Girl in a Cage

A Terrifying Tale of Survival

So this is what comes of having a mind clogged with popular culture. I was working at the coffee shop this morning, and this really strange-looking woman was sitting across from me. At one point, she removed her glasses and scrunched up her face in a kind of alarming way, and the only thing I could think was that she was going to shout "We'll do this the scanner way!" and try to use her psychic powers to make my head explode.

I mean, I saw that movie once probably fifteen years ago, and yet when I see somebody scrunch their face up, the first thing I think is that they are probably a scanner bent on destroying my cranium.

By the way, I know that she would only have shouted "We'll this the scanner way!" if she knew that I, too, was a scanner. Which I'm not. With a non-scanner such as myself, she would have just blown up my head like an M-80 in a watermelon.

But, either she didn't have evil psychic powers or she was feeling merciful, because my skull remains, as of this writing, un-exploded.

Kickin' it ancient school

Well, as part of my ongoing program to introduce the kids to the classix, I made them watch Jason and the Argonauts the other night. Ahh, the cheesiness of Ray Harryhausen's FX! Yeah, the stop-motion animation looks fake as hell, but there's something...I dunno...maybe because it is actual objects moving in front of a camera, it feels warm and cozy in a way that CGI effects don't. Perhaps warm and cozy are weird adjectives to describe an undead army of hostile skeletons. Perhaps a little window into my psyche there. Anyway, the movie, from 1963, is damn slow to get started, and, in the end, the boy and daughter number one (both of whom have watched each Indiana Jones movie multiple times) (No, actually daughter #1 is the only one who can take Temple of Doom start to finish) both bailed, and daughter #2, physically fearless but usually spooked by scary stuff in movies, watched the whole thing with me. Anyway, I remember loving it when I was about 8. I didn't love it this time, but I did like it a lot. The harpies were cool, but that moment when the giant statue comes to life in order to attempt to kick Hercules' ass was really fantastic. Of course, I couldn't help ruining it for everyone: "Of course, after Medea betrays her homeland to get the fleece for Jason and bears him two children, he deserts her to marry some princess. So Medea kills the princess and then her own children, so that Jason will be just as alone and bereft as she is!" It kinda puts a damper on the triumphant ending.

Coincidentally, I am reading the Iliad--a nice copy I picked up for 10 bucks on the remainder table at Brookline Booksmith. I've never read it before, and frankly shied away from it because of the Great Books obsession of a particularly unpleasant person I used to work with. More fool I--this poem kicks some serious ass! I mean, get this:

With that he hurled and Athena drove the shaft
and it split the archer's nose between the eyes
it cracked his glistening teeth, the tough bronze
cut his tongue off at the roots, smashed his jaw
and the point came ripping out beneath his chin

Yeah! Now that is some poetry! Anyway, I can't say the Iliad has it all, because thus far there's no sex, but it's got plenty of gore, petty jealousy, and rage, and it's really qutie poigniant--everybody's caught in this war that pretty much nobody wants to be fighting, and it just goes on and on, and they keep getting their hopes up that it's going to stop, but then it never does. Usually because some god or goddess messes things up.

Of course, the gods feature heavily in both the movie and the book, and I have to say I may have given the religion of ancient Greece short shrift in the past. I mean, the idea that human life is at the mercy of petty, vain, capricious Gods who care about people only in so far as they serve the gods' own ends is pretty compelling when you look at the data....

The Koo Koo Kookiest

Okay, so now it can be told: I wrote that Lidsville post as a goof. I know, I know, shocking. But the more we watch, the more I think I was actually on to something. Last night we watched an episode in which HooDoo needs a beard--uh, I mean date. He ends up with Witchiepoo (It's a Krofft Krossover!), and they end up liking each other because they enjoy zapping the good hats together. In order to break them up, Mark dresses in drag and does a kind of Mae West drag queen act, feigning romantic interest in HooDoo and succeeding in breaking up HooDoo and Witchiepoo. Because what magician wouldn't prefer a 16-year-old drag queen to an old hag? I mean, a joke's a joke, but we all actually got kind of uncomfortable watching this. It was genuinely disturbing. And then at the end, Mark, safely back among the good hats, removes his wig and expresses the hope that the womens libbers don't get after him. Ack.

Did I mention that HooDoo's sidekick is named Raunchy Rabbit? Geez, I thought I was joking about all this stuff, but it turns out I was only too accurate.

