So, have you heard about the brainchild of Casey Pugh, a.k.a. The Chosen One? It's something called Star Wars: Uncut, wherein fans of the original Star Wars choose and remake up to three :15 segments of the 1977 classic. Here's the trailer:
How apt that the subtitle of Star Wars: Episode IV is “A New Hope.” A big ol’ digital quilting bee like this is exactly the way we shall realize the full promise and potential of the Internet. Lawrence Lessig has foreseen it:
Search your feelings; you know it to be true. This will restore balance to the universe, return us to the days of democratized content creation, where there was a lot less difference between those who make art and those who consume it. Things will be like they were—before the dark times, before the Empire.
Fortunately, I understand that, while Lucas has legions of underlings whose sole job is to maintain continuity among all the various narrative threads of the Galaxy Far, Far Away, he’s also said to be pretty tolerant of the fan creations his works inspire. In any case, this is really more parody than unauthorized derivative work; as such it would probably be easier to assert a fair-use defense. On the other hand, if it turned out that Lucas were to prevail in an infringement action, the statutory damages would be, well, more than you could imagine.
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Open Daily until 11?
There’s something about this image that just makes me smile. Of course, it also makes the future IP lawyer in me cringe a little, but, on the other hand, it’s got just the right amount of rock-and-roll, bird-flipping attitude that any self-respecting axe purveyor needs to establish its street cred. And really, as long as they’re not hawking counterfeit Strats, I can’t imagine Fender would get too up in arms over (what I assume is) the unauthorized use of its trade dress. Even if they did, I think the shop would have a good shot at mounting a nominative fair use defense. On a related note, do you suppose Christopher Guest would consider his copyright infringed if they actually made each of the dials go to 11?.
The only downside I can see: you get the full effect only when the place is closed.
Boldly Going Where Many Have Gone Before
So, I finally caught the new Star Trek. The word that comes to mind to describe it—the thing that really makes it work—is verve. And verve covers a multitude of sins. In fact, on some levels, this the most satisfying interpretation of the well-traveled Trekkie mythology. JJ Abrams has managed to bring a freshness and a vitality to the proceedings that no other of the Enterprise’s many creative captains has been able to match.
At the outset, I should make it clear that I’m no fanboy. I’m a moderately geeky sci-fi consumer generally, with a slightly higher than average interest in and knowledge about Star Trek. As a kid, the original series was part of the regular weekday afternoon menu (bereft of much nutritive value) that included The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family and Gilligan’s Island. I’m definitely not one of those people who got all exorcised about the “reimagining” of Battlestar Galactica. Starbuck’s a woman? Fine. Boomer’s a Cylon? Whatevs. As long as it makes for good storytelling, I’m on board; there are no sacred cows in my entertainment universe. I just want to be engaged and entertained with intelligence and wit. In that regard, Firefly was pretty nearly perfect, and, thus, doomed to fail.
To me, the Star Trek franchise peaked with The Next Generation and got less relevant/more cheesy with each subsequent iteration. One unintended consequence of this latest installment is that it renders all Star Treks almost unwatchably dorky, no matter how much Shakespearean thea-tuh credibility Patrick Stewart brought to the bridge. I think, though, that’s as much a function of timing and evolution—for its time, TNG was not only a great improvement on the original but a really strong sci-fi series in its own right. One thing that really drew me to the latter-day Battlestar Galactica was how deliberately un-sci-fi it was. But it also had the benefit of being higher up the evolutionary ladder in terms of creative and audience sophistication. So to give credit where it’s due, one big reason Abrams’ Star Trek works so well is that some of that BSG attitude—including a premium on plausibility that underlies other recent “reboots” from Bond to Batman—has rubbed off on it. Given how Abrams really made his bones reinventing the 1-hour TV action/drama, I’d love to see what he could have done with Enterprise. Talk about promise squandered right out of the gate.
