Up until last night, I was a LOST junkie. I probably will be for a few more days. Then my addiction will subside until they issue the complete DVD collection. Anyways, I would venture to say that there are some who are disappointed by the series finale. And those who never watched the show (or abandoned it early on) will say I wasted the last six years of my life. To which I say, go eff yourself. Until you’ve watched every episode, you have no say. Besides, I never lived it 24-7; it only took up a couple of hours of one night a week of my life. But what a night that was.
LOST was a truly unique show – it made you question your beliefs on life, death and redemption. LOST was also a smart show – it incorporated time travel and physics, and literature that stretched the imagination. It made you want to search out the authors it referenced, whether it was through the characters’ names (John Locke and David [Desmond] Hume, who were philosophers) or the books it would reference through carefully placed cover shots (Watership Down, anyone?)
The best thing about LOST was that it was open to interpretation. The finale generated many different theories, and all of them will be right because they are personal. They reflect our own beliefs in death and redemption. And since no one is absolutely correct in their assumptions of the afterlife (because let’s face it – you’ll only know for sure once you’re dead, all religious texts be damned), then all theories are valid.
John Hughes passed away yesterday and the news made me sad and a little melancholic. You see, I was in my teens in the 80s and watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty in Pink and Sixteen Candles in the movie theatres when they were released (when admission was only $4!). Hughes’ characters became very personal to me; somehow, this 30-something adult male managed to accurately capture the angst, ennui and joy that lived in every teenager. I remember crying when Andie had her heart broken by Blaine (“Blane? His name is Blane? That’s a major appliance, that’s not a name!”). I remember how hard I laughed at Ferris Bueller, that righteous dude. And I always wanted a Jake to call my own. (Where art thou, Michael Schoeffling)?
Hughes was one of the defining filmmakers of the 80s, and I say that without a hint of sarcasm. His cinematic legacy may not stack up to that of Hitchcock, Wilder or Allen but his influence was just as large. Think about it – ask any person over 35 what their favourite John Hughes movie is and you will get a definitive answer. Hell, you can ask a 20-something the same question and they’ll tell you their favourite, too.
When I get a moment, I will watch Pretty in Pink on DVD (with the alternate ending where Andie chooses Duckie). I will also unearth the soundtrack (which I still have on vinyl) out of storage and create a little altar to pay my respects to the man. Surrounded by sixteen candles, of course.
Barack Hussein Obama, an African-American and son of a goat-hearder from Kenya, was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America.
Read that sentence a few times and savour its deliciousness as it rolls off your tongue. In a country whose identity was shaped in large part by slavery, racism and a blind fear of the different, this is truly a momentous and historic occasion. Only a cold, cold heart could not be moved by the events of the past three months or tear up during the inauguration ceremony.
Is the hype justified? I think it is. Since his election, Obama has shown more concern towards the problems affecting his country than George Bush, Jr. has in the last year of his presidency. “Dubya” didn’t care anymore, and it showed.
No one in their right mind believes Obama can or will affect change right away. He inherits a country crippled with debt, riddled with despair and desperate for change; he definitely has his work cut out for him. What transcends all the promises he set out during his campaign and in his inauguration speech is hope. A hope that things will improve. Because frankly, they can’t get any worse.
As a Canadian, I watched with envy as a nation joined together in welcoming their new President. Next week, our Sleeveless Leader, who treats the country like his personal fiefdom, will unveil a budget that will more than likely lead to a third election in as many years. (My math may be off but that’s exactly how it feels.)
So, to my friends south of the border – congratulations! I hope you don’t mind our staring – we just want a little hope of our own.
Bettie Page, fifties pinup queen and sexual pioneer, passed away yesterday at the age of 85. She wasn’t as hugely popular as Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield or other sex symbols of her generation, but still managed to develop a huge cult-like following, despite giving up the business in 1959 to devote herself to God.
I’ve been a fan of Bettie since my early 20s. My admiration and devotion to her wasn’t as manic as what I felt for Marilyn in my teens. Perhaps it was because I was older and could better appreciate what Bettie stood for. Unlike Marilyn, Bettie represented a strong, potent female sexuality – unbridled, unabashed and fun. Looking at her cheesy pinup photos or bondage shots, it was clear she enjoyed her work and took great pride in it.
“I never thought it was shameful. I felt normal. It’s just that it was much better than pounding a typewriter eight hours a day, which gets monotonous.” – Bettie Page, Playboy interview, 1998
If Marilyn was the fragile, bruised child, Bettie was the aggressive, confident woman. Marilyn was the woman men wanted to take care of and protect. Page was the one they were slightly afraid of; she knew how to wield a riding crop.
I’ve always aspired to be a Bettie, rather than a Marilyn.
Celebrity deaths tend to attract a new group of followers, curious about this now-faded icon they are too young to remember. I hope a lot of these new admirers are young women who see in Bettie what they want to see in themselves – a confident woman, comfortable with her body. In this age where Barbie doll starlets with plastic breasts and body dysmorphia are held up as standards of attractiveness (hey Hollywood – since when is a size 2 “curvy”?), Bettie (and even Marilyn, for that matter) represents a time when an hourglass figure was something to be admired and drooled over.
Bettie, we’ll miss you. I think God’s view just got a whole lot better.
It has been announced that Tina Fey and Steve Carrell have been cast in a movie together. My two favourite television stars! In a movie together! Let’s hope it’s better than “Baby Mama” and “Evan Almighty”.
Steve Carell and Tina Fey are set to play a married couple in “Date Night,” a 20th Century Fox comedy to be directed by Shawn Levy. Josh Klausner wrote the script, based on an idea by Levy, whose 21 Laps will produce. Story follows a couple who find their routine date night becomes much more than just dinner and a movie.
Pic will begin production next year, with the exact start date predicated on matching a scheduling hiatus from Carell’s sitcom “The Office” and Fey’s “30 Rock.”
Levy, who is shooting Fox’s “Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian,” intends the pic to be his next directing assignment.
“I wanted to do a relatable, grounded character comedy about marriage and the lengths we go to preserve the spark,” Levy told Daily Variety. “Tina and Steve are smart and relatable, and the tone of their comedy perfectly fits this film.”
Both Carell and Fey are up for Emmys for their sitcom work, and their NBC shows are competing in the comedy category.
Carell is coming off Warner Bros. laffer “Get Smart.” Fey most recently starred in the Universal hit comedy “Baby Mama” and recently wrapped production opposite Ricky Gervais on “This Side of the Truth.” Fey is also starring in a series of American Express TV commercials alongside Martin Scorsese.