Seth MacFarlane, Comedy, and the Feminist Train

All over the internet, facebook, and the twitter-sphere, I’ve seen smatterings of approval for Seth MacFarlane’s Oscar performance, and a whole host of angry online writers and posters decrying his performance as sexist, racist, and highly offensive.

While it’s sad that I have to make this kind of a disclaimer, here it goes:  I am not anti-women.  I am not anti-feminism.  I am certainly not racist, sexist, or any kind of negative “ist” (unless you are referring to “bacon”-ist- in which case yes, I most certainly am, and I’d argue that’s a good thing.)  I am, of course, a woman, and my husband will tell you that I am one of the most opinionated, loud mouthed, fire breathing feminists out there when it comes to things that will genuinely influence my rights as a woman (I’m looking at you, Todd Akin) or take away the rights of minorities and the disenfranchised (like the Supreme Court’s recent reconsideration of the Voting Rights Act.)

And, I’ll fully admit, I was genuinely entertained by the Oscars this year.  And yes, damnit, I’m a woman. So what? At the very worst- perhaps you can conclude that I’ve got bad taste.  Fine.  I’ll take it.  I’m a lover of frat-boy humor, Family Guy, South Park, and National Lampoon spin offs.  I also love French foreign films, Lord of the Rings style fantasy, Star Wars, and comic book adaptations. What can I say- I’m a complex creature.

I have to say I am most certainly not surprised at the backlash over Seth’s performance.  I could see it coming like a bra-burning freight train from the very first note of “Boobs” to the implication that Salma Hayek doesn’t need to be understood because she’s “just so attractive.” (Hey ladies- did you take note that a man- Javier Bardem- was included in that list?)

Was I offended by Seth MacFarlane? No. And yet somehow this will probably bring on all sorts of condemnation that I am “anti-woman” or “anti-minorities” or anti anything that was criticized by MacFarlane at the Oscars.

The thing is- I’m not here to try to convince the angry mobs to change their minds (especially seeing as I am usually a part of the angry mob.) I am certainly not trying to convince them that they are wrong, because that’s not what this is about: black and white, right and wrong.  (Plus, I know as well as anyone, especially considering how stubborn I am, that shouting at the rain is useless.) I do think what his criticizers fail to realize is that the very fact that they are able to have a loud and powerful voice of condemnation of a white, male comedian means that, in fact, Seth probably didn’t throw women’s and minority rights back 50 years with the wave of his hand and the tap of his shoe. I certainly don’t think he added any more bricks to the proverbial male dominated power structures.  How could he… when we live a country (thankfully) where any metaphorically added bricks can be so easily torn down the next day?  One of the most amazing things about American society is that we can speak our minds.  I wouldn’t want to quell the discourse surrounding Seth’s racy performance for anything- it’s what makes our country such a marvel. But I think it’s also fair to take a step back and look at the difference between comedy, entertainment, and things that genuinely have a negative impact on our society (and perhaps not be so quick to shut out those who have a differing opinion than we do.)

We are not liberal, or conservative, or misogynistic, or condescending, or sexist, or racist… simply because we enjoy an entertainer.  Comedy is a part of the human experience. We are human beings, and sometimes things like comedy can’t necessarily be controlled (and perhaps shouldn’t be).  Comedy can be rude, offensive, enlightening, and satirical.  Comedy opens up the spaces for discourse on topics previously dominated by hegemonic thinking and unbreakable power structures (come on- the very fact that we are having these conversations points to comedy’s usefulness- however offensive- at breaking through hegemonic power structures.) The point of comedy is that the potential for offense is everywhere. And it is because that potential is everywhere that these conversations can exist.

I wouldn’t even want to imagine a counterfactual world where Seth MacFarlanes didn’t exist, because in what way would these discussions be had? Without offensive assholes like Seth MacFarlane- the patriarchal and misogynistic power structures I do so vehemently oppose would still be there, but we wouldn’t have comedy as a tool for exposing these structures for what they are, having conversations about them, and promoting more awareness of those who are disadvantaged at the behest of a white male dominated society.

But I suppose I am veering dangerously close to devolving into an academese filled rant about theories that most people will probably tell me I don’t understand.

