So, dropping from really good, thought-provoking films like The Last Temptation of Christ
, and alarming, (alright, TERRIFYING) docu-dramas like Jesus Camp
, comes a disturbingly low-budgeted film that is, in fact, so low budget I could swear they've hired a former porn star as the main actress. Her eyebrows
attest to this.C Me Dance
is, based on the trailer, an annoying, dialogue-filled drama emo rant from those same idiots that work for Kirk Cameron.
I have nothing against Christian films where the outcome is worth the effort. This movie isn't even worth the paper the movie tickets are printed on! And what's terrifying, it's in North Carolina.
It is disturbing to me that such a low-budget, bad-acting film is getting into theaters. This is not an indie flick, like Slumdog Millionare
. It's not even going to make you think, nor is it comfortable brain candy.
To put it plainly: it's ANNOYING. The producers try to cover the craptastic acting and lamesauce makeup jobs (seriously, Satan has no eyebrows a la Angel in vamp form), with the thunderous trumpets of how badly you're gonna burn in their extra hot toaster oveny Hell if you don't fight the demons and praise Jesus.
No, really. That's the extent of it.
I've got nothing against the film except that I think it's really fucking bad, and that I'm not going to pay seven dollars to be preached to. I can go to church if I want that!
But the sheer audacity of the numbers speak for themselves. The movie only grossed 30,000 dollars
on opening weekend, and opened on 150 screens. In the movie world, that's PEANUTS.
The biggest part that bugs me is not even so much the plot (although that needed some serious work), it's the acting. When I first saw the trailer (and yes, I was made to suffer that trailer in a real movie theater, not on Youtube), we actually thought it was a joke. Or a public service announcement. Or a low-budget soft core PORN film. The acting is just crappy. Maybe if they'd spent a little more time or gotten a better studio to finance it, it could have been a good film.
As it is, it was better off going straight to video.
Tom comes home tommrrow. You have no idea how thrilled I am. I wasn't expecting him until April 9th.
- Music:If Your Vagina Could Talk--The Vagina Monologues
So I'm in Washington DC for Spring Break, and ironically, I leave tommrrow, and I'm just now posting. But it's okay.
Liz and I have been tromping around the outsides of the city, exploring, checking out the campus, having fun.
We generally get in by eight or nine o'clock, exhausted from having walked different suburbs of Washington. Yesterday we went to Silver Spring, where I found amazing 30-40s tawdry paperback novels. You know the kind I mean, with a seductive looking woman and a leering man? Pulp fiction is what they're called now, but they're not exactly that.
Here, have an example:
In any case, I found five of those little lovelies, but I only bought four of them, because one was too expensive.
Today I finally manage to get some work done at U of Maryland's gorgeous library. Then tonight, Liz is going to show me how to dry paint with acrylic. It should be interesting.
Oops, I have exactly ten minutes to catch a bus!
It's gonna be a wild, non-stop forty eight hours of hard core craziness, starting tommrrow at 6, when every feminist in the city will show up at my doorstep.
Pasta, Pellegrino, and world domination. (Or equality, whichever way you want to put it!) Then, it's the celebration of the finale of this years' Vagina Monologues, aka the Thank God/dess It's Over! But Didn't We Have Fun? party. We'll be at Ham's, and we'll be the screaming, sultry, sexy vixens at the big round table who are constantly calling the waiter for another glass of gin and tonic, and who bring bottles of wine, because Ham's wine list is non-existent.
We'll also be the cat-eyed, crimson mouthed, curved smiling chicks who aren't afraid to say the word "VAGINA". Loudy, and on non-stop constant repeat. "Bob", "Vagina Motherfuckers", "It is ILLEGAL to sell vibrators in the following states:", and "I was in the room, and I remember" will also make cameo appearances, mostly likely backed up by the giddy, crazy exuberance that is what you get when you put fifteen wild, feminist, not-taking-shit film noir and designer-label wearing dames in a room!
We'll paint our lips scarlet. We'll purr at the waiters. We'll say the name of our own genitalia, OUT LOUD, for the whole world to hear. And honey, that's just Friday.
On Saturday, Ashley, Dana, Val and I will stuff ourselves into a cute little Camry and go on a road trip to the Mind, Body, Spirit Expo up in Raleigh. We'll buy crescant moon necklaces and get our chi examined, compare our own spirituality, and the worth of ourselves as women. I'll be wearing any one of my sexy little forties dresses, so just look for the brunette in Nine West Jostle ivory pumps and a pretty little understated vintage clutch, chattering with three fierce, outrageous babes, one of which will look like a 1950s bombshell.
After the Expo, Dana and I are dressing up in little black wriggle dresses and putting on our highest heels and our reddest lipsticks and going out for a night on the town! It's Valentine's Day, and nothing could be cuter than fooling a waiter into thinking we're lesbians. After all, no one can say no to comped bottles of champagne, and I don't intend to try! We'll drink, and dance, and giggle for hours until it's way too dark to see.
