Does SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE II feature a slumber party?
Yes.
Does SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE II feature the Driller Killer?
Yes.
There you go. It has all of the hallmarks of a slasher sequel. Except…
SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE II’s Courtney is played by WINGS’s Crystal Bernard instead of Jennifer Meyers.
The slumber party isn’t as much a suburban high school slumber party but an all-women band and their boyfriends squatting in an under-construction housing lot.
…and the Driller Killer isn’t some brutish escaped mass murderer but a maniacal doo-wop singer who brandishes an outlandish guitar fused with the first film’s comically large drill. He’s what you might get if you took MAD MAX: FURY ROAD’s Doof Warrior and dropped him into GREASE.
The end result is a dream-logic slasher/musical that does not take itself seriously. It’s vibrant and inventive and a lot of fun, especially if you simply let it wash over you.
I’ve only played STRAY GODS once, so I cannot discern between any differences between lyrics and/or outcomes apart from the linked videos that I did not capture.
The STRAY GODS story I experienced is solely the one I played, so it may not feature the same songs, inflections, intonations, or lyrics that you may have or might experience.
Due to timing and circumstance, I wasn’t able to play STRAY GODS the moment it was released, which is a shame because anything that has the words ‘The Roleplaying Musical’ in its title is catnip to me, and to have to punt on it was trying.
That said, it was worth the wait.
I do want to get one thing out of the way beforehand though: by ‘roleplaying’ they literally mean ‘roleplaying’. This is not an RPG. This is an interactive novel. You are ‘roleplaying’ as the title character, a wayward young adult. The only interactions are dialogue trees via a very BioWare-ish interface.
(I will note: this game was willed into existence by the lead writer of DRAGON AGE so … none of the above should be terribly shocking news.)
Personally? I am absolutely fine with that severe amount of restraint, especially since I played it while suffering from a broken tailbone because games and narratives distract from obtrusive pain and angling dialogue trees was about the best I could do at the time. (Don’t ask, and no it wasn’t because of any Chicago snow or ice.)
Alas, I’m getting ahead of myself.
STRAY GODS takes Greek gods and situates them in a quasi-modern Earth. While the bodies said gods inhabit are ephemeral, they find new hosts and live on, partially thanks to the belief of those around them, as well as the dark shadow cast by their prior history.
If you’re a comic book and/or gaming nerd, it evokes a lot of Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie’s THE WICKED + THE DIVINE which essentially posits mythological gods as rock stars in the modern world who inhabit mortals for their own purposes and, yes, spectacle and hedonism.
To riff on a slightly more popular work, STRAY GODS swaps the fairy tales of DC/Telltale’s FABLES’ inspired THE WOLF AMONG US in both the thick inkworks and comic book visual stylization which — oddly reminds me of AEON FLUX — as well as noir-infused conflict. However, there are no quick-time events; just dialogue. Reams of dialogue with striking shot-reverse-shots of static images.
If you’re here to play because you’re hoping to quell some sort of power fixation, you will be sadly disappointed, because here? Here, you are the mortal, and — not unlike one of many TWILIGHT ZONE episodes — it’s your life at stake, and only you can wriggle out of the noose.
All of the above may sound like I’m damning STRAY GODS with faint praise, but I am not. STRAY GODS is a gaming anomaly. It’s rare that games like these, games that are all about heightened emotions and all emotive and intensely personal conflicts, those finding their way in the world. I am endlessly thankful that it exists and? I am looking forward to replaying it and possibly taking a different tact to it and to see where that takes me.
The voice casting here is pitch-perfect. The majority of the cast are well-known for TV/video game voice work — Laura Bailey as Grace who has been foisted upon her the role of Calliope, Troy Baker as Apollo, Mary Elizabeth McGlynn as Persephone, Abubakar Salim as Eros — Salim voiced Bayek in my favorite Assassin’s Creed game — but also features FOR ALL MANKIND’s multi-faceted Janina Gavankar as Grace’s best friend Frankie! Felicia Day! STAR TREK: DISCOVERY’s Anthony Rapp as Orpheus! (Apologies if I left out anyone’s favorites — there’s a wealth of talent here.)
