![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Yesterday the Sun reached its southernmost point in planet Earth's sky.
The December Comfort Watches 2025, Day Twenty-Two: Notting Hill
Dec. 23rd, 2025 03:09 am![[syndicated profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/feed.png){kind=small}
scalziwhatever_feed
So, a story. More than a decade ago, I was having lunch with Tom Hanks, because he read my work and was a fan, and since I was in town on tour, he asked if he could meet me and I said, sure (actually, what was said, to me from my manager as I was getting off a plane at LAX, was, “You’re going to the Chateau Marmont. You’re having lunch with Tom Hanks. Don’t fuck this up”).
Tom Hanks was lovely, the lunch was lovely, and when it was done, as he was waiting for the valet to retrieve his car, some absolutely random dude came up, pulled out a binder, and started pitching a movie idea to Tom Hanks. And Tom Hanks, because he is Tom Hanks, for all the values of being Tom Hanks that there are in this world, stood there being lovely and polite and endured this random person posting up in his space and trying to make him take a meeting.
I relate this anecdote not to impress you that I once had lunch with a famous person, but to make the point that famous people really are not like you and me, and more often than not, that’s because the world will not let them be people like you and me. People like you and me don’t get pitched business proposals waiting for our car. People like you and me are allowed not to be “on” when we step outside our door and into the world. People like you and me can go shopping at any random Safeway we want and not cause a scene simply by existing. People like you and me get to be people, and not celebrities all the time. Yes, celebrities get fame, and sometimes fortune, and occasionally nifty free goodie bags at award shows worth more than most households in the US make in a year. But it does come at a cost, which is, the ability to just be your own fucking self, at the times and places of your own choosing, and not have anyone who might recognize you wield veto power over that.
Notting Hill, in addition to being just a lovely little romantic comedy about two people from entirely mismatched stations in life, trying to negotiate a space in the world they might get to call their own, is one of the best films out there showing at least a little bit of what it’s like to be famous to everyone, everywhere, all the time, forever and ever, amen. The person in the film cursed with such a blessing is Anna Scott (Julia Roberts, who was in fact the most famous actress in the world at the time, so, typecasting), who has the sort of worldwide fame that means that every single thing she says, any thing she does, who she might date or who she might have a feud with, equals miles and miles of newsprint across six separate continents, and probably at least an email or two in Antarctica.
One day, while in London doing publicity for her latest film, she wanders into a Notting Hill travel bookshop owned by one William Thacker, who is meant to be a self-effacing everyman but who is played by Hugh Grant, also at the height of his fame at the time, so at least the self-effacing part is there. William tries to be helpful to Anna as she browses, and she is having none of it, because she knows he knows who she is and thus her shields are up. Then later in the street there is an incident with an orange drink, William offers his flat, directly across the street, as a place for Anna to clean up, and the first spark is lit.
To say that there are going to be complications because Anna is famous on a level that is nearly beyond comprehension is not a spoiler; likewise that there will be complications because William underestimates, more than once, what a burden being that level of famous can be and how it can warp and distort friendships and relationships, even as the people involved try to compensate for them. Any relationship is hard, but being with a celebrity is like being in a throuple where the third partner is fame. And fame, well, it’s a fickle, fickle beast.
Nevertheless, it’s a delight to see everyone in the film give it a go. The film is scene after scene of either William trying to comprehend all of the everything that comes with the girl he likes being The Most Famous Person In The World, or Anna trying to be a normal person and not quite being able to do it because no matter what she does, her celebrity hangs all about her. This leads to delightful scenes like William trying to meet up with Anna at her request and unwittingly being dragooned into a press junket (a scene which I, as a former film writer who had been to dozens of such junkets, found deeply hilarious), or, one of my favorites, William taking Anna to his sister’s birthday party without telling a single one of his friends who the “new girl” he’s dating is, and watching them deal with it, with varying shades of success.