In praise of Ned's

Well, all you hear is about how tv comedy sucks, tv comedy is dead, stuff like that. But this ignores the genius of Ned's Declassified School Survival Guide. In my opinion, the best live-action comedy on tv right now. I know what you're thinking-- "But that show is on Nickelodeon! Home to the corny plots and wretched overacting of Drake and Josh! The network that gave Jamie Lynn Spears ("The younger, somewhat less trashy Spears!"), who cannot act at all, her own high school soap opera! I refuse to believe there's a decent live-action show on this network!"

I understand your concerns, and yet, Ned's is a show I enjoy without guilt or irony. It's a surrealistic take on middle school--Parker Lewis Can't Lose is the obvious antecedent (not sure why I said that, because I'm pretty sure I am the only person who ever watched that), but it owes a lot to the work of Savage Steve Holland (who has directed a few episodes). I like it because of the weirdness and because all three of the principal actors can actually act, which is clearly not a qualification for getting a show on Nickelodeon (Drake Bell, Jamie Lynn Spears, I'm lookin' at you...). But mostly I like it because I laugh a lot every time I watch it.

Givin' out the gold watches

Well, aside from the new Thomas Pynchon novel, the new arrival I'm least excited about is the new movie from Lord Haden-Guest, For Your Consideration. Spinal Tap, of course, is a work of sheer genius, and I loved Lord Haden-Guest's performance in The Princess Bride, but His Lordship's own directorial efforts leave me cold. I mean, I recognize that he assembles some amazingly talented performers, but I don't like the meandering, sometimes non-existent plotting, and I just find the whole enterprise so contemptuous. I know a lot of people see affection for the characters in these movies, but I just don't see it. It just seems like director and actors holding characters up for sneering contempt. What's especially held up for mockery is feeling passionate about anything. Look at these suckers, Lord Haden-Guest seems to be saying--they actually believe in something! (I know, I know, it is odd for me to be complaining about sneering contempt, but there it is.)

So you'd think I'd be happy that Lord Haden-Guest has turned his gaze away from ordinary people and on to Hollywood. But the thing is, I think the whole "Hollywood is a cesspool" satire really needs to be retired. I mean, don't we know this already? Haven't we seen this in at least one movie a year for the last several decades? Not that there aren't some good movies in this genre (I liked "S.O.B." for example), but, I mean, to me it's just like the "boo hoo it's so very hard to be a rock star" "Turn the Page" type song. Like, why should those of us who live in the real world care about the difficulties of working in this incredibly rarified atmosphere? It baffles me why this stuff is popular. When pro athletes have a labor dispute, everybody wants to kill them, but when filmmakers complain about the milieu they are fortunate enough to work in, we think they're daring.

While we're retiring movie tropes, can we also retire the "Main character doesn't know they're dead" movie? A partial list: Carnival of Souls, Siesta, Dead Man (maybe. Still haven't figured that one out.), Jacob's Ladder, The Others, The Sixth Sense..I'm sure there are more. I think it's safe to say that's no longer an interesting twist.

O Guralnick, Where Art Thou?

I know I mentioned this already, but Hey Ho, Let's Go: The Story of the Ramones by Everett True is driving me freakin' nuts. I'm nearly done now--just past Animal Boy, and there's just so much wrong with this book. Minor annoyances include putting Britishisms into the mouths of American interview subjects. I don't think guys from Queens talk about how somebody "came round", or somebody's "mum." Many interviews begin chapters, and the person being interviewed isn't identified until the end. And most egregiously, the author seems to believe this book is at least partly about him. So all the interviews include his paragraph-long observations about this or that album, which are there I think just so he can show Arturo Vega and Markie Ramone (evidently the only two in-depth interviews conducted for this book) saying, "I'm glad you picked up on that." or something. Gah! The book is also peppered with his reactions and critical judgements, which I guess you can't avoid in this kind of book, but, I mean, dude, nobody buys this book because they are interested what you think about the Ramones. Nick Hornby can get away with this stuff, but not Everett True.

There are the aforementioned organizational problems, and just a kind of shoddy work overall--he did some fanzine interviews in the past and a couple of more recent interviews and then read all the interviews from the big US and UK music magazines. But on the subject of Richie Ramone, he says something along the lines of, "I looked really hard on the internet and didn't find him." I mean, could you get your ass to New York and actually look for the guy? He exists! I saw him in a movie talking about that t-shirt money!

Add to all this the stereotypical British condescension toward Americans--he lists a pretty staggering number of difficulties and hospitalizations they underwent between 82 and 87 but blames their lack of international touring during this time on typical American xenophobia.

