Summer Suckfest 2005
August. What is it good for?
During what seems to be the suckiest summer movie season in memory I have found solace in TiVoed episodes of USA’s "The 4400," SciFi’s "Battlestar Galactica," and VH1’s "Kept." My cinematic experiences haven’t been too memorable at the theaters in the past three months. And I don’t think I’m the only one out there. "Bewitched"? Didn’t bother. "The Island"? Voted off. "Stealth"? Big, um, bomb. On any given hot day all you had to do was look up at the marquee and spot a lame remake (or three) "now playing."
"The Dukes of Hazzard."
"The Honeymooners."
"The Bad News Bears."
"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (actually, not lame).
"War of the Worlds" (definitely not lame…well, there was that ending).
…and it goes on.
No wonder box-office receipts and theater attendance are down this year. Finally, America seems to be boycotting the Hollywooden crapola studios have been pouring into the overly air-conditioned megaplexes.
And it’s not like I’m succumbing to film-snobdom. I just happened to enjoy smaller, lesser-known films this season, like…"Heights" (Glenn Close…wow), "Mysterious Skin" (disturbing yet poignant), and "Happy Endings" (not perfect, but who knew Tom Arnold could actually…act?) And the only blockbusters worthy of the title were the aforementioned "War of the Worlds" and "Batman Begins."
"Wedding Crashers"? I just have to say: thank God someone made an unabashedly R-rated adult comedy. Enough with this PG-13 poop! As for the rest of the summer, the only flick I have a remote interest in seeing is "Red Eye," directed by Wes Craven and starring hottest-property-in-town Rachel McAdams (how can you NOT love her?). And don’t forget "March of the Penguins." I’ve been hearing critiques of the "I laughed, I cried, I loved it" variety everywhere I go.
The music of Summer ‘05 wasn’t very memorable either. Rihanna’s "Pon de Replay"? Very catchy and ass-shake-inducing, but very disposable. 50 Cent’s "Just a Lil Bit"? Criminal. D.H.T.’s cover of Heart’s "Listen to Your Heart"? Weak. Backstreet Boys’ album "Never Gone"? Sounds neutered.
My summer picks? Thought you’d never ask…
"Ashes" by Embrace - An anthemic British rock ditty that will have your heart soaring.
"Cool" by Gwen Stefani - Breezy 80s pop to get through those dog days.
"Chariot" by Gavin DeGraw - Soulful and transcendent. The Zach Braff-directed video is self-mockingly cute too.
"Don’t Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls - trash, yes. Resistible, no.
As for the jobby job-job? I am CC-ed on memos. I get to listen in on conference calls with the network. I get lunch brought to me. It’s nice.
Despite the lackluster entertainment of this steamy season, I shall close summer on a pretty positive note. For instance, last weekend: 3 birthday parties…
The first one was at a bar called The Velvet Margarita, teeming with tragically typical Hollywood trash. After telling the bouncer I was with the Radosh birthday party (my roommate), I walked through the padded door and past a velvet curtain, entering an eclectically designed bar. We jetted past the bar over which hung two large flat panel televisions playing Elvis movies. The outdoor back patio (it was an alley, really) was hopping with smokers, bad dancers, and a DJ who couldn’t play a record without it skipping over already confusing lyrics and beats. My pina colada was very creamy, and my stomach unleashed a vengeance I knew was inevitable.
Party #2 had a pool. It was a total Valley party, beer pong and all, located in the heart of Burbank. The house was frat boy chic — an ungodly filthy rug, two sofas that could’ve been picked up at the intersection of Derelict Drive and Bum Boulevard, a random hole in the wall (obviously punched in during a past debaucherous kegger), and an entertainment unit boasting all of the videogame systems and electronic toys all boys need for their dude dwellings. Ironically, the one clean-looking place was the bathroom, where the only filth you could find was in the pages of the FHMs and Maxims stacked on the toilet bowl. Needless to say, my posse and I did not partake in any swimming or pong. A grilled cheeseburger was all I needed.
In between the second and third party was a stop at a house in the hills for the GLAAD Volunteer Appreciation Party. I was not on the list; consider me a crasher. I let my friend Swaga do all the talking. Munch on some Mexican cuisine. Enter a raffle for an iPod Shuffle. Gulp down two Absoluts by the pool. And we’re done…Next!
The final stop was at my friend Pearl’s duplex for her birthday soiree. A DJ took up shop in the living room, but most of the guests gathered in the concrete backyard, taking turns on the hammock and on the bong that was made out of an Arrowhead water bottle. Tennis starlet Venus Williams made a cameo, but she was soon kicked out by the birthday girl for stirring up some drama; I’m not sure what exactly happened because I was falling asleep in said hammock and eavesdropping on nearby chatter (it’s what we writers do: observe). I ended up walking back to my car, which was 2 blocks away (damn you, parking restrictions!), and sliding into bed before the clock struck 2am.
Last night: An Sports Issue party and fall fashion show with 300+ guests at the W hotel, hosted by Instinct magazine, Land Rover, and Skyy Vodka. No celeb sightings to report. No drama to be had. It was just me, bumping into a poopload of acquaintances and friends of friends, gabbing about the lack of hors doeuvers, the insane price of the latest "Six Feet Under" DVD, and Madonna’s recent horseback-riding accident. The open bar did nothing for my appetite; I rushed straight from work without dinner. However, I was surprisingly functional during the event. Nevertheless, a little midnight session with friends at the Westwood Denny’s proved to be divine. Props to Wagner, our odd little waiter who didn’t seem to mind our excessive side orders of ranch dressing.
And so concludes a summer that could have used a little more sizzle. A summer that could have delivered a little more punch. A summer that could have been a little more than…eh.
Bring on the new TV season. Bring on the Oscar contenders. Bring on the foliage (in L.A. that means the fall colors at the Beverly Center).
I’ll be here waiting.
