Monday, August 18, 2014

passion for life

Today I was fixing my morning coffee and I noticed that there were TWO roaches in my kitchen.  Horrors.  I feel violated.  Will this nightmare called Summer ever end?!  After bleaching every surface and scouring the internet for a new apartment, I remembered that one of history's great icons had a similar problem.  A calm washed over me.  Things could always be worse.  I could be living in the Empire of the Ants!


Before she reigned supreme as the Queen of Television, Joan Collins was struggling.  Down on her luck and married to Anthony Newley, Joan spent most of the 1970s selling timeshares South of the Florida Coast.  Her days were spent schilling Swedish meatballs to white trash tourists who were inevitably more interested in a free boat ride than than they were in buying communal vacation property.



“Have you ever taken a good close look at what the ant is all about?”


Joan still made the most of a bad situation, using the experience as practice for interacting with aggressive Hollywood moguls and undignified starlets.  These were the years where Joan was refining her signature style - layering turbans over her wig, full face, ostentatious earrings.  You'd be hard-pressed to find a realtor more elegant.


There was this one trip where all her potential buyers were attacked and killed by giant, mutated ants.


"I'm still in charge here."


In what would become her trademark, Joan turned tragedy into triumph.   She came back to the states - dumped Limpdick Newley and never looked back.  Gone were the days of living in her sister's shadow.  Like the Phoenix from the ashes, Alexis Carrington was born - and all thanks to monstrous, genetically-mutated ants.


Let Empire of the Ants serve as a reminder that our best years are still to come.  We will make it through August and live happily in Autumn.  Speaking of...there are only two months to Halloween.  Whether she's in Monaco or St Tropez, Joan Collins does not let the seasons interfere with her yachting schedule.  Stock up on cottage cheese and celery, dolls, because it's time to start our regimes.  I think I'll be a slutty real estate agent this year.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

pigs in space

Good morning.  Happy Sunday.
I interrupt our previously scheduled Booze Brunch to remind you that this weekend marks the 17th Anniversary the second greatest sci-fi horror movie ever made.


Event Horizon.


To commemorate the occasion, I figured we could drag everyone's favorite FaggotyAss Feature:


That Gay!

In this week's That Gay, I'd like to re-introduce you to Jack Noseworthy.


Jack was called "Baby Bear" in Event Horizon because he had an angel face and milky smooth skin covering his 24 pack abs and because older men always paid for his brunches.  God I miss the 90s.


Like Friday the 13th's Kevin Spiritas before him, Jack Noseworthy is a big old Musical Theatre Queen.  He was supposed to star in the Lestat! musical for Elton John, but there was "an issue."  You know I love a man with issues.  I saw him in Pippin and once I followed him down 54th street when he was co-starring in The Sweet Smell of My Success, but I couldn't afford to see The Sweet Smell of My Success so I went home and ate pop tarts in my underwear.  We have the same birthday and we're both Massholes.  Can you feel the connection?  Alright, fine.  He's married.  Now let's talk about Event Horizon.


Event Horizon is about how Sam Neill went crazy after he divorced Isabelle Adjani and (after a brief stint as paleontologist) he signed up for the space program.  In space, he and his crew find a haunted house floating in space that opens up a portal to an evil Hell dimension (like Howard the Duck).


I remember seeing this movie like it was yesterday.  They didn't really market Event Horizon, so when I went with a bunch of my bro-friends to see it midday at the off-brand theatre in Danvers, we had no idea what to expect.  We were an otherwise rowdy group until the movie started and things got real uncomfortable.  Long story short, Event Horizon scared the shit out of us.


We couldn't even speak to one another because we were so freaked out.  I think a couple of my buddies actually had to leave the theatre.  We drove home in silence.


If you haven't seen Event Horizon, I've already said too much.  It's terrifying - on par with Session 9 and the Exorcist 3.  Hieronymus Bosch in space.  It definitely borrows from Alien and Hellraiser, but it also informed dozens of movies to follow, including Prometheus.  Turn off the lights, snuggle up with your blanket, pretend the sofa is a spaceship and lose yourself in one of the great summer horror blockbusters.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

the plant that ate dirty white people

I'm terribly sorry to report that it's still summer.  Last year I put up my Halloween decorations too early (probably around this time) and by the time October was finally upon us, I was over it.  So, let's forge ahead.  There are plenty of quality summer movies for us to enjoy.


