I must confess, I still Believe

A recurring theme here at PanObs is me realizing how cool a particular movie/show/song/actor/artist actually is long after their popularity has been established in the main stream. I can often be so turned off by the acceptance by the masses of some aspect of pop culture that it ends up biting me in the ass. "This is lame," I decree, scoffing at whatever is sweeping the nation at the moment. Then years pass, I rediscover it, find out it's in fact awesome (just like everyone thought) and proceed to annoy everyone I know by asking if they've heard of this Britney Spears character.

I never liked Britney Spears. I tolerated her jaunty singles when she first debuted, repeatedly denying that I knew all the words. Then she grew up in the public eye, popped out some kids, went crazy, shaved her head, and bounced around the streets of LA like a drunk ping pong ball. And I laughed at her apparent misfortune. Now's she's back...again. And I'm finally on board.

My roommate had an extra ticket for Britney's Circus tour at Madison Square Garden. Not being much of a concert goer, nor a big fan of Brit's, I originally declined. But when said ticket was still available a few days before the concert, I suddenly came to terms with the fact that it would undoubtedly be a lot of fun. So I jumped at the chance.

Britney blew me away.

The last time I was at Madison Square Garden, it was for the Harlem Globe Trotters. Talented though they may be, they did not draw a crowd like Britney. As a group of twenty-something girls, we neither stood out or fit in. There were plenty of more mature fans, as well as girls who weren't even born when Brit first donned that short plaid skirt. But the common ground we all shared was a growing excitement for the exhibition that was about to commence.

Energy flowed through the arena like electricity as we waited for the pop princess to take the stage. The anticipation was palpable. Once the digital red curtain began to ripple, the crowd erupted into shrill cheers of delight. She emerged on a swing suspended from the ceiling, removed her hooded robe, and let the circus begin.

Having never been to a legit circus (they're inherently creepy, no?), I certainly got my fill at this show. The acrobatics and pyrotechnics were stellar and a surprise appearance by Ed Alonzo (Saved By the Bell's MAX!!), who orchestrated the illusions, left me nostalgic for the nineties.

The back-up dancers hypnotize you with their synchronized movements while Britney struts across the stage; a blur sometimes only identifiable by her mane of yellow hair. There was no shortage of sparkles, tight outfits, or spiked heels (how have women survived this long without owning a diamond-studded bra?).

The most surprising factor: she really looked like she was having a great time. Not only can she own a stage like nobody's business, she can do it with a genuine smile on her face and eyes that sparkle like she's in on a secret. Either she's a grade A bullshitter, or she truly was enjoying herself on stage. And, as my roommate pointed out, it has to be the latter because Britney's not that good of an actress.

When the first beats of "Baby One More Time" began to play, a smile spread across my face. At 15, I was too cool to like this song when it dominated the radiowaves in my high school days. But now, at 25, it hit all the right notes. This number was the most lowkey of the whole show. She sported some crazy tight red pants, knee-high black boots, and a simple black midriff-baring top (it is Britney after all) -- her long hair piled up and out of the way. She was giving the crowd something she knew they wanted, and their reaction seemed to please her. She'd done this a thousand times, and she'd do it a thousand more.

I never truly appreciated or respected Britney Spears and I never thought I would. Maybe it was just the lights and smoke that did their job by creating a spectacle, or maybe it's just Britney, bitch.

Kurt! That's the one I forgot. God bless Kurt.

Is it a tradition to air The Sound of Music around Easter? I recall that The Wizard of Oz often ran on Easter, but maybe it was both. Regardless, I’ve recently discovered how much I love The Sound of Music. I’m aware that this is an opinion often shared by middle-aged housewives. Everyone’s mom loves this movie. It’s not typically a favorite of the twenty-something urban set. But it’s not uncommon for me to go a bit against the grain when it comes to my favorite movies (hello, National Treasure, Mrs. Winterbourne, The Mothman Prophecies and several other movies in my collection that garner significant mockery for me).

Well, the SoM was on this weekend and I not only watched it, I recorded it. It was appointment television for me. I found myself immediately engrossed in every aspect of this movie – the luscious Austrian countryside, the songs I’d forgotten I knew every word to, the costumes, the history…it all melted my cold, cold heart. According to legend (ie: the trivia section of IMDb) the BBC scheduled the SoM to air following a nuclear strike to lift the nation’s spirits. This is unconfirmed, but I’d believe it. There's more to this movie than meets the eye and it doesn't deserve the its saccharin-saturated family sing-along reputation.

Let’s break this movie down:

Captain von Trapp is hot. He’s a stern, heart-broken music-hater towards the beginning of the movie, relying on whistles and an orderly regime to keep his world from crumbling. But he’s totally dreamy and it’s not long after Maria’s arrival that the two of them are, shall we say, stealing glances.

Mixed in with those storylines focusing on a drapery-clad group of munchkins in need of a nanny lies an epic romance. When I was a kid, the moonlit dalliances of Liesl and Rolfe captured my attention much more than Maria and the Captain. I too wanted to be sixteen, going on seventeen leaping across benches on the arm of a strapping young man (though I could do without the bleached blond hair…and that whole Nazi bit). But upon closer examination, it’s the love that builds between the two adults that holds this movie together. I challenge any modern girl to watch the “Something Good” number and not get as emotionally swept up, if not more, than during any of today’s half-assed rom coms. That silhouetted gazebo kiss is timeless.

