Brangelina have twins!

And here's proof: Apparently Angelina Jolie gave birth to her twins in Nice, France. Above is the Mayor of the city holding up the birth certificates. Welcome to the world, Knox Leon and Vivienne Marcheline! Shiloh, Zahara, Maddox and Pax are like, super duper excited to meet the additions to the clan--er...family.

Wombs for Rent?

So Oprah's show on Thursday discussed the journey to parenthood with couples involved in surrogacy. Couple Jennifer and Kendall opened up to correspondent Lisa Ling about their journey to have a child after unsuccessful attempts at conceiving. Enter the Akanksha Infertility and IVF Clinic in Anand, India. This clinic houses Indian women for the 9 month gestation period where they are artificially inseminated with the embryos of a couple. Most of the people these women service are American couples, as it costs roughly $12,000 in the country instead of upwards of $50,000 in the United States.

I have to admit, I sort of cringed during the segment...with "exploitation" and "objectification" being the two buzz words to describe this method of conceiving. The discourse around surrogacy can be pejorative, with some likening it to a baby brokering service. It can even escalate when these mothering incubators are women who are required to leave their homes and sometimes forced to keep their pregnancies a secret from their families due to societal values and norms in the culture. Though Oprah's program did include interviews with these Indian women, the slant of the segment was decidedly pro-America (read: pro-rich white couples), focusing on a holistic approach to the idea that women across borders can share a deep bond and as Lisa Ling comments, cultivate a sort of "transnational ambassador" role for the conceived child.

So both parties involved get what they want...American couples get the child they always wanted and the Indian women are able to provide for their own families with the $5000 they get for their services, akin to 10 years worth of working. But I still feel somewhat iffy about the whole process. What does it mean that we go to India to outsource customer service for technological products as well as people to have our children? Is this a new phase of globalization? What does this situation look like through a postcolonialist lens? How do we approach this as a trannsational feminist conversation? Hmmm...maybe more on this later.

What's Race Got To Do With It? Will Smith as Fractured Superhero

Many of our most beloved superheroes face not only super villains but also super existential crises. Who am I? Where did I come from? What is my Purpose? Obligated to keep their “true” identities hidden, they are forced to self-regulate their images both publicly and privately until inevitably someone unearths their secret life. This is the general plight for our comic book-turned-film protagonists.

Except for people like Hancock. Hancock (Will Smith) is in many ways the superhero for our jaded postmodern era. He does not prescribe to the same formulaic narrative of the likes of larger than life DC do-gooders Batman or Superman. Nor does he exactly fit in with Marvel misfits Spiderman, Iron Man, or The Hulk. Hancock plays by his own rules (that of drunken asshole in need of anger management classes) and feigns nonchalance at his less than stellar representation in the public eye for screwing Los Angeles up on a daily basis with his unchecked superpowers.

Enter public relations executive Ray Embrey (Jason Bateman), an idealistic publicist (oxymoron you say???) who believes in saving the world and Hancock’s bruised image. I won’t pour over the details of the B-movie because what I really want to discuss is the construction of our beloved Will Smith as a superhero himself of extraordinary capabilities.

Thomas C. Holt in The Problem of Race in the 21^st Century writes of Michael Jordan and his ability to transcend race in the global marketplace. The uber-successful marketing campaign “I Wanna Be Like Mike” becomes a consumptive exercise for the public to forget difference. What does it mean to be “like Mike?” While it may certainly connote his excellent sportsmanship and talent, it most certainly doesn’t refer to his racial identity. His race is effectively erased from his image only to be marked when the dominant society brands him as an exemplary figure of the potentiality of African-Americans. It is my assertion that Will Smith is indicative of this “Michael Jordan Effect” for the millennium.

Hancock is yet another one of many roles in which Smith’s racial identity does not play a factor in the filmic text. Hancock is simply just a guy and his blackness is never accented-- except for comic moments such as the superhero flying to a freeway to straighten up some clearly marked Latino criminals as Ludacris’ “Move Bitch” plays as soundtrack to the scene. Furthermore, Smith has a track record for roles that involve romantic relationships with non-black women—whether it be Eva Mendes in Hitch or Charlize Theron in Hancock. When he is linked with African-American females on screen, it is usually because in the film he is marked as black.[1] No other black actor has really pulled off this feat simply because no other black actor can play a universal race card like Smith can. Audiences are drawn to him simply because he is Will Smith.

