Jack Reacher: The Worst

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Sorry for the brief absence. I wish I had an excuse, but I basically got drunk and then lazy and then busy. I don’t even know why I’m telling you that. It just makes me sound like a jerk. Anway, while I was very busy not posting here I went and saw Jack Reacher. I’m not really sure why. I had a free movie ticket. A friend told me it was terrible. It was raining. The stars aligned and I found myself with an oversized drink and popcorn, in a room full of dudes, watching Tom Cruise be a muscle-bound pocket rocket pretending he’s taller than the woman they cast alongside him. Believe me when I say, it was awful.

For those of you who haven’t heard of the Jack Reacher character before, allow me to enlighten you. Jack Reacher is the protagonist in a series of books by a British author named Jim Grant, who operates under the pen name of Lee Child. The books are a bunch of boy’s-own detective type stories and are alright if you’re into that sort of thing, I guess. There are something like 17 of these damn books, so you can imagine that the backstory for Jack Reacher is fairly thorough. Keeping it short: Reacher was like a super-cop for the military police. Upon being discharged from the military he became a drifter, hitching-hiking or riding Greyhound buses across the US. Naturally, he finds trouble. Or trouble finds him. Or some other cliche about trouble. Anyway, they all pan out in much the same way, with Reacher fighting off a bunch of dudes and then walking off into the sunset, possibly leaving some busty lass with her heart all aflutter. Pretty standard stuff.

So the film Jack Reacher is an adaptation of Child’s 2005 novel, One Shot. Basically a maniac with a gun kills six people in what seems like an open and shut case, until the accused scrawls “GET JACK REACHER” on a piece of paper. Shenanigans and fisty cuffs ensue. Yada yada. Walking into the cinema, knowing all of this, I was prepared for the movie to be bad. What I did not understand was exactly how bad the movie was going to be. To start off with, Reacher’s character is not in the least bit likeable. Don’t get me wrong: I love a charming asshole. In fact I think most of the problem with my dating history lies in the fact that I am almost exclusively attracted to men who fall into the “charming asshole” category. But Reacher isn’t actually charming. He’s just an asshole. I can’t even really begin to isolate specific elements of his character that make him so unlikeable, because it’s just such an overwhelming impression. The introductory shot of features him sprawled on the bed of a cheap motel while some faceless woman puts her underwear on. (Out of interest: how do you think they credit the actress that did that? “Faceless shag number 1”? How much was she paid for the days work? What’s her story?) He refuses to answer questions, or be in any way helpful. He’s generally obnoxious to everyone and sometimes just kills people because it suits his idea of justice. From what I gather, the audience is supposed to just immediately grasp why he eventually chooses to provide help in any scenario based on the fact that he stares into the middle distance and clenches and unclenches his jaw a bunch of times.

I’ve heard of Reacher’s character as belonging to the “hard-boiled” detective genre and frankly, I’m a little insulted. This is a hard-boiled detective:

Be still, my beating heart.

This is not a hard-boiled detective:

This is a man in a plaid shirt.

Your hard-boiled detective gets to be the way he is through years of alcoholism and too much time spent on the wrong side of the law. (And it’s really hot and I’m super into Bogart and just shut up, OK? Because… reasons.) By contrast, Reacher’s main monologue tells us that he spent all his youth “fighting for freedom” and when he came back to see what that freedom meant, he didn’t think it was worth anything. All of this is, of course, delivered whilst looking into a grey-lit office building at some depressed workers or something. CLICHES ABOUND.

Anyway, aside from a completely unlikeable main character, my other main problem with this film was its attitude towards women (which the audience full of 20-something year old dude-bros seemed to find HIGH-larious). There is the obligatory central female character who is “smart and sassy”, but not in the sense that she actually does anything. Basically, she gets flustered whenever Tom Cruise takes his shirt off, which confuses me because this is not 1986 and this is not Top Gun and he is so clearly sucking it in that it’s actually a little embarrassing. Sometimes, she figures stuff out but it’s usually because Reacher has pointed it out to her. I can’t even remember what her name was. (Just looked it up: the character was Helen and she’s played byRosamund Pike, who I didn’t think I’d seen anywhere but it turns out she was in The Libertine and Die Another Day. The more you know.) So she exists and is a character and there is very little else that can be said about her but I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.

