Sunday, December 6, 2009

Song: "Dead Flowers"

The Stones's Dead Flowers" is a direct response to Alanis Morisette's You Oughta Know".



Knowing nothing at all about what Jaggar etc meant by this song - which is fine, Death of the Author, etc - I have to say, this is the bitchiest song ever made.

Alanis: "And I'm here/ to remind you/ of the mess you left/ when you went away." Alanis is sending a message, and the message is, I WANT TO TAKE CONTROL OF THE CHAOS THAT IS OUR BROKEN RELATIONSHIP. I WANT DESPERATELY TO DISCUSS WHAT HAPPENED AND WHAT IT MEANT. I WANT YOU TO FEEL AS BAD AND AS RAW AS I FEEL. I WANT YOU TO BE REMINDED OF WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN US, AND I WANT YOU TO DO SOME SERIOUS SELF-EXAMINATION. Mick: "You can send me dead flowers to my wedding/ but I won't forget to put roses on your grave." Mick's message: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT.

Why so angry and/or non-plussed? The song sort of opens the door to a political/class-based analysis. In the first verse, the idea first sprouted that the protagonist or his (lower) class had become degraded by the ex or her (upper) class: her "silk-upholstered chair" was placed in opposition to his "ragged company." Is this a message about revolution? Emphatically, NO. In the third verse, the narrative voice rambles, "Well, when you're sitting back/ In your rose-pink Cadillac/ Making bets on Kentucky Derby Day/ I'll be in my basement room/ with a needle and a spoon/ And another girl can take my pain away." In 1970, as today, pink Cadillacs and Derby bets may approach hipster cool, but not when adjoined: a person, especially a rich girl, in such a car, enjoying such a task, is not connoted cool. These things, when adjoined, may only suggest shallow bullshitery. The protagonist's use of heroin and random sex (esp. in 1970), however, does connote cool. While the vapid douche's out doing shallow things, psychotically sending out bad vibes to the awesome laid-back awesome-dude-narrator, the protagonist is chillaxing, fucking other girls, not caring what you think.

Is it possible that he's thumbing it to the establishment? No. Because the Establishment does not care who you're fucking, as long as you're not fucking the Establishment over. And this song does not inspire revolution.

I have nothing more to say about this.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Book: "The Elegance of the Hedgehog"

In every bookstore, even Powell's, perhaps especially Powell's, you'll invariably find this book in the STAFF RECOMMENDS section. It has a unique title, and a well-designed jacket. It's made of that same sort of matte material they used to make Vivid VHS boxes out of - so nice. And where did that precocious French girl get her boots?



And then you read it. Preferably where people can see you, because you know they've all seen it in the NYROB or on the EMPLOYEE PICKS shelf, and now they all think you're smart and awesome, good job!

It's like this: Don't you love it when there's a precious French setting, like a Parisian hotel, peopled with intellectual concierges, despicable food critics, and pre-teen solopists? And don't you love it so hard when the lonely hotel inhabitants, so disconnected from society, so much smarter and better than the outside world, get to ruminate at length about how much smarter and better they are?

It's the kind of book where we know that the lonely concierge and the lonely little girl are destined to be friends because each, separately, falls in love with a vague sense of Orientalism. (It's the kind of book where you feel smart for having seen the COMPLETELY BORING "Hiroshima, Mon Amor.")

It's the kind of book where everyone else is shallow, and greedy, and fake: Holdon Caufield territory. It's the kind of book where characters think not very hard at all about how good they are at Philosophy 101, and journal it out anyway.

It's the kind of book, essentially, where at the end one of the main characters dies, which leads another character to decide not to kill herself. It's the kind of book that starts out being all about a world of Hierarchy and Capitalism, and ultimately ends up being about the characters' Hope and Humanity.

No. Ultimately... it's the kind of book that makes you wish you hadn't paid $14.95 for it. Decision: Fail.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

DVD: "Naked in New York"

Do not fault me for enjoying the early 90s. I was thirteen, and these were years, yes, years of Wonder. "Reality Bites" taught me how to be cool. "Singles" taught me how to love. "Empire Records" taught me how to glue quarters to the floor and roll my eyes as uncool people tried to pick up said quarters Good times!



