Adaptação de quadrinho francês de ficção científica pornô com Jane Fonda no papel-título. Nâo é que a atriz era lindaaaaa de perfeita? A introdução do filme é um clássico. Striptease mais super ever!!! O figurinos muito pré-Gaga do jeito que a gente choca. Direção de arte kitsch de absurdez. A trilha sonora também é uma grata surpresa. O grande porém fica por conta do roteiro, um épico muito nonsense. Ame ou odeie, eu amei e odiei ao mesmo tempo. Mas ainda assim o filme merece muitas estrelas por conta de ser uma experiência única. Esse povo usou LSD demaaaaaaaaaaais!!!
*
Legal saber de onde veio o nome da banda Duran Duran.
**
Bissexualismo super em voga, hein?
***
Sexy, o ursão do início do filme.
****
Recentemente eu ouvi falar de um remake do quadrinhos pra este ano. Fiquei curioso!
*****
Jane Fonda dominava!

Duas cenas clássicas:
O tal striptease…

E a cena da máquina de orgasmos…

I have a fried who loves Jane Fonda and he loves this film. I don’t. I can’t really understand why this even came anywhere near into being in the best film list in this book. It is one of the most painful things I have had to endure, I really do not understand it. I did it the justice of a full viewing and I didn’t even turn it off halfway through, which on reflection I wish I had. The plot was all over the place and it was just generally erotically confusing. Not a recommendation in sight – sorry Fonda fans.

E’ bionda, magrolina e un po’ slavata. Non è molto alta, ma ha due labbra di rossetto fuoco e una zazzera sbarazzina che farebbe impazzire anche il più serio dei cravattati. Si dice che nessuno l’abbia mai vista senza lo smalto. Barbarella, al Rocket di via Pezzotti, ormai è un’istituzione. La piccola dj dei venerdì sera elettronici non è bella – per i canoni estetici tradizionali sarebbe al massimo carina – ma ha fascino. Un fascino un po’ pornografico. Nelle sue serate al Rocket, tutto quello che gira intorno a lei è sesso: le battute oscene del vocalist, un finto spogliarello, un accenno di bacio saffico. Erotismo che trasuda da ogni gesto, da ogni sguardo complice lanciato nella folla come una pagnotta agli affamati. Barbarella è magnetismo puro, perché quando è in sala gli sguardi del pubblico sono tutti per lei. Nemmeno fosse una cubista in topless.
Come da curriculum di ogni alternativo che si rispetti, Barbarella proviene da una città provinciale (Alessandria) e si è iscritta all’Accademia di Brera. Ma il suo demone si libera alla consolle: in quattro mura anguste e sudaticcie (il Rocket) tutti le settimane fa muovere generazioni di tardo-ventenni a ritmo di un cuore cocainomane.

Le sue serate si chiamano “cabrio pop”. E per chi non lo sapesse, Barbarella ha ucciso Lolita.

Join us as we remember two of the biggest icons of the 1960s, legendary screenwriter Terry Southern (Easy Rider, Dr. Strangelove, The Cincinnati Kid, Barbarella) and the classic sci-fi Western series The Wild, Wild West, on the next edition of TV CONFIDENTIAL, premiering Monday, Nov. 2 at 10pm ET, 7pm PT on Shokus Internet Radio, with a rebroadcast Tuesday, Nov. 3 at 11pm ET, 8pm PT on Share-a-Vision Radio, KSAV.org.

Our scheduled guests include dancer/actress Gail Gerber, co-star of many films from the 1960s, including Beach Ball, Girl Happy, Harem Scarum, the cult classic Village of the Giants and the scathing satire on the funeral industry, The Loved One. It was on the set of The Loved One that Gail first met Terry Southern, the iconic novelist and screenwriter whose Oscar-winning 1969 screen play for Easy Rider was about to turn the film industry on its head. Gail’s new book, Trippin’ with Terry Southern: What I Think I Remember, is a poignant look at her 30-year relationship with Southern, a bona fide celebrity who was equally at home in the worlds of art, literature and film, yet often struggled to make ends meet despite his enormous fame. Gail and her co-author, film and TV historian Tom Lisanti, will join us beginning at 10:05pm ET, 7:05pm PT.