This is a work all about bombast and elation and care and worry and wrung hands and fear for the future and … well, perfectly attuned to all of the necessities that form the best musicals. (I will note? They undersell that while this is a musical? It’s first-and-foremost a rock opera.)
You can write off the static nature of the visuals which are essentially merged versions of sequential visual storytelling as economical, but they’re also emblematic of emotional moments that are frozen in time. Moments where you feel your life has changed; pivot points.
Granted, not everyone can appreciate that — obviously, those who are more inclined towards theatrics and are more emotionally grandiose will glean more from this than others — so take this recommendation with a pinch of salt.
As is the way with gods and fates, this has all happened before and it’ll all happen again. The end is pre-ordained, and everyone knows it, but you have to jump through the hoops to get there.
Are the songs in the vein of modern Broadway staples? Yes, yes, they are, but there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a ever-growing formula for a reason, folks.
‘Challenging a Queen’:
However, these sort of tales? Even if my engagement is simply pointing my directional stick at a quip or murmur or outburst and then hear the astounding belting of a grand duet? The journey is worth the effort.
If there was any doubt that this was a saccharine sweet musical, they put a pin in it at the end — at least with my tale — when Grace reunites with Calliope.
…and yes, I did try to romance Persephone but it didn’t quite work out. (For what it’s worth? I wrangled the second scene. So close, but yet so far.)
Addendum
Just one day before this post was scheduled to be published, it was announced that Summertime Studios will be releasing STRAY DOGS: ORPHEUS as DLC on June 27th! (Although, boo, as a console player I have to wait for some undefined time to play it.) Can’t wait to delve back into this world!
I will fully admit: I am not the biggest LES MISÉRABLES musical fan. I think it’s a rather ramshackle spectacle with a few good numbers and set-pieces. It’s fine. I don’t hate it. I don’t love it, either.
Additionally, I’m not a huge fan of the most recent director to adapt Les Miz, Tom Hooper, despite my endorsement of his version of CATS. If you’ve read about the endless labor he put into his Les Miz adaptation, you’ll probably see that it was a lot of over-exacting bluster. Did he really need all of those terribly sensitive microphones? Nope. The embedded cameras in the set walls? Nope. Especially since they cast fucking Russell Crowe, because no amount of technology could do a damn thing to help that sweaty, ham-fisted job he turned in as Javert. (Even he admits he was ill-suited for the job.)
To quote Lawrence Olivier reprimanding Dustin Hoffman, who endlessly ran to physically wear himself out for his role in MARATHON MAN: “Dear boy, it’s called acting.”
“There was a time when men were kind, when their voices were soft and their words inviting…”
However. I fucking love Anne Hathaway’s portrayal of the fallen woman Fantine, specifically her rendition of I Dreamed a Dream. I endlessly return to it. It’s absolutely heartbreaking. If you aren’t moved by it? Well, sorry to say, but you are a monster. I know some give her grief because of her vocal skills — I’m not the best judge of that — but goddamn, she makes the most of her features, all huge sad and angry eyes and lashes and brows and full-but-cracked lips, and she emotes wildly.
“…there was a time when where the world was a song, and the song was exciting…
“…there was a time… then it all went wrong…”
It’s an absolutely brutal, wrenching number that Hathaway executes perfectly and it tears me up every time I watch it, and almost justifies Hooper’s exacting work as the intensity displayed plays far harder here than in any production of Les Miz I’ve seen.
“I dreamed that God would be forgiving.”
The way she is framed, how she’s essentially housed in an unclosed coffin, the way her hair is shorn; she’s singularly naked, and her fraught voice reflects all of that, a life lost, a life spent, a life overlooked by others, but she’s trying her damndest to give voice to her frustration as well as her resignation.
“…as they tear your hope apart! As they turn your dreams to shiiiiiiiiiit.”
(Yes, I know the actual lyric is ‘shame’, but really. Come on. You know that’s what she wants to say.)
“…life has killed the dream… I dreamed.”