The dinner party scene is actually the heart of the film because it does so many things at once: It establishes Anna’s level of fame while at the same time giving her a little bit of time to escape it and be off the clock. It gives context to William by showing his friends and relations, and lets them all have the easy back and forth that comes from a lifetime of knowing each other. It also shows Anna watching it all, and, while not envying it, still noticing it and being able to compare it to her relatively lonely life.
And it shows that everyone in this scene is kind, and that others are noticing this kindness. This is the scene where we stop enjoying the utter mismatch of William and Anna, and start hoping the mismatch doesn’t keep them apart. Lord knows the film gives the two of them plenty of opportunities to mess things up, and they manage to do just that at least a couple of times.
Roger Michell directed Notting Hill, but it takes nothing from him and his skill as a director here to note this film is primarily a Richard Curtis film. Curtis is probably the most successful writer of British film comedy in the last 40 years, and most of these comedies have some sort of romantic bent. In addition to this film he wrote Four Weddings and Funeral (the film which made Hugh Grant a star, and which got Curtis his sole Oscar nomination), Love Actually, which he also directed, and two of the three Bridget Jones films. (He also wrote the Blackadder television series, beloved by Brits and US nerds, and also The Tall Guy, which is where I first encountered him, the vaccination scene of which I ripped off wholesale for my novel The Kaiju Preservation Society. I will send you a check, Mr. Curtis).
Of all of these films, I think Notting Hill shows Curtis at the height of his screenwriting powers. It’s extremely funny, which is great (especially when Rhys Ifans, as William’s daft roommate, is anywhere onscreen), but it’s also empathetic. It’s hard to do a really good job of making an audience feel sympathy for someone who is so famous that by all rights all that we should feel about her is envy, but Curtis does it. It helps that by this time he had been around famous people enough to understand that celebrity is cage. Gilded, yes, and with staff who will get you everything you want and need, but still a cage. He writes a good cage.
It also helps that this role could be thinly-veiled autobiography for Julia Roberts, who at the height of her celebrity was a media presence on par with Taylor Swift, for all the good and bad that comes with that level of fame, achievement and scrutiny. In 1999, there was literally no one else who could have understood Anna Scott better than Roberts. I have to think there are some parts of this movie that had to be cathartic for her, like the scene where, after a media scandal erupts and William is caught up in it, he suggests it will all just blow over in days. Anna knows better, and so does Julia Roberts, and I think it’s pretty clear both are making the rebuttal to William’s misinformed take.
The gilded cage of celebrity life in 2025 is, if anything, more solid than it was when this film came out. Miles of newsprint have been replaced with hours of celebscrolling on Instagram and Tik Tok, where famous people have to actively manage their online personas, or cede the management of it to a mob of influencers and bored social media mavens who are not their friends, no matter how close they imagine their parasocial relationships are. More people have wide fame (there are YouTube and Tik Tok celebrities who I’ve never heard of, but millions of Gen Z and Gen Alpha people have), but it’s harder than ever to make the money that used to be associated with fame. So all a lot of these newly-famous get is a grind to stay top of mind, and a lack of privacy, and, eventually, a very profound burnout.
It doesn’t sound like a lot of fun to me. At least Notting Hill suggests that sometimes, if you’re lucky, and with the right people, you might get to slip out of that gilded cage, and, if only for a moment, be your own person again. Fame is nice. Love and community is nicer. May everyone, even the famous, get to have it.
— JS
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
⌈ Secret Post #6926 ⌋
Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.
01.
( More! )
Notes:
Secrets Left to Post: 02 pages, 34 secrets from Secret Submission Post #989.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.
すっかり葉っぱが落ちて、見晴らしが良くなった楓の木。 こっちからもみりが良く見えます。 The maple tree has lost most of its leaves, so the view from the t […]
"Excuse me, Ma'am, is this your cake?"
"Um...yes?"
"Well, I'm going to have to confiscate it."
