19 February 2005

Porn, the Sox, 90210... Nice.



Went to see Inside Deep Throat tonight, the documentary about the impetus, creation, culture and after-effects of the famous porn film surrounding it's 1972 release. Just from a cursory reading on the subject myself, much of what was presented in the film wasn't entirely new to me- the film operates more as a broad introduction to the topic than it does some shocking expose. Nothing wrong with that of course.

What is of such value in a film like this is the detailed interviews (well, mostly detailed) with the principles involved, archival footage that, on occasion, will boggle your mind, access to the right to show scenes from the original Deep Throat. The movie is rated NC-17, and that is due in large part (all part?) to the depictions of Linda Lovelace blowing Harry Reems- it may sound a bit over-the-line for a major studio to have an actual act of oral sex in a film of theirs... but then you realize it's not a big deal, and that the filmmakers would be remiss for not showing the audience what, at length, their interviews were praising her for.

Documentaries thrive on the human element- those moments you can't script that are like rays of heaven- things you see from people that say so much in so little you have to catch your breath watching them. In Inside, it's Helen Gurley Brown (late of Cosmo) glowing about the value to one's complexion of sperm ("ladies know the value of spreading it all over the face, chest, neck and breasts"), it's Dick Cavett laughing claiming to have never seen Deep, and demanding to- "now!", it's one of the film's distributers talking honestly and on the record despite his (extremely slight) mob ties with the film- and his wife's sudden, unexpected excoriation for talking about the picture.

Inside has all these things, including some interviews with people that knew the very troubled Linda Lovelace, Linda Lovelace herself, the director Gerry Damaino, the scapegoated male star Harry Reems. The film moves, initially, from a cultural discussion from the likes of John Waters, Hugh Hefner, Charles Keating (in all his Glory), Dr. Ruth, Camille Paglia, Erica Jong, Norman Mailer, and Gore Vidal- then, we learn of the creation of the film itself. (still the most profitable of all time- $25,000 to make, grossed $600 million) We get this from Reems, Damaino, and a staggering couple of characters in the producer and location scout, the former of which is the type for which a stiff breeze provides more than Viagra ever could- and he can never finish a thought, either-, the latter of which is completey, totally insane and in love with f-, s-, and a- bombs. When Damaino describes their filming a scene at the Florida home of a wealthy "count," we cut to the location scout-

"He was a horseshit count!"

The final part of the story is the aftermath- political maneuvering, law suits and the tragedy that befell Lovelace. The political maneuvering and lawsuits were self-explanatory- the government used the fake moral outrage to fuel campaigns, and that included the need to scape goat some (Reems, who was actually brought to trial) for their own benefit. They'd produce studies, rejecting the ones that didn't support their anti-porn agenda.

What stings most in the film, though, is the story of Lovelace, who when thrust into the spotlight never was able to wrestle more than her initial $2500 from the crooked backers of the film. Damaino, Reems, and Lovelace never saw any of the money from the film that netted more than any in film history. Lovelace later claimed that all her scenes- and her participation in the culture- was against her will and forced upon her by her psychotic boyfriend. Lovelace subsequently went through life struggling to make any money, becoming a crusade project for the feminist movement, fired constantly from jobs upon their realization of her fame, returning to the "life" posing nude (in the depth of tragedy- describing it to the camera with a palpable vibe of exhaustion and resolution), and finally, in 2002, death in a car crash with no money to her name.

The best part was this sympathetic-looking, honest, bright eyed 75+ year old woman being interviewed outside the theater after seeing Deep Throat. "I went to see a dirty picture. Yes- yes I like them, and I liked this one. I like dirty pictures. And I want the right to be able to see them- I don't want anyone telling me I can't."

Right on, babe.

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Does anyone else love Spring Training photos as much as I do? If it's possible, you're in luck. Here's some new ones...