While this post is mostly about I Dreamed a Dream, I’d also like to call attention to Eddie Redmayne’s performance in One Day More. The way he whips the red fabric in ‘One Day More’ is not just commanding, but awe-inspiring, and he does have the necessary voice, all bold and brash and loud. He’s very much a theatre nerd, and that is crystal clear here.
Is this the best Les Miz? No. Is it even a good Les Miz? Beats the fuck out of me! I watched this far too late in my life. This is a musical that one becomes enraptured with in one’s teen years as it’s all emotion, all fraught with rebellion and idealism and being boxed in by higher powers.
However, I keep coming back to it. It is strikingly shot and, while I normally eschew the oh, 20+ years of desaturated colors in film, it makes sense here in that it conveys the grime of France and downtrodden at that time while also letting the reds pop, focusing on the hues of the French flag.
It’s a work that haunts me and it’s worth watching for those few very earnest, honest scenes that encapsulate the hurt, the brutality, the abuse and sacrifices that some have to endure to keep living.
There are two things I will always post about here: 1) Harley Fuckin’ Quinn and 2) Motherfucking RATED Q screenings at Chicago’s Music Box Theatre. (The Q is for Queer, in case you were wondering.) Both bring me endless joy; I live for ‘em in the best way.
The most recent RATED Q screening featured their usual boisterous trifecta of drag performances that introduce and dovetail with the music and fashions of the the screened film, which this month was the original HAIRSPRAY, willed into the world by the patron saint of misfits and the disenfranchised, John Waters.
HAIRSPRAY’s premise is thin, but results in a hell of a lot of fun. It’s the early 60s and voluminous Tracy Turnblad is a teen who loves to dance to modern rock music, especially music from Black artists. She becomes a local star on Baltimore’s premiere TV dance show. (This was back in the day when half-hours of TV were dedicated solely to a host announcing song after song and you’d just watch youths dance to said song.) Tracy then uses her newfound fame to fight injustice against segregation. Matters escalate, backed by an amazing late 50s and early 60s soundtrack.
John Waters is a master of having his cake and eating it too. He loves pop culture, but also often hates what it represents — the homogenization, the alienation of anyone who isn’t white and straight — and he is an expert at weaponizing pop culture to expose cultural hypocrisy and societal injustice.
If you are only familiar with Waters’ more family-friendly films (HAIRSPRAY, CRY BABY, and SERIAL MOM you may not be aware that he’s also a brilliant purveyor of absolute filth, and he’s damn proud of it and rightly so. If you watch MULTIPLE MANICS or FEMALE TROUBLE or DESPERATE LIVING or especially PINK FLAMINGOS, there are moments in all of those films that will haunt you for the rest of your life, scenes that you will never be able to unsee, but also scenes that — even today — will gleefully prompt you to say: “Wait, you can get away with filming that?!”)
He’s one of the few auteurs in true command of his powers as a creative, as opposed to simply forcing his voice on others. He is often unfairly dismissed as camp (although I doubt he’d deny the label), but — depending on your definition — camp is often vacuous and the works live solely for themselves, as opposed to being created for others with something to say. Waters sincerely wants folks to rethink how they view culture and society, and HAIRSPRAY delivers that wholeheartedly in a slobs vs. snobs way that still feels vital 35 years later.
The cast is amazing. Divine, of course, and they do double-duty as both Tracy’s mother and the evil owner of the TV station. Ricki Lake is effortlessly likable as Tracy in her breakout role. Waters wrangled comedic icon Jerry Stiller as Tracy’s father! Pop legends Debbie Harry and Ric Ocasek, as well as general icon Pia Zadora all have extremely memorable moments! And, of course, Mink Stole, often steals the spotlight.
However, I’d love to call attention to the production and set design, which are as equally rebellious as the script and casting. From the candy-colored sets to the faux-TV cameras used during dance tests, everyone was 100% aware that this was a heightened, but somewhat underground, reality. My favorite design decision though, is the facade of the apartment building that Tracy lives in, specifically the graffiti. It literally speaks volumes. Theatrical and dirty, but also visually striking in the way that only the way that graffiti — and film — can be. It’s an amazing feat.
