At the Alamo Drafthouse cinemas, they don’t mess around. They tell you right on their web site, “We have a zero-tolerance policy towards talking and texting during the movie. If you talk or text, you will receive one warning. If it happens again, you will be kicked out without a refund.” And they apparently mean it. Want some proof? Here’s Exhibit A — a clip that mocks a customer who apparently got kicked out of their “crappy” theater in Austin, Texas for texting. Then there’s Exhibit B above — a sardonic Alamo Drafthouse video featuring indie filmmaker Richard Linklater suggesting radical steps for dealing with the type of people found in Exhibit A. It’s all a bit of dark humor (of course). But here’s something that’s not a joke. You can watch Linklater’s breakthrough 1991 film, Slacker, free online. You can also hear the Texas native talk about his new film Boyhoodon Fresh Air here.
Parting words: Don’t mess with Texas, particularly filmmakers in Texas.
In a band full of extroverted goofballs and pranksters, George Harrison was the quiet one, the serious Beatle, the straight man and introspective mystic, right? Not so, according to Travelling Wilburys bandmate Tom Petty, who once countered the “quiet Beatle” sobriquet with “he never shut up. He was the best hang you could imagine.” Not so, according to Harrison himself, who once said “I think I’ve had an image, people have had a concept of me being really straight cause I was the serious one or something. I mean, I’m the biggest lunatic around. I’m completely comical, you know? I like craziness. I had to in order to be in the Beatles.”
It’s true that Harrison disliked fame and its trappings and dove deeply into life’s mysteries. In his final televised interview, he is contemplative and, yes, deeply serious. And while some of the stories of the end of his life are heartbreaking—like that of the oncologist who allegedly showed up unannounced at the dying Beatles’ door and cajoled him into signing an autograph when he could barely write his name—the story of the last letter he ever wrote made me smile.
According to Mike Myers, creator of Wayne’s World and the sixties spoof Austin Powers franchise, that letter arrived in his hands on the very day of Harrison’s death, delivered via private investigator as Myers and crew shot the third of the Powers films.
Harrison wrote but never mailed the short note a month before his death in November, 2001. In it, he reveals his love for Austin Powers, particularly the “Mini Me” character from The Spy Who Shagged Me (played by Verne Troyer)—a miniature clone of Powers’ nemesis Dr. Evil. In a GQ interview, Myers quotes from the letter: “…sitting here with my Dr. Evil doll…I just wanted to let you know I’ve been all over Europe for a mini-you doll.” Harrison also jokingly corrected Myers’ Liverpudlian: “Dr. Evil says frickin’ but any good Scouser dad will tell you it’s actually ‘friggin’ as in a ‘four of fish and finger pie,’ if you get my drift.”
The “Scouser dad” reference was particularly poignant for Myers, whose parents come from Liverpool. “You don’t know what The Beatles were in my house,” Myers told WENN news, “They were everything. Liverpool was poorish and it was rough and all of a sudden it was cool to come from this town, so my parents were eternally grateful.” Harrison returned the gratitude, writing “thanks for the movies, so much fun,” a sentiment Myers reacts to with “Dude, I can’t even.” And really, what could else could you say? “To get this letter,” and on the very day of Harrison’s passing no less, “was unbelievable,” said Myers, “It hits you and it can knock you off your feet.”
As for that reputation for seriousness? I don’t know about you, but from now on, when I think of the last days of George Harrison, I won’t think of his opportunistic doctor, or his turning down the OBE, or even that fateful final performance on VH1. I’ll imagine him sitting on the couch with a Dr. Evil doll, writing Mike Myers to request a Mini Me.
If there’s ever a Mad Men: The Next Generation, count on a 40-ish Sally Draper to psych a conference room full of BMW execs out of the tried-and-true formula for luxury automobile ads in favor of a groundbreaking, nightmarish, pre-YouTube web series.
As fictional scenarios go, it’s about as likely as having the Hardest Working Man in Show Business James Brown place a winner-take-all bet with the devil (Gary Oldman) that his driver Clive Owen can out-drag perennial movie bad guy Danny Trejo. (In other words, very likely.)
The prize?
Another 50 years of hip-shaking, leg-splitting soul for the Godfather of.
Can’t wait for the soon-to-be released James Brown biopicto find out who wins?
Check out “Beat the Devil,” above, the final installment of BMW Films’ 8‑episode series, The Hire. One of the new millennium’s earliest examples of branded content, each frenetic segment found Owen’s nameless driver going up against a roster of big name guest stars, including Don Cheadle, Mickey Rourke, Marilyn Manson, and an uncredited, pee-soaked Madonna. (You heard me.)