This is an interesting observation if only because the story of Smith’s production and consumption as a black star bizarrely follows his role in the emotional profile of Chris Gardner in The Pursuit of Happyness. In playing Gardner as a character, Smith reflexively relives his own transcendence of race...from Fresh Prince to Hollywood's 4th of July release Golden Boy...to obtain the American Dream. How patriotic!

Now finally back to Hancock. Is he a black superhero? Survey says no. If Hancock was actually coded as black then the film would have a lot of explaining to do. It would become not just your unique superhero text but rather a commentary on urban waste, homelessness and poverty in the black community, and yes…the maladaptiveness of interracial relationships. While you can still read these ideas on the film, Hancock makes sure it does not highlight them with Will Smith as star. Therefore the film is as much about Hancock’s image as it is about Will Smith’s fractured relationship with racial identity in his career.

Whew.

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[1] His relationship with Vivica A. Fox in Independence Day is duly noted as an aberration in this formula.

Robot Romance

*credit to Rotten Tomatoes*

Yesterday I went to see Pixar's latest CG romp, Wall-E. I had no desire to watch the film at first, fond memories of Finding Nemo and Ratatouille still embedded in my brain, their awesomeness not to be touched by some...robot...with a funny voice. But the buzz got the best of me and I found myself at the theater at 10 am in an audience filled with kids and old people. The verdict?

I absolutely LOVED this movie. With a great story and clever execution, I haven't had this much fun as an audience member in a long time. While Wall-E is a cautionary tale about the effects of global warming and mankind's ability to destroy all of its resources (to the point where we all become huge computer graphic tubs of lard in outer space sitting in automated chairs that give us food in a cup), the most endearing message of the film came from one of mankind's oldest master narratives: Love Conquers All.

The film gets a little help from the musical "Hello, Dolly!" to get its point across about the merits of finding love. From the initial credit sequence, we understand that Wall-E is a professed lover of musical theater. And he has a penchant for Barbara Streisand. One of the numbers in the musical that becomes a thread throughout the entire film is "It Only Takes a Moment" sung by Michael Crawford and Marianne McAndrew. The scene details a lovestruck Cornelius who croons about how his life changed when he moved out of Yonkers and fell in love with the lovely hat-maker Irene in just a "moment". Wall-E watches this scene numerous times in his make-shift home, particularly the moment where Cornelius and Irene finally touch via hand holding. It is this instant of pressing need for (human) contact that makes Wall-E not just a robot, but an actual person capable of emotional desire. When he finally meets the sleek and chic Eve, it is love at first sight for Wall-E. The film is at its best when depicting the theme of love through these two main characters. Adding to the intensity of their romance is the fact that for 95% of the movie, their names are all they can communicate to each other through words. I couldn't help but relate Wall-E's pained cry of "Ev-uh!" to Marlon Brando's heartwrenching shouting of "Stella!" from A Streetcar Named Desire. The characters' frequent attempts at successful connection are not at all circuitous, but rather provide a solid framework for the narrative as a whole. And it made me tear up a little, particularly when Eve realizes that Wall-E loves her through reviewing her own security footage.

In "It Only Takes a Moment," Cornelius wonders, "Isn't the world for wonderful things?" The film directly deals with this issue, in reminding us of the beauty of life, living, and most of all love. For me, Wall-E is inevitably a tale of what lengths we are able to go to for such things.

Safe "Sex"

So I've seen the Sex and the City film twice. My first experience was in the company of my mother at an afternoon showing in Houston, Texas. My second experience found me with my darling roommates in the middle of Times Square, NYC at night.

Needless to say, drastic difference in audience.

What can I say about this movie? I love SATC as a television show. I even watch it compulsively on TBS on weekedays even though its edited and like, half of Samantha's antics are cut out of entire episodes. I AM Charlotte York (with a little Miranda on the side). So I had high expectations for the film as every fan would.

