between Pasha, Kameron, and kinda sorta Neil, I don't know where to look. Thank goodness Kameron's ouster has narrowed the field or I swear I'd die of whiplash. Sound familiar? Let's also not forget choreographer Wade Robson, who has managed to almost make us forget his uncomfortable testimony in the Michael Jackson trial by being such a smoking hottie himself on this show.
While I was so busy obsessing about movies, pop culture, and all things bouncy and fun, I somehow forgot to learn some basic things in life. Of course, I can probably just GOOGLE or WIKIPEDIA any of this stuff, but I'm pretty sure there's a 2pm screening of RESCUE DAWN somewhere. Instead, I'll just post them here and carry on in my oblivious way:
1) MY WINDOW FAN - I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to clean this thing every once in a while. The back of it sure gets dirty, don't it? That can't be good for the air that passes through it. Of course, cleaning it would require a Phillips Screwdriver, about 15 minutes of my precious time, and a fair amount of 409 spray. Besides, it's only gonna get dirty again. I wonder how long I can live breathing in the polluted, moldy air it's sending my way.
2) MY WIFI ROUTER - I downloaded the instructions, I plugged in everything as instructed, and my laptop tells me I'm connected to it and have a strong signal. So why the hell can't I get online? The stupid troubleshooter leads me nowhere. I'd throw it against the wall in my usual tizzy, but I kinda like the green and amber lights on the side panel and the antennae are fun to sit on.
3) MY PALM ONE ZIRE 31 - I still carry around my stupid PDA, because I have that system down. I know how to sync it with my desktop and everything! I feel so 1998. Whenever I walk by the PALM ONE store at the Grove, I'm sure I'm the only person who goes, "Wow, that's so cool!". Everybody else is gawking at the iPHONE over at the Apple store. If only I could figure out how to sync my tiny Motorola SLVR with my address book, I could throw away that old dinosaur and avoid that unsightly bulge in my back right pocket. But, alas, syncing is confusing. I always end up at a screen asking for my password to a calendar program that I have never heard of. My parents could never figure out how to leave a message on an answering machine. I used to laugh at them for being so out of it. Mom? Dad? If you're listening. I'm sorry.
4) THE PEOPLE OVER AT APPLE - I wish I knew what they were thinking. Everyone always tells me how intuitive Apple products are, yet I always think they're full of shit. How could it possibly be intuitive to have to click on the top left part of a file in order to close it? Most people use their right hand on a mouse, so doesn't it make sense to put the little X in the top right corner, like Windows? And don't tell me you just love to hit the APPLE button plus something else in order to do that. Why would you enjoy using two hands to do something when a simple mouse click would suffice? And that stupid iTUNES! Whenever I want to make a song or album request, I search around in vain forever until I realize that you have to go to apple.com to do that. Wouldn't it make sense to just put a REQUEST button on iTUNES itself? And while I'm at it, how the hell do you find CELEBRITY PLAYLISTS anymore? It used to be a front page item, but has disappeared somewhere, only to resurface occasionally as a featured option. I NEED to know what the Indigo Girls are listening to. Do you hear me? Am I expected to guess that they love Joan Baez because her voice takes them to that special woman place?
5) SOME OF THE SHIT AT MY GYM - call me crazy, but I'd be in better shape if I knew how this contraption worked. There are no instructions, so I end up sitting on it backwards. I think I saw something like this at the Faultline, but I'm pretty sure it was used for fisting. Am I too cheap to hire a Trainer? No. I'm too broke to hire one. And no, asking the people at the front desk is not an option. They're too busy talking to each other while a line of people stand there and wait to check in. Wouldn't my concerns be a little low on their list of priorities?
