The Passion of Darkly Noon

This movie isn't good, and I don't advocate watching the whole thing. I only watched it because Viggo's in it, and it wasn't available on video back in the mid-90s when I was going through my "I'll watch anything Viggo's been in regardless of how terrible it is" phase. (Hm, maybe it wasn't a phase 'cuz I am still doing it.)

Like most movies featuring a pre-Aragorn Viggo, he doesn't show up until halfway through, so I was sitting there with ants in my pants for 45 minutes anticipating his appearance. Viggo plays "Clay," the live-in paramour of half-naked ho-bag Ashley Judd. It's 1995 (the same year as his lusty turn in Crimson Tide), so Viggo's lookin' hottttt. But here's the catch: Clay is mute. He doesn't freakin' speak. So Viggo is limited to communicating via whistling, sticking out his tongue (pictured), and sticking his tongue down Ashley Judd's throat (not pictured.)

Brendan Fraser has the titular role of Darkly Noon, a recently-orphaned Bible freak/cult survivor who is taken in by Ashley Judd. SPOILER ALERT! Here's a picture of how the movie ends:

Yes, that is Brendan Fraser, painted red and wrapped in barbed wire. He is spying on Viggo and Ashley having SEX. 'Nuff said I think.

Bastards of the Party

This 2005 documentary aired on HBO and played a couple of festivals, but was otherwise overlooked, which is a shame. Directed by former gang banger Cle Sloan, Bastards of the Party presents a decade-by-decade history of South Central L.A.'s African-American street gangs, from their unassuming origins in 1950s, to the aftermath of the Black Panther Party's demise in the 70s, to the unprecedented "black-on-black violence" of the 90s.

Interviews with Sloan himself provide most of the audio track, which -- given his long-standing personal history as a member of the Athens Park Bloods -- humanizes the conflict and lends a shit-ton of credence. He also speaks with black community leaders, OGs (that's original gangsters in layman's terms), and City of Quartz author Mike Davis, whose book inspired Sloan to begin his critical inquiry into the roots of his neighborhood's gangs. (City of Quartz was required reading for one of my intro Anthropology classes in college. Now I kind of wish I'd actually read it.)

What I liked about this documentary (in contrast to the more exploitative "A&E" or "True Hollywood Story"-types of street gang docs) is that it doesn't sensationalize any aspect of the life. It acknowledges the violence, the drugs, the money, the power-- but its core message is one of reform. It's not "Hey, look how hard we are!" but instead, "Look at how fucked up we are. Here's how it's happening and why. Now how can we start to fix it?"

Sloan's inexperience as a filmmaker shows, especially in the frenetic editing, which moves from soundbite to soundbite so quickly that it's often difficult to digest what's being said. But his charisma and ability to talk sense are what makes this film work. The soundtrack is pretty dope, too.

Gordon's Great Escape: India

Episodes 1 - 3

If your only exposure to Chef Gordon Ramsay has been through loathsome American shows like Hell's Kitchen, then you are sorely missing out. Unlike the one-note hothead he plays on FOX, Ramsay's actually got some depth to him, and is likable as hell. We already know that he is incredibly passionate about cooking. What I loved about this series, which follows him on a culinary journey throughout several regions of India, is that it highlights his remarkable ability to connect with all people, regardless of status or language, through a shared love of food. (Given Ramsay's intense pottymouth, it's probably better that most of the people he meets don't have a full command of English.)

His main reason for coming to India, Ramsay says, is to grow his skills as a chef. He's always loved curry ("Britain's Favourite Dish"), but has a nagging feeling that what Britons recognize as biryani and korma are dumbed-down perversions of the real thing. And from what we see here, he'd be right.

Gordon's travels take him from Delhi and Lucknow in northern India, to the remote northeastern states of Assam and Nagaland, to Mumbai and on to the southern states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. Not only does he eat in all of these places-- he cooks, too. Whether he's learning to prepare sambar from a master street chef in the Dharavi Slums, or concocting an original Indian feast for Bollywood stars and dignitaries, Ramsay puts his ass on the line again and again.

