Well, folks, January is almost over, and you know what that means. It’s almost February! And you know what that means.
“My annual Groundhog Day marathon?” No. “The real Groundhog Day?” Nope. Well, yes, but, no. “Something with groundhogs?” Close.
It’s awards season! The past year marked a pretty decent one in terms of cinema. Nowhere near the incredible celluloid boner that was 2007, but good nonetheless. Fancy people you’ve never heard of with jobs you’d love to have have been telling us what edited-together performances and pictures are the best and the brightest, the Queen Mother of these tellings being the Oscars on February 22nd. (Or, for some of you, 20 days after your Groundhog Day party.) Now, no awards season is perfect, and this year is no exception. In fact, there is one glaring omission that has really got my dander up. Although that may have something to do with all the stray cats I keep. (Don’t tell security.)
“What’s the dandery omission? No Best Picture for The Dark Knight?” No. “No Best Song for The Wrestler?” Nope. Well, yes, but, no. “No Best Foreign Film for Let the Right One In?” Close.
No Worst Movie for Faded Memories! (The “film” just barely deserves the italics that distinguish its movie status. It should have really been scrawled on the sheet with mud and a stick.) The day before the Oscars the Razzies are announced, highlighting the “C+ for Effort, F for Everything Else” movies of the past year. The quote films end quote up for the coveted Golden Raspberry are Disaster Movie, Meet the Spartans, The Happening, The Hottie and the Nottie, The Love Guru, and the deep breath-depleting In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale. All terrible movies, I have no doubt. But to leave Faded Memories off the list is a travesty.
Before the title sequence we’re told that Anne-Sophie Dutoit wrote the script when she was 14, then starred in and directed it when she was 16. Are we supposed to read this and automatically assume that if it’s thrown together in any type of coherent fashion it’s supposed to be good? Because that’s the fashion in which it was thrown. Like a senile old man hurling whiskey bottles at the TV.
“But Nick!" you might be saying, "This was made by a kid!” People give me the same argument when I tell them I don’t like Mozart, and I will tell you what I tell them: It shows. I wouldn’t be surprised if she developed the concept while still covered in placenta. I had to watch this thing over two sittings. Not because it’s hours and hours long, although it certainly feels like it. It’s just a painfully boring and awful movie. (Well, there are people speaking lines in front of a camera for about an hour and a half, so I assume it’s a movie.) Of course, it would seem much shorter if she hadn’t broken up every third word of the narration with a question mark. (“Sometimes? I wish I could just? Ride a comet? At the speed of light? To the end of our galaxy? And the beauty of it? Would be that? I’d never know? Where’d I stop? Or where I’d go.”)
Faded Memories follows the really hard teenage life of Cassandra. Cassandra lives with her aunt, Maggie May, who drags her around the country in a shitty camper chasing men she’s met online while opening beer bottles with her teeth. But then Cassandra meets Lucas, and boy is he cute! And understanding! And deep! Why, just listen to these deep things he says:
“Imagination is the greatest gift.”
It sure is! And let’s not forget:
“Art’s special. Know why? You can’t be right or wrong.”
Hey yeah! Cassandra joins in on the dialogue fun later when she gets to deeply know him on a deep:
“What are you like? What do you want to do with your life? What’s your passion?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always just been into unique towers. Their construction method, their history. Uh, like…”
“The tower of Pisa?”
“What are you psychic or something?”
“No, I just like history!”
Ugh.
The two fall in love, accepting the other for who he or she truly is. And isn’t that what every 16-year-old is looking for? But wait! Lucas’ Rebecca-de-Mornay-in-The Hand that Rocks the Cradle-mom wants him to date this rich girl so her rich family will pay for his father’s medical bills or something. And she’s having an affair with some guy. Oh, and did I mention the majority of this is in flashbacks because Cassandra went crazy and is in a mental institution writing “LUCAS” all over the walls?