6) PWTWTSBTTEO (People Who Text When They Should Be Talking To Each Other) - I wish I knew how to do this. It takes a certain assholishness to pull it off. I saw this guy with a mowhawk and this girl with a tiny purse texting their friends at the Abbey the other night. I'm pretty sure they wanted everyone to think they were the new Hilton sisters. They had the perfect detached looks on their faces, and when they were done fingering their phones, they gave each other a quick, bored nod and continued on towards the bathrooms, where I'm sure they met up with the friends they just texted to do huge lines of coke. Personally, I just prefer to use my mouth and vocal cords to ask my friends if they want to do huge lines of coke with me in the bathroom.
7) MANUAL OVERDRIVE - My cute little RAV4, aka the Lesbian Soccer Mom Car, has a button marked O/D, which at least I was smart enough to figure out meant Manual Overdrive. I've never really figured out a real life scenario in which I would need this. I actually don't even know what it's for. Is it for when I want to drive over things? Like a dead squirrel? Is it for when I want to drive more than anything else in the world? I want to drive so much that I would prefer to OVER-drive? My guess has always been to push the button when I want to climb a steep hill, like La Cienega near Sunset. I always panic when I'm stopped at that light. Will I roll back into the car behind me? Will I skid out? I push that little O/D button and somehow make it to the top without incident.
8) USE OF THE TERM "BLOGGERS" - whenever that Rosie O'Donnell makes a video on her website, she screams, "Good morning, Bloggers!". Now call me persnickety, but isn't she the blogger? We're just spectators, right?
9) GAYS WHO OVERBALM - admit it, you've seen them....or maybe you're one of them. They're always pulling those thin sticks out of their pockets and slathering that oil all over their pursed lips. Not once, but approximately 14 times in an evening. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for people staying hydrated and moist, but not to the level of performance art. And why oh why do they always offer some to you when they're done? Do you really think I want herpes again? I say put the stuff on when you're leaving the house and save the room in your pockets for cash and condoms.
10) ORDERING COFFEE - I'm so jealous of those people who know all the barista terms. I hear "double shot" this and "macchiatto" that...."drip", "foam", "lungo", "doppio" and wonder how the hell anybody EVER knew this. Did the whole world go to barista school and I missed out? Thank God I had a kidney stone recently. The doctor says I need to lay off the caffeine, so none of this matters.
I'm having a hard time remembering what my cousin Clifford looked like. I seem to recall that he was skinny, had wavy hair, big Jolie lips, and an easy smile, but I can't put it all together. I've been looking through old photo albums in vain, Googling him, anything to erase the images of fire, knives, and trains I now have in my head.
The last time I saw him was over 20 years ago. He came to my brother's wedding in Atlanta. As a kid, I remember him being referred to as "gay cousin Cliff". You know, the one in the family who wasn't into sports. He loved the arts instead; his head always in a book. Always talking. He was unashamed of who he was. We shared a hotel room at the wedding, and I remember that he went out to a bookstore and bought all these Hot Guy Calendars and gay magazines. He would ogle the men inside, hold them up to me proudly and say, "Look at that!" I was too young, too scared to engage him. Frankly, he kind of creeped me out. I wasn't sure if he was coming on to me or what. Now I realize he was just trying to bond. Still, I switched rooms after the first night and bunked with my sisters instead.
We weren't very close. I always found him to be obnoxious, self-involved to the point where I felt spoken to, instead of included in a conversation. If Clifford wanted to do something, nothing was gonna stop him. If you went on a road trip with him, he would be in such a hurry to get to the destination, that he would refuse to pull over for a bathroom stop. Kind of an annoying guy, to tell the truth. His mother had witnessed her father murder her mother in front of her when she was a child. I was convinced that sort of trauma spread out to everyone in their family, so my natural instinct was to keep a safe distance between us. Bottom line, cousin Cliff was kind of an asshole.
He lived in Houston with his boyfriend, Robin, a struggling artist. Clifford was an architect. They seemed to have set up a blissful home for themselves in their artist's warehouse. They had a beautiful garden and loving friends in the very gay Montrose district. I visited them once as a young teen and thought they were the ideal gay couple. I hadn't really met any other gay couples at the time, so what did I know?