I can't say that I blindly loved it or hated it. The film gave its core audience what it wanted: fun and fabulous females, 10 years older and wiser. There was laughing, crying, and of course sex. But the X-factor to put the film above and beyond its television predecessor just wasn't there for me. The sex scenes seemed stilted and placed in the film as an obligatory gesture to bygone days of its heyday on HBO. There was lots of reminiscing, particularly in the dress up scene in which Carrie tries on her clothes from her past. But with that reminiscing came less sharp-tongued wit and banter that I knew and loved.

The cast additions (Jennifer Hudson, this means YOU) actually hurt the film. Besides her awful delivery of lines, sweet Louise from St. Louis (how pun-ny you are, Carrie!), became a stereotypical Mammy figure for a jilted Carrie. As her personal assistant, Hudson paraded around as a "sista girl" complete with her no-nonsense attitude, penchant for L.O.V.E...and her rented Chanel bag. SATC has always been criticized for its lack of racial and cultural diversity and the inclusion of Hudson in the cast in an underdeveloped role seemed like a slap in the face.

Still, despite its problems in representation (because c'mon...what commercial text doesn't have this issue), it brought the girls back in action. Sarah Jessica Parker had a standout performance as Carrie and successfully "carried" the film. Like critic Richard Roeper, I would have liked them to utilize the supporting cast that made them so successful a little more. Steve and Harry were mere doormats in the whole film.

Albeit generic, the movie was endearing. Thanks to SJP, Michael Patrick King, HBO, Starbucks, Vitamin Water, and every other product and designer that was shamelessly promoted.

Rating: B

Oops...She Did it Again:The Britney Discourse

I'm gonna be a tad scholarly now.

Pop star Britney Spears appeared to have truly hit rock bottom after an infamous standoff incident at her Los Angeles home in early 2008. The singer refused to hand over her youngest son Jayden after a standard visitation with her two boys supervised by a court-appointed monitor. Spears reportedly locked herself up in a room with Jayden and only after police officials by car and helicopter, fire trucks, and two ambulances appeared on the scene, did she finally relinquish control of the children to ex-husband Kevin Federline. Spears was then promptly put on a gurney with hand and leg restraints, an ambulance taking her to a facility where she would be hospitalized for evaluations. This situation and its aftermath highlight competing discourses surrounding fame and how Britney as a subject and object circulates throughout popular culture.

The question on everyone’s mind in light of a string of disturbing events involving the star seems to be, what or who is responsible for Britney’s Breakdown? Recently it has become common practice to “diagnose” Britney Spears. Other celebrities, fans, anti-fans, media pundits, journalists, etc. have created competing narratives of the origins of her private-made-public spectacle. These narratives are based in both fact and fiction as she exists in reality and cultural imagination simultaneously. The discourse of media representation seems to be the most salient for fans and stars in the entertainment industry to understand Britney and the trajectory of her fame. ‘The Media’ is said to have invaded Britney’s privacy as stalkerazzi archive her every move on camera. The paparazzi as a re-envisioning of the panoptic gaze produce a system of constant surveillance on the pop tart. Many highly visible celebrities agree, citing the repressive force of photographers in spaces where they are not normally sanctioned. Subsequently, this gaze on Britney for public consumption induces an ‘acting out’ in her private life.

Spears is then constructed as a victim of an institutional power and a fetishistic desire for her “to be looked at” and circulated as an image. The media is seen to precipitate and profit on her downfall by judging her actions incessantly. This criticism and microscopic reporting of her daily existence propels the “Leave Britney alone!”[1] mentality amongst Britney advocates. It is important to note that conversations in this discourse are less about Britney’s potential illegal or illicit activities, but more about the fact that we, the audience, should not be privy to them because of their location in the private sphere—we should not “look.” Instead, audiences are allowed and expected to consume the image of Spears as a victim of fame, a fallen princess to entertainment.

Yet it is precisely this construction of Britney as victim in popular opinion that is peculiar because of the nature of her crimes. Britney’s body is a site of disruption to the discourse of fame in this particular era of her stardom. This is most exemplified by the incident of Britney shaving her head. In contrast to the idea of biopower producing docile bodies, Spears’ body proves time and time again to be not disciplined.[2] Her deviant body resists the self-regulation that should occur because of even the potential of being watched, yet Britney does not adhere to this. Therefore she has to be restrained both figuratively and literally.