I do have to applaud Ms. Dutoit’s productivity. Hell, I’ve never written, directed, and starred in a feature film, and I certainly never did it when I was 16 fucking years old. However, I’ve also never written, directed, and starred in an insufferable, steaming pile of awful. The budget was raised independently, so I can’t really get mad at Hollywood for making this (The Love Guru, on the other hand…). And Mr. and Mrs. Dutoit, I implore you for the love of all that is good and true, the next time your daughter hands you a script and says, “Can we make it huh can we can we??” use your powers for good instead of evil and throw the damn thing in the fire.
-- Nick Bailey, Senior Editor
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
1.28.08
I’ve gotta be honest. I’m excited right now. There is more snow on the ground. The sky is
somehow raining ice and/or glass. And, when my friend and fellow editor Nick Bailey tried to give me a ride up the hill, his car spun out, unable to make the climb. I was thrown safely from the car, as Nick made a rapid descent, crashing into a telephone pole, providing him with a violent
untimely death. Nick Bailey is dead. Why am I excited you ask? Because this can only mean one thing. SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!!!
Ever since 1st grade I have gone to sleep on snowy nights dreamy of a glorious day off. Nothing excites me more than a snow day, and I will go to great lengths to get one. Before bed, I will do an old native American ice dance. In the morning I will shovel extra snow on to President Knobel’s doorstep. Hell, I’ll even sleep with Mother Nature if it means she keeps this sleet up.
This all got me thinking. Sure, I’ve always been excited about snow days, but I’ve always lived in a wintry climate. What do children do when they do not live around snow? I looked it up on Wikipedia and found some
exciting answers for you all.
-In Hawaii, children hope for the many volcanoes of the state to erupt,
simultaneously. The islands will soon be set ablaze, the fire killing most everyone in its path. The children left standing rejoice on rooftops,
exclaiming “lapule mei ‘okakopa po’aha!” which translates roughly to “though I have lost my family, I have gained a much needed day of relief!”
-In Columbia children go to sleep praying that the local drug czar will find a job as a successful actor and give up the cocaine business. In doing so he will toss bags upon bags in to the street. Frightened that their children might develop a new habit, parents will prevent the youth from
wandering outside. Instead, the high population of stray cats will eat the narcotic. Cocaine’s effect on cats causes the animal to attack authority figures. Days like these usually result in two weeks off from school; a win that American children can only dream about.
-Finally homeschooled children in Florida must take matters in to their own hands. Hoping for an extremely rare appearance from snow is not enough. They spend their entire day in school, as it is their home. Instead, they wait for the darkest night of the year. They then sneak in to the room of their parents, strip them of their clothes, and bound them to the bed using duct tape and twine. Ironically, they then flee to the local school where they are amazed by the large hallways, individual desks, and urine ceilings floors. As a red-headed bully stuffs them in a locker they are known to exclaim “this opportunity is certainly something Father could not provide in his slippers.” A recent study of this phenomenon find that 58% of children die from this experience, most likely due to an over-exposure to children of the same age and interests.
________________________________________________________
Dear Denison,
My name’s Amanda Moore, and I lost my camera in its camera bag last Monday. The bag is large (about 12" x 5" x 7") and black with blue lettering (I think it says Ambica or Amico or something). I left it in Curtis dining hall and it was taken to the service center downstairs. I called on Tuesday and was told it was there. I was in D.C. at the time. After standing in the cold for many hours, I ended up sick for the rest of the week. I stopped by Friday afternoon and it wasn’t there. I waited until Tuesday, when the offices were open again, to see if maybe it had been placed in the back. It had not been. So the only possible solution I can see is that it was stolen. If you stole my camera, please read on.
I’m poor and I’m not afraid to say it. My mom works part-time at a convenience store and I never met my dad. I cannot afford to buy a camera. I love photography. The camera you stole was my first digital SLR, the nicest camera I ever held in my hands. It was an extremely expensive holiday present from my extremely thoughtful boyfriend. It cannot be replaced. I’m sure you thought it’d be nice to have for yourself or that you’d make some cash selling it. Please don’t. Please take it back to the service center. Just say you found it somewhere. Or take it to Slayter, I don’t care. Just give me back my camera. Please.
Sincerely,
Amanda Moore
moore_a
___________________________________________________________________________________
The following is a parody of Tuesday’s Denisonian article, which was titled, “Slumdog a slump, despite raving reviews.” My article is entitled, “Slumdog a slump, despite my enormous penis.”