And then, about 18 years ago, Clifford disappeared. It was shortly after my mother passed away. They were very close, and her death affected him deeply. I had heard that Clifford was HIV+ and recognized that the death of a loved one would hit him harder than most. Years went by and nobody had heard from him. His number wasn't listed. I called around to the various AIDS organizations and hospitals in Houston, but no luck. We all assumed he had died. His only surviving family member was his sister, and nobody knew how to get in contact with her either. Some people have kissing cousins, I had missing cousins.
A couple of days ago, my brother, on a whim, decided to GOOGLE cousin Cliff. Not sure why. His name must have come up in conversation. We had all forgotten about him, and it must have been an "Oh yeah!" moment for my brother. "What DID happen to him?"
The article was horrifying. (see link below)
Apparently, this past March, Clifford and Robin had gotten into an argument. I'm not sure. The details are fuzzy at best. Clifford stabbed Robin repeatedly, and then in an attempt to cover it up, set fire to the warehouse and abandoned it. When help came, Robin was alive, but died shortly thereafter. The firefighters assumed he had died from the blaze until they noticed the stab wounds. Clifford was missing. The next day, Clifford showed up in the same morgue, dead. He had thrown himself in front of the Metro train with a note in his pocket explaining his guilt. Robin had become an accomplished, world reknowned artist whose life was cut way too short. I was in shock. Clifford had died in my mind ages ago. How could he not only have survived, but lived long enough to become an arsonist, a murderer, and suicidal?
I called the Houston Police Department to confirm everything. They had located his sister, but she did not claim the body. Clifford was given a public burial. I want to feel some compassion for him, but I can't. I want to remember something good about him, but it's impossible. If anyone is going to hell, if hell exists, then Cliff is there. What an asshole, right? It's bad enough that he killed his lover, but he risked so many other lives by torching the place. He risked even more lives by jumping in front of a train.
It's probably a good thing that I can't get a good mental image of the guy. In honor of the victim, all I'll think about when Clifford's name comes up is a match, a knife, and a train. Rest in peace, Robin.
I finally did it. I finally broke down and rode the "mysterious" Green Trolley at The Grove. Snaking along a full 200 yards worth of unique specialty boutiques (look! there's the Banana Republic Flagship Store!), restaurants enlightening us on the wonders of a $25 leafy green salad, movie theatres with real bellhops, and a fountain that dances along to ALL NIGHT LONG by Mr. Lionel Ritchie, the trolley has been the Grove experience I've been missing out on until now.
Before, I'll admit, it scared me. Entitled and very sunglasses-wearing Sidekick users always walked on the tracks and barely noticed the trolley coming right at them. Even when the Conductor clangs on the bell with all the urgency of the Watchman in the Titanic's Crow's Nest, my beloved Angelenos waddle obliviously and barely step out of the way with that exasperated, eye-rolling technique best reserved for waiters who forget to bring you the godammed ketchup the second he slides that plate of seasoned curly fries in front of your fat face. All of this is to say that I worried that somebody's ankles were gonna get badly scraped by the rampaging trolley if they weren't more careful. I also thought that the trolley was the #1 Al Qaeda terrorist target in L.A. Plenty of sniper towers, easy access to shopping bags with which you can hide your payloads, and oodles of mean-spirited people who think it's their God-given right to spend $2500 on All American Girl's Nicki doll instead of spending 41 cents to mail a letter to their Senator about AIDS, Darfur, or the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Facing my fears and breathing through it, I boarded the trolley with my friend Maureen. We had just seen LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD, so we were feeling particularly daring. Well-stocked with the feeling that I would survive falling off a freeway ramp from my big rig, or repeated karate kicks to my balls from a woman in stilettoes, we braved the upper deck in order to get a glorious view of the Barnes & Noble patio, the lovely people in line at the Apple Store who couldn't wait to drop $500 for a stupid iPHONE, or that fountain from above, which, incidentally, does not look like a Busby Berkeley musical from above.
