Directed by Jackie Strano
Starring Shar Rednour, Kiki Carr, Simone Del La Getto Rated XXX USA
"You want some fuckin' candy, bitch?"
Jackie Strano was the lead singer for Sappho-rawk band The Hail Marys. Along with zine-editress Shar Rednour, she was also the prime mover behind SIR video. That's Sex, Indulgence, and Rock. They made lesbian videos. Not the phony lesbians that you're used to, though -the airbrushed former cheerleader straight porn girls that purr like kittens and nibble on each other like toothless grandmothers with finger sandwiches. You might be wishing for such puffball illusions by the end of SIR production, but your not going to get it. What they're all about is the real lesbo-underground, and it's a raw world of sexual outlaws with their own brand of rough riding justice. Strap yourself in. Or on, whatever.
Sugar High Glitter City is a near-future Dystopian fantasy, more than a little redolent of 70's underground sex classic Cafe Flesh. No sex-negative rubber neckers in Glitter City, though. All the citizens here are in on the rough trade at one end or the other. The problem with this town is that sugar- not a euphemism, I'm talking about lollipops and such, is outlawed. There's no real explanation for this- I'm guessing Nazi dentists, though. At any rate, you know how it goes with humans- outlaw something, and suddenly everybody wants it.
Kit Kat bars are like vials of crack here, and desperate sugar-fixers roam the streets. Many have resorted to prostitution to support their habits, and that's where the trouble starts. Crooked vice cops take full advantage of these troubled times, two in particular. Head honchess Jackie S. herself, and her silver pantsed side-kick Stark (who looks violently insane throughout these proceedings, by the way), bang every Nutrasweety in town- dangling blow-pops in front of them and threatening jail time if they don't go along.
Their are also sugar mamas, a chocolate mafia, and sleazy Janes of every shape and size strutting their stuff in Glitter City, all looking to score in one way or the other. Although all the candy whores in town are lesbians of the lipstick variety- a little rough around the curves, maybe, but definitely het-friendly, the rest of this clit-crazy town is populated by girls who look like they work at the health food store. For squareball straights (like me, turns out), it can be pretty alarming. It's a particular mind-bender halfway through when what looks like a thick-waisted Dave Navarro - you know, cheesy mustache and chin hair, cowboy hat, leather pants- trades some sugar pills for some back seat education from a Billy Idol girl, and when she gets moving, she tears off her body-wrap to reveal a very feminine, though oddly Ron Jeremy-like figure underneath. Yikes.
There are endless variations on this theme in Sugar High. Groovy chick in the back of a van is peddling cherry pies, mowhawked skate-dyke wheels in and makes out with her, and the pie. Sugar slut parades around town in a bra made of candy hearts. All day suckers are sucked on, all day long. The whole thing is one hallucinatory gang-fuck of confection and girl on girl love. This film won a ton of awards when it was released last year, and I'm not surprised. On an obviously ultra-low budget, SIR has created a whole alternate world, part hardcore pornography, part 70's ghetto-fried blaxploitation, part Twilight Zone. If it didn't scare me half to death, I would have loved it.
The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman
Episode title: Peyote Ugly
Directed by Adam Kassen
Starring Laura Kightlinger, Nicholle Tom
Genre: Drunk-com
“Enjoy the cape!”
Perhaps the greatest innovation in television comedy in the 00’s has been the Completely Irresponsible Protagonist. Sure, this character has cropped up before, but usually as a sidekick: Leave it to Beaver’s teenage creep Eddie Haskel is clearly the proto irresponsible asshole, followed quickly by that whiny cretin Dr. Smith from Lost in Space. And who could forget Jack Tripper’s morally dubious best-bud Larry Dallas, or the willfully anarchic evil-nerd Squiggy? But it was in the past decade that these chaos-creating imps took center stage, from the UK Office’s clueless prick David Brent to Peep Show’s perverse loafer Jeremy, Trailer Park Boys’ drunk-bull-in-a-China-Shop Ricky, the entire cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and, perhaps the most irresponsible man…er, cup…in all of TV land, Master Shake from the Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Granted, he’s a milkshake, so it’s not like he’s beholden to the laws of a polite human society, but even for food, he’s a total asshole.
There are several reasons why this type of character would rise in prominence at this point in civilization. For one thing, they represent mayhem, and mayhem has quite suddenly become a major part of our lives, from the oppressive threat of terrorism to a cratered economy to the sheer terror of weather-gone-wild. We used to have a handle on mayhem. Now, it pretty much runs the show. Also, the internet’s relative anonymity has allowed many of us to unloose our inner id, flaming and trolling with remarkable cruelty, saying things that no sane individual would, if they had to attach their name to their statements. In essence, Master Shake IS the internet, come to goop-spurting life, outing you for the lame-o you are, right in your stupid face. The Completely Irresponsible Protagonist is us, if we were willing to get punched in the nose every single day.