I've been going on a lot of hikes lately.  Rather, I should say I had been going on a lot of hikes.  You see, one day last week up in the Palisades mountain range, I came across a HUGE black rattlesnake.  I was like Mother Abigail from The Stand, facing off against Satan.    Even since then, I haven't been going on hikes.  This is a terrible story because I love my hikes.  This is a no-win situation, like everyone's least favorite FaggotyAss Summer movie, The Ruins.  I found a DVD copy of The Ruins in my pre-Autumn clean-out and I watched it this morning so you wouldn't have to.


The Ruins was directed by Lee Pace's boyfriend, Carter Smith.  Carter Smith made the fabulous short film, Bug Crush, which no one would ever give us permission to acquire for FEARnet.  But now FEARnet's dead and we can watch it right here.


Isn't that terrific?  Accordingly, Hollywood let Carter (already a successful photographer) direct a big-budget horror movie starring everyone's favorite aughts trainwrecks.  Jenna Malone.  Joe Anderson.  Bobby Drake.  Ugh, can you imagine the smell on set?  And people wonder why I hate summer!


The Ruins is about a group of twenty-something retirees in the Caribbean.  These are those kids you see on instagram and facebook - the ones whose parents get them jobs in "development" until they realize that dayjobs aren't really their thing so they trek off to some country you've never heard of on their daddy's dime, grow out beards and wear lots of earth tones to offset their $300 sandals; the kids who have perfectly matted hair and pose along cliff-sides with their skateboards in impoverished countries like they're Cary Fukunaga.  That's The Ruins.  The characters spend their days drinking expensive drinks and imploring locals to take them to forbidden Mayan temples where plants can talk.  Those crazy Mayans.


You know I never try to lead you astray, dolls.  But rewatching The Ruins, it's not very good.  Maybe I just can't get past my hatred of entitled white people with disposable income and no sense of their place in the world.  It also doesn't help that all the women in this movie are presented as shrews, actively making things more difficult when they aren't screaming and making a mess of everything.


This is a holdover from that dreadful Saw/Hostel moment in horror culture when movies could get away with showing kids with no backstory being murdered for ninety minutes.  It's probably worth your time if you have a Jonathan Tucker fetish.  Like most Jonathan Tucker projects, he shows off his bum about 13minutes in.  I guess that's something.


All said, I think you should save yourself the anxiety and watch Bugcrush instead.  The Burning's good too.

Friday, August 8, 2014

I've got a bad feeling about this.

Good morning.

Yesterday, Universal quietly dropped the news that they had acquired the Anne Rice Lestat franchise (yeah, the whole thing).  Hmmmm....

I've written about Interview with the Vampire.  In 1994, David Geffen made Interview with the Vampire.  Geffen was the most powerful gay in all media (he still is, really).  Being the most powerful gay in all media allowed him to get Neil Jordan and Stan Winston and Brad Pitt/Tom Cruise, as well as $90MM behind what is unquestionably the gayest horror franchise in history.

Now it's being made by four straight men (two of whom have neglected to include a single queer character in any one of their multiple picture franchises) and a lady studio exec.  Hmmmm....


While I try to stay on the side of love and light, this news has me more anxious than I was when all that Prop 8 business was going on.  While it's been 20 years since Tom fell in love with Brad, I don't believe for a second that a major studio would be willing to finance a 10 picture franchise around gay vampires.


Get money, Anne.  Get paid, Christopher.  I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the dirt.

Now you'll have to excuse me, I'm going to lie down and listen to "The Art of Letting Go" on repeat.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

skyrockets in flight...

Hi, dolls.  I took today off my previously scheduled unemployment napping to pour some of the floor for Marilyn Burns.  How are you doing?  


I, for one, don’t go for summertime.  Fuck sunburns and trying to cover up my love handles.  Give me autumn!  Give me sweaters and hayrides and cider donuts!  Yesterday I was bumming around the mall and the Goddess heard my prayer – Hallmark has their Halloween goods out already.   Praise her!

The best business (aside from a witch doll just COVERED in black glitter) was their selection of the new, 2014 Yankee Candle autumn flavors – Harvest and the newly improved Pumpkin Spice rank just above their Pumpkin Apple and Pumpkin Buttercream.  Run don’t walk!

So, I’m sitting here with the shades drawn – contemplating leaving the house for a run or going to the gym – while this Halloween candle stares at me.  Taunting me.   How do we ever get through these two months to Halloween season?  Do I just hibernate until October? Oprah finally started airing reruns of her talk show on OWN and I'm starting to feel like myself again.  
You know what I think we need?   
We need a FaggotyAss Movie Club to get us through these Dog Days of Summer.  


