Let us continue our descent into nostalgia, shall we? Of course, when it comes to today’s topic, you probably have less nostalgia to deal with than I do.

Frank, if you’ve forgotten, Bridget Jones’s Diary is a year in the life of a slightly spacey 30-something lady, who originated in the newspaper columns of Helen Fielding. When given the opportunity to turn her columns into one of the first great examples of the chick-lit genre, Fielding riffed off the plot of Jane Austin’s the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice–

Wait, Frank, because you are not a girl, you may not have watched the BBC Pride and Prejudice mini-series (which was basically the Downton Abbey of its day), so if you’ve forgotten the bare essentials of that story, here they are: Eligible, if headstrong young lady with embarrassing family gets introduced to presumably snobby gentleman, but doesn’t hook up with him — she instead ends up falling for a less reputable gentleman who misleads her into thinking what they have is for realz and breaks her heart. Then, the presumably snobby fella turns out to really like the heroine and after the snobby fella rescues the lady’s family from calamity and ruin, he and the lady totally bone have a very dignified courtship leading to a proper marriage.

And it starred Colin Firth. Ahem. More on Colin Firth in a moment.

Fielding took this basic narrative, added a lot more sex and alcohol, plus many witty observations on the difficulties of being single at a certain age, and made millions. Not to mention a pretty entertaining book!

I read and fell in love with Bridget Jones’s Diary in… God, I can’t even remember. The battered paperback I’ve moved from house to dorm room to apartment to apartment was published in 1999, so it can’t be earlier than that (unless?). But it feels like I’ve always loved this book, to be honest — that Bridget’s less-than-perfect behavior spoke to me from the very beginnings of my own awkward adolescence.

But I haven’t reread the book in probably close to a decade, which made picking it up this weekend an intense experience. For one thing, I am no longer a teenager riddled with acne, sobriety and virginity — I am, in fact, now Bridget Jones’s peer in terms of age, drinking habits and relationship status. But much in the same way that I can’t comprehend the fact that the girls in The Babysitter’s Club were THIRTEEN (Frank, how can that be!?! They ran a successful business!), being approximately the same age as Bridget Jones just feels WRONG.

Well, in Bridget’s case it feels a little less wrong. For one thing, while she is not very good at programming VCRs, I am. Or I was, anyway. That’s a thing I forgot: the 1990s. And VCRs. And how the British called VCRs “the video.” Aren’t the British cute, Frank?

Speaking of cute! Each diary entry is preceded by Bridget’s log of drinks, cigarettes and calories consumed; it’s a nice way of setting up the central dictomy of the character, specifically Bridget’s desire to better herself and the complete lack of self control which handicaps her. It’s also typically very funny, except! One huge thing I didn’t necessarily forget, but didn’t even understand at the time: Whilst Renee Zellweger, famously, put on 30 pounds to play Bridget in the films, BRIDGET JONES IS NOT FAT.

Let me say that one more time. BRIDGET JONES IS NOT FAT. Her weight fluctuates over an approximate 12 pound range over the course of the book, but that 12 pound range? 118 to 130 pounds. FOR FUCK’S SAKE. I don’t want to get all “holy shit way to fuck us ladies up, western civilization,” but FOR FUCK’S SAKE. I have spent the last TEN YEARS thinking Bridget Jones was — well, not fat, but certainly not skinny. FOR FUCK’S SAKE.

NOT. FUCKING. FAT.

I’m also now thinking about the movie, and how it took me a while, to figure out how much I disliked the movie. Which seems wrong, right? I should have loved the movie. The sole fact that Colin Firth played Mark Darcy, a character inspired by Mr. Darcy, who Colin Firth also played and in fact made iconic, should have won over my postmodern heart.

But I loved the book too much to enjoy some of the liberties taken, and while I can get behind a positive portrayal of an imperfect lady, some of the high comedy really bothered me. I mean, I am 100 percent on board with Colin Firth, NEVER DOUBT MY LOVE FOR COLIN FIRTH, FRANK, but that fight scene at the end of the movie in the snow? KILL ME. It’s dumb. I hate it.

That sound you just heard, Frank, was a hundred other ladies flipping me the bird at that last statement. I am sorry, Bridget Jones movie fans! I tell you what — let’s watch it again, with an open mind.

Reasons to maybe forgive this scene:

• OH HAI GAIUS BALTAR.
• And yay Shirley Henderson!
• And everyone’s hair in this scene is really cute.
• And I do like the bit where they all have to start singing “Happy Birthday.”

Reasons this scene should be FIRED INTO THE SUN:

• “It’s Raining Men”? Seriously?
• Seriously?
• Seriously?
• FUCK YOU.

Actually, in retrospect, 90 percent of my problems with Bridget Jones’s Diary the film may be down to terrible choices in music. Hmmm. Food for thought for later.

If I have a conclusion, it is this: I had thought that reading this book now, when I can intimately relate to the subjects it brings up, would make me love it more. But instead, it reminded me why I loved it as a teenager, when the prospect of adulthood seemed a very weird, surreal and scary thing. I saw Bridget Jones as proof that being older didn’t mean being perfect, that even if love and career and life proved to be difficult, the odds were pretty good that I’d manage to muddle through. Especially with some help from friends, vodka — and (sigh) Chaka Khan.

Love,
Liz

You may recall that when I was recapping Top Model for you, there was a challenge based on Tyra’s new young adult novel Modelland. At the time, I expressed semi-interest in reading Modelland and telling you about it. You took me up on that offer, and purchased me a copy for my brand new Kindle. “No sweat!” I thought. “This’ll be fun!”

Liz, when I wrote the recaps for the Top Model episodes, you and your readers no doubt guessed that I knocked back a few drinks and just wrote the recap as I watched, which saved me time and effort and allowed me to uphold my absolute standards of unprofessionalism. Sadly, I could not take this approach in reviewing Modelland, since rather than being a breezy 45 minutes of stupid reality show, Modelland is an aimless novel for teens that clocks in at a staggering 563 PAGES. THAT IS SO LONG. IT IS TOO LONG. To compare, the Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel A Visit from the Goon Squad is only 340 pages, and that book spanned a time period from the 70′s to the actual FUTURE. So Modelland… pretty long. Too long. Just like these opening paragraphs! Here’s what happened in it!

Modelland is set in the land of Metopia, a… future Earth? Alternate universe? It’s never made clear. In Metopia, the only famous people are the 7Sevens, supermodels (known in Metopia as intoxibellas) with actual superpowers, who advertise the fashions and products that are manufactured and purchased by all the people not lucky enough to be models. The most famous intoxibella of them all is Ci~L, but she disappeared recently under mysterious circumstances. In a John Galt-ian touch, the phrase “Where the hell is Ci~L” is spraypainted throughout Metopia.