"Naked in New York," "Annie Hall" called. It wants its dignity back. Also its plot, themes, wardrobe-centered motifs, and characterization. Everything since the release of "Annie Hall" wants its colorful whimsy-in-the-face-of-so-much-etc back.



"Naked in New York," you are terrible. People involved in "Naked in New York," you have made an awful decision. Is Daniel Argrant your drug dealer? What does he have on you that made you appear and/or star in "Naked in New York"? I mean, William Styron, really? Really?! Eric Bogosian? Kathleen Turner? More importantly: Mary-Louise Parker? Eric Stoltz? Did you forget you have talent, charm, and the ability to act? Most importantly: MARTIN SCORSESE PRESENTS? Jesus fucking Christ. This is the worst movie since "Funnny Ha Ha." Aside from Burroughs's "Naked Lunch," this is the worst thing ever made. It's worse than poop, and possibly even worse than "Singles," upon reflection.

Monday, November 9, 2009

DVD: "The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3"

You know what the problem with terrorists is? They're lonely! I know this, because at the beginning of this movie, the first shot of Travolta, the bad guy, coincides with the first audible words, which are: "I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one." That's the only line from the song that we hear, and it's even replayed, a little later, also on top of Travolta's hard-guy face. Terrorists are people, too - people who just need love! :)



("I Need a Hero," says John Travolta. Denzel, his new best friend, will be that hero, even though they're on Opposite Sides Of The Law. Much like "Point Break," this will make complete sense, even as the two sky-dive for like twenty minutes as the director does approx. forty lines of medium-grade coke.)

You know who else are in constant need of peace, love and understanding? African-American males. Remember "Dark Knight"? There's a boat of felons, and a boat of WASPs, and the Joker tells each group they have like an hour to push a button and destroy the other group or both groups will die? And one strong, proud African-American male felon stands up... and throws the button overboard? And there's stirring music? And it makes you feel Proud To Be An American? And everybody gets to live? So, in "Taking of Pelham 123," there's this African-American male hostage on the train, and he's wearing a ring that means he was in the Airborne, and this white mother lady asks him if he has a plan for getting out of being a hostage, and he says no, he hasn't really thought about it. Later, John Travolta chooses the white mother lady to kill, but at the last moment the African-American male stands up to take her place, saying, "This is the only plan I've got." And Travolta shoots him. And he's never mentioned again. And the white lady doesn't appear worried about what's happened? The Joker says, "Why so serious?" while Elvis Costello croons, "What's so funny?" And African-American males are all tied up in the middle. Middle, here, signifies inane, manipulative, bullshit movies about heroism and the cult of personality (of insecure, unloved white males).

Besides that moment - and the scene in which Denzel calls his wife to let her know he's going into the tunnel to meet Travolra, and he's going to die, but he loves her and all, and she's like, "You do what you have to do. But we need milk. So when you get done, bring home a gallon of milk," and her voice breaks, and there's a tinny piano on the soundtrack, and he says yes, he will bring home milk after he gets done doing what he has to do - and, right, jeez, the scene in which Denzel's in the helicoptor with his new mentor, and he mentor surveys all that is before him, and says, "I love New York from this perspective. It reminds you of what you're fighting for" - besides all that, or probably due to all that - I HEART THIS MOVIE. It is the funnest movie of its kind since "Man on Fire" (alcoholism + Dakota Fanning = REVENGE!!!).

Plus, right before it, they play the trailer to "2012." How is Cusak going to get away with wearing a Clash t-shirt in this one? Who cares! The White House is demolished by a fucking two-by-two ARC (!!!) named after Kennedy! I HEART CGI!

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

DVD: "The Graduate"

This is so my favorite movie.