I read somewhere how Abrams fretted over not alienating die-hard fans while not scaring away the (non-costumed members of the) mainstream audience. Happily, there’s no genuflecting to orthodoxy here. Abrams very shrewdly jettisoned most everything unnecessary, though he retained some fun atmospheric touches—the little ping-pew-ee-oo sonar on the bridge, a hover-cycle that sounds for all the world like George Jetson’s car, and a sick-bay nurse rocking a mini-skirt smock—as a comforting nod to nostalgia. Abrams succeeds by according the Star Trek myth just enough deference to function as setup for some pretty hilarious in-jokes. The film’s buoyant charm and winking humor even won over my wife—quite possibly the galaxy’s biggest sci-fi anti-fan—whom I’d dragged along almost caveman-style, but who emerged from the theatre gushing about it. I thought I’d gone through a worm-hole, let me tell you.
A few things don’t work—Scotty’s inadvertent beaming into the giant tube of otherwise harmless water was by turns reminiscent of Willy Wonka and Galaxy Quest. Never a good sign when your references point to a parody instead of the original thing. And the Delta-Vega monster chase/dénouement was rather baldly “Obi-wan scares the Sand People out of the Hoth Snow Cave.” Also, the time-travel crutch has become tiresome, but who can expect a guy like Abrams to leave that alone? In other words, none of these is a deal-breaker, given how irresistible and enjoyable the whole experience is. It’s as if Abrahams said to the writers and actors, “I need more fun!” And they all answered back, “Captain, we’re givin’ ‘er all she’s got!” Mr. Sulu, ahead, verve factor nine. Engage.
At the outset, I should make it clear that I’m no fanboy. I’m a moderately geeky sci-fi consumer generally, with a slightly higher than average interest in and knowledge about Star Trek. As a kid, the original series was part of the regular weekday afternoon menu (bereft of much nutritive value) that included The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family and Gilligan’s Island. I’m definitely not one of those people who got all exorcised about the “reimagining” of Battlestar Galactica. Starbuck’s a woman? Fine. Boomer’s a Cylon? Whatevs. As long as it makes for good storytelling, I’m on board; there are no sacred cows in my entertainment universe. I just want to be engaged and entertained with intelligence and wit. In that regard, Firefly was pretty nearly perfect, and, thus, doomed to fail.To me, the Star Trek franchise peaked with The Next Generation and got less relevant/more cheesy with each subsequent iteration. One unintended consequence of this latest installment is that it renders all Star Treks almost unwatchably dorky, no matter how much Shakespearean thea-tuh credibility Patrick Stewart brought to the bridge. I think, though, that’s as much a function of timing and evolution—for its time, TNG was not only a great improvement on the original but a really strong sci-fi series in its own right. One thing that really drew me to the latter-day Battlestar Galactica was how deliberately un-sci-fi it was. But it also had the benefit of being higher up the evolutionary ladder in terms of creative and audience sophistication. So to give credit where it’s due, one big reason Abrams’ Star Trek works so well is that some of that BSG attitude—including a premium on plausibility that underlies other recent “reboots” from Bond to Batman—has rubbed off on it. Given how Abrams really made his bones reinventing the 1-hour TV action/drama, I’d love to see what he could have done with Enterprise. Talk about promise squandered right out of the gate.
I read somewhere how Abrams fretted over not alienating die-hard fans while not scaring away the (non-costumed members of the) mainstream audience. Happily, there’s no genuflecting to orthodoxy here. Abrams very shrewdly jettisoned most everything unnecessary, though he retained some fun atmospheric touches—the little ping-pew-ee-oo sonar on the bridge, a hover-cycle that sounds for all the world like George Jetson’s car, and a sick-bay nurse rocking a mini-skirt smock—as a comforting nod to nostalgia. Abrams succeeds by according the Star Trek myth just enough deference to function as setup for some pretty hilarious in-jokes. The film’s buoyant charm and winking humor even won over my wife—quite possibly the galaxy’s biggest sci-fi anti-fan—whom I’d dragged along almost caveman-style, but who emerged from the theatre gushing about it. I thought I’d gone through a worm-hole, let me tell you.
