Today’s Fabulous Image in Cinema: Fiona Shaw in The Black Dahlia
July 22, 2010

A few years back,I gushed to my mother about what a steal it was when I dropped $5 for a used copy of The Black Dahlia from a nearby Blockbuster.  I went on and on and on about how bad it was, and finally mother stopped me and asked, “Why would you even want to spend $5 dollars on it then?”  I guess that’s a reasonable question (for other people), so consider the above image of Fiona Shaw delivering a perfectly executed side-eye just before sipping her martini my argument for The Black Dahlia being five of my best-spent dollars.

Seriously, when it comes to performances, The Black Dahlia is by and large one of the most baffling experiences of all time.  Most everyone seems to be aiming for ’40s-film-noir only to achieve awkward-and-forced-like-bad-pulp-dialogue, Hilary Swank looks absolutely nothing like “that dead girl” despite Scarlett Johansson having a line of dialogue that explicitly insists otherwise, and then there’s Fiona Shaw.  She plays Hilary Swank’s wealthy boozehound of a mother, Ramona Linscott, and she’s incredible.  I’m not entirely certain what–if any–direction Brian DePalma gave her because her performance is from a completely different movie about a batshit crazy drunk who won’t take anybody’s sass.  She’s like Carla Gugino in Watchmen, lighting up the screen and warming the camp-adoring cockles of our hearts with each slurred word and wildly over-exaggerated gesticulation.  For example, a less inspired actress would probably sloppily eat the pot roast in this scene, but not Fiona Shaw:

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Is Sandra Lee is My New Favorite Food Lady?
July 17, 2009

Despite the fact that I’ve never met a meal I didn’t like (and I’ve even had the McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish, which probably says many a thing about my cast-iron stomach and my utter lack of any culinary sensibilities), I’m not a Food Network junkie.   This is particularly curious seeing as Food Network plays home to my Southern-fried soulmate, Paula Deen:

paula deen love

Seriously, this lady that advocates eating like heart-attacks are the new dogs-in-purses and speaks with an accent that’s thicker than sawmill gravy.  She’s completely crazy, but in the best way possible (i.e., with ample amounts of butter).  I was all but certain that my love for her could never be challenged, but–like the best laid schemes of mice and men–I had not anticipated witnessing the mind-altering brilliance that is this highly concentrated dose of Sandra Lee’s particular brand of insanity sauce:

Whoah-and-three-quarters, y’all.  Much of this video’s genius, admittedly, is in the editing.  It’s so perfectly executed that you begin to suspect that Sergei Eisenstein, the father of montage theory himself, would have kind words for the work displayed above.  That is, if he was still alive.  Or a zombie.

That all said, it doesn’t change the fact that Sandra Lee sounds like she might kill her parents with those incredible foodgasms she’s having.  Nor does it change the fact she really loves her cocktail time, and it certainly doesn’t change the fact the only thing she loves more than cocktail time is saying the world delicious.   Maybe I’m just gravitating to the magnetic pull of her feathered hair, or perhaps it’s something in the way that she says paprika, but all I know for certain is that she’s captivated the heart of this homo.  She’s giving Paula Deen a serious run in the favorite-food-lady department, and I think we know what this means:

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Hot Dogs: The Most Important Component of Independence Day
July 4, 2009

I’m as serious as a hot-dog-binge-induced heart attack, y’all.  Hot dogs, those decadent poor-man’s sausages comprised of animal parts that I refuse to consider because I’d rather not have to ever have to acknowledge that I find processed pig anus to be painfully delicious, are totally where it’s at:

HotDogMustard

Mmmm, I’m already hungry for six of those bad boys.  Maybe it’s the way the ketchup and mustard and pickle relish and onions mingle with the piping hot juiciness of the frank and the doughy goodness of the bun.  Maybe I’m just going into withdrawal as I’ve realized that the wedding I’m going to tonight probably will be too classy to serve hot dogs.  Or perhaps I’ve just lost my damn mind (as usual).  Whatever the cause, right now I want hot dogs like Nomi Malone wants to dance.  And not in the innuendo way.

Don’t even try to fool yourself into believing the hamburger is a more American culinary institution.  There is nothing American about a beef patty that’s named after German city.  Clearly, assuming the hamburger is more inherently American is quite simply anti-hot-dog propaganda.  It’s falsities about frankfurters!  Don’t believe the lies!

Think about it:  All you have to do is put hot dog in one hand and a sparkler in the other and you’ll look like you were born to celebrate July 4th.  People will be like, “Damn, girl, you’s all set to celebrate our independence from British rule the alien invasion!”  Bill Pullman, America’s greatest fake President, knows exactly what I’m talking about:

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What is “The Joan Crawford”?
March 17, 2009

Perhaps you read the previous post and asked yourself, “‘Pot roast and Joan Crawfords’?  Whatever is a Joan Crawford?”

This is the Joan Crawford:

joan-drink

Trust me, it’s delicious.

Sweet Mercy, Paula Deen is Reading My Mind
February 4, 2009

So I recognize that two posts into this whole blog thing and I’ve yet to talk about a single movie, which, for a movie review blog, likely constitutes as a FAIL.  Well, shut your face, ‘cos at least I’m posting a video at this point.  Baby steps, y’all.  Baby steps.

Holy Moses, it’s as though Paula Deen had crawled into my head, searched for my deepest, darkest desire, and then made it come true.  Some of my coworkers seemed to think that this is disgusting.  WRONG!  Is the brilliance of Michelango’s  Sistine Chapel disgusting?  No.  Is the triumph of artistry that is Showgirls disgusting?  No!  Is Paula Deen’s utopic taste-bud sensation disgusting?  NO!  Mix in some Worcestershire into those burgers and throw on a slice of Boar’s Head cheese and prepare to meet God.

I seriously think I will be trekking to Penn Station after work just to get my hands on some Krispy Kremes so I can make this symphony of worldly delights.  My wildest dreams have come true.

Thanks, Best Week Ever!

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