Film One
A month ago, I rented “Hysteria: The Def Leppard Story.” It was in the 7-day rental section at Rogers and I didn’t really look too closely at the box because, Hello, Def Leppard. I have always loved them and felt certain that knowing more about their hystory would only endear them to me more.
When I got home I realized it was not a documentary about Def Leppard, but a biopic. Starring nobody I’d ever heard of and Anthony Michael Hall as the elusive, genius producer, the allegedly unnattractive Robert “Mutt” Lange. True.
I watched it anyway. And was strangely moved. I mean, it was a made-for-VH1 movie and the guy playing Joe Elliott (one Orlando Seale) looked disturbingly like Frodo, but the music was sound and the lesson was even sounder: Even if you lose your arm because you are coked up and racing a guy down a one-lane highway while listening to your own band’s record to impress your girlfriend, you can get your shit together enough to make a fabulous hit album. Especially if Mutt Lange appears to you in a pain-killer-induced dream to bless your drum fills.
Seriously, though, there was this scene where Mutt was coaching the boys in the studio, early days. And Joe was singing his best and Mutt says, “Go higher,” and Joe says, “I can’t go any higher!” and Mutt says, “Yes you can!” so Joe gets this pinched look on his face and goes “wheeeoooooaaahhhhh!” (ie: higher) and then Mutt goes, “That’s it, that’s it!” and then punches some buttons on his sound board and plays it back and BAM the Def Leppard/Mutt Lange sound is born! A tear came to my eye, I tells ya.
Now about Mutt Lange. Can he and Shania Twain please be stopped? Look at these lyrics from her new single, called “Shoes:”
You’ve got your kickers an’ your ropers,
Your everyday loafers, an’ some that you can never find.
You’ve got slippers an’ your zippers,
Your grabbers and your grippers, an’ man, don’t you hate that kind?
Some you wear in, an’ some you wear out,
Some you wanna leave behind. (Some you wanna leave behind.)
Sometimes you hate ’em, an’ sometimes you love ’em,
I guess it all depends on which way you rub ’em,
But a girl can never have too many of ’em.
It’s amazing what a little polish’ll do:
Men are like shoes.
The 2nd return on google for that song was a link to Shania’s site where we learn that “Shoes” is featured on the new Desperate Housewives soundtrack. I see also that Liz Phair has done “Mother’s Little Helper” for the soundtrack and 10 years ago that might have interested me but not since Liz went all Avril Lavigne on my ass.
Yes. My ass does hold a grudge.
Anyway. If men are like shoes (and I think it’s pretty well nailed shut by the above lyrics, don’t you?) then does that make Mutt an
drumroll
Ugg boot?
Film Two:
Last weekend we went to see Serenity on the biggest screen we could find. And LOVED it! It was thrilling and beautifully shot and the dialogue was moving and hilarious. Now, I sit firmly on my grudgey ass in the in-between camp (excellent s’mores!) on Firefly the series. And yes, I’ve seen all the episodes and I’ve seen them in the right order and I’ve seen them with green eggs and ham. Firmly: no love and no hate. Oh, wait. I do hate the theme song. But I really enjoyed the movie. It was, if I may be so bold, a Star Wars for grown ups.
Wait, what I mean is: most people my age first saw Star Wars when they were 7 years old. And at the time, it was THE BEST. And then the prequels came when we were in our 20s. And we wanted them to be THE NEW BEST but for the most part we were disappointed.
In some ways I feel distinctly unqualified to comment on Star Wars and whether or not it deserves its popularity, since I saw the original Star Wars trilogy just weeks before seeing the first of the prequels, only thanks to a particularly diligent Lucas-fan friend and thus am not part of the “we” to whom I am referring in the previous paragraph.
In other ways, though, this fact could make me more objective, since I saw all the Star Warses without the teint of nostalgia. So allow me to assert: Star Wars vs Serenity, once you’ve removed from your Star Wars evaluation the fond memory of holding hands with your grade 2 boyfriend or those Junior Mints your dad bought you? Serenity, no contest.
And they saved the horrid theme song till the end of the credits and it was instrumental. Not nearly so horrid without the singing.
Film Three
Today we went to a Vancouver Film Festival Film called “Protocols of Zion,” a documentary made by a man named Mark Levin. In the film, Levin explores his curiosity about a document called The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion which has been around for a hundred years. The Protocols are a fraudulent document outlining the conspiracy of Jews to take over the world and lots of people who hate Jews and need justification for this like to believe that the Protocols are true.
Post 2001’s terrorist attacks in NYC, Levin alleges that there has been a lot of interest in the Protocols, with increased printings and lots of public exposure. Even Walmart carries it, he claims, but never substantiates. Levin worries that this book, which is so obviously a hoax, is being taken at face value. He goes on a mission to
…and here’s where the movie starts to unravel and annoy. What is he investigating exactly? He starts out talking about the Protocols and references them a couple of times. Oh and every once in a while, he tosses out one of the (apparently, 99 or so) Protocols like, “We will destroy religions not like ours” and then sets out to prove that people believe it, by asking people of other religions what they think of Jews.
He goes to a church and talks to some Christians about whether or not they hate Jews (they do not: they promise to pray for him, though), he goes to a meeting of Palestinians in New York and talks to them about whether or not they hate Jews (mostly yes). He talks to people in the lobby of a movie theatre who are going to see Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ. He talks to his Dad. He talks to some white and black people in a prison (some of the best spoken, least apparently crazy people in the film)
And suddenly the film was over. A bunch of meandering and noodling and then we get no – damn I have to say it – closure. Nothing to signify that a journey took place or even that we had been invited along.
It was like: ADD & Narcissist Productions presents! Jews! Let’s ride bikes!
As Saint Aardvark pointed out as we were leaving: you don’t just assert that this book is available everywhere, even Walmart and then not go to a Walmart to back up your assertion. That pretty much sums it up.
Film of My Life:
At the Walmart in Saskatoon, Saint Aardvark tried to buy some swim shorts because our hotel had a pool and he never takes his swim shorts anywhere. As it was September, Walmart had already put away their “summer” clothes for men. But the salesgirl did show him to their Speedo section. When he shook his head and said he would go without, (no, not as in skinny dipping at the Holiday Inn Express. as in not buying a Speedo. perverts) she nodded sympathetically. “Most guys who come in here say that,” she said.
Well let’s see. Have you ever seen anyone at Walmart that you think you might like to see more naked? I know I haven’t.
