My Cheesy Valentine

A favorite word of my dad and I is “psychotronic,” a term that comes from Michael J. Weldon’s Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film. Psychotronic, according to that bastion of scholarly integrity known as Wikipedia, means: “a genre made up of horror films, spaghetti westerns, low-budget independent features, exploitation films.” It’s all those rude and crude flicks that played in grindhouses or were discovered by thrill junkie viewers on video cassette (and now DVD). When I saw the trailer for My Bloody Valentine 3D I knew: this is psychotronic. Besides the fact that it’s *a 3D slasher film*, the trailer features the unforgettable tag line “Nothing says ‘date movie’… like a 3D ride to Hell!” So I was game for seeing it, knowing full well that it would be lame-brained and derivative—but hopefully fun. I wasn’t disappointed. My Bloody Valentine is a remake of an 80s slasher film (back when one was released virtually every week) that took its name from yet another holiday It’s hardly considered a classic, but given how many horror remakes (or “reimaginings,” as is now the term de jour), have been big hits lately, it was only a matter of time before this one got its own face lift. Indeed, the only reason it wasn’t released Valentine’s Day weekend is because Michael Bay’s Friday the 13th update comes out that week! The plot, what there is of one, centers on Harmony, “a small town slice of Norman Rockwell” (the screenwriter must’ve stayed up all night coming up with that one) still shaken by a series of brutal murders ten years earlier. See, Harmony’s a mining town, and one Valentine’s Day local Harry Warden, having been in a coma after surviving a deadly mine collapse years earlier (which he did only by slaughtering his fellow miners to preserve oxygen) reawakens. He wipes out the entire hospital staff, then heads back to the mine where a group of teens—including lovers Tom (Jensen Ackles) and Sarah (Jaime King)—are foolishly having a party. He murders most of them in mining gear, pick ax in hand, but Sarah escapes with some friends, while Tom comes within an inch of his life before Warden is shot down by the cops—or is he? A decade later, as we’re reminded on a near constant basis (“ten years ago” is uttered more in this movie than “Valentine’s Day” is), Tom returns to close down the mine left to him by his dead father, while also trying to reconnect with Sarah, now married to Axel (yes, Axel: it’s that kind of a movie). Axel is played, with “ten years later” mustache and hair reminiscent of Jake Gyllenhaal in the later scenes of Brokeback Mountain, by Dawson’s Creek alum Kerr Smith-- clearly not the winner of the post WB Network career sweepstackes. (Michelle Williams is an Oscar nominee. Smith is the irritating star of a 3D slasher remake. Even James Van Der Beek fared better than this.) He and Tom fight over Sarah with such an ardor that you start to wonder if something else is really going on here. (Sexual tension you could cut with a pick ax, perhaps?) Meanwhile, a killer in mining garb is at it again, but is it really Warden—or has someone else picked up his deadly mantle? The resolution came as a mild surprise, in a that-was-a-cheat kind of a way, but then I didn’t really come to this movie expecting startling originality. I wanted 3D blood and gore, and I got them often enough, along with bonuses like at-times howlingly awful dialogue and uniformly bad acting. Ackles’ tank top does more acting here than he does; ditto the rest of the cast, including John Carpenter vet Tom Atkins, who phones in his generic Grizzled Former Cop role like he’s signing DVDs at yet another convention (which I happen to know he does regularly). My favorite scenes were the opening hospital massacre, which is more gruesomely fun than anything that follows (loved the dripping hand hovering in the foreground), a wince-inducing spike-through-the-eye bit (we’re made to share the victim’s here-it-comes POV) and the horrible fate met by a cleaning lady in a dryer mysteriously large enough to house her entire body. (She’s Latina, and a midget also gets rammed into the ceiling, so clearly this movie is an Equal Opportunity Killer.) There’s also an inspired scene with a totally nude woman trying to fight off the killer, ensuring that the audience gets three-dimensional T&A to go with their stalk-‘n-slash. But by the time the 101 minute My Bloody Valentine 3D ends, it feels much too long; the admittedly well done “Real D Technology” has lost its novelty, and we’re reminded that when it comes to great horror, strong writing, direction, and acting are more powerful than a flying pick ax any day of the year.

A real gym bunny (??)