A few things don’t work—Scotty’s inadvertent beaming into the giant tube of otherwise harmless water was by turns reminiscent of Willy Wonka and Galaxy Quest. Never a good sign when your references point to a parody instead of the original thing. And the Delta-Vega monster chase/dénouement was rather baldly “Obi-wan scares the Sand People out of the Hoth Snow Cave.” Also, the time-travel crutch has become tiresome, but who can expect a guy like Abrams to leave that alone? In other words, none of these is a deal-breaker, given how irresistible and enjoyable the whole experience is. It’s as if Abrahams said to the writers and actors, “I need more fun!” And they all answered back, “Captain, we’re givin’ ‘er all she’s got!” Mr. Sulu, ahead, verve factor nine. Engage.
Our Germans are better than their Germans
All the hype around the new Audi spot got me thinking. They must really be banking on the evanescence of the average viewer’s pop-culture memory.
It strikes me as a bit of a strategic misfire to try beating up on their competitors’ brand images, especially BMW.* Especially given that Jason Statham drove a BMW 7-series in “The Transporter.” Moreover, that film, fun as it was, played like an extended version of one of the BMW “Hire” films, with Statham taking over the role of taciturn Brit from Clive Owen.
In my opinion, BMW did a much better job at establishing and maintaining its authenticity and credibility as a high-performance marque. Without a doubt, BMW was inspired by John Frankenheimer’s “Ronin,” which featured a jaw-dropping chase scene with—wait for it—an Audi A8. Indeed, Frankenheimer went on to direct the first installment of The Hire, “Ambush.”
My personal favorite of the Hire films, “Star,” was directed by Guy Ritchie, who was by then kind of a big deal for having made “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels,” notable for many reasons, not the least of which was introducing the world to a bald, beefy British badass named . . . Jason Statham.
Instead of trying to convince me that a new Audi is better than a 20-year-old Bimmer or a 30-year-old Benz (which only makes me wonder what’s the German word for “duh”?) Audi would be much better served by playing to its strengths: all-wheel drive innovation, racing and rallying heritage, etc. They won Le Mans a few years back—in a diesel. That might not mean much to the average Super Bowl viewer, but at least it's a story--their story--and not some lame retread of something BMW did better almost a decade ago.
*Full disclosure: I am a lifelong BMW fan, former owner of a Euro-spec 1979 323i and a 1970 2002, and future owner of a cherry Atlanikblau 1972 3.0CS, which is what I would get were I in a position to choose among the latest offerings from Munich, Ingolstadt, or Stuttgart. Plus, I’d have enough left over for a parts car, a 2002 project, an E3 sedan and an ‘80s vintage 535is--like the red one in the Audi spot--for daily flogging.
It strikes me as a bit of a strategic misfire to try beating up on their competitors’ brand images, especially BMW.* Especially given that Jason Statham drove a BMW 7-series in “The Transporter.” Moreover, that film, fun as it was, played like an extended version of one of the BMW “Hire” films, with Statham taking over the role of taciturn Brit from Clive Owen.
In my opinion, BMW did a much better job at establishing and maintaining its authenticity and credibility as a high-performance marque. Without a doubt, BMW was inspired by John Frankenheimer’s “Ronin,” which featured a jaw-dropping chase scene with—wait for it—an Audi A8. Indeed, Frankenheimer went on to direct the first installment of The Hire, “Ambush.”
My personal favorite of the Hire films, “Star,” was directed by Guy Ritchie, who was by then kind of a big deal for having made “Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels,” notable for many reasons, not the least of which was introducing the world to a bald, beefy British badass named . . . Jason Statham.
Instead of trying to convince me that a new Audi is better than a 20-year-old Bimmer or a 30-year-old Benz (which only makes me wonder what’s the German word for “duh”?) Audi would be much better served by playing to its strengths: all-wheel drive innovation, racing and rallying heritage, etc. They won Le Mans a few years back—in a diesel. That might not mean much to the average Super Bowl viewer, but at least it's a story--their story--and not some lame retread of something BMW did better almost a decade ago.
*Full disclosure: I am a lifelong BMW fan, former owner of a Euro-spec 1979 323i and a 1970 2002, and future owner of a cherry Atlanikblau 1972 3.0CS, which is what I would get were I in a position to choose among the latest offerings from Munich, Ingolstadt, or Stuttgart. Plus, I’d have enough left over for a parts car, a 2002 project, an E3 sedan and an ‘80s vintage 535is--like the red one in the Audi spot--for daily flogging.
