Home again, home again, jiggety jog.
United is the official sponsor of my crappy mood of this morning -- they made me (and Jane, poor thing) get up at 5:15 a.m. so we could leave by 5:30 and get to the airport by 6, cancelled my 8 a.m. flight, put me on a later flight, stuck me in an aisle where the seat does not fully recline, and put me in the cabin where the big movie screen didn't work. Also, they wouldn't let me into the Red Carpet Club when I got bumped, even though I'm a premiere member. Hi, remember me? I chose to fly to Australia with you. Bastards
On the upside, they passed out a customer service survey on the plane. Bwah hah hah hah.
My current kick-ass mood is sponsored by Lotti and John and Angie and Jordan and Liz and Pat and Cousin Jimmy, who participated in a bad-movie groove-a-thon chez Lotti and John. The double bill: Reform School Girls and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, with a special appearance by Salt, the festival-entry short film by John Knowles and the other guy whose name I don't remember. (Sorry, other guy. But you were really funny!) It'll be shown at various Chicago comedy fests and such -- and they may be going international, with a possible spot in a Toronto comedy fest. Go, John and Other Guys!
But back to the double feature: I had never seen Reform School Girls, the Wendy O. Williams masterpiece. I had no idea that so much lingerie was involved in the rehabilitation of our juvenile offenders. And high-heeled boots. And kitten stomping. And selective quotes from the seamier passages of the bible via loudspeaker. And food fights. And branding. And lipstick. And hair-care products. And skeezoid truck drivers (Jim Staskel, we can only assume that you were related to and/or blackmailing one of the producers.) And Tennessee Williams moments. And shorty pajamas. And thongs. And bleach. And chain gangas. And... well, you get the idea.
As for Beyond the Valley of the Dolls...Oy. Where to start.
Well, let me just lay out the facts, and then indulge in a little opinion:
It was written by Roger Ebert. Yes, that Roger Ebert. It makes less than no sense.
Highlights include:
My contention is that everyone in America should at least try to watch this movie. Then decide: Should you take movie advice from the man who wrote this travesty. My answer: No. Hell, no.
Even Lotti was traumatized. And that takes some doing.
Also, welcome to Lotti's Cousin Jimmy, who put up with our insanity with remarkable restraint. I think he might have actually enjoyed it all. Wheeee! We have another one!
United is the official sponsor of my crappy mood of this morning -- they made me (and Jane, poor thing) get up at 5:15 a.m. so we could leave by 5:30 and get to the airport by 6, cancelled my 8 a.m. flight, put me on a later flight, stuck me in an aisle where the seat does not fully recline, and put me in the cabin where the big movie screen didn't work. Also, they wouldn't let me into the Red Carpet Club when I got bumped, even though I'm a premiere member. Hi, remember me? I chose to fly to Australia with you. Bastards
On the upside, they passed out a customer service survey on the plane. Bwah hah hah hah.
My current kick-ass mood is sponsored by Lotti and John and Angie and Jordan and Liz and Pat and Cousin Jimmy, who participated in a bad-movie groove-a-thon chez Lotti and John. The double bill: Reform School Girls and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, with a special appearance by Salt, the festival-entry short film by John Knowles and the other guy whose name I don't remember. (Sorry, other guy. But you were really funny!) It'll be shown at various Chicago comedy fests and such -- and they may be going international, with a possible spot in a Toronto comedy fest. Go, John and Other Guys!
But back to the double feature: I had never seen Reform School Girls, the Wendy O. Williams masterpiece. I had no idea that so much lingerie was involved in the rehabilitation of our juvenile offenders. And high-heeled boots. And kitten stomping. And selective quotes from the seamier passages of the bible via loudspeaker. And food fights. And branding. And lipstick. And hair-care products. And skeezoid truck drivers (Jim Staskel, we can only assume that you were related to and/or blackmailing one of the producers.) And Tennessee Williams moments. And shorty pajamas. And thongs. And bleach. And chain gangas. And... well, you get the idea.
As for Beyond the Valley of the Dolls...Oy. Where to start.
Well, let me just lay out the facts, and then indulge in a little opinion:
It was written by Roger Ebert. Yes, that Roger Ebert. It makes less than no sense.
Highlights include:
- A Shakespeare-quoting music mogul with a dark secret
- A wide-eyed innocent girl-group rock band
- Their lusty (male) manager
- An inheritance
- Porn stars and gigolos
- A bartender who dresses up as a Nazi on special occasions
- A poor but honest law student fighting the heavyweight champion of the world for the affections of a comely young lass.
- Massive drug and alcohol abuse
- Even more massive music abuse
- Tragic accidents and suicide attempts
- Paralysis
- Seductions, both abortive and successful
- Lesbian affairs
- Lots and lots of sex and nakedness
- A good bit of poorly executed blood and gore
- Absolutely nothing that approaches any kind of coherency.
My contention is that everyone in America should at least try to watch this movie. Then decide: Should you take movie advice from the man who wrote this travesty. My answer: No. Hell, no.
Even Lotti was traumatized. And that takes some doing.
Also, welcome to Lotti's Cousin Jimmy, who put up with our insanity with remarkable restraint. I think he might have actually enjoyed it all. Wheeee! We have another one!
posted by SAJ at
11:13 PM
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