Indeed, Chef Ramsay's cajones are on full display here. (Um, not literally. Although he does at one point wear a rather flimsy muslin kurta that barely grazes his knees.) What I mean is, dude is ballsy. He makes Anthony Bourdain look like a spineless wimp. Whereas Tony whines when his No Reservations producers force him into things like roller skating and surfing, Gordon gleefully volunteers himself for stunts that are truly crazy. Like Bull Surfing in Kerala. Or facing off against dozens of Indian housewives in a cooking competition. Or "tapping" a palm tree for toddy by shimmying up its trunk with a tea towel between his feet. (One thing Tony does have over Gordon is a fondness for the drink. In one scene, Gordon spits out a mouthful of the esophogas-searing palm wine and asks his fixer, "Are you trying to fucking kill me?")

That's my favorite thing about Gordon -- he is an open book. There's no onscreen brooding or ironical, self-deprecating voiceover. His honest response to most situations he's faced with in India is "Oh shit" or "Shit shit shit shit." But he says it with a smile on his face, and while you're watching him, you're sure to have one on yours, too.

Telechubby’s Back -- Now with 100% Fewer Commercials!

Sometime around the spectacle of the 2011 Super Bowl, I overdosed on television.

My enthusiasm for pop culture crack had started to wane in the months prior. First I grew tired of my so-called "favorite" TV show, Fringe. I couldn't make it through an entire episode without dozing off or getting up to wash the dishes-- a very bad sign. Then I spaced part 2 of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Reunion Special. Where was my head?! No longer concerned about Lisa, Adrian, and Kyle apparently. Soon even House Hunters International seemed cumbersome and predictable.

At the same time, our cable bill was skyrocketing out of control, especially considering our meager income(s).

Most significantly, every commercial was a ball of tin foil scraping against the enamel of my molars.

This confluence of circumstances led to what once would have been unthinkable for a pair of TV junkies: we gave Comcast the heave-ho. And since our television is a relic from the analog days, we don't get network stations. No ABC, CBS or PBS. No signal. Not even snow.

Since then, I've lost all interest in celebrities (except for you, Viggo.) I no longer browse (let alone buy!) tabloid magazines because I don't know who those spindly orange people inside are. With no TV schedule to hold me prisoner, I've found time to read books.

But do not despair, fair reader! This is not a blog about books.

We are now reborn as TV Streamers. Thanks to a tiny black box known as a Roku, we can stream Netflix (and other free and paid entertainment options) directly to our Idiot Box for the low-low price of $7.99/month. No TV Guide Channel. No 24-hour news networks. And best of all, NO COMMERCIALS!

With a cornucopia of options to "Watch Instantly," and so many of our friends going cable-free, I need a platform from which to share my good and bad streams. British Sketch Comedies? Check. Obscure Documentaries? Check. Forgotten 80s Sitcoms? Check. The requisite New Releases? Check. If I'm watching it, you're reading about it on Telechubby, new and improved after its tummy-tuck. Less fat, more definition!

The Guy Next Door vs. The GuyLiner

"I am a superstar in the making. I am the next American Idol."
--Adam Lambert, ostensibly said on the day of his first audition

Here we go, judges: Kara looks nauseous. Randy is wearing a purple tie and a purple shirt. Paula is wearing a dress made from the hide of Slimer. And Simon Cowell... eh, I don't have any comment about his appearance because he always looks the same. I wonder what he'd look like wearing a print? Say, a tartan plaid flannel shirt?

Kris won the coin toss (brought to you by a Coca-Cola coin) and he'll be going second. You know what that means... get ready for the glam man! But first a commercial, which is lucky for me, 'cuz my cookies are done. (Tonight, in honor of this momentous event, I'm simul-blogging, so no, you will NOT be spared the details.) Now on to the contestants' personal song picks:

Adam picks his biggest hit of the season so far, "Mad World." He looks awesome in silhouette, wearing a long trench coat and futuristic boots. (Dude, how come no sing Bowie? If they ever remake Todd Haynes' Velvet Underground ((heh, yeah like that'll happen)), Adam should play the rock idol.) How does he do that with his eyes? Randy gives him an A+. Kara is also a fan of the rehashed song choice because she considered that first pivotal performance a game changer. Paula claims it's "unbelievable" that he's standing on that stage right now... just what is unbelievable about it? He's been the forerunner for weeks, lady!