"What? Why?"
"This so-called 'frosting' is clearly a 'gel' and therefore threatens national security. Move along.
"But, but..."
"NEXT.
"Whoah, whoah, whoah. Sir, I'm going to have to take that delicious-looking...er...I mean, that dangerous looking Santa cake.
"It looks suspicious."
"But food is allowed through security!"
"Yes, but this obviously isn't 'food.' It's some kind of weapon. And I'm hungry.
"Oh, did I say that last bit out loud? Haha, silly me. NEXT.
[munching] "So, what have we here?"
"Just a little gift for the family back home."
"I'm sorry, but there's no way for me to know that's really a cake and not some kind of zombie snowman capable of terrorizing your fellow passengers. I'll have to take it off your hands."
"No, look! I can take a bite! See? Yummy cake!"
"Nice try, terrorist. Now we'll have to extract that. Sergeant? Take him away. (But leave the cake.) NEXT.
"No, no, I'm sorry, animals aren't allowed."
"It's a reindeer CAKE."
"We can't be too careful.
"Hold up there, Miss. Do you have a permit R2D2C3PO for that item?"
"There's no such thing!"
"Of course there is, Miss, and I'm the official gingerbread cake confiscator." [flashing badge]
"Did you...did you just flash a Subway rewards card at me?"
"No."
"Yes, you did!"
"No, I didn't. Gimmie the cake."
"So I guess you'll be taking my cake, too, then?"
"Nope, that one looks perfectly harmless. Have a nice flight!"
Thanks to Mark & CJ, Naureen, Kelly D., Brooke F., Kittie L., Sandy K., and the TSA, who really have started confiscating cupcakes because the frosting is a "gel." Enjoy those flights, everyone.
Can you tell that today is a solstice by the tilt of the Earth?
The Girl Genius comic for Monday, December 22, 2025 has been posted.
少し前、冷蔵庫の上へのジャンプの仕方について書きましたが、 まるさんはこういう、高低差や距離のあるジャンプが得意だった。 でもやっぱり、見ている方はハラハラ、ヒヤヒヤ。 I wrote a while back abou […]
The December Comfort Watches 2025, Day 21: Kill Bill: Vol. 1
Dec. 21st, 2025 09:26 pmscalziwhatever_feed
There are better movies that Quentin Tarantino has written and directed than Kill Bill: Vol. 1, but I strongly believe there no other film of his that is more him than this one. Most of those other films — Inglourious Basterds, Django Unchained, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and of course Pulp Fiction, are about other things, ranging from a day in the life of various petty criminals, to rewriting history because it’s just so much cooler that way. And while those other films are very clearly done in a way that only Tarantino could or would choose to do them, this is the one film above all others (even and including Kill Bill: Vol. 2) where it is all about what Quentin Tarantino wants. His wants. His needs. His desires. This film, from the top of Lucy Liu’s head to the bottom of Uma Thurman’s feet, is a distilled cinematic trip through Tarantino’s id. And what a trip it is.
The plot, which is really just the thinnest of scaffoldings for Tarantino’s obsessions: Uma Thurman (whose character is not given a name in this film, and when and if anyone says it, it’s bleeped out) plays a super mega badass hot assassin chick who after years of, you know, killing the shit out of people, decides to leave it all behind when she finds out she’s pregnant. This does not thrill Bill (David Carradine), her boss and also boyfriend, and he makes that point known at her wedding, not to him, when he and the other members of the super mega badass hot assassins he fields into the world show up and shoot everyone and every thing at the venue, including the bride. When she wakes up from a coma a few years later, babyless, she naturally does what anyone in her position would do: Makes a list of everyone who tried to kill her with the goal of returning the favor.
That’s it! That’s the movie! Thank you and good night!
