This year’s Golden Teddy Awards for Most Excellence in Movies starts with the list of my ten favorite movies of 2014 from LGBT Weekly and then goes into choices for excellences in various Oscar-ish categories as well as things like “prop chomping” and “dystopian art direction.”
Three days after its release, the voters on IMDb have declared Guardians of the Galaxy the 32nd greatest film of all time. This is, of course, absurd.
By the end of the film, Allen makes a pretty clear statement about magical thinking, but the resolution is not comforting for those discomfited by Allen’s predilections.
While I knew that Lambert would be performing at the AMAs, I wasn’t watching the show, and I wasn’t paying much attention. Until I clicked onto my sitemeter and saw that someone found my blog by searching for “adam lambert stunk on ama.” Not that I had ever written anything like that — Google does weird things.
It’s a good pop album, but it is not a Great Album that transcends Top 40. There are some great songs, some great vocals — some really great vocals — and some great fun. It’s at its best when it’s Bowie-meets-Gaga-after-drinks-with-Madonna, and at its worst when it’s Chris Daughtry songs with Adam Lambert’s voice.
Since I was deeply concerned about whether radio would ever get behind Adam Lambert, because of The Gay, I was rather interested in, and rather appalled by, Adam’s Out brouhaha. A lot has been said, though none of it particularly smart, and I may not do any better. (Yes, this is loony fan bait for the comments.)
In case you haven’t noticed, American radio stations are more homophobic than any other popular media format.
I was kind of sad that he had vanished into the ether from which he came. But he hasn’t! He’s back with a new song and video.
Before I saw the video, I read a bunch of posts on how horrible and shocking and evil the song was. The refrain: “God hates a fag…” And how it proves how horrible and evil the Christian Right is. Then I saw the video. And the websites. It is so, so, so clearly satire. And brilliant satire at that.
Two years ago, I wrote a wistful essay about the post-drag cabaret duo geniuses and their “final” show, “Kiki & Herb Would Die For You.” It was supposed to be their swan song. But they’re back.