However, despite the fact that there are just as many girl-jerks on the internet as boy-jerks, television still favors the be-testicled asshole. On TV, at least, ladies are still the voice of reason, with a few very notable exceptions. Selma Blair’s Kim, from the short-lived American version of the long-running Australian series, Kath and Kim, was an amazing ly obnoxious character, a preening, over-aged mall-princess with so many different glares and withering stares she often appeared to be suffering from chronic facial tics. Sure, she was based entirely on an already established character, but even so, it’s rare to find a female lead in a sitcom that’s so gleefully repellent. Also worth noting is Nighty Night’s remarkable horror Jill Tyrell (Julia Davis, who also wrote the series). This pitch-black Brit-com (2004-2005) starred Davis as a beauty salon owner, stalker, and unrepentant sociopath who just might be the most disturbing sitcom lead of all time, ever.
And then there’s Jackie Woodman.
Laura Kightlinger was/is a mid-level stand-up comic who found fame and fortune as a sitcom writer for Roseanne and Will and Grace. She was also, briefly, a writer and cast member of Saturday Night Live (1995), and she’s acted in various TV shows and movies – from Lucky Louie to Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy – since the early 90’s. Despite her mainstream success, much like fellow SNL alumni Norm McDonald, she always seemed more cynical and with-it than her roles and writing gigs would suggest. The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman, which ran on IFC for two painfully brief seasons in 2006-2007, certainly gives this theory some credence. In it, Kightlinger plays the titular Jackie, a boozy, drug-fueled entertainment journalist for a snooty LA magazine that she despises. She aspires to be a successful screenwriter, but is usually too drunk/hungover to accomplish anything. Her best friend, Tara (Nicholle Tom) is a ditzy, sexually-impulsive blonde-mess. In essence, they are the living embodiment of Master Shake and Meatwad, a lazy psychotic and her dimwitted companion out for cheap thrills. Kightlinger has stated that the show is, mostly, based on her own life, and that the stories are “85%” true. While that is clearly bad news for Kightlinger’s liver, it brings a gruesome sort of gravity to the show; Jackie is Laura without the dough, connections, and lucky breaks.
The first season was a straightforward raunchfest, but the following season added a few dollops of poignancy here and there. For example, in one episode, Jackie has to decide who she hates more – her mom's homophobic new boyrfiend, or her snotty, dismissive, gay coworker; in another, she has a pregnancy scare, which sobers her up for five minutes. Luckily, these dramatic moments are usually offset by a bolt of shock humor: Jackie and her drug-buzzing new boyfriend beat a punk rocker to a pulp in a club men's room, Tara has sex with a premature ejaculator wearing a clown mask, Jackie and mom guzzle whiskey and play Russian roulette. Shit like that. It's like Kightlinger knows, deep down, that she's supposed to have “feelings”, but she just finds them much less interesting than moments of druggy chaos.
Jackie Woodman was just hitting its stride when IFC pulled the plug; I imagine Laura would have pushed Jackie and Tara into doing some truly unspeakable things by Season 3. Luckily, we've still got these sixteen hair-raising episodes to remember Miss Woodman by.
In Peyote Ugly, Jackie wins a $10,000 grant from a Native American charity association to shoot a short-film; she applied for the grant as “Jackie White Pigeon Woodman”, justifying her actions by explaining to Tara that her grandfather lived on a reservation. Sure, it's because he was a down-on-his-luck drunk, but still. In a rare moment of moral outrage, Tara tells Jackie she thinks this is a bad idea.
“Well, there's two schools of thought on this,” says Jackie, sucking down a morning beer.
“One, suck it. And two, we already have the money, so who gives a shit?”
So, they cash the check and go shopping. Jackie spends $9000 on a belt and a lace shawl. The counter girl calls it a cape. That's gotta be a bad sign.
Back at Jackie's, Tara needs something to clean up the bloody Mary she just spilled, so she grabs Jackie's award letter. While she sops up the tomato juice, she reads what the letter says. Turns out Jackie has to submit five edited minutes of her non-existent Native American-themed film within two weeks or she has to return the money. Yikes. What to do?
Well, Tara smokes some weed. Meanwhile, a suddenly panicked Jackie digs up her original proposal and finds out it's supposed to be some bullshit about how the white man has driven the sacred Native American peyote ritual underground. Her theoretical film would document one of these “Sacred spirit quests”. Of course, you really have to be a member of a tribe to attend one of these things, so that's gonna be tricky.
“I need you, Tara,” Jackie implores. “You have this ability to connect with, and if the situation calls for it, to fuck, the common man.”
Tara agrees.
“Great. I'll go find my camera, you go find some Indians.”
