Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Theatrikal Korner

Today on Impresario Paul's Theatrikal Korner, we take a look at the crockery-throwingest acting style of all:

The Method!

Many people believe the Method to be a technique whereby an actor connects their own emotional experiences to the experience of their character, creating a more believable and powerful performance. This belief is widespread but as erroneous as the sky is blue! The Method is actually a technique whereby gorgeous people pretend to have problems.

You see, the trouble with being an actor is that you are gorgeous. All actors are! But sometimes, the character an actor has to portray has problems, such as alcoholism, a history of being sexually abused, or ugliness. Since existence, for an attractive person, is an effortless oiled slide down a springtime hillside of poseys and money, they have a hard time behaving as if anything bad has ever happened to them. And yet, in countless plays, such as King Lear and Urinetown, the best parts (and therefore the parts most likely to go to gorgeous people; have you ever seen a King Lear you didn't want to fuck? I rest my case) are the parts of people who have horrible problems. What's an actor to do?

The Method has the answer. Aspiring practitioners need only sign up for a course, or a series of courses, designed to achieve the desired effect: a convincing display of any emotion other than blank-faced contentment.

Approaches differ. Some classes focus on trying to dredge up actual painful memories from the actor's past. Once in a while these memories turn out to be genuine, but typically they are invented on the spot in the face of extreme "close talking" by the instructor. Any fairly convincing combination of childhood torment and romantic remorse should placate the typical Method acting teacher. The memory is then worked over and analyzed and loudly discussed until it feels real enough to elicit a genuine-looking reaction.

In other classes, the problems are not created by memories of trauma, but by the instructor himself. Recognizing that the students under his charge are angelic beings of an airy-light temperament -- their graceful minds floating as far above the cares of ordinary men as the stars are above the clouds -- he sets about the breaking of their spirits with the care and craftsmanship of a jeweller disassembling a Cartier watch. Treading the kittens of their self-esteem beneath the bootheel of his mighty art, he interrupts, insults, berates, harangues, and petrifies his luckless students until, driven utterly mad, they run screaming into the streets, waving their headshots and auditioning wildly for the part of "Second Dockworker" on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.

And that dockworker is going to have believable dockworker problems, thanks to the Method. Remember all the episodes of L&O: SVU you've seen ruined by nonbelievable dockworkers? Well, take those days and say goodbye to them! That dockworker's going to be depressed, he's going to have a meth problem, he's going to be recently divorced...he's going to be a completely worthless, hopeless human being.

And he's going to be gorgeous.

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Monday, September 24, 2007

She Meant "Totalitarians"

Once in a while, in the course of my trawls through the "pets" section of craigslist for mammals even more pathetic than I am, I run across a typo so magnificent it must be shared with the world:

"Anybody that understands animals knows that pet care has numerous fascists."

I'll think of some jokes later. I just wanted everyone to see this.

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Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I Still Love Bacon

I just accidentally saw a video of a bunch of dudes chainsawing the head off a live pig. Thanks, internet!

This kind of thing happens to me because I visit this site: http://fuzzysquid.com/LJ.php

There are pages like this all over the net, compiling the most recent images uploaded to livejournal.com, your source for the blogs of a) teenagers who want everyone to know how awesome/sexy/sad they are and b) adults who don't want anyone to read their blogs. These "feed" pages are like glory holes, with the internet dropping its pants on one side, and you the viewer kneeling open-mouthed on the other side. Who knows what's gonna come through the hole? Could be cake, could be jizz, could be pure terror. I've seen pictures of the aftermaths of car accidents, pictures of kittens playing with flowers, pictures of vaginas, and pictures of everything in between (kittens crashing cars into vaginas).

I swear, the only thing that keeps me coming back to the internet is the likelihood that, within five minutes of seeing the most horrible thing I have ever seen, I will then see something like this: Hamster Who Doesn't Know He Is On A Piano

Oh, internet. Let's never fight again.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Emergency Brain Dump In 5...4...3...

I don't like to admit I'm getting older, but I did once describe a blowjob as "fine and dandy". I'm still a young man. Am I going to be in a BDSM club when I'm 55, mumbling the words "that was some nifty fisting!" through a vinyl mask? And if a total stranger asks me to jerk off on her face, will I say "I believe you have me at a disadvantage, madam"?