Common Ground
In general, I sometimes fret that Sesame Street suffers from a surfeit of pop-culture savvy. It's not Choo-Choo Soul, but the hip-hop syncopation of the "updated" theme makes me pine for the innocence and simplicity of the old-school version. I'm not completely deluded--I fully expect to hear "Your music sucks, old man!" echoing across the generation gap at some point. I just didn't think it would happen before the man-cub had mastered the alphabet.
Fortunately, here's one instance where I think the furry hands at the Children's Televsion Workshop got it right. And even better, the man-cub is down with it, too.
Fortunately, here's one instance where I think the furry hands at the Children's Televsion Workshop got it right. And even better, the man-cub is down with it, too.
White like me
While riding my wife’s Batavus to the local farmer’s market, I stopped off at our local food co-op for an iced Americano. When I got home, while I was stepping out of my Keens, as is the custom in our house, my wife mentioned that the lesbian couple who live down the hall, both of whom are grad students, would like to have us over [presumably for a dinner party] sometime. “Sounds good,” I said. “Let’s try to do it before 2L year gets too crazy.”
More than we can handle.
Twenty years ago this weekend, my wife and I went on our first date: a screening of Joel and Ethan Coen’s “Raising Arizona.” We had actually been working together for about three months before I finally screwed up my courage and asked her out. I had seen the movie several months before, and chatted her up about it to no end. When it came back for another engagement, that was all the pretext I needed. It turned out to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship between not only my eventual wife and me, but among us, the movies in general, and Coen brothers especially.
So I didn’t know quite what to make of it when I read a bit in Entertainment Weekly where Owen Gleiberman alleged that Raising Arizona is the movie that let the “quirky” Genie out of the bottle, leading a path to Juno, which is, you guessed it, the last movie we saw together.
Now, you’d be hard pressed to find a bigger connoisseur of the offbeat than me. Nor do I mind Raising Arizona being labeled the progenitor, or even the godfather, of quirky movies, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Yes, it uses language that pushes well past probability that the people saying it would be saying it, but for the fact that they’re in this Coen-verse of a film. But RA never flashes its badge of quirk as proof of its hipster bona fides. It’s a treasure trove of quotable lines, but no one says anything that’s going to make you wish you were guy saying it. And that’s where I think the genetic relationship with Raising Arizona parts company and Gleiberman’s comparison becomes one of apples and orangutans. What bugs me, is the implication that somehow by starting the quirky snowball rolling, Raising Arizona is to blame for the sins of Juno. And let me tell you: Juno has a lot of atoning to do.
In case it isn’t already clear, Juno drove me just batshit crazy. There was plenty to love about it; and I would even go so far as to call Oscar-worthy in places: the characters, rather than being extruded from some
May it please the court...
Add a line about how likely damages must be difficult to ascertain at the time of contract formation and the stipulated sum must be a reasonable estimate of probable damages or reasonably proportionate to actual damages, and you have my Oral Argument performance.
I'm hoping that next semester I'll get to defend the Whizzo Chocolate Co. in a products liability suit.
I'm hoping that next semester I'll get to defend the Whizzo Chocolate Co. in a products liability suit.
Fish was my father's name. Please, call me Mr. Middlebrow.
So there’s this crazy-ass meme going around. My erstwhile blog pal and mentor Fish named me as a successor.
Pharyngula Mutating Genre Meme
There are a set of questions below that are all of the form, "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is…". Copy the questions, and before answering them, you may modify them in a limited way, carrying out no more than two of these operations:
— You can leave them exactly as is.
— You can delete any one question.
— You can mutate either the genre, medium, or subgenre of any one question. For instance, you could change "The best time travel novel in SF/Fantasy is…" to "The best time travel novel in Westerns is…", or "The best time travel movie in SF/Fantasy is…", or "The best romance novel in SF/Fantasy is…".
— You can add a completely new question of your choice to the end of the list, as long as it is still in the form "The best [subgenre] [medium] in [genre] is…".
You must have at least one question in your set, or you've gone extinct, and you must be able to answer it yourself, or you're not viable.
Then answer your possibly mutant set of questions. Please do include a link back to the blog you got them from, to simplify tracing the ancestry, and include these instructions.