My point is this: entertainment, music, laughter (sometimes at the expense of others) is a part of the human experience.   Seth MacFarlane is a self proclaimed “equal opportunity offender”- and while we may have picked out his rants against women and minorities as particularly tactless on Oscar night… no one in the room (not even himself…especially himself) was spared the scrutiny of his sophomoric wit. Not white, male George Clooney. Not white, male Tommy Lee Jones.  Not white, male Daniel Day Lewis.  To say that his routine will somehow have a statistically significant (and substantially negative) influence on perceptions of women and minorities is to actually downplay the power and significance of his criticizers (of yourselves!), and moreover the power of an increasingly pluralistic model of opinion sharing and influence.  You may have laughed at his jokes, hated his jokes, thought the whole thing was a total drag, but no matter how much we criticize a comedian for being tasteless- we have to acknowledge that their work allows us to have these conversations.  Because let’s face it- at the end of the day we’re all on the same side: do you really think MacFarlane wants to do anything other than to make people laugh?  And do you really think his primary goal is to exploit and degrade women and minorities? Do we really believe that for a second, Seth MacFarland, the creator of Family Guy and Ted, has some secret white male power agenda?  I think he probably wants the same things that a lot of us do- progressive politics, fair treatment of women, minorities, and gays, and well… to laugh.  And if you’d like a little proof of that: see here.

We have to remember that laughter is a common part of the human experience, as common as music, eating, breathing, and sleeping.  It is necessary for our existence.  If you want to criticize his performance, that’s just fine.  It should be encouraged.  But don’t do it at the expense of those who actually did enjoy it for it’s entertainment value, or those who enjoyed it simply because they wanted an escape.  It can be surprisingly frustrating to wake up after a nice Oscar evening to look at your facebook and twitter feed and suddenly feel guilty about being a woman who enjoyed something like Seth MacFarlane’s hosting (and also very much appreciates Family Guy.)  But after a while, I realized that I probably shouldn’t feel so guilty.  After all, while some of the criticisms were warranted, I think there are a lot of people out there who are simply looking for something to be offended by so they can get up on a pedestal and talk down to others. (I’ll admit, I’m completely guilty of this… often…case in point…now? Sorry, friends)  But instead of mounting the proverbial soap box and shutting out anyone who wasn’t willing to fall in step with the feminist foot soldiers- why not continue to engage in more fruitful conversations with them?  Isn’t that what discourse is all about?

At any rate, before we take ourselves too seriously (and I fear I’ve already gone too far)- I think it’s perfectly fine to allow ourselves to laugh a little, even if its at the expense of the million dollar baby dolls of the silver screen: the dashing George Clooney, the incomparable Daniel Day Lewis and the stunning Jennifer Lawrence.  Entertainment is meant to push boundaries. Comedy…comedy is meant to push boundaries (even if it’s not in a direction that we approve of.)  If the whole entertainment world were PC- I’d suspect it would be a fairly boring place (and probably have gone into financial ruin by now).   We should acknowledge our criticisms, but also embrace the conversations that rat-bastard comedians (and I use that term lovingly, because lord knows I adore Family Guy) like Seth MacFarlane allow us to have. I’m not denying that Hollywood does have a sexism and racism problem… still!  In the 21st century! But in our efforts to change these standards, let’s embrace the beauty of two differing viewpoints engaged in common conversation, something that often happens as a result of the very comedic flop we decry in the first place.

And finally…please…from one progressive to another: don’t hate me, criticize me, or speak down to me… for just enjoying the Oscars.  Instead- maybe just have a healthy conversation with me.  We need to get used to the fact that we don’t live (nor should we) in a world that is politically correct.

Thank goodness.

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In Sickness…

For many of us, death is a distant friend, a reified concept that exists only in our minds, far away from the cares and concerns of our daily existence.  But the opening scene of Michael Haneke’s movie, “Amour” brings death to our doorstep.  We see firemen breaking into an apartment in Paris.  Nothing is spoken about why they are there.  All is implied. We find a woman, many days past life, lying peacefully on her bed. We don’t know yet who she is, how she got there, or why she is there.  All we see is death.

