Friday, June 6, 2008
Showgirls IS the Best Movie Ever, also: Coldplay
Nomi removes her top. She is topless.
1. First off, I have to report on last night's activities. After a depressing day during which a former best friend proved himself to be a craven, cowardly asshole (the worst kind of downer, shaking one's faith in humanity) I was despairing ever laughing again. Nevertheless, we headed, in the company of fellow ex-pat Darren Roark, to the Upright Citizens Brigade theater to see Showgirls: The Best Movie Ever Made. Ever. It's billed as a "dramatic reading" of Joe Esterhasz' script, which is so unbelievably, monumentally, legendarily awful it veers into genius territory. The stage directions are read absolutely verbatim ( ex: Esterhasz has a tendency to overexplain the bare tits of the main character: "Nomi removes her top. SHE IS TOPLESS.") and the parts are read either as broad caricature or deadly serious. And "Mr. Esterhasz" himself is there to explain the film and talk about how he sucked Andrea Dworkin's dick. I'm not sure I've ever laughed harder. Must see.
Best of all, we got to meet SNL's gorgeous Casey Wilson and Rob Corddry, formerly of the Daily Show and most recently of "What Happens In Vegas," a movie which, despite my personal loathing of the rom-com genre, charmed the shit out of me, partly 'cause of the script and partly because of the riotous chemistry between Corddry and the astonishing Lake Bell. Awesome.
2. Okay. This blog has always been, if nothing else, completely honest. Right? I've never lied to you, I lay bare my soul even when it hurts. And there's something I need to confess to you. Something that's been plaguing my life for years, and something which I've tried depserately to hide.
That is this: I can't bring myself to hate Coldplay.
God, it tortures me! My forebrain knows they write shitty, overdramatic, cliche-ridden songs. My forebrain knows that they're pompous, pretentious assholes who think they're the fucking second coming and so fucking aren't. My forebrain keeps telling me that every fiber of my being should be dedicated to loathing these chumps because that's the kind of music that the world should loathe.
And then? One of their songs comes on the radio and my fucking hindbrain goes "Hey, good song!" and turns up the radio and next thing I know I'm singing along to "Clocks" or that new song that isn't even a song from their new album which is called something like "La Vida Loca." And then my forebrain notices, shudders in abject horror, and turns the radio to an AC/DC song in an attempt to purge the horror.
I refuse to admit that the reason I can't bring myself to hate them is that they're actually not as bad as everybody seems to think they are and that, like U2, their pomposity frequently overshadows their knack for writing catchy melodies that stick in your head. Even though, I dunno, it's kind of true.
God, I'm so ashamed. I'm turning in my Pitchfork Media Music Snob Club Membership Card and retiring to a monastery in the mountains of Greece to get away from this. I need to find myself. Farewell.