Room With a Spew

Maggots at the Times and other nasty revelations

Some unrelated short items for PARIS HILTON and anyone else with A.D.D. and an unread Bible: First off, Logo meets Lego with Rick & Steve, the very animated series bringing stop-action tops and bottoms to gay Middle America. WILL MATTHEWS, who does the voice of the Filipino-American insatiable bottom Rick, was prancing around Pop Rocks last week, so I told him I was surprised the generally restrained Logo is going for something that reportedly pushes so many (Manila) envelopes. "I think it's their breakout show," he said. "Not a happy, feel-good documentary about so much of their gay worldview—it's angry, biting, and funny." "And how do you feel about taking a job away from a Filipino?" I snarled, sort of joking. "I try not to think about that too much," Matthews replied, tastefully.

The multiracial new Hairspray flick is 300 pounds of fun, but I noticed the absence of the fab "Mama, I'm a Big Girl Now" number, except in a version played over the closing credits. Why isn't it in my worldview? Genius composer MARC SHAIMAN told me the number was never filmed. "We had to cut an hour [from the screenplay]," he related. "And the song doesn't really push the plot forward. We already see that Tracy wants to be a star, Penny's mom is a Nazi, and Velma is the mother from hell in the establishing book scenes. And [director] ADAM SHANKMAN made a very interesting point, which is that the song humanizes Velma and Amber, making their situation too close to Tracy's and Penny's, which onstage, with cute staging, you don't quite mind. But in a movie 'reality' it was better to not—right away, especially—make Amber be like Tracy." Gosh, these queens really thought this thing through, didn't they?

A different omission seems to be happening with the line of Hairspray dolls being released to celebrate the movie about integration in the '60s: They're all white! Dolls representing Edna, Tracy, Link, and Penny are coming upon us any day now, and not until the holiday season will an actual dark-skinned one—i.e., Seaweed—finally emerge. "Back of the bus?" murmurs one blogger.

A new Batman will be coming at us, and I hear white supporting player ERIC ROBERTS is even less beloved by the extras than he is by his sister. It seems Julia's surly bro' is generally not very nice to the little folkand, what's worse, he makes a loud trumpet sound with his mouth after every take!

The sound of razzies greeted TOMMY WISEAU's bizarre 2003 movie melodrama The Room, so they remarketed it as a dark comedy and put it on DVD some time ago. And it's genius—the best worst movie ever made, filled with stilted dialogue, problematic continuity, and explosive situations with no set-up or follow-up, all interspersed with softcore-porn montages and establishing shots of the Golden Gate Bridge. Everything was cut that humanizes anyone. In the lead role, Wiseau himself mangles English, shows his veiny butt, and chortles after every line. (Maybe he knows something.) But the only real drawback for viewers is that you don't get to catch your breath between the two "best" scenes—Wiseau hurriedly buying flowers from a fat lesbian, and his lady love ordering a pizza with "half Canadian bacon and pineapple, half artichoke with pesto, and light on the cheese." Please enter The Room—you'll never play football in tuxedos the same way ever again.

A Broadway musical based on a rotten movie that's heavy on the cheese, Xanadu comments on the lack of inspiration in the theater world while threatening to become part of the problem, but it rises above all that with goofy self-mockery. Described by some as the world's longest Easter Bonnet Competition sketch, the show has some flat spots and desperate jokes, but it's generally grin-out-loud and even hilarious, with funny anachronisms, campy blurtings ("She's a demigod, bonehead!"), and looney assertions ("Kira is Tangerine—and they're both Clio.") KERRY BUTLER is deliciously fun as all three ladies, and some of the other cast members skillfully chew the scenery until the disco balls descend and prove indigestible. Scarily enough, I liked the show best when it stayed straightforward and stuck to the original plot. (You know, a Greek muse comes to life in Venice Beach and helps a dork open a roller disco). Then again, I'm looking forward to the sequel to Glitter.

I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU NUT AND KOOK

In the realm of real glitter balls, the splashiest recent club spectacle was the self-proclaimed wedding ceremony uniting LADYFAG, a spunky gal who considers herself a gay male (and who's going to argue?), and Rainblo, a candy-colored drag queen who looks like a psychedelic barber pole, at Cain, which will probably never be quite the same. Was it for real? For a green card? Or for a more sincere reason—to get press? Responds Ladyfag, "The question on many people's minds was, 'Why? Is he not a faggot? Do they fuck?' But I think people left the wedding with a feeling that sometimes we forget in nightlife—caring about each other. Sometimes love happens unexpectedly. Yes, he's a fag, but hey—so am I! And neither one of us is your average faggot.

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