Showing posts with label Pop Culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pop Culture. Show all posts

Friday, June 26, 2009

Michael Jackson 'Beat It' To Death

Just when you were getting over the death of Ed McMahan or hearing about Farrah Fawcett, everyone went wacko for Jacko’s departure.  Not that there needs to be another “Michael Jackson Dead at 50” blog article—considering everyone and their siblings (Jermaine) are throwing in their two cents—but can’t people just chill out.  Maybe I have no room to speak here since I did gain some notoriety when David Foster Wallace committed suicide but I will nonetheless.

All the news has been talking about is Jackson this and Jackson that, meanwhile there are still things going on with Iran, North Korea, the Rep. Gov. of South Carolina, and some football coach got gunned down in his weight room.  It always seems that when shit hits the fan for the GOP, poof Michael Jackson dies, and guess what gets the coverage.  CNN, the big networks, ET Exclusives, number one on Twitter, it is big news but why does anyone really care.  I didn’t get all up in arms by the fact that no one gave a shit on TV when DFW offed himself and he was pretty much my God.  I don’t think toning down the MJ love will bother anyone too much.  Besides, these are the same folks that talked about how his dermatologist was taking him to Mexico to get his little Jackson bleached so it couldn’t be identified in a lineup.  And the last “megastar” you say, have people already forgotten Britney? 

But it is funny how celebrities always go in threes and how these three—McMahan, Fawcett, and Jacko—were at the top of their shitz in something.  McMahan was a part of the most viewed television program ever, Fawcett had the most sold poster ever—um, ger, by the way—and Jackson had the number one selling album of all time. 

But even though he was clearly the King of Strange as well as the King of Pop, his career was one of my first clear-cut memories.  At a year and a half, I remember without a doubt when the video for “Thriller” premiered and waiting for it beforehand.  I remember this because nothing before or since scared the piss out of me more than that video.  I wouldn’t even watch it again until I was 15—but then I did I saw what a little wussy I was as a kid. 

So now that the man with a million faces is no more, I will leave you with Triumph the Insult Comic Dog covering one of the Michael Jackson pedophilia trials.  Enjoy. 


Friday, May 22, 2009

Reasons Why I Hate Kate Austin of Lost


Last week’s season finale of Lost, The Incident, pissed me off through the one medium of the show that always pisses me off—Kate.  After getting past all the mystical shits and unpredictable events that always make up a Lost season ending episode, what you’ve got to notice is the predictable reactions from the show’s weakest character, Kate Austen.  In it I saw Kate fucking Austen being Kate—which is to say she was incredibly annoying and all acting like she knows what she’s talking about and generally slowing down the story and getting in the way and getting a more interesting character killed (although not so interesting in this episode)—and I don’t think I can take much more of her crap.  When the show ends, I have two things that must happen for me not to be seriously disappointed.  The first, previously mentioned, is that the real Locke had better be ruling the Island when shit comes to a close, and the second, is that Kate had better die. I am fed up with her whole sanctimonious, self-righteous bullshit—using her sex to get the shit she wants, slapping any number of men, just letting cooler people die, etc.—and I can’t wait for the show to hold its little tribal counsel and finally vote her off the fucking Island.  The only episodes of Lost I have hated were episodes that focused on her.  She’s manipulative and stupid and self-absorbed and boring and pointless and makes others around her seem like tools. It’s like she is Meg Griffin.  A while back I found someone’s assessment of Kate’s character which came in the following four phrases, which are spot on:

1. I’m pretty.

2. What should we do, Jack?

3. Shut up, Sawyer.

4. I’m coming along whether you want me to or not!

Yeah, Kate in a nutshell.  So with that finale, I am finally prompted to write out my Ten Reasons Why I Hate Kate Austen.  Here goes.

1. She’s Fickle- We can never be sure whom she is going to sleep with this week or how her sexual escapades will end up because she is constantly changing her mind about what the hell she is doing using her sexual allure as like a female executive trying to sleep her way to the top.  She makes out with Sawyer one minute and then beats him down with a suitcase or slaps him across the face or whatever.  Then once she gets off the Island she hops in bed with Jack and they were supposed to get married even, but she is sneaking around doing things for Sawyer.  When Jack gets all fussy and points out that he has repeatedly saved her and what not she says she doesn’t want him acting like that around her “son” and Jack utters a serious burn with “you’re not even related to him.”  Woo, ultimate face.  So now she hates Jack for speaking the truth and the wedding is off.  For Christ’s sake Kate, either pick Sawyer or Jack, quit bouncing back and forth to whichever one is more useful at the time.  She is always turning these leader types into heartsick idiots that she walks all over when she wants something.  She’s like a parasite befriending Sawyer for the shit he hoarded when they first crashed and then sidled up to Jack because he was the leader and saw the power of his position as her opportunity to be the Island’s Lady Macbeth or something.  It pisses me off that she keeps using everybody for her own personal gain and just keeps on lying to them to get it.  I pity the both of them for mainly just having to deal with her bullshit.  Next season, look for the reemergence of Skate (Sawyer + Kate = Skate) since Kate pretty much did nothing to help Sawyer help save Juliet (See Reason #2 for more on that), her competition, and hey hey, he’s now single again and Jack has sort of spiraled down the down the drain and lost his faith in humanity.  But maybe the existential Jack will grow on her.  Who knows with her.

