Tag Archives: movies in bed
Movies in Bed: Overboard
Post by Josh Zinn.
Hello Dear Readers!
Now that I have returned from that grueling conference on pygmy populations (you may recall I handed over review duties a few weeks ago to my delightful niece, Janie), I thought I would share with you all a bit of a meditation/imagination exercise that guest speaker Deepak Chopra imparted, along with his new book and fragrance, to all the attendees. Mind you, this can be a bit intense and scary, but what it is meant to do is invoke the deepest passions in the subject’s loins, thus allowing them to focus on what truly matters to their heart.
Let’s begin!
Imagine, if you will, a desert island. No one is there but you and, perhaps, a ferret named Simone. All around this island is a family of man-eating sharks with a hunger for blood, an insatiable appetite, and a love of Anne Murray to boot. There is little food to speak of other than a few coconuts, a banana plant, and a curious lifetime supply of Chef Boy-R-Dee ravioli that come with a note of affection from your Great Aunt. Things are dire.
Now, on top of this tropical maelstrom of misery, imagine that there is also a television playing one movie on a continuous loop from now and into eternity. While you are not required by any sort of island law to watch said movie, there is also no way to turn either the picture off or the volume completely down. This movie is going to be a constant part of you life… for the rest of your life!
Now, close your eyes and breathe… Deep. Breathe…. Take in your life force and the life force of any children near you… Phew… Aahhh. Wait… Wait… You are waiting to exhale… Shoop. Shoop… And… Let go.
Now, the question is: what movie would you choose to be your single and only lifetime companion?
I pondered this question for a whole bunch of seconds, dear readers, and the answer I came to was both curious and comforting, verily whisking me away to the halcyon days of my childhood.
“Overboard.”
Yes, “Overboard.” That delightful fish-out-of-water folly starring Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell as mismatched lovers whose differences are no match for the truth that lies within!
Though I hadn’t thought of—much less watched—this movie in quite some time, when I asked the spirits what film would best represent and empower my 89th chakra, the answer was so clear. Of course a film about a rich woman who’s mean and nasty to a backwoods carpenter, falls off a boat, gets amnesia, is eventually adopted by said scorned carpenter and his four out of control boys, actually falls in love with her new family because, hey, it’s better than being married to the vampire dad from “The Lost Boys,” and then subsequently gives the carpenter the extra boost of inspiration he needs to realize his dream of owning a wonders-of-the-world themed mini-golf course would be the film my instincts would draw me towards!!
“Overboard” works as a film for all time because the spiritual lessons of “Overboard” are timeless. You may believe that what matters in this world are fancy yachts and caviar cravings, but let me tell you something, bub: our soul’s true treasures may only be found when—and only when—lies are told to snotty society sirens, filthy children speak like Pee-Wee Herman, and fiberglass sphinxes spit out golf balls; everything else is immaterial.
As you may have gathered by now, dear readers, my heart was awakened—Awakened!—by the time and money I spent listening to Mr. Chopra. No longer do I seek to simply deliver unto you the finest in film reviews. Now, I want to change your life by providing enlightenment alongside entertainment. Fun! I mean, ommmm… Tee hee!
I have given you the gift of “Overboard.” Now, why don’t you make yourself a soothing cup of chamomile tea, slather some pecan butter onto that delicious spelt bread you baked, slip into your favorite pair of organic pajamas, and tell me: what movie speaks to you?
The answer is only your soul’s cry away.
Namaste.
Movies in Bed: Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
Post by Josh Zinn.
Hello, dear readers! While being under the weather and incapacitated this past week has taught me an enormous amount about life, the immune system, and my undying love of apple crisp, perhaps nothing has resonated more with me than this revelation:
Though I am by all means a homebody, I am by no means a housewife.