So I’ve decided to get in shape—at long last!—and so have joined the Chelsea Piers Gym, right by my work. (“Does your gym inspire you?” ask their ads. Umm, I dunno, but that dude in the Speedo sure does.) I went in the morning, to get a workout in before my shift. It was quite nice, actually. Not many people there. The views were pretty cool, too. Naturally I worked up a sweat—I haven’t been to the gym since the mid-90s!-- but it felt good to finally be doing something to improve my own health. I stuck to the treadmill and the cycle; I was a little freaked out by some of the wacky, intense machines being used by other people. A blond woman in her 30s was on her back, moving her legs which were slung in some kind of weird strap configuration. I thought she looked like Chelsea Handler, and then wondered what if it was her? But then I figured Chelsea must have her own private gym. I mean, can you imagine how annoying it would be if you were her and at the gym, getting mobbed by random muscle Marys? “Oh my God, I loooove your show! What do you think of Sarah Palin?” And you’re trying to be nice, and accommodating, and think up some quip about Palin but really you’re just sweaty and annoyed and needing to be left alone so that you can do your Cardio. (By the way, I checked and it wasn’t her.) Afterwards I hit the showers. (Wow, I’ve never written that before. Doesn’t it sound soooo butch?) I’ve always been a modest person, and so the locker room freaks me out a bit. I’ve never understood how guys tuck in their towels so that they cling perfectly to their bodies. Whenever I try that—and I did today, believe me—the towel always falls off really easily. Luckily there weren’t many people at the gym at that time, so I wasn’t too freaked. But when I returned to the locker area, there was a gorgeous, buff boy sitting on the bench—not the kind of person I want seeing me naked in my current state. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized I was in the wrong row, and my stuff was in the next one over. Thank God for small miracles! Maybe in a few months I’ll be ready to do the Full Monty in front of the cast of Another Gay Sequel, but not right now.

"Happy" ending

I know you all have been waiting with bated breath for another update from yours truly. Hope that you all had a joyous Fourth of July, btw. I just got back from a week with my parents, which came right after Pride here in NYC. Pride was... well... interesting this year. It didn't help that the weather was horrible: humid on Saturday, wet and muggy on Sunday. (They literally rained on our damn parade! The only upshot to that was all the dripping wet man candy on display-- le sigh.) I realized this was my first New York Pride without a boyfriend of some sort-- Doug in '06, Jacob last year-- but sadly there were no hot flings to report. Instead, I got a big steaming pile of earnest rejection from Roman, the one I'd been pining for over the last couple months. After two weeks of waiting for our supposed dinner date (see "Seriously..."), he finally told me what was up on Sunday night at XES. (You know, where I was supposed to be having fun. At least Peppermint, the world's sweetest drag queen was there, and they played great music like Dolly Parton's "9 to 5.") He just got out of a two year relationship, he tends to seclude himself from the world when he's upset so don't take it personally, yada yada yada... I was at least glad that he was honest with me, though I kind of wish he'd told me all this when I asked him out in the first place. (As much fun as all the neuroses and self doubt were...) So I left all sad and depressed-y, although we texted back and forth the next week and we're cool now. I know it doesn't really have anything to do with me, after all, and although it's a bummer-- I hadn't had a crush like this in a long time-- at least I don't have to worry about it anymore. And I'm plenty excited for the rest of the summer; next week I'm going to see my friend Alex for the first time in close to a year, and in August Jacob's coming in for a visit. Who knows? Maybe there's some love to come this summer, too.

It's not the heat, it's the humidity.

I just felt like it needed to be said.

Viva Hollywood: Me thinks the lady doth protest too much

Last night I caught the second episode of "the greatest show in the history of reality television," VH1's Viva Hollywood. It had more of what made me love the premiere so much: copious amounts of eye candy, bad acting, and brilliant cheese. This week's Deadly Sin was "Lust," so first off the contestants were ambushed by a yoga lesson that they were encouraged to do... in the nude. First the male instructor stripped down, his naughty bits covered up by a giant cartoon sombrero. Then a few of the guys followed suit, and while we couldn't see any of their naughty bits, either (more sombreros), it was still kind of hot to watch. To quote Vinci (above), I almost wished I were "watching TV, you know... by myself." The only girl to bare all was Jenn, and the poor thing endured no small amount of taunting from the other women. Gisel, that bitch, took the opportunity to hurl insults at her along with all the others; no one seemed to acknowledge the fact that they had all been told to do this, yet were all too chicken to do so. Next up, two telenovela stars came on to coach the contestants on their love scene challenge. Last week's winner, Roseny (the one who insulted the famous star she won dinner with) got to pair up the others, and she threw in some nice wrenches: Gisel was matched up with Janet for a lesbian scene, while macho guys Berto and Vinci were paired for a gay one. While Gisel was stymied, her reaction was nothing compared to Vinci's: he promptly threw a fit, started crying, and stalked off to his room to start packing. While the others trained for their scenes, Berto was stuck trying to coax Vinci out of his room. "Come out!" he cried, which made me happy to no end. The guest trainers attempted to reason with him as well. While Berto was willing to do the scene, since it's an acting challenge, Vinci was throwing a baby-ish fit. All of it seemed to indicate someone who's not at all secure in his sexuality. (Earlier Vinci had also noted his discomfort with doing yoga so close to the naked Enrique, who seems to be gay himself.) While Vinci did agree to do the scene, he insisted on changing the script, ostensibly to "show his acting skills" but in truth to remove any kissing or excessive touching. Ultimately, the "love scene" basically amounted to Berto's character coming on to his friend and being gently rebuffed; at the end, they hugged and Vinci gave him a superficial pat on the back. It's too bad, cause both guys have great bodies and played the scene in shorts and towels, all sweaty-- so if they made out it might have been fun to watch... you know... by myself. Meanwhile, prudish Gisel suggested she and Janet get liquored up to practice their love scene; Kalain continued to demonstrate his lack of any acting talent whatsoever as he mumbled, "Your husband will be home any minute"; and Roseny regretted choosing Geovannie as her scene partner, since he became extremely hands-y during rehearsals and filming. I was irritated by this last bit myself, since a few of my girlfriends have suffered similarly unpleasant situations. In the end, Berto won the challenge, which made me happy; he turned in a great performance as the gay friend, and he'd also had to put up with more crap than any of the others. Still, when he won a $10,000 shopping spree and was given the option to share it with someone, he picked Vinci. I would have smacked the goon for what he put me through, but it does seem to have been a calculated move on Berto's part, since he was heard commenting that "I know this will make me look good." I think I may have found someone to root for. Meanwhile, Alexcy was chosen as the loser, and while he wasn't stellar, I would have picked the emotionless Janet, who was actually praised for her wooden performance. (Maybe because it was somehow an improvement over her losing one last week?) The housemates deliberated and went to the chapel to pick Alexcy's duel mate (where many of them had decided to vote for Geovannie in some sort of strategery). Vinci got his share of votes, too; if you ask me, he should have been the landslide "winner." In any case, Alexcy and Geovannie's face-off was not nearly as dramatic as the sob fest between Jaimny and Janet the previous week. Alexcy acted all cocky and went on about his star quality, while Geovannie resorted to lots of big hand gestures. In the end, the hosts decided to give Alexcy the ax, or the bullet in this case. He and Geovannie's death scene ended with Alexcy's character lying on a bed, apparently shot to death with no wound of any kind. (I was amused by the scene's start: Geovannie walks in to find the other man lying in a robe, taunting him with the line "If you come close, you can probably still smell her perfume on me." Mmm... hot.) Next week looks like more of Vinci being a primadonna (how butch) and, hopefully, loads more shirtlessness from all the guys. I can hardly wait.