The image of Britney’s literal restraint in the beginning anecdote portrays her as a threat to not only others, but more importantly a danger to herself. Here Britney’s fame can also be considered through the lens of a discourse of mental health. Her erratic behavior has created a conversation in the public around her mental competency where actual clinical diagnoses are being offered to explain her breakdown.[3] Is she bipolar? Did she shave her head during a manic phase? Does she have multiple personalities? Is she suffering from post-partum depression? These questions circulate within the Britney spectacle when before her controversial actions (getting hitched in Vegas for 55 hours for example) were simply seen as media ploys to saturate the market with her brand keeping her current in the eyes of popular culture. In the aftermath of the mini-hostage situation with her son, she is placed in the psychiatric ward of a hospital. This is crucial because Britney has completed stints in rehabilitation centers such as famed Promises for substance abuse. So the trajectory of a Britney diagnosis has gone from “fame whore” to drug addict to legitimately mentally ill, where even Dr. Phil comes to visit her in the facility—and later does ample press about the meeting to the disdain of Spears’ own family.

After the incident at the home, the judge in her custody case promptly gave full custody to Federline. Most recently Spears has now been identified as not only unfit to parent, but not capable of taking care of her own well-being—her father was granted conservatorship over her estate by court officials. Here, discourses of the family and the law work together to undermine Britney as a subject and to increase her visibility in the media. Yet her reprimands are not a result of her position doing the work of a celebrity, but rather from actions in her personal life made public. She is discussed in the media as a bad and more so, a negligent, mother.[4] In fact her inability to parent is used to further the claim of Britney’s victimhood. Indeed, it is said that because of her childhood fame and regressive maturing in the public eye, that she has a stunted conceptualization of raising her own children. All of these competing dialogues surrounding Britney’s fame serve to place Spears in a distinct subject position as victim (in some way or another) of the pitfalls of a hyper-visible existence. Regardless of locating where responsibility lies in Britney’s Breakdown, the multiple narratives by multiple viewing positions of her subjectivity in the spotlight, serve to display how discourses of fame can function in a postmodern moment.

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[1] Made famous by YouTube personality Chris Crocker’s emotional commentary on the star.

[2] Indeed, the very function of public relations is to package a product in favorable ways for consumption. Interestingly, Britney fired her famous publicist Leslie Sloane before this incident.

[3] The current US Weekly cover image is of Spears and her battle with mental illness.

[4] Interesting because this is validated by an absence of paparazzi photos of Spears and her children together, instead of a presence of them within the discourse of fame.

Randomness at 1 am

A person who shall remain nameless prompted me to list my Top 10 sex scenes in film (in no particular order). Here they are:

1. Ghost: Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze. Definitely the romantic one of the bunch. All of that clay swirling around...oozing sensuality!

2. Unfaithful: Diane Lane and Olivier Martinez. Sure she was cheating and that's like, bad. But their chemistry was undeniable.

3. An Officer and a Gentleman: Richard Gere and Debra Winger. Uniform sexy!

4. Cruel Intentions: Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillipe. This one has a lot to do with the soundtrack...Colorblind is a hot song.

5. Love and Basketball: Sanaa Lathan and Omar Epps. It was just really sweet and aww worthy.

6. Y Tu Mama Tambien: Does it matter who? The whole movie was sex. And other important things. But lots of sex too.

7. Jason's Lyric: Jada Pinkett and Allen Payne. I'm from Houston, it was filmed in Houston. The Bayou has a whole new meaning for me after seeing this film.

8. Disclosure: Demi Moore and Michael Douglas. It was only oral and in the rest of the narrative he sues her for sexual harassment in the office. Still in the moment, it was a liberating scene for females. Very Sharon Stone.

9. Do the Right Thing: Rosie Perez and Spike Lee. You never really saw anything, but simplicity (and ice cubes!) were the key on a hot summer day.

