A Pioneer TV Dinner

Introduction Paragraph

For anyone unaware, there’s a CVS in Venice with a massive bearded clown on top of it. It always reminds me of Californication. There’s this scene when novelist turned romcom screenwriter turned troubled soul Hank Moody rolls his Porsche up to the same intersection on Rose and Main, turns to Natascha McElhone, and proclaims his hatred for the cursed City of Angels. The clown, which I’ve just learned is named the Ballerina Clown, looks just a little like one might feel in Moody’s position. Dropped in this city from far colder and more serious places desperately vying for your attention. And while for Hank Moody, things just seem to work out - after all, we’re talking about a fictional character seemingly written by the horniest Hunter S Thompson fan in the world and played by real life stickman David Duchovny. For yours truly, a 7 year transplant that merely dips his toe into the clown show when absolutely necessary, the sculpture’s wincing smirk and single tear feels far more illustrative. Los Angeles presents a constant struggle for assimilation. True adaptive behavior is elusive for many. Try too hard and you’ll find yourself in a Fear of God hoodie, addicted to Puffbars. Try to fight it and you’ll wear your transplant status like a stubborn badge of honor - complaining about 10 AM kickoff and the sand in your snow boots. I think I’ve held out from fully leaning in. Imagining this place was some extended pit stop. The final destination, unknown. But lately, the culture and rhythms of this town seem to be clicking more than they ever have before. Chalk it up to maturity. A couple of years removed from quarantine. Maybe my sudden change of work (or lack thereof it). Quite possibly it's just the assimilation that comes with the nature of time. But for whatever reason, I feel far less of a need to bend the will of this city to my preferences. In fact, I’d like to lean a little more into it. Get out on the water with a Costco longboard. Drink a smoothie. Go to Horses. Add a little more fuck you to my fits. There’s no one way to attack it. But as soon as I roll my eyes, I’ll know it’s time to lean in and give it a go. 2025 is the year of getting local in the place that refuses to be local. And my journey might be as confusing as that last sentence was to read.

Every Movie Should Be Speed

I’ve really locked in on a good cross country in-flight movie strategy. Either A. I watch Michael Clayton, B. clock a movie I never had any interest in seeing down below but find necessary to check out in order to properly complain about it, or C. pause said questionable movie 30 minutes in and rewatch Michael Clayton. If I play my cards just right, I’ll have the ability to do all three. Luckily, I executed the strategy last week on my way back from the Excelsior State. Turns out, Michael Clayton is still great. Ayo Edebiri’s LBX review of it is also pretty funny. But I’m here to write about none of that. Instead, how about we discuss what I watched smack in the middle? The biggest non-animated movie of the year. The Brutalist. Just kidding. It’s Deadpool vs Wolverine. Don’t worry, I have no interest in giving a review. You didn’t give me your email for such trite regurgitated nonsense. What I’d like to tell you about Deadpool vs Wolverine is the stomach pitting existential crisis I felt 30 minutes into the movie and the gleaming hope that came soon after. I obviously enjoy watching movies. I think about movies quite often. Reference them. Debate them. Mangle quotes from them. But what I go to war in my head over most often is the structure of them. How does a movie go about unfolding its story to you? How does it subscribe to or subvert the hero’s journey? Does it disregard it altogether? Is it told in chapters? Is there a narrator holding your hand because the structure didn’t work? I think about this often and for better and for worse, there is a crisis of structure in movie making at the moment. It allows for interesting surprises, such as Oppenheimer becoming a courtroom drama in its (checks notes) third hour. It also results in Twisters containing 47 plotlines and supporting characters yet refusing to let the two hot people in the eye of the storm suck face. It all makes my head hurt. On one hand, the structural gameplay of Best Picture frontrunner Anora is thematically reflexive and also quite rewarding. On the other hand, even if intentional, I was pretty bored during the 40th minute of their stroll around Coney Island. But now enter Deadpool vs Wolverine. Hugh Jackman’s return. Ryan Reynolds’ marketing machine. Shawn Levy’s opus. A movie that contains a dizzyingly paced yet surprisingly simple structure. Deadpool must decide between his friends and his future while Wolverine must redeem himself after going super agro on those he was supposed to protect. Within these simple ideas are countless universes, metatextual references, cameos, and jukebox needle drops. Truly, this movie is not afraid to detonate, step on, and wink at the concept of a movie itself. It results in a product constantly interesting yet distant and never quite fulfilling. It’s the clearest filmmaking product targeted at a Tik-Tokified audience. You could clip this movie into 30 second vertically cropped increments and honestly it might play even better. I’m in no way the first to make this point. It’s out there, folks. And while most of those like me (people going to the Egyptian Theater tonight to watch William Friedken’s Sorcerer) lamented on what they had done to my sweet boy (movies), I instantly went the other way. I was super impressed with it. They set out to make something entertaining and yeah, it was entertaining. Was there any substance? No. It was a threequel that relied on 15 other Marvel movies to hold up its plot. Was it meaningful? Not to me. It had so many parallel universes, the idea of individual character was completely thrown out the window. But yeah, it was entertaining. And therein lies my stomach pitting existential crisis…Can a movie still be good AND thoroughly entertaining? Well shit. We seem to be getting worse at it.

