:: Sunday, 1 August 2004 ::
Agger is a Bitch
Michael Agger, that is, "writer" with the New Yorker. Christ, if I had a job like that I'd kill myself before I got beaten to death by the Wanker Elimination Squad.
Why do I consider Agger a bitch? Well, have a read of this hitpiece all about nice little M. Night Shyamalan. Breathtakingly loony in its hatred and derision of a perfectly competent film maker.
I once met a man who had a pathological hatred of Lee Marvin. Lee Marvin, eh? You would have to be mad crazy to bother hating him, right?
And check out this nasty little spew all about, of all people, harmless Ashton Kuchner. Why?
And how bout this classic Agger-archness in which he spits blood over Will Farrell and misuses the word "irony".
Give you three guesses who Agger respects, but. Robert Altman of course, the man who hasn't made a decent movie since California Split and Nashville in the mid-70's, and do not bother me with the Come Back to the Five and Dime Jimmy Dean Jimmy Dean nonsense because it is earnest unwatchable crap about women you would disown if you were sad enough to be related to them. Although I think Vincent is good work, but not cos of Altman. Cos of John Hurt.
And Agger just loves indie delight Mr Robert Redford, whose best turn, in my opinion, was also back in the mid-70's with The Hot Rock, The Sting, Jeremiah Johnson, The Great Waldo Pepper and All the President's Men.
Get this for sheer puke inducing film luvvie emptiness:
Altman was relaxing with a cup of tea, and he reminded Redford of a television show that they had worked on together some forty years ago. Redford replied, “I can’t remember yesterday, but I remember when I met you then, and you said, ‘I just saw the movie that has changed my life.’”
Altman smiled and said, “What was that?”
“It was ‘La Dolce Vita.’”
At the memory of Fellini, Altman looked thoughtful. Redford continued, “‘81/2’ is better.”
“Well, ‘La Dolce Vita’ was my virgin experience,” Altman said.
Redford laughed and left to get dressed.
A bystander reminded Altman that “La Dolce Vita” is where the word “paparazzi” comes from, as Paparazzo was the name of a photographer in the film.
Agger was there. He was there, and in his unerring judgement, as in unerringly wrong, he imagined this useless wankery worthy of reporting to you and I. Worthy of our attention.
Milo, give us strength, eh?
You will notice the pathology at work, here, as I think I have written about before - cannot be asked to check the archives - the pathology that cannot praise anyone without reference to something else. Shyamalan ain't no Hitchcock you know. Ashton Kuchner is no Michael J. Fox (seriously) and Will Self is not Jack Black. And Altman and Redford are Gods so anyone who is not them is in trouble.
It really is a disease. In the SMH teevee guide we get this rubbish, this contempt week in and week out. Right now, Gretel Kelleen, fresh from finishing on Big Brother, has become the de rigeur objet du ridicule, in today's case for Robin Oliver in his review of something called "Regency House Party", which is just Big Brother in Britches only Oliver is too stupid to make that simple connection and instead gives the Regency folks a good review while implicitly giving the Big Brother folks a retrospective bad review.
You loser, Oliver.
Why this overwhelming urge to compare everything to everything else, and always unfairly, always find it wanting?
And a bitch streak a mile wide, that is why.
And a fair whack of good old fashioned smothering paternalism and racism rolled into one - witness Agger's loathing of the little wog, Shyamalan from Philly, and Oliver's disgust at that Queen Killeen of the Proles. And Altman's sophomoric affection for Fellini's emptiest film.
Agger should quit because he is no good at his job. And Robin Oliver should just crawl off into the mountains and die because he would not know quality teevee if it fell on him out of the back of a Bing Lee truck.
And Altman. Urgh. Can't you just smell the crap he's making now? October release. Yippee.
:: WB 1:26 am [link+] ::