I've talked with lots of boys who like it because they think it's a great coming-of-age story about a guy trying to deal with a fucked-up, hypocritical society - and girls! (Which it is.) They think it's funny, and true. They really like the hero. I read a review once wherein the author focused a lot of attention on this one moment, early on, where Ben finally realizes what Mrs. Robinson's doing and calls her on it: "You're trying to seduce me... Aren't you?" The reviewer found that so excruciatingly hilarious, and tied it in with his own experiences. I think that "wait, is she into me?" moment is pretty universal for awkward boys, and probably helps boy viewers really connect with the Ben character. However, it is completely impossible for me to connect with the Ben character, because he is the stupidest, most boring, narcissistic character ever. He's essentially a less interesting version of Dan from "Gossip Girl." He's the worst.

Except that he's played by Dustin Hoffman, who is thinking that he is Charlie Chapman on autism. Before Ben loses his virginity - and it takes him forty minutes to do so - he's bumbling and up-his-own-ass and cute and shallow. For the first forty minutes, Ben isn't exactly likable, but he's kind of adorable. You can see why Mrs. Robinson would want to do him. But once he has sex, he gains confidence, becomes even more up-his-own-ass, and continues treating others like they're beneath him. His whole thing, with his parents, everybody, is like, "I'm young, I'm a college graduate, I'm smart enough to worry about my future while you're old and stuck and dumb, so I don't have to be nice to you." He's not even nice to Mrs. Robinson! There's a ten minute sequence following their first tryst where time passes while she walks around in different bras, getting ready for him, and he reclines, silently, waiting, thinking vaguely about politics and his future. Which is hilarious. We all know jerks like this, and a jerk with a soaring emotional soundtrack is a great conceit.

Then Ben gets even more lame! He starts interrogating Mrs. Robinson about how shitty her life is. Eventually she tells him she had to get married because she was pregnant. Ben's reaction is, "Well, I never thought of you and Mr. Robinson as the kind of people... Was he a law student at the time?" He keeps asking horrible, insensitive questions until he finds out Mrs. Robinson is a college graduate herself, who had been interested in art until she wound up stuck, married and pregnant and upper-middle class. Ben's reaction to this is to ask more horrible, insensitive questions about the Robinsons' sex life. The scene ends with him talking about asking Mrs. Robinson's daughter out on a date. "Well, why shouldn't I? I'm good enough for you but not good enough to associate with your daughter? You go to hell!" Mrs. Robinson is naked in this scene, by the way. It is always best to yell at people when they're literally naked, emotionally vulnerable, and lying down while you are dressed and standing and bigger than them. That's the best. The two do reconcile; Ben decides, aloud, that their argument was the result of their failure to connect - "Let's not talk anymore," he says.

And then in the very next scene, Ben asks Mrs. Robinson's kid, Elaine, out on a date! Mrs. Robinson is so mad, but instead of telling Elaine he is sick and can't go out with her, Ben decides to just drive really recklessly and then take Elaine to a strip club to humiliate her. She starts to cry, and then he starts to comfort her, and they talk about him, and have a good time. See? If Mrs. Robinson had just cried when Ben was mean to her, Ben would've felt like he had all the control and then he would've been nice. Ben being nice means him talking a lot about himself while you listen, preferably respectfully.

The talking thing is kind of interesting. With everybody but the two Robinson ladies, Ben is basically mute. Shh, he's THINKING. Shh, you're not good enough for Ben to even attempt communication. Shh, stop trying to control Ben by making him talk! In the first bit, Mrs. Robinson does try opening up to Ben, which he finds frightening. Then, because she's smart, Mrs. Robinson doesn't want to talk to Ben at all. Ben has to seize control of the situation by trying to force inappropriate conversation out of Mrs. Robinson - so he can fully understand her, so he can have the upper hand. In that scene, Mrs. R lets him get a little bit of information out of her - she's lonely, he's interested - but never lets his shitty personality get to her too much. She won't cry when he upsets her. She even gives him the perception of control: "Would you like me to leave?" she asks, humbly. But they both know Mrs. Robinson is fully in charge of their relationship. Elaine, however, is someone Ben can control: she's interested in him, and young, and vulnerable. She will cry. Which is why, in the space of like half an hour of meeting her, Ben falls in love with Elaine. Because, he's a prick. A hilarious, autistic prick!