While I’ve waxed on about how subversive HAIRSPRAY is, I need to underscore that this a fucking fun film. It is a film that will make you want to dance, a film that will make you grin, a film you will walk away from feeling satiated, a film that nestles in the uncanny valley of genre in that it leans on all of the expected plot and character beats, while exploiting them and being vibrantly transgressive at the same time. It is a film that only John Waters could will into the world.
ADDENDUM
I’ll note that this Rated Q screening suffered from what I call a Halloween hangover — the exuberance of October peaks, then November crashes the party and you have the realization that: “Fuck, now I have to start thinking about winter holidays and presents and travel and motherfucking Chicago winter”. I was so psyched to see this — so excited! — as it’s a John Waters film that’s wall-to-wall music and I expected a lot of folks singing along and shouting out lines (“I’m big, blonde and beautiful!”) but nope. It certainly didn’t help that I’ve been burning the candle at both ends as of late. That plus my Halloween hangover caused me to nod off halfway through the film instead of hooting and hollering and clapping, which boggles my mind, but it was a thing that happened. Nonetheless, even if I don’t have peak energy, I’ll be there for each and every screening because there’s nothing else like it.
This Sunday’s repost is LIZZIE: THE MUSICAL! I can count the number of off-Broadway musicals I know by heart on one finger, and on that one finger? That’s LIZZIE, THE MUSICAL.
This musical — centered around Lizzie Borden, who had an axe and gave her mother forty whacks — is goth as fuck, goddamn pitch-black, and outrageously, outstandingly feminist and I am absolutely fucking here for it.
There’s a fair amount of smutty language so, uh, good luck seeing a high school production of it (although more schools should produce it! Even if they have to tone down the language!) but keep your eyes out for a local production!
“On the twenty-third day of the month of September, / In an early year of a decade not too long before our own, / The human race suddenly encountered / A deadly threat to its very existence.
And this terrifying enemy surfaced, / As such enemies often do, / In the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places…”
And after that prelude, we’re thrust into the grimy doo wop of LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS.
Directed by Frank Oz, this is one hell of an immaculately constructed misfit of a musical adaptation of a deviant off-Broadway production. Retaining the original writer Howard Ashman and songwriter Alan Menken — both of whom went onto to craft Disney works that influenced generations — I’m gobsmacked this was ever made. (Allegedly David Geffen, head of self-titled Geffen studios was a huge fan and willed this to the big screen.)
To think that it all started with this oddity of a basement musical based on a Corman B-movie, a B-movie that is mostly only known because it was one of Jack Nicholson’s early films.
(Can you imagine a world without the influence of Roger Corman? I sure as hell can’t.)
The premise is twisted but simple: botany enthusiast Seymour works at a flower shop in Skid Row — a very destitute downtown in an unnamed city full of poor loners and losers — and finagles an interesting plant that he names Audrey II, after Audrey, the co-worker he has a crush on. It turns out that the interesting plant is a carnivorous alien that feeds on human blood. Seymour nurses it into a monstrous creature and matters escalate.
The process of converting a counter-culture work from the stage to screen can be trepidatious, especially when you’re spending a lot of money and working with a major studio. Fortunately, all of the stars aligned for LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. It features the best of both worlds, which you immediately see in the set design.
“…so I live downtown … that’s your home address / You live downtown … when your life’s a mess / You live downtown when depression’s just status quo. / (Down on Skid Row.)”
While Skid Row does look like a Hollywood set, all flat and confined, the streets and alleyways are covered in dirt and grime and shame. (In other words: Hollywood.)
“Someone show me a way to get outta here. / ‘Cause I constantly pray that I’ll get outta here. / Please won’t somebody say I’ll get outta here. / Someone gimme my shot or I’ll rot here.”
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS manages to straddle the best of both worlds: it’s wildly, vividly strange and unique and still has the anarchic energy of subversive theatre, but also has so much fucking Hollywood money behind it. (At the time, it was the most expensive Warner Bros. production ever.)
“Come and look at the plant some more! It’s just going to get bigger and more interesting!”