In an instant we simultaneously know and don’t know the entirety of “Amour.” There are no spoilers here, no ending to reveal.    Through the gentle, subtle movements of Haneke’s camera, we come face to face with death in the opening sequence.   Amour is not a film about plot, or reveal. It is not an easy film.  It is not a film about resolutions, or heartfelt moments, or manufactured connections.  It is as real and honest as a film could be about a subject such as death.

Emmanuelle Riva in "Amour."

Emmanuelle Riva in “Amour.”

The rest of Amour lets us peer into the lives of Georges and Anne, retired musicians, living in a simple yet elegant apartment on a street in Paris.  Music must mean a great deal to them.  We see this very early on when we are witness to an audience from the point of view of a stage at a piano recital.  It is here we first meet George and Anne.   Instead of focusing in on them, it is up to us to determine their importance, as Haneke’s shot is a wide one of the entire spectrum of the audience.  We later learn that this was a concert played by one of their proteges.

Georges and Anne come home from the concert alive and abuzz with life and happiness (albeit in their own reserved and quiet way.)  Georges tells Anne she looks particularly beautiful that night.  Anne asks Georges what has gotten into him.  This is our first hint of what their marriage is like, a simple, subtle thing that defies formulaic expressions of love.  It is very clear they are reserved in their words and their actions, even with one another.

Then, disaster strikes.  While eating breakfast in their small and outdated kitchen, Anne is suddenly overtaken with blankness.  She stares out into the distance as Georges tries to reach her, patting her neck with a cool washcloth in attempts to revive her.  Nothing. Her eyes have glazed over with the familiar emptiness that afflicts so many individuals with mental impairment.  As Georges puts on his clothes and prepares to call the doctor, the tap he has left on is suddenly turned off.  He returns to the kitchen to find Anne sitting there, as if nothing happened, asking him why he left the tap on.

What ensues is a tortuous yet incredibly important two hours of movie going, one that is sure to reach into the very depths of your soul and force you to question the meaning of love.  It is certainly an experience worth fighting for, however, and one that the viewer will not soon forget.  Anne suffers first one stroke, then another, leading her down the inevitable path of death and decay that we all must face.  Georges, forced into a promise to never return her again to a hospital or a home, takes care of her with gentle diligence.  His love for her is never spoken, but it is shown in inestimable bounds and is tested beyond all imagination.  I find it beautiful and fascinating that whenever he must move her from her wheelchair to her bed, or to the bathroom, or to the living room, it seems as if they are dancing.

Amour is a feat of incredible strength and restraint, both for the director, Haneke, and his actors, Jean-Louis Trintignant (Georges) and Emmanuelle Riva (Anne).    For his part, Trintignant is reserved, poised, and dedicated to Anne until the very end, yet he reveals to us the inevitable cracks that begin to form in all those whose burden is the care of the terminally ill (and indeed, the mentally unsound).  In the end, his burden becomes almost unbearable, both for him and for us. Riva is astounding, her portrayal of a stroke ridden victim is filled with the fieriness of her character (and perhaps her own being as an actress) even up until the very end, when the last glimpses of who she was fade away into the screen. Both we and Georges are forced to face the realization that sometimes, when we die, who we knew and who we loved become unrecognizable as their bodies and their minds decay. There has never been (and perhaps never will be) a more honest, real, transformative, and gut-wrenching portrayal of the end of life on screen. Give this woman an Oscar, for God’s sake.

It is striking that throughout the entirety of Amour, neither Georges nor Anne says “I love you” to one another.  I am not entirely sure what this means.  I like to think that Haneke means for his viewers to find their own meaning, but one can never be entirely sure.  I shall take the optimist’s view that love is never spoken, but always shown.

I must admit I was deeply affected by this film, having had to go through many of the scenarios faced by Georges and Anne as a 26 year old due to my own illness over the past year.  Watching it with my husband brought back memories of being carried from my hospital bed by nurses, slowly relearning to walk, to eat, to be normal again, dealing with the embarrassing yet inevitable consequences of being confined to a hospital bed.  In a way, we experienced what many couples don’t experience until they reach the age of Georges and Anne.  This film simultaneously forced me to question the bounds of my own love, and yet reinforced them beyond any doubt in my imagination.  It is one of the most beautiful films I have ever seen.