The one that really irked me, however, was the younger girl, Sandy. Sandy is used as bait to lure Reacher into a bar fight. He doesn’t really take the bait, but he does take the opportunity to tell Sandy that he couldn’t afford her. When she tells him she isn’t a hooker, he then says, “Then I really couldn’t afford you.” CLASSIC LINE. Poor Sandy doesn’t get the joke and keeps telling him that she isn’t a hooker. To which he replies, “I know. A hooker would’ve gotten the joke.” ANOTHER CLASSIC REACHER LINE. Yada yada. Bar fight, bar fight. Turns out people are hunting Reacher. Jump 30 mins down the storyline, turns out that Sandy is actually “a smart kid” who does accounts and dates drug dealers. She offers to sleep with him and he valiantly turns her down but Reacher is suddenly all protective of her and her death is used as a motivation for him to go on a car chase/ killing spree. I dunno. Maybe it makes more sense in the book? I lost track of it somewhere in the middle but the rest of the audience seemed to like it. (“I dunno, dude. I just really liked the bit where he didn’t call her a hooker.”)

The film ends with all the gunfire and vicious fist fights you need. The Russian bad guy is killed. (Of course the bad guy is Russian. The bad guy is always Russian.) All is settled in the name of “Justice”. Anyway, I walked away shaking my head. Maybe it’s cos I haven’t read the books. Maybe it’s cos it’s not the kind of movie that is marketed towards me. Maybe some people loved it. But maybe I’m right and it is the stupidest thing you’ll watch all year.

Well That’s Weird

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A couple of years ago, Victoria Beckham had another baby. It was a little girl. She called it Harper.  As far as I know, the child has never worn the same outfit twice and is frequently colour co-ordinated with her mother. Much like a designer handbag. Except more loved. Or something. Anyway. All was right with the world. Until shit got super-weird and now I’m uncomfortable. Harper Beckham has a professional impersonator. That’s right. A UK mother by the name of Lisa Clutten is at this very second, hiring out her two year old daughter, Freya, to pretend to be Harper Beckham at parties.

Harper vs Freya – all babies look the same to me.

I don’t know if you’ve ever looked into it before, but the world of celebrity impersonators is a very strange thing. It’s one thing to pretend to be Elvis at parties. We all know Elvis is dead (except for the 7% of Americans who don’t believe he is, but that’s a whole other blog post), so having him loiter around at parties isn’t all that strange and old white dudes seem to get a kick out of putting on rhinestone capes so whatever. (There’s another blog post that could be dedicated to the fact that people only ever dress up as fat, depressed Elvis, but I digress.) However, paying for someone who looks vaguely like Brad Pitt to stand around your party and make small talk with the guests is just really odd. It takes a certain type of person to be a celebrity impersoantor and it takes a certain type of person to hire a celebrity impersonator and I’m not sure I want to be either of those people.

The idea of the celebrity impersonator is a relatively simple one: you make yourself and your event looking important by having “celebrities” loiter around looking ritzy. The fact that you’ve hired someone means that it just looks like you and your party weren’t important or interesting enough to have actual famous people there and you had a chunk of budget left over, but we will disregard that fact for a second… BECAUSE SOME WOMAN IS USING HER TWO YEAR OLD FOR THIS PURPOSE.

For starters, why would anyone need a Harper Beckham look-alike? Does she go around with the Posh and Becks impersonators so that they enhance their “tired and cranky parent routine”? According to the articles, Freya Clutten has been offered a modelling contract with an online retailer called My1stYears. The brand offered personalised baby clothes which, from what I can gather, is all  a bunch of gear with the baby’s name printed on it in Comic Sans. Originally the website offered the contract to the actual Harper Beckham, but shockingly enough, the Beckhams refused. Enter Freya. Apparently the company saw her and just knew they had to have her. The company’s director, Daniel Price says, “We believe that celebrity babies are changing the baby fashion industry and we want to stay at the forefront of the industry. What better way than having a Harper Beckham lookalike to represent our brand?” I can think of a few better ways, Daniel.

