Bob Saget at Tilles Center

Originally appeared in The C. W. Post Pioneer

"No, Billy. Stop f***ing that goat! You stop it!” 

Yes, some comedians can’t handle a heckler. Others can. Bob Saget, however, not only handles them, but brutally destroys them from the comfort of his mic stand. Mr. Saget responded to a Post student, an accounting major named “Billy” who repeatedly shouted at Bob during his act, by alluding to the fact that “Billy” has f***ed a goat and put a starfish on his c***. Some reading this article may be troubled by the fact that in only three sentences, we have already had to censor out three words. “There is no need for dirty language” you may be inclined to say. Well, in fact, there is a need. To review Mr. Saget’s performance and not quote obscenities is like to review Pablo Neruda and use no Spanish. It can be done, but it will lack the flavor, and penis jokes are as essential to Mr. Saget’s craft as that little “n” with the squiggly line on top was to Neruda’s. 

    For those of you who don’t know, Bob Saget is a comedian, most famous for playing the squeaky-clean, loveable dad Danny Tanner on Full House (though I’m pretty sure most people would prefer I explain who Pablo Neruda was, but that’s not terribly relevant to the article). Well, whether he’s telling dirty jokes to 85 year old Jerry for his birthday or singing about his extremely affectionate dog, upon viewing this show we all knew one thing for sure. If DJ’s dad could hear what that man on stage was saying, he’d fall right into the arms of Kimmy Gibbler, the character with whom Danny was having an affair, according to Saget’s rewording of “I Want It That Way” entitled “Danny Tanner Wasn’t Gay”.

    It must be acknowledged that Mr. Saget’s show isn’t for the faint of heart. Indeed, quite often even I was close to blushing at some of the words spouted during the performance. Yet Saget isn’t a shock comedian, in the vein of Sam Kinison or Howard Stern. Rather, Saget weaves the obscenities into his bits to emphasize moments and jokes, with mastery at times along the lines with Lenny Bruce or Bill Hicks. Ok, maybe at times he goes off the rails, but if you had to deal with drunk (or so I hope, otherwise I fear for our future) audiences shouting out “Cambodia!”, “I seen him!” and “My dog licked my b***s!”, you’d probably start indiscriminately swearing to. 

    From the stage, Saget asked Jerry, his 85 year old new buddy, whether he though Saget was funny on America’s Funniest Home Videos. Jerry responded with “You were then, I don’t know about now!”. Well, I for one know about now. So, thank you for coming to our homecoming Mr. Saget. As you would say, you tore that motherf***er up.

Harpoon in the Night by The Twinkles

{Originally published in the C. W. Post Pioneer. Growing tired of the hipster element on campus, and the demand that we review more things "most college newspapers do", I decided to review a non-existent indie band's album. I would later use the fictional guitarist Johnny McDane and bassist Frank Harmony in my film Shadowplay}

“I’m a bleeding boy with a black-belt in broken dreams”

And with that, Ditko Jones opens up the third album from his phenomenal band The Twinkles, Harpoon In The Night. I tend to avoid “hipster” bands that get raved about by Pitchfork.com and it’s brethren, and I didn’t much care for The Twinkles first two albums, the electronic drivel that was Heavy As Heaven, and the warbly Bright-Eyes-knockoff, Joyriders. But the album’s opening track, “The Stranger God”, kicks off a bizarre bluesy tone, like a piano bar on acid. Every track, with the exception of the instrumental “Disorder And Early Sorrow” by bassist Frank Harmony, is written by Ditko, whose new European techno-punk influence blazes out clearly on tracks like “Full Bodied Flames” and “Cushion Game”. Ditko’s groaning, moaning, almost monotone singing style is at it’s best on this album, as well as the screeching, Sonic Youth-esque guitars by Johnny McDane. The most touching point comes in the soft acoustic ballad “Bridged Out”, a song in which Ditko simultaneously deals with his addiction to prescription pills and promotes the free downloading of music online, as he claims he has “…already succeeded the best that I can/No longer need your f*cking money, man”. Sharing verses with Ditko on this track is the amazingly versatile Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond, who performs stunning vocal riffs reminiscent of Yoko Ono in John Lennon’s “Happy X-Mas (War Is Over)”. The album’s finale, “A Man And His Dog” is a twelve minute epic, sweeping from indie-electro-hardcore-alterna-folk, to violin-fused-trip-hop-jam-rock within the bat of an eye. What is to be admired most about The Twinkles, though, is not just Ditko’s ability to front a band while he is impaired with tone-deafness, but rather that every song on the album consists of only one or two chords, and rarely uses more than six different notes in it’s melody. If you can track down this album, I cannot recommend it enough. I promise you, The Twinkles will not end up being some obscure band 20 years down the line that you only listened to while you were in college because you wanted to be cool and stand out yet fit in so that you’ll have to explain to your kids why you were such a douche bag back then.

