This Week in Elitism: A Party You Can Believe In

The Inauguration of President Barack Obama will be the biggest party the Capital's seen for eight years. In terms of delivering on his promise of "A change we need," yes, we can expect more from our new president than this...

Will President Obama dance? Would you like him to?

This Week in Elitism: A Very Indie-Xmas

I'm a Christmas music snob. It seems grinchish to say so, especially since I'm such a follower in all other genres, but I freely admit my disdain for traditional Christmas songs. Yes, I will endure the occasional "Little Drummer Boy" while wrapping presents, permit the "Greensleeves" while I whip up some eggnog, and tolerate some classic Amy Grant, like "Tennessee Christmas" while I frost my little gingerbread men.

But put that on my radio and the dial is turned faster than an Iraqi's shoe is thrown. If I'm shopping for gifts and have to endure A Very Elevator Music Christmas or "That's What I Call Christmas CXVII," I start to wane in my civility to fellow shoppers! Here is my current Christmas mix, a blend of songs from the past few years that continue to keep me cheerful on my ride to work every morning...and don't promote road rage.

I wish they'd made another Chrismukkah mix. I miss the O.C. around the holidays. It's just so hard!

"Maybe This Christmas" by Ron Sexsmith
"(Ho, ho, ho) Who'd Be a Turkey at Christmas" by Elton John
"Shoot Me Santa" by the Killers
"Yellin' at the Christmas Tree" by Billy Idol
"Come Thou Font of Every Blessing" by Sufjan Stevens
"Emmanuel" by Chris Botti
"Wonderful Christmastime" by Paul McCartney
"Christmas/Sarajevo 12/24" by Transiberian Orchestra
"Betty Ford for Christmas" by Leif Garrett
"Carol of the Elves" by Sufjan Stevens
"Put the Lights on the Tree" by Sufjan Stevens
"Christmas is Going to the Dogs" by the Eels
"Last Christmas" by Jimmy Eat World

What are your non-traditional favorites? I definitely need some additions to tide me over until next year:)

Happy Holidays!

This Week in Elitism: The End of an Era, My PCA is Middled-Aged

Pop culture awareness is a waxing and waning knowledge. As a young child, you're well-versed in the latest "educational" cartoon phenomenon, but little else. You slowly progress to liking the oldies that your parents choose for you. I was introduced to Elvis Costello and InXS at a very early age, and to such a frequent rotation that I can say every lyric to some songs I swear I've never heard before. In middle school, you gradually acclimate to Top 40 pop music and maybe even pick up that year's dance faze and perform it, with your friends, at school talent shows. In high school there's a learning curve for the period of transition into music genres. The jocks may take up jock rock and house mix music as their own, the band and theater kids know their showtunes, and the AV club finds the best indie tunes first. As a nerd, I basically had no idea what was happening; but, and I don't completely regret to admit it, I was a fan of Jewel. Her lyrics tapped right into my hopefully optimistic (about leaving high school and never returning) attitude. In college, I started with a mix that included some Shania Twain, gradually learned better, and finally settled on a slightly alternative/indie mix, with some world and classical artists to spice things up.

As I sat down to map out ideas for this post, I realize something so frightening it was funny; so previously apochryful it made me burst out laughing; so endemic of my current place in the pop culture community that I decided to post it for discussion. It's this: I've grown out of, or away from, the youth-obsessed pop culture that I loved so just 6 months ago. I've transitioned to a boring adult. Basically, I've developed the PCA of my mom, and this is why...

My current favorites:
The New Yorker
The New York Times
CNN
NPR
...and maybe, if I have time, I might read Domino, a monthly interior design magazine.
I've even, for shame, read Martha Stewart Living, O, and Everyday with Rachael Ray at the gym, to get helpful tips and recipes!

Honestly? How did I let myself sink so low? I have no idea what's popular on the music charts, which of my past favorite bands is releasing new music, or which lead singer is checking into rehab. I might be the person to ask if you're interested in what's playing at the Metropolitan Opera House and if you need someone to name every single on-air personality of "All Things Considered." Useful and fun skills, to be sure.

My question for you...
Is there hope for me? Or have a entered a new level of PCA from which I can never return?
Should I give in and buy a Volvo and start doing pilates (and prepare to drive my future 1.5 children to soccer)?

This Week in Elitism: Slumdog Millionaire- Don't hate the movie, hate the genre

Every season has an indie darling of the silver screen that inspires yuppies, intellectual 20-somethings, and confused elderly to line up for blocks around artsy theaters, gasp at the beauty and slightly-confusing metaphors of the picture, applaud with pride as the credits roll, and then dissect it's cultural relevance into the wee hours of night at nearby coffee shops. The movie of fall 2008 is Slumdog Millionaire. And I liked it in spite of myself.

In lieu of a traditional review - with plot points that highlight strengths and weaknesses - I'll start from the negative and work my way back, which is the only objective way for me to analyze this film, really. There were so many reasons that I shouldn't have liked it, based on past presidence and current interests. All of those factors, though, were overcome by a few facets that overcome my better judgment. In light of accurate review, I must state, before I begin, that I would recommend this movie, but with the following caveats...

1. Violence

In spite of its marketing as a sweet story about a boy from the ghetto raised up to national icon by a gameshow, there are moments of pointed pain, torture, and death throughout the film. To prove a point about the nature of greed and the inhumane life of the street children of Mumbai, the script even touches on child mutilation. I have a unique perspective on all of these traumatic events because, being a tenderheart who just can't watch it, I had my eyes closed for every single one. Which decidedly alters the timbre and impact of plot. And I do believe that all of the moments could have accomplished their role in highlighting a meagre existence through off-screen reference. In fact, it might have made the movie stronger: what you can imagine is always worse than what a director can show on the screen.

2. References to the worst of pop culture

Nothing kills a movie of the fairy tale genre for me - like a classic rags to riches - than the inclusion of television or music that makes me change the channel/station in real life. Slumdog Millionaire takes the latter part of its title from the now mostly defunct popcultural phenomenon that was "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" The self-aggrandizement of that show and every host I've ever seen lacks any modicum of subtlty. The phony tension, built by duh-duh-duuuuhhh music, lowered lights, and the semantic/inflectional choices of the Regis character are so trite...blah! "Poor filmmaking!" it makes me want to yell. But I didn't. In juxtoposition with the realities of the slumdog life that the director, Danny Boyle, presents, the presence of the formulaic gameshow emphasizes why the poor can cling to long-shots, miracles, and lucky breaks as their only means of salvation, because it was the only way out for the protagonist. It also demonstrates, with quiet reservation, that this is the only reason this character would be noticed by a member of the middle class. If not for the show, his life would be a silent yet all-too-common tragedy.