One may not immediately feel “good” after seeing Amour.  Indeed, I spent much of it with silent tears streaming down my face.  But it is an important film to see, to experience, and to contemplate as we face the inevitable end that is called death in this world.

If the purpose of film is to bring an aspect of human experience, such death, closer to our own understanding, then Amour certainly fills this role. It is a grand masterpiece, a sweeping epic that is somehow contained to a single apartment in Paris.  It does not lay the important questions out there for the viewer, but forces you to find the questions that are right for you to ask of yourself.  Meaning is not jammed down your throat, but subtly implied, and largely left up for the viewer to discern according to their own precepts.

Go see Amour.  And afterwards, find someone you love, hold them close, and show them you love them.

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Filed under Academy Awards, Acting, Drama, Oscars

It is a Strange and Terrible Day

Reblogged from Cinematocracy- Films for the Frugal Fan:

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I get it.  There's a heat wave.  There's no need to remind me, except that there are reminders EVERYWHERE.  My ice cream turned into mush before I could even get a lick in.  I am relegated to the bedroom- the lone room with AC- with two very, very unhappy and hot dogs.  Because my husband and I essentially live in an attic (hey- it's what you get when you're both graduate students)- the ceilings of our humble abode in the trees are literally hot to the touch.

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I'm in a foul mood today, politically speaking, so I figured I'd resurrect this gem of a post from last year. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas- Available on iTunes: $3.99 Available on Netflix: Delivery Available on Amazon Instant: $2.99

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Howl

When watching biopics, I am never quite sure what to think.  It is tempting, no doubt, to write off the life you are viewing as separate and distinct from your own- a story to enjoy and a person to admire, pity, or fear.  I think, however, it is impossible to do so entirely.  You see, in every life we witness, in every character we come to know, be they real or imagined, I believe we see a piece of ourselves and a reflection on a part or the whole of society

Howl tells the story of the life, or at least a piece of the life, of Allen Ginsberg, the 1950s Beat Poet who gained fame after writing the poem of the same title.   I must admit I was largely unfamiliar with Ginsberg’s groundbreaking piece and his life prior to seeing Howl.  I actually came across the movie after doing a Netflix search for movies in which Jon Hamm has a role (never underestimate the awesome discoveries that can occur when searching for Jon Hamm roles!)

Howl seems to be as much a love letter to the life of Ginsberg as it does to his poem.  The movie is infused with the words from Howl, spoken by a solemn yet enthusiastic James Franco in a smoky, ill lit coffee shop full of young adults in the 1950s.  We are treated to not only flashbacks on Ginsberg’s life, but to present day musings by the poet, dramatic cartoon imaginings of the images his words inspire, and quite importantly, sterile and perfunctory scenes taken place in the room of a courthouse where the fate of Howl’s publisher is to be decided on the grounds that he deliberately published obscene and pornographic material.

One of the stronger points of Howl is the almost effortless weaving in and out of Ginsberg’s actual work; it acts like a thread that anchors the scene transitions between Ginsberg’s apartment, the smoky coffee house, and the courtroom where the work’s fate is decided.   The courtroom itself is a reminder of the wall through which Ginsberg is trying to break through- filled with men in three piece suits, women in hats and pearls, and a brightness that gives it the feeling of an operating room. David Strathairn has a strong performance as the prosecuting attorney, although I would have liked to see his discomfort with the subject matter far more apparent.  Perhaps he should have taken his cue from our dear Republican politicians who find it so prudent to angrily rail against today’s “obscenities.”

Although it is a movie that centers on the so-called “obscenities” and free-spirited beings that were almost bursting through the seams of the 1950s, it is also one that is very much about our own time.  Ginsberg, at least as portrayed by James Franco, seems to be a delicate soul who was, at least for much of his life, trapped in the fears of normalcy and deathly afraid of being seen as anything different.  His story is a symbol for much of the youth of today’s generation, scared into submission over identities not yet deemed normal by the high-holy standards of American life. But even more than this, Howl, both in movie and in poetry, slams the point home about the importance of free expression and openness of ideas.  These are themes that are timeless, and Ginsberg’s original poem is the paramount representation of the importance of breaking the mold, forging paths, and cherishing new ideas.   These ideas come to a head near the end of Howl with an eloquent and timely monologue given by Howl’s defense attorney Jake Ehrlich, played as always with cool confidence and a righteous ease by Jon Hamm.