Battle of the Week entires

{All originally published in the C. W. Post Pioneer. My very first article at the Pioneer, our college newspaper, was something we'd dubbed a "Battle of the Week". I had, at the first meeting, butted heads with the Head Editor over Lady Gaga, who had recently performed her single "Paparazzi" at the VMA's. We decided she would discuss the "pro" side of Gaga, and I would tackle the "con". The piece proved popular, and soon I was ranting and raving about everything from P.T. Anderson's Magnolia, to Avatar and doorknobs. Here I've published only my sides of the debate}

Lady Gaga

No matter how much you “wanna take a ride on” my “disco stick”, you won’t. I’d probably catch something. This year at the VMAs, an award show I watched primarily to ogle Taylor Swift, the best new artist category was a joke. You had the douche who “loves college”, the guy who made the repetitive-like-a-herpes-outbreak “Best I Ever Had”, two people I’d never heard of, and the always unsettling Lady Gaga. The winner was about as unpredictable as the outcome of a Cubs game. After observing her drenched in blood like Stephen King’s wet dream, I wondered what the appeal of this woman was. It seems, while her music is actually pretty good, most people just see a woman who may be avant-garde, or just bat-shit crazy. Her date is Kermit? Really? The day she’s on Sesame Street is the day they let Michael Vick on Blue’s Clues. Now, I get the glam thing. I like Bowie and Kiss. But once the make-up and androgyny over-powered their music, they ditched the gimmicks and just performed. For Lady Gaga to haunt my stereo, and not just my nightmares, she needs to calm down, be a musician first, and a spectacle second.

Andy Samberg

I swear to Christ, I want to shove my dick in a blender any time I hear anything by The Lonely Island. And no, I’m not saying that as a play on their song "Dick In A Box". I would just rather have rapidly rotating blades hacking at my dangly bits than have to listen to that god-awful “humor”. I have yet to find anything Andy Samberg has given this world that I don’t want to send back. The guy looks like if Woody Allen and a mule had sex, and Andy got the mule’s comedic talent. There was a time, America in the 50’s, where saying “shit” on stage got you in jail. Lenny Bruce became a martyr for free speech in comedy. For god sake, Andy, Lenny Bruce died for your right to say “fuck”, and you waste it on idiocy like “I’m On A Boat”. Conceptually, the work could be genius. A rap solely about being on a boat is a great springboard for comedy, and it’s wasted by having no joke other than the premise. The Lonely Island is the equivalent of that guy who lights his farts on fire. And if the Lonely Island is the future, that fart guy’s getting a Grammy.

Armageddon receiving a Criterion Collection DVD

For years, the Criterion Collection has been the apex of quality DVDs. They’ve brought us the likes of Bergman, Fellini, Cocteau, and Fassbinder, as well as modern auteur like Kevin Smith and Wes Anderson, and packaged them with such fascinating features that they are the definitive releases. With commitment to the accentuation of quality films like these, how in the all holy hell did Michael Bay’s Armageddon get chosen for a Criterion DVD. Look, Aerosmith’s fun, but Armageddon? Are you sh*tting me? Criterion has been committed to putting out films that are hard to find. You can find Armageddon very easily, in the $5 bin in your local Wal-Mart, right next to “Barbershop 2: More Sassy Black Stereotypes”. Armageddon is some cheap, testosterone fueled entertainment for steroid-stuffed tools to whack their willies to, just like Bay’s other crap-fests. Am I saying there’s no place in the world for these films? No. I just believe that the elitist DVD distribution company should stay that way. Criterion, you were my safe-haven, man. Even when assh*les were buying up Raging Bull DVDs “because it’s about boxing”, I knew you’ never pander. And even if you were gonna pander, at least pick a quality director, that tools and self-important pricks can agree on. Why does Michael Bay get a Criterion release before Quentin Tarrantino? (Ah, now I got all you Kill Bill leg-humpers out there rabid) I’m not suggesting that beer-swilling fans of Transformers and 300 should endure mandatory castration, they just shouldn't be everyone’s target audience. Grow a pair, Criterion. Next week’s battle: Why beer-swilling fans of Transformers and 300 should endure mandatory castration.

