Half my brain has melted out my ears and dripped down my body onto the floor. With the remaining 50%, I stood up, immediately slipped on the puddle of goop, and damaged most of what was left. So... let's say I'm writing this with the remaining 20% during its rare break from doomscrolling. Adjust your expectations accordingly.
For some reason, I went to see "The Naked Gun" yesterday. Kyle recommended it for a good/stupid time and I can confirm that it was indeed stupid. Was it good? Before the dead dad/owl scene, I would have said no, but that bit of stupidity, along with the Black Eyed Peas gag, won me over. Most of the jokes didn't land, although they might have with the help of marijuana and/or a sense of childish wonder that I do not possess. Goofy movies like this make me feel deeply somber because in order to enjoy them, I need either a mind-altering substance or a lobotomy. I should have gone to see it after the brain melt situation; maybe then I would have pissed myself laughing at the snowman montage.
Watching this movie made me think of the time I browbeat Sophie into reading "My Brilliant Friend." After she finished it, she texted,
So, a thing for me with books is that I feel that the book has to have a little bit of a sense of humor. I think that My Brilliant Friend had CHARACTERS with senses of humor, but that the book itself maybe does not. This is not a flaw with the book at all; it’s a flaw of MINE. It probably indicates that I’m deeply fucked up and can’t handle anything serious.
This is how I feel about books/movies/tv that rely solely on humor, existing completely outside the realms of reality. I need some level of seriousness to feel a connection. Otherwise, the pathetic quest for lols gives me high school class clown vibes. At a certain point, you just want to shake the JNCO jean-clad kid making nonstop boner jokes and scream, "Which family member is abusing you? You need a therapist!" That being said, maybe I'm just an unremitting grouch.
I agree with Sophie that "My Brilliant Friend" is not a humorous book, and after reading all of Ferrante's work, I can also say that she's not a particularly humorous writer. Natalia Ginzburg, on the other hand, is someone I find very fucking funny. Not in a laugh-out-loud way, more in a "finding levity in every situation, even those that involve Nazis" kind of way.
In this 2020 article in The Guardian, Ferrante names 40 of her favorite books, including Ginzburg's "Family Lexicon." Anyone who has read both will definitely see some shared DNA in the way they write about familial relationships, but Ginzburg presents her observations with a curious, enigmatic detachment. In the Neapolitan novels, which are widely considered to be at least partially autobiographical, Ferrante aligns the reader with Elena. While reading, you're privy to her inner thoughts and emotions. In "Family Lexicon," you have no clear idea how Natalia feels about anything. The novels are all written in first person, but Ferrante is intimate in a way that Ginzburg is not. In a short preface, Ginzburg describes her writing approach, explaining that while the story is real, she wants it to read like a novel. She also clarifies that while it's based on her memories, it isn't about her; it's the story of her family. As a result, the reader is never sure what Ginzburg thinks about anything because she doesn't tell us.
Take, for example, the way she writes about her father. In our first introduction to him, he's vehemently criticizing everyone and everything:
At dinner, he'd comment on the people he'd encountered during the day. He was very harsh in his judgments and thought everyone was stupid. For him someone stupid was a "nitwit."
He's presented as a domineering, relentlessly judgmental man, but because there's no interiority to Natalia or any of the other characters, you only see how everyone reacts to him. Since no one tiptoes around him or takes his proclamations very seriously, you get the sense that maybe he's all bluster, no bite. Some people might find the disembodied tone of this novel frustrating, but I'm kind of obsessed with Ginzburg's ability to tell a personal story without laying herself bare.
Read if you like: Elena Ferrante, Elsa Morante, anti-Fascists, one of the most charming mothers I've ever come across, big intellectual families.
My first exposure to Sophie Willan was on S17 of "Taskmaster." In one of the prize tasks, contestants were asked to bring in "the greatest thing to give to a granny." Sophie brought a zebra-print onesie, explaining,
My grandma used to wear these a lot [...] She was just, you know, she was fantastic. Slutdropping, twerking, fabulous. And then she had a partial prolapse and it was a bit of a disaster.
Ok, so exceedingly different from my grandma whose greatest excitement was making butter sandwiches with saltine crackers to eat during late-night reruns of "Golden Girls." If, like me, you want to know what it's like to grow up with a sexy grandma, "Alma's Not Normal" is for you.
Written/created by and starring Willan, the semi-autobiographical show follows a character named Alma (Willan) who grew up in and out of foster care because her mom, Lin (Siobhan Finneran), couldn't raise her (heroin addiction, mental health issues). In between homes, Alma lived with her grandma Joan (Lorraine Ashbourne), a proud feminist full of sage wisdom like, "No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor." When S1 begins, Alma is on the heels of a bad breakup with a disgusting man named Anthony and struggling to figure out how she'll pay rent without him. After a short stint at a sandwich shop run by a little bitch tyrant, she becomes an escort, and for the first time in her life, has money to pursue what she's actually interested in: acting.
Based on this description, you might think it's a heavy show, but it's really not. The serious themes — poverty, sexuality, broken social systems, addiction and mental health issues — are always well-balanced with humor. Alma's a bit of a goofball, cracking jokes about things that would make a normal person crumble, but she doesn't trigger me in the way that "The Naked Gun" did because you understand that if she didn't laugh about her shit circumstances, she'd probably be dead. Everything about this show is outstanding, from the dialogue to the costumes to the soundtrack, and I can't recommend it highly enough.
Watch if you like: "Frances Ha," "The Royle Family," Spice Girls karaoke, day drinking, enviable adult female friendships.