3. Bollywood

When I see groups of adults dancing in unison, all I can think of is the late 90's, when girl and boy bands ruled the music world and that kind of thing was "acceptable." I was able to enjoy and appreciate the million man dance sequence at the end of this film however, because it was a return to the exuberance of the opening shots, and could serve as a reminder to the audience of the unlying hope and joy that the movie is intended to promote, in contrast to the flashbacks of the Slumdog's youth and teenage years.

4. Flashback format

How did this film manage to make me smile being told through tens of flashbacks? I have no idea. Maybe because the tiny versions of the characters were cute, or because it broke up the clearshot trajectory of moral downfall that many would quite obviously take. But definitely because it was shot so beautifully, with shuttershot cinematography, by Anthony Dod Mantle. His use of sped up time, unique angles, and vibrant colors was one reason I loved another film by the same director: Millions. That movie also relied on some flashbacks in telling the story of a British boy with religious sensibilities and visions who finds a million dollars and tries to make good choices with it. Somehow, that children's film was made edgy by the camera work. I loved it. The opening sequence of Slumdog Millionaire, in which police are chasing a ragtag group of street kids through the shacks of Mumbai, is possibly the most beautiful shots of film I've ever seen. Gorgeous. And pretty much sealed the deal for me.

There will be those who love it and those who hate it; some facets I described are easier for me to ignore than others, or might be positives, depending on what you want out of a movie night. In the end, though, it earned its right to be the indie darling of the late fall. Here's your chocolate truffle half-caf no foam latte. Discuss.

This Week in Elitism: Car Crashes As "Subtle" Metaphors For True-Life Crashes

Here at the Blogulator, there are those who maintain a fierce and dedicated hatred of a recent Oscar-winning movie. Its analogies for race relations, shoved down the viewer's throat from the first scene, make some of us want to gag ourselves with car keys. But when I crashed into a car this morning (*more on this to come), one of the first thoughts I had while sitting in the tow truck - regaining sensation in my fingers - was this: what does this mean in my life?

Should I feel eternally beholden to the person I rear-ended, for letting me wait in her backseat so I didn't freeze by the side of highway? It could be like a touching Hallmark movie, perfect for the Christmas season. Or should I take it to mean that my life is going too fast (in the high-paced field of public education) and I should move to Barbados and start some kind of eco-farming operation? (Ooh, that sounds nice right now.)

But no. I feel unchanged, except for the welcomed presence of the big, tank-like Chevy Impala now in my life. That being said, though, what are your favorite movies/television shows about people who go through harrowing situations?

Here are mine:

1. Jerry Maguire

He is an evil sports agent, whose cynicism is challenged by a hockey player's mouthy son. The mission statement he decides to write changes everything and he ends up fighting for his career and a cute little boy. And Renee Zellweger, kind of, because he finally realizes that she completes him.

2. Samantha Who?

I think this show is cute. A character who gets amnesia and learns gradually, in her new, kind persona, of the horrible person she used to be.

I'm going to cut it short, readers, because my head hurts. I would blame it on the "crash" (which was really me having to slam on my brakes when someone miscalculated their speed, and resulted in a scraped arm and lots of insurance claims) but I also couldn't sleep last night. Have a good weekend, and please try to avoid situations that lead to self-reflection and major life changes. :)

This Week in Elitism: There's No Place For Independent Films In The Holidays?

When I think about holiday movies, it usually makes me cringe. Most focus on the worst, least-redeemable, most pathetic aspects of this time of year. For your consideration, the following list:

Jingle All the Way
Bad Santa
Fred Claus
The Santa Claus 1 & 2
Christmas with the Kranks
Surviving Christmas
The Family Stone

And this year's newest addition: Four Christmases. I'm not even going to mention films that dare to call themselves "Holiday classics" while only happening to contain one Christmas scene, at the very end, to commemorate the season.

While, granted, I liked some parts of The Family Stone, the rest of it and the list above are just examples of lazy film-making. American theater-goers are generally less than choosy about holiday films: we'll see anything about Christmas as an excuse to get away from relatives and have a moment's peace. However, we know smart from stupid.

I'm looking forward to this year's small batch of independent holiday films. They're always more nuanced, subtle, and innovative (which isn't very hard). I'll probably be seeing A Christmas Tale, which is the latest indie-import from France.

In the meantime, since it's not even Thanksgiving yet, here's my recommendation for viewing on that day:

Home for the Holidays

Directed by Jodie Foster [Ed. -- Oh yeah!] and starring Holly Hunter and Robert Downey, Jr., this is a tried and true standby in my family. The storyline is complex, but structured; the emotions slowly rising to a boil throughout, as they always do on Thanksgiving. Each scene rings true, with a little bit of melodrama but constant sarcasm and biting comments to balance the reality. And if that doesn't entice you, it also has Dylan McDermott smoldering around in every scene. Perfect for the whole (over 13) family!

This Week in Elitism: It's an Obama-nation, but in the good sense.

"Obamakuh"

As the Blogulator is a non-partisan, un-biased (politically) bastion of pop cultural news updates, I will refrain from sharing my personal opinions about the election of Barack Obama as our country's next President. But I feel free to share my views on the most interesting linguistic invention to come out of the past two years (adjusting tweed jacket):

The Obamanym!

Obabanyms are puns of the Obama variety. Any play on words with his name will do, to express love or opposition to his policies or personality. It's a neologism dream and I love it! Just call me Wilhemina Safire. Here is a list published in today's online New York Times:

Obamatrons Sing 'Obamalujah' Over Barackisms

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

Published: November 7, 2008

Filed at 7:09 p.m. ET

First there was ''Obamamania,'' punctured in places by naysayers crying ''Nobama!''

Now, as President-elect Barack Obama prepares for the White House, his message of change, resounding both at home and abroad, seems to have unleashed a barrage of Barackisms. Or

maybe they should be called Obamanyms.

Here's a glossary, culled from Web sites, news reports and the blogosphere:

------

OBAMAPHORIA: The postelection rapture that swept over Obama's supporters worldwide.

OBAMANATION: A twist on ''abomination,'' expressed by evangelicals and other conservatives who oppose Obama's stance on abortion, gay marriage and other social issues.

OBAMARAMA: The celebrations around the Jan. 20, 2009, inauguration.

OBAMANOS: A play on ''Vamonos,'' or ''Let's go,'' among Obama fans in Mexico.

OBAMATOPIA: The political paradise that Obama's staunchest supporters hope he'll usher in.

OBAMALUJAH: Exultation shouted by his fans.

