For Your Entertainment

Last Sunday at the American Music Awards, America got a taste of the "real" Adam Lambert, uninhibited, confident, and ready to shock audiences with his sexually charged performance. Everything about the performance was constructed... complete with its placement at the end of the show, and CBS' feigned lack of knowledge about the content of the piece when faced with many audience complaints in the aftermath. Lambert was also clearly in on the joke--his new single, "For Your Entertainment," can be seen as a self-reflexive, tongue-in-cheek commentary on his visibility in the public sphere as spectacle. And his performance provided plenty of spectacle. With pole dancers, men on leashes, simulations of oral sex, and a male/male kiss, Lambert sauntered across the stage completely owning it all. Was it excessive? Yes. Was it exhibitionist? Clearly. But since when has entertainment ever not been preoccupied with spectacle, especially of a sexual nature?

Don't we all remember Britney's striptease? Madonna's unholy writhing on the floor with a wedding dress? Janet's breast? All examples of women who have utilized their (hetero)sexuality to create controversy. Lambert's performance was no different from these overt displays of sexuality, except in its queering of conventions. His (homo)sexual behavior on the public stage becomes, well, freakish. The hyper-visibility of his queer desire is in contestation with the public's desire to see a very heteronormative display of sexuality. So why is the general public still so unnverved by gay male performers that break convention? I've observed that in the music industry, this attitude is incredibly pervasive. Not since Ricky Martin has a male musical artist received so much attention based on his questionable sexuality. It seems that not winning American Idol was the best thing that could have happened to Adam Lambert. Unlike his counterpart Kris Allen, he can fully explore his aesthetic without the strict regime that AI status brings with it.

Precious

My roommate and I went to see Precious, which is now in limited release across the country. The theater was packed with brown folk, which excited me because this is a film that everyone should see and support.

Precious is based on the novel, Push, by poet and singer Sapphire. It explores the interiority of an illiterate black teen, Claireece “Precious” Jones, who goes through just about every imaginable hardship one could imagine. Verbally and physically abused by her mother and raped by her father (who in turn fathers her own two children), Precious enrolls in alternative school and begins to find self-worth despite her circumstances. The film is directed and produced by Lee Daniels, of Monster’s Ball and The Woodsman (one of my favorite films) fame. All of his films examine subjects on the fringes of society through themes of love, struggle, and ultimately redemption.

Paula Patton was completely believable as a teacher who takes Precious and her classmates under her wing. Her understated performance was a breath of fresh air amidst superficial portrayals of the Educator who Saves the Children character type. Mariah Carey’s role as a social worker was brilliant in its subtlety and Lenny Kravitz also held his own with a bit part as a male nurse. Mo’Nique completely transformed for her role as Precious’ mother and her sheer intensity on screen is something to be reckoned with (ahem, Oscar nod!), and the entire movie is held up by the charisma that newcomer Gabourey 'Gabby' Sidibe’s brings to such a heavy movie.

Watching Precious was a very visceral experience for me and the harsh realties of Precious’ existence juxtaposed with interstitial imaginative fantasy sequences that displayed her hopes and dreams were a clever device to use in a film that would be completely devoid of lightness without them. I most enjoyed the school scenes with Precious and her classmates, which provided a necessary change of pace from the largely pejorative tone of the film.

The film achieved gritty realism through its unwillingness to sugarcoat the very authentic experience of a young black girl’s struggle with her identity. I don’t think I’ve seen a movie about the “black experience” that has done this so successfully since John Singleton’s Boyz in the Hood. I recommend everyone see it and hopefully it will be receiving much Academy Award buzz in the coming weeks!

Remembering Michael, 1958-2009

When I bought tickets to the Michael Jackson concert in London, I was incredibly excited because I was going to be in the midst of a cultural icon, a world-wide legend, The Man and probably most important, The Myth. As we remember Michael Jackson on this day and in the future, I can't help but emphasize how the idea of memory is so crucial to our conception of star identity and ultimately how timelessness can be used a signifer of stardom.

In many ways, Jackson existed outside of time and within the cultural imagination of society. The Michael that has passed on today is not the Michael that we are mourning. We feel an incredible loss of the young and vibrant boy on the Ed Sullivan show singing and dancing with the Jackson Five, the innovative dance moves, Thriller, the essence of a global entertainer. We also remember the scandal...the whirlwind erratic behavior, the lawsuits, the courtrooms, a tragic star's Peter Pan syndrome.

In the midst of all of this, we are left with an unfinished picture of Jackson--his life gone, but his narrative still very much alive. There will be stories, many stories, written about the media talent, anecdotes shared, but we will never know his "truth." Fragments of his self will tried to be pieced together but Jackson will remain an enigma, a star whose celebrity and fame is so surreal that any authentic image of him will always seem to escape our grasp.

The Sweet Little Film that Could

I wanted to see Away We Go for two main reasons: 1.) I'm a sucker for movies about babies and/or pregnancy and 2.) I'm a sucker for the rom-com genre. And the film did not disappoint me on either front. Think of it as the adult version of Juno without the witty Diablo Cody dialogue. Director Sam Mendes leaves behind the kind of suburban dysfunction that makes you want to kill yourself (found in Revolutionary Road and American Beauty) to take on the more whimsical side of family and romance. In a surprisingly heartfelt and honest turn, Maya Rudolph shined as Verona, a woman who finds herself unexpectedly pregnant and on a (mis)adventure to find a place called home with her adorably dorky boyfriend, Burt (John Krasinski). The couple galavant around the country--and even to Canada--trying on different cities to find the right fit. Along the way, they connect with old friends and family that are just off kilter enough to make you want to hightail it to the next destination. A particularly entertaining vignette highlights Maggie Gyllenhaal as a hippie professor who has a strong aversion to strollers.

