Last night Richard found himself downstairs in the Griffith Room enjoying an academic lecture which consisted primarily of looking at pictures of Annie Lennox and Duran Duran. A bar was open near the room's entrance, immediately making this the greatest lecture of all time, no matter its subject. After the event culminated with a screening of KD Lang videos, each guest was given a drink ticket and ushered deeper into the building's vast, labrynthine bowels ("The Cave") for an 80's dance party in which full professors cavorted to Michael Jackson songs while others (Richard) looked on as if he were watching animals in a zoo.
But who attends "The Cave" on a normal night when it hasn't been rented out by 80's-obsessed academics making a career of nostalgia (to paraphrase an idea from DeLillo's White Noise)? Is the dancefloor normally inhabited by sorostitutes who totter (charmingly) over on high-heels after an evening of "pre-partying?" Or is it simply full of KU alumni in town for sports events and fundraisers? These questions linger, but Richard left last night's festivities vowing to return at least once more to bang a sorostitute (or possibly cougar) in one of the Inn's no-doubt swanky suites.
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The boys love all movies that involve talking CGI animals, and this weekend's Marmaduke should be no exception.
The AV Club review begins in this manner: "It’s tempting simply to note that director Tom Dey bookends Marmaduke with fart jokes, and leave it at that."
Chip: "Opening with a fart joke is a bold move. Normally, a director wants to build up to that level of hilarity. This suggests a film that is fully confident in its material. And look at Marmaduke in the photo below. He's wearing sunglasses! He thinks he's people!"
Richard: "I hear this is William H. Macy's finest work since Wild Hogs."
4 comments:
But did the lecture provide you substantive insights into Annie Lennox? An 80s lecture and dance party seems like a pretty good way to make a living--I'd love to make a career of my nostalgia. Right now, it's more like an addiction. Do they have a 12-step program for nostalgia?
My nostalgia does not, however, extend to making me attend MARMADUKE, even though I was a regular reader when I was 8. I guess William H. Macy has decided he's already done all the work he will be remembered for, and he might as well make sure of it by doing as many (hopefully) forgettable pictures as possible before he dies.
Or is it just the dog?
Was there polite use of her mid 80s clitorati?
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