Sunday, April 24, 2005

Let It Be

I was in the mood for a good cover today, so I went with the Joe Cocker version of the Beatles' "Let It Be," from the (rather appropriately titled, if a bit overly energetic) Joe Cocker! album. I mean, Joe Cocker is easily America's greatest cover-artist, because he brings this dimension of crawling out of the gutter with a bottle of three-dollar wine to his interpretation of every single song he does. And then there are those parts where you think that the guy's trying to belt it out so hard that his head is going to explode like Michael Ironside's at the end of Scanners.

Anyway, moving on from today's song, I don't think anyone's going to argue with this one:

I'm missing Desperate Housewives right now. I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing, since I've all but given up television, barring reruns of The West Wing on Bravo, the network which also had a surprisingly good countdown-show (a genre all to itself), The 100 Greatest Horror Movie Moments. They really plumbed the depths and came up with some really obscure stuff, which is always good in a show of that nature. I mean, you can market something like that toward the masses and give them Scream and Jeepers Creepers and Halloween: H20, but most of the great moments are classics that go back before today's MTV demographic. I mean, I'm willing to bet that nobody that I work with has seen Misery, and that's just sad. According to Bravo, the #1 moment went to Jaws, and I missed that part, but I imagine it probably had to do with the Kintner Boy, which brings me to one of the great and apocryphal stories of cinema history:

Jaws was being screened for a test audience down in Texas, and there's the scene where the little Kintner boy gets it in the yellow and red of his overturning raft and gushing fountain of blood, and this guy at the front of the theater gets out of his seat and starts walking up the aisle. And the whole production team is there, and Spielberg is like, "Oh, no, it's a walk-out." Then the guy gets about halfway up the theater and begins sprinting for the lobby, and Spielberg says, "Oh my god, it's a run-out!" Spielberg follows the guy into the lobby, where the dude has gone and vomited right outside the doors to the auditorium. After a minute or so, the guy comes out of the bathroom, walks past his own vomit and goes back down to his seat in the theater. That's when Spielberg knew they were going to be a big hit.
To horrify someone so badly that they vomit is an achievement unto itself. To keep the guy in the theater after doing so is truly something special.

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