Our heroine is Tookie De La Crème, an obvious author surrogate (much is made of her huge forehead) and self-described “Forgetta-Girl” who is constantly overlooked by her parents and classmates in favor of her dumber, more conventionally attractive sister, Myrracle. Tookie’s parents are comically awful. Her mother, Creamy, dotes on her doll collection rather than Tookie and suffers from a mysterious ailment that makes her skin old and wrinkled. Tookie’s dad is a drunken former acrobat who occasionally openly expresses doubt that Tookie is really his daughter. Fun! Fun household.

Tookie’s only friend is Lizzie, a homeless schizophrenic with a cutting problem who regularly complains of being hunted by mysterious forces that may or may not exist. Lizzie gets quite a bit of focus in the early section of the novel and shows up briefly towards the end, but here’s a fun fact; she serves absolutely no purpose. She contributes nothing to the plot, she vanishes for a great deal of the book, and her story, such as it is, receives no resolution whatsoever. Maybe in the sequel? I wouldn’t even mention her, except A) Tookie’s only friend is a HOMELESS SCHIZOPHRENIC and that is hilarious and B) there are SO MANY pages devoted to her, to no ultimate purpose. This will not be the only time the novel does this!

All the De La Crèmes, save for Tookie, are obsessed with getting Myrracle accepted at Modelland, the mysterious modeling school that produces intoxibellas. Modelland chooses its applicants on the Day of Discovery, a worldwide holiday where hundreds of thousands of girls show off their runway walks in the hopes of being scooped up by a superpowered Modelland scout. The only thing that boosts a girl’s profile on the Day of Discovery is a SMIZE a “talisman” (or as near as I can tell, a souped-up face mask) that enhances one’s natural beauty and increases the chances of being selected for Modelland by 91%. Modelland puts seven SMIZEs into the water supply (shades of Roald Dahl) and who should discover one but Tookie! Tookie hands the SMIZE over to Myrracle, supposedly ensuring Myrracle’s selection.

Suffice to say, on the Day of Discovery Tookie is selected for Modelland instead of Myrracle. It took me one sentence to give you that information, but it takes the book chapters upon chapters. An absurd amount of build-up to a blatantly obvious plot point is another Modelland staple. I hope you’re enjoying yourself, because I’ve only covered the first hundred pages!

The scout who selects Tookie turns out to be the missing Ci~L, who also recruits Dylan, a sass-talking plus-sized girl, Shiraz, an extremely short girl from a vaguely Arabian land who speaks embarrassing broken English, and Piper, a bookish albino princess. Obviously Ci~L has an agenda in recruiting such “unconventional” girls. Could it be that she intends to offer them to the student body of Modelland as a quartet of human sacrifices? Obviously not, since that theory is dumber than a pile of brooms, but damned if the girls don’t believe it for hundreds of pages.

Once we get to Modelland itself the novel becomes a neverending carnival parade of wearisome horseshit. Enormous zippers called ZipZaps are used for transportation. One of the teachers has an enormous hand for a head. The school is run by the tyrannical Belladonna, who speaks to the students exclusively through statues. Debate class is held in a floating, magnetized metal ball that pulls out girls’ fillings. In their first night at Modelland, all the girls get their periods simultaneously, only to be told that it’s the last period they will ever have. Tookie regularly happens upon Ci~L either being tortured or voluntarily flogging herself. Wayward intoxibellas are turned into cats who scratch and pee on those unfortunate enough to encounter them. Creamy and Myrracle, having gone round the bend and undertaken the suicidal endeavor of scaling the mountain to Modelland, run into a monster made of musical instruments and severed human arms. And on and on and on. Everything about Modelland is IN! YOUR! FACE! all the time. It’s just relentless, and it makes for truly arduous reading.

In the end, Tookie and the girls, after persevering through much bullying and self-doubt, eventually learn confidence and self-respect. Oh, and Tookie has a romance with a male model named Bravo that nails every teen romance cliche in the book. (Seriously, at one point Bravo tells Tookie that she was a bet.) The actual climax, such as it is, is an endless series of flashbacks about seemingly every character in the book except Tookie, our ostensible protagonist. The important part is that Ci~L is actually the Belladonna’s secret daughter, and she recruited Tookie and her friends to honor her ugly-ass childhood friends who killed themselves after failing to get into Modelland. Ci~L becomes the new Belladonna, promising Tookie that Modelland’s strict standards of beauty are a thing of the past. Then she and Tookie randomly teleport somewhere, but we’re not told where, because there has to be a real nail-biter of a cliffhanger for the inevitable sequel. Whew!

In short, if you blended Top Model, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and the Harry Potter series, turned the needless adjectives up to 11 and the plot down to zero, then you’d get Modelland. Happy reading!

Jeff

PS To give you an idea of how overlong this novel is, the acknowledgments at the end of Modelland run a whopping 13 pages. Check them out if you ever want to read an entire paragraph thanking the country of Greece basically just for existing.

It’s kind of profoundly intense these days, to remember the spring of 1999 and how very, very fucking excited we nerds were for Star Wars: Episode 1. Remember that? Remember talking about the trailers and debating casting spoilers and not even doubting a little bit that it would be awesome? And then we all actually saw the movie, and… yeah.

I saw Phantom Menace three times in the first five days of its release, each time having to work harder to convince myself that it wasn’t really that bad, until finally I searched my feelings. I knew it to be true. And then I pretended the movie didn’t exist for ten years.

However, it’s my brother’s birthday this week, and to celebrate I said I’d take him to the movie of his choice. He picked the shiny new 3-D transfer of The Phantom Menace. Now, honestly, this could be a lot worse — for his birthday in 1999, I took him to see the PAINFULLY bad Wing Commander, because the Phantom Menace trailer was premiering before it exclusively.

Best. Sister. Ever. (If I do say so myself.)

Technically, Phantom Menace is a better film than Wing Commander, which is kind of like saying that smallpox is less deadly than ebola. Except that Phantom Menace hasn’t been erradicated, while Wing Commander kinda has… This metaphor’s gotten away from me. Let’s get down to business.

First things first, Frank: It’s so terribly cheesy, but I had forgotten the fucking THRILL of the Star Wars opening — those bold trumpets, that graphic opening. It’s a perfect five seconds of film. It’s childhood and happiness and imagination and adventure and everything I loved about Star Wars as a child.

And then… The opening scroll happens. “The taxation of trade routes to outlaying star systems is in dispute.” Frank, this is (in Lucas’s mind) the first moment of the first movie of his most epic franchise. “The taxation of trade routes to outlaying star systems is in dispute.” This is the note that starts out the greatest space adventure of our generation. “The taxation of trade routes to outlaying star systems is in dispute.” MOTHERFUCKER.

