Miss May

May traditionally marks the beginning of the summer movie season and each of the last two years, my May movie darling has been a Kristen Wiig film.

Last year, MacGruber, which had Wiig in a supporting role, exploded onto the screen in a burst of high-octane silliness. This year, Bridesmaids (which Wiig starred in and co-wrote) stole my heart and somehow surpassed the comic potential that Wiig has been showing for years.

Bridesmaids is the funniest movie I have seen in a long time. Many of my favorites (Napoleon Dynamite, Borat, Team America) have trouble sustaining their comedy the entire film. At a bold 120 minutes, Bridesmaids is almost always funny. And when it's not funny, it's because it's not supposed to be (but it's still interesting). Bridesmaids boasts terrificly written and brilliantly performed characters that one can't help but fall for.

I think Wiig should have to pay Tina Fey royalties, though. See similarities:

1) Both got their breaks on Saturday Night Live

2) Each enjoy roles as writer and lead actress (Wiig for Bridesmaids and Fey for 30 Rock)

3) Wiig's character, Annie, was written with a self-deprecation that screams Liz Lemon

4) One of Annie's few "romantic" relationships is with an ironically repellent Jon Hamm character (again, 30 Rock much?)

Considering Gin Blossoms, the album

Artists are often celebrated for making great albums. I for one am not a big fan of the album and I’m kind of happy to see it fade away in this mp3 age. I don’t know why an artist should be required to make all the music he or she writes mesh in a cohesive way in order to release it. Artists like Billy Corgan have expressed anti-album sentiments. I think a single song can stand alone as a complete work of art. If it fits with other stuff, great. If not, who cares? I much prefer a good mixtape to a good album (because albums are so difficult that even good ones aren’t that good).

I propose that people celebrate “singles artists” a bit more. I don’t mean that everyone has to appreciate Top 40 hits; I just think that artists who only produce a couple great songs should get more credit. Exhibit A: Gin Blossoms.

Guitarist Doug Hopkins only wrote five songs on Gin Blossoms’ first major label release, New Miserable Experience. Only two of the five songs, “Hey Jealousy” and “Found Out About You” were any good. But they were great. After the album was completed, the band kicked Hopkins out because of his drinking problem and got famous off his two masterpieces. He committed suicide later that year.

You listen to those songs and you can’t help but wonder, “What else did he have in him?” He could have written so many more great tunes. But he might not have. He may have been a two hit wonder. But that shouldn’t be frowned upon. He wrote two masterworks. So many “great” albums don’t have any songs nearly as good as those. So let’s celebrate the people who only have a couple great songs in them. It’s more than most of us.

Robyn at the Riv

I am about an hour removed from seeing Robyn live for the third time. Robyn (probably my current favorite artist) is touring Body Talk (my current favorite album) and I had been looking forward to seeing her for months. She did not disappoint, either; tonight was easily the best of the three performances I've seen. For some reason, though, I'm left with a strange sadness.

Seeing a concert, even one that I don't enjoy, always gives my inner-musician a jolt. Tonight was no different. I wanted to be up on the stage, doing what Robyn was doing. I am not, though. Is that the source of my sadness? Perhaps.

I have always been incredibly attracted to Robyn. She's a good-looking woman, a great musician, she plays by her own rules, and she's one heck of a dancer. Is it possible that instead of receiving a thrill from being so close to her, I have become distraught over the distance I experienced? The distance between a performer and audience member (one of hundreds) does seem so great even when the two are merely separated by a matter of feet. She certainly is something that I desire but will never have. But I did not feel such sadness until after she left the stage.

Here is what I do know: I spent $35 for a few hours of music. I was very excited for it. I enjoyed it while it was going on. Since it ended, I felt more despondent than I have felt in months.

I'm not sure why I bother with concerts. They never seem to be worth the money.

But I feel the desire to perform--musically--within myself. And I do hope that the world would continue to fund that practice. I guess I just don't want to be the one to do it... I don't want to be one of the crowd. I only want the stage.

You are probably wondering what the point of this post is. I guess I'm just trying to figure out.

2011 Irwies

Oh snap! Ya’ll need to hide your kids, hide your wives, and hide your husbands because it’s time for the Third Annual Irwie Awards! (Sadly Antoine Dodson refused to attend the ceremony because he was upset at being nominated in the “guilty pleasure” category. The Irwie officials meant no disservice and wish Dodson nothing but the best of luck on his entrepreneurial career.) For those unfamiliar, the Irwie awards acknowledge those who have made an impact in popular culture over the past year in honor of the iconic Steve Irwin. Let’s get to the awards!

Honorary Gold Star Recipient: Brett Favre

Favre has put up with a lot this year—injuries, struggling team, further tainted public image—but no one deserves an A for effort more than Minnesota’s public enemy number one. At a time where many his age struggle to change the channel on their new digital televisions, Favre has entrusted technology with his most personal messages (and appendage). Though most members of his generation would be limited to faxing or snail mailing pictures of their genitalia, the elder statesman of the quarterback position successfully sent a picture message of little Brett using his mobile phone. I don’t know why he’s going through so much trouble to deny his feat; his generation could sorely use that success story.