Awww, when he was a kid, Kris gave his mom handmade coupons for "music." I used to do that, too. My mom never redeemed them. For his personal pick, Kris has chosen "Ain't No Sunshine," which he performs at the piano. And it's a hot one. Cowell admits he wasn't sure whether America was right to pick Kris over Gokey, but says after hearing that performance, he's changed his mind. (No reaction shot of Gokey here, unfortunately.)

Simon Fuller's picks:

Adam does Sam Cooke's "Change is Gonna Come" and I can't think of a stranger song choice for him. Unless perhaps Fuller's trying to get Adam to demonstrate the far-reachedness of his range? But Adam's "theatrical" facial expressions don't do this song any favors, frankly. Still, the vocals are solid and his more sincere emotions come through by the end. Kara and Paula go a bit cuckoo with their praise, while all Simon says is, "You're 100% back in the game." As if he ever left-?

Katie Holmes and Suri in da house. Mama Holmes is covering Suri's ears. Well, it is a concert, lady. You don't have to bring your Baby Alive everywhere.

Kris plays guitar for Marvin Gaye's "What's Goin On." This song has never sounded so relevant as it does tonight. Whenever I hear Marvin's version, I think, "Ugh, this is so late 70s." But hearing Kris do it, I can actually appreciate the timeless qualities of the melody and lyrics, and not the datedness. Well done, lad. Randy thinks it's a little too light for the venue, but Kara disagrees and says Kris could enact social change with his music. Simon has a Jason Castro flashback and says it was all a bit "dorm room."

Cookies all gone. Me sad.

Top 12 reunion shot! Anoop's growing a depression beard and Scott apparently has no idea they're onscreen because he looks dour. And a bit haggard. Guess that one haircut was all he got.

Kara co-wrote this year's Idol song, "No Boundaries" (or some inspirational shite like that.) They're both going to sing the same song, apparently. That's pretty cruel. Is Adam wearing shorts? I thought I saw leg. No, they're skin tight bleach-treated jeans. OK, good. This seems like a really tough song to sing. Kara looks nauseous again. (She knows Simon's gonna shit on the lyrics.) Simon praises Adam and says he deserves the title. Hmmm. If he wins, does his first single have to be this mountains/hurricane song?

I can hear my cat puking in the other room. I'm serious.

Here we go again. "No Boundaries" as sung by Kris Allen. Snore. You'd think this type of song would be better suited for Kris's mainstream poppy style, but actually, I think I liked Adam's version a little better. Is Kris trying to grow a mustache? The judges seem to agree the key was too high for him, but ask people to vote based on the season and not on this final (lackluster) performance.

Who knows what will happen at tomorrow's results show, and I have to wonder: do these guys even care? Because let's be real: they are both guaranteed success in the music industry, with or without the title of American Idol. The judges love them both; the fans love them both; they are both different kinds of artists: separate but relatively equal. I think they're just relieved the competition is over and they can get to makin' records, makin' money and makin' love.

P.S. Carrie Underwood's jeans/boots combo is really cute.

Blame Canada

With all the flagship reality competitions wrapping up this week (Survivor; Dancing with the Stars; Idol), I thought I'd better hop on some new TV bandwagons, lest I find myself halfway into summer with no shows to watch, let alone blog about. So I hunkered down with some TJ chocolate-covered pretzel slims and a notepad to watch the premiere of the latest incarnation of The Bachelorette, starring ex-Bachelor Jason Mesnick's jilted second-runner-up, Jillian Harris.

Uh-oh. I think I am outgrowing this slimy series.

What do we know about 29-year-old Jillian, other than that she's Canadian (which means we're going to have to listen to her say "aboot" and "baahthroom" all season long)? Well, in a nifty video montage, we learn that she has a vast bikini collection. She buys hot dogs from street vendors and hungrily devours them. She washes her car in short-shorts and high heels. No wonder America (as host Chris Harrison is intent on repeating) has fallen in love with her! She's Alberta's answer to Daisy Duke! And apparently, she's got a thing for country boys...

In Jillian's noble quest for her Prince Charming/Mr. Right/Mr. Invisible/Soul Mate (she uses all of these cliches interchangably throughout the broadcast), one thing about this mystery dude has already been decided: he's a white guy. Yes, all 30 bachelors are white; not even a token minority in sight. (If you try to convince me that the unaccented, Argentinian-born Juan, at right, is an exception, you'll lose.) Apparently Jillian likes to refer to herself as "a polished hick," so let's not feign surprise at her narrow color spectrum.