2. Gets People I Like Killed (Or Seemingly Killed)- As hinted in Reason #1, she keeps on getting more interesting characters killed for absolutely NO reason whatsoever.  In the Lost time-line, the first death she was responsible for was that of her abusive father, which was justified I guess, but I don’t care about that.  Then came her childhood sweetheart Tom who she got killed when she was escaping from the law by busting through a barricade and he got hit by a bullet meant for her.  What does she do, nothing, she just leaves.  Again I don’t care; there isn’t anything of interest that has to do with Kate’s back-story.  But then once she gets on the Island is when the her getting people killed starts to drive me crazy.  There was the guy who was extraditing her back to the states who was dying anyway, maybe, and I assume Kate practically begged Sawyer to “end his pain” by giving him a quick death but only makes it way worse by shooting him in the lung instead of the heart.  Around the same time, she as well as Jack and Charlie let the pilot of 815 go walking around outside of the cockpit with the Monster making noises, failing to warn him that there might be danger.  He then gets eaten by the Monster and we later see him up in a tree all mutilated and all—yeah, I acknowledge this one might be a stretch, but the rest are not.  When they find Charlie in the jungle pretty much dead, having been hanged in a tree by Ethan, who was a serious bad ass, all she did was stood there and cried.  Way to help out, Kate.  Great effort there just standing there in the way and crying while Jack has to do everything.  But Charlie lived that near-death-experience.  Then there was the most infuriating one where she was supposed to go get Jin from the inside the freighter but instead stood around on the deck with her thumb up her ass.  Ten minutes after Kate was all, oh don’t go, Sun, you’re holding Aaron and pregnant and stuff, I will go get Jin for you, you get on the chopper, we see Kate finally try to go down into the freighter.  What was so goddamn important Kate, that’s what I’d like to know?  But Jack stops her saying something about him not leaving without her and they all look down at Jin as the ship explodes, again an inspired performance from Kate.  Way to make the extra effort there.  That made their flight back toward the Island pretty awkward.  So when Sun said to her old man, that she blames two people for the death of her husband and one of them was him, I figured the other one must surely be Kate for dicking around and not doing what she said she was going to do.  But frustratingly this turns out to be false and Sun and Kate are great old friends back on the mainland.  What the shit?  If I were Sun I would be pulling me some hair and punching the so called tough girl in the face instead of taking care of her stolen kid.  But Jin somehow survived, we think, but he could just be an incarnation of his form as the counterpart to the Locke imposter or something.  We shall see about that next season.  Then there was the death of my second favorite character (Locke being the first), Daniel Faraday, which she just let happen as she always does.  When Kate and Jack go along with Faraday on into Crazytown as he was about to go into the Others’ camp where he gets shot and killed by his mother, then pregnant with him, Jack was about to stop him but Kate was all “no Jack, don’t go.”  Thanks Kate, thanks for stopping Jack from ending the whole Infinite Jest-ish “the woman who kills you is always your next life's mother” thing.  Yeah, that was awesome.  Ugh, fucking Kate.  And then there was the season finale, when Juliet was dangling there above that electromagnetic hole with Sawyer trying to pull her up and Kate did what Kate does and just stood there.  Nicely done.  I mean did I expect anything more from her than to stand around awkward doing nothing when lives are at stake.  No, not really.  She was predictably unhelpful.  That bitch.

3. She’s Annoying- First, there is that whole bit about her trying to be the tough, strong, kick-ass-and-take-names female on the Island but then she does things like cry over a toy plane. Its like we get it Kate, you are a fugitive, but that doesn’t make you a hard ass.  Give up the act and stop making everyone’s life harder by trying to prove you’re a free spirit who doesn’t need anybody’s help.  Because Kate, if anyone does, its you.  Just stop.  Its getting embarrassing how everyone else keeps having to save you.  Also, she is ALWAYS interrupting people, suggesting that she feels what she has to say is way more important than whatever Hurley and Miles are saying.  What Kate has to say is rarely that important or interesting.  I can’t really remember any positive contribution she has ever made to life on the Island.  All she does is whine and lie and make a mess of things.  Its like to get anything useful or truthful out of her you have spend an entire episode twisting it out of her when she could have just said or done whatever in the first minute or so.  This is connected to another annoying fact about her, which is that she is a busybody, always butting into people’s business (like she did when she screwed everything up by talking to Ben’s dad) and asking about their pasts and all that but won’t say anything about hers.  When we finally figure out what she is doing it is always something really stupid, again I reference the goddamned toy plane, that really infuriated me.  I guess she did get some information out of Miles but that was only for her own personal gain (See Reason #4). 

4. She’s Unbelievably Self-Centered- She is unable to think about anyone but herself, ever, and is the most egocentric character in the show.  The only thing she really ever did was pull some bullshit con to take Miles to Ben but that was done only to get information about herself.   Always begging to be included and whining when being left out, she just has to tag along no matter who protests for whatever sound reasons so as to not to miss out on any of the action.  But she never follows orders so even when she is ordered not to come along, of course she follows the group anyway which always ends with her getting captured and her needing to be rescued thus ruining whatever mission the group is on.  Sneaky bitch.  She is a manipulative liar that lacks all empathy and care for others showing no conscience whatsoever in doing stupid things that she thinks she must do to survive.  Her megalomania is such that she couldn’t even get over herself when delivering Claire’s baby, Aaron, saying, “I’m scared too.”  Why is that do you think?  Maybe because she is a sociopath, I mean she does steel that baby later.

5. She’s Got The Worst Backstory- Her whole ridiculous pre-Island life was basically a way to give her character cause to whine for the entire run of the show.  It doesn’t make her look tough or anything and her flashbacks don’t really make any sense when you think about them long enough.  A fugitive from law being chased by the whole world it seems for blowing up some douchbag?  I think not.  I just want to grab her by freckled arms and scream “We get it, you’re a victim, you’re the way you are because your dad (that you thought was your step dad) beat your mom, but you blew him up. And instead of being grateful that you blew him up your mom betrayed you and still made you stand trial when you got back from the Island, but hey, she got over it and you didn’t go to jail.  Seriously, we get it.  Poor Kate.  Now stop bitching about it every other freaking episode, we aren’t going to forget it so you can stop reminding us all the time.” 

6. Gets Away With Everything And Constantly Whines- Which brings me to the obvious fact that she gets away with everything.  No one seems to care that she is constantly ruining whatever people are doing to better their lives on and off the Island.  She didn’t get in any trouble for murdering her old man, ducking the conviction by clinging to her stolen child and with the help of Jack and that incredibly dumb story he told in court that made her into some kind of a hero, which she isn’t, that was so lame and impossible it just made me want to throw up; no one lets the Others kill her for sneaking around when she should have stayed put; people defend her when her actions screw up their lives directly, as was the case when her erratic behavior tipped off Ben’s dad to the fact that she knew more about all that was involved in the shooting of little Ben than she let on, having Jack, Juliet, and Sawyer stick up for her, resulting in the end of Suliet (Sawyer + Juliet) and the comfortable life they had developed with the D.H.A.R.M.A. Initiative; etc.  She manages all this simply by putting on a pouty face (her only face) which affords her anything she wants.

