Versus Number Eight

The Onion’s “A.V. Club” is my vote for best light criticism on the internet, a lofty perch amongst a thick market¹. For the movie nerd, one of the most intriguing features the AV Club offers is “The New Cult Canon,” an article that usually gives due illumination to an older film that deserves it. While some of these retrospects can be misguided in topic², the reviewers usually do an excellent job of pointing out flaws, random points, and absurdities with a vigor that should be applauded (these articles make my articles look like the fortunes from a cookie in length). More refreshing is simply seeing a force out there sticking up for bona-fide film classics like Wet Hot American Summer or Sexy Beast, films most of us would not find unless given a suggestion or really, really stoned and bored at Blockbuster. For the month of July, in honor of the month that spells over-night camp for many unappreciative tikes across the country, the theme of all the “The New Cult Canon” articles revolve around ‘camp’ movies.

When I hear the word ‘camp,’ one person comes to mind: John Waters. For those not familiar with the pencil-thin mustached auteur from Baltimore, you are probably familiar with some of his films, which vary from social commentary with Hairspray (the original film, not that thing with Travolta embarrassing the flawless legacy of the powerful Xenu) to darker comedy cult classics like Serial Mom. His association with the word has little do with his niche film-making, it actually has to deal with the character he played in the “Homer’s Phobia” episode of The Simpsons. In the episode Waters plays (novelty alert) John, proprietor of Cockamamie’s, an antiques collectibles shop in the mall where one can find things such as 50’s laser guns and other items whose lack of quality gave them an “ironic” value. Surprisingly rational Homer, stunned by all the revenue generated by sub-standard junk, questions John:

John: But this is the Rex Mars Atomic Discombobulator. Don't you just

love the graphics on this box?

Homer: No. How can you love a box, or a toy or graphics? You're a grown

man.

John: It's camp!

[Homer stares nonplussed]

The tragically ludicrous? The ludicrously tragic?

Homer: Oh, yeah. Like when a clown dies.

So, you just read that paragraph and lines of dialogue for a simple definition which I could have just as easily described as “gay dude from Simpsons thinks ‘camp’ means intentionally stupid,” but shitty thing for you is that I rarely use the delete button.

With a firm definition of ‘camp’ in hand, I bring you:

Versus Number Eight: Showgirls versus Blue Velvet

Now, before you start assuming that I will pick Showgirls automatically as a way of poking a hole in the mass perception that Blue Velvet is a masterpiece and Showgirls has scenes like this in it, let me assure you, Blue Velvet is a considerably better film- perhaps the best film of the 1980’s³. That being said, both films are absolutely fucking ridiculous- which seems like a good enough reason to me for them to weigh them against one another.

Story: If you ever want to know why I think Jiminy Glick Goes to Hollywood is an unsung comedy classic, it mostly deals with Martin Short’s handling of David Lynch, the director/writer of Blue Velvet, one of the strangest people to grace the planet since Rasputin, although his responsible-for-death count is only about a quarter of the size. Blue Velvet revolves around Jeffrey, a relatively innocent, Heineken-swigging college student who comes home to care for his ill father in their smaller suburban neighborhood. After finding an ear (yep, an ear) in an idyllic yard⁴, Jeffrey finds himself neck deep in a world of kidnapping, corruption, rape, sado-masochism, murder, and Dennis Hopper huffing some unnamed gas that must remind him of off-time on the set of Easy Rider. Realizing that my plot synopsis is vague, I will say that hinting at any other plot points will ruin the movie. That being said, the end’s over-the-top cynicism of “everything turning out alright” can only be interpreted as a pointed belly-laugh at a dumbed down Studio system’s narrative structure. The film as a whole is like a noir-film on acid yet at the same time its setting retains a logic that makes it much comprehensible than some of Lynch’s other works (ahem). This film is Lynch’s masterpiece, but describing it does it little justice (“Hit Me! Hit Me!” loses some of its resonance when blogged about as opposed to when heard screamed by a dead-inside damsel)- just see it- you may not like it, but you won’t forget it.

