Tag Archives: Lars Von Trier

02/17/2017 · 1:51 pm

Channel FUM

I propose a concept for a new 24-hour network.

FUM. The Fucked-Up Movies Channel.

By watching FUM, you agree to the terms and conditions of the network. In short:

All the movies aired on this channel are fucked up.
If you get fucked up by watching it, too fucking bad.

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Filed under Bad Influences, Faint Signals, Idiot's Delight, Movies You Missed, Saturday Movie Matinee, Thousand Listen Club, Unfairly Maligned, Worst Of All

Tagged as 1970s, 1990s, 2000s, 2005, Bling Bling, Bumfights, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Chloe Sevigny, Divine, Dr. Phil, Ewen Bremner, Gummo, Happy Campers, Harmony Korine, Indecline, John Waters, Keanu Reeves, Lars Von Trier, Las Vegas, movies, Nicolas Winding Refn, Ninth Cloud, pre 9/11, Sixtoo, underground, Willem Dafoe, YouTube

01/27/2017 · 2:30 pm

The Importance Of Being Unhappy

The most corrosive aspect of social media like Facebook is this: unhappiness is treated like a disease.

This image is bullshit. You can’t make other people be anything, unless they let you. Fuck you for projecting, and for making yourself a victim.

As an American, you are not guaranteed happiness- only the pursuit of it. Practically every single person on Earth has differing ideas about what makes them happy. If you appear unhappy to others, their reactions will range from concern to disgust (see above). Your family will either try to “fix” you, reject you, or hand you over to medical personnel.

For some weird reason, you’re “not supposed” to be unhappy.

Let me let you in on a little secret.

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Filed under Bad Influences, Don't Know Don't Care, Uncategorized

Tagged as Butch Trucks, comedy, depression, despair, Facebook, George Carlin, Howard Stern, Jay Leno, Lars Von Trier, laughter, Madonna, movies, music, Orson Welles, Oscar Wilde, Richard Pryor, sellouts, social media, stand-up comedy, suicide, The Osmonds, Three Stooges

04/30/2016 · 7:42 pm

Bad Cinéaste

I have a confession to make. Though I consider myself quite the erudite film scholar, in many ways I have no cause to place myself above the average lumpen moviegoer.

I confuse the name ZaSu Pitts with Zuzu Petals, a minor character from the execrable Andrew Dice Clay comedy The Adventures of Ford Fairlane.
I am inexplicably incensed at the sight of the cover of the film Metropia, and Audrey Tautou’s picture on the front of Amélie. To date, I have not seen Amélie, even though it’s from a director I like, thanks to its coy, nauseatingly precious cover shot.
I haven’t seen Precious, except on YouTube, because apparently I laugh at the wrong things.
I can’t stand whispering in movies any more than I can in the theater. A notable exception would be 1982’s Poltergeist. M. Night Shyamalan has abused whispering so much his actors should be forced to use air horns.
I’ve never seen Avatar. Any movie that uses a default computer font for its title isn’t worth a billion dollar budget, let alone my attention.
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