Tara decides to hit the online personals to find a Jackie's “Indians”. She comes across a fledgling Native American actor named Russell Two Clouds, who agrees to get them into a peyote ceremony if they put him in their movie. Done and done.
Two Clouds turns out to be kind of a douche, reciting Shakespeare and mugging for the camera and whatnots. At least he makes good on his word, and takes them to the ceremony.
Here's the thing, though; once you're in the circle, you gotta drink the peyote punch. Those are the rules.
After projectile-vomiting on their guests, the now stoned-to-the-tits phony documentary filmmakers stagger away.
They both have a weird psychedelic trip with lots of bright colors and groovy sounds. Tara wanders off to renew her passport (or something), while Jackie stops at an oasis cafe where a mustachioed girl serves her drinks and seats her with a turtle who talks to her in her mother's voice.
After a day of tripping balls, night falls on the desert, and the girls decide to camp there for the evening. Luckily, the tribesmen have provided them with some sleeping bags. Tara doesn't think she can sleep, though. Jackie says she has just the thing, and lipsynch's Nancy Sinatra's “Sugar Town”.
That does the trick, and the girls slip off to slumberland.
And then they wake up a few hours later, covered in cuts and scratches from falling asleep in a patch of cactus.
Cut to: later that morning. The girls are back at Jackie's, wrapped in bandages.
“I work in an office, Jackie,” Tara whines. “I can't afford to be an insane fuck-up. What am I gonna do?”
“Call in sick,” Jackie suggests.
“And then what?”
“And then we'll buy a hat.”
Sounds about right. Oh, and what about the movie? Jackie sends 'em a cracked DVD. Hey man, it's not her fault if the post office destroyed the only copy of her masterpiece.
If you're a fan of chemically-dependent lunatics, you owe it to yourself to check out The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman. Season one is out on DVD. Season two...well, it's around. Snap 'em up to see Laura Kightlinger in the role she was born to play: Evil Laura Kightlinger.
Voodoun Blues – a short film
Directed by Misty Mundae
Starring Katie Bardeux, Misty Mundae Unrated USA
This should be subtitled Misty Mundae Goes to Film School, ‘cuz that’s what it is – a 6 minute, black and white, 16MM experimental short from the underground sleaze-cinema’s once-reigning scream queen. Who else but Misty Mundae would get a whole fuckin’ DVD release for her student film? What other snuff fetish model cum superhero fetish model would be afforded such an indulgence? Who else but Spider Babe could get a sap like, well, you to actually buy it? Nobody, baby, which is why if anybody is gonna make a movie about voodoo, it ought to be Misty, because she obviously knows how to use it.
As far as Voodoun Blues itself goes, it looks EXACTLY like a young hipster’s first film. It’s got quirky stop-motion animation of a topless chick freaking out while sitting at a vanity, surrounded by voodoo-ey knick-knacks like dolls made of string and candles. It’s got a mysterious woman-in-black that cuts open the crazy girl’s hand, and it’s got Misty herself, writhing around in bed, dreaming up all this madness. Then she wakes up in a cold sweat, only to find…her hand is bleeding! Yikes! Voodoo!
The scratchy 16mm stock and the creepy goth-blooze soundtrack definitely add to the druggy, off-kilter feel of the film. The fetish-y camera gaze brings to mind Richard Kern, and the staccato weird-girl animation is pure Kenneth Anger. Misty might make sleazy junk for a living, but it’s apparent from this short that she aspires to create some kind of greasy outlaw art. Just don’t let her try and explain that to you, or it’ll completely fuck up the art-girl scheme.
The truly awesome part of this DVD-EP, you see, is Misty’s meandering explanation about Voodoun Blues, which essentially boils down to some old broad giving her the hairy eyeball in the jewelry aisle at Target. But holy crow, does she take forever to tell the story. It’s amazing, this interview, and if I had the time, I would transcribe the whole friggin’ thing for you, cuz it’s about 6 hours’ worth (Ok, 5 minutes, but it feels longer) of, “She was all fucked up like, Hepatitis-having, ready to die, eyes all like, bloody and fuckin’ nasty and caked with eye liner, and I was like, whoa!”
Classic. Anybody that’s ever endured the ‘wit and candor’ of an artschool chick cuz they heard she was easy will have fond flashbacks when they land on this. Oh, and the interview’s punchline, when Misty talks about the film’s premiere at school, is pretty great, too : “I thought they were all going to hate it, but they liked it. Turns out, they were all really easy to please.”
More bonus bits: Misty’s cohorts show off their arty stuff, too, with a couple of equally experimental (and short) films. Cameraman Joe Miller’s “Sour Milk” is an inspired bit of Zedd-style punk nihilism, and her co-star Katie Bordeux shoots for shock and awe with the bloody “Night of the Whorror Hoppers”. Oh,and there's lots of shots of Misty smoking while operating her camera, too. I still hate art, but this was kinda fun.