On the other end of the spectrum, you have Showgirls, a film whose story is so simple one must feel it is playing off the aforementioned Hollywood clichés. Our story begins with Nomi Malone a.k.a Elizabeth Berkely a.k.a. Jessie Spano⁵, a down-on-her-luck girl whose ultimate dream is to become a dancer- a certainly achievable, if difficult wish to fulfill for a girl of her bountiful assets⁶ and always-handy switchblade.⁷ Instead of going the route of classical dancing and perhaps going to a Moscow, New York, Paris, or even Los Angeles, Malone decides the best place to pursue an art form defined by grace and eloquence is…. the same place you can have a steak dinner for a dollar and get an STD quicker than you can say the three letters⁸. Shockingly, there are few opportunities for the classically-trained dancer around the neon-lit strip, so Nomi in an attempt to subsist to the best of her ability, decides to go work for the local strip club, awesomely named “Cheetah’s.” Through various connections, Nomi befriends Molly, a seamstress lesbian who takes in Nomi for the occasional when-she’s-asleep-I-might-as-well-smell-her-panties. Somehow, Molly gets Nomi an audition for Stardust, an erotica-show that the movie insists would be a hit in Vegas but what really looks like the stage-version of the pornos that used to be televised on Cinemax in the early 1990s. Nomi quickly battles with Cristal Connors, the HBIC of the production, which eventually leads to Cristal being pushed down stairs by an ultra- jealous Nomi. Long story short, Nomi rises to fame (surprise!), realizes its not all its cracked to be (surprise!), and decides to move to greener pastures (surprise!), in this case L.A. to pursue an acting career, because, you know, Southern California has never been considered anything but the zenith of respectability. The original script, written by Joe Eszterhas (Basic Instinct), was a $2 million piece of shit or brilliance, depending on to whom you are talking. Oh, and there is a rape scene in it that is twice as sickening as Clockwork Orange, surprisingly a no show in memorable horrifying movie moments.

Characters (only 3 a piece)

Blue Velvet

- Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan)- Deep, interesting character. In the first fifteen minutes one think he is nothing more than a bland concerned son and yuppie, until one realizes the obsession with which he pursues that which he is searching. His disgust with the grotesque underworld quickly becomes a perverse attraction, seen by his willingness to perform some unsavory love acts. While a moving scene of self-reflection shows that Jeffrey is not one of the seedy customers that inhabit Blue Velvet’s world, the movie’s conclusion shows he is not about above it either.

- Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini)- Characters like this are why David Lynch will always have a job in the film industry but never will be as financially successful as the Brett Ratners⁹. The wife/ mother of a kidnapped husband/ son, Rossellini’s character could easily by a doctorate dissertation in psychology in of herself. Her obsession with pain, sex, and loneliness makes her completely collapse on herself like a celestial body. The femme fatale of the film, she plays the role helplessly as opposed to seductively, a trait that clearly separates her from the more classic noir dames, whose confidence amongst chaos always felt, well, fictional.

- Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper)- One of the best thought out, terrifyingly executed, nefarious, vindictive, vulnerable characters in film history, this was the role that saved Hopper’s career from years of excess. Frank Booth’s vernacular makes Jules from Pulp Fiction seem prude by comparison. His recklessness with violence as well as his completely joyless attitude towards sex seem to convey a vision from Lynch’s America which is focused on hate and destruction, not surprising considering many left-leaning filmmakers during this time viewed Reagan as some sort of Hell-beast with the blood of Soviets and minorities pouring through his gills. Simply Put: “Fucking PBR!”

Showgirls

- James Smith (Glenn Plummer)- The one man that believes that Nomi is more than a stripper, but rather has the skills to be a dignified dancer. Until you see this “dignified dance,”¹⁰ which made the smooth moves of You Got Served look like the awkward white kids at Cotillion- the dance is literally her thrusting her pelvis in his face for about two minutes. Then the viewer finds out that James isn’t just all choreography and good intentions- in fact, he uses the “dignified dance” line to all the strippers! He even gets one pregnant, and disappears from the movie. This is the genius/ stupidity of this film- his character is entertaining and morally corrupt, but is not consequential at all to the overall film. Like much of the film, he could have been edited out and no one would have been the wiser.

- Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan)- Ah, MacLachlan, you show up again. If his character in Blue Velvet is about the typical American’s secret obsession with the darkness inherent in our nature, his character in Showgirls is about being a coke-blowing asshole yuppie who is the man. Zack is the entertainment manager of Stardust and dater to every hot piece of quasi- lesbian ass to come through his casino. His character, and this is the sign of every great villain, just looks like a dick- like he’d sell you and three like you to a Burmanese¹¹ gorilla squad for Thanksgiving. He also has the three traits of every great movie villain (even though he’s not really a villain per se, he’s just a dick): he’s not loyal, he does cocaine, and he is implicit in a rape. The only thing that would have made him better is if after Nomi spat in his face he yelled “Yeah, well you’ll never work in this town again; and by the way, I wasn’t wearing a condom!”

- Nomi Malone- What can you say. I guess I might as well admit that I think that there is a genius to Showgirls, although it often fights itself to get out onto the screen. That being said, this character is evidently a metaphor for imbecility and naivety of the American dream. She reminds me of a bit on a David Cross album¹² where he describes all of these millions of people in L.A., all of whom think they are the next Brad Pitt, Steven Spielberg, or Madonna, and the absurdity of thinking they even have a chance. Throughout the course of the movie, she is naked for about 15 percent of it, and as dumb as a fucking Extra reporter for one hundred percent. First move, she thinks she will automatically get picked up in Vegas because of her statuesque body and talent. Update: anybody that goes to Vegas has a breast augmentation at least, and when your real discernible talent is being able to imitate intimacy¹³, you are not exactly alone in your status in Sin City. Stupidity number two: pushes down Cristil in front of at least 200 people, and yet somehow gets away with it. Three: Breaks up Cristil and her boyfriend, but fully suspects for him to be faithful to her, even though he is a known womanizer and drug addict. Four: when head dancer of Stardust, a position that presumably would pay in the millions, she continues to live in a trailer. Five: she treats her stripper boss/ pimp and obese stripper friend as though family. At least when she does cocaine she has a little excuse as to why she is an idiot- but Freud argued it brought out one’s real emotions, so perhaps she really is as dumb as a rock’s dump. Berkley was paid $100,000 for the film (1/20 of the screen-writer), and when she asked for a $2,500 interview fee for the DVD, the producers declined.

Conclusion: So, why compare these two films when one is considered a modern classic and the other one is known for the amount of Razzie wins it got? Because I think both films are saying the same thing. Clearly, Blue Velvet is about the underbelly of American society that we try to turn a blind eye (or ear- high five!) to, and yet we are so intrigued by. If I’m talking to a group of coworkers or friends at lunch, everything unsavory be damned- drugs, prostitues, violence, etc. But, I would be lying if I were to say I’ve never been in a strip club, never shot a gun, never done drugs- and I am not the exception on this. Blue Velvet, at its basest, investigates this duality and how we as people somehow weave such much marvelous yarns to fool others. When I commented earlier about the overly perfect ending, it is because at the end of the film, no body seems effected at all by the events- Dorothy, who had been a sex slave and abused for who knows how long, is seen with a radiance of a woman in the “after” shot of feminine product commercial. Jeffrey and his girlfriend profess their love even though both had been exposed to some of the world’s ugliest realities. It’s an ending Lynch nails- because while everybody seems so content with their now “resolved” lives, there are clearly consequences coming from these actions- its like Lynch saying to Hollywood “look, you wanted this nice ending where the bad guys die and the nice guy ‘wins,’ I’m just going to film it suggesting that there is no feeling of finality that can be completely sincere- the past is always with us.” And this is where I see the similarities to Showgirls. Showgirls goes the more obvious route to hit this soul of darkness, merely by setting the film in a city whose nickname implies its OK to go ape-shit in a desert of immorality. It’s a place where the oppressed urges of Blue Velvet come to the forefront (Jeffrey could easily be Zack in ten years), but with lack of morality comes lack of understanding, and that is certainly one trait all the characters in Showgirls exhibit beautifully- arrogant ignorance. In the end, I think both filmmakers are alluding to the fact that these people are not only crushing their hopeless lives, they are also slowly chipping away at the moral fabric of America. Then again, that is a foundation typically criticized now because it is based in Judeo- Christian values which did a pretty good job of ostracizing plenty groups of people in the past. One of these camp films would do John Waters’ definitions proud- Showgirls is ludicrously tragic and tragically ludicrous but at an arm’s length way where we simply regard these things as so outrageous that they are under the breath funny; much like the laser guns from the 50s are funny because they show our love towards violence and our wild ideas about what the coming space age would be. Blue Velvet is just as ludicrous but does it in more of a subdued way reflective of the setting (suburbia versus burlesque dancing clubs of Vegas). Blue Velvet is clearly the better film, but both are certainly genius in their own right. Oh, and if you are counting, anytime there is a violent rape scene in a movie, its typically anti- American (and, hate to say it, awesome).

