My Weekend Crush

This week I asked The Internet which TV show to watch and The Internet responded, “Orphan Black, you wanker.” And, since you can’t say things that aren’t true on The Internet (for instance, that wanker thing is totally true), I obeyed. Never before (this is only mild hyperbole) have I been so happy I listened to The Internet. I ended up marathoning six episodes in one night. And I only stopped because my idiot brain required a modicum of sleep before rebooting for work the next day. But then the next night I inhaled the remaining three episodes. And now, like you, I am waiting anxiously for the Season 1 finale on Saturday night.

For those of you who have not listened to The Internet, “Orphan Black” is about a woman who discovers she has many clones as part of a vast and vastly creepy scientific conspiracy. The series therefore lives and dies on the skill and style of its star, Tatiana Maslany, who plays multiple characters at multiple times. The 27-year-old Canadian actress is more than up for the task. In fact she transforms so thoroughly from one clone – Sarah, Alison, Cosima and more – to another that were it not for her same face flashing its same toothy smile, you would might be fooled into thinking they were entirely different actresses. She is, to put it simply, damn good.

And so is the show. It plays out more like a thrilling movie than a TV series. Each episode builds deliciously on the next twisting and turning and revealing more and less so it becomes almost impossible to stop because, ZOMG, what happens next? Have I mentioned that one of the clones is gay? Truly, this show has everything. Mad science, crazy intrigue, diabolical murder, insane motives – and there’s also a healthy dollop of sex and a sassy gay best friend. Yes, everything.

If you haven’t been watching you are in luck because you, like me, can get sucked into your own marathon as BBC America airs the entire first season back-to-back starting at noon Saturday, culminating with the season finale at 9 p.m. But, hell, don’t trust me. Trust The Internet. Well, at least for this. Happy weekend, all.

Hold a candle

I, like countless other gays, watched the Liberace glitztravaganza “Behind the Candelabra” over the weekend. Part of it was because who can resist that much rhinestone. And part of it was to see how one of the world’s most famous postmortem gays lived his life in the closet. And, OK, part of it was to see Michael Douglas and Matt Damon kiss. But I found myself having another interesting reaction to the film. This reaction at first may seem contradictory considering yesterday’s post, but – if you really think about it – is actually complimentary.

I wish they’d shown more sex between Douglas and Damon. Most of the sex scenes were the standard-issue kiss followed by the fade-out and finished with the sweaty roll off into crumpled sheets. You know, Movie Sex*. Sure, we saw a bare tush here and lots of man pecs there. But there was no full body shots of them engaged in anything sexual and only one fleeting in flagrante scene that served mostly to as a plot point to highlight how Damon’s Scott started out firmly against drugs only to later descend completely into them courtesy Dr. Startz**. It was, all in all, pretty tame. Though keep in mind this is a film made for HBO – a network currently reveling in the exposure of “Game of Boobs and Butts Thrones.”

So does the double standard remain? In mainstream and mainstream-celebrated films, does lesbian sex and gay male sex get the same treatment? If you compare reports from “Blue is the Warmest Color” and evidence from “Behind the Candelabra,” the answer would still be a hard “No.” Same-sex sex between women is celebrated and same-sex sex between men is still makes folks squeamish. Maybe this is because straight men – who are all too many of the creators and also consumers – also get off on lesbian sex, but shrink from the idea of two fellas getting it on. Also female nudity – gay or straight – has always been more casually accepted than male. Sure, you’ve got your Harvey Keitels and Michael Fassbenders who gave us the full monty. But it’s almost easier to count the actresses who you haven’t seen naked than those have. Le sigh.

It’s about time that cinema – literally and figuratively – nutted up. It’s 2013 and if a critically adored movie can feature “impressive scissoring” by on-screen lesbians then it can also feature impressive love-making for the fellas, too.

* We could talk for weeks about how bad, unrealistic, misleading and often unsexy all Movie Sex is in the first place. But, heavens, who has the time. Fade out.
** I would, however, watch an entire movie of Rob Lowe’s plastic surgeon/nightmare factory Dr. Startz.

A different kinds of Blue

For the first time ever a lesbian drama won the top prize at the Cannes Film Festival. Over the weekend the three-hour French coming-of-age film “La Vie d’Adèle” (“Blue Is the Warmest Color” for English audiences) won the Palme D’Or, a prize that was preceded by gushing reviews from critics and frequent breathless mention of its 10- to 15-minute graphic sex scene that made the audience stand up and applaud when it was over. Reviewers of the scene in question have, generally speaking, done the literary equivalent of rent a neon sign that read “HOT LESIAN SEX” and turned it on for all to see. My friend Heather had a nice round-up of reviews of Le Scene over at AE yesterday.

To sum them up:
“writhing, moaning erotic hunger,” “fingering, licking, and, as a friend called it, ‘impressive scissoring,’” “undeniably titillating” and “red hot.”