Mean Boys

Last night my friend Sarah and I went to see Never Back Down, the new ultimate fighting movie starring Sean Faris (Life As We Know It, one of my fave canceled series), and Cam Gigandet (The OC, one of my fave series, period). We were prepared to revel in campy badness-- we were there to see sweaty half-naked boys pummel each other, not great cinema-- but the film was surprisingly decent. It's like a good B-movie, essentially. Faris stars as Jake Tyler (a made-up name if ever there was one), a troubled teen who moves with his family to Orlando and finds he can't escape his fight-heavy past. In one of the film's more amusing touches, a video of his opening tussle with a football player has already made the rounds at his new school-- seen in a montage of wired teens watching it on their laptops and iPhones. (After Cloverfield and Diary of the Dead, I think it's safe to declare 2008 the Year of the YouTube Movie. What's next, Hamlet as shot on a cell phone camera?) Jake is invited to a party by a non-descript blonde cutie (Amber Heard) named Baja (?!), but it turns out to be an ambush: Ryan McCarthy, a popular blonde Nazi with abs of steel, wants to beat the shit out of Jake in front of half the school. Jake decides he can't give up the fight, so to speak, and takes the advice of adoring would-be heavyweight Max (Evan Peters) to join up with wise trainer Jean (Djimon Hounsou). Jean teaches Jake how to tame his emotions and improve his fight skills, leading to a final showdown (naturally) with the beyond-maniacal Ryan. Along the way, Jake begins a romance with Baja (she's got curves to spare, but there's zero chemistry between the two and it's one of those underwritten we-have-to-have-something-with-a-girl things) and tries to come to terms with the death of his father. Through it all is, naturally, an undercurrent of simmering homeroticism, from the moment early on when an announcer proclaims, "These two have been going at it all night!" to Ryan stripping off his shirt and pants for he and Jake's first match to the scene in which Ryan holds Jake down and growls that they're going to "get it on" soon. Other than these amusing double entendres, there's not really anything new here, but the cast is likable (Oscar-nominated Hounsou naturally out-acts everyone else) and the cinematography, production design, and music are all polished. The fight scenes are effective and well-edited without falling into that MTV/ADD style that plagues too many action flicks these days. Gigandet has a real knack for playing Adonis-type sociopaths; as Sarah remarked, "He can do that smile where he's almost sweet, but then he's not." He's the type of guy who could convince your mother he was an upstanding young man, then turn around and knee you in the groin. Hard. The only aspects of the performance that rang hollow were essentially the writers' fault: one lame scene with a domineering dad isn't enough to humanize or explain Ryan, and a moment late in the movie would seem to imply that he's actually learned some sort of lesson, and that he and Jake now have a mutual respect for each other. (Yeah, right! This ain't Mean Girls.) Of course, you have to wonder what it says about today's youth culture that there's such a ravenous, file sharing audience for Ryan's demented bloodsports. But that's a matter for another, deeper movie. This one is for those of us who are fight fans-- or who just like hot, sweaty men.