***

If anyone is wondering how my out-of-town friend's cats, Milla and Logan, are doing, the answer is "fat and retarded, respectively". They are an odd pair. Neither of them meows. Milla is too fat to meow; the air gets stuck halfway down her throat, so she just opens her mouth and makes a face like she's meowing, but then she just sort of wheezes. She can hiss, though. BOY can she hiss. Logan is too retarded to meow; she thinks she's a pigeon or something, which would kind of explain her fondness for jumping four feet in the air and landing on her head, and would also explain the weird "mrrrrRRRRP?" noise she makes, like a bird trying to purr, or a cat trying to chirp.

They were both hanging out on the bed with me yesterday, and Logan was chirping and Milla was hissing. If they were people instead of cats, their conversation would have gone:

"I'm cute. Love me?"

"PREPARE TO FUCKING DIE!"

Cats are insane assholes. Why do I want one so bad?

***

There's a "new atheism" supposedly sweeping the country. I'm not sure how it's different from the old atheism. Is it possible to ignore religion EVEN HARDER??? A lot more people are willing to publicly identify themselves as atheists than has typically been the case, that's for sure. Most of them are being nice about it, like, "maybe we shouldn't base our moral lives around the stories told by people who believed the cause of schizophrenia was demons living in your skeleton? just a thought?"

Anyhow, the whole situation is making religious people panic and trot out every argument they have for believing in God, but unfortunately these arguments are all from the 2nd century and don't exactly stand up to modern scrutiny in the same way as, say, the screenplay of "Back To The Future". That thing was airtight, I'm just saying. Anyhow again, one argument that gets repeated from the highest echelons of theological "research" all the way down to some of my friends goes like this: I believe in God because life would be meaningless and awful if there was no God and I just can't believe in a world like that.

That's actually their argument. "It would be totally awesome if God existed. Therefore he does!" You'll find it phrased much finer the higher up the academic ladder (and the further into the past) you go, but the basic argument remains the same.

That's a mighty blunt logical tool. Your argument might need some work if it can be used to prove the existence of God and, say, R2-D2. Can anyone deny that the best of all possible worlds, in which we clearly live, would clearly have R2-D2 in it? Therefore it does. See how useful that is? Useful to the point of being useless.

When my car finance company calls me up and asks me why I haven't paid them anything in seven months, I can't say "yeah, I know, but you're in luck, check this out: it's really important to my peace of mind and quality of life to have my car loan paid in full, ERGO I do not in fact owe you eleven thousand dollars. You may cease your collection efforts immediately, my brother. I look forward to buying many more cars from you, and paying for them with my MIND."

***

I recently watched the documentary "You're Gonna Miss Me", about 13th Floor Elevators frontman Roky Erickson. He is a mentally fragile acid casualty who needs loud noise to relax. He turns on TVs and stereos and amps and shit and just sits in the noise with his sunglasses on.

I don't wanna act like the mentally ill don't have their shit together, but can I make one small suggestion, Roky? HEADPHONES. Getcherself some nice big shiny Bose noise-cancellers and a cable splitter so you can listen to the Powerpuff Girls and Metal Machine Music at the same time. There, I just solved all your problems. Like I do for EVERYONE.

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Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Hey, Science: Take A Break

Two of the headlines on CNN.com today:

"Men want hot women, study confirms"

"Study: Rock stars more likely to die young"


Stories on deck for tomorrow:

"Studies indicate that smoke is frequently associated with fire"

"Shocking study reveals inevitability of death"

"Men, women: different"

"Sky: blue? Yes"

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Monday, September 03, 2007

The Age Of Men

Thoughts on watching "Mary Poppins" as a grownup:

Identified a lot more with David Tomlinson's Mr. Banks than I ever had before. Poor guy. Never has upper-middle-class fatherhood looked more thankless than it did in this movie.

A very stagey film. I can't believe I ever thought any of it was actually filmed outdoors. Sound stages from start to finish; Kubrick would be proud. Also a movie that doesn't bother to make its matte paintings look like anything but matte paintings. Most of it looks, very deliberately, like the backgrounds of Disney's animated films from around the same time.

Julie Andrews is smokin'. Said it before, worth repeating.

The actress who played the housemaid mugged so much that I wanted to punch her.

Movie actors could get away with having much uglier teeth back then.

I still love it when the penguin slaps the other penguin.

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