Upon entering the theater, the manager took my penis wheelbarrow away from me, claiming that it would create an obstruction for other viewers. You must not have seen my penis, I thought but couldn’t muster up the penis courage to say. I was forced to suffer the humiliation of slinging my penis over my shoulder and carrying it with much effort to my seat.
I shoved past most people, attempting to conceal my clearly massive penis, hoping that the handicapped seat in the back of the theater was still available. It wasn’t. Sadly someone with two broken kneecaps had decided that they’re ailment was worse than mine. Hey, don’t apologize to me, weak knees! Apologize to the person in front of me who’s going to be wearing my dick like a scarf! Finally, I made myself at home in the 5th row, and my penis was able to serve as comfortable seating for those forced into the aisles by its incredible girth. Now it was time for everyone to calm down, sit on my penis, and watch the movie.
Slumdog Millionaire is a bank heist film in typical Eurasian style, the endings of which are always fights to the death in piles of elephant bones (see: The Protector). But as the movie nonchalantly revealed itself to be yet another decadent Hollywood bukkake party set to a romantic score, I began feeling uncomfortable with the premise. The protagonist progresses through the story not by his own merits, but by some pure chance that hovers snugly around him like a penis scarf. It was about as believable as Crash. But what seemed to be even more improbable was the fact that my penis had slithered back to the concession stand to buy another large tub of popcorn without asking me first, and in total disregard of the fact that I told him he could get one—just one—snack.
I eventually resolved to ignore my penis (as if that were really possible). But what irked me as I sat through the film’s meandering dialogue was the fact that, at several points during the movie, my penis proved to be a frustrating obstruction to the viewing experience. Midway through one scene, in which characters exposited some important diegetic information about the whereabouts of the film’s titular millions, I noticed that a large shadow had engulfed about a quarter of the screen. The shadow was, of course, cast by my enormous penis. I tried shouting, “Down in front, penis!” But my shouts were to no avail.
For all its flaws, there was a lot to like about the film. There were lots of average sized penises, and a few bigger ones that really gave me hope of living a normal life one day. I won’t spoil the ending, since I didn’t see it. But then, I guess no one else in that theater saw it either. They were all too busy running in fear from my colossal erection.
Grade: C-
Next Week’s Review: The Curious Case of How the Little Button on My Pants Was Unable to Contain My Enormous Benjamin
// Justin Linton
somehow raining ice and/or glass. And, when my friend and fellow editor Nick Bailey tried to give me a ride up the hill, his car spun out, unable to make the climb. I was thrown safely from the car, as Nick made a rapid descent, crashing into a telephone pole, providing him with a violent
untimely death. Nick Bailey is dead. Why am I excited you ask? Because this can only mean one thing. SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!!!
Ever since 1st grade I have gone to sleep on snowy nights dreamy of a glorious day off. Nothing excites me more than a snow day, and I will go to great lengths to get one. Before bed, I will do an old native American ice dance. In the morning I will shovel extra snow on to President Knobel’s doorstep. Hell, I’ll even sleep with Mother Nature if it means she keeps this sleet up.
This all got me thinking. Sure, I’ve always been excited about snow days, but I’ve always lived in a wintry climate. What do children do when they do not live around snow? I looked it up on Wikipedia and found some
exciting answers for you all.
-In Hawaii, children hope for the many volcanoes of the state to erupt,
simultaneously. The islands will soon be set ablaze, the fire killing most everyone in its path. The children left standing rejoice on rooftops,
exclaiming “lapule mei ‘okakopa po’aha!” which translates roughly to “though I have lost my family, I have gained a much needed day of relief!”
-In Columbia children go to sleep praying that the local drug czar will find a job as a successful actor and give up the cocaine business. In doing so he will toss bags upon bags in to the street. Frightened that their children might develop a new habit, parents will prevent the youth from
wandering outside. Instead, the high population of stray cats will eat the narcotic. Cocaine’s effect on cats causes the animal to attack authority figures. Days like these usually result in two weeks off from school; a win that American children can only dream about.