7. Steals Babies/Screws up Children- Another thing she got away with was steeling Aaron away from the Littleton family to use him for all her emotional needs, for shame Kate.  How does the media not follow up on the apparent problems with the time-line/pregnancy stuff?  I think that would have been something that people would have noticed when they captured her.  In any case, Kate was well on her way on her mission to screw up a little kid before she finally did the right thing and gave Aaron to Claire’s mom while spilling the beans, as she always does, on the real story of Flight 815.  So when the blond lady who looked like Claire from behind appeared that she was running away with Aaron to live amongst the crazies or wherever, for a second I thought she would lose him, which would serve her right, and we would be rid of Aaron, at least for a while.  Yeah, he is a little kid… but he has to be the most irritatingly bad child actor ever, way more so than those Olsen twins on Full House, which is no small feet.  For a while I thought he had Down syndrome.   Every single time he says “mommy” or “juice box” I have to fight back the feeling that I am about the spill the groceries all over the couch and coffee table in the living room where I watch TV.  So why all of the sudden did she give Aaron over to an actual blood relative?  So she could basically watch him for a while as she goes back to the Island to find Claire and bring her back to raise her son.  Yeah right, she was tired of playing house like (in one of her painful-to-watch flashbacks) when she married Captain Hammer (from Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog) only to drug and run out on him when things got difficult. 

8. The Producers Have Serious Kate Love- Cassidy was right about Sawyer and his motivation for jumping off the chopper, the reason he deplaned in such a dramatic way wasn’t to save the woman he loved, oh no, it was to get away from the succubus that is Kate.  Yeah, Sawyer had the right idea.  Get a clue Lindeloff/Cuse.  Not even your own fictional characters can stand her.  But they have themselves some serious love for Ms. Austen.  

It would be great if they would get over her apparent hotness like everyone else and realize there is no use for Kate and kill her off which they won’t.  She’s a criminal with a heart of gold just like every chick in Brisco County Jr., Cuse’s first show, staring one Bruce “Jack of All Roles” Campbell, which is pretty awesome, yeah yeah, we understand that you love this type of female character…but this has got to stop already.  Jack, who seems more annoyed with her than anything else, was willing to go back in time and take incredibly drastic action by blowing up the Island either erasing the 3-years he knew her which she of course is against because that would mean her going to jail since her celebrity status couldn’t possibly save her or killing him.  Whatever happens, or doesn’t, its clear that Jack is hell bent on removing her from his life by any means necessary.  Her only merit was as one in a boring love triangle (or square I guess) that was the worst part of the show.  Any episode that focuses on her ends up sucking, therefore, they should have done the thing that talked about doing where Vincent had a flashback, which would have been awesome, I love that dog, but instead we got Kate overload.  Boo.  It isn’t so bad, I guess, that she is irrelevant as far as the story goes but the screen time she gets is unreal.  The episodes without Kate are almost always great but these are few and will probably disappear as the two camps, in 1977 and 2007, start to bridge the time gap.  Like that kid in your neighborhood growing up that was an asshole and everyone hated but always found out when and where you were hanging out or the guy trying too hard to get laid at a party, Kate never goes away.

9. She Lacks Self-Awareness- This, I think but cannot prove, is one of the reasons her mother hates her.  First of all, she killed her dad because she could tell her mother really loved him and took it upon herself to end the relationship.  Of course she didn’t see her mom turning her in coming because she can’t tell what people think of her.  All she sees is this persona she has constructed and follows that without looking back, ever.  On the Island, she believes her place is that of a strong semi co-leader instead of the wimpy, annoying, crying waste of space she really is.  She has always been weak link of the show/the Islanders with her whining and inability to make a rational decision for herself basing her actions on her unreliable emotional state at that exact moment.  It’s like she never developed the ability to look at the facts as they are when doing something and not just follow her impulses.  That is probably why she can’t help but jumping into bed with Jack and/or Sawyer seeing as how she can’t really function without a man around to manipulate first, including stolen baby Aaron.

10. Fucks Everything Up- This is her main problem, this constantly turning things into shit for everyone while offering no help in fixing things.  Usually the Losties are correcting some mistake she made or was in some way responsible for while she just sort of stands around all pathetic.  When she didn’t cause whatever new development, she is more than likely working on her own agenda that opposes what the majority has decided is right.  The most predictable part of Lost is that Kate will defy everyone with her ridiculous horseshit and do what she wants consensus be damned.  Like when Kate, in her ever-stupid-way, rushes to save the young Ben that Sayid tried to kill in order to spare their past selves that are confusingly in the future from the manipulating maniac he grows into.  Pretty much everyone agrees that Ben’s death here would be a good thing and they should just let him die, but oh ho, not Kate, who doesn’t think any child should die, after all young Ben is a victim too.  Not even if you know that he’s eventually going to kill a bunch of your friends, the entire D.H.A.R.M.A. Initiative, and a bunch of people who may or may not deserve it, not to mention tried to take the baby you rightfully stole and then telling those incredible lies that is just one series in a long and proud career of manipulation that gets you and the few friends that the adult version of this dying kid has yet to kill trapped-once again-on the this crazy patch of land that happens to be a time machine to boot that you flings you back some thirty goddamned years in the past.  Really Kate?  Fucking really?  Well, if anyone were to snatch away the hope that Sayid gave them by nearly de-mapping some asshole little kid who grows into a mass-murdering genocidal maniac, it would have to be Kate.  

Friday, April 24, 2009

After Reading Maddox's The Alphabet of Manliness I Am All That Is Man

Not too long ago, I was perusing the "Humor" section of Barnes & Noble and came across a book with a guy dressed like a gladiator punching King Kong in the face on its cover.  The book was The Alphabet of Manliness, written by 30-year-old internet personality Maddox, whom I had never heard of, and yeah, I couldn't imagine an image more manly than a guy picking a fight with the Great Ape (see right).  So I picked it up while killing time before work.  I pretty much just opened it to a random page, and what did I find but a section on how to conceal a boner.  Although there isn't really a wrong time to pop a boner, generally speaking, things can get complicated at say a funeral or a job interview.  So say you are being interviewed and you get carried away with talking about how awesome you are and suddenly you are completely aroused.  What do you do then.  Well you have a couple of options here, "the right way and the wrong way."  The wrong way is the way all ninth grade boys have tried and know doesn't work, that is, to lean over while in your chair.  This is bad because it draws attention to yourself.  We have all looked over and seen a guy doing this.  Our thought process is "Why is that jackass bending over, oh shit, I see."  Maddox explains "You might as well stand on a chair and shout, 'Hey, look at me, I'm a fucking psycho.'"  Tis true.  So then the right way.  The right way, simple enough, is to cover it up with something, say a book or a newspaper.  I found this part so hilarious that I actually laughed out loud in the bookstore.  I kept laughing.  I looked like a psycho.  From there, I couldn't not buy the book, and so I purchased this ridiculous book filled with nonsense.