Let's not forget - the von Trapps are real! You’re learning while watching this movie! Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but it’s interesting to think about what this family really went through. First of all, Captain von Trapp wasn’t as much of a downer as Hollywood made him out to be. Maria, who wasn’t nearly as cute or charming as Julie Andrews, had a little trouble controlling her temper…which seems odd since she had ten children to take care of. Yes, that’s correct…ten yodeling von Trapp urchins, not seven. The Captain had seven kids with his late wife and three more with Maria.

Something they did translate appropriately to the screen was the von Trapps’ hatred of the Nazi party. They did in fact decline to fly the Nazi flag above their house and even refused a request to sing at Hitler’s birthday party (I find that hilarious. Something tells me that a group of kids and their parents bellowing “Happy Birthday, Herr Führer” might not have been Hitler’s jam). The family eventually fled Austria all together, just like in the movie. However, they packed their bags and hopped on a train to Italy rather than hoofing it over the mountains. But that final scene set to the escalating lyrics of “Climb Every Mountain” just wouldn’t be the same if we were watching a trail of steam left behind from a train speeding off into the distance.

So revisit a classic and watch the SoM. Yeah, it’s long and a little campy, but it might just end up becoming one of your favorite things.

Post-Book Depression (PBD...it'll catch on)

I finished reading Julie and Julia yesterday. I always get a little bit sad upon finishing a book. I get so engrossed in the story and the characters’ world that I’m reluctant to leave it (in this rare case it was an actual NON fiction book…rather than the usual Camelot, Hogwarts, vampire fare).

Try telling people you’re reading a book about Julia Child. They automatically assume you’re reading a cookbook. Although, I have to admit – I do enjoy flipping through cookbooks, scanning for new recipes, the way bored commuters flick through the glossy pages of US Weekly. Anway, Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously is not a cookbook. It’s a memoir about a woman facing a turning point in her life who decides to cook her way through Julia’s epic tome Mastering the Art of French Cooking – just Volume 1 though. She’s not that crazy.

She started a blog recounting her experiences (blogging about blogging, how meta). This was way back in the internet dark ages, you know, 2003. So not as many people were spewing their daily details for all the world to read. Her blog picked up many loyal followers and The Julie/Julia Project garnered quite a bit of fame, eventually turning into the aforementioned book. It’s soon to be a movie, which, honestly is what got me interested in it in the first place.

Like I said, I dread coming to the final pages of a book I enjoy, unless I have another book lined up. I tend to follow new books with re-reads of old favorites. Dan Brown novels, the Harry Potter books, and of course the Twilight series are like the pickled ginger of my literary world – they cleanse my mind between stories, rather than my taste buds between bites of sushi. But one of my methods for choosing a new book to read often stems from the pre-production phases of movies based on books. Amy Adams and Meryl Streep star in the film adaptation of the book, due out this summer (August 9th, to be exact. Yeah, we fact check here at PanObs). Typical me – once I know there will be a movie, I’ll read the book. Nora Ephron wrote and directed it, so it’s got some serious rom-com chops behind it. I wonder if they’ll set a scene at the most romantic spot in New York, according to Ephron on the You’ve Got Mail commentary.

Upon finishing Julie and Julia, my thoughts strayed to this pitiful blog and how lucky Julie Powell was to have a passion and turn it into something tangible, profitable, remarkable. But her passion really stemmed from lack of passion, or lack of direction, which is something most of us suffer from. Now I’m feeling inspired to either write more, cook something, or at least read another book.

Netflix Constipation

This tends to happen to the most ambitious and dedicated of movie watchers. I've had the same DVD sitting on my TV for maybe 2 months.

Netflix can be a bit daunting; especially in these trying times (I hate that. I hate all references to the economy. Why should I start making broad generalizations on the economy now? I don’t know anything about the economy except that it used to be better). Do I continue to spend $20 per month to let two red envelopes collect dust on my TV stand? I've even downgraded my subscription to just one DVD at a time. To which Netflix responded: nope, you're going to have to keep up - they continued to send me two DVDs. So when Pineapple Express showed up at my door I was quite delighted, although ultimately bewildered. I was immediately enjoying the smoke-filled rooms, heavily-lidded eyes, and bumbling antics of this hilarious buddy comedy.

However, the classic, award-winning One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest did not get such a whirlwind trip to the erratic, possessed tray of my budget DVD player. It behaves a bit like the mischievous cupboard doors in the 'Spoonful of Sugar' number in Mary Poppins.

Every now and then I feel a desperate need to watch all the classic movies I’m ashamed to say I haven’t seen. As a self-proclaimed lover of movies and amateur expert on the subject, I flush crimson upon revealing that I’ve never seen the likes of Casino, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Goodfellas, or the aforementioned Cuckoo’s Nest.

It was in the midst of one of these temporary bouts of shame that I added the Nicholson classic to the top of my queue. It arrived at my apartment, I slid it out of its sleeve, glanced at the title, and thought…I’ll get to that.

It’s been a few months now and I’m down to just the one DVD at a time. I am Netflix’s ideal customer. I pay them a monthly fee to hold on to one single film that I am likely never to watch. Now I’m getting antsy and upon my recent realization that three seasons of Mad About You are available on DVD, I decided it’s time to let go. Time to fish or cut bait. Time to shit or get off the pot. These are all relationship-terminating euphemisms I learned as a child from a movie that’s not on many classic must-see lists these days – Three Men and a Little Lady. Make room for it in your queue.