1 If you don’t believe my statement that the world of internet criticism is bloated, check out metacritic.com and see how many reputable entities there are, not to mention the bored-as-piss work drones like myself that try to add to this repetitive (“Wow! You thought No Country For Old Men was good too?”) journalistic genre

2 I still think Boondocks Saints was a pretty fucking terrible flick

3 Excluding, of course, the entirety of Van Damme’s films during this period, Back to the Future, Full Metal Jacket, and Raging Bull

4 Symbolism! Alright!

5 a.k.a. this movie would have been substantially more succesful if dreamy Tiffany Amber- Thiessen decided to show off her cans for this steamy showcase

6 Hi Yo!

7 Where does she hide that thing?

8 Vegas

9 Oh, I get it! Black people really like music, and their car stereos, so seemingly innocuous Asian people better not touch that man’s radio!

10 Sorry for the lack of clips for Showgirls, but youtube is usually pretty calm about the nudity, which the movie has a lot of

11 Sorry, been on a Rambo kick recently

12 Where he, surprisingly, wasn’t mentioning some sort of necrophilia

13 Which she is awesome at- I always thought Tori from Saved would be the rough one

Versus Number Seven

Concert Showdown: Les Savy Fav versus Rush

Background: Few things get my genetically weak heart pumping like the ambiance of a concert, and summer is feasting time. Assumingly to cater to those thankless, condescending college heathens¹, the performance side of the music industry really starts cranking during those class-free months of quickly warming bottom-shelf beer, baseball filled Sportcenters, and shit manual labor jobs². Because America is run on the sweet, sweet science of capitalism, when something is demanded, it is often supplied, which leads to a flux of shows throughout the summer. While I have had the opportunity to see several impressive acts these last few months³, Les Savy Fav and Rush, the last two bands I have seen, stack up to one another in some interesting ways.

Music: Musically, both of these bands have a competency that is rarely paralleled in their respective genres. Rush is a force unlike any other in popular music. A three-piece prog-rock tour de force, Rush has remained in the American musical landscape by releasing the occasional hit single (“Tom Sawyer,” “Fly By Night”) but more importantly by maintaining and embracing an unique image and ethic, as well as sustaining a rigorous touring schedule that has rewarded them with rabid fans the world over. While much is discussed over the inimitable voice of Geddy Lee, the virtuosic instrumentalism of Lee (bass), Alex Lifeson (guitar- very underrated player), and Neal Peart (drums) proves to be a considerably more potent presence- it is as meticulous as it is dazzling. The band possesses some characteristics, particularly their obsessions with science fiction⁴ and anti-rock-star image, that make a majority of music journalists treat them as a pointless niche band because clearly their time is better spent editing cover articles about Sting’s (hilarious) spiritual beliefs. The bands experimentations in song structure and nearly flawless technique give the songs a longevity that most- I’d argue Moving Pictures is a better album than anything released by the Police.

Les Savy Fav come from a very different place. Originally formed in the mid-90s by a group of Rhode Island School of Design⁵ students, the hard-to-define rock group records in bunches, tours in bunches, and rests in bunches. I was first exposed to Tim Harrington and co. later last year with the release of their third(ish) main release Let’s Stay Friends, having read its countless rave reviews and being intrigued by this lead singer who supposedly made Wayne Coyne look like James Blunt. The album is excellent, a bizarre combination of Weezer, Black Flag, Television, youtube, alcohol, and (judging my Harrington LOTS of) oreos that never goes for the Van Halen exit but is not so 'indie' as to not contemplate such a thing. “Rage in the Plague Age,” a propulsive anthem about Medieval Times, exile, and partying exemplifies all of the bands strengths, from a half way point that completely changes the rhythm of the song to Harrington’s desperate “Didn’t You?” howl at the end. “The Equestrian,” “What Would Wolves Do,” and “Getty Lee” are all at this elite level of song writing and musicianship, not to mention the band’s countless B-sides and singles, released sporadically over their roughly decade and a half existence. Les Savy Fav are a great example of a band being able to be influenced by other music without merely copying them. With the band currently at the height of its popularity, it will be interesting to see if LSF take this momentum and take the next big step, or go back their respective ways. I know for what I am hoping. Round Winner: Draw- Comparing the two is pointless.