OBAMATRONS: The policy wonks who will occupy the West Wing of his White House.

OBAMASCOPE: Media scrutiny of the new leader. (Example: ''One hundred days after Barack Obama took office, newspaper editors put the president's economic plan under the Obamascope.'')

OBAMANATOR: Hollywood-inspired nickname for the new president -- even if he's got what California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger contends are ''skinny legs'' and ''scrawny little arms.''

OBAMALICIOUS: Complimentary term used by those who like Obama's looks.

OBAMALOHA: Goodbye, Obama-style, with a nod to Hawaii, his birthplace.

OH-BAMA: Joyful exclamation, via headlines in the Kennebec, Maine, Journal, The Register-Guard in Eugene, Ore., and The Namibian, from the southern African country of Namibia.

BAMELOT: Description of his presidency, from a New York Post headline that played on the youth and freshness of John F. Kennedy's administration that came to be known as ''Camelot.''

OBAMERIKA: Headline from the Croatian newspaper Slobodna Dalmacija.

BARACKSTAR: Description from those who believe Obama is ''the Mick Jagger of politics'' (from Slate.com).

My personal favorite is Obanamos, which I may use at work with my more liberally-minded Mexican immigrant students (which is all of them). I've also see "Obamamama," which written on a t-shirt which dangerously stretched across the stomach of a very pregnant coworker (really cute!)

Can you think of any more? Maybe some plays on Barack?

Here's one for the holiday season (I already know I would buy the t-shirt): Barack of Ages

This Week in Elitism: Recession Resolution? Or Bring on the Fun!?

My personal economy is in a downturn. It's reached the point of recession, but hasn't yet approached the great depression of 2003 (my literal salad-and-only-salad days). Thanks to some financial backers, I got a generous bailout, so my spirits are somewhat lifted... but I'm still wary. I've decided to develop a "Recession Resolution" and make this a new year in my financial life. And so, I solemnly swear to myself that I will only shop for groceries at Rainbow, I won't venture near the tempting shelves of Urban Outfitters, and I will go on no more incredibly fun road trips in the near future (even though they're more manageable now, with gas prices falling).

That being said, I'm not alone in changing my spending habits. The New York Times reported today (in an op-ed article by this year's Noble-Prize-Winning Economist Paul Krugman), that consumer spending is dropping for the first time since the 1980's. Makes sense when you have no money. However, sources at NPR tell me- over my radio yesterday morning- that spending is up in one area dear to The Blogulator's heart:

FUN!!

That's right, when depression hits, people turn to pop culture for a bit of sweet relief. Movies ticket sales, television show ratings, CD sales, et al. are all on the rise! But that's not all. This week, and today in particular, you will see consumers walking the streets wearing what amounts to a month's savings. Halloween costume sales are rising fastest of all.

People want escapism and what better way than to disguise yourself as someone who still has a 401K and a house? I'll be a 60's housewife, back in a time when most women didn't have to worry about getting and keeping a job (or a second or third) to support their families. All they had to worry about was staying thin, cooking a mean pot roast, and having a dirty martini ready for their husbands when they got home from work. Ahh, the good old days:)

This Week in Elitism: Limos for comedians? You've got to be kidding me.

Done had her baby tonight; maybe a limo took her to the hospital.

I was listening to NPR this morning, while eating breakfast, styling my hair, and, oh yes, driving my car in the parking lot known as Interstate 35W South, when I heard a snippet of a convo with a former SNL cast member. Apparently, the job is pretty cushy: canoodling with celebs, tables held at the "it" spots, and limos to take you anywhere you need to go. The part that struck me as odd was the fact that each cast member gets their own limo. Their own limo? So they line up after the show and each person gets into them one by one? Isn't it lonely to be in a limo by yourself? It's like a vacuum for comedy.

That, combined with the fact that the SNLers seem so homespun/salt-o-the-earth/regular, makes me feel like the limos are overkill. Wouldn't it be cooler if they all shared a cab and every they rode in it different people took turns standing up out of the moonroof and waving to pedestrians? That would boost popularity among NYC Joe the Plumbers, since that's how they do it on Long Island. And, as we all know, not many SNL members can shake it when they go out on their own.

Of course, it would be infinitely more funny if they each had their own clown car and had to drive in circles anywhere they went. That would boost their popularity among me's.

This Week in Elitism: Mourning your stock portfolio? How 'bout a movie night?

The economy is presently the only issue in the world...according to CNN. Are we still at war? Who knows, right? But not for nothing, the economic "nuclear winter" has caused a good deal of residual depression in the money-ed class. I'm just smiling that the price of gas seems so cheap! Under $3? It's like it's free!!

For all those currently sitting bleary-eyed in front of their TV, watching the money channel- I'm sure there is one, also crying in their Açai Berry Häagen-Daaz-over-priced pint of the elite- I have another option sure to boost your spirits...

Movie Marathon!
There are numerous films that show business as it should be, pre-financial meltdown: a struggle, yes, but so much fun, so inspiring, a career option for the noble of spirit and optimism, the best kind of Americans. So put down the pint, put on your best business suit (costumes are fun at a themed-movie night!), and mix yourself a G & T...

The Pursuit of Happyness
Will Smith as a man with infinite optimism and desire for money opts into the fast-paced world of insurance, putting every ounce of his being (and his son's well-being) into reaching his goal: a flashy car! Ahh, the American dream. I personally thought all the business stuff in the beginning 90% of the movie was overkill, but the last scene, when he gets all misty, is perfection. I almost cried, but mostly because his son is the cutest little boy in the world. The point is, though, that he didn't fear a market recession, he just went for it, and so can you! Now go work on your resume.

Working Girl
Melanie Griffith as the secretary who's smarter than the bosses, who works her way through night school, lies a lot, and ultimately scores Harrison Ford! I'd sell my morals for that kind of dividend...am I right? She goes through the business world makeover, losing the 80's hair and bangles, wears $1,000 dresses, and crashes a wedding. It's mad-cap fun, but the ending, again, seals the deal: Carly Simon's amazing "Let the River Run" playing loudly over a helicopter shot of the city always gives me chills and makes me want to buy a sexy tailored suit and show those executives a thing or two. The point is that your wardrobe is essential; never buy anything but french cuffed shirts and shirts with bows are fine. Honestly.

Big Business
Here's some comic relief that still manages to put a human face on money making. The plot is a little far-fetched: two sets of identical twins are mixed up at birth and end up facing off against each other in a multimillion dollar deal, involving strip-mining and the rocking chair industry. The comic antics of Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin run the gamut of scenarios, from the putt-putt championships to FAO Schwartz, from the Plaza Hotel to the stockholder meeting. It's full of quippy one-liners that will remind you of how you used to joke around the water-cooler. Don't despair! This two-hour dose of hilarity will give you the laughter you need to help you forget that you may never have that camaraderie again. Okay, maybe you should keep eating your ice cream. It may be the only pleasure you'll have for a while.