But it is very funny, and like the previous anecdote, it can also prove to be pretty useful at times.   Another area that Maddox is exceptionally knowledgeable is his section on "Urinal Etiquette."  This should be required reading for every U.S. male.  Over the years, I have had quite a few strange bathroom incidences, like the old guy on the respirator who stared at me and I could feel him breathing on me while we were peeing or when this kid from undergrad and I were pissing and he started yelling at some guy to wash his hands, which I thought he actually did, and then mid hand washing tirade turned to me and asked if I "believe in fate" to which I responded that "this is the most existential bathroom experience of all time."  Both of these could have been avoided had these people followed the rules put forth in this section.  However, people are either going to love this book or hate it and its usefulness has absolutely nothing to do with it.  

While I was reading this book, I amassed two separate lists--1. Good things about Maddox and 2. All the ways in which he is an ass--and sort of based my final verdict on how well I could justify the things in list #2.  Some of the things in that second (and longer) list were things like he is a misogynist, his humor is juvenile, he is self-absorbed, etc.  On these charges, I say that his cruelty toward women is more satirical than anything else.  I am not sure, however, that the world of feminism is ready to to be satirized, or rather that we are ready to poke fun at this subject that still requires much work to done for equality.  He doesn't hate women, this much is clear in the acknowledgments section where he pays tribute to his female companion and to his mother (although at the end of this section he does retract the credit he gives to everyone else, saying "I hereby revoke all the gratitude I expressed above and keep it for myself), but I don't think those he thanks appreciate things like his how-to-guide of how to head-butt a woman in the ovaries in the section on "Ass Kicking".

That said, I do think Maddox's satirical humor is pretty damn funny, especially when it comes to farting, of which he states "There is a reason people use the phrase 'timeless humor' when referring to the act of passing gas.  That's because farts are always funny.  Always.", which is true, and also Taunting.  The guy can also write; that is, he is able to deliver his humorous anecdotes time and again.  Hemmingway he is not, but his prose are a lot better than others he is compared to, say Tucker Max (who is just a dick), and when writing about "Copping a Feel" or "Taking a Dump" or "Sneaking a Peak" it'll do.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

My Second Favorite Writer (Jonathan Franzen) on My Favorite Writer’s (David Foster Wallace’s) Suicide

In the middle of September, when my literary hero, David Foster Wallace, committed suicide, I was a wreck. I was a wreck before and I have been a wreck since. But I didn’t know the man. Previously, I knew that Franzen and Wallace were friends, but I didn’t know they were best buds. Since learning that, I was anxious to hear what Franzen would say about his amigo’s death by hanging and the life that he lived. Furthermore, I always thought of Franzen as being a much angrier and sadder writer and guy than DFW; in other words, I thought of Franzen as being more like myself. But then DFW died and I felt like I had been deceived briefly and then I felt like I had lost a friend (when in truth I really hadn’t). So this is what Franzen had to say about the suicide before giving a “not-so-dark” account of what it was to DFW’s friend which he says was a “great happiness and privilege and endlessly interesting challenge.” Here it is, curtsey of Adam Begley of The New York Observer:

“And so now this handsome, brilliant, funny, kind Midwestern man with an amazing spouse and a great local support network and a great career and a great job at a great school with great students has taken his own life, and the rest of us are left behind to ask (to quote Infinite Jest), ‘So yo then, man, what’s your story?’

“One good, simple, modern story would go like this: ‘A lovely, talented personality fell victim to a severe chemical imbalance in his brain. There was the person of Dave, and then there was the disease, and the disease killed the man as surely as cancer might have.’ This story is at once sort of true and totally inadequate. If you’re satisfied with this story, you don’t need the stories that Dave wrote—particularly not those many, many stories in which the duality, the separateness, of person and disease is problematized or outright mocked. One obvious paradox, of course, is that Dave himself, at the end, did become, in a sense, satisfied with this simple story and stopped connecting with any of those more interesting stories he’d written in the past and might have written in the future. His suicidality got the upper hand and made everything in the world of the living irrelevant.

“But this doesn’t mean there are no more meaningful stories for us to tell. I could tell you 10 different versions of how he arrived at the evening of Sept. 12, some of them very dark, some of them very angering to me, and most of them taking into account Dave’s many adjustments, as an adult, in response to his near-death of suicide as a late adolescent.”

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Medium is the Massage

Visually stimulating, Marshall McLuhan’s study The Medium is the Massage is, in a word, cool. When I purchased this little cool book back in April, I was working on a research paper dealing with the “electronic church” and how televising religious phenomenon undermines the meaning and the message of that phenomenon which I titled “The Falcon Cannot Hear the Falconer,” which I thought was clever.[1] It seemed like a book that would be popular among indy kids because of its cult status and coolness as well as for people like me who hate television, though McLuhan doesn’t seem to think TV is all that bad of thing. In this regard, I am more attune with Neil Postman’s book Amusing Ourselves to Death and, of course, DFW’s essay “E Unibus Pluram” but I do find this book to be informative and stimulating. It works in this way, by being stimulating and informative, the book which incorporates the work of graphic designer Quinton Fiore into the body of the text mimics the medium it is critiquing, critiquing in a more favorable way than I should like, probably. That is also sort of why I didn’t like it, I am sure, since I don’t think a book must resemble television to be relevant or popular, not to say that was really the intention of McLuhan, which it wasn’t, but I think its intention was to overwhelm us, if I am not mistaken, in the way that television overwhelms us. But as a product of a television culture, I don’t think anything can overwhelm us sensually. This is most likely the product of always living in a television culture as opposed to McLuhan’s “Age of Anxiety” where our mental faculties, at present that is, are much better equipped to sift the constant bombardment of images—it is all we know. The “mind control”[2] like images are well within our ability to handle.

In regards to the name of the book, the “Massage” here is not a typo on my part; it was actually a mistake on the part of the typesetter who originally made the mistake of setting the e in “message” to an a thus “massage.” When showed the mistake, McLuhan was reportedly thrilled with the typo since the book deals with the effect media has on all our sensory perceptions.[3] As McLuhan says “All media work us over completely. They are so pervasive in their personal, political, economic, aesthetic, psychological, moral, ethical, and social consequences that they leave no part of us untouched, unaffected, unaltered.”[4]