The cast is astounding: Rick Moranis is perfection as dweeby Seymour and has pipes that you never, ever would have expected from him. Ellen Greene as Audrey is the only one retained from the off-Broadway production and I can’t imagine this work without her; the fifties blonde hair, her nasal, high-pitched, breathy — but surprisingly not irritating — voice imbues Audrey with so much character. You are not human if you aren’t moved by her half of Suddenly Seymour. Steve Martin practically steals the show with his sadomasochistic dental practice number. Bill Murray is one of his patients! Motherfucking John Candy is an over-the-top radio host!
“Let me guess: you got tied up.”
“No, just handcuffed a little.”
I’d be remiss to neglect the invincible, untouchable Greek chorus: Tichina Arnold as Crystal, Michelle Weeks as Ronette, and Tisha Campbell as Chiffon. (If you’re of the age that I am, you may remember Campbell as the charismatic Gina from the TV show MARTIN.) They’re all hilariously brusque when they aren’t perfectly performing doo wop accompanied by tight dance routines. They tie the entire work together, and they riff off of a number of prior musical works including WEST SIDE STORY.
“We’re on the split shift!”
“Yeah, we went to school ’til 5th grade, then we split!”
The real star, of course, is Audrey II, voiced by Levi Stubbs of THE FOUR TOPS. His gregarious and dramatic and uniquely pitched voice breathes life into one of the most articulated and astoundingly animated puppets ever created. The amount of work put into Audrey II — willed into the world by veterans of Jim Henson’s puppet company — is astounding. (I’ll note that working with Audrey II required certain compromises from the performers, such as having to lip sync in half-speed during certain scenes. The fact that you can’t even notice that while watching is not only a testament to the puppeteers but also the performers.)
“I’m just a mean green mother, a real disgrace, / And you’ve got me fightin’ mad. / I’m just a mean green mother from outer space, / Gonna trash your ass! Gonna rock this place! / I’m mean and green, / Mean and Green! / And I am bad.”
I touched on the sets previously and while they’re claustrophobic and often constricted, this adaptation is shot with the verve and energy of a Barry Sonnenfeld film, making the most of tight close-ups while also utilizing deep focus to layer background action, and somehow feeling cartoonish but grounded at the same time. Especially of note is how the Greek chorus is slowly revealed — almost as angels — to back Seymour and Audrey when they finally admit their feelings for each other.
Lastly, goddamn, Menken’s songs. They’re all so wildly catchy and captures the hooks of classic Motown while also being subversive in only the way Menken could pen. Once you watch this film, you’ll be humming and haunted by his songs for days and days.
“Shing-a-ling, shing-a-ling-ding, what a creepy thing to be happening! / (Look out! Look out! Look out! Look out!) / Shang-a-lang, feel the sturm and drang in the air. / Sha-la-la, stop it right where you are. / Don’t you move a thing. / You better / (Tellin’ you, you better) / Tell your mama somethin’s gonna get her / She better — everybody better — beware!”
I’ll note that the theatrical cut’s final act is wildly different from the Director’s cut. I will not spoil matters, but the Director’s cut is very self-indulgent, cost a fuckton of money, and — even for my goth sensibilities — very cruel and dark. I will simply say this: it is extremely nihilistic and goes full kaiju.
“You’re not gonna get away with this! Your kind never does!”
I appreciate being able to see both cuts nowadays via Blu-Ray, but holy fucking shit, if I’d seen the Director’s cut as a youth? Sheer fucking nightmare fuel.
“I’ve done terrible things, Audrey.”
This is a production that has inspired so many over so many years, and this film adaptation not only does it justice, it also makes the most of the medium while staying true to the work’s roots. It’s a remarkable film that will certainly inspire more for years to come, which is an odd thing to say about a film centered around a blood-thirsty singing plant, but we all find inspiration and empathy in the oddest of places.
Let me get this out of the way first: Yes, Tom Hooper’s CATS is not considered a ‘good’ film or even an adequate adaptation, and that reputation is well-earned. It’s an absolute mess; there’s a lot of miscasting, the visual effects are wall-to-wall uncanny valley, and, well, let’s just say it feels like a cocaine-fueled revisiting of an already cocaine-fueled theatrical work. (Also: I am pretty sure T.S. Eliot would not approve of his cat poems being reworked in this way.) For a work that is so absolutely bonkers — we’re living in a musical feline-based underworld where everyone is vying for a spot to ascend to a higher plane that can only be deigned by what is essentially a Queen cat — it is surprisingly boring!