That’s right. TRADE FEDERATION BLOCKADE NEGOTIATIONS. That is what the first chunk of this movie is about. They have sent Jedi knights to negotiate with quasi-fish people over their blockade of Naboo. You would not expect “negotiations” to be the death word in a Phantom Menace drinking game, but there you go. That, or “mitichlorians.”

(I’ll never ever ever be able to forget mitichlorians, Frank. Try though I might.)

Also, I had forgotten the casual racism of the quasi-fish people, with their Charlie Chan-esque accents, but I had also forgotten how hot Ewan McGregor and Liam Neeson are in Jedi robes. So this opening is kinda a draw.

Yes, I am shallow. But I am A HUMAN BEING, GODDAMN IT.

Anyways, the negotations on the fish people ship don’t go well, Ewan and Liam start fighting droids with lightsabers and thus become EVEN HOTTER, and then they sneak down to Naboo.

And holy shit, Frank. Jar Jar Binks. Seriously. Jar Jar Binks. Two points:

A) I had forgotten that he ends up tagging along because Liam accidentally saves his life (I choose to believe he didn’t do so on purpose, because Liam wouldn’t do that to me, Liam is a nice guy).

B) I had forgotten JUST HOW AWFUL Jar Jar was. 12 years of joking references might make you think that the levels of awful Jar Jar represents are exaggerated, but NOPE. NOPE. Just awful. Awful, racist, pandering and annoying.

NOPE.

Like, Jar Jar enables fucking FART JOKES, Frank. I like me a fart joke, don’t get me wrong, but NOT IN MY STAR WARS.

Another thing I’d forgotten is how fucking long it takes this movie to get to the interesting parts. Like, there’s at least ten minutes of Liam and Ewan just trying to get to the capital of Naboo so that they can meet up with Queen Amidala, and I’m not even going to get into the Gungan city beneath the sea and the stupid bit where there’s always a bigger monster fish but those things happened and I am GLAD I forgot, Frank, I really am.

And I probably could have guessed this, but it’s nice to remember — I’ve spent the last decade being surprised every time Natalie Portman gives a good performance, and the reason for that begins here. WOW, Natalie Portman is bad in this movie. No one’s particularly good in it (except for Perfect Human Being Ewan McGregor), but WOW Natalie Portman is bad.

She does look fabulous, though.

What is it, like an hour before we even fucking get to Tatooine and meet Anakin Skywalker. Who… Sigh. There’s a lot I could complain about here, Frank, but let’s just stick with the most important thing: according to Anakin’s mom, Anakin is the result of a VIRGIN FUCKING BIRTH. The Cinerama dome echoed with my laughter during that scene. Which might make me a bit of an asshole. But VIRGIN FUCKING BIRTH. I stand by my actions.

I remembered the pod racing scene being better than it actually is. It’s okay. It’s definitely a little long, and I no longer think of it as one of the movie’s high points, but it’s okay.

I had ALSO forgotten that Anakin and his mother are SLAVES, and that through some savvy wagering Liam gets the opportunity to free one of them, and he’s like, I will totally save this annoying little kid instead of his mother WITHOUT BOTHERING TO RUN THE DECISION BY HER NOT THAT SHE CAN DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE SHE’S A FUCKING SLAVE. He basically kidnaps this little kid because his blood is rich in midichlorians. It’s kind of creepy…

…but not as creepy as every scene with Amidala and Anakin, when you remember that in one movie’s time, they are totally gonna bone SO HARD. They are going to get MARRIED and have BABIES.

Joke Of The Year, by the way, goes to my brother for the following:

Anakin gives Amidala a necklace.

ANAKIN: I made this for you. So you’d remember me.

AMIDALA: It’s beautiful.

MY BROTHER: It’s a choker.

We finally get to Coruscant. It’s super-boring. I had not forgotten how super-boring it is. I do still like the senate room with its little pods. Is there an action scene in the senate ever in the prequels? I guess I’ll find out sometime in the next two years. IN STUNNING 3-D.

It is nice to see our good friend Samuel L. Jackson again! SAMUEL L. JACKSON. While watching, Eric and I would add “motherfucker” to the end of every one of his lines. The movie was much improved as a result.

LIKE A BOSS.

And then they go back to Naboo, and there’s a bit of action. For some incredibly stupid reason, Anakin ends up in a starfighter and destroys a control ship — as a result, Jar Jar Binks and the other Gungans are not brutally slaughtered by droids, thus proving that Anakin has evil inside him.

Oh, this does happen as well:

Damn, it’s still fantastic.

But then it ends and we have to sit through a sad funeral for Liam and a big stupid party for Jar Jar and it’s really important to state again how fucking racist this movie is, in cheaply assigning generic outdated stereotypes to various races to create the illusion of world-building. Oh, and there’s all the stuff where Senator Palpatine is playing a long game of evil, but WHATEVER, I’m not even going to bother thinking about Attack of the Clones because the truly sad thing is that Phantom Menace is the better movie.

And that’s all there really is to say, you know? This movie totally happened. Its immature humor and painfully childish characters left their scars on an entire generation of fans, but that was deliberate on Lucas’s part, because those elements created a new generation of Star Wars fans, who dress up as Clone Wars characters for Halloween and don’t even know who you’re talking about when you bring up Wedge.

Also, the 3-D was a waste of money. But really, I should stop complaining. For one thing, it’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into. For another, I like my brother, and it was nice to spend a Sunday afternoon watching a movie with him.

Even this one.

Love,
Liz

Normally, I write these missives to tell you about stuff you have a real need to know about; this week, though, we’re going to try something different. Because you are a human being who was alive in the year 1997, I’m fairly confident that you’ve seen the movie Titanic — but the thing about a meticulously made three-hour epic is that time fades away certain details, especially if you weren’t one of those Titanic-holic teenyboppers who rewatched it obsessively on VHS.

I wasn’t one of them, myself — I’ve probably seen the movie, start to finish, four times total, including last night’s viewing. But Frank, I was SHOCKED by how little I remembered. Perhaps these are things you’d also forgotten about? We’ll find out!

First huge thing I’d forgotten? Frank, it takes 24 minutes for anyone to actually set foot on board the Titanic. For perspective’s sake — that means there’s an entire Two Broke Girls-worth of Bill Paxton and his crew of submarine duders rummaging around the Titanic wreckage and not believing the old lady who says that she’s Rose, the naked hottie from the drawing they just pulled out of a submerged safe.

Oh, and the REASON these guys are going all out in their Titanic investigation? Frank, this entire fucking movie is a jewel hunt! They just want to find the necklace that Rose is wearing in the drawing (and that — SPOILERS — she throws back into the ocean at the end, which is an enjoyably dick move)! Your James Cameron analogy for the day — Titanic:The Heart of the Ocean::Avatar:Unobtanium. I’ll let you decide which MacGuffin is best incorporated into the story.