Then in our second hour we’ll welcome Susan Kesler, author of The Wild, Wild West Book, a behind-the-scenes look at the iconoclastic television Western starring Robert Conrad and Ross Martin as intrepid Secret Service agents Jim West and Artemus Gordon, and Michael Dunn as their nemesis, Dr. Miguelito Loveless. Recently updated with an arsenal of new information about the 1965-1969 CBS-TV series since its original 1988 publication, The Wild, Wild West Book is not only one of the best, most comprehensive television histories ever written, it’s also a lot of fun. Sue Kessler joins us at beginning at 11pm ET, 8pm PT.

If you want to be part of our conversation, if you grew up watching The Wild, Wild West or are a fan of the films of Terry Southern, we invite you to join us for our live broadcast, premiering Monday, Nov. 2 at 10pm ET, 7pm PT on Shokus Internet Radio. Phone number is (888) 746-5875 / (888) SHOKUS-5. If you have questions or comments you’d like to send in advance, our email address is talk@tvconfidential.net.

TV CONFIDENTIAL with Ed Robertson and Frankie Montiforte
Mon-Sun 10pm ET, 7pm PT
Shokus Internet Radio
Every other Tuesday at 11pm ET, 8pm PT
Share-a-Vision Radio, KSAV.org
www.tvconfidential.net
blog.tvconfidential.net
Also available as a podcast via iTunes and FeedBurner

My essay “Sci-fi greenery..” is featured in the current issue 11 (Fall ‘09) of the Dutch Monu Magazine.

Support Monu by buying the mag at: www.monu-magazine.com

Further content by OMA, Bernd Upmeyer etc.

A preview of the content is available on youtube:

The article “Sci-fi greenery..” by Samo Pedersen is featured in the current issue 11 (Fall ‘09) of the Dutch Monu Magazine.

Support Monu by buying the mag at: www.monu-magazine.com

Further content by OMA, Bernd Upmeyer etc.

A preview of the content is available on youtube:

Barbarella (1968) Movie Poster

 

Barbarella is a 1968 erotic science fiction film directed by Roger Vadim and based on the French Barbarella comics from Jean-Claude Forest.

Tagline:  Who can save the universe?

Barbarella is famous for a sequence in which the title character, played by Jane Fonda, undresses in zero gravity during the opening credits.

The whole film is played in a tongue-in-cheek manner; especially when it comes to the frequent (but not explicit) sex scenes. The most controversial of those scenes involves Barbarella being tortured by the use of an organ-like instrument that delivers sexual pleasure in doses that can be lethal, although Barbarella survives the ordeal and is visibly disappointed when it is discovered she has overloaded the machine.

Buy the Soundtrack!

The film was simultaneously shot in French and English. Some characters’ lines were performed by the same actors in both languages; others were not:

• In the French version, Fonda performs her own lines in French.
• Marcel Marceau’s lines are dubbed into English.

De Laurentiis returned to camp science fiction (but with far less erotica) with the 1980 cult classic Flash Gordon.

Trivia:

• When Virna Lisi was told to play the part of Barbarella, she terminated her contract with United Artists and returned to Italy.
• SoGo, the evil city Barbarella travels to, is a reference to Biblical cities Sodom and Gomorra.

Buy this Title on DVD!

• Future Pink Floyd guitarist David Gilmour was one of the session musicians who performed the film’s original score.
• The scenes during the opening credits where Barbarella seems to float around her spaceship were filmed by having Jane Fonda lie on a huge piece of plexiglas with a picture of the spaceship underneath her. It was then filmed from above, creating the illusion that she is in zero gravity. (If you look carefully, you can see the reflection in the glass as she removes her gloves.)
• Anita Pallenberg was dubbed by Fenella Fielding.
• Dildano’s password, “Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch”, is the name of a real village in Wales, United Kingdom (unsurprisingly, it’s the longest place name in the UK).
• The names “Stomoxys” and “Glossina”, the Great Tyrant’s nieces, are actually the names of flies. Stomoxys calcitrans is the stable fly, and glossina is the African (or tsetse) fly.
• The film’s missing scientist character famously inspired the band name of 1980s pop stars Duran Duran.