I realized this specific distinction whilst watching an 8-hour marathon of Bravo TV’s “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” this past weekend. There, in that gilded cage known as reality television, Botoxed women with breasts, Birkin bags, and bucks a’plenty show little regard for sanity, sobriety, or civility as they compete amongst themselves for the adoration of a tweeting fan base. As I unceasingly observed them from the comfort of my bed/infirmary, their tantrums over issues such as petty gossip, suicide, book deals, and the loss of one’s husband to Leann Rimes began to really hit home with me, disrobing me of the veil of judgment I was all too happy to wear in their honor.
Now, mind you, I have never lost a lover to a country chanteuse. For that matter, I’ve never been to rehab, had a former career as a dancer on Club MTV, nor have I willingly injected anything into my face—unless you count that time in 1988 when I made my Mom take me to Claire’s Boutique to get my ears pierced because I wanted to look like George Michael. What I do know all too well, however, is the unyielding pressure of scandal, sass, and scintillation that accompanies a personality too big—too glamorous, really—for everyday life to contain on its own.
Instead, it must be documented for the world to see!!
Therefore, I decided to attempt to become a housewife for a day. Here’s how it went:
7:30AM – Wake up. No one is waiting for me with a bathrobe. I have to make my own coffee. It’s too cold. Have to microwave it. Now it tastes like the Tikka Masala leftovers we had a couple of days ago.
9:00AM – Thought about exercising. That was fun. Watched a cooking show instead.
10:00AM – Gonna get into the shower now. Oh, wait… The View is on.
11:00AM – I still haven’t talked to anyone today. My better half is STILL asleep. I’m still thinking about exercising, but now it seems like a chore and I’ve already unloaded the dishwasher, so that’s more than enough for the day.
1:00PM – I ate an apple. Because I was feeling naughty, I had it with peanut butter. Thank goodness all my blinds are closed or the paparazzi might see me awkwardly slumping here on my couch.
2:00PM – Finally left the house to buy toilet paper, deodorant, and groceries and noticed that there are an inordinate amount of children out on the streets. Oh god, it’s a holiday. That’s it. I’m going back home. The hummus can wait.
4:30PM – Wish I had bought that hummus.
6:00PM – Just watched a documentary on North Korea and followed that with one on Bigfoot. Two mysterious entities no one knows much about. I’m already in my pajamas.
8:00PM – Maybe I’ll call my editor. He’s not answering. I leave a message that makes me sound morose when, in fact, I’m really just bored.
9:00PM – I love my DVR, but I’ve seen all of these episodes of Four Weddings already. I have a moment of hating myself for allowing this to actually be a problem, but the angst is extinguished by my decision to watch that DVD of My Super Sweet 16 I procured from my parents’ house.
11:00PM – I can’t believe how stuck up and lazy all those girls are! Maybe I’ll not move for another half hour and watch another episode…
11:30PM – I just opened a bag of chocolate chips and ate a handful because we have nothing sweet in the house.
11:35PM – I eat another handful, but try to put too many in my mouth at once and a bunch of chocolate chips fall onto the floor. I’ll sweep them up tomorrow.
12:00AM – I guess I should go to bed. All this glamour has tuckered me out. Dangit, I forgot to make the bed and the sheet is somehow twisted in a knot and on the floor. Life is so hard!
12:15AM – The walls of my apartment are thin and the reclusive neighbor next to me snores really loudly. It’s like he’s reaching out for a friend, but deep down I know he isn’t.
12:30AM – Maybe my coffee will taste like coffee tomorrow. Good night.
As you can see, dear readers, while this day was action-packed, it nonetheless lacks that certain “something” that makes a housewife a HOUSEWIFE. Thank goodness, then, for Bravo’s bevy of beauties and their critical role as spokeswomen for the secret stars in all of us. In-between all those times I was vomiting into a paper bag, they made this weekend a real winner.
Movies in Bed: The Hobbit
Post by Mark T. Locker.