One of the main themes McLuhan explores in the text is the idea of a global community with the world becoming a smaller, more media dependent place as technology evolves and becomes more accessible to the world at large. He pretty much considers this a good thing, something I for the most part disagree with since this is somewhat presumptuous of us to assume everyone in the world want this—I mean this type of invasion was one of the reasons the media savvy Al Qaeda cited among others for the 9/11 attacks.[5] Such is the nature of community that determine and develop who we are. Children, for example, are no longer raised by only their parents, nor are they solely the products of their immediate surroundings, as McLuhan illustrates, technology means that “all the world’s a sage.”[6] He adds “electric circuitry has overthrown the regime of ‘time’ and ‘space’ and pours upon us instantly and continuously the concerns of all other men. It has reconstituted dialogue on a global scale. Its message is Total Change, ending psychic, social, economic, and political parochialism… Nothing can be further from the spirit of the new technology than ‘a place for everything and everything in its place.’ You can’t go home again.”[7] This comes in 1967, a full two and half decades before the internet totally obliterated the need for the two as we can now carry our information and community with us in high-speed-global-networking with technology allowing us instant access to all the world’s entertainment at any time and at any place, whenever we choose, 24/7/365, from “womb-to-tomb.” [8]

One of the areas McLuhan’s media theory is most genius and spot-on is with the idea that “all media are extensions of some human faculty—psychic or physical.”[9] According to this theory, the wheel is an extension of the foot, just as the book is to the eye, clothing to the skin, electric circuitry is to the central nervous system and so on. I do agree with this assessment, however, this has the potentially scary implications that McLuhan seems to think more positive than I could ever admit writing “Media, by altering the environment, evoke in us unique ratios of sense [perceptions. The extension of any one sense alters the way we think and act—the way we perceive the world. When these ratios change, men change.”[10] The reason he sees these as being good things, and superior to gaining knowledge through “book learning,” is because they compel, according to him, people to interact with the medium and with others. Books, on the other hand, he believes are opposed to social interaction since they are read typically alone by solitary individuals and thus isolate and alienate the individual. I tend to agree that being a reader does alienate from others who are more of the television watching variety and I do believe that this is the product of new technology that has made our literature far less relevant, but I think this is a very negative development and instead of producing a more intelligent/connected community, in this case global, in its vastness in its bombardment of fragmented/contextless information, it destroys the real sense of community people once shared with their family and neighbors and classmates and coworkers because in this world of internet and television and cell phone and email dominance, the individual is left even more alone and silent only knowing a machine while fooling themselves into thinking they are actually part of a real community.

So when McLuhan, whose book I really like and agree with in terms of how we are shaped by our media though I am critical of some of his interpretation of their effects on modern society, makes statements like “[mass culture is] a world of total involvement in which everybody is so profoundly involved with everybody else and in which nobody can really imagine what private guilt can be anymore”[11] and “information pours upon us, instantaneously and continuously” and “as soon as information is acquired, it is very rapidly replaced by still newer information “ and “our electrically-configured world has forced us to move from the habit of data classification to the mode of pattern recognition”[12] to illustrate that they are preferable to the old way of reading outright, I have to say he misses an important characteristic of mass culture and fails to see the significance of life that was known more fully and intimately before the whole technological revolution that is a product far newer than we can imagine with mass media having always been a part of our lives. In his view, people are unhappy because they are trying to use “outdated mental and psychological responses”[13] in order to experience and make since of the world which is complete horseshit. What would he have us do than, give up on such concepts as family and instead let our televisions, or worse yet, the internet, raise a child so things like love and understanding don’t get in the way of development in this postmodern, media addicted hyper-reality.

This idea, less naive than insane and twisted, also carries over into other areas of our lives such as our work and especially our education. To McLuhan, “today’s television child is attuned to up-to-the-minute ‘adult’ news… and is bewildered when he enters the nineteenth-century environment where information is scarce but ordered and structured by fragmented, classified patterns, subjects, and schedules.”[14] Here, again, one has to wonder what he would have us do about it, accommodate the child who he says is “growing up absurd” by integrating our educational system with technology, which is what has happened, and you have a media savvy little kid who can give you a lot of facts but you sacrifice theory and breadth in doing so. Of the television generation—i.e. those who are more or less raised by the set—he does say they are “a grim bunch”[15] but not for the reasons that one might expect. In this rare instance when he is somewhat critical of television but this is more of the crap being produced on it than of the medium itself, a development I found surprising considering the book is about media effects and such saying that “commercials” are the best reflection of understanding the medium since in them “there simply is no time for the narrative form, borrowed from earlier print technology.”[16] With that, he seems to be saying that we should embrace the fact that the medium and stuff we watch on TV is necessarily short and viewer friendly. However, he does make mention the medium in a somewhat critical way at least (and for as far as I can recall only) once when he talks about what is on the old tube, which he sort of defends saying “The environment as a processor of information is propaganda. Propaganda ends where dialogue begins.” Thus in this assessment, the television medium has the potential to be a negative that reinforces itself self-referentially in that when used to process and distill information, it enforces its cultural authority simply by its own design, a design that I argue inhibits us from true dialogue. However, in a hate-the-sin-love-the-sinner type argument, he tells us defends television content wise by writing “You must talk to the media, not to the programmer. To talk to the programmer is like complaining to a hot dog vendor at a ballpark about how badly your favorite team is playing”[17] Despite the terrible and somewhat misleading analogy, he does have a point, yet he undermines it with the fact that most of what he has to say about the medium of television is overwhelmingly optimistic and even goes so far as to defend it against critics who miss the significance of the medium itself.

The defense, which I completely agree with in terms of theory but again disagree in terms of the way we see the results that are more or less the same in both of our assessments, illustrates his deep understanding of the television medium and also how he believes in it. Responding to a 1965 cartoon from The New Yorker with the caption “When you consider television’s awesome power to educate, aren’t you thankful that it doesn’t,” it states the following:

The main cause for disappointment in and for criticism of television is the failure on the part of its critics to view it as a totally new technology which demands different sensory responses. These critics insist on regarding television as merely a degraded form of print technology… Critics of television have failed to realize that the motion pictures they are lionizing… would prove unacceptable as mass audience films if the audience had not been preconditioned by television commercials to abrupt zooms, elliptical editing, no story lines, flash cuts.

With this, assuming as it does that we actually prefer this medium because we conditioned to it, it is clear he is much more optimistic and far less critical of the medium than I am as a born, nay, conditioned cynic, which is true of most technology, I would imagine.