12 x 16 Print

• Barbarella’s costume was inspired by designer Paco Rabanne
• Barbarella was the first science fiction hero from the comics to be adapted into a feature film as opposed to a serial (Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers, her male predecessors, had only appeared in serials up to this point).
• This film is listed among The 100 Most Amusingly Bad Movies Ever Made in Golden Raspberry Award founder John Wilson’s book THE OFFICIAL RAZZIE® MOVIE GUIDE.
• The original author Jean-Claude Forest based the character of Barbarella on Brigitte Bardot – who ironically was director Roger Vadim’s previous wife.
• Sixties sex symbol Raquel Welch turned down the title role.

Dirigido por Roger Vadim e com Jane Fonda no papel título e Anita Pallenberg, Barbarella é uma obra inspirada nos quadrinhos do ilustrador e escritor francês Jean Claude Forest.

Filmado em 1968, Barbarella e um um filme de ficção-científica que se passa num futuro sensual e plástico e pouco orgânico. Jane Fonda imortalizou look espacial com os cabelos penteados para trás, cílios falsos e roupas em plástico e PVC, transparências e botas altas.

O figurino desenvolvido por Jaques Fonteray em parceira com o Pacco Rabanne é a “plena representação inter-galáctica da liberação sexual vivida no final dos anos sessenta. “* As roupas e jóias feitas em vinil, metal, plástico e pele influenciaram e continuam a influenciar a moda até hoje.

[imagens: reprodução]
*Marcellus Schnell

So what’s happened in the world of me while I’ve been regaling you with tales of the Eternal City?

Well the other day, as I walked the dogs on their morning trek down the lane past the Hall, I heard a sheep fart. Never heard a sheep fart before. It’s not entirely dissimilar to the noise that comes out of the front end, to be honest.

Also the other day, on the way to work a bug landed on the right lens of my glasses while I was doing 40mph. I’m not sure what sort of bug it was, but it was definitely green and, judging by the size, was a genetic cross between a blowfly and a water buffalo. And it was fine and healthy and just sat there. I tried shaking my head wildly, never a great idea while balancing on two wheels at high speed. Nothing doing. The cars behind me began to drop back from this loony epileptic biker. I did the ‘blowing upwards through pursed lips’ thing you do to get rid of flies when your hands are busy. And it disappeared past my eye and into the inside of my helmet somewhere. Not seen it since, or any sign of its demise. I wonder if it’s taken up residence in my ear, like Cardiogirl’s other half?

Last night I watched Wolf Creek. I wouldn’t say it was wasted time. I kind of enjoyed it. I was a little disappointed that the first 49 minutes was basically the ‘Blair Witch Road Trip Holiday’. 49 minutes of three kids getting drunk, camping, driving around and almost kissing. And then 41 minutes of actual film. 49 minutes of slow, rambling lead-in to 41 minutes of story. The film could have been over in an hour. But it was good. And unpleasant. I’ve not watched a horror/slasher/scary movie in quite a while, so it was fun.

I spent time after writing my entry about Rome and the Via Appia thinking about the valley of the Caffarella. The more I thought, the more I chuckled. And the more it sounded like a South African Blaxploitation Sci-Fi Erotica movie. Now there’s a concept to get your head round. And, of course, instead of Jane Fonda, this one would have to star Pam Grier.

Interestingly, the last two days I’ve tried to get to my diaryland account (I still have all my old entries on there), and when I type in the URL I get this:

You have been identified as a spammer by users on our site. People have been making fake blogs/diaries on our site recently to advertise things, so we have a large number of users looking out for this, and we are deleting these sites very quickly now.