Was it good Jason? Cos if it wasn't, you could tell me, and- and, I'd just change it. (redsox.com)


Arroyo tosses- PHEW!- no more cornrows. (yahoosports.com)


Cap'n works with a pitcher in warmups. (yahoosports.com)


Just as cute as a button. (yahoosports.com)


Clement lets one fly. A pitch. (redsox.com)


Arroyo signs. (redsox.com)


Well, it had to happen sometime. Pete in a Mets uni. (yahoosports.com)


And, just to twist that knife, one more time... (yahoosports.com)

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Here's a great article by Jacob Luft about the 2004 AL MVP race. Gary Sheffield has recently expressed concern over the fact that, as great as he is (and clearly, as humble), he's never received an MVP. He feels slighted by this, even if he can't wrap his head around the concept of being good- but not the best any given year- in the league. Anyway, suffice to say Luft takes a sensible, stat-based approach, and Sheffield never really measures up. Sheffield was behind both Ramirez and Guerrero in OBP, SLG, VORP, RCAA, BA, and HR. Sheffield has them beat in Win Shares, but when considering Sheffield and Guerrero's respective defensive performances- which Luft does with FP, RF and ZR- the latter of which favor Guerrero- it's just piss on Sheffield, unfortunately. He's #3 in my book, but #2 at least. Again. Poor guy. The article is worth a read- concise, to the point, and damn right.

Here's an article relating to that horseshit reputation Buster Olney decided to give Matt Clement- namely, that he doesn't have the "makeup" (I know, Yankee-words, tough to wrap the logical head around it- bear with it) to pitch in Boston. Matt's take on it?

"I just found out about this knock when I signed here," said Clement, who inked a three-year pact with the Red Sox in December. "All I can do is prove everybody that's throwing that knock out there wrong. I pitched in the [National League Championship Series] and won [in 2003]. Of course, I pitched in the first round and lost. But I've pitched in the playoffs before, I've pitched in the pennant race the last two years. You know, everybody is entitled to their opinion. All I can do is prove them wrong."


Apparently to Buster and all the lazy jerkasses that ran with the notion, it's clear- succeed in Boston or New York or don't talk to me. What? Chicago? Eh. Not on the east coast. You're without the mental fortitude to do it until proven otherwise. Why? Because you've had bad W/L despite good peripherals in your career (and this would have nothing to do with poor run support, of which Clement received league lows in a few years running), and that means- good or no- I'm not so sure if your puny brain can get around pitching in Boston.

Clement will pitch as well as he's able. I'm really, really optimistic personally- and I like how the Sox got a better long term option than Pavano based on career trajetory, and at a fraction of the cost.

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You know the little spin wheel on your mouse in between the two click buttons? The one that allows you to scroll up and down the page without clicking anything? Well the one on my mouse is not working right, and it's driving me fucking CAH-RAZY. Ugh.

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"I found the key to my grandpa's gun cabinet,
but he lives in the woods. I want to play with
the guns- Brandon, will you give me a ride out there?"


Erin and I watch 90210 every single night, and it's great. It's fun- you unwittingly turn into Mystery Science Theatre 3000 without warning. It's too easy to just verbally jibe at. Anyway, it's pretty funny- every time Scotty (David Silver's friend that ends up- whhops!- shooting himself in the stomach) comes onscreen, we'll make some variation of a "hey, you guys wanna head over to the shooting range?" or "Who wants to play with my dad's guns?" or "Did somebody just say semi-automatic rifle?"

You get the idea. Real knee slappers. Anyway, I'm gonna post some of the funnier ones when they come up. Not to pat myself on the back, but an early favorite so far is one of mine. In the episode in which Brandon is picked up off the street for a soap opera and made famous- literally- over night, Brenda subs for him at the Peach Pit. She develops some ridiculous character Laverne to cope (who's accents range from Jewish to Brooklyn to Russian to Australian- from word to word!), and makes a boatload of tips. She comes home flashing all the money after her first big night, and Cindy (Momma Walsh) comments that "she's made a lot of money for [her]self. What are you gonna do with it?" To which I blurted out,

"Oh, I'm saving up for an abortion for Dylan and I."

Erin ate it up. Oh man, it was so funny.


"Love you, Bren..." "Love you Bren..."

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