Personally, I don’t know what Peter Jackson was thinking remaking The Hobbit. He must have known that two perfect things came into being in the year 1977. The first being yours truly, the second being the animated musical movie The Hobbit. With music by Glenn Yarbrough and some fantastically hideous illustration, there was no way Peter Jackson was going to be able to hold a candle to this interpretation.
We owned the LP version of the movie (I can’t imagine whose great idea it was to have the entire movie sold as an audio with accompanying book but I loved it) and must have listened to it hundreds of times. You all know the story, Bilbo Baggins, Gollum, Gandalf, dwarves. Adventure, trolls, goblins, spiders!
The animated version, with its 1970s soundtrack, terrifying Gollum rendition, and ugly, ugly characters, is not to be missed. It has some classic voices of the era, including Hans Conried, the voice of Captain Hook, as Thorin. Seriously, it’s so bad/good.
Movies in Bed: Pitch Perfect
Post by Josh Zinn.
Good afternoon, dear readers!! Alas and alack, due to an intriguing offer to speak at an international conference on the correlations between the consumption of hibiscus flowers and the amazingly long lifespan of the pygmy population of central Africa, I am unable to write my weekly film review.
Fear not, however, as in my stead I have recruited my thirteen year-old niece Janie to regale you all with thoughts on one of her favorite films of recent memory, “Pitch Perfect.” Please be kind in your assessment of Janie’s writing abilities. In her defense, she’s a very enthusiastic tweeter.
On that note…
Pitch Perfect by Janie Swallowsbeigh
So, ohmygosh, you guys there is this really fun movie out called “Pitch Perfect” and it is soooooooo good. Seriously, I saw it at the mall last summer with my friends Brooke and Melissa and they were, like, totally in loves with it. You know how, like, when you see something sad on TV and it makes you want to give it a hug even though it can’t hug you back but that’s okay cause, like, you’re doing a good deed so you shouldn’t expect anything back? Yeah, this movie is kind of like that. It can’t hug you cause it’s a movie, but it totally makes you wish it could! It’s not sad, though, which makes it even better! You want it to hug you because it’s so OMG good.
I guess I should talk about the story in this part, right? Ok, so there’s this college that all these people go to and they’ve got, like, glee teams everywhere. I mean, I get that “Glee” has made singing really popular and stuff, but it’s weird cause you never even see any football teams or anything on the campus. Anyway, everyone wants to sing and this one girls team is like, so good but kinda boring. They all look like they work for an airline. But then their leader pukes on the audience and they become super hated and no one thinks they can do anything anymore, but guess what? They, like, totally bring it!
Do you guys remember that girlfriend of Bella’s in “Twilight” who goes to her school but is kind of a geek? Well, that girl (Josh’s note: the actress Janie is referring to is Anna Kendrick) is, like, the star of this movie and she is so good in this! She’s, like, a DJ or something but her dad is making her go to school, which is kind of lame. Anyway, she’s a really good singer and she joins the puke group and totally makes them better cause she adds, like, some banging beats and stuff. They even sing that Miley Cyrus song “Party In The U.S.A.” which, you have to admit, is a really good song even though Miley has gotten so gross and weird lately and it’s super embarrassing to admit that I used to have all her albums. ANYWAY!
So, the whole movie has the puke group fighting against these other teams and then there’s this super rude but hot boys team that they have to compete with and the “Twilight” girl totally has the hots for one of their members. I know, it sounds sort of dumb, but it’s super cute because he is so sensitive and totally wants to support her even though they’re supposed to be enemies. Plus, he is really hot. Yum!!
I don’t know if I’ve said too much about what happens in the movie, you guys, but you should definitely see this. There are so many good songs in it and there are so many funny parts. Like, that weird blonde roommate from “Bridesmaids” in this and everyone calls her “Fat Amy” cause she’s fat and her name is Amy. I know that sounds weird, but she’s so funny and she can sing super well, too. She’s probably my favorite part of the movie, especially when a burrito totally creams her. Gross!!