This Week in Elitism: The Manic Pixie Dream Girl

I love finding archetypes in art, dissecting their meaning, and unlocking what they say about society as a whole. In my tutorial on Charles Dickens at Oxford, (pushes up horn-rimmed glasses) I came to the realization that practically every one of his protagonists has some turn of incredible luck. None of them receive success through hard work and perseverance alone, there's always some magnanimous benefactor to swoop in when all hope is lost. Of course, his main characters were honest and upright men, but British society was enraptured with the idea of good fortune taking them effortlessly out of their sorry lot in life. And it's important to know your audience.

So filmmakers in America have, with their knowledge of what men really want, created archetypal female characters who fulfill certain male desires, as unrealistic as they may be. I was delighted to hear about one such character on NPR last night [Editor's Note: the term originated from Nathan Rabin of The Onion's AV Club after he saw Kirsten Dunst in Elizabethtown], just at the point when I thought I would fall asleep at the wheel from all the talk about how our economy is tanking (I live on Main Street, not Wall Street! Honestly). The radio feature discussed the role of the "Manic Pixie Dream Girl," a persona inhibiting the scope of cinema from Bringing Up Baby with Katherine Hepburn, to Garden State with Natalie Portman.

The MPDG has an innocent, childlike wonder about the world. She doesn't have adult worries that hold back her sanguine attitude about life, nor does she have normal, tedious chores to do that might make her seem average, everyday, or normal. She's quirky. Her purpose in film is to unbutton the straight-laced man, to show him the joy in life he's missing out on, and release him from the status quo of daily labor. Some classic examples in include Kate Winslet's character in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, almost any role Goldie Hawn played (like one of my favorites, Housesitter), her daughter Kate Hudson in Almost Famous, Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, and Barbara Streisand in What's Up, Doc? I loved watching two movie critics discuss the MPDG on the MPR website...to watch it, read the article, or listen to the radio broadcast, click here.

The article poses a question to its audience at the conclusion: what is the male equivalent- or is there one- to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl? Are there male characters whose sole purpose in film is to relax the uptight female characters? Let's take a look...

Kate & Leopold
Contrary to popular opinion, I thought this movie was cute. Meg Ryan is the work-obsessed, ugly-dressing, career woman who can't hold onto a man (and kind of looks like a man), who can't see that life is passing her by until a mystery man comes to the rescue (once literally, on a horse). He just happens to be an 18th century duke who went through a time continuum who looks like Hugh Jackman. He embodies chivalry, masculinity, and personal integrity, and teaches Kate to examine her life and get her priorities straight. Which includes her going back in time.

Character type: Uber-flawless Anachronistic Dream Hunk (UADH)

Titanic
Like anyone poor and from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin would be so rational. But that's what Leonardo Dicaprio was for Kate Winslet in this blockbuster. He's laid back, unassuming, and doesn't follow the rigid standards of upper-class life. He's the perfect foil for poor Rose, a character I really don't feel sorry for (there are ways to get around an arranged, money-driven match, if you know what I mean...) He's all ?Bohemian with his art and spitting, and motivates her to rebel. Of course, that eventually kills him, but not before he's served his cinematic purpose.

Character type: Poor-but-Upbeat Sexy Guy (PSG)

Ghostbusters, Part II
Maybe my favorite of the male versions of the MPDG is the comic relief guy. I mean, Sigourney Weaver was dating a weird Russian cellist guy before Bill Murray came back into her life. She was so uptight that she thought it was okay to name her son Oscar and get a perm. But he finally whittled away at her frozen heart by mocking the baby and haphazardly protecting her from demons.

Character type: Humorous Schlumpy Average-Joe-as-Protector Man (HSAM)

So let me know:

Are there any more? Is there one defining attribute that unites all these male characters?

And can there be anything more obnoxious than the Manic Pixie Dream Girl? Am I an MPDG?

Precocious Pipsqueaks: Scary Movies (That Don't Scare Me)

'Tis the season for horror, blogulutionaries. At the school where I teach, it's the time of year when children who come up to my waist describe people being disemboweled - with glee! That's because my students' parents have a warped sense of what kind of movies are OK to show to a seven-year-old, and which R-ratings should actually be heeded. For my part, I believe in protecting childhood innocence as long as possible- desensitization is not usually a good thing, and often leaves some long-lasting emotional scars.

Consequently, I've maintained my horror movie naivité as long as possible. I avoid all terror of the cinematic variety. In the spirit of family entertainment and maintaining the glimmer of youthful bravery in my eye, here is a list of "happy" halloween flicks. Enjoy.

Bedknobs & Broomsticks
I love the random Disney films you can find when you're bored at a Blockbuster. We used to watch this all the time when I was little. Completely nonscary.

Ghostbusters
This is billed as a comedy and primarily sticks to that vein, even when ghosts and demons make appearances (and especially with the final "spirit").

Hocus Pocus
Disney's latest try at a Halloween movie. I thought it was terrifying when I first saw it in elementary school, but later it was alright. Be warned if you're actually considering watching this with children: the word "virgin" comes up a lot and I remember lots of kids leaning over to their parents in the theater and asking what it meant. Fun times for adults!

Wallace & Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit
This is absolutely my favorite! I love Wallace & Gromit, the British claymation stars. The short movie is chock full o'puns and innuendo that will go right over children's heads. It's hilarious and not at all scary, as long as you remind them that the were-rabbit just wants to eat veggies, not people.

And if all of those choices are too much holiday spirit for you, there's always "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown."

This Week in Elitism: Hating local "celebrities" but loving commercial success

While my fellow writers have been traveling to glitzy locales, hobnobbing with the rich and famous (I assume Qualler and Brigitte will hang with Siegfried & Roy this weekend), I've been attempting to introduce myself to the Minneapolis social scene. I was looking forward to some glitz and at least a modicum of glamor, but this is what I found...

Last night, I attended a benefit for Dress for Success, a non-profit that gives business clothing, career counseling, and confidence support to low-income women in the workplace. Held at Restaurant 7, downtown, there was an indulgent buffet of sushi and desserts, a silent auction, and a runway show of local fashions. The crowd was very suburban, full of 50-somethings who thought sequenced animal print dresses were so "in."

The event was hosted by a local news anchor, Amelia Santaniello of WCCO, whose primary role seemed to be "shushing" the room full of party-goers to remind us how serious the cause was, then, when we kept talking, to shame us by getting the DJ to defend her right to chastise us and repeat her calls for quiet.