Apparently the comparisons between the two have gotten to the point where Freya points at pictures of baby Harper in a magazine and says “Harper, me.” WHICH IS TERRIBLE. What happens when they grow up and all of Freya’s hopes and dreams rest on the fact that she was once Harper Beckham, but now they look less and less alike and is actually kind of failing at life and isn’t particularly pretty or successful, and meanwhile the actual Harper Beckham is sidling around with billions of dollars behind her and being wealthy and successful just by the accident of birth? That’s how downward spirals into alcoholism start, people!

Golden Globes Gowns

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Awards season is upon us again and that means that coincidentally, my favourite time of the year is also here: tis the season of awards ceremony best and worst dressed lists! My love of these lists stems from the fact that, despite the fact that most of the women who show up to these red carpet events would look good in a paper bag, there are pages of gossip mag and fashion blog dedicated to how awful they look. Even the classy magazines like Harper’s Bazarr get stuck in, albeit in a slightly more underhanded fashion. The dresses Harper’s loves are described as “elegant”, “on trend” and “stunning”, the dresses they hate get less adjectives and more basic product description, for example: “Actress  A is wearing a dress that shows off some shoulder.” You can practically hear the team who puts the slideshow together rolling their eyes and shouting, “BORING, ILL-FITTING, FABRIC IS TOO HEAVY DUH!” whilst chugging back their 17th cup of coffee for the day and plotting ways that they could have done it better if only they’d been given the chance.

That’s not to say that I don’t love to get stuck in. I definitely do, but mostly because I thoroughly disagree with the choices being made for other website’s lists. So I’ve gone through and made some corrections.

This dress was described by Harper’s Bazaar as being “light, chic and subtly patterned”. If that is what “subtly patterned” looks like, “unsubtle” must be the equivalent of getting a tonne of bricks dropped on your head. Not that Nicole Richie doesn’t make the dress work, but my favourite thing about this photo is the fact that despite a serious media makeover she still can’t escape her trashy, Paris-Hilton-partying roots with some seriously heavy blue and black eye make up that screams “I used to dance on tables on reality TV.”

Amy Adams’ dress was described as being “ethereal” which I think my be another way of saying “had to do a double-take to check that she’d actually put on a dress before attending the awards ceremony.”

Olivia Munn is apparently “elegant” in this “intricately beaded” number. To me, the dress looks like the accidental leftovers of a Spice Girls video clip. Which one was always wearing boob tubes? Was it Ginger? I think it was Ginger Spice. Basically, what I’m saying is, that if that “intricate beading” had somehow worked its way into the shape of a Union Jack, Olivia could have been Ginger Spice with a longer hemline and less platform boots.

I don’t even know where to start with this. Halle Berry, as usual, looks age-defyingly flawless (damn her) but the dress just kind of looks like a ripped up sarong that’s been draped over something vaguely less sarong like and she would look super hot if she was standing at the beach in a bikini with that on. As it is, she’s on the red carpet for the Golden Globes and looks about as close to “hot mess’ as you can  get when you’d look good dressed in a hessian sack.

My initial thoughts on seeing Jennifer Lopez in her little lace number were “damn, Lopez is looking goooood” and “fabulous, I love it, does it come in black?” Then my mind started to wander, as it is prone to do, and I started wondering how much time and effort it takes to hot-glue that much lace to yourself and whether or not it is difficult to get off/ hideously disfiguring afterwards.

Kristen Wiig is “minimal” which is the Harper’s Bazaar way of saying “pretty boring but generally inoffensive”. And they’re right, but the more I look at this photo the more I feel like she looks like an awkward teenager on her way to a school formal (or prom, if you’re American and reading this). Like, you look at this dress and you think that at the end of the night you’re probably going to have to be responsible for holding back her hair while she vomits up a rainbow of Bacardi Breezers and Passion Pop into your best mate’s boyfriend’s cousin’s mailbox (it’s never happened to me, I swear).
So that’s as much as I can be bothered correcting. If I went through and did all of them we’d be here all day. But if you’re interested in checking out more of what Harper’s Bazaar has to say on the subject, you can find the rest of their slideshow here.

