The following is an open letter to Facebook, Amazon, Google, and Spotify, from Matty Boy Anderson. Mr. Anderson is a 28-year veteran of newspaper comics, and has self-published his own comic books for equally as long. He has created Internet content for 20 years, and authored three websites. In 2008, after three years of production, he released a homemade movie that won Best Animated Feature at the Atlanta Underground Film Festival.
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.”
Renowned and brilliant comedian Hannah Gadsby steps behind the microphone at a popular New York City comedy club. Hannah begins a scathing monologue about how good men don’t exist. The teeming crowd of young people begins to hoot and holler in delight and affirmation. Then; it happens.
Although I predicted that Donald Trump would become the 45th president of the United States, I did not vote for him. If I had, I’d be seeking help from a medical professional.
Despite being based in a hypothetical (admittedly coarse) quote, this is a terrific cover. Note the careful handling (pun intentional) of the depicted act; the woman is smiling and the finger is uncovered.
Not because I’m insane, you asshole. Because I’d be paranoid that a significant percentage of Americans want me to die in agony. And I don’t need that shit. I didn’t struggle to become who I am so that some high-school dropout could make me a statistic in a bullshit battle of “who’s the fascist”. Continue reading →
I’ve admitted before that I am not fond of the medium of “music video”. I have observed it from its infancy; I lucked out and happened to be present when MTV started broadcasting in summer of 1981. If you enjoy being awkwardly sung to by a band, or like to be teased with sleazy, half-naked sluts, MTV was your White Knight, bubby. Everyone wants to break into the movies, so it’s easy for a coked-up director to cajole an otherwise sensible group into painful, cringe-worthy antics. Then another director would react by crafting the most pretentious, arthouse video possible, all long takes and black-and-white aesthetics. “They’re like mini-movies,” say the line-toers, ignoring that music videos typically appropriate and condense everything meaningful about film. Some people will say anything to promote their clients.
But like Tijuana Bibles and Bumfight videos, there is still a vein of good under mountains of terrible. For every ten thousand glamor-shot videos of the latest solipsistic pop bimbo, there is one that reminds you why the medium exists in the first place. Maybe it’s not merely a quick-and-dirty promotional tool; it is like a “mini-movie”.