Category Archives: Pg-13 pussification

Reports of my influence . . .

eagles.jpg. . . would doubtless be greatly exaggerated if they existed at all. Repent, Ye Sinners, because it can’t be long now: The Eagles’ stunningly craptacular Wal-Mart-exlcusive double album Long Road Out of Eden sold 711,000 copies its first week, which in this waning era of the traditional record business qualifies as a massive hit.Let’s put that in perspective: Bruce Springsteen’s Magic, released four weeks before the Eagles opus, sold 77,000 in its debut frame. The Eagles album is an abomination, a heinous crime against taste, and also the best-selling “rock” album of 2007. Henley, Frey, & Co. were the beneficiaries of a rule change at Billboard that that allowed Long Road to be included on the Billboard 200 chart even though it’s not available from all retail outlets.Previously, exclusive releases had been barred from the Billboard 200, which is why Britney was supposed to win the week, having moved not quite 300k units of her “comeback” disc. One can’t imagine that the bafflingly positive tenor of the reviews (save for mine, The Guardian‘s, and the Sound Opinions guys’) had much to do with Long Road‘s popularity among Wal-Mart shoppers, though the $11.88 price tag probably did. After all, that’s a bargain, right? Twenty new — okay, kind of new, not counting the lead-off single from 1972 and the Joe Walsh song from the 1995 soundtrack album to RoboCop: The Series — for under $12. You can’t afford not to buy it!I especially like the paragraph-three quote in the LiveDaily story from Gary Severson, Wal-Mart’s senior vice president of Entertainment, about notifying the RIAA immediately to certify the album’s “multi-platinum status.” Yo, Gary: 711,000 does not equal two million. I’m sure they’ll get there the day after Thanksgiving if not before, but you’re jumping the gun a little, Pal. (Check their excellent values on guns in the Sporting Goods section, by the way.)

So. We’ll — and this is not the regal “we,” but rather the “we” that denotes “Klimek and those among his confederates who be not wussy bitches” — all be out the night of Tuesday, July 3 to see those cars who are also robots.

But meanwhile, there’s another, less hirsute, even more powerful echo of my childhood rippling through the public consciousness this week, thanks mostly due to a ubiquitous ad campaign for which Rupert Murdoch has paid a dear price. We’re 19 years and three films on from John McTiernan’s uber-tense, class-conscious, sharply edited original — the film that no less an authority than Entertainment Weekly recently named as the Greatest Action Film of All Time, and certainly it’s in the top five — but it’s link to the imagination that thrived inside my chubby, awkward 12-year-old body in 1988 remains intact. Then as now, that imagination yearned to kill slumming members of the Royal Shakespeare Company while eulogizing them thusly: “Yippe Kay Yay, Motherfuckers!”

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Bruce puts on manly readiness for Die Hard, Part the Fourth.

The PG-13 rating gives me pause. The phrase “directed by Len Wiseman” gives me pause. The presence of Justin “I’m a Mac” Long . . . well, I sort of like him, actually. His performance as Queerbait in Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story showed him to be a mature, insightful actor of surprising nuance, who could also catch a crescent wrench to the nutsack and take it like a man. And so, my fellow Americans, we are faced with a sober choice: Live Free? Or Die Hard?

Or, uh, Live Free or Die Hard? (It’s the summer movie wherein a car fights a helicopter and a jet fights a truck — but they don’t turn into robots!)

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The midnight sneaks are actually tonight. But if we go to see that free screening of Barbarella at the Hirshorn Thursday night at eight, a 10:30 show at Gallery Place of this tone poem to revolution, male pattern baldness, and airborne vehicular manslaughter would be just about perfect. Come on, Guys! Hanoi Jane meets John McClane! As a watershed cultural event, it will be second only to this:

What say ye, Friends? Can I get a witness?