(That’s basically the entire story as I understand it, apart from some weird offshoots about ancillary cats and Idris Elba lapping it up as a villain who has some weird superpower that apparently puts folks in what I believe is his version of purgatory. Or he just transports them to a boat/harbor? Frankly, it doesn’t really matter.)
Now that I’ve addressed that: I still love Tom Hooper’s adaptation.
Again: this is not what one would consider a ‘good’ film. It’s a lot of noise and bluster and every facet of the film distracts from anything that would normally be considered merit-worthy.
However, it has a lot of charm, and most of that is due to the fact that this feels so earnest only in the way that a theatrical musical can get away with. Apart from the woeful casting of James Corden and Rebel Wilson — both very game and talented performers but they chew the scenery so much that Corden actually vomits later in the film — everyone is emoting like mad. Hell, even fucking Dame Judi Dench almost pulls off what can only be called uh, fully presenting her crouch in an absolutely ridiculous CGI leg pull.
(Yes, I will circle back to the utter horniness of the film. Please be patient.)
Putting aside the very creepy visuals and absolutely warped sense of physical scale of these cats living in what is supposed to be a real world, and Corden & Wilson, CATS feels like a very odd, very surreal, very singular labor of love. The production design is astounding, presenting like an under-populated Gotham City with its neons and rain and wrought iron as opposed to the London it’s supposed to be. Francesca Hayward — a Principal ballerina for The Royal Ballet — is astounding in the lead role of Victoria; she’s all wide eyes and hurt and wonder and dexterity. She whips and twirls and effortlessly hurls herself around and it’s visually majestic. Ian McKellen practically steals the show with his number and the melancholy and sadness he conveys. Oh, and Robbie Fairchild with his longing looks? Yes.
The choreography is exceptional and the soundtrack hits all of the right notes, if you’re into Webber. (I am not the biggest fan, as I still have nightmares about playing the endlessly dull cello part of PHANTOM OF THE OPERA in high school, but there are a lot of great songs here as well as some smashing callbacks and refrains!)
I’ve seen this film more times than you would think and yes, I have seen a stage production. (I did not care for the stage production, but that’s not the focus here.) The most recent time I viewed it was at Chicago’s Music Box as a ‘Rated Q’ event.
I wrote about ‘Rated Q’ in my post about BOUND but to summarize: ‘Rated Q’ is a monthly film event curated by Ramona Slick that extolls queer and underground works, while also adding a theatrical drag performance prelude that always entertains and titillates.
When I heard that ‘Rated Q’ would be screening CATS, I knew I had to attend. I thought I’d either love the experience or hate it, as I wasn’t sure if the audience would treat it like THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW which, for some, is thrilling but feels overly self-indulgent to me.
I loved it.
I cannot overstate how much fun this screening was. This may sound like hyperbole but typing this post is painful as my left hand provokes pangs because of how over-enthusiastic my clapping was and how much my wedding ring is inappropriate for long-lived clapping. (Yes, my wedding ring is on my right hand. Orthodoxy and all that foisted–upon jazz.) I had a beaming grin on my face for the entirety of the film. I’m sure my voice is a tad worn out by how much I laughed and how vocal I was, and everyone else there was just as enthusiastic. Hell, I even sang along with some of the songs and I am not that kind of person!
I have never seen people dance in their seats at the Music Box. I have never seen folks pull out lighters and phones to sway to a scene at the Music Box. I have never seen folks wildly throw their arms up in the air at the Music Box, pumping along to the beat of a song. Now I have. (I realize that if I would attend one of Music Box’s ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW sing-a-longs I’d probably see all of the above, but realistically that simply isn’t going to happen.)
This was all elicited by a film that has been considered a laughing stock, a joke, an absolute failure, but for most of those that filled the seats — and it was a very well-attended screening for a Thursday night — for two hours everyone shared a love for this very weird film that by all rights shouldn’t even exist.