Finally, pass it along to any number of your fellow bloggers. Remember, though, your success as a Darwinian replicator is going to be measured by the propagation of your variants, which is going to be a function of both the interest your well-honed questions generate and the number of successful attempts at reproducing them.
My great-great-great-great-grandparent is Flying Trilobite
My great-great-great-grandparent is A Blog Around the Clock.
My great-great-grandparent is Shakespeare's Sister.
My great-grandparent is Excuse This Mess...
My grandparent is Saying Yes.
My parent is Really Small Fish
My siblings are Scott and Plover.
1. The best drama in scientific dystopias is: Battlestar Galactica.
2. The best sexy song in rock is: “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC. A bit obvious, even by Beavis and Butt-Head standards, but still. Plus, it promotes good hygiene an/or proper operational, uh, maintenance: "She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean..."
First runner-up is “Sex Supreme” by Tenacious D (the slightly cleaned-up version they did on SNL was actually funnier than the uncensored one. Whoudathunk that “patch” could be funnier than “snatch”?)
3. The best cult movie in absurdist fiction is: Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. “I do not avoid women, Mandrake. But I deny them my essence.”
4. The best dead comedian in American comedy is Phil Hartman.
The closest I ever came to crying about the death of a celebrity. He was one of the greats. "My name is John Johnson, but everyone here calls me 'Vicki.'"
5. The best moment in live television was: Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the moon or Christopher Walken catching a fever for which the only cure was more cowbell (tie).
6. The most erotic of all the salt-cured meats is pastrami.
Now it’s up to my progeny to go out there and make me proud:
I'm world-famous in Blogastan
I don't like to brag or anything, but yours truly is about to be published in a very prestigious journal. Competition was quite fierce. Ferocious, in fact.
McSweeney's, Plowshares and The New Yorker can suck it! (Scroll down until you see my sobriquet.)
McSweeney's, Plowshares and The New Yorker can suck it! (Scroll down until you see my sobriquet.)
Our Germans are better than their Germans.
I know this continues what might seem like a preponderance of surveys, quizzes and memes, or as I like to call them, Blogburger Helper®. But this one is a bit different. Instead of getting tagged by another blogger and answering the same inane questions as the great, heaving masses of the blogosphere, you ask to be interviewed and they come up with five questions tailored especially to you. In other words, you bring it on yourself.
Tammara did it on her blog a few days, weeks, months ago recently and I was intrigued. I've been an increasingly avid reader of Something Mighty and Sublime for well over a year now, and I'm a devoted fan. And she’s been a reciprocal reader, commenter and linker—one of the original ADS Drinking Buddies—for almost as long. So it was a challenge, however tacit, I simply couldn't let go unanswered. Here, though, I have to offer an apology for taking so long to get this posted. I don’t know what the exact etiquette regarding these things is, but I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be answered during the same geological era in which they were asked.
1. When you imagine the man-cub at 18, what do you see? What are his likes and dislikes?
There are lots of things I’m eager to share and do with him—riding roller coasters, watching and playing baseball, wrenching on old BMWs, as just a few examples. But I really look forward to watching and quoting movies with him. He already has a burgeoning aesthetic (“I don’ like dat song!”), a terrific sense of humor, and scary-amazing recall. Whenever we’re getting dressed to go out, I’ll say “Ready, Heddy?” in a not-so-subtle prompt for him to respond with “That’s Hedley…” This draws disapproving eye-rolls and admonitions from his mother, who really should just be thankful I’m not introducing him to the campfire scene. All in good time.
Without being one of those dads who needs to live vicariously through his son, I must cop to a not-so-secret hope that he appreciates mechanical things, words/language, music, history, and food. Though not necessarily at the same time. (The first time we get to screen The Right Stuff together, we'll be able to check off half the list in one three-hour fell swoop.)
His current expression du jour is “How dis work?” He always asks for stories about trains and cars. When I’m pushing him on the swings at the park, he’s constantly demanding to “go fast!” So I think he’s inherited the car-guy/flyboy gene. Honestly, whatever he’s into is fine, so long as his interest is genuine and passionate. I’m not saying he can’t be capricious; I just don’t want him to be a little trendoid. He’s got a really independent spirit now and I hope he never loses that.
