he best films this year were genre pictures: vampire, policier, art film, gangster, war movie all using genre conventions to keep us anchored as they shattered every genre convention we know. The sensation of being on familiar ground and utterly unmoored made the usual fare seem even more schematic, yesterdays news.
Now that rock anthems and gospel choirs have sung us into the Obama era, its tempting to think were waking to a glorious new day and slamming the door on our eight-year national nightmare. But philosopher-psychoanalyst Slavoj Zizek wants to remind us that no matter how vigorously we repudiate our nightmares, they reveal something true and unavoidable about who we are.
For individuals of a certain age range and demographic who grew up in the 1970s and 80s, it is nearly impossible to overstate how comprehensively our minds were fucked by sitcoms.
All taste is indefensible. When we feel guilty about our pleasures we start trying to turn fiction into philosophy, usually to the detriment of both. So Im always wary of making pop culture academic because it feels apologetic.
What do you get when you mix tequila, Xanax, silicone, and plastic underwear? A miraculous fourth season of Rock of Love: Rock of Love Bus.