Performance: Performance- one of the most underrated parts of a concert. I say that because most people are satisfied merely hearing any version of a song they like as long as they are crushing $10 drafts and looking at attractive/terrifying people during the process. I think the best example of this is a band like Widespread Panic, a band nationally recognized for its endless touring schedule as opposed to any particular song or album⁶. People treat these concerts more as social functions than performances, because in my experience seeing the band (5 times- I know, I’m a rook) Widespread isn’t going to do anything to upset anybody- they’re going to pick from their thirty to fifty go to songs and rock. While the crowd does vary from the young woman who is tripping over her leg hair whilst taking rippers in front of her infant to the faded-tat-wearing parking lot warrior, the majority of these crowds were/are/going to be Greek types who just want to get a belly full of mind altering substances. Rush’s performance is similar but more intense. The tip-top light show⁷, the screens that would go from screens of the forest during “The Trees,” to showing South Park characters do a hilarious introduction to “Tom Sawyer,” and particularly the audio-visual mind-fuck of seeing such loud, powerful music come from three squirrelly looking Canadian guys all add to the performance. Neal Peart’s roughly ten minute drum solo about 2/3s of the show through once again lead to a loud thump at the concert as people were passing out due to over-stimulation. Besides that, the band was very by the books- they played some new songs from their fan favorite Snakes and Arrows, some aforementioned hits, and some album tracks like “YYZ” for both Rush and Guitar Hero fan boys alike. I compare watching a Rush concert to watching a show like House- it may not be as mentally stimulating or socially conscious as The Wire, but it’s a solid idea executed almost flawlessly. Simply put, you don’t have to reinvent the wheel to enjoy a car-ride.

A Les Savy Fav concert is like trying to play Jinga with your mouth- its fun, hard to approach, and utterly ridiculous. While waiting for the group to come on, some innocuous tuning and strumming was getting the audience interested until who do I feel brush my right shoulder than Tim Harrington himself. It would only get weirder- the entirety of the show consisted of him walking, crawling, and [add joyous, infantile movement here]ing all around the crowd, kissing people, changing outfits, and otherwise adding to a greater sense of anarchy. Adding to this was a(nother) huge goofy looking bastard running around the crowd and screaming and trying to rile up the crowd, a guy who minus the sweaty nipple marks and seeming complete lack of self-discipline sort of looked like a Jehova Witness in terms of dress. If this sounds like a mess, I described it accurately. The amazing thing, though, was that the band, who plays very timing-based quick, angular music, did not miss a beat- even amongst this carnage that was going on that seemed like a mix between Dali and a port-a-potty, the band maintained composure, never breaking “I’m an indie rocker” demeanor unless to laugh at Harrington stripping down to his very skimpy red athletic (?) shorts. But as charged and creative as Harrington’s manic seizure was at times, he messed up pretty badly on one thing- he rarely, if ever, sings. The band plays a loud brand of music that is strengthened by a commanding lead singer- Harrington preferred to roll around in the mud and spit water over people over attempting to sing the song⁸. His diatribes in between songs were hilarious if puzzling, where Harrington would talk about the need to swallow people hole or some other wacky shit- I was sober and could not really translate what-in-the-fuck-this-dude-is-saying but felt it did add to the show as a whole. So, as a straight forward rock n’ roll show, Rush dominates, but if you are more in the mood for an avant-garde kiss-off to rock n’ roll convention, Les Savy Fav might be more your thing.