It was all very amusing to me because I have a tendency to despise local celebrities, especially local news anchors. It's a personal intolerance because they have such effected personalities on-air, then get so many perks even though they're interchangeable. And it makes me mad that someone would think having one of them host would be a draw for me. It's a vicious cycle of unwarranted dislike. The entire event didn't stack up to my pretentious expectations, but it was definitely worth it to hear the tearful testimony from a charity recipient. However...
Imagine my delight when I had a celebrity-sighting, and one of my favorite kinds at that, a celebrity from a commercial! The minute I walked in the door, I ran right into Dick Enrico, a man whose name (in Minnesota) is ubiquitous with used exercise equipment and a caricature of a face (see above).

Dick Enrico's online infomerical

This made me wonder, though: what other celebrities do I love primarily from their "commercial" success? Here's my list:
1. Justin Long of the Apple ads. Cute, slightly emo-hipster, all Mac elitist.
2. Any child from a Welch's grape juice ad.
3. The new Ditech saleslady, who seems to be out of the Twilight Zone.
4. The Serta sheep.
5. Kool-Aid man.

Share your favorites. Who's won your devotion... with their blatant promotion?

Playground for Prose: A Bro-file of a Book About The 20-Something Male Vocabulary

While thumbing through the Fashion issue of The New York Times’s monthly supplemental magazine, I came across a book review by Holly Brubach related to gendered language, which sparked my interest. Brocabulary: The New Man-i-festo of Dude Talk (quite possibly the most obnoxious intro-to-subject-in-title ever, besides mine) is an analysis of the argot that has evolved to permit ease of communication for Millennial generation men. Spawning from the celebrity-couple naming blitz of the early 2000’s - Bennifer? - the book acts as a dictionary for popped-collar set. For example...

“Manecdote- an anecdote that shows what a man you are.” I’m assuming this could be used in reference to almost anything said by P. Diddy regarding sex. Or Sting, for that matter.

“Cupgrade- to upgrade to a girl with a bigger bra size.” I think to “pull this off,” a guy would need to be wearing a Puka shell necklace and have highlights, or a slick suit and a cell phone clipped to his belt. And in Hollywood, a cupgrade could technically happen with the same girl (and usually does).

“Hornery- ornery and horny at the same time.” I’ve completely been a party to this. Ladies, am I right?

And...

“Brobituary- a wedding toast that basically amounts to a eulogy for the groom, since “your bro’s life is over as he knows it.” True dat!

TV and Film are well-populated by such players, the “ladies’ man” character who gets all the girls. I’m going to assume (safely, I’m sure) that Charlie Sheen uses these on Two and a Half Men...and probably in real life, as well. I can also imagine every guy on The Hills (see Mr. Jenner atop this post) thinking these terms are "sweet!"

I would offer a caution, however. As pointed out in the book’s review, all of these terms and the associated @#$%% behavior can lead to an unwanted side-effect:

“Maliena[tion]- aliena[ing] a woman with male behavior.” I already feel the need to throw a wine cooler in someone’s face and I didn’t even read the book! I recommend it, though, if only as a way to keep up with pop culture vernacular, and to spot a literate, and yet mindless guy from the first thing he utters.

Personally, I know few men who use the “brocabulary,” unless “Let’s Bounce” and “Dudes’ Night” fit the bill. And it seems like more and more often, I’m addressed with “cow bo-cabulary,” the jargon of 1950’s Westerns, when men were men and said sweet, slightly patronizing things to women they didn’t know. For example (said this week by 50-something men, in regards to my bike-riding)...

“Wow [sweetcakes]*, you sure can pedal. I bet all the boys underestimate you.”

“Hello, there [Little lady].* You set quite the pace for me back there.”

*My additions, but I swear, from the tones of their voices, that’s what they were thinking. Cheesy, yes, but I still prefer it to being “Strongcharmed.”**

** “to strongarm a woman with your charm.”

This Week in Elitism: Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll, and...

...a Vintage Floral Dress Worn With a Leather Bomber Jacket, Yellow Tights, and Metallic Flats*

I am a subscriber to four magazines. I would like to think that the huge variety of their subject matter indicates that I’m a nuanced, sophisticated reader, with varied but high-class taste. Each week/month, I gleefully await the arrival of The New Yorker, Domino (a vintage-y interior design journal), Self (a health and fitness monthly), and Yoga (because even if you don't care about yoga, it won’t NOT come courtesy of your generous local yoga center). Each fills a space in my reading life: intellectual engagement, love of trés chère furniture and pretentious home tours, love of easy/healthy recipes, and calming for my frazzled nerves through chanting. And this month, 3 of those 4 were also supplemented by a free yearly magazine: Fashion Rocks. Apparently, each of my interests qualifies me as someone who might like the area of pop culture where fashion and rock music converge. Or maybe it’s just because they’re all published by Condé Nast?

Fashion Rocks is more than just a magazine, though, with colorful layouts, interviews with musicians about who they’re wearing, and the millionth interview with Justin Timberlake (who now says “I don’t want to be Mr. Sexy Back forever.”): it’s also a huge televised concert, in which musicians, designers, and actors (who want to be musicians and designers, or were just there trolling for models to hook up with later) are shuffled across the stage with barely a second to spit out scripted puns about the next performer. Why did I watch this, you might wonder. Well, because it was basically designed to maintain the attention of someone with ADHD for television, like me. More than that, though, I was amused by the pantheon of random people thrown together to make up the show, with no purpose exactly.

And it included a few of the Blogulator’s mainstays: see right. However, there were no awards, no order, or point, it seemed...it was a vanity fair, each star obviously working hard to look fairest of all. I was happy to discover that the money given by the sponsors will go to Stand Up To Cancer, a behind the scenes transaction that had nothing to do with the antics on stage (lead by the music/fashion icon Denis Leary?) Ooh, and the huge party for stars (and us average people, watching at home) already has a spin-off: Movies Rock, in which music and movies converge. Wow, it will be hard to know where to go next with this, huh? Hmm... could they possibly push the boundaries of the divisions of media once more and put on a TV Rocks magazine/concert extravaganza? If they do, bravo, CBS, bravo. It would be a milestone for pop culture integration and friendship. Maybe that was the point all along.

Check out this article on jezebel.com for further review...

*This title is a reference to an ensemble worn by Jenny Lewis and praised by Fashion Rocks magazine for her "rock-star sass."