Also an annoying music geek focus on the production, which I understand is an issue with Ramones albums, but, I mean, really--these aren't incredibly complex songs or arrangements. The best Ramones albums (or, I suppose, albums by anybody) aren't good because of the production, but because of the songwriting. So End of the Century isn't a mediocre album (by Ramones standards, I hasten to add) because of Phil Spector--it's because there are only 3 good songs on it. ("Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio", "Rock and Roll High School" and "Danny Says.")

O, I would abandon it if only I were less of a geek. Despite all the annoyances, I am interested enough to want to hear anything and everything about this band. Bring on the minutiae about the recording of Animal Boy! I'm there! If you are similarly afflicted, this book is worth wading through. But if you just like the Ramones, rather than love them with an irrational force that can only be the product of adolescence, skip it.

It's kind of sad, really--just as they didnt' really get the recognition they deserved in the 70's and 80's, now they don't get the biography they deserve. Certainly one of the top five most influential bands of the rock era, and some self-aggrandizing zine writer is the best they get for a biographer. I wonder what Guralnick's workin' on.....

I'll take my PhD in Media Studies now

So we got the Lidsville DVDs, and we've been enjoying them, though they are certainly not as good as the other Krofft production we enjoyed so much, H.R. Pufnstuf.

Indeed, While Pufnstuf retains a hold on America's popular consciousness, Lidsville has been largely forgotten. There are many explanations for this: lack of compelling characters; obvious retread of the Pufnstuf premise; it's shot on video rather than film and therefore looks cheesier and less magical; racist puppets; excessively long, crappy theme song.

Arguments can be made for each of these, but I think the real reason Lidsville is not as popular as Pufnstuf is that the Kroffts created something far too daring and outre for America in the 70's, and it is their laudable boldness that keeps the show from Pufnstuf-like cult status.

For Pufnstuf is a simple, straightforward psycho-sexual allegory. The prepubescent boy takes refuge in a land of fantasy because an adult woman wants to get her hands on his flute. Note that the only adult human in the show is this terrifying, horrific characacture of femininity, an evil crone who will certainly harm Jimmy's "flute." (Note whenever the flute is captured, his shrill cries of "help me, Jimmy! I'm frightened!") Thus this is the story of a boy's fear of adult heterosexuality, and in particular the evil things women may do to his flute.

In Lidsville, however, the boy is slightly older: his voice has already changed. When confronted with a top hat that grows to gigantic size (An ambiguous sexual symbol--as the top hat grows taller, so does the opening opposite the crown of the hat grow larger.) Confronted with a hermaphroditic sexual symbol, Mark falls into the opening--surely the expected choice for a teenage boy.

And yet, when he lands in Lidsville, he finds himself in a magical land of cartoonish, stereotypical hat-creatures. Even the racist Indian and Chinese hats are clearly meant to evoke a child's inability to grapple with complexities. But in this magical land, a gay despot named Hoodoo rules. (His phallic bald head is often conceled by a top hat, and he lives in a gigantic top hat, thus repeating the ambiguous sexual symbology). Mark, in order to get back to what he refers to as "The real world" (i.e., the world of adult sexuality to which a deep-voiced lad like him clearly belongs), must steal HooDoo's ring, thus beginning his own transformation into the magical gay despot. The ring gives Mark control of a clearly female Genie who is referred to as "him" by all characters, and whose name is Weenie. Again, gender confusion abounds, but, more importantly,Mark, in order to escape childhood and fulfill his destiny as a sexual being, must grab Hoodoo's Weenie.

Is it any wonder that this bold, transgressive exploration of gender roles and sexual politics has had a harder time finding a place in America's heart than the bland, conventional sexual fears embodied in Pufnstuf?

Moore, Ramones, Savage

So a while back I complained about Alan Moore elevating comics, which I said I preferred lurid and cheesy. (Though, in fact, I liked Top Ten a lot--I just think weaving some incomprehensible mythology around Swamp Thing, which is a fairly straightforward revenge tragedy, albeit lurid and cheesy, was a mistake.) Now I see that he's created something called Lost Girls, in which Dorothy, Alice, and Wendy meet in a hotel for a sapphic romp and pornographic retellings of their adventures. Now that's lurid and cheesy! It's as though he listened to me! But it's available only in a 75 dollar slipcased 3-volume hardcover edition. So it seems he's still working with contradictory impulses--create the cheesiest fanboy smut I've ever even heard of, but package it like "art" instead of in handy 4-dollar comic book installments. Criminy.