Megan Fox getting the cover of Rolling Stone

What cruel, bitter god let Megan Fox on the cover of Rolling Stone? Once, Lady Gaga adorned that cover, and while I dislike that centrifuge of psychosis in heels, she is giving the music world the swift kick in the ass it needs, and deserved that cover. What’s Fox’s great achievement? Being able to act more mechanically than her robot costars?

    When my Rolling Stone arrived, Megan with her black unitard and vapid stare, I flipped to the Pearl Jam article without a second glance. And I’m a borderline sex addict. If a barely dressed girl is on a magazine cover and I don’t stare, there’s something horribly wrong.

    In her interview, Megan said “Men are scared of powerful, confident vaginas.” This caused me to question whether my penis was powerful or confident, and how Megan Fox had somehow become Kinsey, and found that genitalia have self esteem. But I don’t fear Megan’s vagina. Nor the squawking flesh-bag of idiocy attached to it. I fear a leg humping society where a person’s achievement is judged on how many high schoolers flog the dolphin to them, not their contribution to society. After all, Mother Teresa never got the Rolling Stone cover.

Avatar

Seriously, I’m really lost as to the appeal of this rather than the base need for pretty things. This movie is not only reckless thematically (with a main character who basically commits the Fort Hood massacre* and exploitative 9/11 imagery) but just plain shitty.

Seriously, besides the military propaganda** (the army, it’s just like a videogame! Flock from the theater to the recruitment center, kids! Flock being the operative word), what is this film?**** 3 hours during which Special effects geeks can masturbate, and the average viewer gets a little dumber. How any serious filmgoer can lower their standards enough to enjoy blue cat-monkeys is beyond me. Avatar beat out Up In The Air and Inglourious Basterds at the Golden Globes? This is like somebody saying “The Sopranos and Band Of Brothers are good, but they’re no Dukes Of Hazzard”. Yes, Avatar has as much of a plot as your typical Dukes of Hazzard episode, except it’s so drenched in Rachel-Carson-For-Kids environmentalist simplicity that I felt like I was being clubbed in the head by Captain Planet. And let’s not forget “unobtainium”, which can’t be “unobtainium” if it’s attainable, which it clearly is by just killing the Na’avi, or the fact that a dragon that couldn’t be tamed by centuries of indigenous people is duped by a guy who’s there 3 months.

So, yeah. Fuck Avatar. Fuck Blue cat monkeys. And if I offended you, good. You offended me by making this cacophony of color the highest grossing film ever. But I’m at least happy the idiot Avatar fans can distract me from the Tarantino-leg-humpers. Find me someone who doesn’t think Avatar or Basterds is “the best movie ever”, and you will restore my faith in humanity.

*A soldier falls in with a foreign people and their religion, and subsequently slaughters all of his fellow soldiers in the name of and defense of this religion. Yep, that’s the plot. Keep classy, Cameron.

**I am aware the film paints the Army as “evil”, but your average Avatar fan doesn’t have the I.Q. to process anything past “Look, they get guns. I wants guns.”