10. Disappearing Acts: Sanaa Lathan and Wesley Snipes. I really like this film a lot. And the refrigerator scene.

Inside Mimi's Mind

I love Mariah Carey. She was my introduction to true Pop music in the early 90s. I enjoyed her inevitable high notes that only dogs can hear at the end of her songs, her use of words she probably got from a thesaurus by her bedside for lyrics, and honestly just the way she lives in a world totally separate from reality filled with like, a lot of butterflies. How else can you explain album titles like Daydream, Rainbow, Charmbracelet and now, E=MC2? The chick is completely delusional. New evidence of this can be viewed below:



This is the music video for the first single off her new album called "Touch My Body." The song is not at all spectacular, but then again, neither was "It's Like That" and The Emancipation of Mimi is one of her best albums. So I still had hope for her. Until I saw this travesty of a video. Here is my brief running commentary:

:00 A VW Bug pulls up in front of a mansion. I wonder who lives there...
:15 Mariah opens the front door in her underwear. CompuNerd gets a little nervous, she's like, so HOT.
:27 ...And she still can't act.
:45 Obligatory ephemeral shots. Look at all that wind, it makes her hair so flow-y!
1:21 What is this video about exactly?
1:38 A wittle spanking for the bad wittle dorky boy
1:46 Hair touching!
1:50 Animal cruelty, anyone?
2:18 ...and cue Star Wars!
2:58 I'm starting to think she has lice.
3:05 Is anyone else hoping she gets hit in the face with that frisbee?
4:02 That Mariah, she's so tech savvy!

It was supposed to be a fun video. Look at all that fun she had! Wow, what a blast that set must have been. It's almost as if she was 12 again...oh wait.

It's official...

Justin Timberlake ROCKS MY SOCKS. This is a still from his upcoming film with Mike Myers and Jessica Alba titled The Love Guru. To be released Summer 2008. My life is now complete.

And the Oscar goes to...

Nobody. At least nobody you'll give a second thought to because this year's Academy Awards were probably one of the most boring and forgettable I've seen in my tradition of watching the event. And the ratings sucked. I believe there are three reasons why:

1. Jon Stewart. I have to confess that I'm not one of those hip youth who think Jon Stewart is "like, so cool, and like, I totally get my news from him because he's so funny and smart!" Call me an old fart but give me my elderly white men on network television (or my gay hottie Anderson Cooper on CNN). Give me Babwa. Even give me Regis and Kelly. But Jon Stewart...he just doesn't do it for me. Eh. And when he utilizes satire on The Daily Show that's just dandy. But don't host my Oscars and present the same thing, albeit remixed, for a completely different audience. The Oscars are about spectacle and excess. Feeding the narcissism of the Hollywood elite blindly and uncritically. That's why we have people like Billy Crystal, Steve Martin, Whoopi Goldberg--I would even take Robin Williams--to host the event. Entertain me with a performance and not a cynical stand up routine.

2. Too predictable. Power of elimination and the way most of the winners swept the rest of the Awards season makes for a snooze fest. Did anyone really think Daniel Day Lewis wasn't going to win Best Actor for There Will Be Blood? Besides Johnny Depp lovers (he will get his day in the Oscar glow, I promise people. Just not when he's an effeminate pirate or singing serial killer)

3. Who are those people again? As my roommate frequently prefaces certain statements in our household, "I'm not xenophobic but..." I love the Foreigners. I watch subtitled films. I bow down to Jean Luc Godard. But doesn't it just seem a tad odd that all of the acting awards went to people from outside of this country? Remember the last memorable time something like this happened with Roberto Benigni? Remember his exuberance as he balanced on chairs finally coming to the podium to receive his Best Actor nod? Remember how we never heard from again? Marion Cotillard...I hope I'm not talking to you now.

Ultimately the 80th Anniversary of the Academy Awards suckage has everything to do with Miley Cyrus. No really, I'm convinced. That creepy Disney product of a child star who will end up with multiple personalities in t-minus 10 years, either from switching to Hannah Montana blonde hair too much or hearing her dad singing Achy Breaky Heart...toss up. Why was she there again anyway?

Britney's parents release statement

Source: TMZ

The following statement was released to CNN's Anderson Cooper by Jamie and Lynne Spears, Britney's parents:

"As parents of an adult child in the throws of a mental health crisis, we were extremely disappointed this morning to learn that over the recommendation of her treating psychiatrist, our daughter Britney was released from the hospital that could best care for her and keep her safe. We are deeply concerned about our daughter's safety and vulnerability and we believe her life is presently at risk. There are conservatorship orders in place created to protect our daughter that are being blatantly disregarded. We ask only that the court's orders be enforced so that a tragedy may be averted."