If you are one of the people doing this, I would recommend giving up because we have a lot of people watching for this now (the people who find the most get a prize), and your fake diary will be shut down very fast. If you have received this message in error, contact our help department and we will see why you got this message.

Thanks,

DiaryLand admin

Strange, eh?

Ah well. Time for work.

Have fun all.

La festa è affollata, l’alcol scorre a fiumi per tutti, ma non per me; da quando sono astemio, la mia anaffettività è schizzata alle stelle. Era molto, molto meglio quando bevevo: riuscivo a parlare fino a cinque lingue.

Dorian adesca un ragazzino wannabemuscled-ma-non-riesco-a-buttare-giù-la-pancetta, il gioco della conquista lo distrae da me, poi si dimentica del tutto di me. Gionni mi si avvicina, m’incalza, poi beve. Un po’ balla, un po’ ride. Si guarda intorno ma dopo il bono tedesco nessuno pare interessargli più.

Sta solo facendo finta di essere felice, di vivere, ma stranamente non è lamentevole e supino nei confronti della vita. E’ uno dei suoi momenti migliori da quando lo conosco.

Le luci del club gli sono addosso, a tratti lo illuminano, a tratti lo oscurano. E’ un come le nostre anime, lati oscuri e banchi di luce. Beve, beve. Vodka e Redbull, Vodka lemon, Gin tonic. Ma quanti cazzo di soldi ha da buttare in cocktail annacquati?

Otto anni fa mi accusava con invidia di essere un figlio di papà, contando i miei viaggi per il mondo, mentre lui faceva economia per ristrutturare la casa. All’improvviso, ricco.

Finisce per spalmarsi contro di me. Semifatto, la sua bocca premuta sulla mia spalla e un filo di bava densa che cola e infradicia la mia maglietta.

Urge al più presto un intervento di Dorian, ma si è dileguato con il ragazzino finto muscoloso e quindi tocca a me caricarmelo in macchina e portarlo a casa.

In auto dorme, ogni tanto pronuncia qualche parola incomprensibile e biascica. Prova ad allungare una mano verso di me, ma gli impongo di stare tranquillo.

“Accompagnami, ti prego.”

Non avevo mai visto la sua casa dopo la ristrutturazione. E’ un tripudio di parquet e di sneakers sparpagliate per la casa. I giochini sadomaso, almeno, ha avuto l’accortezza di nasconderli.

Lo butto a letto, ma lui mi stringe con una forza insolita e mi fa cadere sopra di lui. Mi abbraccia, strettissimo, “Ti prego, resta qui, mi piaci da impazzire.” Il suo alito caldo mi solletica l’orecchio. Alza la gamba e me la preme sul cazzo, allunga una mano e lo afferra.

“Ti prego, io ho bisogno di te.”

Perché non me ne vado? Perché lo lascio fare? Gionni farnetica, le sue parole sono strascichi della sua solitudine amplificata dall’alcol e ora, lontano dalla musica assordante, nel silenzio e nel buio della sua casa, deve sembrargli insopportabile.

Io, in un certo senso, non posso reggere il suo dolore. Non posso. E’ più forte di me. E’ una cosa che Dorian non capirà mai, e nemmeno Gionni lo capirebbe, se i ruoli fossero invertiti. Ma quel suo tono disperato, come se l’assenza della solitudine fosse il principale bisogno dell’uomo, non il cibo, non l’acqua. Ecco, è come uccidermi.

Finiamo nudi. Io sono sdraiato, lui è seduto sopra di me. Ma non ha voglia di succhiarmelo, non si ricorda dove siano i preservativi. Non facciamo nulla.

Io, nudo come un verme, resto semplicemente a guardarlo mentre lui si strizza i capezzoli e mi stringe i fianchi con le ginocchia, sempre più forte.

Gionni pare in estasi; gli occhi chiusi e i suoi sussurri farneticanti: ti amo, mi fai impazzire, … prosegue finché non crolla al mio fianco e io mi alzo per rivestirmi. “Non andartene.”

