The night before Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice came out, two of my friends tagged me in separate Facebook posts linking to a review from Ars Technica declaring BvS “the Showgirls of superhero films.” Knowing my friends know me so well is deeply touching, and since somebody mentioned Showgirls, I was undeniably intrigued despite my better judgment.
Sure, I had a feeling this review couldn’t be trusted, because it mentioned Sex in the City 2, not Sex and the City 2, and that’s a straight man’s mistake when talking about a gay man’s sensibility. Still, I figured I had to approve or disprove the comparison to the Greatest Movie of All Time, so I saw it Saturday morning, and to quote Nomi Malone, “It’s a Versayce You don’t know sh*t!” Batman v. Superman: Definitely Not Showgirls is definitely not the Showgirls of superhero movies, or of that matter anything.
There are few performances more sublime than Patty Duke’s in Valley of the Dolls, so this little corner of the internet would be remiss if it didn’t pause to pay tribute to her pantheonic turn as Neely O’Hara.
If you can’t say something nice, it’s entirely likely you’re having a conversation about Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. It’s just not good! Still, while I fully intend to bitch and moan about it’s failure as camp, I decided this year that my One Blog Rule would to not be such a bemoaning bitch, so I thought it best to first say a few nice things about Batman v. Superman: Just Make Out Already. If for nothing else, it’s insurance against anybody who insists I’m just a hater who doesn’t get it.
If you, like me, have already seen Bats v. Supes: Dawn of Just Put Me Out of My Misery Already, you’re probably feeling an awful lot like Ben Affleck seems in this GIF. He does not look like he wants to be here, literally or metaphorically, and seeing as Batman v. Superman has already grossed $200 million dollars worldwide, I’m not sure we want to either.
Anyways, while I try and put words to put words to my despondent rage stroke, here’s a really great video of Ben Affleck at the BvS: It Gets Worst press tour:
In “anticipation” of Zack Snyder’s latest dour ‘n desaturated super hero action orgy, Bats v. Supes: More Titles Plz, I decided to rewatch Watchmen, because I kinda liked it before, I was curious how it’d hold up, and I wasn’t yet in the mood to rewatch Man v. Steel: More Fur Pecs Plz. Some cries for help can wait until the weekend.
As such, here are some scant thoughts I had upon revisiting Zack Snyder’s first foray in superhero cinema:
While perhaps technically not puppy talk, I think National Puppy Day is as good a time as any to draw everyone’s attention to this 1976 photograph of Joan Crawford taken by John Engstead. Besides, it’s Joan Crawford’s birthday, too, so it’s definitely apropos.
This is among the last publicized photos of Joan, and more importantly, it’s with her shih tzu, Princess Lotus Blossom, which is a perfect name for any dog, but particularly a shih tzu, and most particularly a shih tzu owned by Joan Crawford.
Yes, Princess Lotus Blossom. Let it roll off your tongue, paws pause for appreciation, and let it stay with you. Princess Lotus Blossom. Positively perfect in every way.
And if you’d rather with a nonsense pet video to celebrate National Puppy Day, this little corner of the internet where camp is queen can inexplicably cover that, too, because here’s a video of a dog reacting to a great Elizabeth Taylor moment:
When I think Saturdays, I think breakfast meats, so this bacon-themed parody of Celine Dion’s “The Power of Love” by the Toronto, Canada comedy troupe Touch My Stereotype is pretty great because:
It’s about bacon.
The Celine Dion impression is pretty spot on.
The overabundance of soft-focus is totally on-point for 90s adult contemporary power ballad music videos, and…
The thought writhing around in that much raw bacon makes me instinctively want to degrease myself, so this parody gets an A+ for commitment.
That said, I’m a little lost at the thought of cooking bacon in butter. Is that a thing people do? Is it a Canadian thing? Like, I’ve eaten some artery-hardeninghot garbage in my day, but girl, you in danger (of high cholesterol).
But that said, I’m definitely not lost at the drinking bacon grease thing. I’m not saying I’ve eaten bacon grease from a pan, but I’m not not saying it, either.
I feel like there used to be a time on the Internet when you couldn’t blink without coming across some twink’s bid for fifteen minutes of viral video celebrity and a lifetime of telling the same story at your local gay bar about the one time you got three million YouTube views from dancing in your mom’s shower to Britney Spears. It was the late 2000s, and everything seemed possible, which is why I don’t understand why this particular homage to Shakira’s “She Wolf” never even broke 100,000 views:
As it’s St. Patrick’s Day, it seemed like a perfectly fair and otherwise rare opportunity to blog about U2, but in my quest to find something that was still appropriately camp, I instead discovered a Finnish a capella group Fork. You know, as one does.
The third most impressive thing I discovered this evening about Fork is that they exist, which unto itself seems like a small victory, though I’m not sure for whom.
The second is the above picture, which is insane. It’s like a dinner theater production of The Matrix, or a portrait of the Four BDSM Horsemen of Conflicting Ideas About What Sexy Looks Like, but then I tell you it’s in fact a promo photo for an a capella group and oops! Your head just f*cking exploded.