This Week in Elitism: Republicans & Reggaeton

What a week it's been! Scandal, lies, parties, and an illegitimate child...and I'm not talking about the fall premieres of TV shows! All of this went down at the Republican National Convention, held in the most boring city in the country (apparently), St. Paul, Minnesota. Honestly, those poor delegates had to drive all the way to Minneapolis for a semi-decent concert. I spent my nights this week, after indulging in pretentious libations with friends (Riesling, anyone?), watching the antics of Republicans, political pundits, and celebrity news anchors. (How did Anderson Cooper almost get hit by flying debris in New Orleans one minute, then joke with Wolf Blitzer on the floor of the Xcel Energy Center the next? He must have a cape under that Prada shirt.)

So the delegates themselves were the least interesting characters of the masses of humanity that were crammed into the convention center...or so I thought. Apparently there's a new breed of Republican that's more hip, more culturally savvy, more up with pop culture. You won't see them sporting stupid hats or bow ties, no way. As I learned in a CNN interview with one such delegate, these young Republicans have a wonderfully quasi-stereotypical label to underscore their interests: Urban Republicans. The delegate, a young African-American man, made a point to stress that "Urban Republicans" aren't just African-American; they can be white, or they can be young, or they can even like popular music and, I guess, live in cities? Or maybe not. In any case, I soon learned from NPR that this small sub-group of visitors to our state would be converging in one place, for one supremely important purpose: Daddy Yankee, a Puerto-Rican rapper, was going to be in town to kick-off the convention, a perfect opportunity to connect with the Minnesota Latino voters.

According to Examiner.com (Minneapolis), Daddy Yankee supports John McCain because of his views on immigration. Well, that makes sense, somewhat. They're also both mavericks, I suppose: John McCain in his willingness to reach across the aisle and Daddy in his ability to push the limits of his...beats? Anger at the man?

But do the "Urban Republicans"-or their soon-to-be disapproving parents- even understand what he's saying in his songs? I mean, they're all in Spanish, right? So maybe it doesn't matter. But in light of recent revelations and scandal in the party, you think they might of vetted him a little more carefully. Let me explain...

Precocious Pipsqueaks (or why I know so much about Daddy Yankee...)

I was unfamiliar with the illustrious catalog of this "award-winning" Puerto Rican (not being a huge rap fan) until one day three years ago. I was just getting to know a new student, who spoke no English and had severe ADHD, but kept singing a song in Spanish that was incredibly catchy. I asked him about it and he gave me a detailed story about his love of Daddy Yankee and his hit song "Rompé." As a young teacher I thought: learning opportunity! I asked him to tell me some of the lyrics and we could learn the words in English together. We did a few lines, and while I was a little concerned that he mentioned "breaking things," I assumed I could gloss over that. After all, I was guiding him along the glorious path to English! College and high-paying jobs, here he comes!

That night, I went home and got a native-speaker's translation of the lyrics. Here is a segment of what I found:

Nanananananana...

Nanananananana...
Nanananananana...
(You know!)

The bad boys are ready
The beautiful girls are ready
At the street we are ready
Yeah yeah we walk ready
The ‘ hood is ready
1 2 GET READY COME ON
OH OH OH OH

BREAK IT, BREAK IT, BREAK IT, WELL BACKED (FULL OF PRIDE)
BREAK IT, BREAK IT, BREAK IT, HER BODY I WILL
BREAK IT, BREAK, BREAK IT, WELL BACKED (FULL OF PRIDE)
ARE U READY
BREAK IT, BREAK IT, BREAK IT, BREAK IT DOWN
BREAT IT, BREAK IT, BREAK IT, THE WAY SHE MOVES SHE…
BREAK IT,BREAK IT, BREAK IT, BREAK IT DOWN
LETS GO

If you need more of a visual, the video's here.

Just picture a bunch of delegates from Texas, sequenced hats, and matching khaki shirts AND pants, getting down to that. Or, picture a little boy and I dissecting the lyrics, smiling, and chanting them together in Spanish (possibly the most inappropriate things I've done- so far- as a teacher). Oh, and "break" obviously has a different connotation in the song than break something into pieces...sneaky, Daddy Yankee, with the homonyms. Using that song to teach a seven year old English might have been useful were it not about, basically the same thing that "Superman" by Soulja Boy is, another song loved by all the children where I teach. Look it up. All rap music that my students love is about perverse sexual acts. Live and learn, right?

That being said, who am I to begrudge Urban Republicans their dirty Reggaeton? It's not like there was much else to do in St. Paul.

Paris is Burning

There are many ways to catch a spark in the political melee that is the race for the US presidency. Playing the race card is always a good, old fashioned, incendiary maneuver, as is questioning your opponent's patriotism or spilling a family secret ( a la John Edwards- oh, how the well-coiffed have fallen). But these dirty games become even more enticing when the mud is thrown from outside the fight and everyone gets hit.

Case in point, the satirical campaign video featuring Paris Hilton that was posted on Funny or Die.com this week. According to Jenna Wortham at Wired.com, the viral video has been watched 6.2 million times (as of Friday), giving a major boost to the traffic at the website. And no wonder: the clip is in direct response to a recent campaign ad put out by the John McCain camp (that's short for "campaign"! I hope to pick up more obvious jargon soon), posing Barack Obama as a celebrity idol, like Britney or Paris, who is as vapid and as irrelevant to US politics. Enter Paris.

When I first saw reference to her "response ad," it was in a story on CNN. What struck me was that although the anchors were flippant and dismissive when mentioning her name, theycovered what she said, the message of her madness, in newsworthy detail. Which is why I blurted, "She's a genius!" at the TV screen. (I now I formally demand a retraction from myself; it obviously wasn't her idea or her thoughts displayed). But at the same time, this is possibly the most effective use of celebrity power in a campaign since...I'm bad with political history, does anyone know? It's effective because no one cares about her message and she's not affiliated with either candidate, so she's not tarnishing anyone's record by association. But what she said actually makes sense: combine the proposed energy policies into one with a little compromise.

So essentially, Paris got into the presidential fight and emerged unscathed. If anything, it boosted her celebrity, while diminishing the effectiveness of McCain's ad and the enthusiasm for Obama's energy policy. If only we as a nation were as inclined to listen to what the experts are saying about the race. That will never happen, though, because we Americans always want our serious news with a sugary dollop of pop culture.

(If you want more of a fix, view the new video at jibjab.com. It pokes fun of the candidates as only Americans know how).

Tearjerkers with Meaning: Chickflicks that pack a political punch!