-Finally homeschooled children in Florida must take matters in to their own hands. Hoping for an extremely rare appearance from snow is not enough. They spend their entire day in school, as it is their home. Instead, they wait for the darkest night of the year. They then sneak in to the room of their parents, strip them of their clothes, and bound them to the bed using duct tape and twine. Ironically, they then flee to the local school where they are amazed by the large hallways, individual desks, and urine ceilings floors. As a red-headed bully stuffs them in a locker they are known to exclaim “this opportunity is certainly something Father could not provide in his slippers.” A recent study of this phenomenon find that 58% of children die from this experience, most likely due to an over-exposure to children of the same age and interests.
________________________________________________________
Dear Denison,
My name’s Amanda Moore, and I lost my camera in its camera bag last Monday. The bag is large (about 12" x 5" x 7") and black with blue lettering (I think it says Ambica or Amico or something). I left it in Curtis dining hall and it was taken to the service center downstairs. I called on Tuesday and was told it was there. I was in D.C. at the time. After standing in the cold for many hours, I ended up sick for the rest of the week. I stopped by Friday afternoon and it wasn’t there. I waited until Tuesday, when the offices were open again, to see if maybe it had been placed in the back. It had not been. So the only possible solution I can see is that it was stolen. If you stole my camera, please read on.
I’m poor and I’m not afraid to say it. My mom works part-time at a convenience store and I never met my dad. I cannot afford to buy a camera. I love photography. The camera you stole was my first digital SLR, the nicest camera I ever held in my hands. It was an extremely expensive holiday present from my extremely thoughtful boyfriend. It cannot be replaced. I’m sure you thought it’d be nice to have for yourself or that you’d make some cash selling it. Please don’t. Please take it back to the service center. Just say you found it somewhere. Or take it to Slayter, I don’t care. Just give me back my camera. Please.
Sincerely,
Amanda Moore
moore_a
___________________________________________________________________________________
The following is a parody of Tuesday’s Denisonian article, which was titled, “Slumdog a slump, despite raving reviews.” My article is entitled, “Slumdog a slump, despite my enormous penis.”
Upon entering the theater, the manager took my penis wheelbarrow away from me, claiming that it would create an obstruction for other viewers. You must not have seen my penis, I thought but couldn’t muster up the penis courage to say. I was forced to suffer the humiliation of slinging my penis over my shoulder and carrying it with much effort to my seat.
I shoved past most people, attempting to conceal my clearly massive penis, hoping that the handicapped seat in the back of the theater was still available. It wasn’t. Sadly someone with two broken kneecaps had decided that they’re ailment was worse than mine. Hey, don’t apologize to me, weak knees! Apologize to the person in front of me who’s going to be wearing my dick like a scarf! Finally, I made myself at home in the 5th row, and my penis was able to serve as comfortable seating for those forced into the aisles by its incredible girth. Now it was time for everyone to calm down, sit on my penis, and watch the movie.
Slumdog Millionaire is a bank heist film in typical Eurasian style, the endings of which are always fights to the death in piles of elephant bones (see: The Protector). But as the movie nonchalantly revealed itself to be yet another decadent Hollywood bukkake party set to a romantic score, I began feeling uncomfortable with the premise. The protagonist progresses through the story not by his own merits, but by some pure chance that hovers snugly around him like a penis scarf. It was about as believable as Crash. But what seemed to be even more improbable was the fact that my penis had slithered back to the concession stand to buy another large tub of popcorn without asking me first, and in total disregard of the fact that I told him he could get one—just one—snack.
I eventually resolved to ignore my penis (as if that were really possible). But what irked me as I sat through the film’s meandering dialogue was the fact that, at several points during the movie, my penis proved to be a frustrating obstruction to the viewing experience. Midway through one scene, in which characters exposited some important diegetic information about the whereabouts of the film’s titular millions, I noticed that a large shadow had engulfed about a quarter of the screen. The shadow was, of course, cast by my enormous penis. I tried shouting, “Down in front, penis!” But my shouts were to no avail.
For all its flaws, there was a lot to like about the film. There were lots of average sized penises, and a few bigger ones that really gave me hope of living a normal life one day. I won’t spoil the ending, since I didn’t see it. But then, I guess no one else in that theater saw it either. They were all too busy running in fear from my colossal erection.