Anyway, that night Ben takes Elaine to the hotel he always goes to with Mrs. Robinson! And then he breaks up with Mrs. Robinson and tells her he's going to start dating Elaine! And then everything goes to hell and Elaine finds out about Ben and Mrs. Robinson and cries again! And then Ben has a big think and listens to "Scarborough Fair," wherein the singer tells his friend to go see the singer's ex and "tell her to make me [things]," which will cause the ex to take him back. Of course! So Ben decides he's going to marry Elaine? "She doesn't know about it," he tells his parents, "It's a decision I've made." What are you thinking, Ben? Is that even what you really want? You barely know each other! No need to argue, parents just don't understand!

And so Ben moves to Berkley to stalk Elaine. And even though she's ecstatically engaged to some blond/bland collegiate ("How did he ask you?" "He said he thought we'd make a good team"), she hangs out with Ben and makes out with Ben and tells him she'll marry him. Of course? Because, they have such a great connection, what with her listening to him speaking all the time. Also, she's a genius. Also... he's really pretty.

So then Mr. Robinson breaks into Ben's apartment and waits for him to get home. When Ben gets in, Mr. Robinson asks if Ben resents him, and Ben says no. "But you don't respect me." And here's the big pay-off moment: Ben says, "No." Ben does not respect his oppressors. Ben hates everything his parents and their generation stand for. ESPECIALLY PLASTICS. Plastics are the worst, what with their corporations and conservative politics and OPPRESSION! So Mr. Robinson leaves, jumping over furniture, fearful of the winds of change that Ben represents. Hypocritical society is so easy to overturn, thank goodness!

So then there's the chase scene, and Ben finds Elaine right after she's said "I Do" to her whatever-beloved, the blond guy, and then, obviously, Elaine screams at her mom and runs off with Ben and realizes she's made a terrible mistake. Hurray!

This is the greatest movie ever made. Its quick edits, comic-book-to-movie edits, music-video montages with their big emotional swells, acting, everything - fucking "Home Alone"-times-fourteen with the quality. Anne Bancroft is beautiful and everything I want to be when I am thirty. Dustin Hoffman is the best actor ever (free pass for things like "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium" FOR LIFE). Katherine Ross... has the best eyeliner of the past forty years. Everything is perfect. The only thing is, you should not, for any reason, like the Ben character. He is a satire! He is the worst! Except that he is the best, because he is in this movie.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

"A Serious Man" (2009)

For physics professor Larry Gopnik, life has become a series of cruel, random events. His apathetic students would rather bribe him than study. His brat children barely speak to him. Someone's sending anonymous hate-mail to his tenure board. His increasingly psychotic brother keeps getting arrested. The neighbors keep advancing on his property line. His shrewish wife wants a divorce. And no matter how many doctors, lawyers and rabbis he consults, he never gets a straight answer: "What does it all mean?" he asks; "What should I do?"



So Larry Gopnik does nothing. He neither reports the bribe nor accepts it. He's too busy to understand his kids. He submits nothing to the board of tenure ("I haven't published"). He tells his brother to work on his problems, although Gopnik declines to work on his own. He avoids his neighbors. When asked what he wants to do about his impending divorce, he answers, "I want things to go back to the way they were... No... I don't know." He is upset by the confusion of change, but remains so alienated from his community and himself that he cannot feel, or move forward productively.

The title of the film is "A Serious Man." "I'm trying to be a serious man," cries Gopnik, begging for one rabbi's clarity. But what does it mean to be "serious," and what do we look for in "clarity"?

Gopnik - spoiler alert - never will have the clarity he seeks. The movie-goer, however, is privy to two parables about "meaning" that more or less stop the show. The first, told before the title credits, prompts the audience to take sides: Is this a meaningful universe in which we must trust in and obey God's will, or is life chaotic, rendered meaningful only by our own moral actions? The second parable asks us to draw on our own interpretation of the first: If you found something extraordinary - say, markings on the back of a gentile's teeth that spelt out, in Hebrew, "help me" - would you take it as evidence of God's personal message to yourself, or would it seem a freakish coincidence you could nonetheless use as a reminder to lead a moral life?