After a couple of minutes, we were at the Midtown Stop. Yes, a 2.5 minute ride contains a stop in the middle in case you're tired to walk the extra twenty feet to the BABY GAP store. Midtown made sense for us, because it was near the parking lot. We stood there for a minute to say goodbye as the trolley continued on ALL the way "downtown" (or is it "uptown"? Hard to say. If the Abercrombie Store is downtown, then the Farmer's Market is uptown. Chew on that for a while.) Because it was the last trolley ride of the night, I knew we were in no danger of it returning to mow us down. We could stand on those tracks the entire night for all we cared. Free at last....in Midtown Fake Shopping Center...in the phoniest city on earth. Nobody died. Nobody blew up a bomb or shot us from the fake belltower. I looked around. Everyone was ok. I thought to myself, "I love L.A. This is probably the safest city on earth. Nothing is natural here. The people, the cars, hell, even the plants are all imported. The lifeforce has been sucked out of here so long ago, that you can't kill what's already dead." Kinda makes you want to throw your hat up in the air.
Last night was the final hurrah for the 2007 LA Film Festival and I'm kinda sad this morning. I feel like I was a part of a great Debutante Ball, you know, where my little girl became a woman. She found her footing, her place in the world, and a home. And now she's gone and all I want is to sit down next to me with a Souza drink in one hand and a program in the other asking me, "What are you going to see next?"
Now all good things must come to an end, but some endings are better than others. Take last night for example. It started off so well. My friend Allan and I pulled into Westwood Village for a quick snack and to hang out in the Target Red Room, the official festival lounge that introduces the idea that living in a Target World is not such a bad concept. We got a Rock Star parking space, as usual, and anybody who knows Westwood Village will understand that parking is no simple task. But somehow, I've managed to find convenient street parking the entire run of the fest.
But something had shifted. Allan thinks it was his fault; that somehow he was the bitter herb in my green tea existance. Sure enough, things started to falter. We arrive at the Target Red Room and it's closed. I was planning on showing him the Target pool table, the Target furniture strewn about so perfectly, the Target computer stations. It was all so discountedly delicious. But fear not, the room would be open later for one last party.
(Doesn't this make you want to live in the Target Red Room forever and ever?)
So after a quick snack, we drove over to the Wadsworth Theatre for the Closing Night Gala - a screening of Danny Boyle's new flick, SUNSHINE, and the After Party on the lawn outside the place.
I loved TRAINSPOTTING. It's on my All Time Favorite List. Just this image alone makes me want to see it again right now.
The film is so kinetic, so alive, so imaginative. It breathed music, the voiceover was urgent and felt completely necessary to the storytelling (in a good way). I haven't been such a huge fan of Danny Boyle's films since. THE BEACH bored me to tears and felt like it was about nothing. Where was the voice screaming out for our disaffected youth? The voice that seemed to connect so well to TRAINSPOTTING's heroin addicts? A LIFE LESS ORDINARY said it all in its title: LIFELESS. Although I felt 28 DAYS LATER was a step up by comparison, I honestly have to say I cared more for the fates of the characters in the sequel than I did here.....and Danny Boy did not direct the second one. MILLIONS was a very cute, sweet film, but again, had the kids decided to sniff some glue, shoot some smack into their veins, or even had a few healthy bouts of unprotected sex, I would have been right there with it!
This brings us to SUNSHINE. Using his new muse, Cillian Murphy, Danny Boyle has cobbled together his favorite bits from ALIEN, 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, and a bit of ALTERED STATES to present a visually spellbinding but logically-challenged mini-epic. In short, the film was about a bunch of scientist/astronauts whose mission was to drop a gigantic nuclear bomb into our dying sun in order to reignite it, thus saving our frozen planet. I was equal parts frustrated and amazed until a third act plot development turned the whole thing into a WHERE'S WALDO: THE MOVIE jarring mess. If only he had used Ewan McGregor. I can just see him now - running about the spaceship, directly toward camera with some Iggy Pop tune pounding. At least Chris Evans supplied some eye candy and a pretty decent performance as the Alpha Male. It all played like metaphysical hoo-ha, and mistake me not, I love saying HOO HA as much as possible. It's a great word. Try it sometime - like when the waiter brings you Onion Soup Au Gratin and the Cheese has gone cold and hard. Ask him or her, "What is this Hoo Ha?"