Among Jillian's fair-skinned suitors:

• Nutty Tanner P., an unabashed foot fetishist who convinces Jillian to dip her feet in the pool so he can surreptitiously look for corns/toe jam/crooked toes. (He doesn't find any. Damn.)
• Michael, a good-humored break-dancing instructor who is roped into "battling" with a pint-sized wannabe model named Bilbo. (Bilbro? Whatever.)
  
• Kyle, a baby-faced Brooklynite and vintage clothing enthusiast, who makes the mistake of prattling on about his affection for big city life (and is sent home. Nobody likes pretentious 25-year-old boys.)
  
• David, who resembles a skinny, white version of The Rock. Upon stepping out of the limo to introduce himself to Jillian, he completely blanks on what he wanted to say. 20 seconds of silence. Probably the most sincere entrance of the night.

After mingling with the dudes for a while, Jillian remarks that each guy she talks to is better looking than the last. No they're not. That's the wine talking. Finally, Chris Harrison comes in carrying a silver tray. On the tray is a biscuit. On that biscuit, every bachelor must ejaculate. The last one to shoot his wad has to eat the biscuit. {Sigh} If only! It's just the freaking first impression rose, and Jillian gives it to the mute, David.

I don't know what else to say about this stupid, implausible show, which-- with the recent Jason/Molly/Melissa and DeAnna Pappas debacles, is now completely devoid of any semblance of credibility. I can't watch. I won't watch. I don't give a single, solitary shit about it. Not even a turd pellet. Not even a ghost poopy.

I will look elsewhere for my next blogged-about-show to-be.

Get Ready for a BIG Ding-Dong!

(That's what he said.)

OMG, OMG, OMG! The final two Idolists have been revealed, and they are ADAM LAMBERT and KRIS ALLEN! America is on a roll: first we elect Obama, and now the two dudes who actually deserve a shot at the Idol title are going to get it! I admit to not watching the results show (opting instead to watch the Lost season finale, exorbitant # of commercials and all), but here's what I thought of Tuesday night's performances:

Danny Gokey #1: Paula chose the Terence Trent D'arby song "Dance Little Sister." (How ironic that Danny himself can't dance.) Paula said she picked Terence because he became iconic overnight (yeah, because he posed naked on his album cover! Don't go there, Gokey.) For a second I thought Randy was playing sax, but then, upon further inspection, I saw it was just Al Roker. Just kidding, it was some other fat guy. Anyway, the D'arby sentiment was a good one, I think, but the song choice was, nevertheless, wrong. Marc said he always used to skip this track when he would listen to the album. To which I replied, "You actually owned a Terence Trent D'arby album!?" (Also: how do you skip tracks on a cassette tape?)

Kris Allen #1: BFFs Randy and Kara picked One Republic's "Apologize." Monkey-boy sang the whole number sitting at the piano, which I was a tad disappointed by. I would have liked him to start out predictably and then turn the song on its head. It was sound-alike all the way through, albeit a very pleasant sounding sound-alike.

Adam Lambert #1: Cowell chose one of his (and my) favorite songs, U2's "One." I like the soft side of Adam, which was on full display for this song. He looks kind of like a Vulcan. I love his quiet confidence. After this performance, it appeared as if Paula finally realized that Gokey is NOT going to win.

Gokey #2: This dude is so long-winded! He loves to hear himself talk. He picked the pukiest of all puketies-- Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful," a.k.a. the song that Little Rascal Alfalfa sings to his girlfriend. This is the Gokey I loathe: shmaltzy and tight-pantsed and wedding singeresque. His performance improved about halfway through when he busted out the strong vocals, but for me, it was too little too late. That's just my O-pinion, Danny.

Kris #2: Monkey did a solid by choosing Kanye West's "Heartless" for himself. I actually don't know this song so couldn't compare it to anything, but it made me think Kris could be a very sucessful Jason Mraz-y type.

Adam #2: Aerosmith's "Cryin" -- a great music video, BTW. Remember when Alicia Silverstone was THE hot chick? Adam is a natural born rock star. (Did you see him on the cover of EW this week?) Every time he screams, I expect his tongue to be forked.