I'm about a third of the way through Hey Ho Let's Go: the Story of the Ramones. I'm game for just about anything Ramones-related, and this book is certainly packed with information. But geez, is this guy a bad writer--I mean, just spewing forth tons of data is not really the same thing as writing a biography. Also, and, I mean, I say this as somebody who lived in the UK, so I'm not some yahoo anglophobe, but the author is British, and you just can't write about the Ramones and say things about how they performed in "ripped jeans and plimsolls." I mean, plimsolls. If I were that guy, I'd be afraid Dee Dee would rise from his grave and kick my ass for writing that.

While it's true that the Savage Love podcast isn't as good as the column, it's still damn entertaining listening. Yesterday I was in Stop and Shop, ipod on, blithely listening to Dan answer questions about diaper fetishists and shemale prostitutes while I filled my cart with groceries and my fellow shoppers probably wondered what I kept laughing about.

Love Me or Hate Me

So I am strangely obsessed with the Lady Sovereign song "Love Me or Hate Me." I've been trying to figure out exactly what it is that's making me respond to this when most rap leaves me cold.

Part of that just comes from my experience of working in schools-- in suburban schools, I saw how kids got most of their information on urban life from rap music that claims to be keepin' it real but is in fact keepin' it phony and sensational; and in urban schools I saw rap reinforcing an emphasis on reputation that's actually counterproductive if you're going to succeed in schools and jobs.

Also rap is fundamentally racist and conservative-- selling images of black men as threatening (but sexy!) criminals to a mostly white audience. It's genius from a marketing standpoint, because white kids get to piss off their parents by listening to the music, but it's completely safe and not challenging at all because it reinforces their prejudices. There are a lot of white kids who own 50 cent CDs who would never even think of walking down the street in a black neighborhood in whatever city they live within commuting distance of.

So, basically, I think too much to enjoy a good rap song. But just listening to the Lady Sovereign track, which is certainly not groundbreaking--it's mostly about how great she is--I'm not thinking about the sociological implications, and I think what's so appealing about it is just the confidence. This is probably what a lot of people respond to in all kinds of rap. In real life, in order to get along, you simply have to be able to take shit--you have to be able to have a really annoying teacher or boss or whatever piss you off and you have to suck it back because you need the money or the grade or whatever. So it's refreshing to hear somebody say, "if you love me then thank you! If you hate me then fuck you!" The idea that you can be who you want to be and play by your own rules and not take shit from anybody is tremendously appealing, precisely because almost nobody gets to live that way.

This isn't just rap--it's why "Aint Talkin' Bout Love" is a great song, or "T For Texas". I mean, T for Texas is kinda frightening, lyrically, what with the buying a pistol with a big long shiny barrel and all, but it feels pretty cool to sing "I can get more women than a passenger train can haul." I know, 'cause I was singing this one last night! And yes, I did yodel, and yes the kids were horrified.

Stuff your blu-rays in a sock, mister

So I was perusing the electronics catalog that came in the mail today--gadget porn!--and, for the first time, I paid attention to the whole Blu-Ray, HD DVD thing.

And may I say, the hell with it. I mean, I guess I believe that these new discs hold more data and can therefore deliver sharper picture and audio, but, fundamentally, new formats are all about making you shell out for stuff you already own. And there are always extravagant promises about how the new format is going to change your life for the better. Now that the CD age is nearly at an end, what did this format bring us that was an advance over vinyl? Increased portability, but that's kind of a dubious benefit since toting CDs around led to more scratches. A tape of a record that got fried in your car wasn't a big deal because you still had the source material at home, whereas my CDs seem to get scratched if I just say the word "Car" around them, and then I got nothin'. Other than that, scratches that sounded different from vinyl scratches, and albums bloated with songs that should have been cut and/or horrible skits. Really, the MP3 is the only new format that's been a boon to the consumer.

But it's not just my suspicion of corporate "improvements" and luddite tendencies that make me cynical about the advent of competing high definition DVD formats. It's the fact that there are so few movies that are really worth seeing in high definition. I mean, are you going to spend 20 bucks for a high-def copy of Guess Who? Why? So you can count Bernie Mac's nose hairs? Even movies I really liked, like The 40-Year-old Virgin or Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle are not such sumptuous visual masterpieces that regular definition is insufficient.

Every few years, they try to ram a new format down our throats, and once in a great while, it doesn't work. I'm hoping this is one of those times.