I endlessly harp about the experience of communal cinematic viewing, of watching a film with like-minded individuals who revel in a film they know inside-out and I hate to do so again but I have to: there is absolutely nothing like it. Part of that’s because it is very singular — every ‘Rated Q’ screening I’ve attended has been solo — but even if you’re attending with friends, your eyes are focused on the screen and for two hours you are part of this strange world and surrounded by the glow of collective enthusiasm and appreciation and, if you’re lucky, it means everything to you. This one screening meant everything to everyone and it was glorious.
ADDENDUM
You thought I forgot about the horniness? I did not! Every five minutes an audience member would shout out ‘Kiss!’ because this film feels like it’s on an Olympics-scale version of sweatiness and lust. While the cats never kiss, they are endlessly rubbing up against each other or throwing each other all sorts of wanting glances. I never thought I’d expect to feel such heat between a modern-day Judi Dench and a woman young enough to be her granddaughter, but yes, that definitely happens.
Also: most of these cats are essentially nude the entire time. However, Idris Elba wears a trenchcoat for most of the film but in the final act he throws it off and is finally naked and goddamn, the audience went wild, all sorts of gasps, and hooting and laughter and applause and it was all in the ‘Rated Q’ spirit.
Normally this is where I embed a trailer, but this is far more emblematic of the experience — for better or for worse — and is absolutely about trying recapture magic, so here you go:
POPSTAR: NEVER STOP NEVER STOPPING is — like JOSIE AND THE PUSSYCATS — a criminally underrated cult film about pop music and musicians. I could write forever about it, but instead, I stupidly want to focus on the deleted musical number FUCK OFF, which isn’t even in the film proper.
You might want to watch it first:
I have no idea why they filmed this. The lyrics alone — which apart from the FUCK OFF anthem also features the line ‘you think I look like a punk, when your face looks like an elephant’s c**t’ — automatically guarantees an NC-17 rating. (I especially appreciate the cut-away to a youth singing along to the lyric.) They spent a lot of money and a lot of time on this one weird number that — checks notes — well, it has almost nine million views, so maybe that’s why.
This song is wall-to-wall filth, pretending to be pre-teen-friendly, which is in-and-of-itself absolute perfection. I swear like a fucking sailor and even I was astounded by this song. (In a good way, though!)
Even better, it is visually perfect, featuring amazing choreography and eye-popping colors, crop-tops and Britney schoolgirl skirts and screaming audience members, all moving in-sync. It’s a perfect encapsulation of coming-of-age youth stadium shows.
My favorite incredibly stupid detail is the one audience member brandishing a GameBoy Color standing in as an iPhone.
It is a gloriously dumb-smart bit that was too good for the world, relegated to the bin of DVD extras, but is definitely worth your time if you have the stomach for it.
I hope you get butt-fucked in prison! Be good to each other — peace!
Right now, it’s CHICAGO’s ‘Cell Block Tango’, a number from a film that I saw when it first ran in theaters, groused about how it swept the Oscars that year, and now I won’t shut up about.
To be fair, I watched it before I really started to understand musicals and accept them for what they are, instead of finding them to be overly dramatic venues for big showtunes and elaborate dance scenes.
Please understand that I’m (mostly) only discussing the ‘Cell Block Tango’ here, not the film at large because, otherwise, this piece would run at least four thousand words. (Trust me, I’ll spill the rest of those words some day, especially concerning the backstory of the play!)
One last matter worth noting: I moved to Chicago — the city, not the musical — right around the time of the theatrical revival, several years before the release of the film adaptation. So, well beforehand, I had already soaked in the look and feel of the revival’s fishnet-adorned El stop ads and billboards.
And with that, I’ll say that, twenty years later, this piece is better than ever. I was deadly wrong about dismissing it.
Taken out of context, it plays like a fever dream, a blurring of fact-and-fiction, of glamor fantasy and hardened reality, and I love it.
Women scorned, unafraid to exact vengeance. Legs as shotguns; wrists as daggers.
The secret weapon here is Catherine Zeta-Jones, who most folks at the time wrote off as a pair of versatile hips for Sean Connery, but reveals herself as one hell of a torch singer, while also throwing herself at you with a fire in her eyes.
