Slowdive’s Pygmalion certainly isn’t their most accessible album (not that I claim to know what that would be), but for those willing to brave the wall of sound, it can be quite rewarding. It’s easy to get lost in the acoustics and be lifted to another world. It’s as if Pygmalion is what you would hear if you could simplify each of the band’s members down to their musical essence.

“Blue Skied An’ Clear”, in particular, is an amazing track. It was actually my first introduction to the album, years before I ever heard any of the others. While at times it becomes a pure cacophony, it retains a euphonious purity throughout. The mix is nothing but perfect; you can get lost in the whole, or pick out each tiny little piece from the puzzle with ease. It’s so easy to get lost, in fact, that you can forget that Neil Halstead is actually singing. And if you take the time to really listen, the cacophony turns to deliberate bliss. Every listen to this track is different, revealing something new, and every listen is equally incredible.

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I had the distinct misfortune today of paying actual money to see House of Wax. I was prepared to say that it holds the distinction of behing the worst movie I have ever seen, but luckily, it did redeem itself in the end. I got to see Paris Hilton’s head impaled on a spike, and quite frankly, I would have paid about triple the $7 ticket price for that pleasure.
I also wish to note that when purchasing my ticket for this film, I was actually carded. I have never been carded before for an R-rated film, and I’m not entirely sure why the clerk felt the need to. It’s not like it was even good enough to warrant it.

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Beach Blanket Bingo
How could I resist watching a film starring everybody’s favorite Hollywood Square, Mr. Paul Lynde? Anything starring the homosexual, nasal-voiced, Ohio-born star of Charlotte’s Web has to be good. I mean, the man even had his own TV show at one point in which he attempted to play a heterosexual lawyer. Talk about acting! I’ve always been obsessed with watching cheesy Hollywood musicals, and adding in feeble attempts at comedy mixed with characters named “Bullets” (Mr. Lynde), “Big Drop,” “Sugar Cane,” and “Butch” only made this title even more attractive to me. And of course, the movie is filled with overly-groomed actors playing stereotypically dumb bimbos, and stereotypically conniving businessmen. Bingo trips over itself with some minor technical issues, though. Apparently, the lip synch coach was out of town for this one, or maybe modern post-production didn’t exist then. Either way, I was not for a second fooled into believing that these lovely actors were actually singing for the camera. Going that “extra mile” that teeny-bopper movies rarely go, Bingo treads new ground and does something that I have seen in no other films. It makes use of slapstick comedy sound effects even when no actual comedy is taking place! I could only hope to be so creative. The film even includes a good-natured rib at Mr. Lynde’s home state, brought on by none other than Mr. Lynde himself. His character, while watching the teenagers dance, asks his friend, “Have you ever done anything like that?” The truly witty response? “Once, back in Ohio. When I got caught in a swarm of bees.” Oh, how I laughed. Not. In the end, though, the entertainment value of this film far exceeded the 20 minutes of my time I actually spent watching it. And the rest of the excruciating 1 hour, 38 minute runtime I spent on more productive things, such as writing this review.

“Beach Blanket Bingo” (William Asher)

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The Valley of the Dolls
I happen to record this one off of the Fox Movie Channel last month, and - against my father’s advice - finally sat down to watch it. My dad had seen the movie back around the time it first came out (1967), and told me he thought it was pretty lame and a waste of time. Not one to heed to reason, I perservered anyway and was pleasantly surprised. Admittedly I knew almost nothing about the movie before watching it, so I guess some form of surprise was inevitable.
From what little I did know, I was certainly not expecting a half-assed attempt at a garish Hollywood musical, and this attempt was half-assed at best. The film contains at most four distinct musical numbers, but they tried damn hard to pretend like there were more. Songs were performed by different artists or, failing that, at least performed at different tempos to change the “mood.” Yawn.
Our “heroine,” Neely, moves from New England to New York. She gets a job with some showbiz types, and two hours of trite film is made. Really.
Now, if I was going to make a film that is supposedly anti-drug (or rather, anti-sleeping pill), I think I could do better than to turn it into a Disney musical. It reaches the point of absurdity in a “dramatic” scene where our heroine is stumbling like a drunkard (sleeping pills make you drunk in this film) with the obscenely delightful title music blaring at the audience. Am I supposed to be happy that she is in a “doll”-induced state of obliteration? I was happy that it meant the end of the film was near.
As much as it may seem otherwise, I genuinely enjoyed watching this one. Not because it was a piece of quality cinema, or anything like that. It is, however, definitely a glimpse back into a different time, both in Hollywood, and in Hollywood’s interpretation of reality.

“Valley of the Dolls (Special Edition)” (Mark Robson)

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