E’ già tanto che sono venuto. Penso, ma non glielo dico. In fondo, non sortirebbe alcun effetto la mia cattiveria.

Ma sono toccato, ho schifo di me: mi odio per non aver saputo reagire. Mi odio terribilmente e la sensazione cresce mano mano che la consapevolezza di essere stato un palliativo alla sua solitudine cronica aumenta. Io, almeno, non sono al suo livello.

Mi sento come un fumatore incallito che vuole smettere. Ma non ce la fa. Allora mi presento: “Ciao, sono Giulio, e sono anaffettivo.” Questo è il mio nome e questo è il mio problema.

“Ciao Giulio.” Diranno tutti gli anaffettivi intorno a me, al circolo degli anaffettivi anonimi. E saremo tutti simili nell’essere lo specchio di noi stessi, nell’usare gli altri per i propri bisogni esistenziali e non saper andare più oltre, non saper amare più l’altro perché é l’altro e non per ciò che ti fa sentire. Non saper più amare. Punto.

Il motivo? Me lo ripeto continuamente rientrando a casa nel cuore della notte. Le strade deserte e all’improvviso m’imbatto in un lieve banco di nebbia. E’ la prima della stagione, e io amo la nebbia: lì mi perdo, i fari dell’auto si offuscano, e nessuno può più seguirmi.

We have been busy all last week organizing the 3rd (maybe 4th?? I cant remember) Tipton-Orange party. This time the theme is Erotic. Tipton Eyeworks is making a custom Cinematique collection for the even that is compromised entirely of vintage erotic films.

We have a great team this time around: The staff at Orange: Jani and Évi, Tipton eyeworks: Zack and Zoli plus some great help from Szandra!

Only a few things are possibly certain and these are the following:
HUGE punch bowls everywhere
Fingerfood from Manga Cowboy
MAKE UP for everybody from LOREAL and Lario Oscar
Pro fotos taken by Tom Lenard.
We hope to be screening two films: Emauelle in Soho and possibly Barbarella. After each screening, we hope to project a slide show of the pictures taken during the movie screening.
We will also be giving away lots of frames as prizes and gifts.
There will be a couple of photo contests as well. We havent yet decided on the criteria but a few funny ideas have cropped up:

The less clothes the model wears, the higher the discount.

Best topless shot.

Of course these games are for both men and women!

Keep you updated and hope to see you there!

The Wife:

Last night, the girls were given a non-challenge/actual real world opportunity that seemed cribbed off Petra Nemcova’s short-lived TLC series A Model Life, which, of all the modeling series I’ve watched, was certainly the most realistic in terms of its portrayal of the process of becoming a model. Nemcova’s show set six international models up with an agency on a trial, booked them jobs and go-sees as a group and then asked the girls to use those skills to book their own jobs. There were no challenges and no prizes. No winners and no losers. Well, except for Angelika, who was fired from the agency for being insolent.

Instead of giving the girls a preliminary challenge, Tyra sent the girls to meet with Sean Patterson, their potential new boss at Wilhelmina Models. They interviewed with him (with Nigel Barker’s assistance, for some reason), and walked for him. At the end of their time with Patterson, Nigel and Sean announced that one girl would be cut, because she basically had no potential as a model. And that girl was Rachel of the Doe Eyes, who made the obvious mistake of telling Nigel and Sean that she had musical theatre training but, when asked to perform, couldn’t come up with a song to sing. My husband felt this was somewhat unfair, but I don’t think so at all. Rachel shot herself in the foot by telling them that she had theatre experience, but then being completely unable to perform. I realize that musical theatre is fairly unrelated to modeling, but in base concept, she told them she knew how to perform, and couldn’t deliver on that promise. And so, she was let go. I’d say it was shocking, but the only shocking thing about it was that I’d forgotten she’d been eliminated and so, when the girls are digitally removed from their group shot at the end of the episode, I was completely taken aback to see two women in rope bikinis disappear.