His dislikes will be processed food, cheap laughs at the expense of others, and everybody who had anything to do with putting W in the White House. (Ideally, that last point will be expressed by quoting Mr. Hand from Fast Times at Ridgemont High: “What are you people, on dope?!”)
2. What popular movie of the last 5 years do you loathe so entirely that it makes you grind your teeth when you are reminded of it? (And sorry, btw, that I'm reminding you now.)
Actually, there are three.
Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith
I don’t even know where to begin with this one. There was so much praising with faint damnation about what an improvement it was over the preceding two. Which was really just a not-so-subtle way of lowering expectations to the point where all anybody cared about was going through the motions and seeing how the two trilogies connect. Just get on with it, already. I suppose it’s possible that Lucas could have been more perfunctory about it, (Bail Organa? Check. Blockade Runner? Check. Luke and Leia? Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru? Check, check and double-check.) but I can’t begin to imagine how. The upside is that it inspired one of my all-time favorite
“The general opinion of Revenge of the Sith seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones. True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.”
Roger Dodger
This doesn’t properly count as popular, because it was limited to the art-house circuit where it promptly (and quite deservingly) tanked. Even so, it pissed me off. I’m a fan of Campbell Scott. And based on the fact that I share a name and an occupation with the title character, I was really looking forward to this movie. Maybe that was my problem—mismanaged expectations. But, man, what a fetid pile this movie was. About two minutes in, it went from cynical and misogynistic to outright, guns-blazing misanthropic and just never looked back. You know that bitter, burning sensation you get in the back of your throat when you almost throw up? It was like that—non-stop for 90-odd minutes.
Ocean’s 12
This felt like a betrayal by a good friend. Not just because Steven and George and the rest of the Hee-Haw gang basically phoned it in, but because they based the entire teeth-gnashing third act on the Achilles heel of the otherwise outstanding first film—Julia Roberts.
3. Do you imagine a rich and full early retirement like they show in investment company commercials, or do you imagine a career you will continue doing as long as they'll let you do it?
I’m going to go with the latter, with the proviso that if some windfall were to enable the former, I wouldn’t turn it down. I could make a very long and happy career out of my leisurely pursuits, which I'm sure would include still not blogging often enough.
I think I’m a like a lot of people of our generation. Unlike our parents, we expect some minimal level of personal satisfaction/fulfillment from a job beyond punching the clock and paying the bills. That said, it’s still pretty rare that someone lucks out and makes a really good living doing something they’d do for free. I like the work I do, but if I pick six lucky numbers this weekend, I’m not going to spend my days writing ad copy.
4. What in your secret heart of hearts do you most wish people to envy you for?
My first thought when I read that question was, “Nothing. Envy doesn’t interest me. Sure, there are things I’d like people to appreciate or admire...” But if I’ve learned nothing else reading SMAS, it’s not to confuse Tammara’s comfort with language for a casual approach to its usage.
So after much hand-wringing and soul searching, I’ve narrowed it down to either:
A) My impeccable table manners
or
B) My ability to belch the alphabet
5. When you see yourself on film (video), do you think, "Hey, yeah, not so bad," or do you think, "Crap, I've gotta do something about (fill in the blank)" ?
Depends. If the photo is from ten or even three years ago, it’s the former. More recently though, I start wondering how Brian Dennehy or William Shatner got in the shot.
All right, that’s our show. Thanks for tuning in. If you think you can handle five rounds of Middlebrow interrogation, leave a note in the comments.
Just when I thought U2 couldn't get any cooler.
When he picked up his best original screenplay Oscar for Almost Famous, I remember Cameron Crowe describing the movie as a love letter to music and his family.
That's what U2 has done with the "Window in the Skies" video: unwrapped a Whitman's Valentine sampler to pop music and everybody who loves it. Leave it to Bono and the boys to take oh-so-postmodern concepts like sampling and mashups and turn them inside-out, revealing their gooey, nutty center. I love how they connect the dots from Louis Armstrong to Jay Z, with stops at Johnny Cash, Keith Moon, Franks Zappa and Sinatra, and Elivses Costello and Presley to prove what we've suspected all along: Rock and roll is a palimpsest.