88 My own upbringing and subsequent adult life resulting from that upbringing, has virtually lacked all forms of mass culture, thus I am more adept than most at assessing and critiquing that culture, according to McLuhan, so maybe I have something here. He writes that “whoever sharpens our perception tends to be antisocial; rarely ‘well-adjusted,’ he cannot go along with currents and trends. A strange bond often exists among antisocial types in their power to see environments as they really are.”[18] This may account for our differences in the way we perceive media effects—I am rather far from away from being “well-adjusted” and pride myself on being an individual immune to trends of fashion or thought or whatever—as I do have a decent ability to see things “as they really are,” or so I am told. Maybe I could be sort of like the Tocqueville of mass media or something; but that is a world I choose not to visit—or spend very much time in anyway. I don’t think I will ever conform to it because it is something I cannot imagine really finding pleasure in, thus to suddenly spend time watching and learning from a culture that I am thoroughly uninterested in would be paradoxical and lose for me the status of amateur. Don’t get me wrong, I do watch the occasional program and spend a lot of time thinking about them, Lost would be the best example here, but I never get my news from the box, preferring print media to all others with NPR a distant second and relegated to time commuting to and from work in my car—but even that is only when there are no good songs on the alternative station and ESPN radio is talking about I sport I don’t care about like baseball. And I never connect with or through that culture—about the only thing I can talk about and sustain a decent conversation in is in the world of books, which are clearly very important to me. But as uninterested as I am in television culture, I am interested a thousand times more so in media theory, which some find dissonant, however, all of the great media theorists in my mind are those that McLuhan would call “antisocial” in that they go against the popular grain and choose to live outside the box that dominates American discourse. Such greats, to me at least are the likes of DFW and Jonathan Franzen (neither of whom are media theorists per se but deal with television culture as a whole) and Francis Wheen and Neil Postman, and none of them share McLuhan’s optimism. In fact, those writers are as or even more critical of the culture than I am.

With all of that said, I think McLuhan is a genius and I think this work is genius even though I tend to disagree with some of the outcomes he sees from the visual medium so a part of our lives. Plus I find the concept thoroughly interesting and engaging—the collage type images and words mingled in book form—and think it well worth anyone’s time reading. Some of the most memorable images from the book, which I will close by discussing, are one that depicts a sculpture of a giant woman with people around it to give its size some perspective and an image of women sewing onto a quilt the phrase “Keep into circulation the rumor that God is alive.” The first image, depicting a woman 82-feet-long and 20-feet-high that is titled “The Biggest and Best Woman in the World”, is interesting because it shows that you can walk around inside her, entering through the vagina like sperm. The concept and picture, of which all I can say is it is cool and interesting, are intriguing and make you think about the strangeness of modern art. The second image, which references Nietzsche’s famous “God is dead” is meant to be ironic I think. I am not sure what these women who are quilting the piece are motivated by or intending to convey—I suspect that they are suggesting people still have a need for church even though technology has made God unnecessary or killed Him/Her or whatever. Regardless, it is very apparent that the “the groundrule of [our] universe,” namely God, “upon which so much of our Western world is built, has dissolved”[19] and this quilt is meant as a representation of that fact. And it is for this reason and for making connection impossible that I find our media so toxic. Because even if religion is a fiction, I believe it is a necessary one for most of us, and keeping that in circulation can actually be a good thing so long as it is not tied in with the status quo, which means reinforcing that infernal piece of furniture.

See also:
http://lost-tv.tribe.net/m/thread/173fd275-6e25-40a3-ab56-dcf53109ca43
http://individual.utoronto.ca/markfederman/article_mediumisthemessage.htm
http://www.leaderu.com/orgs/probe/docs/mcluhan.html
http://masc1100.blogspot.com/2005/09/medium-is-massage-notes.html


[1] The title derives from the William Butler Yeats poem “The Second Coming” which is one of my favorite poems. In this second line of the poem, Yeats uses the falconer and falcon as metaphors for man (or woman) and technological advancement respectively. Man’s inability to call forth the product of its own imagination to control its message is the point of using this as a title. So it is clever.
[2] It kind of reminded me of the “Reorientation Film” that poor bastard Carl had to watch in ABC’s Lost which moved by at breakneck speeds and flashed words and images on the screen. I am like 99% sure that the show’s director had this book in mind when creating the montage. In fact, Jeff Jensen of Entertainment Weekly claims to have been given “secret documents” that suggest McLuhan’s work had even more influence on the show than with this one instance giving a version of the DHARMA Initiative’s mission statement, a mission statement I have never seen, that goes into specific detail about the effect of this work on the good old DI which can be found here. Plus there is a reference to mathematician Michael Faraday, the name of the guy that Lost’s Daniel Faraday gets his name from.
[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_medium_is_the_message
[4] Marshall McLuhan, The Medium is the Massage: An Inventory of Effects, (Corte Madera, CA: Gingko Press, 1967), p. 26.
[5] http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2002/nov/24/theobserver
[6] McLuhan, The Medium is the Massage, p. 14.
[7] Ibid.. p. 16.
[8] Ibid.. p. 12.
[9] Ibid.. p. 26.
[10] Ibid.. p. 41.
[11] Ibid.. p. 61.
[12] Ibid.. p. 63.
[13] Ibid.. p. 63.
[14] Ibid.. p. 18.
[15] Ibid.. p. 126.
[16] Ibid.. p. 126.
[17] Ibid.. p. 142.
[18] Ibid.. p. 88.
[19] Ibid , p. 146.

Monday, July 14, 2008

A Semi Blow

Semi-Pro, the Will Farrell box office flop, proves a total waste of film and not even worth your time as one of the worst sports movies ever made with no redeeming qualities.  There were maybe two points in the film that I smirked but never once did I laugh during its duration.  The film seems to have been made with the sheer intention of marketing Budweiser.  You will no doubt recall the Superbowl spots which ran one of a number of ads featuring Farrell, in character, bumbling through the beer commercials’ dialogue with a off screen voice that were just as awful and irritating as the actual feature.  Good God, everything about it sucked.  I think my old man’s reaction to the film pretty says it all saying “It caused me to lose all faith in movies” and swearing them off for at least a while. 

The only memorable thing about this movie besides making my father damn near physically ill was the film’s one-song soundtrack, “Love Me Sexy”, a song that (unfortunately) stays in your head for an incredibly long time it being hummed by your reviewer a month after watching it.  On occasion I even find myself singing its atrocious lyrics “Baby wake up, we’re naked.” to everyone’s terror and my better judgment. 

The ludicrous plot line runs thus: Jackie Moon (Will Farrell), player/coach/owner/marketing genius, attempts to resurrect his Flint Michigan Tropics (Let’s Get Tropical!) failing franchise by getting fans in the stands.  Only thing is, he has clearly never touched a basketball, among other problems.  With talk of merger, the owner will do anything to make a buck—e.g. dress his team in tropical themed costumes, shave points to avoid having to give away free corndogs on “Free Corndog Night”, volunteer his wife (who seems to be a real slut sleeping with every Mark Spitz stache in the film yet apparently never letting Moon stick his penis in his whore of a wife) for XXX halftime shows, wrestle a bear, etc.—except learn the basketball basics.  This changes after Jackie trades the teams washer for former NBA champ Ed Monix (Woody Harrelson) and led by star player Coffee Black (Andre 3000) aka Clarence Withers/Downtown “Funky Stuff” Malone/Sugar Dunkerton/ Jumping Johnny Johnson the team defects in a mutiny that leaves Monix head coach. 