But It’s Not My Birthday?

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So this was supposed to go up yesterday, but guess who forgot that they were rostered on to work? That would be me. I am an idiot. And then I went to the pub after work. Anyway, not the point. Point is: I. Am. So. Excited. It’s a glorious day. Why? Because the universe has given me a chance to relive the good parts of being a tweenie/teen without the bad hair, acne and hormones.  Justin Timberlake AND Destiny’s Child have both released new songs in the last week and I couldn’t be happier. I know most folks are losing their minds over the JT one, so let’s look at that one first and we can get on to dealing with my real excitement: Independent Women Part 3: Further Musings On The Fact That I Don’t Need Your Cash To Have a Good Time. (I am an unabashed, overly excitable Destiny’s Child fan. Consider this me warning you in advance.)

It has been seven years since Justin Timberlake released Future Sex/ Love Sounds. Seven! Seems like only yesterday. Anyway, there’s a new one which comes with “an open letter to you (the fans)”:

When I first heard this, I was like “no”. But the second or third listening had me reaching for my suit and tie so I could better fit in with the thematic direction this song has taken. That’s not to say that I don’t find a good portion of the lyrical content totally ridiculous: “Stop and let me get a good look at it, So thick and now I know why they call it a fatty.” Thanks, Justin. You really know how to make a girl feel special. The fact that he spent most of the first verse referring to whichever girl he was with (let’s assume it was Jessica Biel) as “it” really amped up the romance factor as well.

The single was used to promote the relaunch of MySpace this month, which Justin has invested heavily in. Word on the street (the hypothetical, internet-based street) is that despite Justin’s attempts to bring sexy back (yeah, I made that joke… shoot me) to the internet’s first social networking ghost town, MySpace is still shit and people still don’t care.

However, the song has spawned my new favourite hobby, which is muting videos of my favourite male celebrities wearing suits and ties and playing Suit and Tie over the top of it. There’s nothing quite like watching someone in a well-tailored suit wiggling to the phrase “I be on my suit and tie shit” over and over again. In other news, I need a life. Moving on.

Destiny’s Child were most favourite girl group of the late 90s/ early 2000s. I definitely still know all of the words to all of the singles and can and will sing them at moments that I feel are appropriate (usually around 3am, after being fed shots…just FYI). Their last album was kind of disappointing because it lacked all of the awesome girl-powery pizazz that songs like Survivor, Independent Women and even Bootylicious had. So it was with great trepidation that I listened to Nuclear, which is their first single in 9 years. Check it out.

I kind of love it. I’m not so down with the lyrics. The phrase “when two become one, on a quantum level” is actually so cringworthy I curled up into myself and made a gagging noise. But I can’t help myself. I just flipping love the sound of it. Unlike JT’s offering, I loved it immediately and have played it several times since first hearing it. It’s like that nice late 90s, ecstasy-induced, lounge-y house music that I used to really like when I was younger. (“Late 90s, ecstasy-induced, lounge-y house music” is the technical term, obviously. I should really write for a music publication. Any takers?) Anyway, they all sound on-point. I think it’s awesome. I’m well into it.

Having said that, the image that’s playing behind that video is from the official shoot for the album. Beyonce released it on her page, along with the song, the other day. I have questions. If we have a group of fine, fabulous and talented ladies releasing their first fine and fabulous album in 9 years, why have we dressed them in the kind of terrible hats that belong in an episode of Dynasty or The Bold and the Beautiful? They look like they’re heading for for a day at the races… if that day at the races was sometime in the mid-80s. I understand that they’re all older and wiser now. They don’t all need to be in co-ordinated spandex midriff tops (although if someone could bring back those days, I’d really appreciate it). But the way to prove that your older and wiser is probably just to have better taste in hats and maybe wear a nice frock or something.