I like to cry. There, I admit it. Sometimes there’s nothing better than the feeling of tears streaming down my cheeks, mascara running willy-nilly, gasping sobs, and the resulting sniffles. It’s a release of pent-up emotions, and, let’s face it, life is so hard, and it just isn’t healthy to keep it bottled up inside. To avoid facing the actual causes of my sadness- malaise, bad break-ups, seasonal affective disorder, or the end of a really good TV series- I sometimes resort to watching what is diminutively referred to in the world of film reviews as a “tearjerker.” These are the stories that pull at the heartstrings, making me cry for reasons I don’t even understand (when Big Bird is caged, painted blue, and made to sing by wandering gypsies, for example). It may be avoidance, but movies that affect me that way (call them “emotion pictures”) are a mainstay of my viewing pleasure.

This practice is not always condoned by society at large. Most people- and by people, I mean those who display sangfroid when cute animals die onscreen (you know who you are)- feel that purposely manipulating one’s feelings is irrational and girly, and group this genre of movies with the much maligned “chick flick.” While the label has been discussed and the gender politics of the classification beaten to death, the sub-genre of the “tearjerker” is yet to be appreciated for what it really is: a deceptive way to manipulate viewers into subconscious views on highly politicized subjects. I bet you didn’t see that coming, but it’s true! There is hidden depth, even propaganda in some of the weepiest films ever made. Here’s a list of my favorites and what lessons stayed with me…after the last tear was dry.

Titanic
The unhappy-ending to end them all (besides the fact that the main character lives to a very ripe old age and still has her pottery) taught audiences a very important lesson, well, two really, about boat safety. The first is that if a boat isn’t equipped with enough life-preservers or life boats for all the passengers, it really isn’t worth it no matter how hot the poor people in steerage are. And also, it’s important to learn about hypothermia and know how to prevent it, especially when traveling through the Arctic. I mean, could they not both fit on the big piece of wood? Honestly, I learned my lesson from that, which is, share your floating scraps when the boat goes down! Diamonds may be forever, but you could have spent your life with Leo.

Life is Beautiful
This film has the obviously morales of love overcoming most sinister hatred and parental sacrifice as the ultimate good. Under the surface, though, there’s the lesson that you need to trick children all the time to raise them properly. Their tiny little minds are unprepared to deal with the world, even one millions of times less dangerous and isolated and evil as the one depicted in the movie. I will definitely lie to my children for as long as I can get away with it. For example, when my daughter is 7 and asks where babies come from, I will not give her a detailed description and then show her pictures from medical textbooks…that could scar a kid! And I wouldn’t want that to happen to anyone else. Umm...okay, moving on…

Pretty Woman
I always cry when Julia Roberts tells Laura San Giacomo that she’s got “real potential” at the end of the movie. It’s uplifting, but such a blatant push of the movie’s overt theme that call
girls are people, too. After I cry about that, I realize that the storyline incorporates many aspects of shame about her career: George Costanza hits on her rudely, the hotel manager makes fun of her clothes, the shopkeepers make a "huge mistake," etc. However, there’s no shame on Richard Gere’s character for a) picking up a hooker, b) paying her, c) being of the Andy Garcia “looking-mad-but-actually not-being-able-to-act” school of acting. So this movie, between my tears, taught me that the double standard is so obscene that I actually think of him as a Price Charming character when he rides up in the limo, climbs the fire-escape (fear of heights be damned!), and kisses the princess. I bet she dumped him within a month. Because you know what they say, “once a hooker-picker-upper, always a hooker-picker-upper.”

Beaches
OMG. The tear-jerker to end all tear-jerkers. It’s one giant sobfest. The movie is literally designed to make me abysmally sad that my best friend in the world is dying and then tops off the sundae with a cute little girl caught in the middle. It has family drama, death, cheating, deceit, betrayal, and fun summer days on the Jersey shore. But it’s not a vacuous plot that only women can enjoy. It’s got a voice and that voice is basically yelling: “living will!” I won’t give anything else away, suffice it to say, the film was years ahead of its politically-divisive time.


Under the Same Moon
I watched this recent release last week, after serious prodding by numerous Mexican-American students peaked my interest. It’s about a mother and son separated by the border: she’s in L.A., working immigrant-style jobs, sending the money back to Mexico so her son can afford sweet kicks (that’s what the money illegal immigrants send back goes to buy, apparently, and piñatas, of course). But both of them are fed up with the situation…and the ethically-trying decisions that ensue are never-ending.
Should she marry the boring guy who has a green card just to be with her son? Should the coyote lady smuggle the son across the border?
Should Ugly Betty (America Ferrera, I mean) smuggle a random kid into Texas to pay for her brother’s college tuition (which also reminds us of the struggles of Americans to afford higher education!)?
Why does the weird friend date only chollo guys?
Is the relationship between the little boy and the drifter making anyone else uncomfortable? Can the boy forgive the father who abandoned him?
Do abandoning fathers always abandon more than once just to drive the point home?
Are white people really all superficial and self-centered? (Well, we know the answer to that is “Yes, most”). The combination of cute kid, immigration issues, unfair treatment of non-native English speakers, and maternal devotion were enough to ruin my night with crying. But also enough to remind me that the best film doesn’t just play with the mind of the viewer, it gives us something to think about in between the tears.

And with heavy heart (and Kleenex) I’m preparing to see “Wall-E” this week. The combination of adorable robot, inter-“species” mechanical love, and post-industrial dystopia…the possibilities for enlightenment (and attractive mascara stains down my face) are endless.

Twin Fantasy? Or, how I tried to stop worrying and love the Bob, but couldn't

Sometimes I still see him running towards me. His stringy, long gray hair blowing behind him; his maniacal gaze fixed on me, with a cannibalistic ferocity that causes horripilation and sets my heart racing. It's easy enough to shake off, though, by simply reminding myself that Twin Peaks is just a TV show, I'm safe, and that- deep breaths now- if it were Bob, I could just run back into my apartment, lock the door and call 911. I'm a girl with a Lynchian safety plan. By now, three weeks post-peaks viewing, my visions of Bob are a thing of the past.

Yes, but it wasn't that easy when I first started watching. Alone. At night. In someone else's empty apartment. All of which were bad choices. Those who know me know that I'm uniquely susceptible to terrifying nightmares (I wake up unable to move, paralyzed by a dream I can never remember), flashes of fear, and a general inability to compartmentalize my emotions in the aftermath of scary movies. Which is why I avoid them. However, Twin Peaks is so well-written, with such nuanced narrative and multi-faceted characters, that I couldn't not watch. And while I'm glad that Bob's out of my subconscious, I can still appreciate that the show had many redeemable qualities. Not enough to throw myself back into the nightmares, though.