So Heath Overdosed...

...on painkillers and sedatives. I wonder if somewhere out there on a planet and galaxy unknown to mankind, Tom Cruise is jumping on couches and saying "I told you so!"

"Accidental Overdose Killed Heath Ledger"

New Orleans: The Remix

*Credit to Jim Hill Media*

So I'm sure many have heard of the new Disney animated feature film (in all the glory of 2D animation), The Princess and the Frog, set to be released in 2009. Here is a description of the movie:

A musical set in the legendary birthplace of jazz — New Orleans — The Princess and the Frog will introduce the newest Disney princess, Tiana (voiced by Anika Noni Rose), a young African-American girl living amid the charming elegance and grandeur of the fabled French Quarter. From the heart of Louisiana's mystical bayous and the banks of the mighty Mississippi comes an unforgettable tale of love, enchantment and discovery with a soulful singing crocodile, voodoo spells and Cajun charm at every turn. http://www.firstshowing.net/2008/01/14/first-look-disneys-the-princess-and-the-frog/

Now I for one am glad young black girls can finally identify image-wise with a Disney princess. Not gonna lie, I was kinda sick of dressing up half-naked like minority royality Jasmine and Pocahontas (and throw in mermaid Ariel too with her seashell bra). I will be interested in Disney's marketing campaign for the film though. Disney Princess movies generally cater to a young white female audience. The reason why Jasmine, Pocahontas, and even the less discussed gypsy Esmerelda (because Hunchback was awful, let's just be honest about it) were able to be consumed so effectively was because of their exoticized nature.

Now little Tiana isn't African. She's black. Plain ol' black. And the place of the film isn't an amorphous far away fairy tale land. Nor is it located in the wilds or villages of a reductive vision of Africa. No--Tiana lives in New Orleans, an American city rich with history, culture...and current sociopolitical and economic issues that definitely cast a shadow on Disney's new venture. What are we to make of this constructed mythical city of the film in the face of Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath?

I don't have any answers. But from the description it's hard not to cringe a little at the tropes that Disney is using to reconstruct and essentialize New Orleans into a magical space of voodoo folk culture. I'm not trying to negate this aspect of the city's heritage (films like Eve's Bayou have certainly re-envisioned this identity of New Orleans) but to showcase it as spectacle, because it will inevitably be seen as this and commodified as such, could be considered, dare I say it, problematic. It'll be interesting to see the finished product and the promotion surrounding it.

Day 26 + Danity Kane = WTH?

Season two of Making the Band 4 premiered to the show's highest amount of viewers in its history on MTV. So to bring you up to date, the new season of Diddy's eternally fruitless quest to create the next big thing in pop music follows newly anointed Bad Boy group Day 26 (huh?) on their journey in making their first studio album. The quintuplet reunite in NYC and are raring to burst into stardom (because those 11 or so fan sightings on the street just didn't quite cut the mustard) and find a surprise waiting for them:

It's Donnie! He didn't make the band, but Diddy thought he was special (read: A creepy Justin Timberlake clone...but so NOT) and a perfect addition to Bad Boy's solo artists (read: a marketable white guy to hand over in a platter to screaming girls who think he's street sexy). So all of the boys are back together again in their deluxe apartment in the sky, ready to take on the world. BUT Diddy still has tricks up his sleeve. And it's not making them run a marathon in freezing weather or pick up food in Brooklyn. No, it's even better than that ladies and gentleman. Prepare yourselves:


It's Danity Kane! Yes, DK5 will be recording their sophomore effort at the same time Day 26 and Donnie will be working on their first albums. Basically it's Diddy's version of a wet dream...a new line of Bad Boy artists that will create a musical family akin to the days of Puff Daddy, Biggie, 112, Faith Evans and Mase.

What Delusional Diddy doesn't seem to realize is that Bad Boy's heyday is long gone. Maybe it's because of his apparent ADD when signing artists (Da Band anyone? Danity Kane when they fell off the face of the earth even though their album went platinum with no promotion?). Who knows. But the Puffster is convinced that he can turn anything into gold and we're his captive audience.