The most impressive thing by far, though, is the fact that they performed U2’s “Discotheque”, which I’m pretty sure they meant it without irony:
As someone who has built a blog out of desperate, threadbare references to Showgirls, I’m always thrilled when I come across someone else making a tenuous connection to Nomi Malone and Co. They’re doing Goddess work, really.
So imagine my slackjawed joy when I found this video of Taylor Swift giving Nomi Malone chills in spades. It’s short, sweet, and depending upon your office’s policy on very blurry yet technically bare breasts, arguably NSFW, so kindly remind your boss this is where High Art meets Explosive Journalism, and please watch this Very Important Video after the jump:
Several years back, I read David Bret’s Joan Crawford: Hollywood Martyr, and it was insane. As celebrity bios go, it’s like someone decided to set the record straight about Joan Crawford using Wikipedia synopses of her filmography, a nagging feeling that says “CHRISTINA’S WRONG”, a whole lotta moxie, and a well-read copy of Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon. Really, I’m still not sure what the rumor about Ramon Novarro and the black marble dildo from his alleged lover Rudolph Valentino was doing in a biography about Joan Crawford, but it did keep things more interesting.
My point is I’m more than familiar with trashy and ridiculous rumors about Joan Crawford and early Hollywood’s general sordidness, but nothing, and I mean nothing, could prepare me for “Joan Crawford Gender. Gender Enigma. Part 1.”, which is basically a Truther video, if the Truther movement was obsessed with proving that Joan Crawford was a man and Hollywood is some sort of Satanic transsexual long con:
You’re a consummate entertainer, an unwavering source of joy on this blog, and a true Hollywood legend. It’s only fitting your celebration be bigger than your hair in Rent-a-Cop(the biggest), and better than wearing teal leather gloves (the best) or bossing around Burt Reynolds (also the best). Happy 70th birthday, Liza!!!
Yesterday, Ladyhawke (aka, my favorite synth pop artist, aka, Pip Brown) announced her new album, Wild Things, would be out on June 3rd. Better still, a lyric video for her new single, “A Love Song”, was out now. Naturally, I reacted accordingly.
It’s one thing that her album shares the same name as the greatest erotic noir cinematic trashterpiece of all time, but it’s something else entirely that her sublimely ebullient slice of synth pop single has come in a form reminiscent of my favorite psychedelically insane cat GIF of all time. What I’m trying to say is if every Friday deserves a dance party, this Friday is particularly deserving, and it’s got “A Love Song”:
Look, far be it for me, the person who’s recent blog exploits have included making GIFs of a Broad City Yas Queen/Queen Amidala mashup and Hannibal Lecter wearing Rooney Mara’s blunt bangs, to judge what anybody does on the internet, particularly anybody who’s nom de YouTube is Versais Demauve. I mean, really, were there ever some strange kindred spirit out there, filling the internet with bullsh*t nonsense and Showgirls references, this might be that person, so instead of asking “WHYYY?!?“, I won’t. After all, this is the Internet, where you shouldn’t ask people “WHYYY?!?“, and you can’t ask them why they’re Ebola.
I’ll admit that I’m a little surprised, if not disappointed, that the internet hasn’t yet birthed a Broad City/Star Wars crossover GIF of my our hopes and dreams. It seems so obvious that it should’ve already happened, but it hasn’t, so here were are. Either people just hate the prequel trilogy that much, or other people have better things to do with their lunch breaks than combines all the things they love (like flamboyant homosexuality, cultural objects of undue derision, and puns) into a single GIF that positively screams“I HAVE NO LIFE!” “YAS QUEEN…AMIDALAAA!”
Whatever the case, I’m glad I made this GIF for you and the queen in your life who loves their swishiness shrill and their galaxies far, far away. After all, “If you see a hole, fill it” are words I try to blog by, as well as the house rule at Jabba the Slutt’s Palace.
I’ll be the first to admit that this video could’ve found itself onto the blog most any day of the week, but today is International Women’s Day, and as such I’d argue this performance of “Proud Mary” by Tina Turner and Ann-Margret is particularly appropriate. After all, it’s two women singing of their struggles workin’ for the man aboard a steamboat that is itself a proud woman, if only by name. And since Ann-Margret is Swedish, this video is a true celebration of women and tres international to boot. Come for the weird introductory banter about Tina Turner’s age, stay for all the insanely sweet dance moves, and most importantly: Happy International Women’s Day!
Since I’m an old person, any time after 9pm is late for me, if not in fact entirely past my bedtime, so it’s only appropriate to end the day with all of the dream sequences from Ken Russell’s The Boy Friend. Much like the above bonkers amuse-bouche of a headdress, they’re totally over the top, totally fabulous, and at times not unlike a Busby Berkeley acid flashback. Oh, and they’re starring Twiggy. Yes, that Twiggy.
What I’m trying to say is there are far worse pre-bedtime camp viewing pleasures, and arguably few better, so grab yourself a cup of Sleepytime tea and get ready to spike it with an shot of crazy, because these dream sequence will take you up, off and away:
Here’s a montage of someone’s “favorite soap opera slaps”, which is nearly nine blissful minutes of ACTING, SLAPPING, and REACTING (to being slapped). What else were you going to do with your Saturday, laundry?
Nobody Puts Baby in a Horner 