This is a musical adaptation that a lot of folks complain about because it breaks the mould of film musicals; it relies on a lot of rapid shots and whiplash choreography, but that’s a good thing! CHICAGO (2002) is all about punc-u-a-tion and what better way to emphasize that than scissor legs and quick cuts? It’s all about the kinetic movement, even utilizing some frame-skipping to give it extra POP, and it turns CHICAGO from a leering stage production into immensely compelling cinema.
This is seven minutes of tales of abuse, anger, and unrepentant payback, tales told from a century ago via the original author Maurine Dallas Watkins, but are also a tale as old as time.
“Then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife TEN TIMES.”
I could go on about the work’s fidelity to Fosse and his faceless, mute men, fetish wear and so on, but really, the piece speaks for itself. Go ahead, listen, and watch, and don’t disregard it like I did before:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QatUaDGeRMY
Lastly, the entire history of this film’s production is astounding, and it’s all detailed here. Trust me, read it — you will not be disappointed.
Not gonna lie; IT’S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA runs hot-or-cold for folks. It’s an extremely acerbic show that you either love or hate, and I happen to fucking love it. While it’s often extremely distasteful, it also has a surprisingly sweet side.
The latest season was a bit off-kilter, but the trip to Ireland was chef kiss and, while it was shorter than I would have liked, it did lean into a bit more emotion and sensitivity, which PHILLY has become surprisingly good at for a show that’s so unabashedly unapologetic for how awful their characters are.
“[One] of the few shows I had to relegate to only watching during the daytime and while I wasn’t working, because it was so fucking hilarious that it was distracting and my laughter was prone to waking folks up.”
THE GREAT
Hilariously filthy and horny on Tverskaya, while still being emotionally and historically insightful, while still being completely irreverent. Completely unlike anything else on the air right now.
HACKS
While the Jean Smart-renaissance contines, I’m far more interested in Hannah Einbinder and her journey. A fantastic scrutinization on women in comedy and their personal endeavors.
“[F]unny, warm, smart, and occasionally scary. The season one finale, which saw him documenting the spread of COVID-19 via his Greek landlord was so heartwarming, while also being heartbreaking.”
ONLY MURDERS IN THE BUILDING
“It’s a legitimately thrillingly suspenseful tale that, honestly? Didn’t need to be.“
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-V1rQdXXXyI
RESERVATION DOGS
An astounding work of the trials and tribulations indigenous folks have to live with in America, while still being amazingly funny.
STAR TREK: DISCOVERY S3 (one ep in 2021, so I’m counting it.)
““This is my kind of STAR TREK!” [I exclaimed,] as there were more than a few eps that focused on discovering new worlds with kind intent, recreating the wonder that drew me into the STAR TREK universe in the first place. While not all of the characters are terribly complex, their motives and Federation-centric willfulness to be as helpful as they can be was refreshing, comforting, and familiar. It felt like the show realized what it needed to do to recapture the original series’ magic, all while gamely moving matters forward.”
“A confused mix of hash anthems and sour girl power. […] It was kind of like therapy, but with a lot of screaming.”
—
“I’m the lamb, by the way.”
WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS S3
While S3 didn’t hit the highs of Jackie Daytona, it was still far more hilarious and heartfelt and inventive than practically any other high-concept comedy out there.
THE WHITE LOTUS
Mike White is exceptional at not only writing the plights of privileged white folks, but also in managing your expectations when it comes to those set-pieces. This is his case of having his cake and eating it too.
WYNONNA EARP
WYONNA EARP was caught in Canadian finance limbo for far too long, but the final season delivered. It was always an underrated genre show, and sadly it appears that it’ll remain that way.
YELLOWJACKETS
YELLOWJACKETS’ pilot is perhaps the best genre pilot since LOST, and you can watch it for free!
YELLOWJACKETS is best described as teen girl LORD OF THE FLIES meets LOST, but frankly, it’s better, at least so far. The characters are more complex, the circumstances more interesting, and they (so far) aren’t drawing out paranatural circumstances.
![LIZZIE: THE MUSICAL (2010+) [REDUX]](https://mediaclature.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/lizzie-the-musical.jpg)