“The battle of censorship will not be finally settled by your honor’s decision, but you will either add to liberal-educated thinking, or by your decision you will add fuel to the fire of ignorance. Let there be light. Let there be honesty. Let there be no running from non-existent destroyers of morals. Let there be honest understanding.”

It’s important to note that, as far as I know, all of the scenes that took place in the court room, including this one, were directly lifted from the transcripts of the trial.

Given today’s political climate, this film spoke very deeply to me. It always amazes me how much we as human beings (and perhaps most of all Americans) seem to repeat the mistakes of our past.  Howl serves as a reminder not only of the groundbreaking work of Allen Ginsberg, but what his work and his life meant for changing the course of American thinking on what counts as “normal” and “socially desirable.”

Who would enjoy this film?  Anyone with a penchant for great literature, and perhaps especially those who are feeling particularly upset about the state of the rights of those in this country who are not yet deemed to be apart of the American mainstream.

Pairs well with: A good craft IPA like Bell’s Two Hearted or Mad Hatter New Holland

Available on-

Netflix: Instant streaming or delivery

Amazon: Rent for $2.99

 

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Filed under Acting, Bio Pics, Books Turned Movies, Drama, Politics, Social Commentary

Howl :: rogerebert.com :: Reviews

Just finished watching Howl-a thoughtful and striking biopic about Allen Ginsberg.  Goes well with a good craft IPA like Bell’s Two Hearted. Review forthcoming. For now- check out Roger Ebert’s thoughts.

Howl :: rogerebert.com :: Reviews.

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“Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea”

Between the devil and the deep blue sea is a phrase that means to choose between two undesirable, difficult, or dangerous situations. If both passion and stability ruled the world, I think we’d all find ourselves somewhere in this space. In Terence Davies’ The Deep Blue Sea, it most certainly rules the world for Hester Collyer (Rachel Weisz), who finds herself caught between men who represent two different ends of the spectrum of love.

The Deep Blue Sea is based on a 1952 Terence Rattigan play by the same title, and takes place over the course of one day in a shabby flat in early 1950s London, a little less than a year after Hester has left her husband, Sir William Collyer (Simon Russell Beale), for a younger and far more passionate lover, Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston). We first meet Hester in Freddie’s flat, bedraggled and unkempt as she closes off all ventilation and attempts to commit suicide using a small gas stove in the corner of the flat. Her attempt unsuccessful, she patiently awaits for Freddie to return home from a weekend golf outing, hoping to brush her recent dalliance with death under the rug. Much of the rest of the film centers on that same day, and is also carried out in flashbacks of not necessarily happier, but merely different times.

The Deep Blue Sea is a deeply melancholic and beautiful film. It is not a movie for the impatient or the absurdly happy. It is so very clearly based on a play that it almost reads as such, the characters gazing out the window or into each others eyes as if they were gazing out over a proscenium and into the darkness of a theatre. It takes a certain solitude and solemnity to absorb this film. Booked as a romantic and perhaps erotic film, it has elements of each, but in the end thematically is far more about the sadness that underlies some of the choices we make in life.

The performances of Beale and Hiddleston are outstanding, studied, and committed, but it is Weisz who gives a truly standout performance. Her Hester is at most times unnervingly calm, but this wears away as we see her desperately try to grasp at the remains of her impassioned but unfulfilled relationship with Freddie. She seems somehow convinced that if she can maintain the facade, that everything will fall into place. She is, perhaps, at her calmest and best when she is with Sir William (she calls him Bill) but it is a sad and final sort of calmness, the kind that cannot be easily moved or swayed. This film is wholly and completely about Hester, and Weisz takes on this challenge with a sad yet effortless grace that captivates.