After half a dozen viewings, I gotta say the Flavor Flav "To love I rhapsodize" moment is my favorite. For now. What's yours?
Thanks to Dennis for the link.
UPDATE: Turns out the clip's director, Gary Koepke, is an ad guy. For an agency that, IIRC, works on Hummer. But whatever.
The Force Is Strong In This One.
Despite being unrivaled in pop culture as The Coolest Thing Ever when it debuted in 1981, MTV has long since fallen off the radar (mine and, I suspect, everyone who was mesmerized by its novelty). Needless to say, I haven't looked at the channel since sometime in the late '90s; I know for sure that I’ve never seen a minute of any MTV Movie Awards telecast, either.
I really can’t explain what I find so appealing about this. Or why I’ve been replaying it like some kid with a 45* of “Saturday Night” by the Bay City Rollers. It’s a terrific neo-soul pop song, sure. And the Star Wars costumes are a delight, not least because they're all old-school, Episodes IV-VI characters. Thank god they resisted the urge to put Cee-Lo in Mace Windu garb.
Mostly, I think it’s the complete lack of acknowledgement that they’re in SW gear. I love how, instead of Look at us, we’re so cool with our Wookie drummer and our Rebel backup singers, it’s just, Listen to us, we’re a really tight band channeling Sam Cooke by way of Was Not Was. If the song were anything less than the real deal, the whole thing have come off as desperate and cheesy. Y’know, pretty much what you expect from the MTV these days.
*For all you whippersnappers out there, this is a reference to a cultural artifact that pervaded in the early days of the republic. Before the dark times. Before the empire: A grooved, double-sided vinyl record, or “single” that played on a “turntable” at 45 RPM. An elegant medium for a less digitized age.
I love the Internets
NOTE: The blogoshpere's most hotly anticipated event,
Mr. Middlebrow's long-awaited recap/digest of the
Overlooked/Underrated Movies survey is up: Scroll down.
Mr. Middlebrow's long-awaited recap/digest of the
Overlooked/Underrated Movies survey is up: Scroll down.
Click on the image to see it animated
(and please forgive my Neanderthal HTML skilz)
(and please forgive my Neanderthal HTML skilz)
This has to be just about as perfect a pop-culture mash-up as I've seen. Okay, it's not quite the Charlie Brown 'Hey Ya!' but it's pretty damn funny.
From Planet Dan, by way of comment dit-on?
Jack of all trades; Ken Jennings of none.
UPDATED! See below.About two years ago, right in the middle of Ken Jennings' record-setting know-it-all juggernaut, I tried out for Jeopardy! Getting on the show had been and remains a lifelong dream of mine--okay, maybe not a dream exactly, but definitely on the list of things to do just once before I die. Like publishing a short story in The New Yorker or finishing the NYT Sunday crossword. (Will Shortz, if you're reading this, you are the devil incarnate.) What can I say? I have an unhealthy relationship with minutiae and, as anyone who's ever played Trivial Pursuit or Cranium with me will attest, an even less healthy need to show off how much of it I can access.
Believe me, though, when I say that I have never confused recall with intelligence. A lot of people seem to think that, since most Jeopardy! champs exhibit the kind of facial ticks, sartorial retardation and grotesquely underdeveloped social skills we usually associate with geniuses, that they're wicked smaht. Most of them probably are genuinely bright and intellectually acute; hell, most of them are lawyers. But that's not why they excel on Jeopardy!. I don't consider myself smarter than the average bear, just preternaturally good at random recall of cultural ephemera. A zeitgeist sponge. A trivial savant, if you like. And, if I may say, a pretty snappy dresser (thanks entirely to my wife).
Long story short, I didn't get on. I didn't even get past the first test. Two and a half hours standing in line at the Biltmore Square Mall (which is about 135 minutes more than I had spent there up to that point), 3 minutes to come up with responses (phrased in the form of a question, natch) to 10 pretty hard but not mind-bending "answers." And 20 seconds for some pretty-boy proctor to glance over my sheet, purse his lips and say, "Sorry."Me: So I didn't pass?
