"Change, America. Change is coming." That's what we've been told, anyway. But are we really ready for change? Can we truly accept change when we've proven time and again that we're so hung up on the past? Nostalgia acts, remakes, reunions, revivals, reality shows starring celebrities who refuse to fade away gracefully—aren't these the signposts of a culture that fears change and clings desperately to the things we already know and loathe? As a wise ass once said, "True change comes from within," and judging by this week, our insides just can't spare any change. So let's go over this well-trod path together, one more time, hand in hand with your old, familiar friend Friday Buzzkills.
– In my haste to eulogize a mechanical monkey, I made a rather glib assessment of what many believe to be the only truly tragic loss in last weekend's Universal Studios fire: The vault storing "nearly 100% of the archive prints kept on the lot"–a collection of nearly 50,000 videos and film reels as well as music recordings that are now just a pile of melted plastic metaphors for the fleeting, impermanent nature of our culture. Luckily, all of those were reportedly copies; the studio wisely kept the much more precious master negatives on a site that hadn't already burned down six times before, but the loss of the archival prints is still a huge blow to film festivals and repertory theaters looking to screen older Universal movies, who will no longer have access to confirmed deceased like Out Of Africa, Flash Gordon, and Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid. On the upside, of course, the studio can now pretend like The Blues Brothers 2000 never happened.
– Ask Roger Ebert which film he would have swapped out for any of those lost to the ashes, and he'd no doubt tell you that he would have gladly driven all the way from Chicago to personally toss the master copy of I Spit On Your Grave onto the flames, and he'd probably even stick around to help piss them out. Ebert called the 1978 rape-revenge flick one of the worst films he had ever seen, memorably condemning it as "a vile bag of garbage…so sick, reprehensible, and contemptible that I can hardly believe it's playing in respectable theaters" before saying that "attending it was one of the most depressing experiences of my life" and averring that his fellow audience members were "vicarious sex criminals." Of course, yesterday's "artless expression of the most diseased and perverted darker human natures" is just today's attempt to get some of that there Saw and Hostel money, so it should come as no surprise that CineTel Films has picked up Spit for a remake. Giving it a glossy historical revision as a "precursor to a slew of female revenge film hits," CineTel CEO Paul Hertzberg says he is currently "listening to pitches from writers on how to ratchet up the shock factor"–because, you know, death by castration and disembowelment by outboard motor are so quaint by today's standards. I mean, didn't they do that on an episode of Joanie Loves Chachi?
– We've gleefully spit, jumped up and down, and performed carefully choreographed dances on the grave of boy bands time and again, but as it turns out, we were only kidding ourselves: According to Rolling Stone, boy bands are back, riding in like knights shielded behind their armor of perfect bangs and astride white horses draped in Converse caparisons, swooping in to save major labels from their dwindling record sales and the hegemony of the Disney machine that's been greedily hoarding all the world's babysitting money. With a reunited New Kids On The Block already enjoying a second wind–and even some chart success; shame on you, America–an aging-right-before-your-eyes Joey McIntyre felt qualified to offer this appraisal of what label executives need to do to get back on top, step by step: "They're just thinkin', 'We gotta get right to the heart of it–and that's young girls and cute boys and fun songs." (Solid analysis of the industry, Joey. Say, would you mind piercing our eardrums with this tree branch real quick?) While the first kiss was a sweet kiss, and the second kiss had a twist, here are the third and fourth kisses you might want to miss, along with their appropriate, derisive nicknames for all of you junior-high cut-ups who want to get a jump on the action: V. Factory ("Vagina Factory"); Varsity Funclub ("Fart City Buttplug"); and a new version of Menudo ("The Band That Was Too Gay For Ricky Martin." "Who's Ricky Martin?" "Exactly.")
– With the members of NKOTBOMFGRUSIRIUS? obviously enjoying their reprieve from signing faded issues of Tiger Beat in Midwestern Wal-Marts for overjoyed shut-ins new day in the spotlight, perhaps the time is right for other boy bands to consider a reunion. After all, Lou Pearlman is all locked up, so there's no threat of embezzlement or creepy hugs that last way, way too long, and the market for nostalgia has officially reached the stage where "I remember that!" is equally as strong a selling point as "I remember liking that!", judging by the number of hipsters who ironically shelled out for Spice Girls tickets. But while it probably wouldn't require moving heaven and earth to get Nick Lachey to stop transcribing the court records of his divorce into ballad form and end 98 Degrees' self-imposed hiatus, don't count on 'N Sync fulfilling its outstanding obligations to Jive records anytime soon: For one thing, Justin Timberlake is way too busy being very fucking famous. For another, Joey Fatone is way too busy reinventing himself as the male counterpart to Lisa Rinna, and propagating the notion that ordinary schlubs with minimal talent can be stars (admittedly, something he knows a lot…nah, too easy) on NBC's weekly odyssey to the karaoke level of Hell, The Singing Bee.
Not content with sucking up your living room with his unctuous phony laughter, Fatone has teamed up with Mel B. (a.k.a. "Sue-y Spice") to bring down American business with TLC's new The Singing Office, which finds the two "ambushing" a random workplace and holding a spontaneous singing audition to find hidden talent. Says the scariest Spice who ever spiced, "It's been amazing giving everyday people a chance of a lifetime!" Indeed, what a great opportunity to waste all of your sick leave or maybe even lose your job in the middle of a recession, all for the chance to compete in a third-tier singing contest for a "grand prize" that's not much more than the average middle class worker's annual salary. And let's say your dream does come true, and you do become a professional singer. Isn't the fact that Joey Fatone and Mel B.–who have literally millions in record sales between them–are currently offering you career advice while hosting a reality show on fucking TLC enough to convince you that maybe it's not really worth it? Hmmm???