Okay, now we’re finally getting into the action, Jack’s about to win his ticket on the Titanic, and Frank, LEONARDO DICAPRIO IS SMOKING! I am shocked! Horrified! Won’t anyone think of the children? Rob Reiner, where were you in 1997?

Frank, I hadn’t forgotten that distinctions of class were an element of Titanic — but I had forgotten how MUCH of Titanic is basically about class warfare. Like, basically ALL of it. The shot where Kate Winslet and her fellow fancy people are led up the gangplank while, in the foreground, steerage has to submit to health inspections and lice checks is pretty head-thumpingly unsubtle incredible. As is Leo’s protest as he shoves his way onto the ship at the last second, “We don’t have any lice! We’re Americans!”

Also, yikes, there’s a big ol’ hindsight joke, which is only ever funny in Back to the Future. Rose bought some paintings! Billy Zane doesn’t like them! “Something Picasso — he won’t amount to a thing.” (Fun fact, Frank: I double-checked Wikipedia to make sure it was plausible for Rose to have purchased work by Picasso in the year 1912 — it is — and apparently Picasso was accused of stealing the Mona Lisa one time? Seriously. Kids today.)

OH HEY, THAT’S RIGHT, KATHY BATES IS IN THIS MOVIE, FRANK! That’s rad. I love Kathy Bates. And she’s perfect casting as the Unsinkable Molly Brown. AND HEY, VICTOR GARBER, NICE TO SEE YOU TOO! You are also the best.

An entire character I’d totally forgotten — Jack’s super-Italian buddy, who my notes refer to simply as “Mamma Mia!” I mean, he’s suuuuuuuuuuper Italian, Frank. Which is I guess why he’s cool with his friend ditching him to hang out with a rich girl? I don’t really know how this works.

WAIT, NOW ROSE IS SMOKING?!? Holy crap, has anyone studied the effects of Titanic on teenage smoking from 1997 on? Because they should. They really really should. Also, Rose just made a joke about penis size with a hat-tip to Freud. Classy dame.

SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU, KIDS.

So, yeah, I do remember the bit where Jack and Rose meet because she nearly throws herself off the back of the boat, and he talks her out of doing it. But I had forgotten that they get discovered by some sort of boat cop and it looks like Jack’s been trying to rape Rose! What a hilarious misunderstanding that is.

Something I just remembered getting mentioned from the beginning — Rose is only 17! Yikes! I love Kate Winslet forever and ever, but she comes off as much more mature. Like, 19 or so. You know.

So much cute stuff in this movie! Like, Jack teaching Rose how to spit (which totally pays off later! that’s nice) and then Kathy Bates lends Jack a tuxedo to wear to dinner and he looks faaaaaaaaaaaaab in it. Circa 1997, I was hopelessly devoted to Agent Fox Mulder, but hey, there’s nothing wrong with looking.

Don’t worry, Frank, I could NEVER forget about the adorable lower-decks party with all the dancing and punching and standing on tippy-toes. I did, however, forget how good Billy Zane’s wig is. It’s a really good wig.

So natural!

Wait, there’s church! Church on a boat! That seems so weird to me. And then there’s the scene where Jack tells Rose that he needs to know she’s going to be okay and she’s all like no I’m totally fine you gotta leave me alone but then later she sees a little girl in first class put her napkin in her lap. Frank, that little girl putting her napkin on her lap? That is what convinces Rose to give up her entire life and make out with Leo at the front of the boat.

Of course I didn't forget about this part. Please.

Time for sexytimes! Naked sketching and then doing it in a car and then cutting back to the present for the first time in like an hour. Nothing like watching an old lady tell her granddaughter and a bunch of strangers the story of “the most erotic moment of my life — up until then, at least.” Such a weird scene.

What’s strange in rewatching this is I always assumed that in the car sex scene, Rose was losing her virginity, but in the aftermath Jack’s the one who’s “trembling” and Rose seems pretty chill about it. When you consider the fact that Billy Zane earlier said something to Rose along the lines of “I was hoping you would come to me last night,” it kind of sounds like one person was doing it for the first time and one person wasn’t, and it was maybe the opposite of what I thought as a lass.

Wow, there’s so much swearing in this movie — shits and fucks and goddamns — and we haven’t even gotten to the part where hundreds of people die. How on earth did this movie get a PG-13, Frank? WHAT DID JAMES CAMERON HAVE ON THE MPAA? WHAT DID HE DO?

Okay, now the boat’s hit an iceberg and is about to sink. Whoops! Everyone’s starting to evacuate, and wow, the string quartet has so much more dialogue than I remembered! Like, they get a ton of screen time! Which isn’t shocking, I suppose, because that part of the story is awfully compelling, but I’m just saying, there’s maybe 10 minutes of this three hour movie devoted to four guys with instruments whose names we never learn.

Oh, no, VASQUEZ JUST SHOWED UP. Nooooooooooooooooooo Vasquezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! So sad for the following reasons:

1) Aw, nice Irish lady and her two kids, DOOMED TO A WATERY GRAVE.
2) Vasquez, why u no get more work?

Oh, that's right, the reason she doesn't act much anymore is that she's opened a bra shop in Los Angeles for ladies with very large breasts. "The alphabet starts at D!"

Now Jack’s locked up below decks and Rose is trying to rescue him. Rose is very bad at convincing people to help her — she’s a little too shouty and pushy — but she is very good at finding axes! So everything is going to be okay (haahahahahah it’s Titanic no it’s not).

Frank, like I said, I am not one of those girls for whom Titanic was the great epic love story of my youth. (That title goes to the animated series Gargoyles.) However, I will admit this: The scene where Jack and Billy Zane convince Rose to get on a lifeboat but at the last second she jumps back on board because she can’t leave Jack and she and jack rush towards each other and hug and he kisses her face a whole bunch and says “You’re so stupid, Rose” makes me cry EVERY TIME. The ending can suck it, but this scene is the best.

Okay, the montage where a bunch of people prepare to meet death ALSO makes me cry. The cuddling old people? Vasquez telling her kids a bedtime story? Victor Garber being Victor Garber? I am a HUMAN BEING, FRANK.

"I'm sorry that I didn't build you a stronger ship, young Rose." ::SOB::

But wow, I’d forgotten how jaded you get, eventually, to the horror of it; there’s like twenty minutes straight of nothing but people dying unpleasant deaths. Like, Mamma Mia gets crushed by a smokestack, and a lady clutches her baby and chants that “it’ll all be over soon” and there’s just so much drowning and exploding windows and bodies falling off the boat. Yikes.