But that attempt to assert the realness and seriousness of televised modeling competitions pretty much went out the window the minute Tyra showed up as SuperSmize for the girls’ actual challenge. As any ANTM fan knows, “smize,” of course, means smiling with your eyes. And Tyra, after hammering home that concept for 13 seasons now, decided she needed to change up that tired adage by coining a new word (a new, super dumb word, if you ask me) and dressing up as a super hero to battle an evil photographer with her incredible ability to smile with her eyes. I’m sorry, smize. Tyra is only trying to save me keystrokes, here.

Something about these smize just ain't right . . .

After showing the girls how to do this act, with her usual amount of batshit crazy coaching techniques, she made the girls come to her “Fortress of Fierceness” dressed as pink and purple ninjas to have a smize-off with other girls. First of all, Tyra may sound insane when she’s coaching the girls on her patented modeling techniques, but I will admit that she gets results. Secondly, I’m glad the production design for the Fortress of Fierceness was somewhere between the old Adam West Batman series and Barbarella. I suddenly feel like I should turn my murder basement into a Fortress of Fierceness, complete with bleepy-bloopy machines with pictures of eyes on them and knobs that don’t do anything.

The modelettes stood before Tyra in their ninja leotards, faces entirely covered except for their smizing eyes, as Tyra’s “machines” gauged which girl better executed the concept of the smize. The winners of each heat were awarded a dinner with potential boss Sean Patterson and given nice fancy dresses to wear, while the losers were taken to the same restaurant and employed as dishwashers. The prize makes sense, but the punishment doesn’t. Models in a kitchen? Bizarre. I really didn’t need to see cutaways of the girls washing dishes, proclaiming that food remnants “look like throw-up.” No need to drive home their body dysmorphic disorders! We all already know!

The next day, the girls were taken to Santa Anita Racetrack to pose “nude” on horses with jockeys. Naturally, some requisite bullshit was said about how Seabiscuit was short and he beat other horses and blah blah blah. My husband was an extra in Seabiscuit. I’m sure he can tell you all about that. I like the idea of this shoot, however, I have to question a few things:

a)      Why even have the jockey on the horse? Was it just to make those girls look taller?

b)      Being topless in a photo does not equate nudity. It equates toplessness. Don’t promise me nudity but only give me toplessness.

c)      It seemed like the styling of the shoot was working against some of the girls. Half of them were styled in this sort of faux-Victorian/Edwardian fashion with a lot of ruffles and cream-colored accessories. But other girls were basically wearing fetish gear in black and leather. All of the girls, however, were asked to be soft. And many of the girls who had issues with the shoot were the ones who were styled “hard,” where as the demurely styled girls ultimately read as demure on film. I question the execution of the intent. Some of the girls might have performed better if the conceit were better explained. It’s definitely possible to be soft in fetish gear, but I don’t think that juxtaposition was made clear. They were simply told to smize, and that was it.

• Kara: This shot was dead in the eyes.
• Ashley: I completely forgot she existed until she complained about something during the dinner with Sean Patterson. She looked bored to death in this shot and, while the judges kind of like its “simplicity,” I can’t believe they aren’t totally cutting into her for the fact that this atrocity was her fucking TEST SHOT and they had to digitally remove the lighting guy. Ugh. If this were MMAS, she’d have cost them a reshoot. (But then again, if this were MMAS, she might end up winning despite that bullshit performance. I HATE YOU, BRANDEN!)
• Jennifer: We learned earlier in the episode that she doesn’t have full range of motion in her left eye. I hadn’t noticed before, but the minute she pointed it out, it’s all I noticed. Her makeup failed her in this shot, drawing all the attention to that lazy eye. Tyra did give her some good tips on talking to the makeup folks about that eye so that she can work around it.
• Lulu: Wearing one of the best hats of the shoot, Lulu also ended up with one of the best shots. I begin to develop a theory about the relative goodness of these shots in correlation to the relative greatness of the hats the girls wore.
• Brittany: Homegirl got to wear the absolute best hat of the bunch and produced what I think is the most dynamic shot of the bunch. She lay across the horse’s back, a feat downright magical in its effect.
  

