When I was a kid, if I saw two guys wiggling in a public bathroom stall and making grunting noises, I’d assume one of them was murdering the other. Like in Witness. But now I’d assume that one of them was sucking the other off. Like in a Republican National Convention.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close draws to a close on a Baghdad screen. The audience stands as one, exits the theater and moves in a mass toward the US Embassy. As they hove into view of the guards, a noise reaches the officials in the offices above. No, not gunshots: it’s too faint for that.
It is hundreds of Iraqis weeping wordlessly and clapping with determination.
Finally, the world understands what we lost.
If yesterday you were given a magic lamp and forced to conjure Miranda July into existence, you would have asked the genie for a Diablo Cody who tries ten times as hard to say something even shallower than her current body of work. July, like Cody (who also shares the distinction of having a fake name that immediately makes you think, “Holy shit, what an obviously contrived name”), is one of few nationally recognized creative types to offer a nearly 1:1 ratio between your finding out who she is, and finding that you already loathe her.
Then we’ll replace a few key terms:
“The Studio” with “The Guards.”
“Grosses” with “Nazis.”
And any name of the production with “Auschwitz.”
Then let’s see how many terminally self-centered rich people making millions of dollars in their chosen career are invariably just a few nouns short of coming off like puling non-victims likening their lives with death camps and their antagonists with Mengele.
Not only does it push “pretty” and “meaningless” via two media, but there’s nothing that gets me more amped than white people feeling sorry for themselves that they’ve got to go on holiday.
Unless it’s a white lady trying to sing like Billie Holiday.
Inspired by the 1980s comedy hits Teen Wolf and Ski School, this low-budget spoof centers on a group of ski bums who are forced to momentarily set their non-stop partying ways aside to save their favorite ski resort from a hostile takeover. Packed with mischief, mayhem and moon-worshipping werewolves, this hilarious B-movie stars Casey Bowker, cult film legend Trent Haaga and adult film star Alix Lakehurst.
Continuity: During a bedroom scene, Victoria drops her bra on the floor twice.
Continuity: In more than one scene the cast is standing around, talking, carrying skis, etc. outside the base lodge. You can see leaves on the green trees in the background. It’s not winter, not even close.
Audio/visual unsynchronized: When Johnny approaches Reid for the interview, a member of Section 1 and ‘Paige’ can be heard talking, but their lips aren’t moving.
Revealing mistakes: After Derek smashes up Ed’s cassettes, Ed is somehow able to pick it all up with just one hand in one swoop.
Errors made by characters (possibly deliberate errors by the filmmakers): (Reid’s party) As Dave and Fitz set up the camera cables in the hotel, Dave calls Fitz “Johnny”.
Continuity: (Reid’s film) A woman sitting next to another member of Section 1 (Dave’s lambada partner) is seen wearing a jacket in one shot, and then a sleeveless outfit in another.
Revealing mistakes: As Section 8 gets tossed out of the party, they all pull out their cans of beer, except for Fitz, who instead pulls out a box of gelatin.
Audio/visual unsynchronized: As Reid & Section 1 enter Section 8’s room to warn them, they can be heard saying that “the place is a dump”, but no one is moving their lips.
Audio/visual unsynchronized: (Lambada hot tub) Dave starts to sing “Kumbaya…”, but his lips are not moving.
Continuity: (Prior to the final race) The two shots of Dave saying “he’s learning” and “lambada!” are meant to occur at the same time, but it is obvious that these two shots were taken at different time periods during filming due to Dave’s appearance, the room lighting, and the color of the lamps above Dave.
Revealing mistakes: The helicopter takes Reid and Johnny to the top of the mountain, but as the helicopter is flying they are not in it.
And that unintelligibility you’ve tried not at all to shed: pure Dominican. What is your father, dear? Is he a middle reliever? Does he stink of the glove?
You know how quickly the scouts found you, those tedious workouts in the backs of yards, while you could only dream of getting out… getting to the show… getting all the way home to score an Arr… Bee.. Eye.
