Hollywood seems to reserve a special hell for female actors who do not play nice, and the most enduring example–for me anyway–is Sean Young. Young's performance in the 1982 Ridley Scott sci-fi classic Blade Runner left an indelible impression on me as a teenager and even more so when I saw the first of many "director's cuts" theatrically.
This week's douchebag decree goes out to all of the douchebags who are responsible for the BP oil spill. Because there are so many filthy rich BP Oil Execs who have repeatedly displayed their lack of concern about how the spill is affecting the environment and its inhabitants, I've decided to honor a couple of them with this week's decree.
My affection for shows like King of the Hill and the Simpsons (the kind of shows that Family Guy half-heartedly rips off) grows the more I watch it and the better I know the characters, the setting, the style of humor. With Family Guy, though, I just grow irritated and bored.
Even though we're three feature films away from the conclusion of the Twilight film series (Eclipse premiers at the end of this month), there's already talk of what the adaptation of Breaking Dawn, the final book in the series that is being broken into two movies, is going to include...or more specifically leave out, namely Bella's bone-breaking, blood-soaked, and almost-lethal delivery of her vampire baby.
I think we in the US get that notion confused in our exploitative, mushily erotic society, where every touch is perceived as sexually charged yet suspect–due to, among other influences, homophobia, soap operas, rom-coms, romance novels, porn, puritanism, rape culture, and music videos–that some folks fail to understand the in-between physical contact, which is where quite a bit of partner dancing rests, especially if someone is learning how to dance in a duo for the first time in a studio setting.
The remake of The Karate Kid surprised many Hollywood insiders–worn down by under-performing overly hyped films (Robin Hood, Sex and the City, Killers) and the audience's reluctance to shell out upwards of $17 for gimmicky 3D summer releases–by ringing up an impressive $56mil over the weekend.
If Alice Paul had gotten her way, the United States Constitution would read:
Men and women shall have equal rights throughout the United States and every place subject to its jurisdiction.
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
This, her proposed text of the Equal Rights Amendment, has never come to pass. Drafted by Paul and introduced by two Republicans in 1923—one of whom was Susan B. Anthony's nephew—the ERA was introduced in every congressional session thereafter, until 1980. Nearly 60 years of finding a sponsor, and for all but three of those years, ERA died in committee. In those other three years, it either failed on a close vote in the Senate, or it passed, but with a rider that none of its supporters could stomach.
School's out for summer, and I'm feeling antsy. I want to throw garbage cans at mailboxes, drink warm Budweiser in the back of a pick-up truck, and smoke cigarettes in front of the arcade. I want to drive around the neighborhood with the windows down so everyone can hear the brilliance of Suzi Quatro.
You know how every once in a while someone comes into your life–be it in person or in book, music, film, or some other form–and totally blows you away because they're saying everything you've been thinking, but in a way that is smarter and better than you've been thinking it? Like they took what was inside your brain and made it make sense? Jean Kilbourne is one of those people for me. As a young feminist beginning my academic career in media studies, no one hit more nails on more heads for me than she did. I am sure I'm not alone in feeling this way about Ms. Kilbourne and her work, which makes it all the more exciting that her book, Can't Buy My Love, is our first Mad World Book Club selection!