Every year, I come across one, unbeknownst to me, celebrity story that piques my interest. In years past, rabbit holes have included Rosemary Kennedy, Christopher Lee, J Tilla the Killa, and Dennis Wilson. This year, Audrey Munson takes the cake. If you've been to New York City, you've definitely seen her somewhere, perhaps on top of the Manhattan Municipal Building or throughout the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In the early 1900s, she was discovered by a photographer who launched her career as an art model, making her a household name lauded in the press as "Miss Manhattan" and the "Perfect Woman."
Her sex appeal led to a brief silent film career where she made waves for becoming one of the first women to appear nude in a non-pornographic film. She built a solid career for herself that, by the late 1910s, began to crumble c/o scandal — tangential involvement in a highly publicized murder case, sexual assault by a Broadway producer — and articles she published about exploitation in the male-dominated art world. Just one year after women were granted the right to vote she wrote this:
In a successful play the principal actors and actresses who contribute to its success are given due praise…and such honours mean increases in salary and a step at least one notch higher on the road to fame and prosperity. Not so with the artist’s model. She remains ever anonymous. She is the tool with which the artist works…though she provides the inspiration for a masterpiece and is the direct cause of enriching the painter or sculptor.
One year after writing this, she was out of work and attempting suicide. Her mother tried to take care of her post-failed suicide attempt, but eventually checked a mentally ill Munson into the St. Lawrence State Hospital for the Insane in Ogdensburg, New York. She remained there for 64 fucking years until she died at the age of 104. After her mother died, she had no visitors for 25 years until her niece found her in 1984. She was of course buried in an unmarked grave. This story feels like the perfect encapsulation of the fucked up nature of female fame. As Heidi Klum says, "One day you're in. The next day you're out," especially if you're a mouthy bitch with brain worms who's in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Left: Strauss Memorial on the UWS. Right: "Columbia Triumphant" at the Columbus Circle gate to Central Park.
I never paid much attention to Paramore/Hayley Williams, so I'm not hip to all the band drama, but this Reddit thread says it's "a few steps under Fleetwood Mac," which is like catnip to me. (Sidenote: here's good Buckingham Nicks lore.) What I do know about Williams is that she's longtime friends with Taylor Swift, so whether fair or not, I assume she's at least partially a piece of shit. Anyway, this is a long preamble to say that I've been listening to "Ego" all week with zero signs of fatigue. It is a good fucking... Youtube playlist release? What are we calling this? I assume it will be released in some official capacity, although nothing has been announced as of yet.
The music video for "Ego Death At A Bachelorette Party" reminds me of being young/dumb and hanging out with my dirtbag friends in empty parking lots. It looks like an old skate video and, as a special millennial treat, even features the TLC dance from "Waterfalls." I miss the days when bands used to put a lot of effort into music videos. I understand why it doesn't happen now (money), but can't someone get VH1's "Pop-Up Video" rolling again? We deserve a little treat in this crumbling capitalist wasteland.
As a surprise to no one, my other favorite track is "Mirtazapine" because antidepressants rule and why shouldn't we shout it from the rooftops?
Listen if you like: Hole, early aughts Warped Tour, Veruca Salt, walking around the city alone with headphones on at 2am even though it's dangerous, imagining the music Lane Kim would make if she told Zack to hit the bricks.
Since visiting Fårö Island last fall, I've been itching to write something substantial about "Bergman Island," one of my favorite films from 2021. It's the perfect thing to watch right now because it's set in a beautiful location during the summer and deals with the difficulties of creating art. It's light and fun, the antithesis to all the brooding, serious shit Bergman himself made there, and has a sense of humor. Again, there are some serious themes, but the film isn't up its own asshole about how important it is. Here's what I said about it over at Seventh Row:
Early on in "Bergman Island," Chris (Vicky Krieps) declares, “I would like to have nine kids from five different men.” She and Tony (Tim Roth) are filmmakers who came to Fårö Island, the land of Ingmar Bergman, to work on respective projects. While they have a daughter together and often seem like a couple, Chris describes Tony as “a friend.” Hansen-Løve doesn’t define the specific parameters of their relationship, but demonstrates the differences in the way they each think about art and life. Chris envies and disdains Bergman, a prolific artist with nine kids from six different women. When she asks Tony how he feels about Bergman’s lack of involvement in his kids’ lives, he responds, “I should feel bad, right?” This is the crux of the film. Chris (and Hansen-Løve) thinks deeply about her responsibility as an artist and parent, along with the gender-based limitations she faces; so much, in fact, that those themes are prevalent in her own art. Tony, on the other hand, is not burdened in the same way.
In the second half of the film, Chris asks Tony for feedback on her screenplay. As she describes it to him, the film melts into the world of her work (which also happens to take place on Fårö). Her protagonist, Amy (Mia Wasikowska), is a film director who is in town for a friend’s wedding along with her ex-boyfriend, Joseph (Anders Danielsen Lie), whom she still loves. Like Chris, Amy has a young daughter and a partner back home, but her identity is not completely wrapped up in those relationships. In another striking similarity to Chris’s life, Joseph reveals that Amy “wanted two children with two men at the same time,” a desire that he found “absurd.”
As the screenplay develops, the autobiographical resemblance becomes undeniable. Chris uses her work as a lens through which to view her own life and perhaps, so does Hansen-Løve. Women don’t have the luxury of shirking their parental responsibilities to focus solely on creative endeavours; however, they have the ability to examine their unique experiences and turn them into art.
Now, for something fun. Which Muppet would you "Freaky Friday": Janice, Miss Piggy, or Zoot?
Is Janice at the Playboy Mansion's grotto?