But of course that’s not actually the movie. The movie is not the plot, the movie is how the plot gets done. And for Tarantino, who is a pop culture magpie and has also fundamentally never stopped, in his heart, being a thirteen-year-old boy, how it gets done is by piling on every single movie and television genre he’s ever loved. Japanese anime and crime films? In here. Hong Kong action cinema? Absolutely one hundred percent on call. Spaghetti westerns and blacksploitation? Present in visuals, score and sound design. The actors from these genres that Tarantino idolized? They’re in the cast. From Michael Parks’ aping of Charlie Chan to Thurman wearing Bruce Lee’s yellow athletic apparel, this film is not just filled with cinematic Easter eggs, it’s a whole goddamned Easter parade.
Why did Tarantino do this? Because this is who he is, man. He is the first superstar Hollywood director to have come out of the video store era — he even worked in a video store for a while in Manhattan Beach before making a go of it in the film industry — and he’s a self-taught filmmaker. Not for him the hallowed halls of USC or NYU’s film schools; he just watched a boatload of movies, from classics to complete crap, and gave each of them equal weight in his weird little brain. It’s very clear that Tarantino does not have a bias against genre for agreed-upon “important films.” He likes what he likes, and fuck you if you don’t like it, too. It’s not his problem if you don’t.
Which I think is fine! At the end of the day, there is no high culture or low culture, there’s just the culture that sticks, and that’s what’s used as the building blocks in the next round of creation. One era’s pop culture is another era’s “classic” culture — and here we haul Shakespeare and Dickens onto the stage to wave before unceremoniously shoving them into the orchestra pit with a crash — and ultimately what sticks, what makes it through the sieve of time and the sheer mass of creative output, is what the new generation of creative people love, champion, reference, combine and in some cases just flat out imitate.
What’s in Kill Bill: Vol. 1 is everything that made Tarantino. At this point, he’s made Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown, won an Oscar and is a reliable (if not staggering) box office draw, and was responsible, directly and indirectly, for a whole cottage industry of mostly violent, mostly indie, mostly dude-centric films in the 90s. If anyone is at this point allowed to make a film that is basically them playing with all their favorite cinematic toys, it’s going to be Tarantino.
There’s one other thing, not to be discounted: Tarantino may be crawling both into his mind, a bit up his own ass, with Kill Bill: Vol.1, but he also remembers that he’s got to make the film actually entertaining to the people who are not him. Kill Bill was originally written and shot as a single film, but during the assembly process, Miramax studio head Harvey Weinstein (in the days when the only way women got told he was a raping creep was through whisper networks) suggested making two films out of the material. Weinstein is criminal scum who will hopefully die in jail, but his film instincts here were correct; it allowed Tarantino to overweight the really cool action stuff into Vol. 1, while letting the more somber and emotional aspects of the tale carry Vol. 2, i.e., the one everyone saw because they had bought into the first film and were left high and dry by one of the best cliffhangers in cinematic history.
(There is now a Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair, which unifies the two volumes into a single long film, with a couple scenes added, some amended, and some others dropped, including that banger of a cliffhanger. I have not seen this version yet but this will not stop me from suggesting that a more-than-four-and-a-half hour version of the film is not what Tarantino would have been able to get away with had Weinstein not allowed his film to be split into two. I for one would be curious to see what a no-longer-than-three-hours edit of Kill Bill would have been, using footage from both volumes, as it would have had to have been. We will never get that, though, and in any event I think the film was best served being twain.)
Kill Bill: Vol. 1 is about Tarantino and all the things that make him tick, but it’s Uma Thurman who is in it the whole damn time, save for a few interludes and reaction shots. Thurman was not a passive vessel for this film — the story is credited to “Q & U,” meaning both her and Tarantino — and the whole thing rides on her shoulders. It’s not an exaggeration to say that this film is the defining one in her career, the one where Thurman gets to do it all: Be aggressive, be vulnerable, be a badass, be scared, play tough and play vulnerable. And, also, hack through literally dozens of people with a samurai sword, which is the dream of so many people, regardless of gender. None of the world of Kill Bill is real, none of it can be real (see John Wick for another example of this). But it doesn’t matter if it’s real, it matters if we believe in it while it’s happening. It’s up to Thurman to make us see it. She does.