***Maybe they are smarter than that. Maybe they just choose to shut off their brains for the duration of Avatar.

****Besides Dances With Wolves, Pocahontas, Fern Gully, etc.

*****The most irritating CGI aliens since Jar-Jar Binks

3-D Movies

Ok, so I will concede that I will go see Alice In Wonderland in 3-D. But, to be honest, that tab of something that rhymes with flaccid in my pocket will make that movie 3-D anyway. But for most cases, I think this 3-D thing is the most unnecessary bullshit since the gimmick of the 50’s teen horror films, which was…oh, yeah, 3-D. That’s right, we’ve done this already. Exploiting debases to drop an extra $6 to see plot-less cat monkeys a little better is the greatest way to rob money from the gullible since the multivitamin (it’s expensive pee). Clash Of The Titans in 3-D? (First of all, Clash Of The Titans? Again?) Harry Potter in 3-D? Why? What is the need? Coraline was just as good when I wasn’t wearing glasses that added the tiniest bit of depth to the film. And let’s not forget the asinine 3-D Michael Jackson tribute at the Grammys (The one good thing about Taylor’s performance was you could at least see a non-blurry singer). 3-D already died out once. Are we really too unoriginal to even come up with new gimmicks? And do they really enhance the film at all? How much is us just taking the 3-D placebo effect? Seriously, I’m done with 3-D movies. Why waste the extra money? The most gorgeous creature to walk this earth could ask me to go see a movie (and might, I think I’m in class with them) and if they say it’s in 3-D, I’ll…ok, I’d say yes, but I’m weak and lonely. But I expect better from you, dear reader.

Magnolia

Well, after battling about has-beens like Lady Gaga and Andy Samberg, I’m so glad I finally get the chance to talk about a current issue: A movie from 1999 that got overshadowed by American Beauty. God bless relevancy. I first saw glimpses of Magnolia when I was 15. I thought the movie sucked and didn’t understand it, but then again, I only saw about 5 minutes of the thing, as I’d just left it on so that there was some ambient noise and my girlfriend’s parents wouldn’t come downstairs. But now that I’m in film school, and hearing all these people cream their jeans over this movie, I figured it was time I gave Magnolia another try. After all, I like Tom Cruise, and I’d heard Aimee Mann’s soundtrack, which is gorgeous. I popped in the DVD, watched the trailer, and was ready to have my mind blown, just as P.T. Anderson’s Boogie Nights and There Will Be Blood had done. Well, 188 minutes of my life I’ll never get back later, and I had a definitive opinion of Magnolia: “What a self-indulgent piece of crap.” For the love of Christ, how do you take some of the best actors in Hollywood (Tom Cruise, Julianne Moore, William H. Macy, Phillip Seymour Hoffman) and waste them like that? As if the raining frogs and full-cast-kumbaya to “Wise Up” weren’t enough to make you go “What a pretentious dick”, Anderson’s ability to make a film full of fascinating characters and use none of them to anywhere near their potential ought to. P.T. Anderson’s “Look at me, I’m artistic!” excursion feels like he missed the point of his own story. So watch Magnolia, and decide for yourself. But be ready to love or hate.

Door Knobs

I’d like to start this by saying “F**k you, Osbourn Dorsey, man who filed the first patent for a door knob in 1878.” That’s right, I went there. Sorry Osbourn Dorsey fans, but me and my fellow Dee Horton and Lee Hewitt (inventors of the first automatic door in 1954) groupies are telling you to suck it. Door knobs blow. Not only are they impractical for the elderly or frail, but they’re inconvenient for every man, woman and child. To set the scene: You’re walking around your room, you reach for the knob to open the door, and BAM! Static shock. And not that cool cartoon about the black superhero on the WB when we were kids, the painful kind. Or another scenario: Your walking out of a classroom, reach for the door, turn the knob, and everything’s fine. Three days later and WHAM! Swine Flu. That’s right, door knobs carry germs. They are the bubonic-plague-carrying rats of the 21st century. Or picture this: You’ve just eaten something that has caused you to shrink to an incredibly small size in this bizarre world you fell into down a rabbit hole. You walk up to a talking doorknob and ask him to open up, and that prick won’t do it. He’ll stand there, blabbing his damn key hole off, but does the son of a bitch bother to open up? No. An automatic door opens whenever you walk in front of it. And if you hold your hands up as it opens, you can pretend you’re a Jedi. You can’t do that with doorknobs. I hope this encourages you to end the tyranny of the doorknob. One day, our children will view the doorknob as a thing of the past, like we view 8-track tapes, steam engines, and personal responsibility. I have a dream.