These considerations of morality, and of faith vs. chaos, continue until the Hamlet-like protagonist finally decides to take a moral action - with consequences. At the same moment, his cats-in-the-cradle son will similarly finally take a moral action - with consequences. Whether or not these consequences are ordained by a just God or merely coincidental will depend on the movie-goer's interpretation of reality - and of the film.

This is a fucking awesome movie. It is a conversation-starter, for one, and, more importantly, is the first period drama to use Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love" as an epiphanous statement without coming off as vapid. "A Serious Man" is also, natch for the Coen brothers, hilarious. It is their most personal movie - a movie they've said to have based on their own father, a movie that takes place in their own late-60s childhood Minneapolis, a movie about Jewish identity and faith. It is dark, and cruel, and random, and funny, and it works. You can go see this film, or you can go see "Couples Retreat" and kick yourself. Your choice: morality vs. faith via the Coens, or Vince Vaughn in a swimsuit via a guy who was in two episodes of "Punky Brewster."

BOOK: "Bonk" (2008)

Things I Learned from Mary Roach (part 17 1/2):

1. "[P]eople's earlobes swell when they're aroused, [and, according to Kinsey,] 'the membranes which line the nostrils may secrete more than their usual amounts of mucus… If one's mouth is open when there is a sudden upsurge of erotic stimulation and response, saliva may be spurted some distance out of the mouth.'"



2. Sex education needs to be more descriptive. Positions favored, for female response, by the first modern sex manual, Van de Velde's Ideal Marriage: "Second Extension Attitude: Supersensory (Variation [b])" and "the Anterior-Lateral Attitude, [which] has the woman 'half-lateral, half-supine, with a corresponding half-lateral, half-superposed attitude of the man, which is possible by appropriate arrangement of pillows.'"

And then there's this, which kind of breaks your heart: "Robert Latou Dickenson writes that he encountered, over his many decades of clinical practice, eighteen women whose virginity had remained intact despite having (what they took to be) intercourse for years. 'The husbands and wives, though otherwise intelligent, thought the cleft of the vulva was as deep as his organ was expected to go.' Then there was the woman written up in a 1965 issue of JAMA whose husband was mistaking her urethra for her vagina."

3. Scientists are bad people. Towards discovering whether or not the contractions of female orgasm "upsucked" sperms towards helping out conception: "A German anatomist named Hausmann killed a bitch while she was mating and then – presumably allowing a moment or two to disengage the flummoxed male from the proceedings – picked up his scalpel and opened her up… Five years later, a second dog experiment found what Hausmann had found, as did an 1853 guinea pig experiment, a 1930 rat experiment, and a 1960 golden hamster experiment… I find it hard not to project a sliver of sadism upon the scientists. The hamster guys are especially easy to mistrust, having stated in their paper that 'the mated hamster was killed by a bow to the back of the head.' Who clubs a hamster? What would you even use to deliver 'a blow' to a head that small?"

Answer, Mary Roach: nobody, now-a-days. Boyfriend, who, two jobs ago, used to engage in mouse genocide for UNC-Chapel Hill, would generally lay a mouse's stomach upon a metal surface, press a metal rod to the back of the neck, and pull its tail. If a metal rod was not nearby, he would press his own thumbs to their necks. For larger specimens – monkeys and dogs, for example – this method is never used. Scientists usually propel CO2 into an air-tight atmosphere, causing asphyxiation, or they use deadly injections. Apes are treated best, and put into a special animal reserve, which fact makes many scientists roll their eyes, as they are bad people.

4. People do not understand the limits of the anus. "Urological Oddities, a 1948 compendium of memorable cases, includes an 'elderly fellow' with a corsage pin that got away from him, a man who died from infection after inserting a twig from the family Christmas tree, and a farmer who 'lost a rat's tail.' There is always an explanation. The man, toting three sets of three-inch surgical steel forceps, for example, insisted that Nos. 2 and 3 had gone in an effort to remove Nos. 1 and 2, a story that collapsed upon examination, when all three turned out to be in there handle-first. As embarrassing as these hospital visits must have been, they pale in comparison to the Houston man who was taken away, on his back in an ambulance, with a large water tank from a public commode stuck on his penis. 'The patient had attempted intercourse with the water-tank,' reports B. H. Bayer, M.D., in one of those rare, shining moments when urology approaches high comedy."