Grade: C-
Next Week’s Review: The Curious Case of How the Little Button on My Pants Was Unable to Contain My Enormous Benjamin
// Justin Linton
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
New Semester, New President
Hello all,
I am currently at UVM for the semester, I know, kind of lame that I'm still in the US yet abroad, but whatever. I'm working with the newspaper here, which was (I think, don't quote me) number five for University student-run publications in the US? It's called the Cynic, it's cool, I'm doing layout stuff. I miss the 'sheet though, especially since our trusty Junior Editor Cruz is gone now too. So, what's going on Denison? Anything exciting? Oh, wait, right, yesterday was MLK day and today we swore in a black president... saweeeet. I can only imagine what the soldiers in Irag and Iran and Afghanistan are thinking, probably they have no idea what to do, cease fire, take a nap, drink a little bit. The war isn't over, but Obama gives us hope for the nation we live in and the relationships we hold with other nations. I really commend his approach at the Inaugural Address with his references to the past present and future and the struggles we've come through. There's a lot to be said also that he called the US a young country, we are still so young, and it's a good perspective to put it into that we are no longer children, that we must take responsibility and make wiser choices for everything involved, not just mindlessly attacking countries and innocent people in the name of freedom.
I am so utterly excited for what the next four years could bring and only hope that Obama follows through. There's so much promise and faith put in him, I really hope he can do what he says he can. I'm sure Denison is in an uproar today, between Republicans and Democrats and the general promise of the future. Being such a small residential campus, there is a better opportunity for community and togetherness felt today. UVM has 10,000 kids, today I sat in my living room with three of my housemates and we watched the events together but I couldn't help think, what if I was in Slayter, with I'm sure, at least 30 people watching this event, the feeling that must have been in that building and all the other buildings across campus. Here, you cannot stop class to watch things like that because it is such a larger community, here you cannot feel a unity as easily as you can at Denison, and though it's sometimes a good thing, today I wish I had the community of Denison, to feel the utter intensity and passion for Obama's words that I'm sure is present.
Have a great semester, everyone! I wish you all the best!
See you in the Fall! -Laura Masters, JR Co-Editor
I am currently at UVM for the semester, I know, kind of lame that I'm still in the US yet abroad, but whatever. I'm working with the newspaper here, which was (I think, don't quote me) number five for University student-run publications in the US? It's called the Cynic, it's cool, I'm doing layout stuff. I miss the 'sheet though, especially since our trusty Junior Editor Cruz is gone now too. So, what's going on Denison? Anything exciting? Oh, wait, right, yesterday was MLK day and today we swore in a black president... saweeeet. I can only imagine what the soldiers in Irag and Iran and Afghanistan are thinking, probably they have no idea what to do, cease fire, take a nap, drink a little bit. The war isn't over, but Obama gives us hope for the nation we live in and the relationships we hold with other nations. I really commend his approach at the Inaugural Address with his references to the past present and future and the struggles we've come through. There's a lot to be said also that he called the US a young country, we are still so young, and it's a good perspective to put it into that we are no longer children, that we must take responsibility and make wiser choices for everything involved, not just mindlessly attacking countries and innocent people in the name of freedom.
I am so utterly excited for what the next four years could bring and only hope that Obama follows through. There's so much promise and faith put in him, I really hope he can do what he says he can. I'm sure Denison is in an uproar today, between Republicans and Democrats and the general promise of the future. Being such a small residential campus, there is a better opportunity for community and togetherness felt today. UVM has 10,000 kids, today I sat in my living room with three of my housemates and we watched the events together but I couldn't help think, what if I was in Slayter, with I'm sure, at least 30 people watching this event, the feeling that must have been in that building and all the other buildings across campus. Here, you cannot stop class to watch things like that because it is such a larger community, here you cannot feel a unity as easily as you can at Denison, and though it's sometimes a good thing, today I wish I had the community of Denison, to feel the utter intensity and passion for Obama's words that I'm sure is present.
Have a great semester, everyone! I wish you all the best!
See you in the Fall! -Laura Masters, JR Co-Editor
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