I’ve noted above that this film is clearly Tarantino’s most personal project, and I would like to point out how absolutely weird it is that this is the man’s statement of being — until, that is, you think about it. If you’re, say, Steven Spielberg, you make The Fabelmans. If you’re Ingmar Bergman, you make Fanny and Alexander. If you’re John Boorman you make Hope & Glory. All semi-autobiographical movies about the early days of the filmmaker in question, or at least, about a stand-in who represents the filmmaker.
The thing is, Kill Bill: Vol 1 is exactly that thing. This movie is all about Tarantino’s early days, all the things, cinematically, that he imprinted upon. And while Thurman’s character cannot be separated from the actress and should not be, a idea of a secret badass in a desperate battle against the legions who want them dead? Oh, that’s absolutely the sort of power fantasy that kept young Quentin up at night, the wheels of his imagination turning.
This is Tarantino. You want to understand him, watch this film. He’s put himself out there for you to see. All you have to do is look.
— JS
⌈ Secret Post #6925 ⌋
Warning: Some secrets are NOT worksafe and may contain SPOILERS.
01.
( More! )
Notes:
Secrets Left to Post: 02 pages, 43 secrets from Secret Submission Post #989.
Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 0 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
Current Secret Submissions Post: here.
Suggestions, comments, and concerns should go here.
By now many of you are no doubt in that stress-filled haze of pre-Christmas panic - the one that results from too much shopping and too little eggnog. (Because, seriously, EGGNOG FIXES EVERYTHING.)
So listen, I want you to just sit back, relax, and let allll that holiday stress go. Because this, my friends, is your happy place.
See? LOOK HOW HAPPY:
Is this not the sweetest, artsiest bit of edible quilling you've ever seen? So perfect! Now I want to try quilling again just to make this pattern into next year's Christmas cards.
And speaking of cards, doesn't this remind you of all those vintage-styled pretties - the ones on thick cream paper with embossed lettering?
(By Alliance Bakery)
I think it's all the handpainting; it's just SO perfect it looks printed.
And now, ruffly goodness:
(By Inspired by Michelle Cake Designs)
See that pattern on the white? I love that pattern. I want it covered in crystals and made into wrapping paper - which I will then hoard, Smaug-style, along with thousands of rolls of sparkly Christmas ribbon, because I seriously can't stop buying that stuff.
Ahem.
You may have heard that the Three Wise Men brought the baby Jesus gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but did you know they also brought something a little more festive?
(By Yuma Couture Cakes)
Because it's not a birthday party 'til there are balloons, dangit.
(That silhouette is too, too cool.)
This one makes me hum "Walking in a Winter Wonderland" - and with the right words, even!
(By Chanata sweets 'n Decoration)
That pop of lime green in the middle with the teal is just about the cheeriest thing ever, and I love the dusting of powered sugar snow on the chocolate pinecones. And did you notice this is an anniversary cake? SO SWEET.
This next one is as cozy as your favorite Christmas sweater:
(Photography by Simone van Den Berg, cake by Evelien Keijer)
It's also baffling the heck out of me, since I have no idea how the baker did it. She couldn't have individually piped every single "stitch," right? Right?? Please, someone tell me; I may lose sleep over this.
Another handpainted beauty with a vintage vibe:
(Found here, anyone know the baker?)
I'm digging the "snow" dripping off those berries and branches.
And this one manages to be modern and classic at the same time:
(Artwork by Illustree and cake by Three Little Blackbirds Cakes)
Black, white, and sparkly red glitter will never go out of style, people. NEVER.
And don't underestimate the power of a little red accent on a soft gray palette, either:
(By Of Cakes and Cupcake (and Apollo too))
Airbrushing done right makes me all happy inside.