  Not quite as sexy as Jonathan's horsey shot from Make Me a Supermodel, but . . .

• Bianca: The judges like her lower body in this shot, but can’t stand her blank expression. I agree. This shot blows.
• Laura: I think Laura’s face is so perfect that I’m not surprised the wound up producing my favorite shot of the night. I mean, this girl has an amazing face for makeup. She’s spectacular.
  

  She's gonna do bad things to you . . . like castrate yo' ass.

• Sundai: Everything about this shot blows.
• Rae: As nice as she looked in this shot, I was very distracted by what the jockey was doing. Was he vomiting? Where is his head?
• Nicole: With her strangeness, she produced another great photograph effortlessly. Also, she had a wonderful feather hat.
  

  Oh, this ol' thing? I use it to pull my wheelbarrow to school.

• Erin: The judges love the shit out of this, but I think this one had the biggest styling problem. With so much black eye makeup on, Erin couldn’t not look hard. The judges thought she broke through and looked demure, but I disagree.
• Crutchney: Blah shot. She complained about having to model in her boot, but Tyra made a good point that Mr. Jay asked her to leave it on for insurance purposes. As in, no one wants to have their broken foot recrushed by a horse.

Callouts: Erin, Brittany, Laura, Nicole, Kara, Jennifer, Sundai, Rae, Lulu and Ashley.

I definitely like Erin’s photo less than Brittany, Nicole or Laura’s, so I disagree with that order inherently, but I also think that Rae and Lulu should have been called before Kara, Jennifer or Sundai.

Crutchney and Bianca were left in the bottom 2, which I thought would surely send Bianca home for her stank-ass attitude about makeup and hairstyles. But no, for some reason, they prefer her to Crutchney, and the petite cheerleader was sent home to heal that foot.

The Husband:

True, I am an extra during the final climactic horserace scene in Seabiscuit, and we most definitely did shoot it at the Santa Anita Racetrack where, around 70 years earlier, Seabiscuit made history. I got the gig through Ain’t It Cool News — I use the term “gig” lightly, because I was an unpaid extra just as I was in Spider-Man — and showed up in my sweet pinstripe suit. We had to look period, so I gave my friend Geoff my Bogart-esque raincoat to cover up his polo shirt. And those of us without hats (i.e. most of us) were given cheap period knockoffs to cover up our modern haircuts.

(For the love of me, I can’t find my original set report for AICN, so I’ll try to at least recreate some of the report.)

Most of this didn’t really matter, as you most definitely cannot see most of our faces or the details of our wardrobe in the finished product, but it was still pretty gnarly. Geoff and I were placed in the bleachers, nowhere near the action, so we felt it appropriate to switch seats and entire sections between the long setups happening. (Filming constant action is tough, and it never fails to amaze me that a director doesn’t lose his mind with all the downtime involved in filmmaking.) Unfortunately, we never really got to the handrail where you can really see the extras faces, but I had to presume that those people were actual paid extras who don’t do bullshit like switch sections for fun or steal from the wardrobe department (more on that later). We did, though, get to a spot near the finish line, but who knows if that was the one angle out of a dozen they used in the final film. Still, you can’t really tell who’s who anyway.

The strange part of the whole situation that the unpaid extras weren’t in big enough numbers to fill out the bleachers, so we were placed among blow-up dummy torsos (with heads), who were wearing the same hats we were as well as a tuxedo t-shirt. The remaining holes would be filled in by CGI, which I’m sure means that my shape is actually copied at least a dozen times somewhere among the crowd.

By the end of a very long day (seriously, where is that set report? I talk about the awesome Equestricam they used for getting close-ups of Tobey), Geoff and I had decided to steal the tux t-shirt off of the dummy and then deflate him. Both were able to easily be stolen away inside my raincoat Geoff had on (I’m a much bigger person than he is, so there was plenty of room in the coat). To this day, I still have the hat and the tux shirt.