Anyway… I kind of love everything at the moment. My childhood is coming back with a vengence and it’s a bit wonderful.

I Don’t Know How I Feel? Someone Tell Me.

NOTE: Pop Culture Boner has a new home and a new podcast. You can listen here, if that’s your jam. 

James Franco is a weird guy. I’m totally cool with it because most of the time he uses those powers for good. He volunteers with the Art of Elysium charity, which gets actors, musicians and artists to donate their time and talent to providing workshops for seriously ill kids. He’s in a really varied bunch of films, from stoner flicks like Pineapple Express, to things that make me weep tears of blood like Milk, to really harrowing things that I want to never have to watch again, like 127 Hours. He was in Spiderman. He has a recurring role in General Hospital (seriously… look it up). He’s a PhD student at Yale. Sometimes he is in drag (I am well into it). But perhaps his most special ability is the fact that he can go from being pretty cool and kind of amazing to making you think “oh good Lord, why are you…? No… stop…” in about 30 seconds flat. And that’s what happened here. Check out this video of Franco and his Spring Breakers co-star Ashley Benson (who you may recognise from Pretty Little Liars) lip-syncing to Justin Bieber’s Boyfriend.

In theory, I love this. I like goofy celebrity parody videos. Most of the time I think I like James Franco. But there’s just something kind of weird about this video and now I’m not sure how I feel. For a start, there’s a lot of really bad wigs in this video. But I think what really throws me is that it starts out as  bit of harmless fun, with Franco busting out some serious dad moves.

Tell me you didn't laugh really hard at Franco doing Hokey Pokey thumbs to the tune of "swag, swag, swag".

Tell me you didn’t laugh really hard at Franco doing Hokey Pokey thumbs to the tune of “swag, swag, swag”.

But then Ashley Benson appears and everything gets a little… uncomfortable. It goes from goofy, to Benson pulling sexy faces at the camera. Which would be fine, but then this happens:

Ashley Benson

It’s hard to get a good screencap of, given the low quality of the video, but God save us all from awkward white girls humping the ground in an attempt to look sexy. Again, this would be forgiveable given that it then goes back to Franco doing some awkward dad dancing in the style of Bieber, but then it gets really weird again at around 2.20 when another female companion appears and it starts looking a little bit like an amateur porn video.

Insert your own terrible soundtrack of "Yeah baby, you like that?" here.

Insert your own terrible soundtrack of “Yeah baby, you like that?” here.

Then it all gets a bit stranger when you realise that the “female” companion was probably not female but actually just a guy in drag.



Anyway, by the time I got to the end of the video I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about the whole affair. I think I liked it. But did I? Who knows?  The video description reads: “He deleted it, but it was too late.” Which is probably an accurate state of affairs considering the video only reappeared on Franco’s channel after everyone had picked up on the ripped copy on another account. But I think the whole thing can be summed up by YouTube comments.


Baby’s On Fire

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So, I am back up and running officially. I have moved (most of) my furniture into my new house. I have a laptop (that works fairly well save for a sometimes dysfunctional ‘u’ key). I have an internet connection. I am as close to being a functioning human being as I ever was. Or I was until the Australian summer hit. I forgot how much I hated the warmer weather until the temperature peaked out at 40-something degrees today. The bottom of half of the country is on fire again.  Every time I go outside my pale skin explodes in a mixture of sunburn and freckles. Simple tasks like “sitting up” result in such out pourings of sweat that costume changes are required. In short, right at this particular juncture, the heat is all I am thinking about. Well, that and the Kimye baby, but I’ve already written about that, so I think I’m going to go with writing about the heat. (Even as I wrote that my brain provided, “No, it is too hot. Go to sleep and that way you won’t have to think about it.” Which is true, but not especially helpful.)