After the film, about 1500 people were bottlenecked at a tent structure awaiting admittance to the party. Once we entered the tent, we exited it just as quickly as we poured out onto a vast open lawn. Allan thought it was strange that we were asked to do this. We all paid $7 to park at the theatre, which is not very accessible any other way. We were all given purple wristbands in order to enter. Who else would be trying to get into this party? Where is the justice? Attica! Attica! Attica!
The party was cool, although it was strangely disconcerting tredging all over a lawn in the near-darkness. They had carpeted tents set up along the perimeter so that you could look all groovy and Nomadic as you ate your chicken on a stick. We ran into a few acquaintances, did a couple of laps and headed back to Westwood Village for what we were sure was THE HAPPENING at the Target Red Room.
Once again, ROCK STAR PARKING. I'm gonna have to go back to Westwood more often. I went to UCLA and never got this lucky. Now is my time. Westwood is my bitch.
Of course, the Target Red Room was a bust. The second we walked in, a bartender yelled, "Last Call" and the twenty or so people there were filtering out.
Oh well, I am still in love with this fest and actually think it was cool that they chose a Sci-Fi Epic as their closing film. It was their way of weaning us off little indie pieces of shit and getting us ready for more threequels as the local Multiplexes.
Ok - let's get down to business. I've seen a bunch of films at the LA Film Fest over the past couple of weeks, so this is how it's gonna work. You're gonna get a nice helping of of capsule reviews and then I'm hitting you with choice nuggets of behind-the-scenes nonsense.
THE FILMS
TALK TO ME - this opening night film features wonderful performances from Don Cheadle, Chiwetel Ejiofor and HUSTLE AND FLOW's scene-stealer, Taraji Henson (who almost walks away with this film too). This true story, about an ex-con radio talk show personality in the 60s and 70s goes a little soft towards the end and abruptly shifts its point of view from one main character to the other, and it all goes down a little like, GOOD MORNING, D.C., but in this age of Paris Hiltons and every reality show star on the planet, it's refreshing to get the point of view of a quasi-celebrity who never wanted to be too famous, wasn't much of a fame whore, as it were. A must-see if only for Taraji Henson's outrageously huge afros, which deserve their own Oscar.
GAY CONTENT: Well read the previous sentence. Does that answer your question?
THE BEAUTIFUL ORDINARY - don't you hate it when hugely talented 24-year-old filmmakers hit one out of the park on their very first try? God they suck. I went into this film thinking it was going to be a teen comedy, but about 15 minutes in, I realized there wasn't going to be much of a story and that writer/director, Jess Manafort was onto something else. Drawing liberally from Richard Linklater's phenomenal and starmaking early film, DAZED AND CONFUSED, this film traces the lives of a couple dozen students on their last day of school, with all of the drunken parties in fields that follow. I LOVED the camera work and the performances. One scene in particular, when two babysitters on mushrooms face off against the parents when they come home for the evening captures the near-psychotic exhilaration of the teenage years perfectly. It's kind of like ELEPHANT, except nobody gets their head blown off.
GAY CONTENT: One of the only relationships depicted in the film is between two girls, and it's kinda original, because you just know that it's the kind of relationship that at least one of them will deny ever happened ten years from now.
JOSHUA - What do you get when you mash up ROSEMARY'S BABY, THE OMEN, THE EXORCIST, and every single Sundance Indie made in 2002? The answer is simple. You get, in this particular order, a film with a mother with short cropped hair, a creepy evil kid, a scene where said kid expels a bodily fluid in front of shocked houseguests, and Sam Rockwell and Vera Farmiga to star. Although it can't hold a candle to Polanski's masterpiece, it's a nicely done psychological horror film.