Among Jack’s special skills, I’m reminded, are all the secrets to how to survive a sinking ship. Too bad he doesn’t know how to CLIMB ONTO A FLOATING BOARD. OH THAT FUCKING BOARD. I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT BOARD. AND HOW JACK GIVES UP AFTER ONE TRY. Frank, it has been fifteen years since I first saw this movie and almost a hundred years since the Titanic sank (look for Titanic 3-D this April!) and for the love of God I will never stop being mad at how Jack tries exactly once to climb onto the board with Rose and then gives up and freezes to death.

"Wow, how's that board treating you, Rose? That nice warm toasty board. But don't worry, Rose. I'm totally fine here, in the arctic waters. DON'T WORRY ABOUT ME."

Another thing I’d forgotten — this movie goes out of its way to introduce Molly Brown as being an awesome bad-ass, but they then fail to show her doing the shit she was famous for — she tries to get them to go back and save passengers, and then a guy yells at her and she sits down and shuts up. Bullshit.

Okay, so now Jack is dead because he gives up on trying to climb up on the board with Rose, and she says “I’ll never let go” as she LETS GO OF JACK. I know it’s a metaphor, but whatever, let us never forget that Titanic was nominated for all the Oscars except Best Screenplay.

Wait! Wait! It just got worse! Frank, “a woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets,” according to Old Lady Rose. The most important thing I forgot about Titanic is how silly it can be.

It’s also (up until the disaster porn towards the end) super-entertaining, with a tremendously appealing cast and a lush attention to detail and only occasionally heavy-handed references to class warfare. All its flaws aside, watching Titanic is a thoroughly compelling experience.

But I never really forgot that.

Love,
Liz

Today, by reader request, I shall tell you about something that I bet you wish you had never even heard of. There is this show on Lifetime, a show I’d always thought of as The Moms Who Scream At Each Other Right After “Project Runway”. But this show is actually called Dance Moms. And Frank, WHAT THE FUCK.

Going into this, I assumed that Dance Moms is like Millionaire Matchmaker but even more awful, because there are human children involved. FRANK, I AM A FUCKING PSYCHIC. I watched the first two episodes of this current season, which is about all I could manage without going on a murder spree. At least with Matchmaker, you know that everyone involved is a legal adult, which is not the case with Dance Moms. And as a result YIKES.

Dance Moms “documents” a dance team of young girls, taught and led by this crazy lady named Abby Lee, who spends a lot of time screaming at the girls and their mothers and, I don’t know, God? God is suspiciously quiet in response, but the moms occasionally shout back. And then there’s a road trip to some competition, and then the girls dance, and then there’s some more shouting. If you’re saying to yourself “This sounds like Sparkle Motion without any of the dark comedy or Mary McDonnell,” you would be completely correct! (Who knew Donnie Darko was a documentary?)

Each episode opens with “the pyramid,” a meeting in which the girls’ headshots are taped up on a mirror and ranked according to Abby Lee’s very limited approval. This is essentially a meaningless exercise with minimal consequence — except, of course, to make the girls feel bad about themselves, and to give the moms something to scream about.

In the first episode I watched, there’s this one mom who can’t be at this fucking pyramid thing and also can’t make it to a competition that weekend, and so Abby Lee gives her a ton of shit about how she clearly doesn’t care about her daughter’s success at fucking DANCING, and also she takes it out on the little girl, and it makes me (the daughter of two working parents) SO GODDAMN ANGRY. Like, holy shit, how dare this bitch imply that this mom doesn’t love her daughter because she has a life outside of her daughter’s fucking DANCE CAREER. Are you fucking KIDDING?

I mean, the lady in question doesn’t do herself any favors by saying to Abby Lee “You’re intimidated by me because I have a doctorate.” Frank, if I have kids, remind me to discourage any attempt to develop hobbies that might bring me into contact with people like this.

“Wouldn’t you rather play Portal or watch Doctor Who?” I’ll say.

“Yes, mother, quite right,” Chris Pine Jr. will reply. (My future children will apparently speak with British accents.)

Also, there were a lot of commercials for "This Means War" on Hulu Plus today.

Later, Abby Lee’s rehearsing that little girl’s solo, and says “I don’t want any trouble with your mother. This is not an ethnic dance.” Yeah, the only black girl in the troupe just happens to be doing a “tropical” routine. Sure. Sure. Ugh, so awful. The girl does great in the competition, but next week, she remains on the second tier of the pyramid — ENTIRELY BECAUSE OF THE FACT HER MOTHER COULDN’T COME THE PREVIOUS WEEKEND. WHAT THE FUCK, FRANK.

Also, why are these EIGHT YEAR OLDS AUDITIONING IN BRAS AND SHORT-SHORTS? AND PERFORMING IN LESS THAN HALF OF A SWIMSUIT? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? 1.3 million people watched the last episode of this show — what percentage are pedophiles? (Please don’t answer that question.)

I'm pretty sure posting this screenshot puts me on an FBI watchlist.

Oh, Abby Lee just made another girl cry. “I can’t figure out why I bring these girls to this school,” one of the dance moms says. GOOD QUESTION, LADY. I actually don’t hate a lot of these moms — at least one or two of them seem to have a bit of a sense of humor — but the fact remains that they are willingly involved in this enterprise.

Apparently last season one of the girls quit the group, so in the first episode they have to have auditions for a new dancer, and all the other girls have to re-audition, and one of the girls gets cut for being too tall. This inspires yet another scene where grown women scream horrible things at each other about the dance careers of pre-teen girls.

The new mom asks “Why does it go so far”? Um, lady, do you SEE the cameras and producers following you guys around right now? Come on. Honestly, Showgirls feels less exploitive at times.

Here are some other things Abby Lee said that I wrote down while watching this show:

“All of you are too old to be cute. Even Mackenzie.” (Mackenzie is 6.)

“This girl Kendall is getting the biggest break she’s ever going to get in her entire life.” (What the fuck kind of life does she think Kendall is going to have?)

“Is it good enough for me? No. Is it ever going to be good enough for me? Probably not.” She says this like it’s a point of pride, and not the sign of some deep and disturbing personality flaws. MORE LIKE CRABBY LEE, AM I RIGHT?

I suppose the big thing about this for me is that yeah, these little girls are all pretty good dancers, and it’s fun to put on costumes and win trophies for dancing, and I’m sure that learning to deal with an evil tyrant is good life experience.

But in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t fucking matter. Maybe one or two of those girls, max, will grow up to become professional dancers — for the rest, this is the very beginning of their lives, and as they get older it’s more than likely that they will discover that as much as they might love dancing, they love other things even more. Like, say, designing computer software, or performing surgery, or writing bitchy things on the Internet.

True story, Frank. True story.

Love,
Liz

I used to be a big comics fan, buying new issues of certain series monthly and borrowing the rest from friends, with whom I would debate the latest DC and Marvel developments. I did this not as a teenager, but throughout my mid-20s, because that’s how much of a late bloomer totally awesome I was.

