Don’t let the brows fool you: every Ibsen-reading, wine-drinking, Truffant-quoting fancy pants has a store of Pop Culture Unfortunates in their past: those little blemishes on the hull of any perfectly cultivated intellectual inner life. It happens to the best of us: the five-star restaurant foodie who secretly devours Doritos; the opera connoisseur who watches Two and a Half Men; the hipster poet who digs Phil Collins without a trace of irony (he’s got two ears and a heart, doesn’t he?). They’re all alike. And I happen to have it on good authority. What’s that good authority, you may ask? Well, my own sordid past, of course. Full disclosure, kids. That’s what I’m all about.
Look, you can’t help love, right? And I happen to love Duran Duran. More than a little. Actually, more than a lot. I think that not only are they great artists, they also constantly redefine the word ‘awesome.’ Also? Their poetics put a tear in my eye, yet a song remains in my heart. Look no further than the exotic seduction found in Hungry Like the Wolf, the stylish yearning of
No, like, everything. Brunches, girls with bangs, gentrification--I am guilty, guilty, guilty. And I accept this accomplishment with equal parts pride, shame and resignation. But, like most White People, it’s mostly pride.
Yeah. The real shame from this admission comes from the fact that not only do I like it better than its predecessor (Saturday Night Fever, and I don’t know WHY you would not know that already). It’s from the fact that I…what’s the word? Like it at all. No, I’m sorry. Like isn’t strong enough. I kind of love it. I just…man, when he puts that snooty British lady in her place by letting her fall during the big dance number? I’m all , “LAWYERED, baby. Outstanding.” In fact…
There’s like my Achilles heel, but instead of leaving me dead on a Greek island, these “films” leave me soaring on clouds of rhythm and joy. Ain’t a terribly crafted, shoddily plotted dance movie that I don’t love with the fire of a teenage poet. Bad dance movies teach me how to live my life (Fight for your dreams, says Flashdance. Never give up, says Step Up. Kevin Bacon should have a place in your heart forever, says Footloose). Do you demand more proof? HAVE IT: I paid money to see Take the Lead. In theatres. WHERE OTHER PEOPLE COULD SEE ME.
(UPDATE! On December 29th, I was in a store that had cruelly placed Footloose and Stayin' Alive next to each other, both for seven dollars and ninety nine cents. Seven dollars and ninety nine cents! I don't know how this store stayed in business, charging next to nothing for the greatest films of my whole life. Y'all, it was like Sophie's Choice up in here. I left empty handed becuase the weight of that choice would haunt me like, for at least twenty minutes.)
Gossip Girl.
Do I need to say any more? Of course not. Because I still totally don’t watch it. (BLAIR + CHUCK 4EVAH!!!1!!)
Okay. I know The Rules of the Game (or La Règle du jeu, 1939) is supposed to be this amazing, benchmark film. But um. Okay. It kind of…sucks. Like, not a lot: it’s not like Showgirls or anything. But I don’t really get the big deal. It seems pretty standard to me. Madcap servants, delusional rich people. Isn’t that, like, the whole point of European cinema? Also, I detest Christine, the quasi-protagonist: I fail to understand how one man would be interested in a stale, boring old prune like her, let alone three (that was the final tally, wasn’t it?). I don’t want to say hackneyed but…okay, I kind of do want to say hackneyed. But I won’t! Because I’m pretty sure they’d take away my White Person membership (see above).
Okay, this one is hard to admit. But DAMN IT. I have to say it. She’s the Man (starring Amanda Bynes and Channing Tatum) is a good movie and a clever adaptation of Shakespeare! I won’t stop there: Amanda Bynes is charming in it and Channing Tatum actually comes close to emoting. Also, I’ve seen it more than once. There. I said it. Okay? Stop LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
For some reason, I made up my mind to never, ever willingly watch a Clint Eastwood film. Not that ones he’s in, mind you, only the ones he directs. It has something to do with the fact that he makes the most depressing, life-sucking movies of all time. It’s like the feud between the Capulets and the Montagues: it goes back so far I don’t even remember what started it (OH WAIT. I do. Unforgiven. Do you know who emerges from that stupid film unforgiven? Clint Eastwood.) So that means I haven’t seen any of his blasted critical darlings—a list that includes
No, yeah. I know.
3 comments:
Yes, Duran Duran = Awesome. :) And I agree...Mr. Le Bon is, in fact, a total DREAMBOAT. I more than love them, also. Since 1981....
I also have a couple of terrifying pop loves inexcusable by the community of the pretentious. For me, it's the mostly British synth pop groups of the 80s too. Depeche Mode and Duran Duran are always in front, but it is acceptable to like these and still be a pretentious intellectual. Now add Gary Numan, Tears for Fears, OMD, Human League, Soft Cell, Toto, and many others for whom I simply have no room.
Yes, I am straight.
Other than that, I really just have my totally anti-rational love for Jim Carrey. This does include his genuinely good movies like Truman Show, The Cable Guy, and Eternal Sunshine (which is always guaranteed to get you action when you watch it with a girl). But I'm talking both Ace Venturas, Dumb and Dumber, and his overacting Riddler in Batman Forever.
Jim Carrey is one of my weaknesses, too. I also love that sparkly-cheekboned vampire kid everyone is in love with, which makes me feel a total old-lady-pervert. And eating cereal out of the box. And the movie Ladyhawke.
Why do intellctuals always feel the need to hide their goofy guilty pleasures??
Goofy PopCultureCheesy is the new-gay among the hipster elite. Intellectuals, come out of the closet!
BTW, I think my love of the vampire kid totally outshines your Duran Duran love in the 'lame' department. DD does = awesome.
Post a Comment