Monix proves to be a real hard-ass despite the fact that he more or less gets everything he wants with complete creative control—respect from fans and players, wins back the girl (Lynn played by the ever lovely Maura Tierney) he cheated on back when he had game , etc.  So they start winning games, believing that the NBA will merge with the ABA’s top four teams.  This, however, like in real life, never was the case and going into their final game having made a miraculous turnaround from last place are now a half game back from their fourth place goal with a game against the team in that spot, conveniently, the San Antonio Spurs.   But as they set to play, they are told that their team is as dead as a doornail no matter the final outcome.  Apparently there are no playoffs or trade deadlines/restrictions with Jackie trading his star Coffee Black for God only knows, I suspect either money or a hotdog cart as he’s about to be unemployed.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth remembering.

So nobody gives a shit and they sure as hell play like it in the first half.  With the Spurs up by some quit-at-halftime type sum, some asshole who mysteriously is on every team they play (actually, the opposing teams seem entirely comprised of the same players, sort of like the Washington Generals if they put on different colored uniforms every night and sucked worse than usual) cheap shots Moon (with no flagrant foul shots apparently) and nearly kills him just before heading to the locker-room. 

This is when things go from incredibly stupid, witless, and foolish to unbearable and pointless and irresponsible and just plain sad.  After his near-death experience, Moon retells his team of his time in Heaven where he just visited with his deceased mother who by the way is an explained black woman who he stole his hit “Love Me Sexy” from after her unfortunate death from which the precedes allowed him to purchase the Flint team.  The sage wisdom bestowed from mother to son in the standard heavenly clouds was to use this great new play that would bring the team back from their incredible deficit—the alley-oop.  But they don’t have anyone with more than a ten inch vertical; luckily, their athletic former teammate Coffee Black has just traded himself back to the Tropics to finish the year with his former comrades in a reckless career decision that burns all his NBA bridges.  For the rest of the game, the Tropics mount a comeback based on Black’s dunks (clearly on a goal that is significantly under the regulation ten feet) from perimeter passes.

Forget the fact that the oop was already in use for at least a decade at that point, even if the play had been revolutionary, don’t you think they would have wised up before the final play of the game?  Well, they don’t and down by two the game comes down to the final ticks of the clock whereupon Moon gets fouled and is sent to the line with one second left in play.  Moon, who has yet to go to the line all season it seems despite never leaving the floor, shoots granny style to Monix’s utter disgust.  The thing about this is that the best free-throw shooter of the era was one Rick Barry who shot underhand which made it at least somewhat acceptable for players at any level.  So, of course, he sinks the first one but the second rattles around and out and with no time left Monix flies in and tips it in for the win.  They win fourth place, woo-hoo!  Who cares?  Right?

But the movie goes on for 20 more minutes in which it is revealed that Moon’s wife’s vagina is “for sad people”, Coffee Black or whatever he calls himself at that point resigns with the Spurs, some pot-smoking $10,000 shot winner gets part of his drug purchasing money from the NBA (not too different from what goes on with players in the league today), Monix and Lynn decide to keep getting it on, Moon is offered a high exec job in the NBA but it is dubious whether he actually gets the job since the bear on the loose who he wrestled in a failed publicity stunt attacks the commissioner of the NBA.  After the bear attack, Jackie screams “Everybody panic!  It’s just like Titanic, but it’s full of bears!”  What an appropriate way of ending this piece of shit movie.  Mercifully the credits begin to fall.

This is the second of three crappy movies (You Don’t Mess with the Zohan being the first with Fools Gold [sic] as the third) viewed in my week home last month that were so bad they made me wonder what, if anything, some actors won’t put their names to just to make a buck.  With that though, one thing is clear, Will Farrell’s popularity has reached a plateau.  Soon people will no longer go to see variations of Ron Burgundy and he will end up going the way of Paulie Shore.  Do yourself a favor and get a new act, otherwise, people are going to wake up and say “fuck Will Farrell” just like we collectively did with Shore after BioDome.  And this is going to happen sooner rather than later.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Men and Their Toys

The documentary Guys and Dolls, which deals with the recent phenomenon of men purchasing Real Dolls that are the equivalent to a very realistic and very expensive blowup doll—something like a plastic woman—takes you into the lives of five men who own these inanimate people. The film itself, fine as far as it goes[1] in depicting this particular subculture, ends up showing you basically what you would expect from the lives of men who have sex with dolls. But it does ask the expected questions and seems to answer them in a somewhat straight forward manner from the mouths’ of the owners of said sex dolls.

The first of the five men that we meet, a guy unfortunately named Davecat, seems to be one of the more screwed up of the bunch. Davecat lives at home[2] and his Real Girl is the cause of much family feuding. This guy, more than anybody else, seriously gives me the creeps. His dad, who is understandably freaked out about his son’s affinity for plastic people, proves unsupportive of his son’s extracurricular activities wishing that he would go out with an actual human being. All of this gets told to us second hand by Davecat, presumably because his father is embarrassed about the whole thing and wants nothing to do with it. Anyway, he explains that he has always had a fascination with manikins and has stories of when he was younger wondering off at the mall to talk to “synthetic women” in miniskirts or something.

The next gentleman featured in the film is Everard, a 50-year-old man who is incredibly lonely and sad and a guy you can’t help really feeling for. Everard, who also lived with his mother for a suspiciously long time, has been alone since her death eleven years ago and has (creepily) kept his mother’s room exactly the way she left it then. What makes this even weirder is the fact that she died in a nursing home and like recreated her room there Norman Bates style.

Next up is Gordon and he is just as unsettling as Davecat just in a slightly different way. Whereas Davecat has my vote for most likely to be a serial killer, no small feat among these men, Gordon is most likely to be a mass murderer. Don’t be surprised if you see this guy on a killing spree a la postal sometime in the future. Gordon, who admits to having an attachment to “inanimate objects,” also owns three guns two of which are assault weapons and not to be fucked with. “Three guns and two girls,” he boasts. Like the other two men thus far mentioned, Gordon has an interesting family background, his father left when he was less than a year-old and his mother buys him things like four-and-a-half feet tall medieval-looking swords. No correlation is ever proposed between this fact and the men preferring the company of dolls.