GAY CONTENT: It's subtle and it kinda sneaks up on you, but one could make a case that this is a totally gay love story. I actually think this should be the opening night film at all the gay film festivals.
THE HOTTEST STATE - Ethan Hawke directed and adapted (from his own novel), this rambling exploration of love. (He also takes a small but crucial role in it). I wanted to leave early on, but decided I was getting more and more fascinated with the film as it went along. I also wanted to see Catalina Sandino Moreno in another film, since I loved MARIA FULL OF GRACE so much. She and Mark Webber aren't really right for this film, and don't really spark too much chemistry...which is always a problem in a love story, but Ethan Hawke is onto something bigger than that. It's a film about learning to love yourself, as corny as that sounds. In fact, the film gets better when the couple separates and we get to see Laura Linney run away with the film in a key role as Webber's mom. Ethan Hawke has been obviously influenced by THE LAST PICTURE SHOW and PARIS, TEXAS, but he hasn't shown he has a grasp or an affinity for the eeries silences in those classics. Instead, this film is wall-to-distracting-wall of music, and suffers a bit as a result. I still recommend this, but bring the book to read in case you get bored.
GAY CONTENT: None, although both of its stars appear naked, and that's not entirely a good thing.
HOW TO ROB A BANK - I love a good bank heist movie. DOG DAY AFTERNOON is one of the best films ever made, and I even liked a lot of INSIDE MAN. This one, however, won't ever make that list, but it did have a lot to recommend about it. The pacing was crisp, despite the claustrophobic setting (most of the film takes place in a bank vault and consists mainly of two or three people talking a LOT). The direction was tight and the performances were efficient portrayals of archetypes. It all goes down like a really fast-paced play, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but the problem I had with this film, is that it is essentially about people who hate paying those pesky ATM surcharges and decide to do something about it. Now, an indie film can take years to get made, so if you're gonna do one, you had better really really really have something to say. If all you have to say is that you're annoyed with your bank, then write a godamm blog about it or switch to WAMU for crying out loud! Jesus!
GAY CONTENT: Are you kidding me? With the exception of DOG DAY, heist films belong solely to straight guys. A gay filmmaker would have spent three years of his life making a film about a guy who robs a bank just so that he can get the hot teller's PIN #.
CHARLIE BARTLETT - Easily my favorite film of the festival and a welcome addition to the pantheon of great teen films such as SIXTEEN CANDLES, RUSHMORE, ELECTION, REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE, and HAROLD AND MAUDE. Remember the name, Anton Yelchin, because this kid is about to explode. His performance as the title character is so wonderfully unpredictable, sensitive, and hilarious, you will undoubtedly go "Ferris who?" at the end. The story of a rich kid who resorts to illegal tactics in order to fit in at his school, I enjoyed every delicious moment of this movie. It comes out August 3rd and I plan on going again opening night. Great supporting performances from Robert Downey Jr, Hope Davis, Tyler Hilton, and Kat Denning ( a newcomer who looks and talks just like Gwen Stefani). That's right, I'm B-A-N-A-N-A-S for Kat!!!
GAY CONTENT: One of the supporting characters admits that he might be gay, but it's never explored. Maybe the DVD will have a deleted scene of the frizzy ginger-headed sidekick getting it on with the smoldering Tyler Hilton.
2 DAYS IN PARIS - If you had said to me ten years ago that you thought Julie Delpy was going to be the next Woody Allen, I would have choked on my lox and bagel. But in the past decade, she has really developed her acting chops, turning in a great performance, in particular, in BEFORE SUNSET. With this film, which she wrote, directed, and stars in (with a phenomenally great Adam Goldberg as her boyfriend), Julie Delpy has turned into a world class observer of human behavior. Her performance is as unpredictable as Adam Goldberg's, which is quite a feat. If I hadn't loved Charlie Bartlett so much, and let's face it, it's much more accomplished cinematically than this handheld, endlessly talky extravaganza, I would have said that this was one of the best films at the fest.