Some hundred pages later, there is more: " 'Rectal Foreign Bodies: Case Reports and a Comprehensive Review of the World's Literature' includes a list of objects doctors have removed from rectums over the years. Highlights: a frozen pig tail (one of the 7 female cases in a total caseload of 202), a bottle of Impulse Body Spray…, a parsnip, a plantain (with condom), a dull knife, a cattle horn, a salami, a jeweler's saw, and a plastic spatula. Multiple holdings in the same rectum are listed under the heading 'Collections.' These include several that would pass as still-lifes ('oil can with potato,' '2 apples,' '402 stones'), several that probably couldn't ('umbrella handle and enema tubing,' 'lemon and cold cream jar') and one that suggests a quiet evening in the Biltmore ('spectacles, suitcase key, tobacco pouch, and magazine')."

5. It is generally useful to read scientific footnotes. To wit: "A comforting word about the crooked penis. Dr. Hsu says it is rare to see one that stands perfectly straight. Actually, what he said was: 'Most men are communists! Lean to the left! Second most common: bow down, like Japanese gentleman! Number three: to the right. Four: up! Like elephant!'"

6. The fifteenth century was probably awesome. "'What, then, is to be thought of those witches who… sometimes collect male organs in great numbers, as many as twenty or thirty members together, and put them in a bird's nest or shut them up in a box, where they move themselves like living members, and eat oats and corn, as has been seen by many and is a matter of common report?' It's a question I cannot answer. I can only lament the long, dry journey that legal publishing has made in the centuries since 1491."

7. France in the late-sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was probably less awesome, if you were a bad husband. "This was the era of the 'impotence trial'… If the wife won the case, the man would not only be fined and forbidden to remarry, but would have to return the dowry he had received from the woman's family… The team would arrive at the appointed hour and wait outside the bedroom until the defendant yelled through the door that he was ready for viewing. The examiners would file into the room and gather around the bed, whereupon the accused would pull back the bedclothes and show them what he had. These were tough critics. 'We did find him in a state of erection upon our arrival, but he did not have sufficient attributes to consummate a marriage.' How did they know? They leaned in a groped ('Touching this swelling, we felt it to be flabby')."

8. "People with spinal cord injuries may develop a compensatory erogenous zone above the level of their inquiry… Applying a vibrator to these spots can have dramatic effects… 'My whole body feels like it's in my vagina,' said the subject, a quadriplegic woman who had just had an orgasm – evinced by changes in blood pressure and heart rate – while applying a vibrator to her neck and chest. Komisaruk and Whipple's book The Science of Orgasm includes a description of a 'knee orgasm' experienced by a young (able-bodied) young man with a vibrator pressed to his leg. 'The quadriceps muscled as the thigh increased in tension… At the reported orgasmic moment, the leg gave an extensor kick… and a forceful grunt was emitted.'"

9. Lady-smell is excellent, although those adverts for "pheromones" in the backs of Esquire are stupid. "The rickety notion of rhesus – and, by implication, human – sex pheromones can be traced to… [that] in 1971, Richard Michael claimed to have pinpointed compounds in the vaginal secretions o his females that, when sniffed, caused the male monkeys to initiate sex. (But not very many of them. Critics point out that just two males accounted for 50 percent of the data)… In 1975… a team of researches from the Monell Chemical Senses Center in Philadelphia launched an investigation of changes in the 'pleasantness' of women's vaginal odors across their monthly cycle. Seventy-eight subjects were asked to sniff tampons that four women had worn during the various phases of their cycle. (For obvious reasons, the women were asked not to eat onions, garlic, or asparagus for the duration of the study. Less obviously, the women were discouraged from eating broccoli, Brussels spouts, cabbage, chili, curry, kale, sauerkraut, and pineapple.) The supposition was that the odors might be more appealing during a woman's ovulatory phase than at other times during her cycle. And they were: Subjects judged them slightly more pleasant and less intense than at other times. However, the authors noted, the data did not go so far as to 'support the notion… that vaginal secretion odors are particularly pleasant to human males"… [Although] a Google search on 'soiled panties' produced 78,000 hits, most of them direction you to freelance sellers, women who throw up a Web site with a couple of photos and a PayPal link. Wikipedia says some Japanese sex shops operate panty exchanges to girls, who wear a pair overnight and then exchange them for a new pair on their way to school. 'The more soiled they are, the more they will fetch at sale,' says Wikipedia, yet further distancing itself from stuffy rival Britannica."