Anyway, without further ado, I present to you: Top Tips For Staying Cool Stolen from Pop Culture

  • Follow Nelly’s advice and take off all your clothes – We all remember Nelly’s smash single Hot in Herre (yes, it is spelled with two ‘r’s and it’s prononced “hurr”, for the record). Well, in theory, “taking it off like you’re home alone” is probably the best way to deal with the heat. Personally, I have been lying on my back in a pair of gly knickers and a singlet most of today. Having said that, I’m not sure I agree with the premise of the video for this one.

    Basically, Nelly rocks up to a club where the women are already scantily clad, proceeds to make the club a little hotter just by existing, and then everybody gets more naked than they were initially and rubs on each other. Rubbing on each other is not an efficient way to stay cool, people! Either way, this video neatly illustrates my least favourite element of summer: you can only get so cool before you can’t do any more. These women are already pretty naked. Then they get more naked. What happens once they reach actual nudity? There’s nowhere to go. If you’re still hot, you’re screwed!
  • Iced lollies in the style of Bernard Black- Hands up who loves British comedy? If you could see me now I would be flailing my arms dramatically. Blackbooks is one of my favourites. It focusses on a London bookshop run by a grmpy, Irish alcholic named Bernard Black. It’s kind of hard to explain beyond that but they have a whole episode dedicated to the British summer heat wave, which is very funny except when you consider that the temperature that Manny, Bernard’s offsider, loses his mind at is 88°F which translates to about 31°C, which is about 10° cooler than what I’ve been coping with. Anyway, as usual Bernard has come up with a brilliant way to stay cool.

    He has literally created an alco-pop. I’m not saying it would work in real life, but can you imagine how excellent it would be if it did. I’d never leave my house.
  • Ice cubes in the style of Mookie from Do the Right Thing – If you haven’t seen Do The Right Thing, you probably should. It’s directed by Spike Lee and is an interesting look at racial tensions in the US. But that’s not what we’re focussing on here. This blog is about heat and Do The Right Thing is set in the middle of a sweltering New York summer. Mookie convinces his girlfriend to get naked and then gets creative with some ice cubes.

    Obviously, I can’t find you the whole clip on YouTube, but Mookie dutifully rubs down various parts of his girlfriend’s body with ice whilst reciting a little prayer: “God bless the left nipple, God bless the right nipple…” and so on and so forth. Seems like a reasonable way to cool down, although the explosive outcome of the movie would probably suggest otherwise. Anyway, I’ll be waiting here with a tray of ice cubes if there are any takers.
  • When in doubt: beach – Every summer, pop culture inundates us with a plethora of summer themed movies about a bunch of hip teens who just hang out at the beach and have sex or something. I know for a lot of you this sounds absolutely nothing like your summer experiences. I grew up in the middle of nowhere and the closest thing we had to a beach was a nearly-dry river bed that smelled like cow shit and if you were really lucky you wouldn’t accidentally impale yourself on a stick hidden in the sludgy water. Essentially, I was as far from a beach as humanly possible. But I still loved the summer beach movies. I think it’s the theory of it – the more you watch people cooling off in the water, the cooler you become. I don’t know if it actually worked, but I know I spent a lot of time watching Kate Bosworth in Blue Crush and also Point Break, with Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze. Actually, I’m changing the title of this tip. It is now, watch Point Break on repeat all summer. Have this compilation of the best lines from the film.
  • Stoyn Ice Cream – I know the rest of these are things from movies, movies and TV but this is just too damn cool not to mention. Stoyn Ice Cream makes hyper-real edible ice cream sculptures in some rad flavours, and they look amazing. I dunno how accessible they are, half their website is in Russian (I think?) but damn if I don’t want to nom the bejesus out of them.

    They also released a sexy little range of 80s horror movie themed ones. They’re pretty much the coolest. You can find their website here.

Well, there it is. Those of you who are dealing with the heat, drink lots of water, find a fan, lie very still. I know I joked about it before (and in the title) but the bottom half of Australia is on fire. Again. If you’re interested in helping out with that, the Australian Red Cross helps out a lot. Or you can support your rural fire service in Victoria or NSW as well.


NOTE: Pop Culture Boner has a new home and a new podcast. You can listen here, if that’s your jam. 

