In case you missed the announcement in the last official Unwatchable entry at the Screengrab, Unwatchable lives on. (And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, well, I’m in the process of watching and reviewing every movie on the IMDb’s Bottom 100 list. I’d made it to #33 when Nerve pulled the plug.) I’m passing the hat to keep it alive; you’ll see a Paypal donation button over there and I encourage you to use it! Otherwise I can’t guarantee I’ll make it all the way to #1 anytime soon. Right now I’m in the midst of linking to the complete archives, but new entries will follow, so bookmark it now! I’m also adding Unwatchable to the blogroll here.
Hey there, Famous Last Words fans! I know that with the closing of The Screengrab, you’re probably despairing that your favorite online movie game is gone for good. Well, I’m happy to report that this isn’t the case. Beginning this Thursday, I’ll be starting up a new round of Famous Last Words over at my blog, Silly Hats Only.
There will be a few changes this time around- for one thing, the recent economic crunch has forced some prize downsizing, which means that I’ll only be giving away 1 (one) $25 Criterion Store gift card this time around. But other than that, the game should be the same one you’ve enjoyed all along. I hope that you’ll all be able to come over there to play, and while you’re at it, look around and see if you like what I’ve been doing there. Be seeing you.
So, the other day, my lovely Polish bride is reading “Splendor In The Grit,” an article in the June 2009 issue of Vanity Fair by James Wolcott about New York City in “the crumbling anarchy” of the 1970s “when artists’ lofts were inhabited by actual artists, every subway car held potential drama, and legends — Lennon, Warhol, Garbo — walked the streets.”
At one point in the article, Wolcott talks about “the advent of cable-access programming,” which, long before the Internet, allowed commoners (as well as plenty of uncommon fringe dwellers, like pornographer Al Goldstein and NYC stripper emeritus Robyn Bird) unprecedented access to mass communication and local notoriety. And one of the most successful and influential programs to emerge from the new DIY-TV scene was “Glenn O’Brien’s TV Party (with a guest list that included Blondie, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and the Clash),” which ran from 1978 until 1982 in Manhattan and, eventually, L.A.
After reading that O’Brien’s show had been preserved and released on DVD, my better half Netflixed several episodes, as well as TV Party: The Documentary by filmmaker Danny Vinik, which traces the evolution (and eventual dissolution) of the coolest televised cocktail party of all time.
Taking his cues from Playboy After Dark and the Rat Pack days of the Carson-era Tonight Show, O’Brien (a handsome, martini-dry New Wave bon vivant) invited his artsy Village friends to come to the studio, hang out, smoke pot, and play with the equipment — and since they were young, creative and weird, the results were funny, chaotic, and pretty much unlike anything else on TV, before or since.
For one thing, O’Brien’s friends included the likes of Fred Schneider, Fab 5 Freddy, Robert Fripp and an adorable pre-fame Debbie Harry (who, in one segment, bounces on a pogo stick to demonstrate the nuances of punk rock dancing). Meanwhile, familiar faces like David Byrne and Klaus Nomi pop up in the house band, while Basquiat is in the control booth, typing absurdist poetry on the Chryon.
David Letterman, back in the “anything goes” phase of his career, was a kindred spirit and professed fan of the show, and as the notoriety of TV Party and its regulars increased, it began attracting ever more famous scenester guests, from Bowie to Mapplethorpe, until the rising wave crested and, like all good things, the party came to an end: O’Brien got married, Harry’s bandmate Chris Stein caught a nasty case of pemphigus vulgaris (contributing to the breakup of Blondie), the yuppification of Manhattan drove the bohemians out and eventually everybody just moved on.
But Vinik’s documentary brings it all back, and those with fond memories of the early ‘80s may feel like they’re watching old home movies of their younger selves in a far funkier time, only with more famous faces and a freakier soundtrack. Rent it tonight…you’ll dig it the most!
Dysfunctional families need not be related by blood, as this new documentary from Rivkah Beth Medow and Greg O’Toole proves. Larry Bobbitt, a former hostage negotiator with the LAPD, is the surrogate dad for three schizophrenic men, all in their 30s and 40s. Larry once ran a legit home for the mentally ill in the 1980s, but the IRS took a dim view of his cash-only approach. Now in his 70s, Larry is a barely functional alcoholic who volunteers at a food bank. He also oversees Craig, a former carnival worker and classic rock aficianado, Lance, a shy former athlete and ex-drug addict, and Ubaldo, a divorced veteran of several mental institutions. As the documentary opens, Larry and his charges have just been evicted from their most recent home and have taken up residence in a motel room.
Take the four most mentally stable guys you know and force them into such close quarters, and it won’t be a pretty picture. Add schizophrenia and alcoholism to the mix, and you have the makings of a Jerry Springer episode. Sons of a Gun never plays that way, however. The filmmakers seem genuinely conflicted about this situation, and their ambivalence seeps through every frame of this compelling, disturbing film. There’s a genuine, familial vibe amongst this quartet, and in the early going, it seems like they’ve found a viable alternative to the sort of sterile group housing where they might otherwise be disposed. But it soon becomes clear this is no sitcom; Larry has a vicious temper when he drinks, which is most of the time, and a few horrific moments of violence force you to re-think the whole set-up. Surely this is not a healthy situation for anyone concerned…but is there an acceptable alternative or are these men doomed to fall through the increasing cracks in the social safety net?
There are no easy answers in Sons of a Gun, just a compelling story about unique individuals most of us would avert our eyes from if we passed on the street. They’re not so easily ignored in this intimate, compassionate but clear-eyed portrait of life on the fringes.
As of June 1, Nerve.com will be dropping their film blog, The Screengrab…
…but don’t despair, because starting today, you can find the latest writing from all your favorite Screengrab bloggers (plus special guest villains) here on the The Screengrab In Exile, starting with…