You know, I've seen a lot of cakes, and I generally pride myself on being able to spot what's edible and what's not. This next one, though? Completely fooled me:
(By Gateaux Inc.)
I thought those were stacked hat boxes, but nope; it's cake, and everything on it is edible. The bells, the silky gold robe, and of course the sheet music sides. Plus the solid side has this gorgeous shimmer you can really only see up close:
Wowza.
And if you thought that was stunning, then hold on to your giant pearly antlers:
(By Cake Heart)
[gasp]
OooooOOOOoooooh.
And just like that, blue is my new favorite color.
Well, I hope you enjoyed, my friends, because your happy place is now closing. So get on out there, and go drink some eggnog. [lifting cup] Cheers!
*****
P.S. For my fellow fans of blue, purple, and gorgeous galaxy prints:
Galaxy Throw Blanket
There are lots of galaxy print blankets out there, but this one has the best reviews I've found. Vibrant, super soft, and not too thick!
******
And from my other blog, Epbot:
The December Comfort Watches 2025, Day Twenty: A Fish Called Wanda
Dec. 21st, 2025 03:58 amscalziwhatever_feed
I have thought a number of films have been riotously funny, but only A Fish Called Wanda made me laugh so hard that I was in very real danger of pissing myself right there in the movie theater. It was 1988, I went to see this movie with my friend Marty Glomski, and — to be fair — I did buy myself a soda to enjoy while I watched the film. Normally such a thing would not be a fraught action, but then there were scenes involving inept assassination attempts, and I ended up laughing so hard and so long that my bladder very nearly couldn’t take it any more. I swear to you I was two seconds from peeing my jeans. I wanted to stop laughing so I could stop spotting. I could not. It was mortifying, and delightful.
I cannot guarantee you will laugh as hard at A Fish Called Wanda. If you did, however, and you fell victim to laugh-related involuntary micturition, just know that you are not alone. There are probably legions of us. John Cleese should have invested in adult diapers before writing this film.
The story of how A Fish Called Wanda came to be is interesting in itself. Back in the 1970s and 80s, when John Cleese wasn’t busy with Monty Python or Fawlty Towers, he had co-founded a company called Video Arts, which created training videos for corporate clients (they were allegedly funny corporate training videos. I’ve not seen any, I can’t say). One of the directors for these corporate videos was Charles Crichton. Having Crichton directing corporate training videos was a little like having Scotty Pippen on your basketball team at the Y. In a past life, he directed films at Ealing Studios, including the Academy Award-winning The Lavender Hill Mob, generally regarded as one of the best British comedies of all time.
What was Crichton doing making training films? Well, look, folks, show business is a tough gig. You’re on top one day and the next you’re trying to spice up a video on how to file reports.
That said, John Cleese was certainly aware who he had on staff, and eventually he and Crichton started scheduling time to think up a comedy crime caper, which would eventually become A Fish Called Wanda. The plan was for Cleese to star and Crichton to direct. One catch: When the film was being pitched, Crichton was well into his middle 70s, which worried the money guys. In order to get the film made, Cleese agreed to be co-director. What did that mean for Cleese? Apparently not much! Cleese was open about not having any experience in feature film directing. He was basically there if Crichton keeled over during filming.
Crichton did not keel over. In fact, for the film Crichton (and only Crichton, not Cleese) was nominated for an Academy Award for best director. Don’t feel too bad for Cleese, he got nominated (along with Crichton) for an Oscar in the screenwriting category. Having landed on top again after years in the corporate training video wilderness, Crichton promptly retired and spent the rest of his life fishing. Good for him.