In some ways, the film's destination-framed narrative makes it seem a little stilted. Cuts to text on a black screen signaling a location change ("Away to Phoenix", "Away to Miami") get old pretty quickly. It also makes the ending incredibly anti-climatic. But what we're really supposed to get out of the film is a couple's love for each other despite future uncertainty and it has that in spades. Verona and Burt are not only believable characters, but Maya and John have great on-camera chemistry. Though the film reads through its marketing as a pretentious indie flick, it is only half that. The rest is a slightly slow-paced, enjoyable drama about life and love.

The Hangover or Why White Boys Rule

Credit: themovingpicture.net

Yesterday I went to the movies to see Disney Pixar's latest achievement, Up. It was a great film albeit a tad depressing--in only a Pixar project can a story about a lonely curmudgeon's search for life after the death of his wife, be woven into a delightful tale of fun and adventure complete with robotic talking dogs and a loud and colorful bird.

But I digress.

After the movie, my friends and I snuck into The Hangover. Directed by Todd Phillips of Old School and Road Trip fame, the film focuses on the same subject: reckless white boys doing...well nothing actually. It follows engaged Doug (Justin Bartha) who ventures to Las Vegas for the bachelor party of a lifetime with his pals Alpha-Male Phil (Bradley Cooper), geeky Stu (Ed Helms) and his fiance's stoner brother, Alan (Zach Galifianakis). However, when they accidentally take Rohypnol and wake up the next morning in their lavish Las Vegas pad, it is trashed complete with a crying baby, tiger, and a missing groom-to-be. The movie proceeds to use all of the conventions of a road trip/buddy film as the friends laughably attempt to retrace the steps of their eventful night to find Doug.

So that's the plot. And as far as plots go for gross-out guy comedies, it was engaging and I lost the right amount of brain cells while viewing. But as I sat there with my two black male friends in the darkened theater, I realized why I was simultaneously completely entertained yet disgusted with this film and others like it. I call it the effect of the Ethnography of the White Male: See White Boy jump. See White Boy run. See him completely screw up and spend lots of money because White Boy doesn't have a care in the world. See all of this to the soundtrack of Kanye, Usher, and other Hip Hop/RnB tunes. To be the token Angry Black Female, it irked me that the movie transposed urban culture onto the narrative of these overprivileged white boys. It also irked me that every supporting character on their hapless adventure was a minority (whether it be by race or gender) that was completely Other-ed against the frat boy smiles and antics of the white male leading characters. True to patriarchal form, nothing is ever their fault really...it is stupid black drug dealer who inadvertently gives them roofies. A stripper who accidentally marries one of our heroes. And a queered Asian guy that turns their life into a living hell because he wants his "purse" back. In the end, our lovable white boys save the day and equilibrium is restored into their lives.

Am I completely over-analyzing all of this? Of course. But that's what I do. And the degree to which everything was so blatant in this particular movie actually amazed me--so much that the movie was actually hilarious. I'm not going to recommend paying money to see it though. Wait for the DVD where there is sure to be an extra-extra special uncut version.  

Last night I saw the much-anticipated Watchmen with friends. The lines were super long and there was even a guy there dressed up as one of the masked (anti)heroes. Needless to say, anticipation to see the film adaptation of the beloved graphic novel was high. And the verdict?

I didn't get it. Now I'm prefacing this review by saying that I have not read the graphic novel and had no background knowledge about the movie except for the fact that Billy Crudup plays a naked blue guy. What I'm told is that the film follows its written counterpart soundly except for a couple of changes. Director Zack Snyder (of 300 fame) used the same type of aesthetics he is known for--elongated fight sequences coupled with slow-motion movements. Some of the scenes were unnecessary...in particular the sex scene needed much work and was laughable at best. But the movie seemed to drag on and at some points the action seemed stilted.

But let's back up to the actual narrative. Who are the elusive Watchmen? Well basically they are fractured superheroes who are caught up in the ambiguity of their individual moral compasses. Then there's the political issues...war, poverty, corrupt government, revolution--you get the point. I could textually analyze the film to pieces but I'm not that invested. The fact is, this was a complete fanboy movie, only meant to satisfy the desires of those (including the director) who have waited years for a film adaptation of this written work to debut. Judging by people I've talked to, it seems to have done the job.

A Book for Hannah Montana

So Miley Cyrus' much-anticipated autobiography, Miles to Go, comes out this month. Aside from the awful title pun, the book is said to delve into her first love and being bullied in middle school. Kind of like Ophelia Speaks for the Disney crowd. My question is, who is the audience for this book? How many Hannah Montana fans are going to go out and buy a book that completely disrupts the image that she has helped to construct of herself? A part of me really wants to read it (I got through Lynne Spears' memoir!). Then the other part of me sees pictures like this:


And then I want to shoot myself.