I still like the medium, still like a good superhero story, still think Batman is totally boneable — alas, it’s been several years since I was reading regularly. However, a month or so ago, my friend Rudy recommended the graphic novel The Return of Bruce Wayne to listeners of our podcast, and as I love time travel and Batman, I requested and received a copy of the trade paperback for Christmas.

The reason for me wanting to read it was two-fold — one, FUCK YEAH BATMAN TRAVELLING THROUGH TIME. Two, I kinda wanted to see if it’d be at all possible for me, a casual reader, to hop into a modern day comic adventure and understand what the hell was going on.

Having finished reading the trade, I guess I had a pretty good idea of what was happening? (Which, given that Return is written by visionary/crazy person Grant Morrison, is something I feel I can take pride in.) Here’s basically the deal: Right before the comic starts, Batman got hit by omega rays, and instead of turning him into the anti-Hulk or something, they send him drifting through time! So then Batman has to fight a bunch of cavemen, and then he gets transported forward to the 1600s, where he becomes a Witchfinder and uses his detective powers to solve witch crime, and then he goes to pirate times and hangs out with pirates for a while, and then he ends up in the Wild West quick-drawing against Jonah Hex, and then he’s in some ill-defined period of the 20th century that should technically be the 1930s except that the parents of Bruce Wayne JUST got murdered, so unless Bruce Wayne is like 80 years old that’s clearly wrong, but what matters is that there’s a dame and he’s gotta play detective, and then Batman’s friends pull him back to the present and stop his heart to let the omega rays filter out of his body and then they revive him and Batman puts on his cape again and goes out to defend Gotham once more. THE END. Question mark?

Good ol' fashioned Batman fun, am I right? LITERALLY OLD FASHIONED GET IT?

I mean, I liked large portions of it. There were a few classic Batman-solving-mysteries bits, and some great art showing the classic Batman look adapted for different time periods (my favorite probably being Cowboy Batman, because that’s just too much manliness for one panel to really contain).

And Morrison went to a lot of effort to weave together the different time periods with continuous elements like the legacy of the Wayne family; while the time periods were a bit random (a tribute to “a nod toward those mad old 1950s comics with Caveman Batman and Viking Batman adventures,” according to Morrison).

But while there was something of a coherent emotional arc to the storyline (Batman realizing that he’s never really been alone, that he’s always had help), at no time did I ever feel that I was reading a self-contained narrative — there were way too many asides and references to other storylines that, as a reader just kind of parachuting into this arc, went completely over my head.

The biggest thing was that there were large chunks of the comic, revolving around Superman and other Justice League fellas trying to track Bruce down, that were clearly continuations of past issues — actually, not even that! Those sections, according to Wikipedia, were basically excerpts from an ENTIRE OTHER MINI-SERIES. When you need multiple series to tell one story, I think your story might be TOO COMPLICATED.

To be fair, Return was never billed as a stand-alone adventure. And I do admire the fact that this is just one chapter in Morrison’s epic take on the Dark Knight — I can barely manage to make a one-act play coherent, so I’m certainly in no place to judge. But Return proved to be a reminder of the reason I stopped reading comics regularly — for a not-so-short period of time in my 20s, I didn’t have a ton of money, and comics by necessity became my first budget cut. And things weren’t so crazy then! In order to have any semblance of understanding of the DC universe these days, you must have to spend A FORTUNE every week. Even with the new 52! Can’t a girl just read some goddamn Batman in peace?

I guess that’s what the movies are for. And those comics Frank Miller wrote before he went crazy. And those other movies. And the animated series. And that other animated series. And that OTHER animated series…

I guess I’ll manage.

Love,
Liz

I’m super sick. This is how you know I am super sick — I just watched a movie starring this bitch, from beginning to end.

Ugh.

It was pretty bad. I mean, there were a bunch of really great character actors being wasted in side roles. And there were a couple of decent bits of dialogue.

But the movie basically consisted of Katherine Heigl being the perfect woman except slightly uptight, which means that she clashed with the super-cute but totally irresponsible guy with whom she was thrown into an impossible-to-believe situation.

But don’t worry — despite there being a much more suitable guy around, she ended up with the irresponsible manly guy who taught her how to loosen up. Because OPPOSITES ATTRACT, FRANK, AND LOVE BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE WHO ARE DRAMATICALLY DIFFERENT IS THE MOST NATURAL AND POSSIBLE THING.

Oh, and she sat in bubble baths a bunch. Whatever. Bitch.

Don’t worry, Frank. I’m watching old Mad Men episodes now, and thus I am feeling much better.

Love,
Liz

So I should have written this post sometime during 2011, as it was heavily requested during the last round of open calls for what I should tell you about. It didn’t happen. You know why, Frank? I really didn’t want to watch this movie! But I got called out, and god forbid I quaver at the feet of any challenge. Even the challenge of a 1987 post-apocalyptic pseudo-comedy starring Rowdy Roddy Piper.

Thus, here’s this movie! The backstory: Apocalypse, of the nuclear kind. And there are dudes who make frog noises and they’re not allowed to have guns? I’m guessing they’re the titular frogs? I am mentally preparing myself for a great deal of literalness. Because, lest you think the title was some sort of fancypants metaphor thing, we establish right away that Rowdy Roddy Piper’s character is named Sam Hell. I bet at some point, he comes to Frogtown!

But first, he’s in jail, getting a bottle broken over his head for some sort of grievious offense against a dude’s daughter — I’m guessing it’s a SEXY offense? Oh, it totally is, because it’s just been revealed that the guy’s daughter is pregnant, which is a miracle in these barren apocalypse-y days, and is thus very interesting to the ladies of Med-Tech, some sort of government organization devoted to making more babies, because doing it naturally isn’t working out so well. This is delivered with all the subtlety and wit that you’d expect from a movie about giant mutated frog people, just so we’re clear.

Propaganda posters! World-building!

Because Roddy is some sort of super-sperm stud, Med-Tech claims him as government property (to the point where they put a crazy chastity-type belt on his junk), and asks him to go on a mission of impregnation — impregnation and also investigating some sort of kidnapping out near Frogtown. (I TOLD YOU FRANK! I TOLD YOU THIS MOVIE WAS ABOUT A GUY NAMED HELL GOING TO FROGTOWN!)

Roddy pitches a bit of a fit about riding around in the bright pink Med-Tech PT Cruiser, but reluctantly gets in with the main Med-Tech lady, a blonde chick in glasses known as Spangle, as well as a Tasha Yar-esque machine gun lady.

Frank, here is some banter from their road trip!

Spangle: “There’s a war going on.”
Hell: “Yeah? Where’s the front?”
Spangle: “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
Hell: “I used to take everything seriously. Then they blew it up.”

I like the part where all the Med-Tech ladies are tough, badass and gun-toting. I don’t like the part where none of them can act, but eh, what can you do?