GAY CONTENT: GOODBYE LENIN's Daniel Bruhl makes a cameo as a self-proclaimed "fairy" who appears to be hitting on Goldberg, but he's gay only in that PETA sort of way.
KABLUEY - Another fantastic film. Fuck Sundance! LAFF actually kicks ass. This is one of those little gems that become cult sensations. Who can resist the story of a two-bit loser who finds his power as a person while employed as a struggling dot com's pathetic blue-suited mascot? Add great, great, great performances from Lisa Kudrow, Conchatta Ferrell, and writer/director Scott Prendergast and you get something truly special. With its love for austere landscapes, uncomfortable exchanges, and a surprisingly emotionally satisfying and original way to process the war in Iraq, Kabluey is funny, touching, involving, beautiful and unexpected. Bonus points for handing out KABLUEY keychains. The poor little guy is dangling right next to my RAV4 key as I write this!
GAY CONTENT: Any story of an outsider loser is inherently gay, but only Kudrow's heterosexuality is explored in the film, which is just fine.
FLIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD - Zombies on a plane. Midnight movie. Nuff said? No? Ok, then here's a little more. Take one part satire of all those bad AIRPORT movies, add the undead et voila! Lots of fun, intentionally bad performances and dialogue, lots of blood and guts, but no real sense of dread. It's kind of like 28 DAYS LATER if they had turned all of their rage-virus infected monsters into pole dancers.
GAY CONTENT: Yeah right. Fangoria fans hate cock.
SUNSHINE - I'm seeing this tonight as part of the GALA CLOSING NIGHT festivities. I've heard it's a steaming pile of shit, but will weigh in on it tomorrow. I just couldn't wait to see this film before barfing out this blog entry. Sorry.
GAY CONTENT: Writing a capsule review of a film that hasn't screened yet is gayer than a JERKER desk sale at IKEA. Besides, it has Chris Evans, Cillian Murphy and Troy Gerity. Sounds gayer than a handbag full of rainbows.
THE DIRT
- At the Charlie Bartlett Q&A, most of the audience stayed because they all clearly loved the film. In fact, the programmer, who was wearing a VERY short skirt, clearly was enjoying herself and proud to have selected this film. A dream of a screening that was marred by the final question. This idiot frat guy raises his hand and says, "I have a question for the programmer. Are you wearing any underpants?" The programmer winced and said, "Um, I think that's really inappropriate," while the audience sat there in stunned silence. Why are frat guys such idiots?
GAY CONTENT: Two words - FRAT GUYS
- The TARGET RED ROOM was the central Chill Lounge for the festival passholders. Free drinks, snacks, ping pong, pool, and all the red and white decor you could ever want in a TARGET-sponsored room. No real dirt to report here. I just want to say that this is the singlemost effective product placement I have ever seen. I never once referred to this place as anything but THE TARGET RED ROOM. I never said, "Let's go to the lounge". It's as if I'm Tim Gunn on PROJECT RUNWAY instructing the designers to report to the Tresemme Salon or the L'Oreal Makeup Room. I FINALLY have a room of my own!
GAY CONTENT: Well, sometimes I call the TARGET on Santa Monica and La Brea TAR-GAY, but my friend Laura one-upped me there, noting that because the area has as many Russians as Gays, it should be called TZAR-GAY.
CONCLUSION: The LAFF has turned into a world class festival. They have really found their home in Westwood Village and have created a true sense of community there. The parties were fun and easy to get into, unlike that snowy sister festival in Utah, and the films didn't feel like their sloppy seconds. Film Independent even offered a $30 discount on membership renewal if you did it at the fest. The 3 free monthly screenings alone (in which you can bring a plus one) are worth the $65 annual fee alone. I can't wait until next year.