Two of the few men anywhere, one would guess, that have Real Girls and girl friends are the last two featured in the documentary. The first, Mike from Texas, is in the early stages of a relationship with a woman named Jody; he has be upfront about having at least one Real Doll and hasn’t scared her off yet, and now that he has a girl friend, claims to no longer use the dolls to get his rocks off. Jody remains unconvinced. So do we for that matter. Nonetheless, he contests that he will “give up the dolls for the right women” which he believes could very well be this woman Jody whom he met over the internet. He has began attending Sexoholics Anonymous meetings at the local Catholic church and even sees wedding bells in their future. At one particularly stomach wrenching point in the film, Mike cleans out his favorite (Lexi) of the eight dolls that he owns. He sticks a cleaning utensil that looks like a feather duster into the doll’s vagina saying that it is beginning to “smell like fish” and, pulling the vag-duster out of the artificial womanly orifice, there is a grime that is truly indescribable and almost made my female companion throw up. Despite his persistence that he is not having intercourse with any of his “girls,” he does admit that sometimes he “wakes up with a raging hard on” and wants to have sex with something while his living sexual partner is either asleep or away. So Mike gets this seemingly brilliant idea, rocket scientist he is not, that springing a proposal of a foursome between him, Jody, and two of his favorite dolls for his birthday would further their relationship. All of this, however, proves to be far too confusing for Jody who splits a week after filming.

The other guy who is currently in a relationship, Slade, may or may not own a Real Doll himself,[3] is known as a quote unquote “doll doctor” who fixes them when they get old and flabby. Seeing his workshops sends chills down the spine. In Slade’s garage are five or six dolls[4] hanging, in a row, from chains that fit noose-like around their necks and makes you recall images from the dungeons of serial killers you see on Real TV. The effect is kind of surreal. Anyway, when having sex with a Real Doll, he says “it comes alive.” It is so lifelike, he contends, that “when you push it feels like it is pushing back.” Somewhat grounded in reality though, he recognizes “it’s just a doll—a high form of masturbation.” It is his girl friend, Rebecca, though who expresses an obvious fact that none of the men seem to have realized—that the Real Girls have set an unrealistic standard for the female form. This typical feminist rhetoric is very true as can be seen with many men and their affinity for porn, this, however, is an actual manifestation of the fantasy into the 3-D world we as human beings live in making it all the more likely that these men will set standards that no woman apart from some .01% could measure up to, literally.

The result of all this ends up being a special kind of sadness in that you just know all of these men will ultimately end up being hopelessly alone. Gordon, for instance, speaking of an ex-girl friend, says that the nicest thing she ever did for him was leave him right before Christmas, that allowed him to spend the money he had been saving up on himself rather than buying gifts for her. He admits “if you are 39-years-old and haven’t found anyone by now, you’re probably not going to.” Well, you certainly won’t now with a couple of freaky life-like dolls hanging in your closet. It seems that these men have sort of just given up. “It looks like it is just me and my dolls from here on out” Everard says, adding “But there are worse things in life.” And one would have to agree that there are worse ways to live. I would strongly suggest not judging these men, I mean more power to them, but it is all pretty weird. All of the men, with the possible exception of Slade, have serious self-esteem issues, clearly. With that said, if they aren’t hurting anybody, why not let them live this bizarre fantasy out to the fullest. However, one of those things that are worse than living with the dolls, Everard says, is “living alone.” But sadly, he is living alone. This points to the two major psychological problems in living out a fantasy, namely that (1) these men have chosen an inanimate Real Girl over a real girl which makes actual person-to-person connection impossible which leads (2) to their constructing such a detailed fantasy that they have blurred the lines between that fantasy and reality in such a way that they are having trouble distinguishing the two.

Living in your own fantasy 24/7/365 makes actual human connection impossible and unless they stop, they are going to have their dolls and nothing else. “I know what to expect, with real girls[5] you don’t get that,” Davecat says pointing to a fact that while it is true, people with thoughts do tend to be pretty unpredictable, is really the problem itself. From time to time, he makes half-hearted attempts at dating “organics” but will always go back to “living in a Barbie world” because “It’s Fantastic!”[6] What he ultimately wants is a constant, and “you can’t get more constant that a doll.”

Which brings us to the second problem, all the men, on some level, tend to think of their dolls as being living things. Gordon again sometimes thinks “I hope I don’t get her pregnant” or “she doesn’t give me any diseases.” Likewise, we see Davecat experience real grief in having to part from his doll for any amount of time.

Unfortunately for Davecat, he has to take his “sweetie” in for some repairs which will take three weeks, the longest they have been apart for the past six years. What this really involves, however, is his putting her in a cargo box and shipping her across the country as you would say a book or a television. An obvious sadness is going on he admits. He sure has that right. He doesn’t mean it the way you would hope though, he says “they’ll be missing each other” and that he “has never had anyone to say good bye to.” But absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say, and “when she returns it will be like a second honeymoon,” which implies a first honeymoon which is heartbreaking.

Despite the film’s tagline, that “For some, money really can buy love,” ultimately it doesn’t. It never does. These inanimate lifelike recreations of a human being do not offer any of the psychic consequences, neither positive nor negative, of being with an actual living and breathing human being. All they are and all they ever will be is an elaborate fantasy that perpetuates the loneliness and alienation that we already experience way too much of.

[1] In that generic documentary way.
[2] Go figure.
[3] Though he does admit to having sex with them on a few occasions, which if he has never actually owned one is even grosser and creepier considering that he repairs them for a living so would have to like barrow another guy’s sex toy. What does that say for cheating btw? I assume most of the men in this film anyway would be pretty upset indeed if they thought their artificial partners had some other man’s dick in their nether regions.
[4] One of the dolls doesn’t have a face, having been removed for detailed painting, which exposes the plastic underneath the area you wish the face was. With teeth and eye sockets, the plastic does resemble a crude skull which makes the scene horrifying if for only a brief moment until you realize the girls aren’t real. This does, however, make you wonder how many serial killers own these things. Jeffrey Dahmer, for instance, didn’t want to kill his victims so much as have the living equivalent of a Real Doll which he attempted to create by drilling holes in the heads of young men and pour acid down into their skulls so as to make them “zombie-like”—i.e. turn them into sexual partners that do not themselves have the ability to think or act much like these men seem to themselves want.
[5] As in women with an actual pulse.
[6] In case you don’t recognize them, these are the lyrics to Aqua’s song “Barbie Girl”. I am so funny I just threw up.