Plotwise, Wanda is a tale of heists and con-men and women, crosses and double-crosses and one barrister who somewhat befuddledly finds himself in the middle of it all. That could be Cleese’s character, Archibald Leach (film fans will recognize this name, and if you don’t, look it up), a bland tall legal type whose life is lower-wealthy-class boredom. That is, until he meets Wanda (Jamie Lee Curtis), who is not a fish, but is an associate of George Thomason, Archie’s client, who has been recently accused of a bank robbery involving quite a lot of diamonds. Wanda enchants Archie, because she is smart and looks exactly like Jamie Lee Curtis at her hottest. But, I think it should be obvious, Wanda has something on her mind other than climbing Cleese.
That’s enough of the plot. You just need to know that the people involved in the heist are all trying to screw each other, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally. There is no honor among thieves, which is not great for any of them but is fabulous for us, because Cleese and Crichton, as screenwriters, put absolutely fantastic words into their mouths, and make them to grand and ridiculous things. For a movie that at least initially comes off as a small and maybe kinda square bit of British japery, things get weird fast.
A lot of that weirdness comes in the form of Otto, played by Kevin Klein in a bit of ego annihilation so complete that he won an Oscar for it. When I say ego annihilation, I mean no one who was concerned about their ego in any way could have played Otto as he did, as the ugliest of all possible ugly Americans and the platonic ideal of Dunning-Kruger. The first time I saw this performance, I just thought it was funny; in subsequent watches it becomes obvious just how much good work Kline is doing here. The scene where Wanda chews him out for messing up her assignation with Archie is a masterclass of facial acting. His words in the scene are good. What his face is doing got him that statuette.
Be assured, however, that Kevin Kline is not the only one engaging in ego annihilation here. None of the principals, who aside from Cleese, Curtis and Kline also includes Michael Palin, get out of this film with their dignity intact. Short of Melissa McCarthy shitting in a sink, I’m not sure another film has put so many of their actors through the wringer for a pile of laughs. It’s not about gross-out comedy (speaking of that McCarthy scene), it’s about the humiliation of their characters, unstiffening that stiff upper lip, in the case of Cleese’s character especially.
Which — confession time — is not the kind of humor I usually like! Cringe humor (the kind of humor that makes you cringe in sympathy for the embarrassment the characters are going through, not the kind of humor that is eye-rollingly corny) is actually one of my least favorite forms of humor. I think my sympathetic response for people making fools of themselves is too strong for me to enjoy the comedy of it. It mostly just makes me want to leave the room until the embarrassing parts are over. Not here, though, and I think it’s both the skill of the writing from Cleese and Crichton, and actual abandon to which the actors give themselves, that simply overrides my desire to curl up into a ball at their misfortunes. Wanda isn’t exactly farce but it’s near enough to it that, for me, at least, it’s inoculated against cringe.
Wanda remains one of the funniest films of all time, but it’s okay to note that 80s films are gonna 80s, and this film does that. The plot line about a character’s stutter was at the time and now continues to be the least successful attempt at humor in the film, and there’s a bit that Otto does that straddles the line for casual homophobia. Also, truly, if animal endangerment bothers you, go ahead and skip this one. You won’t be happy, even if I find at least one of those scenes one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in a theater. What can I say, I’m a terrible human.
I keep coming back to why it was this film made me almost pee myself in public. I think it comes down to the simple fact that very little about this film was what I had expected when I sat down to watch it. I figured it was going to be funny; after all it had a third of Monty Python in it. But I think I went in expecting to chuckle. This wasn’t Monty Python, it was by all indications just a standard issue mid-80s comedy, and again the first several minutes of the film gave the impression that was where things were going.
But then. And then. And then after that. It kept laughing in the face of my expectations, and I kept laughing in surprise. I just did not see it coming.
— JS
I felt like trying my hand at a Christmas song, so I did “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” which was a big hit for Bing Crosby. First I did a pretty traditional version, and when I was done, I thought, why not mess with it a little? So I did a second version, with trap drums and lots of bass.
Here’s the traditional version:
And here’s the NOT traditional version:
I hope you enjoy one or both!
— JS