LOOSE ENDS
Afternoon Links: Charlie Rides a Tank
By Tess Lynch atCharlie Sheen rode a tank onto the Warner Brothers lot. ("I used to be able to cruise on in. Not anymore.")
Charlie Sheen rode a tank onto the Warner Brothers lot. ("I used to be able to cruise on in. Not anymore.")
Last week, apropos of nearly nothing, The Hollywood Reporter ran a fawning cover story on Conan O’Brien. “REVENGE OF THE NERD” blared the headline, while the article itself gushed over the star’s “relaxed and happy” appearance and how, two and a half years removed from his debacle at NBC, the star has “no regrets.” Ratings for Conan, O’Brien’s TBS show, while never good, have rebounded of late, from losing-to-Chelsea Lately embarrassment to Colbert-trailing near-respectability. But the bulk of the discussion regarding Conan’s place in the late-night firmament uses words that make the show seem less like a success and more like the fevered, PowerPoint dreams of an overcaffeinated marketer. The story, like most written about O’Brien these days, points to “new viewing platforms” and recent accomplishments “invading the digital space” — buzzy nonsense that suggests a multi-million-dollar talk show ought to have the same long-term goals as Keyboard Cat — and the word “Twitter” is tossed around liberally, as if its very invocation can ward off the evil spirits of viewer stagnation and basic cable irrelevance. “If success were only about ratings, we’d just run Westerns all the time,” TBS president Steve Koonin is quoted as saying, an oddly backhanded defense of his decision to extend O’Brien’s contract through 2014.
Chuck Klosterman: Everyone assumes Ronnie James Dio lived in an ancient windswept realm populated by dragons and elfin thieves, but that's only a fraction of his mythos; after his three-year stint in Black Sabbath, he sometimes roamed sexualized dreamscapes dominated by teenage magicians. It's sad there are not videos like this today, since this was an excellent way for American kids to learn about lightning and telekinetic conjuring. Things get a little confusing at the 2:30 mark (I feel like Dio's conflict with the invisible werebear/alien should have been a larger part of the narrative), but at least the onscreen action corresponds with the song's undeniable chorus. At least we get an accurate portrait of unfathomable reality. Today, this brand of information is far too politicized.
Das Racist didn’t really need to do anything out of the ordinary on Conan last night to get attention: the fact that the Internet’s favorite haha(?)-rap group was making a late-night TV appearance was notable enough on its own. But Das Racist did not become the internet’s favorite haha(?)-rap group by not doing anything out of the ordinary! The above performance of their single “Michael Jackson” starts off, promisingly, with hypeman Dapwell hanging out behind a lectern and gesturing, like a horror-movie preacher, with what could have been a percussion instrument but also looked like kitchen tongs. Then Heems and Victor take turns rapping, in the most uninterested manner possible. There are lackadaisical wig reveals and keyboard head butts; also, Heems turns his boast “I’m fucking great at raaaaapppppppping” into a less emphatic, but more comical, “Yo, I’m good at [Cookie Monster voice] rapping.” Then, a Michael Jackson impersonator comes out and kills it. Whoever writes the blurbs for Conan videos sounds like he or she was in on the joke: “The unique hip-hop duo rocks out stage 15 with hot ladies, cymbals, and their newest hit!” Nonetheless, Conan did not seem overly enthused during the goodbye handshakes.
In yesterday’s New York Times, Bill Carter — the Homer of the late night talk show Odyssey — penned a depressing, reality-checking piece about the state of the desks. The takeaway: the era of glib, monologue delivering, band-having, big-chinned raconteurs is over. Comedy Central’s one-two punch of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert — with their innate ability to attract millions of savvy, young eyeballs with nothing more expensive than a brightly-lit set and a staff of nerdy, male Harvard graduates — was the epoch-altering meteor that sealed the dinosaurs’ fate. But according to Carter, the sea-change in entertainment — how we consume it and how much we have to choose from — is what’s hastening their demise. (If you’re a scientist, think of this as the sun-blocking dust kicked up by said meteor. If you’re Michele Bachmann, consider it the legion of diplodocus-hunting ur-men who re-claimed the Earth for the true children of Adam. Either way.)
The dog days of August are upon us. In your office, every day is like Sunday; in your neighborhood, swings creak in the wind, the children who usually occupy them cavorting on a beach 300 miles away. The city is as empty of humanity as the third act of a zombie movie.
The good news: You won’t have to fight the crowds to see a movie this weekend. The bad news: There’s nothing worth seeing. Tomorrow is Rehash Friday, when every movie released is a pale imitation of something that came before. (See below for more on Rehash Friday.) But that means it’s a great week for RazzieWatchers, because it’s a perfect time to take a look at one of the Golden Raspberries’ most competitive categories, Worst Prequel, Remake, Rip-off or Sequel.
