Categories
Shallow

How to get a head (or two) in Hollywood

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The worst movie job ever: Cydney Cornell, hair stylist to Freddie Prinze Jr. and Sarah Michelle Gellar.

Categories
Grave

Smile for campaign contributions; look solemn for the historical record

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Above, President Bush with an average American fan at a fundraiser last week. Below, Bush with his personal photographer, Eric Draper.

Categories
Shallow

The week of our discontent

…was not spent reading John Steinbeck, but rather, sorting out a whole slew of nasty technical troubles that arose with the lovely low culture database. Regardless, it’s all better now, like a world without first-run episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm that do a ghastly job of tying in painfully long segments from The Producers and an overacting (or is it underacting) husband-and-wife duo in the form of Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft. But that’s all behind us, now.
Oh, and confidential to MovableType: Fuck you, buddy.

Categories
Shallow

Naming names

davidmamet-spartan.jpgSpartan is the name of David Mamet’s new movie. It’s called Spartan, this movie. It’s out Friday. This David Mamet movie, it’s got stars like Val Kilmer, Derek Luke, and William H. Macy. He’s no first-timer, William H. Macy.
The story, well, the plot, is about a kidnapping. This plot is intense. The story, too. The plot and the story, they’re both very intense, they’re very fucking intense.
And the title. Spartan. This title got us thinking. It’s a play on words, this title. A description of the main character, right? But also Mamet’s style, the style everyone calls Mametian. Which is easy to make fun of, right? But at least he’s being honest about it. What if other directors did the same? These other guys, see, they’d put it all out there, honest to the world.
Brett Ratner: Base
Michael Bay: Epileptic
Mel Gibson: Intense
Peter Jackson: Long
Martin Scorsese: Rote
Michael Mann: Remote
Robert Altman: Old
Steven Spielberg: Employed
Nora Ephron: Palatable
Coen Brothers: Sinking
Spike Lee: Declining, but still shot-through with vitality and inventiveness despite annoying public persona and occasional lapses into self-parody
Peyton Reed: Candy
Steven Soderbergh: Fluctuating
David Fincher: Dark
David O. Russell: Difficult
Terrence Malick: Slow
David Gordon Green: Green
Alexander Payne: Nebraskan
Kevin Smith: Insipid
Wes Anderson: Precious
Paul Thomas Anderson: Florid
Lars von Trier: Rigid
Lynne Ramsay: Oblique
Vincent Gallo: Narcissistic
Rose Troche: Lesbian
Lisa Cholodenko: Experimental
Michel Gondry: Dreamy
Spike Jonze: Hip
Sofia Coppola: Coached
Roman Coppola: Bitter

Categories
Shallow Soundproof

Our last-ever post on matters concerning the Grey Album, we promise

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This, despite the fact that the latest Rolling Stone rehashes the EMI-versus-artistic freedom issue yet again. That’s roughly three consecutive issues of America’s most revered rock, er, lad, er, rock magazine that have documented DJ Danger Mouse’s travails of late (isn’t there some expression about “beating a dead mouse” or somesuch cliche?).
Nope, this particular post is for those obsessive souls who took their LPs of the Beatles’ White Album and played John Lennon’s incoherent utterances backwards, until they were able to discern that Paul was, in fact, dead.
Get out your copy of Danger Mouse’s Grey Album or, if you downloaded it, work with the MP3 files directly. Acquire a freeware audio editor. Take the eleventh track, “Interlude,” and reverse it. Sit back and pray as you listen to the track which follows, whose lyrics we’ve helpfully transcribed for you:

“6…6…6…Murder, murder Jesus…6…6…6…
Leave ni**as on death’s door.
Murder, murder Jesus…6…6…6.”

Of course, we all know that “asterisk” sounds awfully garbled when spoken either forward or in reverse, so you may want to substitute those asterisks mentioned above for the letter G. Just a su**estion.

Categories
Grave

Hey, sorry about that whole unlawful imprisonment thing

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Yesterday’s big news in the War on Terror (or, more likely, small news, if, like us, you’re still focusing the lion’s share of your attention on Martha’s impending lockdown) was the return of five British prisoners to the U.K. on Tuesday, after their having spent the past two years in American custody in Guantanamo Bay. Two years of imprisonment, mind you, without having been charged with a crime, save for some vague language about “enemy” this, “combatant” that.
Here’s the stunning aspect of this case, however: while four of the men are still being questioned about their activities in Afghanistan, one of the prisoners in question, a mere few hours after landing on his home soil, was released from custody yesterday. This from the Guardian:

A fifth man, Jamal Udeen, also known as Jamal al Harith, from Manchester, was released without charge last night. His solicitor Robert Lizar said his client wanted the US authorities to “answer for the injustice which he has suffered”.

Just who is this vile terrorist/enemy combatant that was in some way indirectly responsible for the events of September 11th, 2001? The Guardian continues:

The 36-year-old convert, who was born Ronald Fiddler, left Manchester to go backpacking in Pakistan in September 2001. Within three weeks, coalition forces had found him in jail in Kandahar, Afghanistan; he said the Taliban had jailed him, believing he was a spy.

Injustice, indeed. This huge credibility gap in the U.S. government’s assertions on progress made in the War on Terror™ apparently doesn’t warrant coverage in the Times, the Post, or any other American media outlet. Oh, wait, my bad: there’s this Reuters story linked from the Times’ website.
What does the Reuters piece assert?

If all five are freed without charge, as some lawyers are predicting, the government may face questions on why it had taken more than two years to get them out. With tabloid newspapers eagerly competing for rights to their stories, the “Guantanamo Five” have a ready-made platform to vent anger.

Five down, and 600 to go.

Categories
Grave

Get well soon (our meanest-spirited post ever)

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Awww, John…We hear that you’ve been hospitalized with a bout of the ol’ gallstone pancreatitis, and for that, we’re truly sorry. We are, however, thankful that you have healthcare, unlike millions of uninsured Americans. And, if worse comes to worse, we’re sure you can find someone to help foot the bill, as you did when you were merely a senator from Missouri in the 1990s:

“Between 1994 and 1998 the pharmaceutical industry, insurance industry and various anti-consumer healthcare lobbies paid out nearly $1 million in contributions to Ashcroft’s reelection campaign. Ashcroft returned the favor on multiple occasions: Four times in the last year he voted against prescription-drug benefits for Medicaid recipients; twice he helped kill the bipartisan Patients’ Bill of Rights, which would have allowed consumers to sue managed-care companies for delayed or denied care. He also backed a phony business-sponsored Patients’ Bill of Rights that would prohibit consumers from suing their managed-care providers.”

Come on, John, get well soon! Everyday you’re out of commission as our Attorney General is a day that America is that much more unsafe; the USA PATRIOT Act and its sequel both feel somehow less substantive; Gitmo feels less secure, and we fear that hundreds of prisoners may in fact receive an actual trial; Jose Padilla and Yaser Hamdi might as well be on parole, and–this is embarrassing–we’re blushing as we gaze upon Justice’s exposed bosom, heaving ever-so-nakedly in your absence.
Let the eagle soar, John! Let it soar!