Brown’s episode, directed by the late Tony Scott, quickly ventures into David Lynch territory. Oldman’s Prince of Darkness gets laughs with a prop fluorescent tube and striped suspender tights, but the scene’s not without menace. (Recall Dean Stockwell lip-synching Candy Colored Clown in Blue Velvet…)
The dialogue calls to mind Jim Jarmusch’s blunt snap.
Devil: Stick your face in the hole!
James Brown: My face?
Devil: Stick it in the hole!
James Brown: My face?
Devil: Face in the hole!
James Brown: My face?
Devil: Face in the- oh, shit!”
Elsewhere, Brown’s line delivery gets a boost from same-language subtitles, without which one could easily mishear his concerns about aging as an unexpected, late-in-life racial identification switch. (Say it loud, I’m Asian and proud?)
If the clip above leaves you hungry for more, the complete BMW series, featuring the testosterone-rich work of such high octane directors as John Frankenheimer, Guy Ritchie, and John Woo is available on the playlist below.
When “Weird Al” Yankovic is in the zone, he can spin a parody that is better than the original. He took R. Kelly’s preposterous pop soap opera “Trapped in the Closet” and turned it into “Trapped in the Drive Thru,” one of the best portraits of everyday suburban ennui I’ve ever come across. His hilarious tune “White and Nerdy” got twice as much traffic on YouTube than the song he spoofed, “Ridin’” by Chamillionarie. And off of his latest (and possibly last) album, Mandatory Fun, Yankovic takes Robin Thicke’s bizarre but catchy ode to date rape “Blurred Lines” and flips it into “Word Crimes,” a ditty that is bound to delight grammar pedants everywhere. Watch it above.
Jonathan Crow is a Los Angeles-based writer and filmmaker whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hollywood Reporter, and other publications. You can follow him at @jonccrow.
Before he directed such mind-bending masterpieces as Time Bandits, Brazil and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, before he became short-hand for a filmmaker cursed with cosmically bad luck, before he became the sole American member of seminal British comedy group Monty Python, Terry Gilliam made a name for himself creating odd animated bits for the UK series Do Not Adjust Your Set. Gilliam preferred cut-out animation, which involved pushing bits of paper in front of a camera instead of photographing pre-drawn cels. The process allows for more spontaneity than traditional animation along with being comparatively cheaper and easier to do.
Gilliam also preferred to use old photographs and illustrations to create sketches that were surreal and hilarious. Think Max Ernst meets Mad Magazine. For Monty Python’s Flying Circus, he created some of the most memorable moments of a show chock full of memorable moments: A pram that devours old ladies, a massive cat that menaces London, and a mustached police officer who pulls open his shirt to reveal the chest of a shapely woman. He also created the show’s most iconic image, that giant foot during the title sequence.
On Bob Godfrey’s series Do It Yourself Film Animation Show, Gilliam delved into the nuts and bolts of his technique. You can watch it above. Along the way, he sums up his thoughts on the medium:
The whole point of animation to me is to tell a story, make a joke, express an idea. The technique itself doesn’t really matter. Whatever works is the thing to use. That’s why I use cut-out. It’s the easiest form of animation I know.
He also notes that the key to cut-out animation is to know its limitations. Graceful, elegant movement à la Walt Disney is damned near impossible. Swift, sudden movements, on the other hand, are much simpler. That’s why there are far more beheadings in his segments than ballroom dancing. Watch the whole clip. If you are a hardcore Python enthusiast, as I am, it is pleasure to watch him work. Below find one of his first animated movies, Storytime, which includes, among other things, the tale of Don the Cockroach. Also don’t miss, this video featuring All of Terry Gilliam’s Monty Python Animations in a Row.
Jonathan Crow is a Los Angeles-based writer and filmmaker whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hollywood Reporter, and other publications. You can follow him at @jonccrow.
According to Harvard Medical School’s Admissions department, “to study medicine at Harvard is to prepare to play a leading role” in the “quest to improve the human condition.”
It might also prepare you to play a giant spleen, as Richard Ngo, Class of 2016, does in this video for the Harvard Medical School and Harvard School of Dental Medicine’s 107th Annual Second Year Show.