Why Must We Hate The Ones We Love? An Examination Venerating the Vilified

     Thanks to TMZ and the Internet functioning as the CNN of celebrity meltdowns (seemingly robbing good business from all those mom-and-pop tabloids), we now know who are the villains and victims of the celebrity set. Whether it’s Mel Gibson telling his to “smile and blow” him, Tiger Woods finding someone other than his wife to do that, or Kanye West doing…well, whatever the hell he wants, TV and the internet are there, not only to tell us who these people are, and what they’re doing, but also what to think about them. I broach this subject now, as we’ve just seen the release of Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy to universal critical acclaim and meager album sales (whether that’s owed to media disdain or Mediafire is anyone’s guess), and the trailer for The Beaver and before you think you already saw that movie on Redtube, this one’s a mainstream movie starring Mel Gibson as a man whose life collapses, and he begins to communicate using a beaver hand puppet. The speculation is that a film that should have been his comeback, but his recent…voicemails have caused the film to already lose funding.

    So how do we handle the art produced by artists of ill-repute? Well, I for one will tell you that I listened to Kanye’s album, and I watched the trailer for The Beaver. My thoughts: Mel Gibson is a verbally abusive bastard with whom no woman should ever become romantically involved again, but his film looks fantastic. I know, I know, how can I support such a guy? Well, the fact is he’s a talented performer, and I’m sure he would have even rocked that cameo in The Hangover 2, which he lost after Zach “Comedic Genius” Galifianakis complained about having someone so abusive to women in his film. Galifianakis is, of course, right in standing up for what he believes in, and the sequel to a movie which featured a cameo from a convicted rapist (Anybody remember Tyson did that?) is no place for someone like Gibson, who has so little respect for women.

Tried to find an image of them both together. Somehow, this is what Google Image Search turned out.

Now, Mr. West’s album, on the other hand, I did not look upon so favorably. Now, before you start screaming hypocrisy, I want to point out it’s not because of Kanye’s recent behavior. Yes, I think he’s a self-absorbed man-child, but apparently on his record, so does he. My problem is I just didn’t like the album. Yes, his arrogance factors into it, but only in the sense that I wish he would just stop talking about it for one track. Instead, for me, what we get is a pointless, album-long diatribe of how “bad” he is. Woohoo. Sure, he has an ego. Lots of stars do. I’m not suggesting he be blacklisted, nor will I suggest that he’s a genius for writing such “brilliant” lyrics as “I’m the abomination of the Obama-nation” (Congrats, Kanye, you picked up on the critique that was implied in that term since it’s inception) or “deep” philosophy like “No one man should have that much power” (because there ain’t been nobody saying that before), but simply state that I feel his talent doesn’t quite match his boasting. On Mr. Gibson, it does. 

    But the larger point I’m trying to make is that we as consumers of entertainment would probably be best off not smearing an artist’s work based on their personal behavior nor “defending” them in an effort to be cool and be different, but instead simply taking the art for what it is. Art. If Michelangelo once punched a kitten, would that make the Sistine Chapel ceiling any less beautiful? Conversely, if Taylor Swift punched the same kitten (this poor feline seems to be taking a fictitious beating. My apologies to imaginary PETA) and faced public ridicule, would her semi-whiny, self-absorbed (though admittedly catchy, and on my iPod) music now be the work of a tortured, misunderstood genius? Somehow, I’m thinking not. The truth is, you can’t keep a great artist down, and you can’t hand a mediocre artist their crown, or as Mel himself put it in an interview:

“I am one tough motherf****r and you can't bother me anymore. You ask anybody what their (sic) number one fear is and it's public humiliation. Multiply that on a global scale and that's what I've been through. It changes you and makes you one tough motherf****r. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.”

Ten Things We Learned from Inception (by Mike Natale and Tom Lorenzo)

{Originally appeared in The C. W. Post Pioneer}

In honor of Inception’s release on Blu-Ray and DVD, Tom Lorenzo and Mike Natale decided to compile a little list of the ten things we learned while watching Christopher Nolan’s newest flick. We hope you all enjoy:

10.)Tom Hardy should be James Bond. Right now.

9.) Joseph Gordon Levitt is totally interesting when fighting in a g*d damned spinning hallway….

8.) But he’s really boring when he’s just talking about dreamscapes and sh*t.