Yesterday was my the last official day in my old house. I returned the keys, bid farewell to the built up mould and crumbling ceiling and spent 4 hours wandering around waiting for someone to let me into the house I’m staying at. So, all my stuff is in boxes, my laptop is broken and I’m sleeping on a couch. BUT, the house I am moving into (and, coincidentally, sleeping on the couch of right now) has a dog. A DOG! Do you have any idea how excited I am by this prospect? Probably not. I love having pets, and due to the fact that I’ve spent the last three years living in a decaying concrete box on very little money I have not been able to have one. JUST LOOK AT THIS THING, WILL YOU!?


It’s pretty much the cutest and it’s super affectionate and I love it. So, that happened. Now, there are two things that absolutely guarentee I will cry during a film: a) is it a war movie? Because I’m already crying. I have a totally unreasonable emotional reaction (always against my better judgement) to any and all war films. Any era. Sobbing, regardless of context. And b) animals with vaguely human characteristics as central characters. Shoot me in my face, I can’t even handle it. They don’t even have to die… they just have to be loyal or defend each other or something and I’m wailing. With that in mind and knowing the fact that I now have a dog around me at all times, I thought we could look at my favourite five dogs from TV and cinema. But not Lassie. No Lassie on this blog. Not now. Not ever.

  1. Jack from The Artist – Jack was played by a Jack Russell Terrier named Uggie. Uggie has been in a bunch of things including Water For Elephants and The Campaign, but his role in The Artist got him the most attention.
    Given the fact that he outperformed most of the actors in the film, this is probably warranted and S.T. VanAirsdale, an editor at Movieline started a campaign for him to be nominated for an Oscar, saying that the dog “outdid Leonardo Dicaprio’s performance in J. Edgar but probably wasn’t as good as George Clooney in The Descendents.” A similar campaign was run for the BAFTAs and after being contacted by several members to ask if they could vote for Uggie the board released the following statement: “”Regretfully, we must advise that as he is not a human being and as his unique motivation as an actor was sausages, Uggie is not qualified to compete for the BAFTA in this category.” The British are always so sassy when responding to things they find ridiculous. I love it.
  2. Otis from Milo and OtisMilo and Otis should be retitled, The Movie That Traumatised Me for Many of My Formative Years. Seriously though. Trauma.
    The pug is a noble beast.

    The pug is a noble beast.

    The dog and the cat just want to be friends and have adventures but they get separated and ARGH! The sadness I feel every time. What I didn’t realise from the initial watching (because I was too busy crying tears of blood) is that it’s actually a English redub and recut of a Japanese film called Koneko Monogatari (A Kittens Story). Which would explain several things including the fact that it’s actually just a really weird, kind of surreal film. There’s no people, but there’s some train tracks and a barn and a lot of talking animals. Anyway, I don’t think there’s been a pug before or since that was so into adventuring. High fives to Otis. (Warning: On the re-watch, this film can be actually genuinely quite upsetting because it’s not entirely clear whether or not everything was done quite up to standard on the whole animal rights front. The reason it’s here is because I watched it when I was younger and was emotionally traumatised by it for a completely different set of a reasons.)

  3. Copper from The Fox and the Hound – ARGH. MY SOUL. IT HURTS. If they were in anyway related, this would be the sequel to Milo and Otis and it would be called The Movie That Traumatised Me for Many of My Formative Years Part 2: The Reckoning. All the tears of my life.
    Copper and Tod are BBFs, but then Copper is a bloodhound and Tod is a fox and people keep threatening to kill Tod and it’s just the saddest thing ever. This is one of those times that I’m way too emotionally involved in the film to write anything other than gross sobbing noises.
  4. Charlie B. Barkin from All Dogs Go to Heaven –  Another animated dog. This one is voiced by Burt Reynolds. Much like Burt Reynolds, Charlie is a jerk, but he’s kind of a loveable jerk, who redeems himself in the end, so it’s all good.
    Also, there’s a singing alligator, but since this post is about dogs, we can all just stop, take a minute and appreciate Burt Reynolds reaching a point in his career where he was like “Yes, yes I will voice that cartoon dog.”
  5. Rex from Inspector Rex  – Inspector Rex is a badass Alsatian that solves crime. This is literally all you need to know.
    Rex warrants a mention those whacky Austrians have come up with a show where the dog is legitimately the star without being at all anthropomorphised. He’s just a really smart dog who is super good as solving crimes and alerting people to gas leaks. If you’ve never watched Inspector Rex (or Kommissar Rex, for those of you playing along in Vienna) then now would be a really good time to start.