Oh, now I get what the mission is, by the way! They’re rescuing fertile women from the mutants of Frogtown and then Roddy has to knock them all up. GOOD MISSION. For some reason, though, Roddy’s not into it and tries to make his getaway, forgetting that he’s got a government-issue tracking device on his junk, which gets activated and I guess tases him or something? Who knows. The important thing is, Spangle has power over his junk. How much does .

Oh, now they’ve made camp, and Spangle just strolled out of her tent wearing this:

And I just did this:

Roddy, not being one to ignore an obvous hint, pulls her down for makeouts, but she freaks and activates the penis-belt. Apparently to maximize potency she has to constantly cocktease him. It’s her job. Man, it’s a shame this movie wasn’t made in the 30s; Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn could have totally rocked these roles.

And now the machine gun lady is seducing him! Oh, Spangle catches them and aborts their fun. Cocktease: The Movie!

There’s more driving the next day, and Frank, I know you’re thinking to yourself, it’s been at least two minutes since a nubile young lady wanted to fuck Roddy Piper — but don’t worry, this movie is looking out for you! On their way to Frogtown they get “a live one” — a fertile girl! Who the scientist lady ties up and injects with an aphrodisiac so that she’s ready to party. (LET’S JUST LEAVE THAT ALONE LET’S NOT EVEN THINK TOO HARD ABOUT THIS FRANK FRANK I REALLY DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT OH MAN LET’S JUST LEAVE IT ALONE.)

Oh, but Roddy Piper’s not in the mood to fuck the drugged captive on command! So then scientist lady, “trained in the art of seduction,” takes off her clothes to inspire him. Which works — he then bangs the girl, who’s totally okay with that the next morning. Of course.

If you don’t think about the GIANT ENORMOUS CONSENT ISSUES HOLY SHIT FRANK LET’S SERIOUSLY NOT TALK ABOUT IT, it’s kind of a nice scene between Spangle and Hell, but it’s immediately counteracted by the next scene, where they prepare to break into Frogtown by pretending that Spangle is Roddy’s slave, and he puts a collar on her and yanks her around a whole bunch, but look, let me focus on what I need to to get through this–

THEY'RE IN LOVE, FRANK.

Before they enter Frogtown, Roddy throws away her glasses and takes her hair down and tells her she looks nice. MOTHERFUCKER.

Because allow me to make this quick note about Rowdy Roddy Piper: He is not objectively good-looking. His body is kinda flabby. His hair is the worst. He is in every way nothing I find attractive. And yet — he is actually really charming on screen! When he isn’t, you know, raping women. It’s really confusing, Frank! Really, really confusing.

Anyway, to complete the cycle of literalness — we’re in Frogtown now! It is a town full of people who are frog-mutants — AKA “greeners.” At the Frogtown bar, Roddy meets an old prospector friend who’s looking for uranium or something. I dunno. The point of this scene is the frog lady stripper doing sexy dancing; I’m really not sure what else we’re supposed to be learn.

The part of me that likes the Muppets is kind of on board with the talking frogs. Just for the record. It almost distracts me from the part of the scene where Roddy Piper tries to sell Spangle for monies!

Oh no! Before he can seal the deal, this frog guy with an eyepatch steals her! And Roddy got knocked out! DRAMA. First, though, that frog stripper lady from before tries to fuck Sam Hell. It’s kind of sad, actually, because he just shoves her off without even giving her a chance. SHE SEEMS REALLY NICE, RODDY, THROW HER A BONE!

Well, now Spangle is being prepared for frog-raping! Frog-raping starts off pretty Sapphic, just for the record.

Okay, it's just a lot of waving veils, but whatever.

Oh, now the scientist lady is being forced to dance for the main frog boss guy. More dialogue:

“Dance for me!”
“The only dance I’m going to do is dance on your grave!”
“Dance for me, or die!”
“Modern or ballet?”

This scene is kinda funny! Frank, I seriously don't understand this movie.

She’s actually terrible at dancing, but the frog king guy’s into it — not that it matters, with Roddy saving her. Hooray! Spangle doesn’t get raped by a frog, Frank. That’s what this movie has going for it. REMEMBER HOW THEY HUNTED DOWN A FERTILE WOMAN AND TIED HER UP AND THEN MADE RODDY FUCK HER WITH THE USE OF DRUGS? Apparently, I still do. Sigh.

Anyhoo, Spangle and Roddy free the fertile women from the frog king guy’s harem, though the prospecter gets killed in the process, the machine gun lady lays down some cover fire, and the pink PT Cruiser filled with gals ready for knocking-up escapes.

And now there’s a Mad Max-esque gunfight. (It is not particularly exciting. None of the action has been particularly exciting.) The PT Cruiser gets bombed! How sad. And Roddy has a big fight with the main frog guy on Vasquez Rock, I think? What matters is that he wins the fight. Everything’s fine. In case that wasn’t clear.

“I told you the plan would work!” says Spangle.

“Plan? That was a plot to murder me! I ought to kick your butt,” Roddy replies.

“Oh, just try it, buster!”

And they kiss. Because, you know, that’s how it works, when you put a bomb on a guy’s junk and then cock-tease him for a while and then he drags you around by a collar around your neck and nearly lets you get raped by a frog dude.

More banter:

“You have to save yourself for fertiles!”

“I have enough.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

And then he gives the machine gun lady a necklace for some reason. And then he’s reminded of his mission to impregnate all the newly rescued harem girls. “A soldier’s work is never done,” he says, then drives their new ride (a camoflague jeep) out into the desert. AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

On the one hand, this wasn’t as bad as Zardoz. It was even, at times, perversely charming, in a Troma Studios kind of way.

On the other hand, not being as bad as Zardoz — not saying much.

Love,
Liz

Show me the person who doesn’t like Don Cheadle and I’ll show you a liar. I mean, seriously, what could you object to? Do you not think that Boogie Nights is awesome? Was his performance in Hotel Rwanda TOO heart-breaking? I mean, sure, his accent in the Ocean’s Eleven movies is a little silly, but it’s SUPPOSED to be silly. C’mon now.

Thus, Frank, because I am a person of sense and taste, of course I decided to take advantage of Showtime’s generosity and sample the first episode of House of Lies, Showtime’s new dramedy series starring Don Cheadle. And not just because I love me some Cheadle — the supporting cast is also pretty good! Veronica Mars! Jean-Ralphio! Some random guy who I don’t recognize from other TV shows but doesn’t trip over himself terribly! Thus, worthy of 34 minutes of my time.

At least, I hope it is.

It’s worth noting that because what I am watching is a free download from iTunes, the episode is edited for content, which means lots of muted four-letter-words and censored nakedness. As a result, here is the tableau presented in the opening shot of this pilot:

Order Showtime now for NAKED CHEADLE.