DVD: "Teeth" (2008)

I just saw "Teeth," which is two-thirds awesome, so if anybody's thinking of seeing it, I thought I'd let you know.



We watched the first five minutes of "Teeth" over sandwiches, and then Nick had to leave the room. "I would run ten thousand miles to get away from this movie," he said. (This from a guy willing to pay full ticket price for both "Meet the Fockers" and "Alex & Emma.") His reaction is pretty consistent with most reviewers' – the San Francisco Chronicle called "Teeth" "the worst first-date movie ever," while the Village Voice said it was a movie "that every man in America will watch with his legs crossed." Having read that, I was, of course, totally psyched.

You might know the premise from the much-hyped trailer: abstinence-promoting teen comes of age just in time to find there's a 1950s B-movie monster living inside her junk. At first reverential of her sex (she earnestly explains to her classmates that it's because women have a "natural modesty" that a textbook's censored portrayal of vulvas makes sense), Dawn becomes afraid of its power when it suddenly chews up the penis of a boy who has decided to rape her. Dawn turns to her textbook for help and information, and the score plays a soaring "Hallelujah" as she pries loose the censorious sticker and gazes at the unsentimentalized, unpoliticized truth about what women really are.

This scene reminds me of both Ayaan Hirsi Ali's epiphanic realization about the political import of female purity, which led to her crusade towards curbing the doctrine of women's submission, and also the revolutionary moment of the Boston Women's Health Collective. The BWHC's "Our Bodies, Ourselves" marks their lesson this way: "As we talked and shared our experiences, we realized just how much we had to learn about our bodies… We learned that we were capable of collecting, understanding, and evaluating… information; that we could open up to one another and find strength and comfort through sharing some of our most private experiences; that what we learned from one another was every bit as important as what we read in medical texts." For Hirsi Ali and the BWHC, thus, the moment in which key information – that is, the fact that women are not mythical creatures who must be paternalistically protected from all the threat their sexuality implies – becomes available is the moment of dawning political consciousness and sisterly activism. For Dawn, whose community is peopled exclusively by the teen-horror-movie staples of evil dudes, useless girls, and barely-there authority figures, it is a moment in which her spiral toward narcissistic vengeance becomes fairly secured.

From this point, there's a couple more excellent gore shots of lacerated cocks, and a couple more hilarious scenes in which the super-awesome Jess Wiexler as Dawn skips blithely along in her day-glo "I'm Waiting" tee, acting like the twentieth century never happened, but the movie's early promise remains unfulfilled. Which kind of pisses me off, because there are so many cool directions the movie could have gone. This way, however, it's hard to tell whether we're supposed to be laughing at our victim-protagonist's cluelessness or cheering her newfound empowerment.

Still, the best parts of this film are all about Wiexler's face – everything she does with that face is hilarious. I especially liked the scene where Dawn slowly and methodically darkens only her lower eyelashes, attempting to work her seductive grimace like Alex from "A Clockwork Orange." She walks a perfectly calibrated line between realism and satire. Her coming-of-age story's pretty cool – for the first hour. And then it gets all conventional, and by the end, Dawn's just some directionless femme fatale who goes around killing guys who inappropriately flirt with her, and it's kind of hard to keep interest.