“Yeah, I got a dildo on my head. What of it?”

Barbarella: Wake up, Your Majesty! You must wake up!
Great Tyrant: Vade retro, Earth girl! I know you don’t really exist. –Barbarella.

I sometimes feel that way in the morning myself, although I usually am sans apparatus on my head (Thanks, Reno 911!). Usually. I sometimes wish my alarm would vade retro, or that morning deejays would take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut.

Genuina, con la sua coscia rustica.

Passa in redazione che ti  spieghiamo come ti si…ehm.. si svita il Movimento Centrale .

Per la foto ringraziate Roy from Milanofixed.

La minaccia è sempre la stessa quindi prego cliccare.

Biba Stripe.

Photo http://fantasyshoe.com/index.asp

Y a pas à dire parfois mieux vaut se plonger tête la première dans la mode “soixantedisante ” plutôt que d’acheter ce que l’on vous propose dans les magazines féminins afin de vous faire ressembler à votre voisine de lotissement. Rien de plus.

 Je sais ça vous fait de la peine ce que je vous écris mais si au lieu de verser des larmes de sel vous changiez de look.

Définitivement.

Un look à la Barbarella ça vous dit?

http://fantasyshoe.com/index.asp

Barbarella est une héroïne de science fiction qui a été dessinée sur le modèle de Brigitte Bardot.  Elle fait son apparition dans les pages de V magazine en 1962. C’est en 1968 que le film Barbarella sort en salle avec Jane Fonda dans le rôle de Barbarella. 

I seriously love the styling in this clip; rock’n'roll chic, rough meets sexy, women letting their hair down, glamourous yet edgy, modern day Barbarella, hot and steamy. The girls are smashing. Just how it should be…dare to be different!

Há um teeeeempo atrás, não sei como fui parar num tal de Lets Glow (aqui antes da MTV), um blog de música que tinha umas coisas bacanas e tem até hoje. Foi lá que aprendi a falar “um beijo no culo” através do “Berenice Recomenda“. E uma das pessoas responsáveis pelo excelente blog é o Phill Wanzeler uma cara super inteligente, a gente nunca se viu, ele mora no Pará e eu em Beagá, além de um ótimo designer, o cara tem um gosto musical excelente e adoro os brasileiros assim como eu. Difícil falar dele, pois além de tudo, se tornou uma pessoa especial. Phill agora esta produzindo e fez junto com Barbarella (a mesmo da bonde das impostora) a música 0800 na Balada e no estilo Mr Oizo, a track ficou phoda… ed. e Berenice recomendam e um beijo no culo.

[mp3] Barbarella 0800 na Balada (Pwolf remix)

Hace unos cuantos posts y hablando de Serge Gaingsbourg pude colocar en este blog una de mis canciones preferidas de todos los tiempos, Cosmic Strip, una melodía llena de onomatopeyas que fue escrita para la Brigitte Bardot en pleno subidón cósmico por Barbarella. Aquí tienen la versión original:

Cuál fue mi sorpresa cuando descubrí que, en algún momento entre el año 60 y el infinito, nada más y nada menos que Jodie Foster había hecho una versión de la misma en un programa de variedades francés acompañada de ¡¡¡Claude Francois!!!, conocido internacionalmente por perpetrar la canción “Llora el teléfono” (Le Téléphone Pleure). Las imágenes de ese increíble choque de entreraiments hace dudar de todos los sentidos: ¿es esto real?, ¿quién hace de hombre y quien hace de mujer?. Dudas que se agrandan  si pensamos que Jodie va vestida de Marlene Dietrich vestida, a su vez, de hombre. De hecho, Jodie canta la letra que le corresponde a Serge mientras Francois se columpia alegremente como una colegiala francesa en una soleada tarde de miércoles (los niños franceses no tienen clase ese día). En fin, una cosa muy estridente y maricona, queer si quieren hacerse los finos e interesantes, y por lo tanto digna de aparecer aquí por sus innegables valores estéticos.