The Fans: So, there you are at work, thinking “why in the hell does he call it ‘versus’ if he merely is going to say either side wins if dah-dah-dah? I like my blogs with bulletproof arguments!” First off, simmer down now, as I’m getting to the victor. Now, when comparing two things that have so much in common and whose differences are merely arguments in taste, it is in the small things where victory and defeat are realized. In this case, that small thing is the fans. The fans at the Rush show were exactly how the fans at a Rush show should be: long-haired, tons of acne, Rush t-shirts⁹, drinking beers, and a cloud so thick of stick-icky smoke that one step into a common area is a life-long pass to failed drug tests. The fans knew the music and were enthusiastic about it- there was loud applause after the first few song recognition notes of every tune, which would directly lead to excitement from fans, like myself, who may not be too familiar with some of Rush’s “deeper cuts.” They would laugh at Lee’s jokes, participate when they knew it was appropriate, and keep the energy continuous for a two and a half hour show. Simply put: what you wanted in a Rush crowd.

The Les Savy Fav crowd was both boring and condescending by comparison. While I have no doubt most of the people who were fighting tooth-and-nail for leg space were highly anticipating LSF, at the same time, they literally fought all that way just to stand and try to look like they didn’t want to be there. Its an odd circle, these indie rock shows. I like the genre because most radio-friendly genres try to sell you, or rather, make you buy into another culture- if you listen to Toby Keith you better fucking have some jeans and some Confederate apparel, or if you listen to Chris Brown, you better have a tramp stamp, or at least the top of your underwear showing. It’s the obsession over image which can be sickening, and ideally, is what brings people to music where there isn’t necessarily a message or product to be bought. It is about enjoying yourself and the music in anyway you so see fit, but without taking away any enjoyment from your fellow concertgoers. If you go into a rap concert dressed like you are about to go yachting or going to Ozzfest looking like you are about to weekend at Ibiza, you will be criticized if not beaten, badly. These tight little groups of fans feel intimidated by an outside source even listening to their beloved albums, and as a consequence either think you are there to ridicule or don’t have the mental capacity to capture the subtleties of Lil’ Wayne’s wordplay. That is exactly the thing I am trying to avoid when I go to a lesser known group, particularly a group where a majority of the show is the lead singer openly making a fool of himself. But no, indie rock crowds don’t like to dance, they don’t like to sing along, they don’t want to applaud- they just want to be there in humorously ‘chic’ clothing¹⁰, bitch about what songs are not getting played, and, of course, stay long enough to tell fellow music listeners I saw _____ in ______ on ______. For those of us who were howling along too loudly, sweating a bit too much, or simply deriving too much pleasure from the show, you were gawked at and mumbled about by 100 pound kids (half of weight is tattoo ink) who don't understand the concept of how a lively audience at times can in fact lead to a state of synergy that leads to everybody involved having a better time. Now, as I’ve seen from numerous shows, not the least of which the Flaming Lips, Wilco, and Battles, this is not automatic from an 'underground music' crowd. When a popular indie rock band is playing well with an attentive, fun crowd (like those three bands) there is nothing better- the people love the music for all the same reason, but aren’t so jaded by what they are doing is “cool” or “buzzworthy” that they can’t enjoy the concert- the fucking reason they bought the ticket in the first place. Les Savy Fav, you put on a great show and I plan to see you the next time you are in my area, but until that point Rush wins this North Carolina concert throw down.

1 I should know- I was/ am one.

2 Aren’t those, for like, poor people?

3 Who in the hell would of thought They Might Be Giants would put on such a great show?

4 They did make an album entirely about the year 2112

5 Yes, this is the same college the gay brother from Wedding Crashers wanted to attend

6 I have hundreds of friends who would love to disagree with me on this point, but I think my ability to see the band with more objectivity is obvious when you see the amount of bootlegs and recordings people acquire from WSP. I refuse to call them the Dead for the new millennium because of their lack of a unique catalog, but I still applaud WSP’s fans, who are some of the most rabid out there.

7 Always been curious as to who designs/ runs these things

8 And if he did sing he sounded like Haley Joel Osment

9 Rush is one of the few bands I can think of where it is completely legitimate to wear one of their t-shirts to one of their concerts. The other two are Kanye West and the Police, because both of those guys are such egotistical dicks that their performance is probably strengthened by seeing consumer idolatry in the audience.

10 Who in the fuck thought tight jeans, an ironic t-shirt, and designer shoes would be such a fashion trend/ plague?