Since it's still August and humid and seeing as I'm currently funemloyed for the first time in my young queer life, there's no better movie to get us started than the smutty French thriller, Stranger by the Lake.


"Bonjour. Croissants.  Fromage.  French fries!"


Stranger by the Lake is about exactly what I'm going through right now.  Franck is funemployed and it's summer so he goes off to swim in a magic lake that only gay people know about.  They're all French so everyone is naked and uncut and they all have adorable sneakers.  We know that Franck is our final girl because he shaves his balls and he talks to the dumpy old man who sits all by himself.  See, I don't like strangers.  I'd love to go to this magical lake, but the minute I was expected to socialize, forget it.  Not to mention, they keep referencing some sea monster that lives in the water.  Come to think of it, the sun is bad news - as much as I like sun-kissed highlights, it's not worth looking like a handbag (Luke Evans) and the last time I went on a hike, there was this HUGE rattlesnake.  Oh God.  Even thinking about it makes me shake.  Haven't I been through enough?!


Back to the film (the fact that Stranger by the Lake is French demands we call it a film and not a movie)...


One afternoon, while creeping behind some bushes, Franck witnesses gay on gay murder!  MURDER!  Like any red-blooded bottom, this only makes him desperately attracted to the killer.  He proceeds to spend the entire summer chasing homicidal dick all around that lake like a damned fool.  You know what?  Good for him.  Live.


This movie is great.  Timeless.  A midsummer night's dream.  Stranger by the Lake sets out to examine how our dicks usually wind up winning over our intellects.  This is especially relevant now with everyone treating PREP like a panacea and using Grindr free of consequence, it may as well be 1981 all over again.  You know what they say about history, dolls.

Friday, June 13, 2014

He Lives

Friday the 13th

 + 
Gay Pride 

Full Moon


Today is a sacred day.  Consider it your moral imperative to LIVE tonight.


And, by live, I  mean dressing like a whore, getting drunk, having sloppy sex in a tent [or a cabin] and shopping online for underwear and really expensive summer sweaters.



xoxo



Monday, February 24, 2014

on Hannibal (the series)

Hannibal is a television program made by Bryan "Pushing Daisies" Fuller.  I like Bryan Fuller.  He always seems sweet.  I like to imagine us as kindred spirits since we both wear big glasses and have trouble maintaining our figures.  He wrote for Star Trek - I was an dayplayer on Star Trek.  I once saw him at a Friday the 13th screening at the Vista and he was actually friends with Adrienne King.  They sat together and everything! Classy.


Bryan Fuller has a high-end antique/interiors shop here in Los Angeles.  Accordingly, even though I normally abhor procedural dramas, Hannibal (the series, not the 2001 film) is a sensory feast. The interiors are so lush and the camera work is so intricate I that I forget I'm watching a procedural.  I fall into a deep reverie every time Hannibal drinks from a perfectly lit and polished wine glass.  My mind wanders and I find myself wondering how I can retreat all the surfaces in my apartment in shades of matte grey and blood red.   That's really all I ask of any program.  Unlike the other noted homosexual show-runner, Ryan "friend of Julia Roberts" Murphy, Mr Fuller's programs are whimsical and consummately plotted.  Hannibal is no exception.


I had bronchitis last week so I watched the entire first series of Hannibal (British people call seasons "series").  I've never had more lucid fever dreams.  Maybe it was the codeine, maybe I'm just getting old, but I found this series genuinely frightening.  Exorcist 3 frightening.


Mads Mikkelson plays Hannibal Lecter.  He has great hair and creates an imposing silhouette.  I can't understand a word he's saying most of the time.  This is not necessarily a criticism.


Gillian Anderson play's Dr Lecter's therapist.  She's got secrets - notably, her dermatologist.  She's never looked better.


Hugh Dancy.  He left Claire Danes all alone with their baby to run around Canada filming this show that takes every opportunity to fetishize his flawless bone structure and perfect skin.  Thank God!  I wonder what he eats.  In every picture of Hugh and Claire, she's always clutching onto him and he's always looking off in the distance at something else.  I bet he's a good drunk.


Watching Hannibal, reminded me just how "queer" the whole Thomas Harris franchise is.  It's like Anne Rice without the vampires.  Focusing Hannibal's mania on a pouty, delicate Brit only accentuates the homoeroticism.  Good job, NBC - you finally made a gay show.


As this is a Bryan Fuller series, all our friends show up for cameos.  Ellen Greene.  Raul Esparaza.  Vada Sultenfuss.  I can't wait to see Kristin Chenoweth show up as Clarice Starling's concerned, musically inclined sister in season four!