Beale’s Sir William, for his part, allows us to see through the cracks in the veneer of the wealthy man’s existence: he is deeply unhappy, unable to please his wife or his mother, yet is in his heart a good and simple man. His character is played with a delicate gentleness that, while unsettling in its sadness, provides an anchor for much of the film. Hiddleston’s Freddie is largely the opposite: boyish, quick to anger, and deeply offended by Hester’s dramatics, he soothes himself with comforting past times of golf and drinking, unable to be fulfilled by his luscious but unstable lover. As a side note- Hiddleston is an up and coming Hollywood name that should certainly be paid attention to. He seems to play his characters, be they a Marvel Comic villain or a worn RAF pilot with purpose and dignity, and is fantastically convincing in the roles I’ve seen him in thus far.

The only hints of happiness we see in the Deep Blue Sea are through flashbacks. We are reminded that Hester is indeed fond of her husband, although irritated at his inability to start marital relations and bored by his stability. We see the passionate beginnings of Hester and Freddie’s affair, how their physicality often (though not always) mutes out an argument that threatens to spiral out of control, and most importantly how Hester came to be at this place between the devil and the deep blue sea. These flashbacks also allow us to appreciate the artistic choices made by the film makers. Much of the present day appears dark and sooty on camera, almost as if we are peering through the dingy windows of Freddie’s London flat onto the gloom of their lives. Many of the flashbacks, by contrast, are warmly colored with soft lighting as if to reflect Hester’s contentment, and if not this, at least complacency.

The Deep Blue Sea is a simple yet remarkable film, and one that perhaps promotes existential musings about our own relationships, marriages, and the lovers that surround us. Because of its dark yet erotic subject matter, it’s best to indulge in this serious subject matter with a large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and someone who will hold you close throughout.

Available to rent on iTunes: $4.99

Available for delivery on Netflix

Available to rent on Amazon: $3.99

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Filed under Acting, Drama, Movies, Movies from the past, Plays turned movies

Cinematocracy Revamped

Something that has really bothered me since the beginning of this movie / film blogging business is that I am almost never, ever, EVER able to make it out to see movies when they come out in theatres.  I am notorious for saying, “Oh why yes, I really want to see that movie this weekend!” only to become buried in either a.) a mountain of schoolwork, b.) a mountain of schoolwork, c.) a small semblance of a social life, or d.) copious amounts of laziness and cash shortage in the wallet department.   I felt like I couldn’t call myself a real movie “reviewer” or “discussant”-if you will- unless I was able to address this shortcoming.

However, as I live in the real world, and given these financial, social, and academic constraints, I decided it was high time that I revamped Cinematocracy and gave it the platform it deserves based on my circumstances.  I wouldn’t call myself a frugal person- but I’d far rather spend four or five bucks on iTunes or stream a movie from Netflix whilst eating endless amounts of homemade popcorn and drinking a good craft beer than spend ten bucks on a ticket, five bucks on popcorn, four bucks on a drink, and feel like crap afterwards.

This isn’t to say that “a night at the movies” isn’t often a wonderful and meaningful experience, it’s just… in this day and age I think it is far more realistic to cater to what I affectionately call recession-istas and the rest of us frugal fans who adore the movies but just can’t come up with the time nor the money to see all of the summer blockbusters, Oscar nods, and rom-com indulgences.  This is especially useful for someone like me who adores writing about movies, thinks I’m pretty darn good at writing about movies, and would love to someday get paid to write about movies.  Alas- if I spent every weekend seeing every new box office release I’d probably go broke, become homeless, fail out of graduate school, or all of the above.

Over the next few weeks you’ll notice some changes to postings (hopefully to become more frequent!)  A few times a week I’ll update my fledgling readership on great deals on iTunes, streaming gems from Amazon or Netflix, and provide a review of these films.  And when I do get the chance to enjoy a night at the movies, my readers will really know which ones got me up off my keister and into a movie theatre.   As an added bonus (and because sometimes graduate school drives me to drink), I’ll also quite confidently tell you what adult libation pairs best with the movie I’m reviewing in case you feel like taking a little bit of that money you saved by not going to the movies and indulging in a booze-infused fancy.

Oh, and let’s not forget I’ll be constantly reminding those titans of the entertainment and journalism industries out there how much I would adore getting paid to do this stuff (Roger Ebert- I’m talking to you!) Until then… I’ll let my writing do the work for me.

Cheers, and bottoms up.

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