Now, I am no prude. As yesterday’s post might suggest, my sense of humor might run more blue than some and believe you me I like a hot lesbian sex scene as much as the next gay lady. So it’s not the scene so much that has me perplexed, but the focus on the scene. I guess it’s inevitable. Sex sells everything from cars to deodorant, and it’s been a part of the movies since the first images flickered across a screen. So if the sex gets some folks in to see quality drama, maybe it’s worth it. I just wish one didn’t have to be such a selling point to get us to enjoy the other.

Though, to be fair to critics, they didn’t only wag their tongues at the sexysexytimes. Most also praised rich emotional portrayals and dense character journeys in the film (which was based on a graphic novel). And raves have also been handed out to its stars, Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux, who play 15-year-old Adèle and blue-haired art student Emma – two young women who meet and begin an intense relationship. So that alone has me excited for the film to hit American theaters. Though, this being a French movie, I’m ready for inevitable crushing heartbreak. I love you, my French friends, but your movies tend to depress the living crap out of me – but in a good way. Mostly. Just thinking about “The Dreamlife of Angels” makes me eat a whole box of chocolates.

In conclusion: Rich Lesbian Drama + Hot Lesbian Sex = A Whole Lot of People Are Going to Be Going to Reading Subtitles Soon.

Comedy Call

You know how you love all the Jon Stewarts, Stephen Colbert, Conan O’Brien, Jimmy Fallon, Chris Rocks and Louis C.K.s of the world, but sometimes – no matter how funny the boys can be – you just want a really funny lady to make you laugh? Of course you do. That’s why we love the Tina Feys, Amy Poehlers, Wanda Sykes, Melissa McCarthys, et al of the world. Well now add another one. Get ready to get “Inside Amy Schumer.” Comedy Central’s newest sketch show is the perfect antidote to all often too Testosterone soaked humor on the network. There are only so many riffs on dudes getting hit in the junk, exposing their junk in humiliating ways and/or consuming disgusting junk that can be made before you yearn for a more feminine touch.

This is not to say that women must be stereotypically feminine to have this feminine touch. (Or that all dudes revel in junk humor). But I say that because women bring a feminine perspective to humor that is all too often lacking. And that’s what I love about Amy’s new show. While I haven’t loved every single sketch, most of them are refreshing and – most important – hilarious. It’s not that it’s “chick humor” as if there is such a thing. Women can be just as crass and crazy and craven as the fellas – if they want to be. It’s that when most our representation of humor is being given from a male point of view, we’re missing a whole lot of funny. That’s it’s important to get more female comedy writers on shows. And why it’s important to get more female comics in the spotlight. Because more perspectives ultimately means more funny. And isn’t that the whole damn point in the first place?

“Inside Amy Schumer” airs at 10:30 p.m. Tuesday nights on Comedy Central. Set your DVRs ladies, and discerning gentlemen. But don’t take my words for it.




Also, have I mentioned out comic Tog Notaro writes for her show? Yeah, told you you’re definitely going to want to watch.


p.s. More on Tig later. So much more.

Late Development

So on Sunday I did what legions of other pop culture savants did and marathoned “Arrested Development.” No, not the new fourth season just released on Netflix. But the first season. Right, so I’m a little behind. But after catching up on what everyone else was already caught up on 10 years ago, I have to say. Jesus, I hate all the Bluths. I mean, they’re hilarious. But what a horrible, horrible, horrible – have I mentioned horrible? – family. Every single one of them is reprehensible in some way. Every. Single. One. Yes, even Michael – for being the idiot in charge.

Of course, having said that, I watched all 22 episodes of the first season in one day. So, clearly, I didn’t hate it even though I hate the people. Which is curious. Call it the Seinfeld rule. A group of not especially sympathetic characters brought together to do increasingly off-the-wall things can be curiously entertaining. Of course, the fact that it’s whip smart and funny as hell helps. Aztec tombs, blind seeing-eye dogs, one-armed life lesson coaches, Korean adoptees inexcusably named Hello in Korean and Liza Minelli.

Fine, so maybe the Bluths are growing on me. Guess I have two more seasons to catch up on before I can be as excited as all of you were yesterday. But maybe I was the smart one all along. Because I didn’t have to wait seven years to watch season four like the rest of you.

Vacation Vixen: Zoie Palmer

Ever since I began Googling Zoie Palmer some three years ago, this old image of her holding a cat has been one of the first search results to pop up. Oh please, like you don’t do it every other week, too. And I’ve always wondered about the backstory behind the picture. It does not appear to be her own Twitter-famous cat, Clover. Nor does it appear to be from a shoot from some long-ago pet food commercial. Perhaps the photographer just saw two irresistibly cute things and wanted to pose them together. Or, as I like to believe, it was a sign that Zoie was destined to become a lesbian fan favorite. Because, as we all know, we gay ladies love us some hot...um...cat action. Meow. Happy weekend, all.

Vacation Vixen: Alison Brie

I do not watch “Mad Men.” Nor do I watch “Community.” But if Internet chatter is to believe Alison Brie is lovely in both. And it’s a lovely Thursday and she is wearing a lovely suit. So, well, there’s that. What, they can’t all be deep. I’m on vacation.