Your Dog & Your Cervix: Seriously, Just Don’t Go There | What Comes Before Part B?
I know you're tempted. After all, he seems like a good boy. But before long, you'll see that he never calls his mother and hasn't had a job in forever. Then where will you be? Sitting alone with way too many jars of peanut butter, that's where.
Make-Out With Violence: Return Of The Emo Dead
Trauma doesn’t visit youth lightly. It takes advantage, sinking its teeth deeply into unblunted sensitivities, unknitted wounds, and unexpected realities. The pain is more than just raw; it’s unwieldy, an emotional artifact of such size and shape that untested arms struggle to wrap around it. For the first twenty-five minutes of Make-Out With Violence, that sensation is evoked so tangibly that I was transported, floating on a lazy river of adolescent longing and dread. Those opening scenes –bathed in the gold and crimson of perpetual sunset– capture and embellish feelings so dark and painful that they can only be properly viewed through the dreamy haze of lost summer afternoons.
The Daily: It Ain’t Much, But It Matters
Conflicted. Uncertain. Apprehensive. These words well describe my feelings about The Daily, Rupert Murdoch’s splashy entrée to the world of purely digital publishing via the Apple iPad. Virtually everything about this new periodical is a mess, with one exception. One vital aspect that the media mogul nailed better than anyone else so far.
Slumdog Millionaire: Jamal’s Outhouse Escape
I don't know if Slumdog is the saddest Happy Movie I’ve ever seen, or the other way ’round. The genius of Danny Boyle’s squalid little love story is that it’s probably both; it constantly slaps you in the face with the aggregate horror of life in the slums of Mumbai and Bombay, even as it gently nurtures a vision of individual, indefatigable hope.
LSD Trip: The Real Housewives of 1956
It’s amazing, seeing this woman’s transformation. And I mean more than just delightful lines like “Insides? I don’t have any insides.” or “I wish I could talk in Technicolor.” In a few short minutes of film, we get to observe another human being emerging from culture’s cage.
The Name of the Rose: Sean Connery’s Geek Moment
The most striking thing about Jean-Jacques Annaud’s adaptation of Umberto Eco’s book is how determinedly ugly it is. With the bulk of the cast seemingly picked for their ability to spontaneously trigger the human gag reflex, and a dank, mud-smeared, undoubtedly foul-smelling architectural monstrosity for a setting, TNOTR is a vision of 14th century squalor which suggests a Europe that keeps going on Crusade just so it won’t have to look at itself.
Roll-Your-Own Fleshlight, Lose-Your-Own Dignity (NSFW)
Are you lonely? Sexually frustrated? Has life let you down? Are you at the point where you can see yourself screwing a Pringles can full of cleaning supplies? If so, then here’s a photographic walkthrough for constructing your own disembodied vagina.