DVD: "Funny Games" (2008)

The first part of "Funny Games" is pretty decent. We meet an attractive couple and their polite son as they drive through some beautiful scenery on their way to a yuppified vacation home (soy milk in the fridge and an un-ironic apron over mom's dress) where, we have been led to assume by marketing, they will be slaughtered. Soon enough their idyll is interrupted by two young men even more polite and yuppified than themselves (all exaggerated tennis whites, all very "if you please" and "thank you, ma'am") – the very young men, we've been led to assume by marketing, that will do the slaughtering. The meet-cute between the boys and the family is hilarious at the same time that it builds some excellent tension, and I was very excited to see whether the whole family would be killed or if it would be only the boy before the parents woke the fuck up from their Kubricky need to hesitate and killed their tormentors "Virgin Spring"-style. But then, out of nowhere, some seriously stupid shit went down. Right in the middle of the tension-filled happy place horror fans all love, one of the villains turned away from the suffering, sniveling family to directly address the camera and ask us – us! – which team – evil boys or virtuous family – we wanted to see win. "What do you think?" he purred.



I thought about how rampant, how unconsidered, condescension toward horror fans is. I thought, Hey, how come "Last House on the Left" was never nominated for an Oscar – how come "Dawn of the Dead"'s still relegated a "cult" classic? I thought about when Chris Rock hosted the Oscars.

The only worthwhile thing that ever happened at the Oscars was when Rock took his microphone to some downtown theater and asked regular people their opinion of the year's best picture. People who'd never heard of "Being Julia" and weren't interested in "Finding Neverland" or wine-soaked "Sideways" – people who answered the question enthusiastically and without hesitation. "'Saw'," they all said, cheerfully; "That movie was awesome." Back in Hollywood, the audience laughed and laughed. This may have been mere self-deprecation, but not wholly; after all, the fat cats were laughing in the direction of people filmmakers regularly condescend to and whom critics regular disdain as stupid and vaguely evil.

I think that Michael Haneke, the director of the recently-DVD'd Funny Games, is the kind of person who'd be laughing (forlornly) at the idiots who thought "Saw" was so much fun.

"What do you think?" The fucking presumption! Of course we wanted to see as many people as possible, of whichever group, die in as many fucked-up ways as possible, as long as the killings kind of sort of made logical sense and the story was decent. I mean, the whole breaking down the fourth wall thing made no sense to me for half a second, until I realized the villain-director wasn't talking to genre fans but to art-house "meta"-loving simps who'd been persuaded by marketing to see this movie as a feel-good-about-yourself-for-not-liking-horror-movies horror movie. The horror, in this movie, is the audience who sees it for the trailer rather than for the glossy fan letters written from Park City, Utah. These letters consistently praised the director of "Funny Games" as "deep," and reiterated Haneke's terribly condescending line: "I want the spectator to think." (About our environmental negligence and cultural dependence on consumption? About our ever-diminishing voter turnout? About the failures of our educational system? Not so much.)

But wait a minute! If he wanted us to think, why not do some documentary in which readings from Marshall McLuhan and interviews with Noam Chomsky side with recent findings correlating use of violent media with delinquency and diminished empathy? Why, instead, film tension-filled chase scenes and carefully-planted splatter? The intended audience is surely responding more, physiologically, to the genre staples here than impacted by the intended moral message. In this handling, the message becomes Briefly Consider the Consequences of Enjoying Simulated Carnage (You Might Be a Sociopath), or, Project the Fear that You Are Evil for Enjoying Simulated Carnage onto Those Who Watched Funny Games Thinking It Wouldn't Be Insulting.

A little while after I'd seen the film, I read a certain passage of Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children that went like this:

"You have to understand," Seeley was saying. "They – we – all want the cod-liver oil... We want him to chide us for our lack of seriousness, and we want to shake our heads and take our castigation manfully because then we feel absolved, supremely free to watch the Oscars on TV. The way Catholics are entitled to a good piss-up on Saturday night, as long as they're taking their wigging in the pew the next morning. Lets everybody feel serious and still have fun. He's a stooge. He knows it and we know it. We're all complicit" (159-60).

Replace "stooge" with "douche" and there's your Funny Games.