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February 29, 2012
TUTTLEMODE

Goth Goes Milano

TUTTLE MODE | THE COLLECTIONS

by James Tuttle

Gentle reader,

The 84th Annual Academy Awards went down a few short blocks from here the other day, distracting me from important cultural happenings like Mob Wives and RuPaul’s Drag Race.  The Oscar experience is a bit different when one lives in Hollywood because, while you might get together with some friends over cocktails in Manhattan or watch it wrapped in a Snuggie (please don’t) in Iowa while snow falls silently outside your window, it becomes fucking Kosovo up in here!

Fitness model Eddie Griffin missed the Oscars. Maybe he was sleeping in. (Photo: Rick Day)

Police cars heavily patrol any streets that haven’t been barricaded, helicopters buzz buildings and tow trucks descend upon unsuspecting cars parked in the way of the limo routes that will be whisking celebrities to the Theatre Formerly Known As Kodak.  The constant hum of the Goodyear blimp hanging overhead makes even running to the local market for an onion into a surreal experience.

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By Pure Film Creative
4
0
September 11, 2011
Uncategorized

This Gwyneth Paltrow Has Been Sanitized for Your Protection

BAKER STREEET | REVIEW

by Eric J Baker

Think back. You’ve touched your face within the past minute or two, haven’t you? You’re probably doing it now, after running your hands over that bacteria farm of a keyboard no less. Bad move. Oh, and take that finger out of your ear. You don’t know where that finger’s been!

Those last two lines belong to a scene from the movie Airplane! (1980) in which a man offers that sage advice to another character who is using his ear for a nose. Yes, you know the sequence, but I bet you don’t know who that man was. He was acclaimed movie director Steven Soderbergh.

"Call Ryan Murphy, tell him I'm sorry I fucked up the Prince "Kiss" number in 'Glee.' And don't let that screeching harridan Madonna sing 'Like a Prayer' at my funeral."

That’s actually not true at all. I made it up. I’m sorry. But you’ll excuse me for getting confused, because Soderbergh’s new film, Contagion, dispenses the same message as Airplane! did 31 years ago: Take that finger out of your ear! It’s dirty.

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By Eric J Baker
7
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March 17, 2011
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

So It's Really A Fag Hag Thing

We’ve gotten to the bottom of Gwyneth Paltrow’s recent appearances on Glee.  I draw your attention to this little item in Nikki Finke’s Deadline.com, in which show creator Ryan Murphy outs Gwyneth for who she truly is to him.  For those too lazy to click, I refer you to the following quotation:

“Gwyneth is sort of the muse of the show,” Murphy said. “She’s somebody who I write on the weekends and say, ‘What do you think about this for an episode even if you’re not in it?’ She has opinions. She’s great.”

Like in "Avatar," "How to Train Your Dragon," and "Eragon," where the dragon chooses the rider who will fly her, a Fag Hag chooses her Ghey and they bond for life.

Murphy is hiding behind subtleties that many creative Gheys might not see themselves, which is why Dr. Killough is here to explain.  He uses the word “muse.”  But a muse is distant, an inspiration, someone the artist aspires to commune with, a siren who unblocks the creative flow just by being there.  Gwyneth is the muse transformed, the mermaid wrenched willingly from the sea and forced to walk on land.  She has become Murphy’s Fag Hag.

Apparently she has been this since they worked together on Running With Scissors, Murphy’s decidedly unfunny adaptation of Augusten Burrough’s exceedingly funny memoir.  He should have gone with archly flip for RWS’s tone, not with sincerity and contrition.  I’m sure he knows that now with the tone he established in Glee, which would have served RWS better.

A true muse is someone like my creative partner, Rain Li, who basically ignores you, making you desire his or her company and the inspiration that it gives you all the more.  Rain and I hardly ever speak on the phone; I’m lucky to get a text-based Skype session once a quarter, during which she types one line every ten minutes until I just give up at 2 a.m.  I won’t hear from her for months, but then a single “You aw-right, dahling?” in that mockney Beijing accent and my entire career path becomes clear to me.  That’s a muse.

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By James Killough
5
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March 15, 2011
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

Miss Paltrow Unravels?

Let me say right off the bat that I really used to like Gwyneth Paltrow as an actress, and she seems like a perfectly nice person as well.  I’ve never heard a bad thing about her from the few people I know who have enjoyed an interpersonal relationship with her.  Gwyneth seems familiar to me; she’s someone who might be a cousin of mine, if I had cousins.  Sadly or fortunately, both of my parents were only children.

A recent song and dance number from "Glee." Is it just me, or does La Gwyneth seem a little stiff here? I know nothing about dance; hate doing it myself, I look ridiculous. I'm far better chatting up the bartender. When I downloaded this image I started humming that gay show tune from 'Blazing Saddles': "Throw out your hands, stick out your tush!"

Gwyneth is the right kind of WASPy, you know, not the lockjawed Newport Great Gatsby manqué kind, but the down-to-earth, Yankee, descendant-of-Cotton Mather kind, who knows how to clip a coupon even though there’s a hundred million in the bank, who appreciates a well-waxed pew.  In other words, the kind we like, who inform our work with their realness and quirkiness, not the kind we feel like pushing over the porch after four scotch and sodas because they sound like an un-oiled screen door opening and shutting incessantly and are blighted with equine humor.

Gwyneth seems to be struggling these days, trying to regain a foothold in a business she once ruled over with confidence side by side with the likes of Matt Damon, who seems ready to have a constellation named after him, and her ex Ben Affleck, who is doing pretty well as a director of Boston versions of The Wire, which somehow end up on the big screen rather than where they belong.

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By James Killough
3
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