In this anatomical homage to “The Fox,” Norwegian comedy duo Ylvis’ deliberately bizarre hit, the Crimsonites demonstrate a pretty straightforward grasp of their studies:
Their parents, particularly the hard working immigrant ones, must have been so relieved to learn that music videos are a fallback should the doctor thing not work out.
Though why wouldn’t it? Secret male uterus? Vestigial fin? Possibly a backup tongue?
They may be guesses, but they’re educated guesses!
I’d say those kids stand a good chance of getting into Harvard.
(Don’t be embarrassed if you remain a bit shaky on what exactly the spleen’s there to do. This simple, non-musical primer on the “Queen of Clean,” compliments of I Heart Guts, should clear things up right away.
If you live in England, you’re probably familiar with the Shipping Forecast, a nightly BBC radio broadcast that details the weather conditions for the seas surrounding Britain. The broadcast has been on the airwaves since 1911. And many Brits will tell you that the forecast, always read in a soporific voice, can lull you to sleep quicker than a dose of Ambien. The broadcast has a strict format. It can’t exceed 350 words, and it always begins: “And now the Shipping Forecast, issued by the Met Office on behalf of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency at [fill in the time] today.” Below y0u can listen to a recording of actual forecasts. (Or catch the one from 6/29/2014 here.) Don’t listen to it while driving, or operating heavy machinery. A primer that decodes the unfamiliar terminology in the radio transmission can be found here.
All of this gives you just enough context to appreciate Stephen Fry’s parody reading of the Shipping Forecast. It was recorded in 1988, for the first episode of his radio show Saturday Night Fry. (Full episode here.) You can read along with the transcript, while listening to the clip up top:
And now, before the news and weather, here is the Shipping Forecast issued by the Meteorological Office at 1400 hours Greenwich Mean Time.
Finisterre, Dogger, Rockall, Bailey: no.
Wednesday, variable, imminent, super.
South Utsire, North Utsire, Sheerness, Foulness, Eliot Ness:
If you will, often, eminent, 447, 22 yards, touchdown, stupidly.
Malin, Hebrides, Shetland, Jersey, Fair Isle, Turtle-Neck, Tank Top, Courtelle:
Blowy, quite misty, sea sickness. Not many fish around, come home, veering suggestively.
That was the Shipping Forecast for 1700 hours, Wednesday 18 August.
In 2005, a hirsute Kazakh journalist named Borat Sagdiyev ventured to America to make a documentary about “the Greatest Country in the World.” Along the way, he had extremely awkward conversations with politicians Bob Barr and Alan Keyes, unwittingly participated in a Gay Pride parade, and accidentally destroyed a gift shop filled with Confederacy memorabilia. When he visited a Virginia rodeo, he nearly caused a riot. Prior to the event, he praised the War on Terror — which got cheers — and then wished that “George W. Bush will drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq,” which got fewer cheers. He then sang the lyrics of the Kazakh national anthem to the tune of the “Star Spangle Banner.” That got boos.
Borat is, of course, a fictional character played by British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen, made famous in his hugely successful 2006 movie Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. While his brand of gonzo comedy might not be everybody’s cup of tea, you have to admit he’s brave and weirdly dedicated to his craft. The cops were called over 90 times during the production of Borat and Baron Cohen never broke character once.
Of all of Baron Cohen’s characters – the dim-witted wannabe gangster Ali G and the equally oblivious gay fashionista Bruno, Borat is perhaps his most likeable, and therefore his most dangerous, character. He’s so naively ignorant, so benighted by provincial prejudices that he evokes a tone of kindly condescension from just about everyone he encounters – at least before they call the cops on him. And that condescension can prove to be a trap. Borat’s casual, jarringly overt homophobia, sexism and anti-Semitism can often lead interviewees to say things out loud that they wouldn’t normally say in front of a camera. When Borat stated, “We hang homosexuals in my country!” Bobby Rowe, the producer of that rodeo quipped: “That’s what we’re trying to do here.”
The first incarnation of Borat was a Moldavian journalist named Alexi who appeared on the Granada TV show F2F in the mid-90s. For the BBC Two show Comedy Nation, Baron Cohen turned Alexi into Christo from Albania. You can see a couple of his early skits as Christo. In the one up top, he tries the patience of famed socialiteLady Colin Campbell by insisting on carrying the train of her haute couture dress. Below that, Christo stumbles uncomprehendingly into the world of S&M. Both videos, as you might expect, are NSFW.
Jonathan Crow is a Los Angeles-based writer and filmmaker whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hollywood Reporter, and other publications. You can follow him at @jonccrow.
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