Any movie that’s supposedly good has what I’d like to call an attention sacrificing buy in. It might become fulfilling by its cathartic third act reveal and hilariously shocking at moments but a good movie will surely make you put your phone in the kitchen drawer and work for it. Don’t get me wrong, this level of art in filmmaking should absolutely go nowhere. I commend those out there attempting to do it. But the inequality between the good and the entertaining has grown so incredibly wide, that I can’t stop thinking about Deadpool. What happened to entertainment first filmmaking? Does it all have to be an airport bag of Cheez-Its like Deadpool vs Wolverine? I wasn’t sure for a few days. I warred over it. I questioned what I was even looking for…but then it came to me. The skeleton key for what a fulfilling piece of contemporary, entertainment-first filmmaking should model itself on. 

Speed.

I know. It’s 31 years old and that’s not too contemporary. But Speed is essentially Deadpool vs Wolverine. Ancient plot structures, going 800 mph, and not letting up until the final credits. Even though Speed is old and most of its dialogue takes place via landline telephone (on Dennis Hopper’s end at least), just like Deadpool vs Wolverine - something entertaining happens every 30 seconds and it cuts like a damn Tik Tok. It refuses to allow you to look away from the screen. But nobody knocks on Speed for playing to an ADD-riddled audience. Why? Well, Jeff Daniels doesn’t comment on studio mergers before diffusing a bomb. Speed allows you to exist within its world. It causes your palms to sweat as Keanu’s challenged with one lethal pop quiz after another. But if Speed was made today, it’d probably be an hour of this magic before feeling the need to come to a screeching halt and use its change of pace to comment on the current state of class in America. Your dopamine levels would tank. Then just before you were truly bored, Dennis Hopper would have some great monologue that makes you sit up in your seat and think damn…I guess he really was just trying to get by in this messed up world.

Frankly, I’m sort of over this. It’s almost like we’ve forgotten that over a century ago, a crowd that spoke 50 different languages would pay a nickel to watch 3 minutes of a guy jumping off a train car in silence. We haven’t changed much since. Jackass or dare I say…Mr. Beast would absolutely clean up in a 1915 Nicklelodian. So for the love of god, can someone just sit down and write Speed? Okay, that’s a tall order. All I’m looking for is a non-winking, fast paced, and ENTERTAINING story about real people in a singular universe. AND A BOMB THAT WILL GO OFF IF THE BUS DROPS BELOW 50 MPH. That’s all I’m really looking for.

Recs

Waxahatchee’s Tiny Desk (LIVE PERFORMANCE) - Still bummed that Molloy and I didn’t hit her concert at the Palladium. This excellent new Tiny Desk will suffice. Note that slide guitar artist Colin Croom is wearing a filthy Carrier Air Conditioning hat. What a life.

Geese (BAND) - You’ve probably heard Cowboy Nudes. Now go listen to the rest of the album. AND Cameron Winter’s solo joint, Heavy Metal. These guys are onto something, I’ll tell ya.

Salad Kits (BAG OF GREENS) - Been crushing salad kits for lunch recently. I’ll add a protein and just let it rock. I’m usually anti-premade but like I said, I’m trying out new things this year. I fear I’m two months away from Hungry-Man TV dinners.

Conclusion Amstel Light