7.) If Michael Caine is in a movie, he owns that movie. Always. Even Jaws 4: The Revenge. But especially Inception.

6.) The dreams Christopher Nolan thinks people have are 10000000000 times cooler than the dreams we really have. Where are train cars shooting down a city street while I’m reading an essay on Kafka in my underwear? Huh? Huh?!?!?!

5.) It’s always interesting seeing Leo drop his natural Boston accent for a movie where he’s not playing a “dooly appointed federahl mahshall.” (See: Shutter Island)

4.) That guy from Platoon with the messed up face is apparently still alive! I’ll be damned!

3.) Three-Six Mafia winning an Oscar before Christopher Nolan ever has: Greatest sin of all time.

2.) I am not as smart as I think I am.

1.) You may find yourself saying “It was all a dream*”

*I used to read Word Up magazine/Salt'n'Pepa and Heavy D up in/the limousine/Hangin' pictures on my wall/Every Saturday Rap Attack, Mr. Magic, Marley Marl/I let my tape rock 'til my tape popped/Smokin' weed and bamboo, sippin' on private stock/Way back, when I had the red and black lumberjack/With the hat to match/Remember Rappin' Duke, duh-ha, duh-ha/You never thought that hip hop would take it this far

True "Joy"

{Originally published in the C.W. Post Pioneer. A review of the album Strict Joy by The Swell Season.}

I’m going to wear my bias on my sleeve with this one: I think Glen Hansard is the finest living songwriter, except maybe Leonard Cohen. To me, his (and musical partner Marketa Irglova, the songstress who shares my heart with Taylor Swift) Oscar-winning song "Falling Slowly" is one of the greatest love songs ever written, and the soundtrack from which it comes is one I own on CD and on vinyl (which is autographed). I have tickets to see he and Marketa perform at Radio City this January. Hell, this summer I wrote to Hansard’s manager to get some autographed merchandise to declare my love to a girl (this failed, but I did get the aforementioned signed record out of it, so booyah!) I say this so that you understand that when I put on the new album from their band The Swell Season, Strict Joy, I was expecting a sequel to the singer-songwriter, early Elliott Smith-esque music that was on the Once soundtrack. Approaching the album with this attitude, I was disappointed.

Refusing to be let down by the only musician who hasn’t sucked yet, I remembered back to Glen’s previous work with the Irish rock band The Frames (whose albums Burn The Maps and Another Love Song are better than anything that other Irish rock band with the one-named singer have put out). Now giving Strict Joy the ears of a Frames fan, I listened hard and was…still disappointed. Then, remembering Hansard was in the film The Commitments, I re-watched that movie. This didn’t affect my opinion of Strict Joy in any way, but man, that movie kicked ass. I was very confused by the latest musical move by Hansard and Irglova. I know I harp on Hansard, but that’s simply because he’s had more time to impress me. I still think nothing is more beautiful than Marketa’s performance of "The Hill" in the movie Once. In fact, it was thinking of Irglova that I listened a third time, particularly to her tracks. It’s evident on this album that her songwriting skills and emotional intuition have grown closer to Hansard’s level the longer they work together, but it wasn’t until the lyric “Forgive me, lover, for I have sinned/ For I have done you wrong.” off of the track “I Have Loved You Wrong” that I realized what this album was. It was a musical evolution.

Like Elliott Smith from Either/Or to Figure 8 or Bob Dylan from Freewheelin’…to Blonde On Blonde, Hansard and Irglova have reconciled the pop/rock force of the Frames with the raw emotion of Once and the self-titled Swell Season release. Tracks like “Low Rising” and “In These Arms” showcase Hansard’s lyrical honesty, while Irglova’s solo track “Fantasy Man” proves she is a force to be reckoned with herself. I’m not going to bring up their relationship like every other jackass reviewer, because, frankly, they deserve better than that. Like Dylan’s Blood On The Tracks or Beck’s Sea Change, Strict Joy’s songs of false hope and heartache should be praised on the songs themselves, not the subjects that inspired them. For those unfamiliar with the Swell Season’s material, I wouldn’t recommend this as an intro. But for those who have already seen Once, and are hungry for more, keep an open mind, and pick up Strict Joy. Even if at first you’re disappointed at first, you won’t be for long.