PBP: Nope.
Me: Can you tell me what I missed?
PBP: Nope. We don't really do that.
Me: Can you at least tell me how many I missed?
PBP: Nope. Sorry.
Me: Can you tell me where you bought that sweater so that I can have the place fire bombed and spare humanity any more pain? (Actually, that last bit was only in my head.)
Anyway, that was that.
Like I said, the questions were hard--mostly all Double Jeopardy!, lower-half of the board stuff. That I was expecting. The snooty, callous, goatherd (Next!) mentality of the dude behind the table is what really threw me. Remember the maitre d' at the restaurant in Ferris Bueller's Day Off? Like that, only without the 'stache. But there was no convincing him that I was Abe Frohman, the sausage king of Chicago, never mind the guy from whom Ken Jennings was going to get his ass handed to him.
So you'd think I learned my lesson. You'd be wrong.
Tonight is the online test to qualify for the VH1/Entertainment Weekly World Series of Pop Culture. The fact that it's all pop culture--no opera, no European royal family trees, no American Vice Presidential arcana--just fun facts and quotes from TV, movies and pop music is just enough to delude me into believing that I won't fall prey to any blind spots. That, and the sample questions were crazy easy.
Trouble is, my sobriquet notwithstanding, I probably have equally large weaknesses, to which I'm all but oblivious, when it comes to certain corners of the pop-culture landscape. They go too deep into The Simpsons, for example, and I'm screwed.
Am I a pop-culture genius? (Isn't that an oxymoron?) I don't know. Maybe. I'll let you know after the test.
UPDATE
So I took the 10 p.m. test. Overall, I don't think I did especially well; almost certainly not within the top 5% needed to qualify for the 'wild card' team.
The hardest part was the analogies. This is the category that separated the players (or playas) from the posers. One question in particular (that I can recall) compared character relationships on The Simpsons with those on Dallas. To succeed in this category, you basically have to have not gotten off your couch since the beginning of the Reagan administration.
I also had a lot of trouble, as expected, with song lyrics. Well, at least lyrics from the likes of Kelli Clarkson and R. Kelly. Or R. Kelly Clarkson.
My biggest disappointment was in movie quotes. I really thought I'd ace that one. But boy did they go wading in the bog of ultimate obscurity for some of those. One Crazy Summer, anyone?
I think I acquitted myself fairly well in the Body of Work category. If I came anywhere near 10/10, it was in knowing who was who and who was in what. Unfortunately, I don't think they're looking for category specialists.
So, alas, I don't expect my phone or my inbox to be lighting up any time soon with word from a VH1 production associate.
C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. C'est la pomme du terre.
And, for whatever it's worth, I think I'm actually better at Jeopardy! than at the more mainstream pop-culture stuff. Now, I'm just trying to take some solace in the idea that being a voracious consumer of popular and middlebrow culture is about enjoying the things I enjoy. There's plenty of odd detail that I sort of absorb from the ether, but I'd hate to feel like I have to actively remember every arcane detail of things in which I have absolutely no interest, simply for the sake of a trivia contest. That would just be sad. (Yes, I might be denigrating those who did better than I, just ever so slightly. I'm only the tiniest bit bitter, honest.)
Excelling at trivia is supposed to be the icing on the cultural cake, right? Well, that's my story, anyway. And, like Colin Quinn, I'm sticking to it.
Inconceivable!
As someone who's physically incapable of going more than a few hours without quoting a movie, a song, or a song from a movie (see previous post titles if you don't believe me), I am obligated to share this cultural zenith with the rest of the world. Or, at least the three of you who check this space with any regularity. Honey, pack the man-cub in the family truckster, we're going to Austin!
McSweeney's passed. Whatchagondo?
FOOD-BASED
TROPES
BUT ULTIMATELY REJECTED,
BY MAYOR RAY NAGIN
DESCRIBE WHAT
OF POST-KATRINA
WILL ONCE AGAIN BE.
A Velveeta Village
A
An Apple-Dumpling Gang
A Bacon-Cheddar Borough
A Crazy-Delicious Lower 9th Ward
A Petit-Four Parish
A Nutella Neighborhood
A
A Jelly Roll Morton
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