So, yeah, I totally think this is a good movie to watch. It’s so much like “Bring It On”, which feels kind of cheesy and no one I know watches “Glee” anymore, but that’s okay cause the singing in this is better anyway. I hope you liked my review. I usually HATE writing, but this was so much more fun to talk about than that stupid essay on Eleanor Roosevelt I had to write. BORING!!
Movies in Bed: Hart to Hart
Post by Josh Zinn.
This week, dear readers, I happened to stumble across a deliciously romantic love note written by one of the last true romantics—and star of ABC Television’s hit series “Hart to Hart”—Mr. Jonathan Hart. Rather than spend too much time telling you why his namesake show is, perhaps, the greatest achievement Aaron Spelling ever brought to the small screen, I will allow Mr. Hart’s delicate blossoms of handwritten affection to illuminate what was truly an unbreakable love. May we all know such passion…
My Darling Jennifer,
They say time flies when one is having fun; when it’s two, however, all bets are off…
I can still remember the moment I first saw you, my eyes gazing in disbelief as some ethereal creature stepped outside of Chanel and changed the channel in my heart to a station called LOVE. How beautiful and glamorous you were that day, beckoning me with your cinnamon eyes as if to say, “Yes, I will be your beloved. Just put a diamond on my hand, a Bentley in my grasp, and, darling, I’m yours.” I said yes to the angels that day, knowing my prayers would soon be answered.
Here we are now, forty years later, and nothing has changed. True, our tennis matches may have grown a bit shorter and our naps a little longer, but you still radiate an essence of femininity and grace that eclipses all the stars in the sky, not to mention all the starlets surrounding our palatial, Tudor-styled Beverly Hills home. I’d say, at my age, I should start considering writing a bucket-list, but this lucky fella’s bucket is already overflowing with amour.
Sigh…
Do you remember, darling, the time we saved Freeway, our beloved dog, from an addiction to the drug-laced Doggie Chow that was slowly transforming him into a vicious attack mongrel? Or the week we vacationed down in Colombia and ran afoul with a drug cartel that held a vendetta against you for exposing their dastardly cocaine trade in the column you write for the Rodeo Drive Weekly? And of course, who could forget how you saved my life when we were investigating those goombas that had taken control of Barry’s Hotheads, the hottest hair salon this side of Doheny? Using your ringlets to stop their ringleader, I’d say you put those criminal careers into a PERManent state of retirement, my darling.
Now as you get dressed in the other room for yet another lavish “Save the Condor” fundraiser being held at the Finkelstein estate, I sit here at my desk and wonder what new adventures await us. It seems as if it were just yesterday that Max, our ever-faithful butler, departed for a sake-swilling poker game in the sky. Though it was a difficult transition for us, we did embark on a learning journey TOGETHER as we traversed market after market searching for our favorite pâté and ever-reliable Pinot Grigio. It was rough, yes, but we discovered we could make it on our own and that, while Max may be gone, the sumptuous taste of beef bourguignon need not be lost to heaven as well.
I imagine people will talk about us when were gone, too. It was always so intrusive at the time, having those cameras following us as we took time out of our busy Hollywood lives to investigate the numerous crimes perpetrated against our friends and colleagues. At the time, I could have never imagined their footage would become a time capsule of our relationship, tracking the moments of peril and passion that seemed to ooze from our well-tanned pores. The only shot I cared about was the one that involved getting you home safe and then getting you in bed. Lucky me, then, they were there to capture the afterglow.
My darling, not even the blonde, buxom jewel thieves known to stalk the annual cruises we take to the Maldives could sway me away from your siren call. I have braved schizophrenic stalkers, murderous mummies, and devilish denim designers to keep you in my sights and in my sights is where you’ll stay.
Yes, darling, when we met it WAS murder, however, the only thing that died was my loneliness.
Yours Forever,
Jonathan