So the premise of the new season is a battle of the sexes. The artists will pit themselves against each other to find out who records the best album. Basically the season is a huge advertisement for themselves and their upcoming releases. Fans will watch and then go out and feverishly buy the album(s) of the Bad Boy artist they like the most. Or something. Theoretically. Yet the season, or at least the premiere, just seemed flat. Day 26's naivety to the entertainment industry is supposed to be juxtaposed with Danity Kane's perceived savvy-ness. For example:

Donnie: These girls are so famous and pretty, how ever will we be like them?
Aundrea: You know, we've like, done this before a lot, and we're complete pros you know?! Like, we're gonna show them how it's done! Yeah!

Mhmm. Yep. Then there is the juxtaposition between what the viewer is supposed to understand as the contrived romance between Donnie and Aubrey and the authentic romance between Q and Dawn. And finally, the rumored relationship between Diddy and Aubrey that he half way addresses in the creepy talk he has with her alone in his office while simultaneously blasting her awful weave:

Clearly I chose a picture that makes her look ridiculous. But she really is.

Anyway, this season will continue to shock and awe us, I'm sure. I know I'll be watching!

To find out more info about the show, check out the website.

Ledger and LOST

Yesterday I went to the fan memorial outside of Heath Ledger's apartment in SoHo. I was surprised at how many people were there taking photographs. There were a couple of barricades but otherwise it was a pretty open space with lots of flowers, candles, and posters that all reflected fan dedication to the star.

It's always surreal when a young celebrity dies. It makes transparent the fact that stars are not invincible and don't reside on this elevated plane of being from "normal" people. So a lot of the entertainment news media is discussing at length how Ledger could have died and interestingly, why Ledger died. One of the theories is that he was so consumed with his upcoming role as The Joker in the second Christopher Nolan Batman installment, The Dark Knight, that it lead him to become really depressed because the character was such a tortured soul. I don't know if I buy the whole 'method acting gone awry' narrative. Sure he was probably consumed in his role but I think there have to be other risk factors involved for a role to completely alter your personality outside of filming.

In other news, the 4th season of LOST begin this Thursday, yippee! Because of the Writer's Strike there are only 8 episodes that have been filmed, which kinda foils the whole plan of ending the show at the 6th season with 16 episode installments each. The fourth season is apparently focused on the history of the island. There will also be flash forwards in addition to flashbacks, tricky tricky. I'm always ready for a mystery, television's pretty boring right now.

10 Things I Love About Heath Ledger

1. His Aussie accent and identity
2. The fact that at one point he dated Heather Graham and therefore together their couple name was still Heather.
3. The way he can look positively disheveled and still be really sexy.
4. How he can pull off long, short and buzzed hair--that takes talent.
5. His role in The Patriot...good film.
6. For taking on a role in The Brothers Grimm even though it was an awful movie.
7. His take on The Joker for the next Batman installment...seems positively eerie.
8. The fact that his daughter's name is Matilda, because it's a pretty awesome name.
9. His understated yet powerful acting in Brokeback Mountain
10. The adorable way he sang and made a fool out of himself in 10 Things I Hate About You.


You will be missed berry berry much.




Post Options

My own Post Secret

Since I'm not ironic enough to actually send in a message to Post Secret:

I get really angry when playing with pre-schoolers when they tear down my Lego block creations.





There. I said it. Judge me.

Love, marriage, a baby carriage, and the monster that eats it all up

In the past three weeks, I have seen three films: Juno, 27 Dresses, and Cloverfield. All had buzz around them for different reasons--Juno was the Little Miss Sunshine of 2008, a little engine that could of an independent film that follows a sharp-tongued pregnant teenager as she gives her baby up for adoption to a seemingly immaculate couple. 27 Dresses gives the term "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride" a lot more credence as it explores a woman living vicariously through other people's relationships and wedding days until true love finds her as unexpectedly as it can in a formulaic romantic-comedy. Finally, Cloverfield is about--well fuck it. Who knows?