In my search for a TV show on DVD to fill the void that was left, I stumbled upon the ultimate '70's television experiment in experimental programing: Fantasy Island. The two shows share the same kitsch value, mostly in that they both make me laugh in in bemusement, smile at reoccurring oddities, and keep me asking "why?" on the edge of my seat. Of course, the major difference, one which is ideal for a little chicken like me, is that Fantasy Island is Bob-free. For my horror-loving friends, who've told me they laugh in the face of on-screen gushes of blood, it may not be so enticing. But that's my highest praise.

Both shows fall into a niche of bizarre, non-commercial appeal of alternative television. Here is a comparison, side-by-side, for your consideration. Please, sit back, have a cup of coffee and enjoy. Just make sure it's hot.

Idiosyncratic protagonist:
Twin Peaks
Special Agent Dale Cooper- He's an investigator who comes to the small town to solve a tragic crime. Using keen senses, unorthodox methods, and dedication to professionalism, he solves the crime (not a spoiler), but also ingratiates himself into the community, making loyal friends and insane enemies. He is straightforward, honest, and trusts his gut. Vices: cherry pie, black coffee, yoga headstands, recording his musings on a tape recorder for his secretary, communing with giants.

Fantasy Island
Mr. Roarke- He's the owner of a tropical getaway that offers paying guests their ultimate fantasies realized. He's meticulous with the details, always reminding those with past-recreation wishes that his duplication is "EXACTLY" as it was before. But he also delights in adding clauses to the fantasies that test his participants' will, subvert their desires, and push them to their emotional breaking points. Always with a smart suit and a reptilian smile. Vices: teaching people a lesson they don't want to learn, matching jeeps for all his staff. And wearing white suits.

Similarities: Slick men who are sharp dressers, like being in control, and divulge their motives and goals on a need-to-know basis.

Differences: Agent Cooper is introduced as a force of good, with a hero complex, with hints of ambiguity. Mr. Roarke is morally-ambiguous from the get-go, with hints of human emotion later is the first season...but is it all a trick? In his partnership with Sheriff Harry S. Truman, Agent Cooper is the slightly less than realistic character. Their teamwork gets a dose of reality from the Sheriff's normalcy and role as the straight-man. Mr. Roarke is quite over-the-top on his own. When you add Tattoo, his little person side-kick with the most muddled yet creepy accent I've ever heard, there's no limit to the surreality. Basically the straight man on this show are all of the guest stars.

Narrative:
Twin Peaks
This television show is well-written in that it mixes schmaltz and mystery, quirky humor and horrifying suspense, and small-town charm and unconscionable crimes, with an overall glaze of David Lynch's purposeful manipulation of one's comprehension. It's a show that messes with your mind and enjoys it. The characters aren't always well-developed or rounded, but always fascinating. The story unfolds episode by episode, juggling numerous side-plots, and seemingly unrelated characters.

Fantasy Island
The show functions as isolated episodes. In fact, only the two men and the setting tie episodes together with any continuity. The beginning of each show, Tattoo spots the guest fly overhead, yells "Da plane, da plane," and they line up to greet their new subjects of experimentation, with a brief exposition of each guests' background and fantasy. At the end, the guest are bid farewell on their plane off the island, with more exposition: what was learned, what has changed, a self-congratulatory pat on the back by Mr. Roarke, and a stupid joke from Tattoo. There is no character development across episodes and that's part of the appeal: at the beginning of each there's anticipation of who will arrive this time and what bizarre situation they will find themselves in, under the watchful eyes of Mr. Roarke.

Similarities: Weirdness? A what-will-happen-next appeal?

Differences: Sequential, building-block storyline vs. discrete episodes.

Little people, little roles
Twin Peaks
In Sp. Agent Dale Cooper's dream about Laura Palmer, in which she whispers her killer's name in his ear, also features a quasi-freakish little man who speaks in a low-toned and bizarre prosody (which Lynch created by having the actor memorize his lines phonetically backwards, then played the recording in reverse). The movement was also played back in reverse, his bow-legged walk exaggerated. My eyes were glued to it even as my mind was saying "This little man is going to be in your nightmares...turn away!" It was an effectively creepy scene.

Fantasy Island
Tattoo is a developed character, who has billing at the beginning of the show. His accent, as mentioned, is over-the-top and kind of demeaning, but it serves as some comic relief. His purpose on the show is to ask Mr. Roarke the questions the audience is intended to be thinking at given points throughout the show and to say a one-liner at the end of each episode.

Similarities: small people? Who are excellent actors.

Differences: An intended freakish factor vs. quasi-patronizing comedy. Neither one is politically correct, is given enough credit or time in their roles, or really does the show justice. And yet, each seems like an integral, memorable aspect, one burned in the psyche of audiences.

The Fear Factor:
Twin Peaks
The terror that Lynch creates is slow-burning. He gives the viewer flashes of crime and glimpses of the hidden evil in many town people, but not for very long does he unleash (almost literally) the horror movie persona and events that you anticipate for hours. The fear is exponentially enhanced by the soundtrack. Towards the climactic episode, I started watching episodes in broad daylight, but, more importantly, on mute. While doing meditative chanting and yoga relaxation poses. So much less frightening! But even that couldn't stop the most horrific scenes from being imprinted in my mind. The flawless acting is critical to the effective development of fear as well.

Fantasy Island
Full disclosure: I was able to watch this show without nightmare. It's not terrifying. It's more oddly scary, in a safe, cable-TV-in-the-age-of-the-Brady's kind of way. There are psychotic murders, flashes of suicide, and lots of morbidity, but none of it's as disturbing as most of Twin Peaks. But it's weirder than you think, the surprise of which induces a modicum of fear.

Similarities: Both have bizarre suspense, twists, and deceptions.

Differences: Bob. BOB! And that's enough.

Now that he's gone from my life (and my door is locked just in case), I feel free to write that I appreciate the quality of the Twin Peaks series. There isn't anything like it on television. Fantasy Island has yet to be duplicated, but it has been spun off to shows of minimal quality, like "Temptation Island" and any narrative program in which character's wildest dreams are granted. The kitsch value is unique, however, and with it's bearable level of horror, I'm left satisfied. And while the town of Twin Peaks is quaint (albeit rife with moral degradation), I'd prefer the tropical breezes and palm trees of the island any day.

**Addendum: I refuse to post any pictures of Bob: a) because just seeing them come up in google searches makes me stare in nonsensical horror at my bedroom doorknob, to see if it's slowing turning; and b) I feel like sharing his identity could be interpreted as a spoiler to the uninitiated. Watch Twin Peaks yourself, then you'll know Bob, truly know him, and his eyes will be ingrained in your psyche for the rest of your life. Enjoy. Or, if you're horror-averse like me, stick to the light yet satisfying Fantasy Island.