Remiel

Raging Bull

Most American films are written, directed, produced by, and star: men. They are intended for men, and explore male values. Even “women’s” films are merely targeted at a demographic… still made by men; made to make money.

All of this must be ignored when watching Raging Bull. Yes, you’ve seen this before: the unlikely boxing underdog struggling against the odds. You’ve seen Robert De Niro be the taciturn tough guy. You’ve seen Italian husbands yell at their Italian wives. You’ve seen “boxing movies” and, for that matter, “sports movies”.

But you must forget all that when watching Raging Bull. Cleanse your palette and take this movie in with fresh eyes. 

Foremost, Raging Bull is about masculinity. It’s not a celebration of masculinity (like most Hollywood films), nor a complete indictment of it. De Niro and Scorsese (who went uncredited as co-writers), labored obsessively over the character of boxer Jake LaMotta, and it shows.

LaMotta embodies every male contradiction in the book: strong but abusive, committed but unfaithful, ambitious but paranoid. Cocky, but deeply insecure. Since the insecurity is what fuels those contradictions (in all of us, arguably), it is that flaw which functions as the lynchpin of the narrative. LaMotta can never be happy, and never be wise, because he will always hate himself more than he loves his achievements.

Filmed up close, in black and white, with little spectacle (aside from the crushing boxing scenes), the movie is just as important today as it was in 1980. Like its protagonist, it’s hard to like at times (LaMotta’s no Rocky, and that’s the point), but it is riveting, painful, and beautiful.

Lady Gaga says “no” to Weird Al and I think she sucks but then I don’t.

Update on top of the update far below: Apparently, Gaga never even saw/heard the video. Unless this is a PR-related retraction, it was a Gaga manager who responded on her behalf (fire that dude, Gaga). I should have guessed this might be the case. If anyone but Weird Al had been the one requesting “rights”, we’d all automatically have said “how does he even know he was hearing from Gaga herself?”. You just assume he has the clout to get her eyes and ears.

(Thanks OttoK and strutting.)

Original post:

Weird Al’s great. I loved him as a kid and never grew out of it.

Parody is protected speech, of course. No one can stop Al from profiting off his satire. But the list of those who’ve denied him is a mix of surprises and non-surprises. And he always honors their requests, just ‘cuz he’s like that.

When I heard that Lady Gaga refused Weird Al permission to parody “Born This Way”, I thought “Of all the people who shouldn’t have a stick up their ass about this…”

But before you pass judgment, listen to the song on YouTube. Watch the lyrics.

I’m still disappointed she shot him down. If she really believes the persona she’s crafted is worth its salt; commercially, artistically… she should have the spine to take Al’s punches. But it has to be said: his lyrics border on a personal attack. 

I’d like to think that in whatever incredibly unlikely parallel universe I’m a giant pop star, I’d give Weird Al free reign to do whatever he wants with my songs, sight unseen (or “track unheard”).

But I can see how Gaga’s kneejerk reaction to this would be “I’m hurt” rather than “That’s a funny parody of my song”.

For the record, here’s Al’s side of it. It’s worth a read (if you care at all). Unlike most of the headlines on Google about this, Yankovic’s blog post includes the beginning-middle-end of this, instead of just “Lady Gaga Says No to Weird Al”.

UPDATE:
One other thought. For Al to release this on YouTube and make it freely downloadable from his site amounts, in 2011, to ignoring Gaga’s refusal to grant permission.

Don’t get me wrong. Parody should definitely be sacrosanct, no matter how savage or even unfunny. But considering the role the internet now plays in musical promotion, this is effectively the same thing as breaking his policy to honor artist permission.

Whether he “makes money on it” by putting it on his next album or not, this is now a de facto marketing stunt. He published it, he’ll sell albums, and he’ll make money on it.

Friday, Rebecca Black, and celebrity hate

I love “Friday”. Unabashedly. I hope Rebecca Black makes a million dollars from it, her debut album is a Gaga-caliber hit, and she marries her dreamboat, Justin Bieber.

When I first heard “Friday”

I thought “This is quite possibly the worst song ever!” Every pop musician who pays attention now has to contend with “Friday”. It’s a critical line in the sand. Pop is easy, yes, but say something, at least. Or risk ridicule. Weird Al himself couldn’t write something this hilarious and damning.

I imagined Black wrote the song herself; always a silly assumption to make about pop music. Purportedly, both Rebecca and her mother had doubts about the quality of the lyrics, but the 13-year old did what the vanity studio told her to do.

Whether any artists notice or not (pop is exceptionally poor at “noticing”), Rebecca Black and Ark Music Factory have given us something necessary. Finally, we have a pop song that is loudly, perfectly, about nothing.

On the other hand: who hasn’t fetishized Friday? It’s the beginning of the weekend! And goddammit if the song wasn’t stuck in my head after only one listen.

Yesterday was Thursday, today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes afterwards

Rebecca Black is a privileged, teenage girl who probably wouldn’t know good music if it bit her on the ass. 13-year old Remiel made a mix tape for his girlfriend featuring Meat Loaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love”.

Teenagers are idiots. That’s their job. They think having a dream is the same as deserving it, and eventually either give up, or make the enormous effort to make the vision real. But sometimes, they win the lottery, and have their goals delivered on a silver platter. And we hate that.

We we we so excited, we so excited

Celebrity hate is the lamest hate.

What’s the difference between a death threat against the pedophile next door, and one posted on a Paris Hilton YouTube video? The differences are vigor and intent. Despite her massive exposure, Hilton exists relatively free of the loathing we’d feel about an active sexual abuser in our own neighborhood.

But somehow, the rhetoric is the same. “Worthless piece of trash”. “Die you stupid fuck”.

Like a snot rubbed off on a public restroom wall, celebrity hate is fueled by anonymity, not malice. You wouldn’t leave a booger on your own wall any more than you’d actually take a swing at Chris Tucker if you met him in person.

George Carlin wrote:

I love and treasure individuals as I meet them. I loathe and despise the groups they identify with and belong to.

What has Rebecca Black done to you? Why not celebrate the fact that it’s possible to become famous just by being a “professional socialite” like Paris Hilton?

Hate Monsanto, if you want. And if you’re willing to do a little legwork and figure out who’s truly responsible, you can hate those guys, too. Even though you’ve never met them, and they’ve probably never personally hurt you the way the guy who ran over your dog did.

Money is just money. Fame is just fame. They’re numbers. Metrics. Piles of stuff somebody got because they multiplied a talent by an opportunity.

If the opportunity seems undeserved relative to their talent, why not celebrate the success of a fellow human being and politely encourage them to use their influence benignly, instead of tearing down a stranger to impress your friends and whitewash your jealousy?