Dishonourable mentions go to Beverly Hills Chihuahua, which I had done seriously well to avoid but then looked it up because I was having some trouble finding some canine friends to write about. Anyway, watch this trailer and if it doesn’t looks like the worst thing that could’ve happened to film since they invented CGI the please leave.

Kim + Kanye = Kimye Baby

NOTE: Pop Culture Boner has a new home and a new podcast. You can listen here, if that’s your jam. 

Fairly short post today because I’m still cleaning out my house and am also fairly certain that I have given myself chemical burns from scrubbing down the walls. Next time I’m paying someone else to do this shit. Anyway. So, you know how the apocolypse didn’t come and stuff? I think it might be coming. Kanye West has gone right ahead and proved that Kim Kardashian really is his “perfect bitch” by putting a baby in her. A baby. Those two. Kim and Kanye. Kimye. Creating life. Making something that requires them to pay attention to something that isn’t themselves for more than five seconds. Hooooow?

In other news, my MS paint skillz never cease to amaze me. New Year's resolution: probs learn Photoshop or something.

In other news, my MS paint skillz never cease to amaze me. New Year’s resolution: probs learn Photoshop or something.

Kanye announced the good news at a show in Baltimore, interrupting everyone’s good time by shouting, “stop the music and make some noise for my baby mama!”, which is, I’m sure, exactly what the people had paid to see. After a couple of days of not saying anything, the Kardashian Klan then confirmed it and all hell broke loose as the gossip sites scrambled over each other to find a “source close to the couple.” Not that they really needed to. I mean, we’re talking about the Kardashians here. On a side note, how do you think the infamous Kardashian matriarch, Kris Jenner, reacted? Do you think her eyes literally changed into dollar signs like in the cartoons? Because that is how I am picturing it.

Anyway, I’m calling ‘end of the world’ on this one. I think I mentioned in my previous post about Kimye that I was surprised their relationship hadn’t caused a black hole of narcissism to open up and gradually tear the world apart. Having thought about it since, I figured that the black hole probably needs time to gestate. Kim and Kanye are pretty self absorbed but it would take a lot for them to just have to stand in the same room as each other and cause the apocolypse. Enter “the Kimye baby”.   In nine months time Kim Kardashian is going to give birth and it will be one of two things:

  1. a actual black hole of narcissism, into which we will all be sucked, screaming, “Yeeezy! Why!? You were a motherfucking lyrical genius! It didn’t have to end like this!” But it will be too late, because, being in the closest proximity to Kim K at the time of birth, Kanye will have been the first to go.
  2. you’ve all seen The Omen, right? Everything will be fine for a couple of years until, suddenly BAM! Nannies will throw themselves out of windows, dogs will go crazy and a series of unfortunate events involving panes of glass and church spires will result in the deaths of a bunch of people. It’ll be the end of the world as we know it. Just keep an eye out and make sure that Kimye don’t call the baby Damien and everything will be alright.

Or, alternatively, they could just have a nice, normal, healthy baby boy or girl and then spend a really long time sitting around trying to come up with a suitable ‘K’ themed name for the kid so that one day he or she can be indoctrinated into the family business. Which family business is unclear – I’m hoping for “writing and producing badass albums potentially featuring Jay Z and Beyonce’s child” but would also settle for “starring in really boring amateur porn with rapper/actors who have ryhming names.”

That’s it. That’s the gag. I’m going back to scrubbing walls… possibly whilst listening to The Omen soundtrack.

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