I'm not a genre discriminator when it comes to film. I love (melo)drama, romantic comedy, horror, sci-fi, action...pretty much all of it. But what I've really been interested in for the past few weeks is the concept of spectacle. In fact, I started reading a pretty intriguing book over Winter Break about it called The Society of the Spectacle by Guy Debord. He's another French dude in a long line of French dudes that talk about postmodernism, Marxism, commodity-fetishism, some more -isms, and how it all relates to ideology. Pretty cool guy. Anywho, I got to thinking about relationships. No I'm kidding. I'm not Carrie Bradshaw nor do I wear Manolos and have a Mr. Big. I really got to thinking about how we construct spectacle in our lives. Why are we drawn to train wrecks (read: Britney Spears)? Why do I, the feminist, swoon over vows and first dances, while obsessively planning out my completely non-existent wedding day?

I think it's partly due to what I want to call the Matrix-effect. We are drawn to simulations and hyper-reality. We are constantly trying to find ways to escape the Real and create new worlds of fantasy predicated on the image. I'm going to make a controversial statement in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...Britney Spears is not Real. She's a figment of our collective imaginations constructed by popular culture (more on this in coming posts as I'm pretty much infatuated with the Britney Spears Effect). There's one particular scene in 27 Dresses where Katherine Heigl tries on her 27 bridesmaid dresses for Kevin (played by the deliciously lickable James Marsden) who photographs her in each one. It's cute.



And I wanted to be her at that moment, be Jane who was seamlessly performing her simultaneous pathetic and precious (Look at that picture...PRECIOUS) existence with such charisma. It was excess at its schmaltzy finest. So how do we get from Katherine Heigl prancing to Cloverfield.

Death and total destruction. I am convinced that only in the space and place of NYC can both a movie like 27 Dresses and Cloverfield reside in terms of spectacle and the fantastical. I enjoyed Cloverfield, even though it was a little traumatizing to watch. I haven't felt such a visceral reaction to a film in a very long time and the adrenaline rush was kinda cool. So JJ Abrams of Lost fame said he wanted to make a monster movie. But really, the monster itself (its origins, etc.) is pretty much not the point of the film. What is most important is how it is constructed through the recording device of the camera. What the monster appears to be supercedes what it actually is. The movie indicts the spectator's gaze and infatuation with looking at an image--the cinematic apparatus and the monster (one in the same?) win in the end. I'm always wary of monster films because I inevitably think they are propaganda to create a stronger national identity in the face of the infiltration of an Other which is almost always racially coded. But Cloverfield surprised me in that it didn't have that strong nationalist bent (though it does have a complex mythology surrounding its viral marketing campaign...there's a whole Cloverfield world out there!)

I say all of this to say that all of these movies end with love. Look at Juno and her baby daddy:

Like, really heartfelt and emotional love that makes you wanna cry with mushy satisfaction. Even though Juno is a film that is decidedly the most "normal" of the three, Juno is an (extra)ordinary girl, not quite believable as a young girl entering motherhood but still quite pleasurable to an audience member.

If this was Sex and the City, Carrie Bradshaw would cleverly do a voice over in that familiar contemplative tone of hers and comment: "I couldn't help but wonder...is love the greatest spectacle of all?"

Think about it. Brought to you by Brandy, ruining your Valentine's Day since 2008.

So the journal didn't work out...

...and this is my blog. When I was a wee girl I had this grand illusion that I would be like Harriet the Spy (without the creepy tomato sandwiches she would always have for lunch) and have all of my most secret musings documented to be included in my memoirs to be published when I am an irrelevant old lady.

Fast forward like, 20 half-finished romanticized journals and diaries later over the course of 15 years, and I'm here. On the internet. I could get into a really long discussion about rhetoric and Plato's fear of the written word right now. But I won't. Instead I will say that the whole blog thing is really where it's at right about now in terms of accessing information and I'm a sucker for useful trends.

To that end, this little blog o' mine will be an exploration into all things Brandy. You'll laugh, you'll cry, and be better from the experience (shameless Family Guy reference. There will be many).

I am but a mere blip in the blogosphere. But I kinda like my blip and I hope you will too :)

BTW, I hate giving things titles. I start to twitch because I can't possibly describe a piece of work in a single frickin' phrase, unless I have like, many colons. So this is aptly titled, "Because I Said So!" because...I said so. It really is that simple. And plus if you know me well, can't you just visualize me yelling this at you? Yep? Thought so.