The naked lady in bed with Cheadle, we quickly are told, is Cheadle’s ex-wife, whom gets shoved back into her dress despite the fact that she’s passed out from pills and sexing the night before. When she comes to, he kicks her out without letting her spend any time with their son or eat French toast. I’m not honestly sure which act is more cruel. But we’re told she’s crazy, so I guess it’s okay? Bitches, man. Bitches be buying shoes.

Anyhoo, the remaining family members sit down to breakfast — Cheadle, Cheadle’s hypercritical retired shrink father, and Cheadle’s son, who is “acting out his gender issues”: i.e. is transgendered. Cheadle makes a strained effort to be supportive of said kid’s announcement that he’s trying out for the role of Sandy in Grease; the whole “actively trying to be supportive but clearly faking it” approach to portraying a father dealing with his son’s gender issues gets weird at certain points, but despite the kid’s cliche fascination with Olivia Newton-John, I suppose this storyline could be a whole lot worse.

On the down side, this breakfast scene contains a lot of moments where the characters just bitch at each other about various things and actively dislike each other. I am worried that that will be the case for the entire show…

…and based on the next scene, I’m totally not wrong! Cheadle and his crack team of young hot management consultants power-walk through an airport, heading to New York to pitch their next potential client, a fake sub-prime mortgage loan broker that is one of the many companies being blamed for the 2008 financial crisis. NEW AND ORIGINAL PLOTLINE RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES.

POWER ROLLERS.

Wait, what the hell, Cheadle? Yeah, you, third from the left. That bag’s not going to fit into an overhead! C’mon, seriously, you’re gonna check that? It’s like Up in the Air never even happened.

Digression over! Back to our story! Here’s the deal, Frank: Cheadle and his guys get paid to come up with awesome ideas for major corporations, and their clients in this case are rich white men want to keep their bonuses without being actively mauled by the American public. There’s one guy they need to win over, who is the main rich white guy, and then there is a guy who is going to be the guy who helps them with that. He’s played by That Guy From All Those Things, Ally McBeal edition, and Cheadle makes meeting him and impressing him a priority, but their first big meeting doesn’t go too great. Cheadle has a plan, though! And a crack team to do research! This may actually matter at some point.

But first, the team goes to a strip club and gets ka-ray-zay on the Evil Corporation’s dollar. Cheadle in particular is quite taken with a lady stripper, staggering out of the club with her at a ridiculously late hour and taking her… Wait, he takes her to an all-night diner for breakfast food? Why the fuck would he do that?

Oh! So he can coincidentally run into That Guy, who’s stopping by the diner for some cappucino during his regular morning half-marathon. Sure, okay. Cheadle lies about the stripper being his wife, and so That Guy invites them to join him and his wife for a strategy double date that night (because it’s morning now, Frank, if I wasn’t being clear). The stripper is kinda feisty, in a fun way. It’s almost a shame that this show treats Cheadle’s conquests as largely disposable.

Wait! I have to take that back! Because the ex-Mrs. Cheadle shows up at the Evil Corporation the next day, because she turns out to be his competitor at a higher-ranked company (and a bit of a sociopath, but that’s unrelated).

Oh, Frank! I’ve been forgetting to mention! We keep getting bits of information like this because Cheadle freezes the action Zack Morris-style to explain fancy consulting terms like “afterwork” or offer advice like “don’t fuck your ex-wife.”

Fancy green-screening fun!

The technology has advanced slightly since Saved by the Bell, but while the effect is cool it’s a bit distracting. I suppose it could be worse — could be voice-over.

At dinner that night, the wine flows freely, and it turns out that That Guy’s wife is super-cute (I think she’s the girl who played the preacher’s wife on True Blood and that girl Don Draper dated a little on Mad Men? Yeah, she totally is!) and also super-gay. She and the stripper have sex in the bathroom of the restaurant, which would have been no big deal if the wife didn’t tell That Guy about it immediately afterwards. For some reason, That Guy and Cheadle have a fight about it, and Cheadle head-butts That Guy. Good move, Cheadle.

There’s now a scene where Veronica Mars tells Cheadle that she’ll never ever sleep with him and that he’s fucked up because his mom committed suicide. This happens, very professionally, in the office waiting room while they watch the Ex-Cheadle pitch her plan to the rich white men to wild applause.

An aside: Veronica Mars is awesome, as always, but this thing they’re trying to do where she’s the moral center of the show and tells Cheadle that he’s emotionally damaged and says things like “I would rather work at Arby’s” doesn’t work. You know why, Frank? Because SHE DOESN’T WORK AT ARBY’S. She is a grown woman working a job she understands fully and if she actually does have a conscience then it makes no sense for her to still be working this job and for fuck’s sake I just want to watch Veronica Mars be mean and conniving like everyone else on this show. STOP RUINING THIS FOR ME, SHOW.

And while I’m whining: Frank, I’m kind of amazed at the way Ben Schwartz’s talents for douchebaggery are being wasted here. This is a show about douchebags, and yet not a single thing Schwartz says or does comes close to touching the heights achieved by Jean-Ralphio in just one scene of Parks and Recreation.

But I guess that happens when you are someone who is not Cheadle on the Cheadle show.

Back to that! Even though That Guy’s got a wicked bruise and some serious hate going for Cheadle, Cheadle still gets to pitch his plan: A loan amnesty program that won’t cost a lot of money (because they’ll use technicalities to screw over the vast majority of the applicants) but will be a huge PR boom. Hooray for that! Cheadle gets a hug from the main rich white guy. Everybody wins.

Back in L.A., Cheadle’s transgendered son gets the part of Sandy in the school play, but another parent complains about her (cisgendered) daughter not getting the part, and Cheadle’s all ready to fight for his kid, but the other parent turns out to be a hot mom. So Cheadle sells out his kid (who gets the role of Rizzo, which is arguably a better part, but it still sucks that the kid didn’t get to be Sandy) and then Cheadle fucks the hot mom during the “Tell Me More” portion of the show. He doesn’t look like he is having a good time while fucking the mom, and then the next morning he talks to Veronica Mars on the phone and he nearly asks her to tell him if he’s a good person but then he chickens out and looks into the bathroom mirror and is sad.

No one ever said being Cheadle was easy.

So, I don’t know, Frank. This seems like a nice fit for Showtime — House of Lies and Californication should get gay married, they’re so perfect for each other. And look for Don Cheadle to start getting Emmy nominations for best comedic actor under the Nurse Jackie precedent.

But do I actually want to watch another episode?

Probably not.

Do I want to subscribe to Showtime for naked Cheadle?

Let me think about that one.

Love,
Liz

But 2012 beckons! And as per tradition, it’s time to ask you guys what horrors of human imagination should be entered into the public record. So respond at will! I’d ask that you be gentle, but I know you won’t.