Hunter Parrish

‘Weeds’ Grows Stronger and Dies

Super-talented movie actresses tend fall somewhere along a sliding Kinsey-type scale of personality, with the humble, hard-working, charming type like Meryl Streep as a 1, and the volcanic, impossible dragon lady like Faye Dunaway as a 6.  Tilda Swinton would be a 1.5, Cate Blanchett a 2.5, Jodie Foster a 4.5, and Mary-Louise Parker a solid 6.  From my brief personal experience of her, and the experiences of friends and colleagues, Parker is as rabid a meshugana bitch as they come.  But she also races roadrunner circles around most other performers in terms of raw skill; the difficult personality probably has a lot to do with the fact she’s also ferociously intelligent.  Still, it’s no excuse; so are Streep and Swinton.

Parker set the tone for Weeds eight seasons ago by creating a memorable strong female lead that nobody had ever seen before, and for the first three it was some of the best programming on premium cable.  Then Parker’s character Nancy Botwin burned down her house in the SoCal suburban community of Agrestic, and the show floated off into a caricature of itself.  Most of the believability was lost, although it enjoyed a brief return to balance when Alanis Morissette joined the cast as an obstetrician engaged to Justin Kirk’s often-irritating, sometimes-engaging character Andy, Nancy’s brother-in-law.

Mary-Louise Parker Weeds

Sookie the Vampire Layer

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

There are a few things I just don’t get about popular culture, but which most people seem to go bat shit about.  One is Michael Jackson.  I never got him.  I hate his voice, it sounds creepy; he is one of two people who will cause me to change the channel or turn off the radio/TV the instant I hear him squeak.  The other is George W. Bush.  And his dancing looks silly, like he’s a gaudy Sicilian marionette being manipulated by a meth head.  The way he dressed was also ridiculous, eccentric in a bad fashion way, because he was absolutely insane.  And his infantilism made me embarrassed for him; I wanted someone to cover him up, to help him not be himself so much.

Anna Paquin's breasts have more character than her facial expressions.

I don’t get vampires, either.  I think it’s for the same reason I don’t really date guys from my socio-cultural background: effete and posh isn’t a turn-on.  Add  pale, slimy skin to that and I’ve got myself a stomach-churner every time I see one of those dudes bare his fangs, be he Alexander Skarsgård or not.