Guilty Pleasure of the Year:

“Who Dat Girl” by Flo Rida featuring Akon

All the objectification of women makes me sick, but I can’t deny a catchy song. Plus, I’ve got to give Mr. Rida ups for being honest with his lyric “I imagine her topless.” Most artists wouldn’t go there. And before the music video descends into “generic party video” mode, it boasts a pretty creative set-up.


Man of the Year: This guy. Words cannot describe why. You must watch.


Disappointment of the Year: How Do You Know

It was tough coming to terms with a Max Weinberg-less Conan. It was also disheartening for a Potter fan like myself to see the most recent installment eclipsed by Tangled in the box office because of a certain British dime piece. I’ve got to give this one to How Do You Know, though. I was really looking forward to it. The film, especially Paul Rudd’s character, was bogged down by wooden, pretentious dialogue. Not only did the trailers contain the film’s best jokes, but they also exhibited better comic timing than the awkwardly edited motion picture. I haven’t seen Spanglish, but from what I can gather, this is Brooks’ second straight disappointment (because The Simpsons Movie doesn’t count).


Stone Cold Fox of the Year: Robyn

Robyn also wins the artist/human being of the year award as far as I’m concerned. Body Talk, a collection of the best tracks across the terrific three-part EP series, is the catchiest thing since post 9/11 xenophobia. Never before has an artist released so much music that I like in a single year. She’s also a ferocious performer. She has more stage presence in one of her cups (which she always fills, and has no need to supersize), than most people have in their entire bodies. She delivered a rendition of “Hyperballad” that nearly brought Björk to tears. She also brought the house down at the Nobel ceremony for the second time in three years (here’s the first time). And on top of all that, she is so unapologetically herself that one can’t help but see her for the fox she is.

The Streets on Fire

Mike Skinner insists that his final album as The Streets, Computers and Blues, will be "dark and futuristic" and though neither of the first two releases have displayed that, it looks promising. The first single "Going Through Hell" is a triumphantly rockin' good time. But I've been more impressed with the second song released.

You know how if you send a facebook relationship request your facebook will read "in a relationship" while the request is in limbo, even if it has not been agreed upon?Well Skinner turned that phenomenon into a really clever and catchy song called "OMG". Needless to say, I'm excited.

A Continuation on 'Ordinary People?'

I have continued to break ground on the topic I opened up yesterday so I will continue to post my thoughts in hopes of further revelations. In my last post, 'Ordinary People?' I spoke of being attracted to characters without defining that attraction. So I will attempt to work towards that definition.

I can comfortably state that a romantic comedy's success does not depend on having a crush on the characters. I have enjoyed several romantic comedies without those feelings. And the one character that I do harbor crush-like feelings for--Glee's Rachel Berry--did not have my best wishes as she neared her relationship with Finn Hudson.

However, I cannot recall enjoying a single romantic comedy without finding the primary characters likable. I can't recall ever thinking, "Those characters rub me the wrong way, but I really hope they get together. They could use each other." Even those who have earned my pity have done so with some kind of charm (Little Children, Me and You and Everyone We Know). Have you ever found yourself invested in a fictional romance between two unlikable characters?

Ordinary People?

I've seen a couple romcoms this holiday season: Morning Glory and How Do You Know. I found neither to be satisfactory. One of the reasons is that I found neither films' bumbling-yet-appealing character to be the latter. Rather than being awkwardly adorable, both Rachel McAdams and Paul Rudd were so obnoxiously grating that I was not able to feel for either of them. As a result, I had little to no interest in their stories.

I could not understand why their respective love interests were interested in them at all. Don't get me wrong, I don't think attractiveness necessitates elegance. I have been attracted by the quirks of others (and I hope that there are those who don't find my awkwardness to be completely repellent). Is it possible that the characters simply weren't my types? Were any of you loyal readers won over by the characters?

Neither film garnered many favorable reviews so I don't think the dissatisfaction was completely due to my taste in people. However, I'm left with the question: do the characters of a romantic comedy need to be attractive (in appearance, behavior, spirit, etc.) in order for the film to be a success? If so, that spells doom for any hope for diversity in the genre.

The goal of virtually all films is profit. This is accomplished by attracting the greatest possible audience. So it would follow that studios (unless supremely altruistic) would only pick up romcoms that featured characters congruent with modern notions of beauty and acceptability. It's not breaking news that most films feature beautiful, white, thin/muscular, heterosexual characters but I personally never factored personalities into that equation.

Perhaps there is a general "type" to win over movie goers or Oscar voters. If so, what incentive would producers have to feature any other type of character? Are we subjected to a parade of characters that not only look the same but embody similar essences? Which types of people and personalities are ignored by mainstream entertainment? Which people are ignored in reality as a result? These questions stem from a thought that I am far from articulating, let alone concluding, but I am fascinated by it. Any thoughts? Am I making sense?