And then I'll come home and peel off my little black dress and gorgeous chocolate Victoria's Secrets bra that I'm saving for a night just like this. And I'll call you, in my flesh thigh high stockings and my pretty matching thong and garter belt. And we'll talk. For hours and hours, and we'll be together in sounds and voices and gentle words, since we're not going to be in the same state, hell, or even the same time zone.
It's gonna be one crazy weekend, so crazy I won't even have time to hold up a Starbucks for my caffeine addiction. I guess I'll have to do it all on adrenaline alone--adrenaline and this bright, glorious feeling that I love.
There is a book I'm reading. Burned Alive: A Victim of the Law of Men, is written as it was told to a ghostwriter by a woman who was burned in her Palestinian village.
She was burned because she was unmarried and pregnant. They burned her for that most terrible of crimes: love.
I've read nearly all this book. It's short, maybe 215 pages at most. But the story is terrible, and horrible. The pain and the anguish are so great that you cannot even rage against this woman's family. Everything was done in accordance to custom.
The woman's name is Souad. She has no last name, for protective purposes. Although she now lives in Europe, and is considered legally dead in her home village, her case is what is called an honor killing: if her family discovered she was alive, they would do everything in their power to kill her.
Those involved in rescues like Souad's have seen it happen.
I cried for most of the book. I cried as I sat in a university cafe, with students coming and going, listening to Ipods, talking on cell phones, reading textbooks. And the sorrow threatened to overwhelm me.
What can we, as Americans, as women, as people, do about honor killings like Souad's? Once your eyes are opened, it is impossible to close them again. And yet, there is a frustrating feeling of helplessness. We cannot go and rescue every young woman who dares to fall in love. There are organizations to join, like the one mentioned in Burned Alive, Le Hommes de Terres (People of Earth), but can one person really make a difference?
I say yes. When I read Souad's story, I wanted to take her in my arms and cry. I wanted to understand her great and terrible fear of fire, her shame in her scars, her terror that her husband might leave her, because he is Arabic, because she is scarred, and in her own words, "a pile of garbage".
And it frustrated me, because I knew people who could help her. And I didn't know if it was out of place to go to them and ask for help. This woman, whom I am only connected to by reading her story, I desperately want to help. I want her to stop being ashamed of her scars, but at the same time, I understand why she is. I wish her husband could prove to her that he won't leave her, but he's already doing that, by being there every day.
It breaks my heart to see this woman, who represents the women of her culture, in pain, in sorrow. She believed for a long time that her gender made her worthless.
And it is for her, and for all the women and girls who continue to believe that, that we can't stop fighting.
Between the constant performances of the Vagina Monologues, my body thinking that 7 pm is midnight, and my bouts of insomnia, it's gonna be a long ass week.
...I've crossed a threshold, broken a barrier, waded through a river. I've left the dark and entered the light. I needed my journal to be bright too.
Look, people, it's Christmas Eve. My boyfriend is home, there's movies and a fire going, I got nothing better to do than torture all you other people who are sucked into the interwebz this holiday season.
But for the record: Brazilian waxes are teh BOMB. I encourage every female between the ages of 18-45 to get one pronto.
This broadcast has been given by your local health and beauty aids.
In other news:
Jaden Smith beat out his father for punk ass wtfery, by being the WHINEST KID ON THE FUCKING PLANET in The Day the Earth Stood Still. No, it wasn't as good as the original, but Jaden's performance was at least less suicidal douche and more whining idiot than Will Smith in Seven Pounds which I am CONVINCED is a right wing militant Christian conspiracy theory mixed in with a little of the leftover Jim Jones' Kool-Aid.
Also: Jennifer Connelly makes Keira Knightley look plump. How, I ask, is that possible? You keep this up honey, and the Labryinth? It ain't gonna let you in. Jareth, move on. Sarah is no longer Sarah.
Also, the weird tiny bug eating people thing? Weird. So very fucking weird. Also very creepy. The whole time I was watching it I had this crawly sensation like an entire horde of ticks had seen me and were howling to each other about the rump roast at two o'clock. It was irritating, to say the least.
There is, of course, a Messiah complex/conspiracy, and I'm pretty sure that the Earth no longer has electricity after the Big Glowing Ball ascends, but hey. THE GREENPEACE PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET A MESSAGE OUT: SAVE THE EARTH, OR WE ALL SUFFER WITH NO HBO!
Really, it was stupid, and I'm pretty sure that somewhere, Al Gore was beating off to it. You know, while he was congratulating himself on inventing the interwebz.
Okay, look, National Treasure is on and I don't know why I'm bothering to review a movie I thought was a piece of crap anyway, okay? Look, I don't know.